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saiilorstars · 3 years

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The Girl in the Forest

Chapter 30: The Girl in the Forest

// Story Masterlist //

Pairings: Klaus Mikaelson x OFC

Pronunciation of OC’s name: Ma-leh-nee

Requested tag: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @transformerfan97 @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: The final battle between the Mikaelsons and Dahlia is here and not everybody will survive. Klaus and Maleny go to the extremes to save Hope and their son no matter what the cost is. Soon enough, Maleny even gets to face the worst of her past: lifting the curse she had to endure for over a thousand years. Will she finally be free to live with her family?

Klaus and Dahlia had relocated to a more secure place still near the bayou...where Dahlia would be performing the spell needed to link to Klaus. Before so, however, Klaus had forced her to de-link herself from Maleny as well, reminding Dahlia there was no point in having Maleny linked to herself when she would be casting the spell to break the slumber curse anyways. Fortunately, Dahlia had listened. With them was Hope sitting calmly in her car seat while Freya's unconscious body laid next to her. While she wasn't very happy with the new deal, Dahlia worked her best to get the spell finished.

"You're quiet," she remarked after Klaus gave a purposely loud sigh, "Are you having misgivings?"

"I was just looking for a polite way to ask, 'What the hell is taking so long?'"

Dahlia rolled her eyes and gestured to the table, "Well, we can begin now. Once we're linked, I'll no longer have to sleep a hundred years again. Your concerns for my status will ease, and I'll finally be able to focus on power that is truly owed to me."

"My son's—" Klaus said for her, darkly to serve as a reminder there was yet another part of the deal, "—whom you will only guide and draw the sufficient power you need from him."

Dahlia nodded with a smile, "Of course."

Klaus then glanced to the car, seeing his older sister still unconscious,, "What do you want to do about Freya?"

"She served her purpose," Dahlia carelessly waved a hand at the car. "So, tonight, at the moon's apex, I'll end her life, and once our link is severed, the bond that I share with your son will become one and stronger."

"Best get on with it, then," Klaus motioned, struggling to hide his discontent with the plan. He moved up to the table where Dahlia was awaiting for him with hands held out.

Dahlia then began to chant the spell to bind them together, "Medareno sometswar. Medareno sometswar."

As she chanted further, the pewter chalices Dahlia set up in front of her filled with blood. When it became full, it poured down to the table where it then traveled to the center of an infinity symbol. When the spell neared its end, the two spellers were blasted backwards from the table. Due to the commotion, Hope, alarmed, began to whimper. As Klaus went to check on her, Dahlia remained on the ground feeling the newfound power rushing through her body.

When the novelty passed, she began to laugh and got up, "With your strength, I will never need to sleep for a century again!"

"Well…" Klaus began, keeping his back to her as he slowly reached for something inside his jacket's pocket, "...perhaps one more nap."

Dahlia stood confused until Klaus turned around revealing he held the golden dagger. Realization dawning on her, she meant to telekinetically take the dagger from him but it was too late. Klaus daggered himself and just as the effects began to take him under, Dahlia felt the weakening come to her as well.

Both were out in less than a minute.

~ 0 ~

Back at the compound, Elijah was still listening to the exact plan Klaus had apparently formed without their opinions. In the meantime of doing so, he healed Maleny's bad neck with blood of his own.

"So, you see? You would have failed," Maleny finished off the story with a great big scold, "You would have failed and gotten yourselves killed."

"But to link himself to our enemy?" Elijah still could not understand why on Earth Klaus had thought that was a better plan, "She'll be virtually indestructible!"

"Not if he uses the dagger that was used on him," Maleny smirked when Elijah stayed quiet, "He uses the dagger on himself, Dahlia goes down with him in the meantime we collect the right ingredients for the final battle. You see, Elijah? Family works better together."

Elijah could not hide his monument shock. He glanced at Cami - who'd remained by the threshold of the living room - as if to ask for some sort of confirmation.

"They came up with it together," Cami said quietly, holding back her bitter tongue for the sake of the situation. "The perfect team, don't you think?"

Maleny slowly looked between the two, feeling awkward fairly fast.

~ 0 ~

"She'll be fine," Amarrah kept telling Marcel as they both waited for Rebekah to wake up in her original body.

It had been quite some time since Cami had snapped her neck and seeing Rebekah still not waking up put Marcel on edge.

"I can't believe Klaus forced her into this!" Marcel paced back and forth, actively ignoring the French witch, "Who does this!?"

"Um, we are talking about the sister who agreed to dagger her brother when his daughter's life was stake...right?" Amarrah sarcastically asked, upholding the glare Marcel now had on him, "Don't give me that look. She's no better than he is. But no matter what she's not going to die. We looked into the spell and she's going to wake up."

And just then, they heard a noise coming from Rebekah's coffin. After a couple of seconds, the blonde vampire opened up the lid and looked around anxiously.

"See?" Amarrah then gestured to the living woman, but Marcel ignored her to go hug Rebekah.

"Fair warning- since you're still compelled to kill me, you've got a whole new fight on your hands," Rebekah told Marcel as she was put to the floor.

"Well, technically not anymore," Marcel threw a look at Amarrah, apparently doubting her word still.

"How do you mean?" Rebekah questioned the French witch, curiously looking between the two.

"It's what I told you," Cami walked into the room then, grimly looking around the place, "Klaus daggered himself, thus cancelling out any compulsion he had on anyone."

"One bloody good thing he did, then," Rebekah muttered and straightened up, clearing her throat, "So, am I to assume you undaggered my other brother downstairs?"

Cami rolled her eyes and looked to the side, "He's fine," came her mutter. "He's downstairs with Mal."

"Excellent, I'd like a word with her," Rebekah started making way out of the room when she heard her cellphone ringing from Eva's body lying on the couch. With a sigh, as nothing good could come out of that call, she returned to answer it.

~ 0 ~

"I don't understand why they're not picking up," Maleny sighed after hanging up the tenth call she'd made to Alton that night.

"Perhaps Niklaus has unexpectedly taken them out as well," Elijah bitterly remarked as he also hung up on an unanswered call to Hayley.

"Elijah, I know you're angry—" Maleny began but Elijah lost his temper and furiously bellowed.

"I AM BEYOND ANGRY WITH YOU BOTH!"

Maleny flinched but this time she didn't stay as quiet as she typically did. "DON'T SHOUT AT ME FOR SOMETHING YOU ALL DESERVED!"

"We deserved?" Elijah indignantly repeated, "Have you lost your mind—"

"YES!" Maleny screamed, now furious herself, "Because unlike you I am fighting for Hope and my son if you've forgotten! You can call me whatever you want but, just like you, I would do anything to get my son back. Hayley ran away from this family and you didn't even try to stop her because you firmly believed she was doing what was best for Hope!"

"It was the best decision to make—"

"THAT WAS NOT YOUR CALL TO MAKE!" Maleny had gotten close to his face when she shouted. Elijah blinked, her ferocity surprising him due to the fact she'd never expressed the emotion like that before. "It was a sole decision to be made by both Hayley and Klaus." Maleny continued, taking a step back. "We had a better, permanent way to keep Hope safe. Fault us for that, I don't give a damn what anyone thinks. All I know is that by the end of the day that little girl and my son will be free of Dahlia's wrath."

"Am I to assume that you know about this little switcharoo judging by your unsurprised face?" Rebekah strode into the room, not even going to address all the screams she had just listened to.

"Sorry," Maleny bitterly sighed, "but it was necessary."

"Sure," it was Rebekah's turn to sigh in bitterness, "Now, I just got a call from Freya. Dahlia is... incapacitated. They are two hours north at an orchard near Pale River. She has Hope."

"Told you," Maleny shot at Elijah then gestured for him to get going. For the first time in the entire night, Elijah agreed with her and vamp-sped away.

~ 0 ~

Freya was trying to handle a fussy Hope in her arms while waiting for someone to come and pick them up. She had no idea how she'd gotten there in the first place, and much less how Dahlia and Klaus became neutralized on the ground. She was more than relieved when Elijah appeared out of nowhere.

"Well," she sighed, "my adage holds- nothing good ever happens in a clearing in the woods."

"Nothing good ever happens where my brother is concerned," Elijah glanced at the two bodies on the ground. However, when he saw Hope perfectly safe his demeanor lightened, "With one exception. How is she?"

Freya smiled lightly, "She's a Mikaelson. She's resilient. When I woke, they were like this," she nodded over to the bodies, "Rebekah tells me Klaus has a plan to kill Dahlia, that he knew our plan would not work?"

"Yes, according to him and Maleny, our ingredients were incorrect. Niklaus infiltrated Dahlia's mind. You didn't break her heart. We needed the blood of the witch she loved the most, and you are not that witch—that honor goes to our beloved mother."

Although stunned, Freya was more frustrated than anything, "So, we need Esther's blood? Well, that's impossible—I killed her."

"One incarnation," Elijah said as if it weren't a problem, and truly it wasn't. Because at the same moment a certain new Regent witch was creating a resurrection spell. "

~ 0 ~

"Still nothing," Cami told Maleny once she hung up on a call towards Yamilet. The two blondes stood just outside the compound, still trying to get ahold of their two missing wolf friends.

"This is getting serious," Maleny bit her nail anxiously, "Alton doesn't answer, Yamilet doesn't answer, not even Hayley answers."

"Do you think it's a wolf thing?" Cami asked nervously, "Maybe something happened to them, and…"

"Nothing was supposed to happen," Maleny dropped her hand to her side, "I mean, I knew Klaus was angry and he was probably gonna hurt some of them, but not Hayley. We didn't really have anything planned except steal Hope."

"Yeah, you guys didn't, but what about Dhalia?" Cami arched an eyebrow, making Maleny stop and think for a moment.

Shakily exhaling, Maleny turned for the compound, "We need Amarrah to do a locator spell on Alton and Yamilet." However, she only made to the threshold when she glanced back and saw Cami staying right where she was. "Cami? C'mon. We have to get going."

Cami's eyes drifted to the second level and shook her head, "No, Mal. Elijah's back in there and he's pretty angry. I mean, I don't care, I'm still angry with him. But I don't want to see him. You've got a job for me tell me and I'll do it from my place or Amarrah's."

Maleny stared at her cousin for a minute before nodding, "Okay, I get it. It's awkward as hell. I'll tell Amarrah to meet you at her place so you guys can do the spell."

"Thanks," Cami warmly smiled and gave her cousin a hug before leaving.

Once gone, Maleny went on inside the compound, told Amarrah what to do then hurried up to the living room where Elijah had brought in Klaus and Dahlia. The two laid on the floor still neutralized.

"Nik is demented!" Rebekah was busy shouting, "Are we really to dig up our mother, burn her to ash, swap said ash with Kol's, and then trick Davina into using up her last chance to bring someone back from the dead? Not to mention we lose the opportunity to save Kol... if Davina doesn't turn us inside out!"

"Or, we dig a deep hole and leave both our problems at the bottom of it," Elijah muttered but was perfectly heard by Maleny.

"I say we choose a more permanent option: find the white oak stake, kill Klaus, Dahlia dies with him," Freya added afterwards.

"You're all terrible people," Maleny declared as she made an entrance, ignoring their looks, "Luckily, I'm well used to it."

"Mal, you can't just tell us you're okay with what we apparently need to do," Rebekah, exasperated, turned to the blonde.

"Of course I'm not okay with it. It's what must be done," Maleny crossed her arms, "Now you may hate Klaus more than ever but he did what none of you could: put Dahlia down. Now the plan relies on us to make sure she stays down permanently." She sighed and moved closer to where Klaus was, "I was supposed to go down with him and Dahlia, but I guess he managed to get Dahlia to de-link herself from me. I will not fail him, and like I told you Elijah, I will do anything for my son and Hope. Question is, will you help us or not?"

Before anyone could respond, they heard an odd noise and were appalled to see the dagger still embedded in Klaus' chest was beginning to melt.

"Oh!" Maleny jumped back, "It's...melting?"

Elijah deeply sighed, unsurprised something like that was happening, "I suppose we have no choice but to finish the task that Niklaus has set."

The others exchanged looks amongst each other while Maleny slowly inched back to Klaus, frantically watching the dagger continuing to melt.

~ 0 ~

Now in Amarrah's place, she and Cami worked on the locator spell for Alton and Yamilet. However, Cami could easily see the spell was not working with each irritated grunt Amarrah gave after chanting her spell over and over.

"What is it?" Cami sighed, preparing herself for the bad news.

"You remember the one time when I tried looking for Mal but couldn't because she'd already been forced to body jump?" Amarrah stared at the map that refused to give a location.

"Yeah," Cami slowly nodded, "What? Did Alton and Yamilet jump bodies or something?"

"Either that, or…" Amarrah looked up from the map with a heavy sigh, "...their bodies are no more."

"What...what exactly does that mean?" Cami inquired then, biting her lip anxiously.

"I don't know what happened but I know they're not quite themselves," Amarrah placed both her hands on the table and stared down at the map again, "Something happened in the bayou last night that has something to do with their bodies. And, since Hayley is also M.I.A. I'm willing to guess it's an entire wolf pack that's in the same predicament."

~ 0 ~

Davina overlooked her work with pleasure as she now knew she was mere minutes away from bringing Kol back from the dead. With the power of the Regent she had prepared every last detail of the spell and now proudly held the glass jar of Kol's ashes.

"It's gonna be weird," she began curiously, "seeing you with your original face." She walked to the end of a stone coffin that was to be used in the spell and was about to pour the ashes in when Maleny came in.

"He was the right devil, that Kol," she called and laughed when Davina looked at her heavily surprised by her appearance. "Yeah, I'm back, and this time I intend on staying here," she patted herself.

"I would have helped," Davina began guiltily and rushed out to meet the blonde, but Maleny raised a hand to stop her, "I was busy becoming Regent and-"

"It's fine, Davina," the blonde assured, "In the end, Klaus had Dahlia return me to my original body."

Davina made a face and muttered, "Well, I suppose he had to be useful for something."

Maleny only slightly gave a chuckle, as there was something important that needed to be done. "Davina, I know how much you want to bring Kol back but I need you to do something for me."

Davina suspected there was going to come something she didn't like, "What…?"

"There is only one witch strong enough to stop Dahlia, and that i, unfortunately, Esther. I need you to use your power as Regent to bring her back."

Davina's eyes widened in horror and immediately stepped back, "No! I only get one shot at this- I'm using it to bring back Kol."

"Davina I wouldn't be asking you this if there was another way, okay?" Maleny sighed, "We can get Kol back another way but-"

"No!" Davina repeated herself, more sternly, "I love you Mal, and yeah I've done things that hurt you but I will not do this for you. It's my chance and I'm not wasting it."

"Davina, I'm begging you—"

"NO!" Davina shouted, without thinking using her magic to blast Maleny back. As the blonde groaned on the ground, Davina had a momentary guilt flash in her eyes. "Mal, I'm…" but she sighed and shook her head, "...I'm not doing it. I'm sorry."

Maleny lifted her head off the ground, grimly staring at the teen across her.

~ 0 ~

Freya worked her best to slow down the melting dagger, or to stop it altogether. However, there were no good results. "It's no use- I can't slow her magic," she groaned, "Everything I'm trying fails."

Marcel could easily see she was right. Suddenly, they heard a soft whisper and a creak, and as the two looked around they saw vines covered in black dahlias were growing inside the room.

"There's gotta be a way to kill her," Marcel breathed in, horrified to see such power even when Dahlia was meant to be unconscious.

Freya took out the white oak stake she'd found in the room earlier and held it up, "There is," she regretted to announce.

"No, Freya!" Marcel lunged to get the stake away from her but Freya used her power to pin him to the wall.

Freya turned back for Klaus and Dahlia, almost trembling as she grew closer. She saw the dagger was almost completely melted and felt like it was her obligation to stop things once and for all.

"Freya, we can find another way!" Marcel frantically pleaded with her, still trying to break free from her spell.

"I'm sorry, but I see no other way," Freya was almost in tears as she knelt down beside Klaus.

"No! No! No! You kill him, you kill me, too!"

Freya sniffled and sniffled, until she was almost hysterical, "I don't want to kill you! I don't want to kill him!" but even though her sight was becoming blurry she could see the dagger was almost gone. "This is the family I longed for, but because of her-" she angrily gritted her teeth as she cast a look over to Dahlia, "-I'll forever be alone," she raised the stake up, and was about to push it down when she felt Klaus suddenly grip her wrist.

The gold dagger had completely melted and thus released him from its effects. He had managed to hear Freya's touching words and no longer looked at her with hatred.

However, there wasn't much time to contemplate on the moment when Dahlia gasped awake. She jerked upright, furious of what had been done to her.

~ 0 ~

From the threshold, Maleny silently watched Davina perform the resurrection spell to bring 'Kol' back. She didn't dare move nor say a word, for she knew there would be tension afterwards. And this time, it would be her fault.

Davina anxiously watched two hands grip the edges of the stone coffin, presumably Kol. However, when Davina stared harder, she noticed the hands were more feminine and when Esther Mikaelson rose up, she became enraged.

"Who the hell are you!?" she demanded.

But this time Esther was quite innocent, she didn't even know why she was alive again...and in her old body!

It didn't take long before Davina put the pieces together. "MALENY!" she yelled and whirled to the blonde who'd now gotten up, "You did this!?" the indignation in her tone was more evident than was her anger. "Mal…" her voice broke, "...how could you?"

"Just like you've done many times before," Maleny answered quietly, walking over to grab a decent blanket for Esther to take. "Because I felt it needed to be done. Elijah?"

"What-" Davina barely got the word out when Elijah super sped inside holding dark chain cuffs. The tears welled down Davina's face, her fury combined with despondence, "That was my only chance!" she cried, gesturing to Esther, "That was Kol's only chance!"

"Davina, I told you we can find another way-" Maleny tried to get through to the teen, but it was of no use.

"I HATE YOU!" Davina blurted towards the blonde, and while the statement meant nothing to Elijah, nor Esther, it immensely weighed on Maleny.

Maleny did not try to defend herself, nor plead for her forgiveness. She accepted her fault with her head held up high, but with her eyes full of tears.

Rebekah then sped into the room, yanking Davina away from her brother and friend, "I'm so sorry, love. I promise, we'll get Kol back - just not today," she told the teen before putting her under a sleeper-hold. While she did that, Elijah sped to Esther and cuffed her wrists to cancel out her magic.

"Careful with her," Maleny cautioned Rebekah once Davina had fallen unconscious. "She might despise me, but I don't want her getting hurt."

"That's the cost of getting your son back," Rebekah threw her words back, something Maleny expected.

"I know," Maleny nodded, "And when I hold my Nicolas again it will all be worth it."

She truly believed so.

~ 0 ~

Freya and Marcel helped Klaus stand and stepped away from Dahlia who was rising on her own. She was furious and looked as if she were ready to kill them all right there and then.

"I'm almost impressed by the lengths you'd go to for your little girl," she told Klaus, "Though you may have just cost your little blonde her own son...and you," she added afterwards with a smirk just as she ripped the white oak stake from Freya's free hand.

"We are still linked, dear aunt. You may not want to punish me with that particular weapon," Klaus reminded, though inside he was anxious as he knew he wasn't quite up to his strength to fight against her.

"Hmm, I made sure that the link between us melted along with that dagger," Dhalia stepped back, "Meaning... I'm quite free to kill you!" she used her magic to force him to come to her in order to be staked.

Marcel lunged for the hybrid and tackled him to the floor to keep him from reaching Dahlia. Dahlia used the distraction to make her escape. Hope's sudden crying made the two vampires speed into the nursery room where Dahlia's vines had nearly covered the entire room. They wrapped themselves around Hope's cradle and moved towards the infant and pricked her finger with a thorn, drawing out blood.

Klaus snatched Hope from her crib and backed away. Marcel watched the vines soon disappear as if nothing had ever been there in the first place. "Why'd she do all this? She doesn't need Hope anymore."

"She got what she wanted from the very start - to break the slumber spell and acquire a fresh new magic supply," Klaus sighed, "Unfortunately, I have no idea where the vile harpy has fled to."

Marcel shook his head, "Alright, go. Get Hope someplace safe. I'll track down your witch. And, when this is over, you and I are gonna settle up."

Klaus took his warning with a sense of amusement, "Provided we survive what's to come tonight, I look forward to it."

After several minutes, Klaus realized Dahlia had taken Freya with her as well. Carrying Hope with him, he entered the courtyard. At the same time, Amarrah and Cami strode into the place.

"Good, you're up," Amarrah called sarcastically, "you wanna tell us what the hell happened to Alton and Yamilet? We can't seem to reach them nor find them."

Klaus looked around for a moment, figuring now was as good as a time to let them all know what really happened to the wolves in the bayou. As if time was agreeing with him, Maleny came in.

"So, um," the blonde began, still carrying teary eyes, "Davina hates me. Oh! And your mother's back," she ran her hands through her hair, "Win, win, I guess…"

Cami looked between her and Klaus, suspiciously, "Go one by one, tell us what happened to the wolves and what did you do to Davina?"

"The wolves?" Maleny blinked, "What's happened with them?"

Dramatically, Klaus sighed and just came out with it, "Dahlia acquired a memory from Maleny and put Hayley and the rest of her pack under the Crescent curse once again."

"And because Alton and Yamilet were at the Unification ceremony they were cursed too…" Amarrah was horrified, her hand covering her mouth, "Oh my God!"

Even Maleny was distraught by the news, "What? That...that wasn't part of the plan. She...she wasn't...she wasn't supposed to do that!" she began to pace back and forth, but stopped when an even bigger realization hit her, "Yamilet was the only one who knew where my old corpse was! Oh my God! My curse!"

"Mal! Mal, stop!" Cami forced Maleny to stop her pacing by grabbing her shoulders. "Mal, we got that covered."

"How?"

"Yamilet told us that Esther and Finn kept your old corpse at the graveyard. We know where it is."

Maleny's face lightened up immensely and gasped, "So, my...my curse, it's…" her hand flapped excitedly as she began to realize what it meant, "...I can break my curse! Oh! I can break my curse!" in her excitement, she pushed Cami to the side, the blonde vampire merely blinking with surprise because of it. Maleny went up to Klaus who was already smiling, "Do you hear that? I get to break my curse - finally!"

"There had to be some kind of happiness in the midst of all this," he touched her face, "Which is why I want you, Cami and Amarrah to get started on that."

Maleny's smile faded a little and she shook her head, "What? No, I can't. We have to find Dahlia, because I assume since you've woken up and you're kind of clutching Hope, that she's up and escaped."

Klaus took a shaky breath, disliking his words as they came out of his mouth, "I might not be here for tomorrow but if I leave I will know that you broke your curse and that you will keep fighting for Nicolas," he gently passed Hope to her, "and for Hope."

"I swear to God if you keep talking like that I'll kill you," she sniffed, "And when you come back I'll kill you again."

As always, Klaus just chuckled at her antics, "Go and break that curse. Cami and Amarrah will be there, and please look after Hope."

"She'll be fine," Cami said in the end, "They'll both be," she added with a small smile,

Klaus nodded, for once able to believe easily in another person. He kissed Hope's head then Maleny's cheek, giving them both one last smile before speeding out of the compound. For a minute, all was silent in the place and neither Amarrah nor Cami spoke a word for fear of what Maleny would do. In the end, Maleny growled in frustration and sniffled.

"We should, um...we should get started," Amarrah whispered, "The spell's old and I'll need to channel my entire coven back home."

"Fine," Maleny nodded for them to get a start. As the two women walked for the stairs, Maleny sniffed in and pressed a kiss to Hope's head, "It's going to be okay, my Hope. It's got to be."

~ 0 ~

Klaus was delighted to see his mother shackled and forced to sit on a chair, while Elijah stood behind at a table full of several knives. They had relocated the Original witch to the jazz club where they would then prepare for the final battle with Dahlia.

"Let me guess," sighed Esther as she looked around her two sons, "you brought me back from the dead to torture me."

Behind her Elijah rolled his eyes, "My dear mother, we simply need your blood. Though, in the event that you should suffer horribly, I can't promise I won't enjoy it immensely."

"And I've arrived just in time for another one of your deaths," Klaus grinned wickedly, "and as much as I appreciate the front-row seat, I'm afraid I'm going to have to postpone the festivities."

"You're in excellent spirits," Elijah muttered, "Despite the losses we suffered - by the way," he raised a glance at him suspiciously, "Care to explain to us where is Hayley?"

"Well, Dahlia pulled an unexpected stunt and cursed her to the Crescent's curse."

It took a minute for that to process through Elijah's mind, and then he shouted, "WHAT!? And you let it happen!?"

"There wasn't much to do in the moment!" Klaus yelled back, though much lower than Elijah. He expected the reaction, "I'm no bloody witch! I had everything calculated but Dahlia pulled the memory from Maleny and kept it to herself!"

"And what are we to do then, hm? Just leave Hayley out there in the bayou? Cursed to the body of a beast?"

"Of course we will bring her back, but right now I'm more interested in killing Dahlia," Klaus pulled out a silver knife from his jacket's pocket and glanced at his mother, "I need her blood on this blade which I've had bound with the soil from Dahlia's homeland, not to mention Viking ash. Mother's demise will have to wait. You see, I need her to weaken Dahlia's defenses. Bit of psychological warfare before I slaughter the both of you."

Esther rolled her eyes, "Ah, yes. You expect me to walk willingly to my death."

"Well, your willing participation would have been a bonus, but it's far from necessary. If needs be, I'll drag you there myself."

At that moment, Rebekah walked into the place, "Yes, dear Mother, you do not have a choice. Then again, why should you be any different from the rest of us? We're all dancing puppets in Nik's end-of-days marionette show. He forces every move we make."

"And how long are you gonna stand there and pretend you don't need me to?" Klaus snapped at her, fed up with being blamed for something he believed they'd earned, "The both of you have fought me at every turn, leaving me no choice but to act alone! We're no strangers to disagreements on the battlefield, but we also have a very long history of doing whatever it takes to win the war."

"And that includes leaving Hayley on her own?" Elijah asked, instigating Rebekah's attention.

"What of Hayley?" she looked between her two brothers.

"It appears our brother allowed Dahlia to place the Crescent curse on Hayley and her pack," Elijah gestured to Klaus, making Rebekah's eyes widened in horror.

"What!?"

"I didn't plan it!" Klaus defended himself, "It happened!"

"Oh don't bother, Nik," Rebekah shook her head, "This was all just a great big punishment."

"Punishment?" Klaus then feigned thought, "Whatever for? Perhaps the dagger you put in my heart?"

"You brought that upon yourself!" Elijah declared.

"As you have with your own pain," Klaus responded back in the same exasperation he was being treated with. "I did what I did for my children, and I bargained the hell out of it for Maleny. Unlike you, I am willing to do whatever it takes to protect them. Tell me, how is Cami?" he sarcastically, yet more angrily than ever, inquired, "Last time I heard you fought against her and snapped her neck. And for what? Oh yes, to dagger me. You chose family over the woman you love," seeing Elijah's stunned expression of the revelation Klaus was pretty sure he hadn't yet made was all the more satisfying, "How big of you, I'll say. And how costly it was. I would have worked alongside her, and…" he lightly chuckled to himself, "...I did. I worked together with Maleny, and look where it got us to? Perhaps this time, brother, you should have followed my actions."

With that, Klaus grabbed Esther by the shackles and made his way out the door, leaving Elijah to ponder on his recent choices.

~ 0 ~

Under a dark starry night Maleny clutched Hope - who was bundled up for the weather - as she and Amarrah watched Cami hurriedly digging up the grave where Maleny's previous corpse was stored.

"Where are we going to do this?" Cami asked once her shovel hit the coffin.

"In the Dawson crypt," Amarrah responded and rubbed Maleny's arm when the blonde witch gave an uncomfortable shift. "It's the safest place."

"How's that for irony?" Maleny mumbled under her breath.

When Cami had retrieved the corpse - which was still in perfect condition thanks to the spells cast over it - the three women relocated to the Dawson crypt. As Cami put down the corpse on a wooden table, Maleny couldn't bring herself to step inside the place. Amarrah came up beside her and smiled softly at her. "I know it's hard, but remember they're all gone now."

"Kids are here," Maleny whispered.

"With no memories," reminded Cami. "Now c'mon, we have a spell to get started on."

Maleny sucked in a breath and took one small step inside, feeling like all the ancestors of the Dawsons were watching her like hawks. She knew after her latest stunt against the new Regent she was less than welcomed at the graveyard. It wouldn't be long before they started going against her.

Amarrah had set a spell book on a nearby the corpse and was already beginning the preparations of the spell. Cami walked towards the entrance to check their perimeters in the meantime.

"How long is it going to take?" Maleny asked, slowly coming forwards.

"About an hour?" Amarrah estimated after skimming the entire spell again.

"How ever long it takes-" Cami returned from her checking, "-we have to be prepared for what might be coming."

"What do you mean?" Amarrah looked at her.

"Look, Klaus made it pretty clear Dahlia could win-"

"She won't," Maleny interrupted with a deep scowl, but Cami continued.

"If she does, we're going to need to run. I say we wait until midnight and if we see...things didn't go our way...we get the hell out of here. With Hope," Cami nodded to the languid toddler in Maleny's arms.

"We can't go anywhere. First of all, Nicolas knows he has to come here," Maleny reminded, "And second of all, Dahlia isn't going to win."

"We don't know that for sure," Cami insisted. "And if it does happen, then we can find a way to contact Nicolas. But we have to go by midnight. Think about Hope."

Maleny knew Cami's back up plan was logical and that it would be better for Hope if they weren't in the same city as Dahlia should she manage to stay alive. Klaus would want his daughter far, far away from the war zone - he proved it once by sending her away.

"Mal," Cami sighed, now speaking to her as what they had always been - cousins - and not as the logical vampire in the room, "it's for everyone's safety."

Maleny looked down at Hope he had rested her head on Maleny's shoulder, apparently becoming sleepy. "Yeah," she whispered. "It is."

"So then it's agreed," Cami shifted her attention to Amarrah, "How are we doing?"

"Good," Amarrah took in a deep breath after looking up from the spell book. "I can feel my coven's connection growing stronger. I think they're ready to start."

"So what do I need to do, then?" Maleny inched closer to the table after handing Hope to Cami.

"Well, it's simple in that I only need to repeat like three sentences..." Amarrah's widened smile made Maleny's stomach churn. She came to learn what that smile usually meant.

"Buuuuut...it might hurt a little..." Amarrah's face told Maleny it would hurt a lot instead.

"What's gonna happen?" Maleny dreaded to ask.

"I'm sorry," Amarrah began like this was her fault. "It's just you share a strong connection with the Dawson bloodline because of your repeated sacrifices. So to break the connection...a thousand-year connection...well, how many lives have you had?"

Maleny's eyes widened in horror. "Oh my God..."

"Just...get ready to scream," Amarrah sighed.

"What choice do I have?" Maleny whispered to herself as she watched Amarrah turn to face the corpse again.

"Come here," Amarrah gestured for the blonde to extend her hand forwards. "I need your blood to fall on the corpse. The connection will break as soon as it all turns to ash."

"Here goes nothing," Maleny turned her palm and allowed Amarrah to draw a knife from her bag she brought along.

Amarrah gently cut across the palm and moved Maleny's hand over the corpse and allowed the blood to trickle down. Afterwards, she repeated the same with Maleny's other hand. She chanted louder, and more aggressively, as if there was power going against her. Her voice then began overlapping with others', thus letting Maleny know the French coven had joined in the on the spell.

And then Maleny felt the most vicious pain start at the side of her head. With shaking hands she brought them to her head and released her agonizing scream that pierced both Amarrah's and Cami's ears. Even poor Hope had begun to cry. Amarrah kept her eyes screwed shut and focused her entire energy on chanting the spell. Cami had sped to the entrance where the screams were a tad less - for Hope's sake - and watched Maleny crumple to her knees on the ground.

~ 0 ~

Dahlia had taken Freya to a warehouse full of antique cars, but otherwise empty of witnesses - not that the older witch cared who saw. She intended on killing Freya there and then, moving onto the younger Mikaelsons afterwards. She had locked Freya in salt circle and for a minute choked her with magic. It didn't last long before the others found her whereabouts and prevented her from harming Freya longer.

"Bringing vampires to a witch fight. Someone hasn't learned their lesson," Dahlia, amused, look at the two siblings.

"Well, I can be a bit thick sometimes…" Klaus swayed his hard, sarcastically looking around just as he heard Elijah bringing in Esther by the shackles. "Although, on this occasion, I'd say I took your lesson to heart."

Dahlia was visibly stunned to see her younger sister there, alive, and shackled. However, it soon passed and she laughed, "My sister... in chains? Hahaha! Is... is she to be a gift to buy your freedom? Because I brought something," and she pulled out the white oak stake she'd snatched from Freya earlier.

The sight of the stake, while nerve-wrecking, provoked incredulity in the siblings. "One stake, three of us?" Klaus asked, "Even if you don't hesitate, the other two will rip you in half."

"Sound thinking. But... small thinking," Dahlia telekinetically threw the stake up into the air and caused it to break into millions of tiny pieces, almost like snowflakes, that sprinkled over the entire room. She then directed them to the three Originals, giving them no choice but to breath the pieces in.

Dahlia ignored the pleads and addressed Esther, gleefully, "Now, sister, let us watch together as I burn your children from the inside out."

Esther stared at her dying children for a minute before heading for Dahlia, "You still carry around so much anger for me after all these years?"

"You broke your vow!" Dahlia snarled, "We were to stand together, always and forever, and you left to marry that brutish Viking imbecile. You ended my family, and they were the result." She used her powers to blast the three Originals backward, and caused their veins to grow redder with the white oak, along with their skin.

"You call this my wrongdoing?" Esther shouted, "You made me bargain away my firstborn child! My daughter!"

"Not just this firstborn, but every firstborn!" Dahlia clarified for future references, as there were still two bearers that would be left after she was done with the people in front of her. "And even then, you found a way to deny me that which you had sworn to be mine! How do you think that felt?"

Klaus had tried to lunge towards the witch with the blade that was sure to work, but was easily thrown back alongside his siblings.

Dahlia smiled at Esther, "Now, Esther, say goodbye to the last of your children." She returned to her torturing and forced Freya into the choke-hold. Before she could finally kill the blonde witch, Esther called to her.

"Sister, wait! Wait!" she managed to get Dahlia to hold off the killing, but not to let go of Freya, " You've won, Dahlia. You have everything you ever wanted, including the firstborn of new generations! You have bested us all. At least let me try to make amends," she walked closer to her sister, coming face-to-face, "Let me share with you the glorious freedom that I have found... in death."

Without warning, she lunged for Dahlia and entangled her with the shackles around her neck, forcing Dahlia to release Freya as she fought. Once free, Freya broke the imprisoning circle around her and used magic to free the air of the white oak stake and cure her siblings. Although the three coughed up blood and dust for a minute or two, they felt their strength quickly returning to them.

Esther knew she wouldn't be able to hold Dahlia forever, and so she called out, "Elijah?" desperately, she glanced back at the others, nodding for them to do what they must for things to be over.

Elijah picked up the blade from the floor and tossed it to Klaus who wasted no time in speeding to the two women and stabbing Esther through the back, making it go through Dahlia's heart in the process. The term 'killing two birds with one stone' never had such a meaning until that moment.

~ 0 ~

"Aaaaaand…" Amarrah carefully poured the last of the corpse's ashes into a glass jar, "...here we go," she finished with one great, big smile and placed the lid over the jar just as Cami walked into the crypt with Hope in arms.

"I put Maleny in the car - but she's really out like a light," she briefly explained and eyed the ornamented jar.

"She'll be out for hours," Amarrah closed the spell book and dumped it into her bag. "A thousand years to break free from? I admire her strength."

Cami gave an agreeing smile. "So is that it, then?" she nodded to the jar.

"Yup," Amarrah picked up the jar. Maleny's freedom had been like an hourglass with its trickling sand falling down. The last bit of sand was the last bit of ash that proclaimed Maleny's freedom for the rest of her life. "Maleny has finally broken her curse. She's free."

"Finally," Cami chuckled out of pure happiness for her 'cousin'.

Amarrah grabbed her purse and turned to her. "I think we should get back to the compound. If we do need to run we're going to need things from there."

Cami agreed with a nod of her head. "You're right. We should go."

Arriving at the compound they were pretty disappointed to find it completely empty. Cami brought Maleny up to her bedroom while Amarrah went to put Hope down for a nap in the meantime they collected some of the important things they would need for the run. However, Cami had finished quick and found Amarrah still trying to get Hope to sleep.

"I think she needs Hayley," Amarrah sighed as Hope continued to fuss in her crib. "Don't you worry Hope, I'm going to get that curse reversed, you'll see."

"Can you actually reverse the Crescent curse?" Cami had to ask Amarrah. "The witch who originally cast it was a powerful one, and she's long gone."

Amarrah sighed. "It's not going to be easy, but I'm not gonna give up. I'll go back to France if I have to, but this spell will not take our friends away from us. And speaking of, I think if we do have to leave, then we should go to France. It's far, Dahlia has no idea who I am no where I come from so it'll be long before she finds us."

Cami nodded in agreement, but seemed discontent. "I can't believe I might actually have to run from this place…" she chuckled bitterly, "After everything, this is still my home. I was born here - I died here."

"I would've thought after everything you would be happy to get the hell out of the Quarter," Amarrah admitted, "Dying here because of an old vampire family," she began counting off with her fingers, "Fighting for your basic survival every day, getting your heart broken by the man you love-"

Cami's eyes widened and immediately cut Amarrah off, "I don't - I don't love anyone!"

Amarrah gave her a pointed a look, almost scolding her for wasting time in denying. "Cami, it's okay. He's not here, you can be honest."

"I don't," Cami insisted, huffing as she crossed her arms.

"I'm not gonna do this," Amarrah warned the blonde, "One does not simply fight a thousand old witch for a guy she just met," she laughed.

"I was doing it for Mal!"

"Yeah, and Elijah because you didn't want anything to happen to him. And you wouldn't be this hurt because of what he did to you, snapping your neck and all."

Cami rolled her eyes, heavily tired of having to repeat, "I'm not angry because he snapped my neck! No one gets it!"

"Point and case," Amarrah gestured and laughed again, much to Cami's annoyance.

~ 0 ~

When the Mikaelsons began to return to the compound, Cami and Amarrah were long finished with their "emergency packing" so they were partially irritated to know they would have to unpack.

"Your fault for not having faith us," Rebekah playfully told them both.

Meanwhile, Klaus was scoping the nearby areas for the missing blonde in the room. Seeing his frantic movements, Amarrah called to him. "She's unconscious, but in her room."

"Is she...?" he turned around.

"Free from a thousand-year curse? Oh yeah," Amarrah smirked. "That's one point for the French witch," she raised a finger. "The ashes of the corpse are in the jar—" she pointed towards said jar that sat on the coffee table, "—there. I don't know if Maleny wanted to do something special with them."

Klaus didn't bother remarking and instead hurried out of the room. To his luck, Maleny had began to stir awake on her bed. She had just taken a breath in to open her eyes when he came in.

"Mal," he went directly for her like she was still in danger.

Maleny was a bit disoriented from her long 'sleep' so it took her a moment to register where she was and who was currently holding her. "We...won?" she languidly blinked.

"Yes," Klaus couldn't help smile at her. He helped her sit up a bit but let her rest against his chest. "I heard you had a winning too..."

"Did I?" she raised her eyebrows as she tried remembering just what had happened earlier. Her head was a bit groggy from the massive pain but she was sure that somewhere along that pain she must have beat the curse. "Yeah...I think I did..."

"Yes you did," Klaus set a kiss on her hair and held her just a bit closer, "Amarrah put the ashes into a jar if, uh, wanted to place them somewhere special..."

Maleny thought about it for a moment but frowned when nowhere 'special' came to mind. "I don't...know. I'd like for it to be meaningful."

But while she pondered more, Klaus had already come up with an idea of his own. "Mystic Falls." Maleny looked up at him, confused etched across her face. "Mystic Falls is where we were born...where we practically died..."

"I...like it," Maleny gave a small nod, still half considering it in her mind. "Definitely meaningful..."

"And, we could take advantage to visit so that you could finally get the connection you wanted with your mother, remember?"

Of course Maleny remembered. It now meant even more because she was, once again, a witch. No more linked to anyone meant her powers were free, albeit limited, but they were hers. "Yes," she finally agreed completely. "Let's bury them there. When can we go?"

"Any day you want, just tell me."

"Okay," Maleny smiled to herself. "Now tell me what happened with Dahlia."

"Gone forever," Klaus answered, like a promise. "Along with Esther which just makes it even more better."

Maleny chuckled. "The more people who die, the better right?"

"If they're enemies then of course."

Maleny laughed again.

~ 0 ~

At Rousseau's, Cami had taken to cleaning out the place since she had let her job slowly go down the drain. She knew it would be only a matter of time before the place went under new management and the job she had would be terminated. While cleaning out a table, she was unexpectedly visited by her friend, Gia, whom she hadn't seen in quite a while.

"My God this place is awful," Gia crinkled her nose in distaste as she wiped a finger over a table and gathered dust, "Doesn't anyone clean it?"

Cami looked up from the table she was at and glared, "Ha, ha, the bartender's been a little bit busy."

"Yeah, fighting the old wicked witch of the west," Gia put her hands behind her back, "Who, I heard, killed Josephine?" Cami sighed and continued to clean the table, "I would've liked a piece of that."

"Trust me, you really wouldn't have," Cami shook her head and grabbed and headed back to the counter for a fresh new cloth.

"Marcel told me everything was fine now and that everything should go back to normal," Gia walked up to the counter and plopped down on a stool, "Which, kinda leaves me wondering what the hell you're gonna do now?"

"Hmm?" the blonde quizzically looked at the woman.

"C'mon, Cami," Gia sighed, "You and I both know that you plainly forgot about the whole psychology major. You went back to school for about two weeks before going M.I.A."

"Yeah, because Maleny was kidnapped, and," Cami awkwardly cleared her throat, "Esther had taken Elijah. I had to help find them."

"Okay, fair enough," Gia nodded, "But what about afterwards?"

"I was busy at the safe house with Elijah," Cami said.

"And after?"

"...busy again?"

Gia tilted her head, "You were busy, I get it. But you also have to admit that ever since you turned you haven't exactly been motivated to go back to school - at least that's what you've let me assume by everything you told me about yourself."

Cami threw her head back, groaning, "I know, I know. It's...complicated. The whole reason I went into the major was because of my brother. But now that I know what happened, and there's so much more to this world than the humans know...I can't go back to school and let everything just slide."

"Then what do you want to do?" Gia asked, "Because my place is always an offer for you if you want to leave the Quarter. Give yourself a break."

"No," Cami instantly declared. "I don't want to leave this place. This is my home and I don't intend on leaving it for anything."

"Okay," Gia chuckled while Cami sighed, "Then what do you want?"

"I want to make this a better place for everyone," Cami answered honestly, crossing her arms, "Before, there were these factions and because of who I am, I was supposed to take the leadership for the humans."

"But you're not human anymore…." Gia reminded gently, "Can't exactly do that anymore.."

"No," agreed Cami, "but these people need someone. Since the Correas are gone, there hasn't been much leadership…" the more Cami got to thinking, the more inclined she felt to stay in the Quarter.

"Oh my God," Gia said after a moment, realizing just what Cami was intending on doing.

~ 0 ~

"So you're telling me everyone in that town practically hates you?" Maleny asked after hearing the brief telling of Mystic Falls from Klaus. "Why am I not surprised?"

"It's not my fault they're all irritating, know-it-all, baby vampires," Klaus rolled his eyes, just the mere memory of some of the residents of Mystic Falls put him on edge.

Maleny chuckled. "So, by definition, if they hate you they'll probably hate me too?"

"I don't want to lie-"

"There's a sentence no one would ever think you'd say." Maleny tilted her head up to meet his unamused look. "Did I annoy you like the Bennett witch you talked about? Boy, you really hate witches. I wonder how you stand me then."

"Because you-" Klaus purposely brought her impossibly close to him, getting a small yelp from her part, "-are far more different than any of these people."

Maleny decided to play with him for a bit. "But I'm just a mortal witch now. Where does that leave me, then?"

"You're a special case, my love," he pressed a kiss to her cheek. "You're slightly less irritating."

"Oh," she looked to the side, feigning offence, "Well then I guess I'll just have to go find myself a less murderous vampire. In fact, I'll get a head start tomorrow when we go visit that town."

"Don't you dare," he warned her darkly, but it made no effect on her.

She liked it, actually, and continued to tease him about it, "Yeah, I'll ask Elijah who was the most irritating vampire for you and then seduce him."

"Mal…"

"I'll start off with a nice couple of drinks," she continued, "Do they like bourbon?"

"Maleny…"

"I don't have a signature move, but I heard from Amarrah the blonde thing is really big in this modern world," she gestured to her hair, "So maybe I'll just flip my hair and batter my eyes. That's what got you, wasn't it?

"Maleny!"

"In fact, I'll go ask Elijah right now!" she declared and made to leave but was yanked back immediately. She laughed and shifted to face him. Needless to say, Klaus wasn't happy one bit. "You didn't like my joke?"

"You mean where you joke about you leaving me for some other man? And an irrelevant man at that?" Klaus placed a hand on her cheek, his soft voice ending all of Maleny's thoughts on pushing more of his buttons.

"You know I'm only joking," she spoke quietly. "After a thousand years do you think there could ever be someone else?" she cupped his face, smiling widely at him. "Now I think maybe you're the one that still has things to learn about this world."

She laughed for a second before pressing her lips to his. She wound her arms around his neck while he pulled her practically on him. Remembering the many times he wanted to kiss her while she was stuck in Yamilet's body turned it all into more urgent kissing. Without a warning, Klaus turned Maleny over so that she laid on her bed. She barely had time to gasp when he connected his lips to hers again. They fiercely kissed, both with equal fervor for each other.

It had been quite some time since they both found their selves in the same predicament, and now that they were free...there was so much time to take advantage of.

~ 0 ~

Cami walked out of Rousseau's on her own, and locked up while vowing to be back tomorrow for her shift she would now take more serious. When she finished up, she began down the street, intending on heading for her place instead of Amarrah's. Everyone had a home, and while she would much rather be where her cousin was, she didn't feel like she belonged there anymore. And when she came across Elijah on the street, she still felt the same.

"Can I help you?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice serious and stern.

"I want to have a talk," Elijah began calmly, but already he was being met with difficulty.

"I don't have anything to talk to you about," Cami shook her head.

"Well, I do."

"Well, I don't care anymore."

"Cami," Elijah sped up to her, taking her by the arm, "I beseech you to listen, please. While we won much tonight, we also lost several things...and for me, I lost your friendship. I know what I did was wrong and it will take long before you can consider me even an acquaintance."

Cami sighed and pulled her arm from his grip, "It's difficult to forgive you when you don't even understand what the reason for my anger actually is. You think it's because you snapped my neck, everyone thinks so. Except Mal. And do you know why?"

"No…" Elijah quietly said, waiting for her to explain.

"Because she understands the pain of being cast out by the one you love," and as Cami continued to explain she overcame her fear of admitting what it was she felt. "All this time you have told me that I was part of the family. That my place was at the compound with you, with Maleny, with everyone there. But when worst came to show, you went back on your word. You showed me that I will never be one of you. The plan you made to dagger Klaus, you made with Rebekah, with Freya, hell, even Marcel and Hayley. You didn't even consider what my opinion would have been. I may not have a good concept of what love is, but I've had an example to go by."

"It's true I didn't consider your opinion on the matter, but it was a rash decision, one that needed to be made fast," Elijah tried to explain himself, "Niklaus was becoming far too paranoid and there had to be a stop. The decision was made amongst my family because they were there. And besides, you show more loyalty to Maleny, thus then to Klaus. You would have fought against me, like you did."

Cami's eyes teared up as she bit back a bitter laugh, "You chose your sisters' opinions over mine, you didn't even consider what mine would've been. Do you know," she bitterly laughed, "if there's one thing I've come to admire from Klaus since I've known him, it's his massive loyalty to Maleny. Because no matter what happened, he was there with her. He told her everything. And they fought against his own family, together. Their relationship may be highly unorthodox, but it's real, and honest. The girl in the forest," she recited Maleny's famous title, "The setting may have changed, the people may have changed, but they haven't. For Klaus, Maleny is the simple girl in the forest whom he fought for. And for Mal, he's her protector. I want that, Elijah," she sniffled, "I want someone who would fight for me, who would fight with me, against anyone. Until you can give me that, I don't think we should see each other anymore. If you need anything for Hayley's cause, or for Mal or Hope, I'll be there. But otherwise, I'm just another local in the Quarter. Goodbye."

Elijah swallowed roughly as the blonde woman turned to leave. His eyes had matched hers in tears, but after hearing what she had to say he wouldn't go after her anymore. She was right, he couldn't yet offer her what she wanted. He was too in depth with his promise to keep his family together. She deserved someone else who would stand by her against anyone, someone who would value her like she deserved. But it still broke his heart that it could not be him.

He thought back to Klaus, and his words...he had been, surprisingly, right.

~ 0 ~

Klaus shifted over the bed on his side to watch Maleny better in her deep sleep. He reached for the her next to him, gingerly stroking her hair, and smiled to himself. No more would she be leaving him. For once, he would have a good ending in one of the many tragic stories of the past. It became even better when he remembered their son was going to come home soon, and they would be able to make up for all they had missed in Nicolas' life. But for now, he would focus on what he already had with him.

The Girl in the Forest would be there with him forever.

Author's Note:

To be continued in...Under the Same Stars.

Thank you all for reading and I look forwards to hearing your thoughts about the next story! Go read it now!

#ocappreciation #the originals #klaus mikaelson #fd: the originals #klaus mikaelson fics #the originals fics #klaus mikaelson imagines #the originals imagines #oc: Maleny Rowan #fic: the girl in the forest

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abizarreyodelingincident · 4 years

Text

Linked Universe: Regrets

“Although I accepted life as the hero, I could not convey the lessons of that life to those who came after... At last, I have eased my regrets.”

Twilight had never forgotten those words. He had carried them with pride. Used them when his hands faltered. Remembered the strength that had been taught to him. Swords without courage meant nothing. With the lessons of the Hero's Shade, Twilight struck down Hyrule's greatest enemy for good.

(He thought. But there would be another after him, long after, but one nonetheless, and he would suffer greatly from the shadow of Hyrule's first enemy.)

Nowadays, it's a white lie that haunts his nights.

“Link... I... See you later.”

He's learned when things aren't meant to be. And he loves his fellow heroes. Wouldn't trade them for peaceful days wandering his Hyrule. He loves them. Like brothers. Like another father. But he knows it can't last. Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. And theirs... through time and space... there will be no reunion after they've completed this quest.

He should shield his heart better, but they slip past too easily for that. One day, they'll go their separate way. He can't change that. Still, any time he looks at the old man, his heart squeeze and he just wants to help. To save him. He can't.

Is it like that for anyone else? Does Hyrule hide something like this from Legend behind all his sweet smiles and his eagerness to learn? Does he also think of a nameless grave by a tree? Maybe a grand mausoleum, because it's Legend, and he's earned at least this much, to hear him speak of his many trials?

He smirks to himself at the idea, but it slips soon enough.

Four? No one's quite sure where he fits in the timeline, but the best guess is 'early'. Wind? No, he's said the legends exist, but the hero never showed. Warriors thinks it's the timelines diverging when Time returned to his youth to prevent Ganon's rise. He's another odd one out. Knowing a bit of everything and everyone's legacy. Does Warriors know how it'll end for me?Wild certainly doesn't.

The truth is Twilight knows that Time will never be fully content despite Malon, despite a future as a father, and he hates the fact that he cannot save his mentor. Cannot prevent that regret from taking root in him. He's only ever known that he hated leaving his Hyrule defenseless, with no one to learn from the hardships he was shoved into as a child.

Twilight hates it so much. Sometimes, Zant's pendant pulsed with the dark emotions that want to choke him up. He almost wonders if there isn't something right in the ranting of the old usurpers. The Goddesses were so many things, but kind?

It's hard to remember their blessings when the people you love most see their fate as cursed. When Hyrule is doomed without that pain.

“Green rupee for your thoughts?” Warriors ask, watching the sun set over the horizon.

“I know I'm country folk, but we ain't that cheap, Captain,” Twilight drawls.

Warriors shrugs, then pulls his sword out to run a whetstone over its edge. “Well, I'm broke. My queen and I hadn't thought it'd stretch out over this long.”

The thought sobers Twilight, who is decidedly not looking dusk painting the sky like a bonfire. “Miss her?” he says, quieter than usual.

Warriors' glance is a bit sharper than warranted, but he makes no comment about it. “Certainly,” he replies easily. “She was one of the few... mhmm, wait, did I never tell you about my situation back in my era?”

He sees the non-sequitur and accepts it with a sigh of relief. Sitting down by the same tree, he settles just close enough for them to touch shoulders. “No, but I sense this is a long story.”

“It's the perfect length, thank you,” Warriors haughtily counters. “So, it all begins roughly ten years ago-”

Twilight snorts, and pushes his brother roughly. Warriors is agile enough he slips back into place without dropping the sword or the stone, radiating smug triumph.

In the end, he joins Warriors on first watch just to distract himself from his thoughts.

***

Lon Lon Ranch is one of his favorite place to visit. Stepping inside feels like being served a slice of Ordon on a platter. It's a piece of home, without the awkwardness that comes from the odd looks here and there. Unspoken questions about every little way he's changed.

Twilight shakes his head. What's he doing? Somewhat forcefully, he pulls back the sleeves of his tunic and spits in his hands. He's got some work to do, and it's not Legend (who is egging Warriors more than he's shoveling) or Wind (who is having the time of his life learning how to ride with Time's Epona) that'll finish the chores for him.

“Here, sweetheart.” Malon holds out a waterskin to him and a towel. “Don't forget to rest and drink every once in a while. With this sun, it's not healthy to neglect it.”

He accepts gratefully, swallowing a mouthful of cool water first. “I will, Ma'am.”

“Oh, hush with that. It's Malon for family,” she corrects him easily, and he ducks his head, pleased. “And I'll be watching you, sweetheart. The Goddesses know my Link's not one to recognize his limits.”

Time straightens and leans against the handle of his spade. “Now, now, honey, you know I'm a reasonable man.”

“Did I tell you about the time my clever husband decided to renovate the ba-!”

Malon lets out a fake shriek when Time grabs her with his dirt-covered hands. Pretends to fight back. She's not fooling him or her husband. They've both witnessed her handling the cattle. It's not from Time's side of the family that Twilight inherited the strength.

(They're the type of couple that teases each other constantly. He wonders what it would have been like if Midna...)

There's something a little different about Malon today. Something under her skin. Like she was holding on to a secret with both hands and it's threatening to explode the whole time. He wouldn't call her nervous. Excited, though? Yes.

He finds out at dinner.

They've just finished another two course meal courtesy of Malon and Wild when she pulls her husband aside during dessert. It gets a glance or two, but the conversation keeps going on the topic of stupidest things they've ever done. Since it's Wild's turn though, Twilight can still focus on the married couple by the sink.

(It's a sad day when he can name more for Wild than Wild remembers. They've got diverging definitions of what constitutes a 'stupid' thing. He will forever argue against the monster masks, especially the lynel one.)

“I was waiting for a chance to tell you in person. I saw a wisewoman last week.”

“What for...?” Time asks, and he sounds a little anxious for once, hands hovering closer to his wife.

Coy, Malon bites her lips and glances at Twilight. Time has to turn to see where, exactly, she's looking, and his breath hitches when he realizes. His mouth twitch as he grabs both her hands, focused on her with such intensity she giggles.

“You mean...?”

She breaks into a grin, nods and whispers-yells: “Yes! We're going to be parents, Link.”

The kiss he lands on her lips is indecent enough to attract whistles from some of the others, who seem to be clueing in to the excitement in the room. When those two come apart, a pleasant blush colors their cheeks, and he tells her, over and over that he loves her. When he's had his fill, he whirls around to face them and their cheering.

“Boys!” Time calls out, exuberant, absolutely unguarded. “Boys! I'm going to be a father!”

The roof, improbably, resists the eruption of screams. Time's pure joy is contagious and it's the best news they've got since starting this quest. Congratulations rain on the happy couple.

“Someone's going to have competition, huh?” Legend nudges Twilight's ribs, wagging eyebrows.

Normally, Twilight would be flattered that his bond with Time is that obvious. Normally, he'd grab Legend and give him a noogie for his insolence. Make him cry 'uncle'. The classic big brother behavior he's used to. But he barely hears the words as it is, his mind bogged down by a sudden realization.

He stalls.

He's a second delayed in joining in the congratulations, behind Sky and Hyrule who are a little less physical in their affections. They've formed a circle around their leader and his wife, offering their best wishes, joking, patting Time on the back, kissing Malon's cheeks.

And then it's his turn.

Twilight remembers to breath. Offers his hand first.

“Oh, come here, you!” she swats away his hand and forces him into a hug that's warm, soft.

“You'll make a wonderful mother, Malon.”

Her expression shifts slightly, more of a knowing smirk, and he can see her laughter in her eyes. 'Oh, now you tell me.'

It's impossible for him not to smile back.

And below that elation, the flare of hope in his guts, is a heart stopping dread.

***

The next few battles are some of the worst Twilight had to struggle through. The enemies' number swell. Their ambushes turn elaborate with unheard of combinations of monsters that never coexisted naturally. The puppeteer behind them has tightened the strings, and Twilight has trouble keeping his head above water when every second he looks away, he fears his mentor (father) will die.

It's sheer experience and a heaping dose of help from his companions that ensure he's not dead. And even then...

“There, good as new,” Hyrule proclaims, slapping Twilight's bicep for good measure. “Now how about you don't pull a Wild and drop your weapon next time? We're counting on you to teach him caution, not the opposite.”

“Heard you, 'Rule!” Wild protests from where he's helping Four hobble back to them.

“Great, because we all saw that thing with the peahat.”

“It was the only way!”

And here goes the bickering, Twilight huffs. Wild and Hyrule get along like a house on fire, which means that it's warm and toasty for a while until everything collapse into ashes for a bit. Then they rebuild it better and stronger than before with perfect coordination. It's impressive, honestly, how they both push in the same direction without a second thought.

At least this doesn't look like he'll need to turn into a wolf to fetch them in a forest on the other side of a mountain like last time (he's still bitter about it, a mountain?).

“Pup,” Time's voice jolts him back into awareness. His mentor's standing right behind him. “Come with me for a minute?”

For a second, he hesitates. He likes to imagine a thousand explanations for it, but he already knows the one. Sky shot him the odd look during the fight. Saw him sloppier than usual. And Time keeps an even closer look on all of them.

The clearing is just far enough to be away from prying eyes, though not far enough they can't hear the others if they pay attention. Both sides could hear and rush at the first sign of trouble. It's a good place for a talk.

“Twilight,” Time begins, voice brimming with concern, “what's wrong?”

“It's...”

Silence lingers between them, with all the things Twilight can't say.

“Does it have anything to do about Malon's pregnancy?” Time asks, and Twilight cringes. “Ah. I figured as much. Are you bothered?”

Twilight fights the flashback to one of those evenings Rusl took him aside for a fatherly talk. He feels about as small as he did back then too. “No, of course not! It's... before, when I met Malon and saw you two didn't have kids, I realized you were safe. Every one of us is risking his life on this quest, but I could hold onto the idea that you'd live through, that it was impossible that you didn't because I'm here.”

“Were you not worried for my safety before this, Pup?” Time teases, a full on smirk on his face.

Twilight's face burns. “I, no, that's not it at all! It's just... Goddesses, I'm being silly.”

The hand that rests on his shoulder feels solid. Grounding. Like Time means to give him back some of that certainty through sheer force of will.

Twilight's relieved that it works on him.

“Pup, I promise I have no intention of dying and leaving Malon to raise our little hellion all on her own. I wouldn't do that to her.”

“Oh, right, the poor gal,” Twilight hears himself reply.

Time blinks. Then hooks his arm around Twilight's neck, an unholy glint in his good eye. “A youngster like you's too ignorant to mock your elders like this. But I suppose I should teach you.”

***

Time's few additions to the prank war ongoing inside their camps gives Twilight chills.

But he joins in the laughs with the rest of them.

And he almost forgets.

***

They have a lead on the object of their quest.

A location they must investigate. No guarantee, but reports seem promising.

It's hard not to get swept right in by his brothers' enthusiasms. He's found more family through this quest than he had ever hoped to get, but it's also been a mess of ambushes, lost directions and insufferable assholes (some of which, he loves because they're his pack, his siblings, his dad).

“I'll cut the fucker's balls right off!” Wind cheers, which gets nods from Legend and Wild, and winces from Sky and Warriors.

Twilight is more in the 'rip their throat out' camp, but he's also got a unique perspective on how to get personal with killing off your enemies.

(If their quest is to end, he will stand between any number of enemies so that his family returns home safe.)

***

The Temple of Souls.

A place of power, of memories. Deeds commemorated here. Statues of the various chosen heroes during their adventures. Honored and immortalized in stone.

Twilight hesitates before the one statue of a beast, and the imp riding its back. It's a testament to how much the other heroes helped him heal that he mostly feels nostalgia looking at his past. The pain, muted by Wild's enthusiasm or Four's more solemn amusement.

They search through the history of the Hero's Spirit together, with Warriors leading them. Their captain's light-hearted jester attitude's been replaced by his battlefield look. A strategist and a soldier, at the head of a battalion of legends. And yet, there's a tightness to his expression. Twilight gets why and he makes sure to stay close. The sorceress had been reformed, so this world's Zelda said. But the fear's longer lasting.

Time lingers near the statue of the Hero of Time. So do the others, with Warriors deciding to keep watch, since they clearly couldn't deal with the idea of Time having once been a child.

A little kid. Probably not even as tall as Colin or Talo. Twilight tries to imagine letting these two go on a quest to save Hyrule and his mind buckles in protest at the knowledge of what kind of monstrosities can crawl up from the darkest corners of Hyrule. Imagines them in the Arbiter's Ground, and he feels acute pain in his left hand, where he is gripping his sword's hilt so hard his knuckles turn white.

Hylia stole Time's childhood, but Twilight won't let her take his future.

***

They found the enemy.

It found them in return. Hyrule is the first to realize, and it's their wanderer's words that ring in their heads during the worst battle of their lives.

'Impaled by a shadow in my likeness. Everything I gave, he returned right back.'

Dark Link. The other side of the coin. The shadow of the Hero's Spirit, grown with each incarnation.

It is not an opponent for any one hero to take on anymore. Dark Link is the sum of every dark turns their minds have ever taken, every moment of fear, despair, anger. Every dirty trick. Every method of handling a sword. It reflects all nine of them, in turn and at once.

And it means that each one of them know a piece of Dark Link as intimately as the back of their hands.

The battle does not end quickly.

While most encounters with monsters last minutes at most and encounters with bosses sometimes stretch twice or thrice that, this battle goes on for what feels like lifetimes. There's not a thing Twilight knows that he doesn't see at some point in Dark Link's arsenal. He's forced to see his journey thrown back at him, and he only went on a single one.

(He loses both his shield and his sword midway through. Has to join in the sniping until that's destroyed. Breaks two more of Wild's weapons. Fought with fangs and claws till he desperately needed healing.)

They came prepared. Armed with every weapon they have. Overstocked with potions and blessings and fairies.

They're still all exhausted, wounded and little more than dead on their feet when Wild lands the apparent fatal blow with a shock arrow. Electricity dances on the shade, its face a mask of silent agony, and it stumbles, shape unsteady, and sinks back into nothing.

“Is it... is it over?” Wind asks, his shirt shredded and an ugly burn on his collarbone.

“Steady!” Warriors calls out. “It might be trying to trick us.”

They watch every corner of the room with the hard earned hatred of a difficult opponent. They're all on their last leg and they can't keep going much longer. The air's so thick with tension Twilight tastes it. His instinct's screaming at him. He knows, in his heart, that this is it.

(It might be why he looked.)

(None of the others have spent as much time as him watching shadows, longing for the way they might waver and twist and become a beloved companion.)

Time's shadow shouldn't be this inky black.

Time's grip on his sword is also looser than his shadow's.

Twilight breaks into a sprint.

For a long time, Twilight had no choice. No matter what, his old mentor couldn't die before he had children.

Somehow, he'd been naïve enough to find comfort in that. Since then, he's dreamed of Time holding his baby, happier than he had ever dared express before. The memories of years that aged his heart faster than his body no longer a burden in his quiet little corner of the world.

There still isn't a choice. Time must go back to his wife and child. Twilight won't accept any other outcome. He'll turn silly images conjured from his resting mind into rock solid visions of the future.

Time's shadow stands up.

Hyrule shouts a warning.

And the blade swings.

“TWILIGHT!”

The taste of copper washes over his tongue. Drips from the corner of his mouth.

He looks down. A blade's shadow is impaling him straight through the chest. And Dark Link's face splits into a savage grin. Triumphant.

Heat bleeds out of his wound too fast. Somehow, he's certain this isn't poison, or at least, the traditional kind. It's climbing up his limbs, through his torso, and squeezes as if it were the coils of a snake. There's something wild, uncontrolled to it. Malicious. Its embrace tightens. Tries to leave him helpless, paralyzed.

It's fine. More so than any other hero, he's used to darkness. Made it a tool for himself in the ways the others haven't dared. And he's suddenly so thankful for it. That it's him. His country doesn't need him anymore, not like Sky who needs to build it from the ground, not like Legend who can never step outside his doors without getting roped into saving another country, not like Hyrule who guards the secret of his royal family, not like Warriors who is working so damn hard to earn back trust and honor amongst his own, not like Wild who wants to serve his Zelda and pay back his past mistake.

He doesn't even have grand projects for the future, like discovering a new land with pirates, find a lost brother, or simply build a home with his wife.

He's just... a farmer who picked up a sword and had help at the right time. Even if he dies, he knows his friends in the resistance could still protect Hyrule in his stead. The kids can look after themselves and each other now. Queen Zelda has always been stronger than him. And Illia... he'll finally let Epona go back to her. He can only hope that will be enough.

Because here and now, he is needed one last time.

Dark Link snarls and grins and begins to pull back his sword.

Twilight's hand catches his wrist. Grips.

Dark Link flinches. Red eyes flickers between his wrist and Twilight's serene smile. The other hand lashes like a whip, dagger's shade aimed right at his face, but that one instead pierces through Twilight's palm. Closing fingers lock Dark Link's arm into place. Neither can escape the other now. For the first time, hesitation flashes on the doppelganger's face. Tilts into fear as it starts to struggle. Each movement is rough, violent and murder on Twilight's battered body. The thing's strength should scare him.

Except Twilight learned to wrestle gorons for fun. He wins every time.

The others rally. He catches them rushing forward in the corner of his eyes.

It tries to slip inside his shadows, but Twilight remembers that trick too. He pulls back, welcomes the darkness and Dark Link's feet blur, fuse to the ground, to Twilight's own shadow. It's oddly fitting.

With a deadly chime, the biggoron sword sails over his shoulder and catches Dark Link's arm. It rams itself against Twilight, tries to stagger him, but his mentor's at his back now, and the battleworn heroes, his wronged family, repay their suffering with interest.

One skewering echoed eight times over. Every aspect of the Hero's Spirit stabbing at their inner darkness, fighting the demon that claimed their faults. It cannot escape this time. Its face shifts with every blow. From young to old to young again, a twin lost at birth. Bitter. Resentful. It's weak and faltering when at last, it becomes Twilight's.

With one last battle cry, Sky executes a point perfect great spin that slices straight through Dark Link's neck. Its head goes flying and dissolves before it hits the ground. The body remains longer. Some of it clings to Twilight, sinks into him. He might have worried about this eventually, but the black sword fades and his tunic become slick with blood.

Yeah... there's no coming back from that one.

Dark Mirrors had always been his greatest weakness. What set him on his journey, what broke him in the end, twice. He thinks... he thinks he managed to pick up the pieces well enough.

“Sorry, guys...” His attempt at a smile turn into a grimace of pain. “I don't think I can walk this off...”

“Hyrule! Heal him!”

Hyrule's corpse-like pallor is all the answer they need. The fight exhausted the last of his magic. He's still stumbling forward like he will put his own life into the spell if he needs it. Sky's the one to pull him back, looking sick.

Legend's bag is upturned over the floor, and three of them kneel amongst the items. Twilight notes with faint amusement that this time, their prickly veteran does not yell at them to be careful with his stuff. Rare items gathered through harrowing adventures just go flying on the sides, discarded as useless. He hopes none of them break. He'd hate that to be one of the last things Legend remember about him.

“Don't,” Twilight says, but it's too weak to get through his family's panic. “It's okay...”

Four, the one trying to help him stand, snaps at him. “Don't say that!”

“I-” His knees give out from under him. Four goes down with him.

“Twilight!”

The others snap their heads in their direction.

It takes one look at Time's face to realize what a fool he'd been. It's almost enough to make him regret it. But no, given another chance, he'd make the same decision over and over again.

“Please...” he tries to say, but it's lost in a gargle of copper and red.

The screaming worsens.

Will Time go to his grave with this on his mind? He can't. Twilight wants to beg him not to. Wants to explain. Free himself of the fear he's clung to for the months they traveled together. But his lungs refuse to cooperate, filling with blood. Every attempt to speak just pains him more and produces mere wheezes.

Not on my behalf, he thinks, a last jolt of strength going through him from frustration and fear and sorrow. He hates the knowledge he'll put his mentor to rest with false hope. That he'll move on, thinking that his training might save him from this fate.

(From Ganondorf, yes, always. Hyrule saved because of the old man. Always cursed not to be known for his heroism, wasn't he?)

High whistling notes edge the confines of his consciousness. Fast notes, frantic, played with the fervor of a dying man, and he almost chuckles thinking he has a much better understanding of this as darkness creeps on the corner of his eyes and heat leeches out of his wound.

He can't see Time anymore. Just vague outlines of all his brothers, the color of their cloaks and hair the best way he can distinguish them by now. Hands push down on his shoulders, lift him gently. Scarred hands. Strands of blonde hair tickle his face.

Wild.

“'M sorry...” he breathes out. Tears prick at his eyes, knowing how much this'll hurt his cub. His little brother who already bears the weight of so many deaths. “Not... f-f-au-lt. Swear,” he tries to sound stern, he really does.

He can't go to his grave otherwise. He'll stay alive just so Wild and Time and the others don't pick up the guilt.

Eh...

She did always call him an optimist.

He's probably in some dying dream, he sees hands the shades of her skin join Wild's, brush his hair away from his eyes. Liquid flames frame a face like hers. The mocking lilt of her voice is broken by a sob though. He's never heard that before.

He wishes he could stop the pain for all of them, but he's tired.

Maybe... maybe Hylia granted him that one last favor. Maybe it's just him and his stupid heart that won't heal right, that makes him see what's not there...

He doesn't have the strength to do more than believe anyway.

“Midna...”

Tender warmth brush over his lips, one last little balm before he goes. It's gentle. So unlike her, so like her too. Eh. He always imagined they'd be cold.

***

Wild sees Twilight's eyes close, and his world snaps in half.

His brother slips from his arms, but thankfully, the woman's grip on him is steady. Familiar. It makes Twilight look at peace, as if he was sleeping in his lover's lap. It's something he always wished for his big brother, from the moment he heard that joke about a princess and a mirror. To have someone who loved him worth the pain he'd gone through.

And he only gets it in death.

It can't end this way. It can't! Mipha! he grapples with the thought and it wins. “MIPHA! PLEASE!”

She'd healed him from the brink so many times. Twilight's even more of a hero than him, so it would only be fair, right? Just this once. Just this once. He can't lose someone else because of his incompetence!

But Mipha has long gone to rest, and no one disturbs their group of heroes from their loss.

Wild feels himself scrap at his old hood, pushes it down over his head. As if that would stop reality from sinking in. He can't look at Twilight's body. He can't. He just wants to wake up in the shrine, like nothing ever happened. Like he hasn't watched-

“It was you!” Warriors snarls at the woman, his tone as biting as a sword's kiss. “All this time! It was you that broke his heart! He said he lost you, but you just left, didn't you?! You could have gone back to him!”

The strange woman – Midna – finally turns away from Twil- from... she turns to Warriors. Tears trail down her cheeks despite the faintest hint of a smile. “I always hoped he would forget me, the sweet fool.”

It's spoken with the sort of affection in one of Twilight's hair ruffling, but the insult feels searing. Wind's on her the next second.

“Don't you dare call him that!” he howls in her face, the shout less intimidated by the snot and tears he can't hold in. “Don't you- Twilight's not- not...”

Somehow, Sky can move. He lifts Wind away from Midna. It breaks the teen's rage, and he curls into Sky's shoulders as if their chosen isn't crying himself.

“He was,” she says, and it strikes Wild that she is just like Twilight had said. Fierce. Powerful. And a bit cruel. Like a jewel barbed in thorns – even if she'd laugh at the description. “It could have been different, if he hadn't been who he was. But he would always make this choice. You know this.”

Memories come to Wild, unbidden, of days in his Hyrule, where the only one he could count on was himself and a wolf. Hordes chasing a beast whilst he picked them off one by one. Enormous monsters fell side by side with his friend. Cold nights buried in fur. Panicked barks getting closer to him as he struggled to stand in the middle of a battlefield.

Goddesses...

The music – when, who, had started, – breaks into a horrible screech that should never come out of an instrument. It's half scream. Half something shattering.

“Why isn't it working?!” Time croaks, hands trembling around his broken ocarina.

“That power was only ever borrowed,” Midna says as if every syllable costs her. “The price would be too high.”

Legend is the next one to move from sorrow to rage. “No! We'll do it again!” He kneels by his bags and he's tossing aside items by the dozens. “We didn't come all this way for this!”

“You did,” Midna's voice falters. “And so did I. It was always meant to end like this.”

An horrible sinking feeling seizes Wild's heart. “You... knew?”

They freeze.

Midna looks down at Twilight's face and brushes a strand of hair away from his markings. “At the very end of our adventures, I was spared by the Goddess. Salvaged, maybe, from the ruins of forbidden power and the home of my dearest friend. Hylia spoke to me then. Told me.”

Wild sees her chest shudder before her voice breaks.

“Told me that Link and I would only be reunited on the day of his death. That I'd be the one to take his last breath. It was the only way Hyrule could be safe.”

“Fuck Hyrule!” Legend shouts, hoarse. “What is the point-? Every time! F-fuck this kingdom and fuck Hylia! What about us?! Why does she hate us so much?!”

Legend's arms fall to the sides, his grief spent. He stares at his feet and doesn't react when his successor hugs him tight. Warriors gets his other side.

Wild feels numb. He had done his best the first time around, to believe that Hylia wanted the best even when she let his Zelda suffer through her silence. He thought, maybe, her late answer had a purpose. But he can't figure it out. A kingdom she claimed to protect, destroyed before she helped.

His chest hurts. He can't breath right.

Ahead, the air tears with a jarring noise and a burst of black particles. He can't help the flare of hope they bring, the very same magic that Twilight used to become a wolf. But his brother's not moving. Midna's arm is raised toward the black portal.

“No, no!” Time finally breaks out of his paralysis, reaching out for Twilight's body. “You can't take him!”

“I'm sorry,” she whispers. “I don't have much time left. I must bring him back to his village. I owe him that much.”

None of them stop her from walking back into the shadows, their lost brother in her arms.

***

The greatest threat to their world has finally been defeated. Months of hardship, over. The purpose for which Hylia assembled them, fulfilled. It should have been heralded by a feast, a last evening together before the final goodbyes. The weight of their mission should have been lifted, but now it won't leave them.

They try.

They find the seediest tavern, in the darkest corner of town. They are not looking for a celebration. They want to drown the sorrow in something less painful than grief, be it a bar fight, a hangover or a round of the bard's singing.

All eight of them around a table, nine drinks before them. A toast.

Unshed tears.

Stories. All those times Twilight played big brother to them. Tried to be the reasonable one even when he was smirking under his wolf pelt. Those games of cards he won the pants off Warriors, literally. Those times he teased Legend with his incomprehensible slangs (they'd never know what that one about goat horns mean, would they?). Those nights they woke bundled up under a wolf. Those days he would spend at their bedside, caring for injuries he sniffed out better than most.

They call up more drinks, left the ninth alone, and pour their soul into making themselves almost believe he was still alive. That Midna had taken his sleeping body back where he'd finally get to be in love with her.

For the time of a few laughs, it works. Then they look at the empty seat.

“He died.” Time drops his head into his hands, smaller than they'd ever seen him before. “Twilight died, and I wasn't even holding him! I was playing that goddess-curse ocarina! He told me! He told me he would die for me and I didn't listen!”

“He would have died for any of us,” Warriors says, weakly. “Just like we would have died for him.”

At the end of the night, when they stumble out, unsteady, Wild picks up the ninth drink and empties it outside.

***

The arrow's tip strikes one eye and detonates.

Cracks in the stone spread a little further. But the statue is still standing. It waited for him when he came back. Here. The only thing still standing in the ruins of the temple. Where his first journey began.

He can't hear her voice as he did before. He has no crest to offer, no proof of his valor to receive a blessing. Even now, the thought makes him want to hurl. To carve out the gifts he'd received from the monster that parades as a goddess right out of his chest.

“Why?!” Wild screams at the unfeeling block of stone.

The damage reaches the statue's middle, and a chunk tears off. A piece of her cloak. Dust follows. He shoots another bomb arrow. Almost grins to see a piece of her hair fly off.

“Why? Why WHYWHYWHY?!”

Fingers close on air. He's emptied his quiver.

Glowing bomb runes materialize in his hands, and he can barely wait out the cooldown time between each new explosion.

He switches to a club.

“Why him?!” He wails at the stone. “Why was it him?! Why not me?!”

The shout drains the last of his strength. With a sob, he falls to his knees.

“You did this to him! You killed my brother!” he spits every inch of venom that's making his chest heave, that burns his eyes and that opened this gaping hole inside him. “Why did you do that?! You're supposed to be good! Everyone told me you protect Hyrule! But you don't! You just send the same mortal do your job over and over again! And now he's... he's DEAD! What's the point of you?!”

“Link!”

Zelda's voice.

It rubs his skin raw that she sounds so happy. She should be disgusted to see such a worthless hero! She should have left him to die in that field!

She stops by the broken entrance to the Temple of Time, her gaze flickering to the statue, to his sorry state. The ecstatic looks vanishes and a far more fitting sadness replaces it.

“Link...?”

For a frightening moment, he thinks he's going to hate her. Hate Zelda for what she represents. He thinks he won't be able to look at her without knowing what she is. That there'll always be a voice in the back of his mind telling him she shares her soul with the unfeeling thing that lead his brother to his death.

“What happened?” she asks, gentle.

“T-Twilight... he's... ”

The club hits the ground.

Zelda closes her arms around him, and he clings to her like she's going to disappear.

***

“It's a boy!”

The wisewoman presents the small squirming body to Time.

Wisps of strawberry blonde hair crown his son's mostly naked head. Not dark enough to be...

He banishes the thought from his head. It's unfair. It's cruel. He can't compare them. His son. His son, he repeats to himself when the little bundle shifts against the inside of his elbow. Malon was right. That button nose is far cuter than his.

He's perfect.

His heart is threatening to jump right out of his chest. He doesn't think he can express all the love he has for this little hylian boy properly. He doesn't think it's possible to love anyone that much. For years, he'd feared a pauper's grave, a hole on the side of the road. A monster getting lucky at last and no one to mourn him. And now he was holding his firstborn child.

Malon had pushed past that fear and the walls he'd built around his heart. Twilight had shown him without a doubt he could have a family.

Twilight had...

It could have been different. But he would always make this choice.

Always choose to save Time at the last possible moment. For Malon. For their son.

Time dabs the corner of his eyes, and loses himself in the feeling of his son's skin against his own. He's so lucky to be able to hold him. To kiss the top of his head. To look at the beauty of his wife and child together. He doesn't know if he deserves it. Doesn't feel like he does anymore. But he can't throw it away. The price was so high. He wants every moment spent well. A full life to shower his child with love, for all the children he might have on the ranch.

I promised you.

Twilight is his successor, his son. A strong, kind young man that died too soon for Time's mistake. If he'd been stronger, if any of them had been a little stronger, perhaps...

He's never resented the lack of recognition over his deeds so ardently before. Never felt the bitterness take root this deep. Everything he was, everything he did, forgotten, lost. Accounts of his deeds, his prowesses, gone. Sword techniques. Tricks. Items. Twilight had been a farmer before Hylia had pushed his fate onto him. How could his own descendant have nothing of Time's knowledge and treasures passed down to him? If he had...

On the Triforce, he swears. He will pass on everything he knows to his children and his grandchildren after them, make them promise to perpetuate that tradition, so that Twilight might live longer. He couldn't fail him again.

He swears.

He will do anything to help Twilight survive their last quest.

In this world or the next.

#Linked Universe #Linkeduniverse #LU Twilight #LU Time

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brindlestorm · 4 years

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I Stand Alone

So while there isn’t much about this song to change into a parody, it did inspire me to come up with an AU for it!

Heads up, this gets pretty long

Basically, when Squirrelflight left with Leafpool when it was time for Leaf’s kits to be born, the ran into the Sister’s because they were on their birthing grounds.

Moonlight, for whatever reason, sees the little gray tabby and asks if they would leave him behind with them, despite him being a tom. She recognized his power and assumed he was meant to stay with them.

At first, Leafpool is against it because why would she leave any of her kits with these strangers, even if they helped her through the birthing process. But when they realize he’s blind, they agree because they can’t see him having a life in any of the clans.

Note: I hate the able-ism in warriors so much, and as much as I love the Jay-becomes-a-warrior AU’s and Bright/Jay interactions, this is the excuse I’m going with because in canon, it was discussed that Jay may as well be shoved into the elders den, plus the stupid medicine cat destiny.

So Leafpool goes ahead and gives him a full name before they leave with Holly and Lion because even if he would never be with the clans, he deserved a proper name to be welcomed to starclan with when he dies. I propose the name Jayflight, Jay after a bird because Crowfeather, and -flight after Squirrelflight, and also because his destiny would take him far away from the clans.

So Jayflight grows up with the Sisters, never feeling ostracized due to his blindness because none of them care. Maybe he takes a mate when he’s old enough like the other toms do, and eventually, he’s sent away just like the other toms, maybe he even grows up with Tree.

When Jayflight leaves, he goes to explore the lands he was told not to go near, because what else would a newly independent cat do? His first stop is the mountains, he felt a calling there.

He joins them briefly when he tells them he wants to learn all there is to learn about the world. They give him a new name (because he never told them his), and among the tribe, he becomes Jay that Flies High In the Sky. He’s given the honor of learning from the Stoneteller (When the Tribe of Endless Hunting tells Stoneteller that he must). They also tell him stories about the mass exodus of another group of cats who traveled through the mountains some time ago.

Jay leaves when the Tribe of Endless Hunting tries to convince him of his destiny. He tells them this.

“I am the Jay that Flies High In the Sky, and I go where the wind guides me, not where the stars tell me.”

And with that, he leaves with no set direction in mind, though he ends up heading towards the old forest.

He does run into a badger who spoke in riddles, she also tried to convince him of some destiny foretold long ago, but he ignores her continues on his journey, noting that she called him Jay.

A note about Jayflight’s personality. In the clans, Jayfeather always felt he had to fight against his clanmates because of his blindness, even when they already had faith in him (mostly). His entire life felt like a battle. But by being raised by the Sister’s as a free spirit, he’s a lot more easy-going, still headstrong, and snarky when cats start doubting him when they find out he’s blind (It took four moons for the Tribe to notice).

In this AU, it took Greystripe and Millie a bit longer to find the lake, and Jayflight runs into them at Barley’s barn.

For about a week, he goes nameless until Greystripe shows up with Millie. When Greystripe asks for his name, Jay asks Greystripe how he got his name, and Greystripe explains the Clan’s naming system. Quick to pick things up, Jay asks Ravenpaw if he used to be part of a clan, but never completed his training.

Surprised, Ravenpaw affirms this, and so conversation leads into explaining everything that happened with the forest clans. The story takes a few days to tell, but the other cats have been distracted once again and forget about Jay not having a name for a while.

Before Greystripe and Millie continue on their journey to find the clans, this conversation happens.

Jay: So Greystripe, you said you were a deputy once? Which meant you could have been a leader?

Greystripe: Yes, though I doubt I would have made a very good one, why do you ask?

Jay: You asked me what my name was, tell me. What name would you have given me if you were a leader?

Greystripe: ..... Are you older than twelve moons?

Jay: Yes, I am.

Greystripe: Then you could have been a warrior by this age, I think I would have called you Silverwind. Silver for your pelt, and wind because you’re quick on your feet. A free spirit too.

Silverwind: I thank you for this name, from now until I move on, I shall be called Silverwind.

Greystripe offers to take Silverwind, Ravenpaw, and Barley with him on the journey, the latter(s) turn him down because their home is the barn, whereas Silverwind says that he’s still traveling the world. But who knows, maybe their paths will cross again.

Silverwind finds the moonstone and sleeps next to it and speaks with the Starclan cats who stayed behind. These cats know nothing of the prophecy and instead share more stories about the land’s history, dating all the way back to the stories they know about Thunder, Wind, River, and Shadow.

From there, Silverwind winds up in twoleg place and stumbles across Princess and Smudge who share their own stories about their lives living with humans. They too, tell him about Firestar just as Ravenpaw and Greystripe had. Silverwind, in turn, shares his own personal stories of his travels, adventures, or jokes he’s heard in passing. They ask for his name, and he asks them to give him one. They think long and hard about it before Princess suggests Falcon, after the story of how he got a scar on his flank.

And so Falcon leaves, to explore what’s left of the torn-up territories. He finds bones in the forest, too big to be prey, so he buries them and wishes the spirit peace, whomever it once was. After that, he travels along the river and eventually finds Skyclan.

They take him in, and he chooses to study under Echosong about herbs and healing. He goes by Eaglepaw for a while, as he is an apprentice under the Medicine cat, eventually, he earns the name Eaglewhisper for the stories he tells in the dead of night to any cat who finds themselves without sleep. How Eaglewhisper manages to find time to sleep, no cat knew.

Names are sacred among clan cats, as Eaglewhisper had already learned, but he explained to Leafstar that names are sacred to him too, but in a different way. For him, a name is something he earns when he has learned as much as he can about the cats he comes to live with for a time. And every name is a gift he holds to remember them by.

So with his new name, Eaglewhisper bids them farewell, now with a goal in mind. Somehow, in every land he managed to travel to, the same name appeared in one story or another, and it was in Skyclan that Eaglewhisper learned about the Prophecy of Three.

Somehow, he was connected to this “Firestar” and had some duty to save the clans.

Whatever the case was, Eaglewhisper was going to get to the bottom of it.

Eaglewhisper travels for a long time, not backtracking because he never moves backward, he thinks that retracing his steps is like trying to step back into the past which is pointless because you can’t go to the past, all there is the now. He finds his way to the moonpool, and not far from there he ends up in the tunnels.

By this point, The PoT arc is over, Lionblaze is Lionflower, a medicine cat who feared his own strength so much he chose to become a healer instead. Hollyleaf finds out about the Crow/Leaf thing and still does her Gathering reveal before fleeing into the tunnels. Lionflower refuses to speak with Squirrel or Leaf not because of their lies, but because of the brother that they gave away. Liobnflower laments not having his other sibling, having always felt there was a piece of him ripped away too soon.

Eaglewhisper finds the stick and goes back in time (despite thinking it impossible) and gets his name among the Ancients, Jay’s Wing. He guides them up to the mountain and explains the role of Stoneteller to Half Moon, and then wakes up to Hollyleaf snarling at him.

He had fallen asleep in her nest.

He calms her down, explaining that he’s a loner who got lost, and she offers to guide him back to the surface where it would be easier to see. He declines the offer and asks if she could show him around the tunnels instead.

Eventually, Hollyleaf loosens up enough to talk about her past, and in turn, he tells her about his travels to the faraway places. She asks him what his name is, and he explains how he’s a ‘collector’ of names, so to speak. Hollyleaf leaves it at that for a while, thinking about everything she’s learned about him, and approaches him days later with a name to call him by.

Hollyleaf: I had a brother who I left behind, and another who I never met. A long time ago, my mother gave him to some loners because he was born blind. I feel some sort of kinship with you, though I don’t understand it. May I name you after them?

Him: Of course, it would be an honor.

Hollyleaf: Then I shall call you Jayflower. Jay for my forgotten brother, and Flower for the brother who should forget me.

Jayflower: You would be a hard cat to forget, but I accept this name with respect and honor. From now until the day I must move on, I shall be Jayflower.

Jayflower tells Hollyleaf more about his travels, specifically about the name that always appeared in the stories he was told by others and how he wants to find this mysterious “Firestar” who is known throughout the lands.

To his surprise, Hollyleaf tells him that she is Firestar’s granddaughter and that they hunt and sleep beneath his territory.

Eager to finally get answers, Jayflower asks Hollyleaf if she will go with him to speak with Firestar, Hollyleaf is scared at first, not wanting to see her old clanmates after what she did, considering that she murdered a clanmate, but Jayflower convinces her that its time to put the past behind her.

Before they leave the tunnels, Jayflower thanks her again for the name but warns her that he may shed it in Thunderclan should they accept him. Having heard all of his stories and the names to go with them, Hollyleaf understands and tells him that that would be fine. Joining Thunderclan would simply be another part of his journey to be marked with a new name, and it was her honor to be able to give him a name herself.

It just so happened to be a full moon that night, there was no guard for the Hollow and everyone was fast asleep. Hollyleaaf tried to convince Jayflower that they should come back in the daylight, but he insists that now was as good a time as ever.

Note: Its around Night Whispers by now and Hollyleaf still doesn’t know that Jayflower is blind. That tidbit wasn’t important to his stories so it was never mentioned to her.

When the clan finally returns from the gathering, they’re met with quite the surprise.

Lionflower recognizes Hollyleaf and is overjoyed that he is no longer without either of his littermates, and the clan swarms around her, happy to have her back. Jayflower sits off to the side, occasionally using his powers to look through a random cat’s eyes to better understand what was going on.

Firestar approaches him quietly, not wanting to alarm the clan about the intruder in their midst.

Firestar: And who might you be? Did you come with Hollyleaf?

Jayflower: I did, yes. She and I became quite good friends in the past few moons.

Firestar: And where are you from? You carry strange scents on your pelt.

Jayflower: I am a wandering loner, I have been to many places and somehow, I always heard your name from quite a few cats in each place, Firestar.

Firestar: And how did you know that I was Firestar? I could have been any cat

Jayflower: You were the first cat to notice me, only a leader would be that aware of their surroundings during a happy occasion such as this. Leaders must be on their guard at all times, wouldn’t you agree?

Firestar: ..... You never answered my question, who are you?

Jayflower: What name would you give me?

By now, the clan has noticed Jayflower and are back on their guard, untrusting of the stranger until Hollyleaf stands resolutely beside him. The pair are welcomed to the clan by Firestar and are given nests in the medicine den to rest in, giving Lionflower time to check them for any injuries before letting them eat poppy seeds for a full night’s sleep.

The next day, Jayflower offers a deal to Firestar, he will share his stories with the clan until he has no more stories left, and after that Firestar can grant him a name should he decide to allow him to stay. Firestar agrees, but before he can start, he gets interrupted by Greystripe and Millie, calling out to Silverwind in shock.

Amused, Jayflower decides to start there, explaining how he knew Greystripe and his mate, as well as Ravenpaw and Barley (who he later ran into again while staying with Skyclan).

His stories are never in order unless the kits and apprentices ask him “What happened next?” after hearing a particularly interesting tale, but eventually, he works through them all, ending with his stories about the Sisters.

Jayflower: You see, each name I receive tells a different story. The Tribe calls me Jay, Greystripe called me Silverwind. Skyclan named me Eaglewhisper and the kittypets of the old twoleg place you knew gave me the name Falcon, in honor of one of my own stories. Hollyleaf chose to name me after her brothers, but my mothers.....

Jayflower: My mothers tell me that my birth mother named me Jayflight before I was given away. Apparently, she didn’t believe that a blind kit could survive in her world, sometimes I wish I could find her, just to prove her wrong.

The clan is in shock, not only because they never realized he was blind, but because this was Leafpool’s lost kit. The reason Leafpool was almost exiled from the clan, for abandoning a kit before to strangers outside of any of the clans.

No one in the clan wants to be the one who says it, that his mother is there, sitting three fox-lengths away from him. But he’ll learn on his own, its hard to ignore the turmoil in their thoughts.

I’m not sure what would happen after this, it’s late and I haven’t thought that far ahead. But please feel free to add on to this! I’m actually kind of proud of this

@warriorsfireandwater tagging you because I thought you might be interested in this as well as my parodies. Hope I haven’t been a bother!

#I stand alone AU #Loner Jayfeather #warriors #jayfeather #Jayfeather AU

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the-descension-inks · 4 years

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Sojourn (Zutara Week 2020)

Summary: It's a strange fate that they have crafted for themselves; lines that don't quite meet, stars that circle each other, and stories that are almost written. (Or, glimpses into Zuko and Katara's lives, told in reverse, from the very end to the very beginning.)

[1/9] Reunion

“Fire Lord—”

“I’m no longer the Fire Lord,” he cuts her off immediately, mouth curving into a small frown.

She bumps her shoulder against his. “Neither are you sixteen, but that doesn’t stop you from becoming Prince Pouty once in a while.”

“Agni.” He feigns annoyance, but can’t quite keep the giddy smile off his face, “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

At that, Katara rolls her eyes. “You are dead, Zuko.”

Read under the cut, or on AO3, or on FF.net.

183 AG

Lord Zuko breathes his last at ninety nine.

It doesn’t end the way he expects it to; he feels himself leaving his own body, rising and rising, till he sees his daughter hunched over what he’s sure are his mortal remains, in his favorite room at his Ember Island residence.

There’s a waterbender in the room too, and a smile ghosts up his face as Kya strengthens the grasp on his daughter’s back, whispering words that his ears fail to pick up.

The world is in good hands. His country is in good hands. He has lived a long and happy life—

“Fire Lord.”

He turns around sharply at that voice, the teasing lilt something he’d recognize anywhere.

Even in the afterlife, as it seems. Afterlife, or whatever this is going to be.

(He realizes that movement doesn’t jar his muscles, and it almost comes effortlessly to him. Death doesn’t feel too bad.)

The world falls to pieces around him, Izumi disappears, followed by Kya, and then the whole of Ember Island.

He blinks, and when he opens his eyes, he has somehow impossibly shot through time, backwards and only backwards, and stands in the midst of rubble and wreckage, in the aftermath of the Agni Kai that almost took his life.

There’s no one around though, only vast emptiness, till: “Oh spirits, finally.”

Zuko turns around again, in pursuit of the same lilt, fully expecting to find nothing this time around as well.

But.

But this time is different.

There is something.

There is someone.

“Katara.” His voice comes out feeble, fighting desperately against the way his own throat constricts.

She flashes him a toothy grin, blue eyes coming alive, as she takes a step closer to him.

He blinks at her, mind struggling to adjust to this new reality. Is this even real?

The apprehension on his face apparently doesn’t go unnoticed by her. “It really is me, Zuko,” she huffs. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what I look like in a few years.”

Something lifts off his shoulders at that, a heaviness he didn’t know he had been carrying, and laughter bubbles out of him. He reaches out, crosses the little distance that exists between them, and pulls her into his arms.

(He doesn’t even remember what it was like to have protesting muscles. He might like death, after all.)

She smells like saltwater, and battles lost, and battles won. Her arms come around his sides, holds him in place with reassuring strength. He relaxes, heartbeat steadying, the world blinking out of existence around him; it’s only him, and her, and him and her.

He doesn’t want to let go, never wants to let go, doesn’t know how to—

She pulls back slowly, eyes meeting his, far too many unspoken words in the space between them, as her fingers entangle with his.

“Fire Lord—”

“I’m no longer the Fire Lord,” he cuts her off immediately, mouth curving into a small frown.

She bumps her shoulder against his. “Neither are you sixteen, but that doesn’t stop you from becoming Prince Pouty once in a while.”

“Agni.” He feigns annoyance, but can’t quite keep the giddy smile off his face, “You’ll be the death of me, woman.”

At that, Katara rolls her eyes. “You are dead, Zuko.”

He laughs again; it comes so easily. Katara punches his arm in return, and then, her expression sombers. “We don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?”

“Always so impatient,” she mutters, a finger jabbed into his chest promptly. He should be abashed, but all he can do is smile. She tugs at his tunic meaningfully. “It’s time for you to leave, Zuko. The next world awaits.”

He raises his eyebrow at the way her lips quirk. “The next world, huh?”

“Shining a torch for you, if you remember.”

He does, of course he does. But he still falters on his next words, voice trembling, “And you’ll be there?”

Katara’s expression softens, as she threads their fingers together again, bringing them upto her face. Her voice is soft, “I can’t tell you that.”

“Katara.”

She looks at him helplessly, whispers, “Trust me, okay?”

“Katara, please.” He hates how small he sounds, but he doesn’t think—

Her hand finds a way to his chest, over where he carries the scar that he bore for her. And he... he thinks he forgets to breathe.

“I— I have already done this for so long without you.” The words tumble out of his mouth, awfully raw and honest. “I can’t do it—”

This time, she cuts him off with a kiss, hands cupping the back of his neck as she pulls him closer. He relaxes against her, imprints every single detail about her and this into the back of his mind. The first time, the last time, he doesn’t know; he doesn’t care.

(He has never felt younger. Death sits well with him.)

She is the first to pull back, glassy eyes staring up at him. “It’ll be alright, Zuko.”

There’s conviction in her voice, and if she has faith, then so does he. Nevertheless: “Don’t disappoint me, waterbender.”

She grins at once. “I wouldn’t dare to, Fire Lord.”

There’s a pause, and he musters up the courage to tell her—

She shoves him by the shoulder, the two of them collapsing onto the emptiness of air that somehow manages to bear all their weight.

Her hands linger on his shoulders. “Close your eyes, your life will flash by you. And when you’re ready you’ll step through.”

He can’t help himself: “And you’ll be there?”

She smiles, shuts his eyes with a gentle brush of her fingers. “I’ll see you, Zuko.”

“Katara, wait—” His eyes snap open, finds her still smiling. It makes it a little easier. For all the times that almost happened, and for all the times that should have happened. “I love you.”

She laughs over the words, so utterly beautiful that it breaks his heart, “I do too.”

A weight lifts off his shoulders at that; a heaviness he knows he has been carrying around for all his life.

“Close your eyes,” she says, and he does.

And then, when the world dissolves around him, everything fading into nothingness, he hears her voice chime, stirring a memory from years and years ago.

“We have time, Zuko. There is time.”

A/N: I have always wanted to write two things. One, Zutara (because, honestly, who doesn't?) and two, reverse chronology. And this is what resulted.

I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. I have never written for Fandom Weeks before, mostly because school and college made sure that I didn't have time to sit and write for days at a stretch.

But somehow, this year things worked out, and I managed to weave all the prompts (might have repeated one or two xP) into a fully formed story, and I have never been happier.

Thank you for reading this! <3

@zutaraweek

#zuko #katara #zutara #zutara week #zutara week 2020 #atla #my writing #sojourn

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sw4gg1e4life · 3 years

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Yu Yu Hakusho (Reviewing 25 years later)

This anime is like a forgotten gem. It doesn’t come to mind as #1 first but when mentioned everyone goes oh yea that was like one of the best anime’s of all time. I feel like most anime’s don’t have the same level of action, adventure, comedy, drama, and growth that this show offered. Whether you watch it as a kid for action & childish humor or as an adult for the deeper drama, life lessons and adult humor, it’s great across generations and across time whether you watched it as a kid in the 90s/00s or now in 2021.

Let me simplify it because there’s so much in-depth analysis I could go into.

Ratings per Arc/Saga:

Spirit Detective - 8/10

Dark Tournament - 10/10

Chapter Black - 8/10

Three Kings - 7/10

Deeper Analysis:

Spirit Detective - Honestly this arc had amazing parts to it, introducing the main characters, slowly improving enemies, and setting up for the Dark Tournament. I love the intro and how Yusuke has to undergo his ordeal showing his relationship with Kuwabara, Keiko, his mother, Boton, Koenma and everyone else around him. We’re introduced to a brat who doesn’t really belong but slowly finds his place and purpose starting here as Spirit Detective. I loved the deeper stories with introducing Hiei and Kurama. The introduction of Genkai was amazing, it showed there’s different aspects of growing and trying to master spirit energy. I only wish that section was a bit longer, maybe just 2-3 episodes of more unique competitors. The Spirit Beasts section is what made it a tad lackluster. This is their first real mission to spirit world and the abilities of the 4 spirit beasts just felt somewhat limited to me. Especially the fire-tiger beast, his tenacity just became annoying at some point. This is what dropped the Spirit Detective Saga to an 8 for me or else I would’ve made it a 9. The final part is amazing, it brings some backstory to Hiei by introducing her sister and most importantly the Toguro brothers leading to the Dark Tournament.

All together, it’s probably one of the best intro sagas to any anime I’ve seen at least. There’s simplicity but also complexity at the same time depending on how deep you look into it. They didn’t just half ass the action like many of my other favorite action-packed anime (DBZ, Fairy Tail). There’s a lot of mystery, dark moments, and strategy for a supposed kids cartoon for the haters out there.

Dark Tournament - This has to be the best saga in any ever because of the different strategies, emotions, growth, and somehow comedy still added in. I can’t help but re-watch this saga again and again every few years. We start with a mystery question: how much did the main characters grow in strength, abilities, and strategies? Now as a teen then now adult, the masked fighter is obviously Genkai because of the height, outfit and abilities, but as a kid, she was such a mystery for me haha. Anyways we go into the tournament and the committee seems hell bent on pitting everything against Yusuke & friends. I like that though Yusuke’s team comes out on top at the end of each fight, they do lose some individual matches for multiple different reasons. Instead of mindless matches purely on the fighting, we actually learn some backstory about many enemies and our main characters. It didn’t take long either; there wasn’t a ridiculous amount of episodes spent per backstory like Naruto or Fairy Tail. Genkai showed even more wisdom but also understanding of humanity as she knows her time is ending so she passes on her power abilities and most importantly wisdom to her favorite dim-wit. And throughout the story, we get to know more about Genkai and Toguro’s backstory and how power, morals and unfortunate events can change one’s future. The part that most people forget is the final episodes of the Dark Tournament: Toguro has been and wants to continue punishing himself. He actually does care for Genkai and Yusuke. He knows Yusuke has greater potential to grow into something great but needs proper and sometimes drastic measures and guidance to do so.

This saga had an amazing start, several related series of actions in the middle and a proper explanation at the end for many questions we had. On top of all that we’re left clues to the next arc, subtle clues you don’t realize until the next arc comes around. Episode 66, was shocking, Koenma actually granted Yusuke’s wish for his mentor and friend to be revived to live until the end of her life in peace as much as possible.

Chapter Black - This saga was great. You really don’t know what it is until it’s fully explained. We all know there were stronger demons deeper in spirit world. But something deeper darker is coming and it’s crazy because after 66 episodes we realized we never wondered about a previous Spirit Detective. What happened to that one? Now we get a trio of test spiritually aware humans just to test Yusuke & Kuwabara, but the really interesting part is when Sensui and his team is brought in. A few abilities were obvious but others were so mysterious with a constant ominous presence and heartbeat music looming over. What is each unique opponent’s abilities and what is Sensui’s background and end goal? His multiple personalities each containing yet even more unique abilities with his desire for an open tunnel into the depths of Spirit World for A/S class demons is insane. It seems impossible for Yusuke to win here even with Kuwabara’s sacrifice again. But wow what a reveal that he does have a secret demon king lineage in his blood. I both love and hate this at the same time. It feels like a cop-out but also explains everything at the same time. It’s like Super Saiyan in DBZ but different because at least here it took until the 3rd Saga and several arcs to reveal it. I guess in the overall scheme of things it’s like having Dragonball before Dragonball Z. Anyways the ending is amazing as we see them fight and find out just why Sensui wanted this all along as well as his gay partner’s obsession over him.

This was a great saga with a truly ominous back story and I love it. The only reason I keep it rated at 8/10 is unfortunately it happens right after the best saga ever in the Dark Tournament. At this point, power scaling and the use of demon king lineage in Yusuke just unfortunately puts the rating here. And we already know what the next saga is about for sure. There’s nothing left to really explore.

Three Kings - Here we go, the finale of Yu Yu Hakusho. We know Yusuke is of demon king lineage so of course he’s going to go train in Demon World. Hiei and Kurama obviously would follow along. Now with everything being obvious, why is it still interesting? Somehow the writers/producers of Yu Yu Hakusho find a way to bring even more back story in appropriate timing without it becoming filler. Learning about the deep ancient history of Raizen vs Yomi vs Mukuro shows how even as demons they have a human aspect: Raizen who ended up loving a human, Yomi who had a child and history with Kurama, and Mukuro with her tragic backstory that led to an odd relationship with Hiei. The ending is great with yet another tournament. As a kid, I wished they had a full tournament arc, but decades later I realized how much sense it makes that they didn’t show us the whole tournament, just key battles and how no one in our main crew won. Yusuke, Kurama and Hiei still has much to learn and grow. Yomi and Mukuro’s time has passed. A new brighter future awaits the demon world. Yusuke finally gets his happy ending with Keiko.

This final saga unfortunately because of its timing and closure gets a rating of 7/10. For an ending it’s great and I’m not sure how to improve it. That’s why I��m not a producer/writer haha. But it is definitely amazing and I appreciate it. Yusuke went from a kid/teen to a young adult. The story we came to know and love is over and he did NOT end up obsessed like Toguro. He didn’t choose the demon life. He also didn’t choose a psychic path like Genkai. He chose his own path with his friends in the human world continuing as spirit detective but living as close to a normal life as possible. I love this ending, The ending and whole narrative makes me give this show a 10/10. Yes I know they released 2 specials in 2018 but why not that’s a small treat for us fans. They can do specials maybe every decade or so. I don’t actually want them to do a new continued series like Dragonball Super. Let the original show be what it is and be remembered in history as one of the most unique shows with catchy theme songs. Also the Eng dub is actually good haha. Listen carefully for the adult humor hidden in the show if you’re re-watching it. You likely didn’t understand every NSFW joke as a kid. I know I didn’t haha.

#YuYuKakusho Yusuke Anime AnimeReview

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linkspooky · 4 years

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Gyomei Himejima: Worthless Strength

There are several things apparent about Gyomei’s character immediately just looking at his character design. He’s a mix of religious iconography, he has prayer beads while at the same time there’s scars on his forehead which resemble a crown of thorns. His build is an immediate signifier to let the audience know how strong he is, he is basically built like a rock. Even his marks when they manifest indicate that. They clearly resemble cracks in stone, as if any demon fighting against him is trying to break a stone wall in front of them with their bear hands. His main weapon surrounds his body with heavy silver change, which are a symbol of the burden he’s always tied down to, that he uses his strength to carry no matter how impossibly heavy it is.

There’s one thing you can say about Gyomei just from looking at him, he looks strong. Even tied down by chains he has no problem at all carrying the weight on his shoulders. The main trio of Kimetsu no Yaiba is always striving to gain strength in order to protect what’s important to them, but Gyomei already had that strength to begin with. Despite being one of the strongest, if not the strongest of the pillars (He made Hashira in two months the only other one was Tokito), in the end he’s still unable to protect what is important to him. Gyomei has all the strength in the world, but he cannot protect anyone. I’LL EXPLAIN MORE UNDER THE CUT.

1. Gyomei is Blind

Gyomei is drawn without pupils in his eyes due to the fact that he is physically blind. However, his blindness itself is a symbol for obfuscation. That is, concealed eyes tend to symbolize when a character is unaware, or fails to perceive something important. In that case the character’s problem is not so much their physical blindness, but rather how they fail to perceive the emotions and the feelings of other people around them. It’s not physically being unable to see, but rather a lack of awareness that’s greatly needed.

Gyomei in general is a very offputting person on first impression. He’s hard to communicate with, in another sense. He has a tendency to spontaneously start crying, or mumbling prayers to himself on the spot. A running gag is what a terrifying aura he projects despite being personality-wise essentially just a gentle barefisted monk archetype.

His lack of communication skills apply to his teaching as well. Genya even states this directly, that the ideas behind Gyomei’s training are actually really solid and helpful, but Gyomei is such a terrible teacher that most of his class ended up just leaving because he kept throwing them into waterfalls suddenly or threatening to light them on fire.

This is once again a breakdown of communciation. If Gyomei had simply explained the point of the training instead of tossing people into the river, more people would have likely seen the benefit of the sudden harsh training that they were expected to go through.

Gyomei is someone who fails to understand the others around him in general, and also fails to be understood by them. For exmaple there’s most of the people who like Zenitsu assume he was just born massively strong and that none of this is the result of training. However, Genya figures out that what makes Gyomei so strong isn’t necessarily his massive body so much as the way he’s learned to put his emotions behind his strength.

Gyomei himself is a deconstruction of the idea of strength presented in most shonen manga. His strength doesn’t just come from the strength he was born with, but also his emotions, his anger, his regret, his pain from the past. Just like Sanemi, the scars on his body are a sign of his strength. Strength for him is something tied directly to his emotions. Rather than the stoic persona Gyomei seems to put on, he’s actually a deeply emotional and sensitive person. (If the fact that he’s always crying as a running gag didn’t tip you off).

Despite the massive strength he has Gyomei is someone who never wanted to be strong in the first place. He was living his life blind to his own strength before that point. In fact you could say he was much happier before he discovered he was strong.

The happiest days he spent was when he thought he was nothing more than a useless blind man. The time he spent with other abandoned children taking care of them were the closest he has ever been to other people. Those were his most precious days. He did not need to be strong then, he just needed to be together with other people.

As a result of his trauma, Gyomei started categorizing children into good children and bad children.

Because a child turned against him he forgot what was most improtant to him. He was not fighting to be thanked or appreciated. He was fighting to protect his family. What Gyomei thought he learned was the true selfishness of children, but Gyomei is often blind to the true meaning of things as I’ve said before. What Gyomei really lost then was the sense of family he had with the other children around him. What he was reeling from was the trauma of losing his entire family in one night. However, for Gyomei it’s easier to rationalize it and blame it on the selfishness of children rather than just an unfortanate and tragic accident.

1. The Weakest Saves the Strongest

Gyomei is blind to what he was fighting for. What motivated Gyomei at the time were his strong feelings towards the children he wanted to protect. However, Gyomei has forgotten those connection and instead focuses on strength alone. Which is why we see him instead of making connections with others, or returning to his role as a caretaker which is when he was happiest in life instead meaninglessly pursuing more and more strength. Despite being the strongest pillar already, Gyomei must somehow get even stronger.

He’s forgotten his reason for fighting isn’t simply to be strong, but rather to protect. Gyomei’s complex about good and bad children is merely that, just a complex. It’s a mechanism that allows himself to stay distant from everyone around him, believing that the only peopel that are worthwhile of getting close to are truly good children. But, Gyomei himself is a caretaker not a fighter, the time he was happiest was when he took all children in regardless of background. It’s just that Gyomei himself is terrified of experiencing that loss again so he keeps everyone at a distance.

However, if Gyomei is not aware of what he is fighting for, then his strength cannot accomplish anything. As a consequence of failing to realize what he truly wants to fight for, Gyomei’s strength cannot protect anything.

It’s been pointed out over and over again that Gyomei is at the absolute peak of human strength. There’s no one more refined, more dedicated to getting stronger, more disciplined than he is. However, that empty strength is not enough to protect what matters.

However, Gyomei himself does not really see a future beyond fighting and dying against demons. After he lost the children at the temple he lost any kind of desire for himself other than to be some kind of perfectly refined weapon against demons to be used and discarded. He takes it as a point of personal pride that one day he’s going to basically keep fighting until a demon kills him one day, and he’s never so much as wanted anything else besides that. He has only lived to keep on fighting. The only reason he was saved from that prison cell is because he was recruited into the demon corps. He sees no purpose beyond that.

Gyomei already has enough strength. However, he can’t use it to protect what’s important, because he’s not thinking of the reason why he’s fighting. In comparison to Genya who despite being so weak, is always trying so desperately to be useful to the others around him. Remember, Gyomei is a deconstruction of the idea that strength is the only thing that matters.

Genya thinks he is useless because he is weak until Tanjiro tells him it’s the other way around. He has the potential to fight because he’s weak, because he’s struggling so much.

Gyomei and Kokushibou are foils. They are both at the peak of physical strength. Gyomei is pretty much the strongest a human can become without being Yoriichi, and Kokushibou is the strongest among the demons creating by Muzan and has been cultivating strength for hundreds of years since the onset of breathing techniques. But, strength is not everything.

Kokushibou also loses for the exact same reason that Hinejima is blind. He fails to realize. He fails to perceive. Kokushibou has six eyes, Hinejima cannot see out of either eye but both of them are equally blind to what is truly important. Both of them fail to perceive. This is what costs Kokushibou the victory as he’s ultimately defeated by a surprise attack from Genya and Tokito, the two he underestimated the most.

The weakest destroy the strongest demon. The battle is not a matter of strength but rather who was more perceptive, who realized what was important, which was Genya in the end.

Kokushibou is undone by the children who have surpassed him. Whereas, Gyomei himself has failed. In failing to realize what he was fighting for was not strength alone or to be a weapon against demon, but rather his own feelings of wanting to protect the children he himself is forced to witness children die in front of him repeatedly while he himself is helpless.

Gyomei cold not do a thing to protect either Genya, or Tokito. In the end despite being the strongest, he’s saved by the two weakest people in the room, the both of them children. Only to once again arrive too late to do anything to protect Tanjiro from Muzan.

Even after witnessing the tragedy of Tokito passing so early, Gyomei still doesn’t think he’s going to live beyond the final fight with Muzan. His purpose still is only to fight and die.

Which is why for Gyomei truly to grow and be able to use his strength to protect what matters, he himself is going to have to learn to see a reason for living beyond fighting and dying.

#gyomei himejima #kimetsu no yaiba meta #kokushibou #kimetsu no yaiba theory #kimetsu no yaiba analysis #kny meta #meta

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swellio · 4 years

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The World and More

— a short story about loneliness and love

For as long as Berwyn could remember, Sean had always hated him.

Well, to be fair, “hate” was a strong word — “disliked strongly” probably fit better.

And, maybe not always.

They’d grown up together in a small village, where the river was crystal clear and the birds sang at the dawn of every new day. They had actually been pretty close as children — Berwyn still remembered them “sword-fighting” with sticks they had found, ending with him stumbling into a stream.

He also remembered the day it all changed.

Berwyn had waited all day for Sean to come back from a hunting trip with his father; he was probably around ten years old. He’d nearly died of boredom, but he’d done it — so when he saw his best friend walk over the top of the hill, Berwyn could hardly hold his excitement.

The same couldn’t be said for Sean.

His eyes had remained solemnly on the ground, brushing past him as if he were nothing but a tree.

From that day forward, Sean refused to acknowledge Wyn, merely sending him a blank stare once in a while. “Hurt” was an understatement — Wyn was devastated. Other than Sean, no one else had bothered to talk to him. The rest of his childhood was filled with fake smiles throughout the day and cold, lonely nights, where only his tear stained pillow could bring him comfort.

Despite their broken past, both Berwyn and Sean matured to be fine warriors. Sean trained personally with his own group of friends, while Wyn grew closer to the humble training instructor, Cara. She was nearly a foot shorter than him and had a wide, toothy grin that greeted him every time he entered the arena.

Wyn finally found someone to rely on.

He and Cara just seemed to click — there were times where the two collapsed onto the sandy ground laughing, clutching at their stomachs and eyes tearing. Other times, Wyn would find himself knocking on the door of Cara’s little cottage in the depths of the night, desperate for some sign of human contact. Cara always let him spend the night.

Despite her size, Cara was undeniably the strongest person Berwyn had ever met. He remembered wincing the first time she slapped his back in congratulations, pouting when she barked out a loud laugh at his reaction. She taught him how to guard properly and how to make the most of his strength — sometimes Wyn saw Sean and his friends walk by, trying his hardest not to look over at them.

He missed all the small glances Sean sent his way.

Berwyn also took up whittling throughout the years. He gave most of his creations to Cara, shyly scratching the back of his neck whenever he handed her one. Her eyes would always light up, lips stretching into a wide smile as she lifted him in a hug. She showed them all off on a little stand in her living room, making sure to dust them off every week.

For the first time in a long while, Wyn didn’t feel alone.

Finally, the time for a battle came. Wyn was more than prepared — he was ready to prove himself, to show his village that he was worthy of their trust and loyalty. Although he entered the fight at Cara’s side, they quickly became separated in the midst of the chaos; not that he was worried.

Cara’s training had definitely pulled off. Berwyn was unstoppable, tackling his enemies and finishing them with one strike. He knew the other warriors were watching him — he could feel their eyes burning into his back, but he didn’t mind. It was what he wanted, after all. He wanted to be recognized; acknowledged. Just as he felt confidence seeping into his bones, the wind was knocked out of Berwyn’s chest.

He watched as Sean was pinned to the ground, a blade raised and aimed for the center of his chest.

Wyn’s feet moved before his mind could grasp what was happening. He shoved the enemy warrior off, tussling with him on the ground for a bit before landing a finishing blow. He looked up to see Sean staring at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging open.

“Sean—”

Before he could say anything more, a victorious cry rang out. His people raised their swords in triumph as the opposing army retreated. Berwyn was quickly surrounded by his fellow warriors and was lifted into the air, shock numbing him as they began to chant his name.

Sean walked away, sword dragging on the ground beside him.

News spread quickly, and when Wyn returned home, he was immediately showered with praise and gifts. Everyone in the village had heard of how he had fought so viciously. He accepted the compliments with a flushed face and an embarrassed smile, laughing when Cara tackled him with a hug. After years of training in the shadows and longing to be known, Berwyn had finally gained the love of his village.

Most of his village.

A single warrior remained silent, watching from the back of the crowd. Sean turned and walked down a leafy trail out of the village, and Berwyn kindly made his way through his new found supporters and chased after him.

“Sean!”

Finally, finally, the two met each other’s eyes. Wyn’s were a clear shade of blue, while Sean’s were a solid brown.

“Go away.” The words were soft spoken, nearly impossible to hear, but they were there; the first words Sean had said to Wyn in years.

It was enough to make Berwyn tear up. Despite being abandoned by him, despite their friendship being left in ruins, there was something within Wyn that drew him to Sean. It had been nearly a decade since they had truly had a conversation, and yet there was a feeling in Wyn’s heart that tugged him towards him.

“Why?” he asked, trying to keep his bottom lip from shaking. “After all this time—”

“Just go, Berwyn.” Sean began to walk further into the woods, leaves crunching underneath his boots.

Wyn felt his heart crack. He almost let him walk away — almost.

Instead, he drew in a shaky breath and let the tears start cascading down his face, covering his cheeks and making the evening air feel that much colder.

“Why do you hate me?” he shouted.

He hated how his voice cracked, and he hated how Sean immediately stopped in his tracks, refusing to turn around. Wyn directed his gaze to the ground, sniffling as his chest constricted with the pain of a broken heart.

“I could’ve forgotten about you, you know. After all these years, I could have just shoved the thought of you away—”

“You should have—”

“Maybe I should have, but I didn’t! I spent countless nights with you on mind,” Sean’s eyes grew wide, “wondering why you stopped talking to me, wondering what I did wrong. I was terrified of making new friends because I was convinced they would leave me,” he paused before adding, “Just like you.”

Sean swallowed, shaking his head. “Berwyn, do you even realize how long ago that was?”

“Does it matter?” Wyn let out a deep sigh, defeat beginning to weigh him down.

He had his entire village’s support, and yet there was truly only one opinion that mattered to him.

“Just tell me why,” he begged, eyes still trained on the forest floor. “Why did you leave me?”

Silence, once again. Wyn hated it.

He finally looked up, only to be met with Sean’s back. He still hadn’t turned around. “Why did you stop talking to me? What did I do wrong?" Berwyn felt fresh, hot tears fall down his face, blurring his vision and making the autumn leaves look like tiny, burning stars. “I know you don’t like me anymore, and I know you don’t want to be around me, but please—”

In an instant, Sean turned and stepped over to Wyn, engulfing him in a strong hug. Wyn’s eyes were wide, his tears falling onto Sean’s shoulder as he began to talk.

“I never wanted to stop talking to you, idiot,” he said, and Wyn was surprised to hear his voice was shaking. “It was my dad. He said I was getting too close to you, and with how my training was going, I didn’t need any distractions.” Sean spoke quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could second guess himself. He tightened his hold on Wyn, and Wyn slowly raised his own arms to wrap around his old friend. “All that training, and for what?” Sean questioned, voice shaking and filled with uncertainty. “Father is going to have my head for how poorly I did in that fight, not to mention how I ran off afterward.”

“Do you really care about what he thinks that much?”

“I have to,” he argued, pausing before he added, “He’s all I have.” Wyn softened. Sean had no siblings, and his mother had passed away because of an illness when he was young.

Berwyn swallowed. “You have me.” Sean nodded hesitantly, pressing his forehead onto Wyn’s shoulder.

“I don’t think I want to go back,” Sean said after a few moments, his voice unnaturally quiet. He finally released his hold to look Wyn in his eyes.

“We don’t have to.” Sean gave him a questioning look. Wyn looked over his friend’s shoulder. “The world is right there, Sean. It’s waiting for us.”

He scoffed. “You just want to leave? Just like that?”

“Do you have any other suggestions?”

“What about the village? And Cara?”

Wyn shook his head, a small smile taking over his lips. “You know, all this time, I thought getting everyone to like me would make me feel less lonely. Really, I only needed you.” Surprise was evident in Sean’s gaze before it shifted into something else, something softer. “And I’m not worried for Cara. She’s strong, and I have a feeling she won’t be surprised. I told her about you, you know.”

“All good things, I hope?” Wyn snorted, and Sean huffed out a laugh. The sun finally dipped under the horizon, the sky fading from an exciting orange into a deep blue. “The world is waiting,” Sean repeated, nodding. “Well, it’s been waiting long enough, hasn’t it?”

Berwyn grinned. “It has.” He reached out a hand. “Will you explore the world and more with me, Sean?” Sean firmly gripped his hand.

Lonely blue eyes collided with an uncertain brown.

“The world and more,” he promised.

author’s note:

sean and wyn don’t have to be in love. they can be, but they don’t have to be. that’s not what this story is about.

the moral of the story is that, even with all of your peers’ acceptance and love, you can still feel lonely. you can still be doubtful and sad — and there might only be one person who can truly make you feel whole. your soulmate, if you want to call it that — your person. your other half. whether your relationship is romantic or platonic with them doesn’t matter — it could be your childhood friend, your significant other, your sibling. it’s amazing how much it can vary.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading <3 this is just a little wip that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while. feedback is always welcome!

#writeblr #writblr #original writing #oc #my ocs #bookblr #writing #writers on tumblr #write #wip #romance #soulmate #adventure #writers #creative writing #lin's wips

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rubykgrant · 4 years

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(This started on a different post, but I wanted to talk about more stuff, so I’m putting it here)

The entire new trio was done so wrong, but Poe in particular should have gotten to shine as the character who unites people, somebody who has been in the resistance from the beginning and is a survivor who knows battle strategy, but ALSO is a natural peace-maker and diplomat, like he almost doesn’t even notice because he sees it as just making friends with everybody everywhere he goes, but he is naturally intuitive of a person’s needs, he’s compassionate, and he’s thoughtful enough to be able to explain how things can be different, imagine if various evil groups in the galaxy hated Poe because he kept BEFRIENDING half their members who just go and join his side, and on top of that he’s impossible to kill, he’s been in countless explosions and crash-landings, but he’s always fine, and if he could have gotten his OWN Force Awakening, Poe could have been the guy who has a natural empathic link to the Force, he can see how good and evil flows through everybody (but he doesn’t even realize this is the Force, he just figured he was really good at reading body-language and vocal-signals), and what he does isn’t a “mind trick”, he doesn’t manipulate people in any way, but he knows exactly how to offer somebody a choice to change the path they are on, they still have to choose it themselves, and since Poe is also naturally charismatic, people usually make the right choice. The guy could have been the spiritual successor to both Han, Leia, and even Padme; he’s got that adventurous streak, he knows how to deal with dangerous situations and shady characters, he knows how to talk his way out of almost anything, he sees the big picture, he ultimately values cooperation and understands when it is time to compromise and when it is time to take a stand without backing down. Poe could have been the guy who stands up in front of a crowd, full of millions of different beings who have been on different sides of a war none of them started, and explained to them that it was time for peace, and he would be ready to take on the responsibilities that followed

OK, that was my Poe rant, now y’all read for this? (that sports jam music plays, you know the one)

Finn! This character was, initially, so amazing interesting and the intro of him was PERFECT. We have this Stormtrooper guy show so much empathy and inner struggle just in the first few minutes of existing! I mean, the Stormtroopers have not been taking off their helmets in any of the originals, we find out the originally the armor was for Clonetroopers, the whole system is for them to be faceless and expendable, never question the authority of the empire or have any personal motivations (they don’t get payed, they don’t get rewards, they just do their jobs and hope that they don’t get killed by the rebels or one of their leaders in a bad mood), but here is Finn showing us that NO, that isn’t true. He’s a real person, they are ALL real people, and as a person he is going to make choice about his life. This guy should have gotten to be half of the Jedi successors. He should have discovered he was most definitely Force sensitive, and he should have had his own visions about finding Luke, because he was a intuitive pull toward the Light. Finn would be under the impression that he was to do something to earn this, that he has to prove himself, but eventually he is reassured that he is ALREADY good enough, in fact he can’t be more good if he tried. He was not meant to be a cookie-cutter soldier, he was not meant to be a weapon for a cause he doesn’t believe in, he was meant to be a Jedi, and he does not have to doubt himself as one. Any anger he might feel is justified, he doesn’t have to worry about that making him “slip”. Finn can reach out and feel the conflict within people, the way Luke could sense the conflict within his father, but in a more resolute and defined way. He can see the path of events that lead to what is happening, and he knows exactly when to forgive and who should be blamed. Expanding on this, he can see how to go forward. Imagine Finn walking away from a taunting enemy, not because he’s “too afraid to fight”, but because he KNOWS that he’ll win, and he doesn’t need to waste his time. Finn, who had been stolen and trapped, is now free and in control. He wins by either rescuing his enemies and turning them into allies, or by simply side-stepping anything they try to throw at him, and finally by being able to defeat them. He’s the mirror to Luke, when Luke truly WAS the last Jedi (I’m talking at the end of Return), but also the combination of Obi Wan and Kwi Gon Jinn; the will to do good in the face of fear, the calm confidence, but with freedom from the rules that inadvertently destroyed the Jedi, and an emotional courage that is all his own. He would be an amazing new teacher of young Jedi, creating an environment where children would feel safe, a sense of unity while remaining unique individuals, and receive guidance without being suppressed

And now we have... Rey! We already know she had a sensitivity to the Force, she was able to walk through it a river, sometimes going with the flow and sometimes fighting the current. No change needed for the most part... but imagine she has no “genetic” ties to the Force. This was not an inherited gift from some relative, this isn’t a power that is passed-down in her family. It is just her. Amazing, and all her own. Unlike the other two in the trio, she has been alone. Poe lost his family, but was surrounded by love of an extended one. Finn was stolen from his family, thrown into a crowded group yet isolated. Rey was abandoned, and for most of her life, never managed to find a new connection with anybody. When she discovers that she’s special, she can’t imagine how to use this as gain for HERSELF, her first thought is how to be useful to OTHERS. If there is any personal gain in it, there is only the idea that by being useful, people will want her around. Imagine Rey seeing her new friends stand beside her, reassuring her that she means something to them in an emotional sense, not just as a means to an end. If she was not able to use these powers, they would still love her. It isn’t the powers that they are amazed by, it is the fact that she uses them to do the most good that she can. She understands loneliness and how quickly that can turn into a deep hatred for yourself and life, and she has always pulled herself up from that deep sinking pit. Now she has companions who reach out and offer to help her. Rey is the other half of the Jedi successors, and yes, she is indeed able to touch the Dark. It is not her weakness, and it is not her weapon, it is her shield. The Dark is not going to corrupt her, and she won’t use it to destroy others, but to try and break through the darkness to hurt her would require being able to face the darkness in yourself and fully admit what you truly are, which is not something many are able to do. Especially not the villains, who claim that their evil ways are actually righteous (which is a self-serving lie), or think that simply being evil openly is actually a form of strength (to truly know that what you are doing is “wrong”, you would also know that you can’t win). Rey isn’t evil, she isn’t sinister, and she doesn’t turn into a twisted monster. Rey is, at her core, kind. Even when she fights, her motivation is kindness for those who would be harmed without her intervention. Her kindness isn’t indifferent or passive, it is powerful and has direction. Fighting might sound like a “violent” act, but to do nothing while innocents are killed would be truly heartless. Finn inherits Luke’s Blue Lightsaber, and Rey inherits a Red one. They are both Jedi, and a new age of what that means; it is simply people who are attuned to the Force, no longer rejected anybody who in the depths of the darkness. Rey knows how to pull people up from it, and isn’t afraid of diving deep into herself for this power. Rey finds herself in the middle of not a small group, but several large groups of people, all who see her as a person. They trust her, and they allow her to take her own time to heal, to find peace, to enjoy things in life she never experienced. She had once been thrown away, and all she could have hoped for was to be “needed”... but she is WANTED, she will never be forgotten, she will never be lost. Her Red Lightsaber represents every single Jedi who ever fell, because Rey got back up

Kyle Ben does not exist

There, I fixed Star Wars

#my thoughts #star wars #poe dameron #finn #rey

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chiclet-go-boom · 4 years

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point of impact 14: the will of the maker

with kisses to @enigmaticagentalice and @linguini17

this requires a couple of warnings: - this is 13.5k long. maybe find a snack before you start - this contains explicit sex - i feel like there should be 3 points but there aren’t. so. yeah.

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If she could feel anything it would all probably hurt, so she's distantly grateful that she cannot.

There is movement now in the haze as one of Leliana’s scouts, blurred and faceless, helps yet another limp away. There are slumped bodies in the corners of her vision; some already stirring but others achingly quiet - dead or injured she doesn’t know and she cannot take the time to stop and assess, Maker grant His grace to those caught under the falling stone.

The Inquisitor is braced wide legged against what might have once been a carved column, gulping air like water. Dorian is no better, crouched over one knee in the wreckage with his head bowed against his staff as if praying. For all she knows, he is.

She herself has nothing left to say, her wishes long carried away by darkness and incense. There is nothing she could tell the Maker now that He does not already know. In the unlooked-for respite from the fighting, she shrugs the shield higher on her forearm, flexes fingers long welded stiff to the hilt of her sword.

If they fail here at the last she will not have it be because she lost her grip.

Beyond the circle of cracked flagstone they stand on, the horizon exists now only as a mess of crumpled stone and smashed walls, the points of destruction reaching up like so many fingers. She dares not look beyond. Ahead and above is that which they came to prevent and she fixes her gaze on the final climb.

Only that far and no farther. One way or the other, it will be over.

“Varric.” She barely recognizes her own voice, rough with dust and exertion. From a half dozen paces away he glances over. His face looks like she feels - numb, determined, blank.

“Seeker?” She wishes she had words. She wishes she had time. Somewhere beneath the strain she wishes for a dozen things that never came to pass. The half hundred things that were never hers to have.

“You have one job, dwarf.” She calls him by a name that defines the least of what he is, the habit so ingrained that even now she cannot release it. The wild magic prowls through the air, lyrium laced, eating at everything. It feels like it’s eroding her as much as it erodes the ground they stand on.

“And what’s that? Stay out of your way?” The old, familiar joke but the echoes are flat here, hammered thin at the edges.

She is not afraid. She is not afraid but she is suddenly heartsick with every one of her well thought out, endlessly buttressed reasons. It could be the end of everything in a handful of minutes. The end of the very world and she has never once told him a truth that could mean something.

And what would it matter now? The voice mocks, as it always has. She will always leave it too late to have any meaning at all.

Still, she turns to look and their eyes touch across the small distance. They are not alone but for all of her, they could be. “Survive this. I do not care how.” She can only be as she is and the meaning is close enough to suit.

His mouth smiles, the familiar light touches his eyes. She can see him pulling it around his shoulders like a cloak, shaking away the exhaustion. “Your lips to the Maker’s ears, Seeker.” He hefts the weight of his crossbow in one hand then as if it weighs nothing and her chest constricts. So much strength and none of it for her, none of it ever for her. “Try my best. And you know how I hate to disappoint.” “See that you do not,” she snaps back. If she wants the old anger there, she cannot sustain the effort. It too falls flat and dies. That is all she can think of to say, all that she has given herself permission for. Cassandra looks away to see the Inquisitor straightening, wrapping her grip around her battle axe.

It is only when his fingers brush her elbow that she realizes he has moved.

She is too weary to startle but she wants to. She wants to glare but cannot. It seems that she can do nothing anymore but endure.

“Seeker.”

She looks down into his face. “Yes, Varric.” “Don’t you be dying on me, either.” “As the Maker wills it.” His grip tightens on her arm and she is absurdly grateful she can at least feel the pressure of his fingers through the thick leather.

“Now is not a good time for a death wish to come up, you know.” Cassandra stares. Of all the things to say. She opens her mouth to refute whatever nonsense is in his head but up close the creases at the corners of his eyes are pronounced, the lines around his mouth grooved deep for all that he still smiles. He is not young, a veteran of more wars than this, and she sees that written on his face. Unbowed and unbroken; that is written there too.

An ugly streak of dirt and blood mars his jaw and throat, stains his collar in a bruising smear. Her fingers twitch to brush it away, assess the damage, assure herself that he is whole. Even his hair is escaping its cord, long strands falling forward, dirty and dusty and limp.

His eyes are so much lighter than she remembers.

The moment stretches and she realizes she has said nothing and he’s just standing there as if they have all the time in the world for her to figure it out. They do not. She does not. The Inquisitor is moving, Dorian is standing and she turns because she must be first, to shield them as best she can, for as long as she can. His hand falls away.

“Just… stay alive, Varric, that is all.” She hears the familiar sound of the ratchet on his weapon arming behind her. If he says anything in reply it is too low to be heard and then there is thankfully no more time to think about anything at all.

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

It is at once too much and not enough.

It has been days and she still feels suspended from herself, a curious floating un-attachment. The stone railing under her elbows is solid enough at least, both rough and smooth at the same time, the very nature of it worn by centuries of use, other hands, other people who have no doubt leaned here just as she does. There is no doubt some very profound lesson in that but she is not the apostate to tease at it.

Upwards, towards the light, the raucous chorus spills from the wide open doors that lead into the Great Hall. It swirls past her knees before dissipating down the wide stairs into the courtyard and every so often she can hear The Iron Bull’s deep laughter lifting up all the rest like a swell beneath foam. There is heat and motion there, bodies dancing, people singing, all of them joyous. There is no doubt somebody standing on a table, attempting the impossible for the third time. It would be easy enough to join in. Her place is certainly assured, her presence more than welcome. That is a gift beyond most yet Cassandra makes no move. A cup of thin brandy dangles near forgotten from her fingers.

Standing alone, she almost thinks she can smell the earth-turned darkness across the wall leads towards the gardens. She can hear the Chant rising and falling in solemn counterpoint to the revelry behind her. It drifts in and out of hearing, skipping in and out of herself. If she closes her eyes she can smell the candles littered across the altar, the incense, feel the pressure of Andraste’s blind gaze upon her hair. She should be there, should she not, lending her voice to the worship of the Maker and His Bride? They have, after all, prevailed. Against everything, they have survived.

She wets her lips with the dark alcohol, inhaling the sharp bite to ground herself to the here and now. She will not remember. She will not yet she does; a silhouette tumbling, swearing, the outline of sickly green magic. The explosion of fear, the rage that had followed. The shudder up to her shoulder as she’d driven her sword in viciously deep, screaming.

She shakes her head and takes a longer, deeper swallow to shove that particular memory away. No. No, she will not remember. Not yet. The mourned dead are laid to rest and tonight Skyhold raises its living voice in triumph.

Never can be soon enough.

Shifting, she straightens only to discover that she can go neither up nor down. Not into the light and neither into the darkness, trapped here on the gray stone stairs between the two.

It is just battle fatigue. Just. She’s been here before, she tells herself and all things can be endured. All things pass.

Cassandra sits because she can think of nothing else to do, bracing her feet wide to prop her elbows on her knees. She turns the cup between her hands, over and over again as if there will be answers in it, assuming she even had questions to ask.

If she could only go to her pallet above the forge, try to pray, try once more to sleep, but no, even that is denied her. The revelry rings off the stones, there will be no respite for hours yet. Even long empty rooms still fit only for birds and scavengers now have occupants desperate for privacy; she has already tried and had to retreat with her face burning. She dreads walking in on someone she knows.

“There you are.”

He walks up the stairs with the light on his face and there is a curious twist in her chest, near pain before she stills. She could no more look away than she could stop breathing though.

His copper hair is washed now, tied back and as smooth as if it had never known what it was like to be coated with filth and dirt. Tonight the heavy brocade of his tunic is a curious green-gold, set off with a black sash that it suits him somehow, severe as it is. Somewhere he has even found time to shave, his high cheekbones prominent. She feels unkempt although she knows she is not. Unconsciously her fingers pluck at her collar. Perhaps she could have worn a nicer shirt.

He looks wonderful. More than wonderful, for once playing the part of the merchant prince that he actually is. He stops only when one booted foot is on the step that hers rest on. For once, they are nearly of a height and he’s close enough now that she can feel the subtle heat of his body radiating, closer than she ever remembers permitting him to be. She ought to object but what is she going to do, lean back? Show her discomfort? Let him think it distaste?

She sits straighter on the stair.

“Varric.” “You have a real gift for stating the obvious, Seeker. Am I interrupting something?” “No.” It is bald, even for her, and to cover the rudeness she takes a deeper swallow of brandy than perhaps she intended, the burn of it hot and racing. “No, you are not interrupting.” “Good, because I’ve been looking for you. Thought I might have to dig you out of the party, but here you are, all nice and alone. That’s tidy.” Something in his smile dares her to agree. She’s not sure what to make of it.

“I have always wanted to achieve ‘tidy’, certainly. What is it, Varric?” “Got a proposition for you, Seeker. Now that you’re at loose ends as it were with, you know, with all the evil safely tucked into bed and the hole in the sky patched up and everybody working away like busy bees on some very spectacular hangovers.” He makes a small show of peering into her cup and she feels self conscious that it is, in fact, nearly empty, twitching it away. She glares at him.

“It is just brandy. I am not drinking to end up snoring in the mulch. As much as it might amuse you to think of it.” “Nah. While the image is tempting, that’s not really what I had in mind.” “Then what is on your mind, dwarf?” “See, there you go again. Always with the dwarfiness. Does it bother you that much?” “What?” Startled, she makes the mistake of looking directly in his eyes. The smile on his lips hasn’t changed even as his broad face tilts. Now she sees the damage. A raw line of stitches glistening with salve trails from ear to neck, twisting around to his back somewhere. Her fingers twitch and she stills them with effort.

“You always call me dwarf when you’re annoyed with me. Or annoyed with yourself. Or even just generally annoyed at everything which, let’s face it, Seeker, is pretty damned often. It’s like it’s a personal affront to you that I wasn’t born tall enough to hit my head on things.”

“What? No.” “No? Then why are you always tossing it in my face? It’s not like I run around calling you ‘human’ every time you piss me off.” It is because she is tired, drifting. Her mouth replies before her brain catches up, her tongue fuzzy. “I am sorry, Varric. Perhaps it is that the word makes it easier for me. Dwarf. Human. Chantry. Carta.” She makes a small motion with her hand. “Nevarra, Maker take the place into the ground. Kirkwall. We live in completely different worlds, ones we will both be returning to and it is only because of the Inquisition that we are even together now. And before you point it out, yet again, I have already apologized for dragging you into this. Twice. I will not do it a third time.”

“But we are here, now.” His voice is patient. “Right here and right now, standing right here in fact. And you might like the Carta, you know. They’re very straightforward for the most part. Once you get past the sharp pointy bits of the negotiating anyways.” “Must you have a joke for everything, Varric? Can you never be serious?” “Oh, I can be very serious, Cassandra.” Without any warning at all fingers touch her chin, lifting her face. The sound of her name on his lips is so startling that she permits it. “Why do you want to be reminded that we’re different people?” She almost answers but this time she closes her teeth on it before it escapes. She should stand. Move away. She does neither. The gold of his necklace glitters almost as much as his eyes.

“What is it you want, Varric?” She aims for cool dignity. “Tonight? You.”

“No.”

She’s already answered before the sense of it registers and for a heartbeat she cannot breathe. His fingers don’t move.

“Yes.” “Varric.”

“I’m not asking for forever, Seeker. I wanted that once, sure, but I figured out a long time ago that it’s too much to ask for.” His blunt hand strokes along her cheek then as delicately as if she is made of spun glass, the pads of his fingers rough against her skin. She has no idea what expression is on her face. “Not forever. Not even tomorrow if you don’t think you can promise that far. But I want tonight.” A thumb brushes the corner of her mouth. He shifts closer, leaning. “Give me tonight.” “I… Varric. No.” “And why not?” “Because.“ There are reasons she should not - they should not. “You do not even like me that much.”

“Is that what you think?” His fingers are curling under her jaw now. She should pull his hand away, do something, but everything feels shocky slow and sticky, sweeter than it should be. His fingers touch her neck then even as his smile scatters the rest. She has to grope after it. “I am finding it difficult to think at all.” She hears herself complaining but it’s too late to call back the words. It’s too slippery, things she should have under control escaping like unruly chicks. “No. You cannot mean it.”

“Cassandra.” She’s never heard the syllables of her name sound like that before, wicked and soft and aching. “Just tonight. That’s all I’m asking for. We won, everyone is celebrating.” “And that is reason enough? Simply to.. to celebrate?”

He laughs and that warms everything around them, turns the air to summer and flowers. “Nothing is simple with you, Seeker. Never has been, never will be.” “Varric, you are impossible. No.”

It takes long moments before she realizes that he’s still smiling with his heavy face tilted, that his fingers are still caressing her neck, shiveringly soft. That her traitor hand has wrapped around his wrist as if to hold him there.

The kiss is deep, satisfying, just as she always imagined it would be. She can smell smoke in his hair, taste it in his mouth, the curl of his tongue moving hungrily around hers. It’s only when he finally pulls away and she hears herself make a sound of protest at the loss that she realizes what she’s done. She’s lost her cup somewhere, spilled, forgotten.

No. She should say no again. She even opens her lips to say it more strongly but his mouth slides down her jaw, touches her neck. His teeth close slowly over the tender skin at the junction of shoulder and a deep sound of possession rumbles from his chest. His tongue is tracing wetly obscene things on her skin and she can still shudder, so she does.

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Left alone, they clutch at his shirt, wrapping fingers into the heavily embroidered fabric. Warm and abrasive, just as he is. So warm. So very warm.

“Tonight, Cassandra. Give me tonight. I’ll beg if you want me to.” She pulls back to stare in shock. And he will, she can see the promise dark in his eyes. His hips are nearly between her thighs as if he has every right to be this close, pushing her backwards and suddenly it’s all she can think of, just like this, driving into her, the heat of him without barrier, without restraint, moving, sliding. Hers to have, hers to need, just… just once. Is that not what she wants? It’s not poetry or flowers but something darker and fiercer, tasting of blood.

Her teeth sunk into his shoulder. Her legs around his waist.

Why not? Does she want to be cold forever? It’s the end of the world and an outline coated in green fire falls, screaming.

Her fists lock convulsively and she drags him down, sliding her mouth under his in sudden desperation.

A burst of light and motion breaks them apart. A clatter of people, shouting and laughing, push their way down the stairs. Lanterns swing dangerously, a face she thinks she might know is illuminated and then gone, the smell of beer and acrid fumes and a half-shouted apology in their wake. Cassandra takes a deep breath. They had the look of mischief. She should get up, follow, check their intentions. She struggles to sit up. Varric has already taken a half step back down the stairs, suddenly lower than he was, separated by the cold hand of propriety and distance.

“No, Varric. No. We can’t.” “Seeker, why not? I want to. I know you want to.” She can’t even deny it. She can still taste his heartbeat on her tongue. “There is… there is nowhere we can go.”

That wasn’t what she meant to say, not at all but his fingers curl around hers and he effortlessly tugs her to her feet. Her breath is coming too fast, too light. This is wrong. Dangerous. Stupid.

“Of course there is.” He never lets go of her hand, pulling her down then into the darkness. If they are still singing the Chant, she cannot hear it over the sound of wings beating in her ears. He navigates the courtyard, nodding once at somebody, she has no idea who. A door she’s never seen before, a set of narrow stairs, slick and damp, another door, a hallway and then another door. It’s only as he digs a key out of a pocket and slides it into a lock that she realizes that this must be his personal room. It can’t be anything else but before that can sink in, he’s pulled her in. He locks the door before she even thinks to balk.

It’s dark enough that her eyes struggle to adjust. She blinks, gets the jumbled impression of organized clutter, a few pieces of hulking dark furniture shoved against the walls, carpets skewed in charcoal patterns on top of each other. The only light is a fire that is barely more than coals guttering towards a sleepy death.

The bed dominates her attention, taking up the entire wall to the side. Large enough to comfortably sleep a small entourage, tumbled and messy, it’s much too large for a single dwarf. A single diamond paned window looks down on it, scattering moonlight in patches.

“Cassandra.” How he manages to do it, she has no idea. The simple sound of her name on his lips scatters every coherent thought trying to form in her head. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be doing this. If he’d just leave her alone for a moment, she’d remember why. She has a thousand reasons why they will never be and she can think of none of them.

His hand touches her hip, light as a breeze, a drift of fingertips only. Magic, she concludes helplessly. “I want to touch you, Cassandra.” Was his voice always that deep? His hand wraps softly around the jut of bone then, his thumb starting to stroke the softer flesh of her abdomen. “Do you want me to touch you?” She licks her lips. Yes. But the word seems stuck in her mouth, a juicy roundness she can’t seem to work past. “Do you want me to beg, Cassandra?” His other hand touches her waist then, urging her after him into the darkness. She takes a step under the gentle pressure, staring down into his shadowed face. They are. They will. This is happening. His hand works jerkily at his sash, dropping the dark fabric to disappear against the floor.

It is as if that alone is the trigger and sudden recklessness pours through her veins like an explosion of ice, shivering over her skin. Convulsively her hands slide to his shoulders, giving herself daring permission to explore. His muscles bunch, twitching. She can taste the sudden desire like wine in the air. His. Hers.

“Do you want me to tell you all the things I want to do to you? ” He walks backwards, his hands stroking, gripping, distracting. She takes another step, a third, following the urging. His hand burns, sliding down the curve of her ass as if he has every right to do that to her. “All the things I’ve thought of? Maker, the things I’ve thought of.”

“Varric.”

He shivers, she can feel it and a heady rush of lightness fills her head. “Yes. That’s a very good start. Say it again.” “Varric.” “Cassandra.” It’s nearly a growl even as he lifts her with urgent insistence, as if she weighs nothing at all and she’s sprawling in an unknown alchemy of vectored translation.

She’s already wrapping her legs around him, drawing him down to the bed before his lips have even found hers.

Heat in his kiss, sweetness and restless, frantic motion. She’s touched him before, a soldier’s inspection for wounds, for weakness, for signs of seeping infection. But not like this. Nothing like this. She’s measured the breadth of his shoulders before but not how they block out the little light there is, curving wide above her body. The sheer weight of him pressing her down. A hand, hard and greedy, slides down her flank in open palmed admiration, sliding back up under her shirt.

Skin on shocking skin, his fingers on her ribs. She arches the best she can under the touch, digs her heel into the back of his thigh and is rewarded with the instant thrust of his hips down, seeking her blindly. His fingers close around her breast then and she cries out in wonder against it, against the spiraling sweetness deep in her belly. “Cassandra, fuck.” His voice is raw but there is laughter in it.

“Yes,” she agrees.

He stills at that, braced on one hand in the darkness. “Maker. Maker. Tonight, Cassandra. That’s all. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She can hear the pleading in his voice, wonders if he hears it too. “Then beg me, Varric.”

“Seeker?” She tightens her legs and rolls him to the center. Heavier he might be but she is not unskilled, not any sort of wilting flower. Straddling his hips she nearly loses it, feeling him hard and heavy beneath her, the sheer stretch of her thighs to accommodate the width of his body. She shivers, lengthening her spine to stare down. She spreads her fingers to dig into the broad expanse of his chest through the silk, hardly daring to believe that she is doing this, that he is. That he would ask. “Beg me.” The words that rise to his lips are guttural and crude. An hour ago she would have blushed, stammered, retreated. She can feel the color staining her cheeks still but her hips roll in an agony of agreement. “Yes, Varric. Now say it nicely.”

His breath is ragged even as his words gain preciseness and she scrapes her hands down, threading through the chest hair she finds. She works shakily at the hooks, rewarding him blindly with a kiss, a bite on each inch of flesh exposed. His hands knead at her thighs, stroke her legs ceaselessly, slide over and over through her hair, tugging. Somewhere the pin shakes loose and her braid uncurls itself. The weight snaking over her shoulder is dreamlike, smooth and soft.

She is doing this. They are doing this. Varric.

It’s only when she slides down, off his body to ghost her mouth at the skin above his belt that the words finally fail.

She looks up up the length of his straining body, moonlight picking out the details. When did the world get brighter? The light through the window is a small sun, the sounds of Skyhold a distant pressure. His mouth is slashed tight, nearly a grimace and she drops her head, rubs her cheek against his cock through the heavy linen. She turns to breathe hot over the length of it, licking.

She has only a heartbeat of warning in the intake of breath before he’s moving, an arm a hard bar around her waist, pulling her back, up and over. She sprawls, caught off guard. His hands are rough, angry, working at her hips and she feels her pants loosen.

“Taste you, Cassandra. Need to taste you. Now.”

She is beyond hearing. Her hands force his shirt down his shoulders even as he yanks the fabric down her long limbs, struggling with her boots. She helps as best she can, kicking them away. He shrugs impatiently out of the open tunic and suddenly he’s squirming down, sliding between her legs, his mouth lowering. She gasps in sudden understanding.

“No, Varric, no.” She’s only read about this in books, wicked and disgraceful. She tries to draw away.

“Fuck, yes. Let me taste you.”

She hesitates and that’s enough. He locks his large hands over her thighs, yanking her down the bed, pulling her legs over his shoulders. Then his clever, lying tongue is sliding into her.

She hears the noise she makes but cannot stop it. High, sweet, panicked. Her hips lift.

He groans, then gentles. She feels a kiss on her thigh, then a lick slow and broad and flat. His tongue flicks and she gasps at the sensation. Then he’s deep in her again, thrusting insistently. Her hands claw into the bed, twisting the covers. She gives in; there is nothing else she can do.

“Varric!”

His hands slide to her waist, keep her still as she dances, her long legs curling and uncurling over his back in writhing indecision. It’s nothing like when she touches herself, more insistent, deeper, wetter. The roughness of his face is an abrasion that is both welcome and infuriating, another sensation she cannot control, cannot stop. She looks down and it almost undoes her. Watching him do this to her. That he would want to.

Varric looks up and this is wicked, sinful, wrong.

His tongue circles her twice, three times, his eyes locked to hers and she arches, pushing herself desperately against his mouth.

It’s too much. Her eyes close and there is a kiss sweetly deep and then something invades, thick and insistent, moving in syncopated time to her hips and she loses, she is lost. She convulses around herself, pleasure spiking to crest and spike again.

She’s heavy and slick with sweat, moving still, unable to stop, trembling. He drags his face over his arm. She threads her fingers shakily into his hair, raising his beloved face to hers. “Varric. Varric. Please.”

He tastes like her, smeared with salted sweetness and she’s too shaky to do more than laugh as he curses, fumbling one handed at his belt even as she stretches against him, discarding her shirt in tugs and kisses, desperate to touch everywhere she can reach.

When he wraps her in his arms, positioning between her legs, she closes her eyes again. Skin on skin, the slickness of his flesh sliding against hers, the nudge of him so nearly inside her. She convulses then with anticipation, and that is enough, that is all, and he impales himself to the hilt in one smooth surge, arms locking around her waist.

Her fingers bite into his shoulders and then they move and move and move. She can feel the heat breaking out on her body, feels his rise to match. He growls her name, his teeth in her throat, as high as he can reach as she strains to push closer, be closer, winding her legs around his. Praise spills from his lips and each time he thrusts she agrees, scraping her fingers up his back, sliding back down his ribs, counting them over and over again.

When he pulls back, out, she cries out in anger with the emptiness.

“On your knees. Get on your knees.” She barely recognizes his voice. “Offer yourself.” She can feel her eyes widen at the demand. He rocks back on his heels, breathing heavily and she’s turning without thought, sprawling on her stomach. He makes a deep sound of satisfaction and then his fingers are at her hips, pulling her back. She’s too high, legs too long, and she lowers herself once and then again, squirming backwards in frantic, thoughtless need. He murmurs something and then suddenly he’s against her, hot and heavy. He slots himself back into her, deep enough that she arches soundlessly. Completed.

The world simply stops for an aching moment. His hand smooths up her back in one long stroke and weight comes down between her shoulder blades, pinning her to the bed. She’s stretched out, his thighs under hers, spreading her obscenely open.

“Fuck. Cassandra. You don’t. You don’t know how good you look.” She shudders and he starts again.

Swift and bright, driving both of them up the bed. It’s only when her hands are braced against the stone that he stops, grinding deep and slow. His thighs are welded to hers and it feels as if they are one animal, one drive, one urge for rising completion. She moans, barely recognizing herself. His hands cup her rib cage and she rises even as he drives up and into her.

“Cassandra. Let me.” “Varric.” “Cassandra. Let me. Tell me. I can’t hold it much longer.” He stops then, shudderingly deep and she can feel him throb once, twice. He pulls out and she cries out with the loss, writhing. He plunges in again as if unable to stop and she can hear his harsh breathing. An arm wraps like iron around her waist, her hips, pulling her down hard onto his lap, holding them both completely still. She can feel the warning in it, the kiss he presses to her spine. She shudders over and over. So close. So close. “Tell me yes. Cassandra!” His voice is insistent, harsh. “Yes. Yes.” He swells impossibly large and then he’s moving, fucking, driving into her hard enough to hurt, it hurts and she cries out with it, accepting, wanting, bracing a hand against the wall she can barely see. “Fuck, fuck, Cassandra, take it, take all of it, love you, love you, fuck.”

Slower and slower, until finally he stops against her, buried deep between her thighs. She shivers and lowers herself then to the bed, taking him down with her. Collapses and then they’re curled around each other, his arms cradling her tight into his body.

For a long time they don’t move, and she listens to her heartbeat slow, calm, the scent of him, of sex, settling against her cooling skin. The fire is surprisingly still alive and she idly wonders if her sense of time has come completely adrift.

His fingers are ghosting across her flank. She feels a kiss on her shoulder blade.

Before she can think better of it, she squirms to face him.

“Varric.” “Yes, Cassandra.” “I am not. I am not used to that.” “And what’s that?” “My name. You never call me by name.” “No, you’re right. I don’t.” His hand cups her shoulder, strokes down her arm in a slow, easy line. His face is soft in the moonlight, shadowed and deep. “Cassandra Allegra Filomena Several Other Very Important Family Names Probably Pentaghast, 63rd was it?”

“78th. And it is Portia Calogera.”

“Right. 78th in line for the Nevarran throne. It’s easier to just say Seeker, don’t you think?” “But that is not who I am. That is what I do.” He presses a kiss between her breasts at that, nuzzling and she makes a small sound of unintended pleasure. She should feel awkward. The things he asked her to do, the things they did. But there is only lassitude, a feeling she has no wish to name. Her fingers automatically thread into his loose hair, his hair tie long lost somewhere.

“Yes. And no.”

His mouth travels, wraps itself around a nipple to suck gently and honey curls like a snake in her stomach. His hand starts to nudge between her legs. She can feel how slick she is, wet with both of them. She tightens her thighs but it doesn’t help, his fingers squirming, sliding deeper. Her breath catches. “Varric. Varric, you’re bleeding.” He lifts his head. “I am?”

She raises her fingers from his back, feeling the stickiness more than she can see it. “You are. Let me see.”

His sigh is near soundless but he moves after a moment, shifting away and it is a moment’s work to light the candles near the bed. Turning back, she is treating to the sight of Varric sprawled wide, an arm over his head. His hooded eyes track her lazily.

She lifts her chin, fighting the automatic urge to blush, to let her own gaze travel everywhere. She just had sex with him, why shouldn’t she look? But after the darkness, the things he said and her willing responses, it’s suddenly too intimate. Perhaps in a novel this would be easier. Then again, in a novel, he wouldn’t be injured. “Sit up, dwarf.” “Seeker, you are a really bad nurse. It’s probably just a pulled stitch.” He’s still smiling, the bastard, and he at least is making no bones about staring at her. Her nipples tighten under the scrutiny but she ignores the sensation. “Probably. Sit up.” He does finally, turning himself obligingly to expose the wound on his neck. She hisses with sympathy.

The line of it is buried deep behind his ear, trailing a drunken line to his shoulder before savagely hooking back, digging deep into the muscle for the last few inches. It will no doubt leave a beautiful scar. Most of the stitches have in fact held up well but the last few have indeed torn themselves out. The blood oozes sluggishly, smeared and already starting to brown.

She worries at her lip, brows pulled together. She’s seen worse, certainly, but this is Varric. She touches the puckered flesh with gentle fingers. He doesn’t even flinch.

“So how bad is it, Seeker?” “It isn’t, not really. I cannot believe you didn’t feel it go.” She doesn’t have to see his face to know the grin that has to be on it, it’s certainly heavy enough in his voice. “I was kind of busy at the time. I have needle and thread handy, even some of what passes for whiskey in Fereldan for just such an occasion. Want to take care of me?”

“Varric?” “Cassandra.” He turns and leisurely, remorselessly pushes her shoulders down to the bed. His head lowers to her mouth and his kiss explores. “I am not going to a healer anything tonight. Either fix it or I’ll just bleed some more all over the sheets while I fuck you a second time.” She hisses. “Varric!” “I’m not kidding, Seeker. You gave me tonight and we’re nowhere even close to sunrise. Want me to find the whiskey? Might even have some numbroot around here too. No promises though, I might have used it all up the last time.”

“The last time? How often does this happen?” His hand, large and calloused, slides down her leg, caressing the back of her thigh and she curls it automatically over his hip. His eyes darken. He shifts a little higher and he kisses her again, harder. “You know something?” His voice is deep, rough. “The hell with the whiskey. Let me into you again.” It’s frightening how fast she wants to respond. Her fingers are already sliding down his shoulders, her legs already spreading open even as he starts to work himself into position. Take him again, have him again. She tightens the line of her jaw. Just like Varric to distract.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, firmly pushing on his collarbone. “You are bleeding and you are not...we are… no.” She slides her legs out from underneath, squirming. “Cassandra.” Equal parts exasperation and frustration.

“Why didn’t you just get it Healed?” He stops trying to pull her back finally and just shrugs, both hands braced now on the bed by her hips. She narrows her eyes, wondering if he’s showing off. Then again, maybe the original numbroot salve was potent stuff. “It’s pretty trivial and they needed the big magicks for people a lot worse off than me. I promise if it doesn’t heal clean in a week, I’ll have somebody look at it again.” Trivial? Another inch forward or deeper and he might have died before anyone realized his throat was cut.

“Needle, then? Thread? Patch me up so I'm ready for duty again?” “You are impossible.” What can she do? It is not as if she hasn’t done as much herself. It could have been worse. It wasn’t. “You’ve said it before, I’m sure you’ll be happy to say it again.” With a sigh and a kiss to her hip though, he slides off the bed without any apparent self consciousness, padding away. Across the gloom, he flips the lid on a small chest, rummaging. “Here we go. I don’t recommend drinking the whiskey, by the way. Purely for medicinal purposes in this case.” He tosses a small flask onto the bed before turning back with something in his hands. Her breath catches in her throat. Varric is impossibly broad, illuminated by candles, his shoulders and arms as thick as mountains. She’d felt it, understood it even when he’d picked her up as if she was a feather but seeing him naked, outlined in light is something else. Gold in his hair, at his throat, glinting at his ears. His erection, still half hard, bumps against his thigh as he returns with what looks like a field kit in his hands. She’s staring, she knows she is, but cannot stop.

“Like what you see, Seeker?” She turns her gaze away in mortification and he laughs. That she will not abide so she turns back, setting her mouth in a mutinous line. “It is not as if I have never seen a naked man before, Varric.” Which is true. “Even bleeding ones. Although most of those were already in the medical tent, unconscious,” she feels forced to add, lest he get the wrong idea.

“If you say so. But if you keep looking at me like that, we really are going to be fucking again.” She makes a noise of unwitting agitation. “Just… turn around, dwarf.” Thankfully he does, bracing himself against the edge of the bed, obligingly lowering his head. She scoots up closer, prickling aware of the brush of his thighs between her knees. She unrolls the kit, sorting the supplies as much by touch as sight. It’s obviously been used more than a few times going by the empty pockets. She decides not to ask. The needle is already threaded and knotted, a detail she is grateful for and she carefully brushes his hair away from the wound.

It shouldn’t be sensual but it is. Varric doesn’t flinch under her ministrations as she carefully places the stitches again. His breath hisses out only when she soaks the linen pad with the alcohol and presses it carefully to the wound. She cleans the skin slowly, placing an apologetic kiss on the back of his neck. She can smell the smoke again buried in his hair and idly wonders what was burning in Skyhold to put it there. She hesitates before kissing him again simply because she can. Her tongue lingers, tasting the salt on his skin and he makes a noise of pleasure. She pulls back guiltily.

There are more scars on his back, some thinly welted, others rough and raised. No worse than hers if no better. Thankfully there is still some numbroot in the kit and she spreads it over her careful work, working it in with gentle fingertips.

“Cassandra.” His voice is a rumble. “Varric.” “I love how you say that. Satisfied?” She leans back to inspect her work. “It will do for now.” “Good.”

He stands, turning as she cleans her fingers. He rolls up the thin leather kit, taking the stained pad from her. The one goes back into the chest, the other gets tossed onto the coals. It flares up almost immediately, the cheap spirits catching. Then he returns and there is no mistaking the expression on his face. She scoots backwards as he climbs back onto the bed but as big as it is there’s nowhere to go. “What’s the matter, Seeker?” He knows perfectly well. It’s written on his face, in the knowing curve of his lips, in the way he reaches out and runs a thoughtful thumb over her ankle. Cassandra is suddenly acutely aware of how naked she is. She has never thought of herself as delicate or fragile; she is a warrior, taller than most, stronger than most. But as his large hand encircles her foot, rubbing along the tendon there, she feels like a doll. “Second thoughts?” She snaps her gaze to his eyes. “No. No, I…” she hesitates again and curses herself for it. His expression starts to close and his hand stops moving. She reaches out impulsively and puts her hand on his jaw.

“Varric. I am. I am not good with words. Not like you.” “Well, not many people are,” he concedes after a moment. “Feel like telling me something then, Seeker? You know it’s not the first time I’ve been somebody’s mistake, after all. Won’t be the last.”

She is so shocked that she flinches. That he would think that. But there’s something deeply mocking in his eyes under lowered brows.

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that,” she says as slowly as she can. “Varric!” He shrugs again, a roll of shoulder. “Just cutting to the chase, Seeker.” “Stop it. Even if I am not good with words, that is not what I intended to say. Those are your fears, dwarf, not mine.” His nostrils flare but the look on his face changes after a moment, softens. She reaches out again and more deliberately touches the thin skin near his eyes. “Varric. This is hard for me. Do not make it harder.” “Sorry. Sorry. Shit, Cassandra. Start again?” His lips quirk with something that isn’t quite humor but the black look at least is fading. His fingers start to move again on her ankle, stroking his apology. She takes a deep breath.

“I have tried, all my life, to serve as best I can. To do the Chantry’s will and to uphold blessed Andraste’s teachings. I have not. I do not.” She growls then, angry that this will not come as it ought. “I do not ask things for myself. It will be as the Maker wills.” Under her touch, his skin is warm. He is always warm, she realizes, a furnace of heat and diffusion.

“That night. That last night, I could not sleep. We were close, I knew it would be over soon. If not then, then the next day, the one following, no more than that. And we would face him, all of us, and I feared. Varric, I feared so strongly.” His hand rises then to her knee, stroking, comforting. “Not such a bad way to go, you know. Trying to do right.” “I know,” she snaps back. “If one is to die, to do so trying to correct a great wrong, there is no better service to give. But I… I could not sleep for thinking of all the things that could go badly. How terribly we might fail. So I prayed. I prayed for us all. And I prayed… for you. To spare you, even should the worst happen.”

Her fingers drift without meaning to, touch his brow, curve along his jaw. She can feel the muscle twitch there at the touch. “I never say the words right. Poetry, it tells all these truths in words so beautiful that sometimes I am close to tears. But the Maker sees, the Maker knows. I have asked for nothing all my life but I asked. For you. To live. To be free. I could not bear it otherwise.”

“Cassandra.” “I will not lie. I will give you this night, this one night, because I have wanted it too. I have dreamed of your hands on me. I have lain awake aching for it. Even if I have told myself over and over and over again that I am a fool to want such a thing.”

She closes her mouth then, afraid of saying more. His heavy brows pull together. “Wanting me is foolish?”

“Chantry. Carta.” She hisses it at him. He growls right back.

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I’m no more Carta than I am mabari. What the hell kind of excuse are you trying to make here? That I’m not good enough for you because I know how to get things done without paperwork and my orders written in fire across the sky?” That hits her hard, unexpected as it is. “Oh, Varric. You absolute ass.” She pulls her hand away and it’s all she can do not to hit him, her fingers curling into an unintended fist. “If that is what you think, then this is over.” She pulls her leg out of his grip with a wrench.

His fingers close over it again instantly and she jerks it again violently, angry. “Let me go.” “Shit, Cassandra. I’m sorry. Again. I am an absolute ass, no question. But you’re hitting every one of my sore spots here, even the ones I can’t feel anymore.” She’s near trembling and she hates it, hates the sudden feeling of vulnerability and with him of all people. She wants to hit him and get it over with, get it all over with, leave here and never look back.

“So tell me, Cassandra. I’m listening. Tell me what you’re afraid of.” His hand spreads, grips her entire thigh as if he knows that she wants to run. Even still, even now, the strength of his fingers twists in her gut, gives her a stab of heat. All that he is, and none of it ever for her. “It is a mistake. This is a mistake.” He breathes out. “Says who?” “I do not know!” She can hear her accent thickening with agitation but completely unable to stop it. “They could name me Divine when the College of Clerics finally crawls up out of their hiding holes and deigns to make a choice, since the world will indeed continue on without its new God. The Seekers must be rebuilt, I cannot let their disgrace be the last thing written in the history books, not when there has been so much wrong done in their names. The Inquisition will need strong leadership, Orlais is in turmoil, the Wardens are all but shattered even as the darkspawn grow more numerous, as well you know, dwarf. The Chantry itself is in flames and it is spreading across all of Thedas, burning all that it touches.” Her voice grows colder and colder. “I do not have time for this. What I want is of no matter.” “I hear you talking but you’re still not telling me anything I don't already know. What are you so Maker blasted frightened of, Cassandra? Everybody wants things.” “I . Do. Not. I am the Right Hand of the Divine, chosen by the Divine Justinia herself to find answers anywhere they try to hide, no matter who hides them, as well you know that too, Seeker of Truth no matter how inconvenient those truths can be to those in power.”

She kicks again but he simply pulls. She has to brace her hands backwards on the bed or sprawl ungracefully and she glares. The words simply will not stop.

“But you. You lie, you cheat, you treat everything as if there are no rules that will hold you, no circumstance that you cannot slide around if it does not suit you. I had to drag you here nearly in chains to do what was right! And I… I could not sleep that entire night, afraid for all that might happen and like…like a fishwife I bargained with the Maker Himself that I would do His will in all things, in every thing, that I would give my very life if He wanted it, leave all of these things undone if He would just spare you.”

She clicks her teeth shut abruptly, but it is already said. Angry, she lashes out. “And you fell, I saw it. I thought you dead and I was furious. Furious that my wishes were as nothing, that the Maker would chose to punish me for my hubris, for thinking I could bargain for such a thing. But you... were not. As I was not. And tonight you simply walked up and said you wanted… you wanted… ”

He is as still as the stone myth tells that his people were carved from. “You.”

“Me. And all of these things that I must do will still be there when the sun rises, multiplying like locusts, all the things you must do and I can never have what I want except that the Maker grants me His grace in this one thing, this one… this one moment. And you tell me that I must believe you lesser somehow, that of course you must be an error of judgement, as if I do not know who you are, all that you are capable of, as if I cannot possibly know what it is that I want and what it is that I need.”

“Shit. Seeker.” “You asked,” she says finally, trembling and she hates that too, hates that she cannot control even something so simple as her voice. “As I could not. As I would not. You asked for what you wanted, what I would never permit myself to have, and I… I did not want to go to my grave, never knowing. I am a fool.”

She snaps her teeth closed, afraid of saying more, knowing in despair that she’s already said too much. She doesn’t want to see whatever expression is on his face, unwilling to face it. She twists, desperate to leave. Out. Away.

“Cassandra. Cassandra. Stop.”

The hand on her leg prevents anything, nearly swallowing her thigh.

“Let me go, Varric.”

“Not a chance, Seeker.”

“I am not Seeker! ” She surges nearly out of his grasp and he lunges, his other hand wrapping around her waist and hauling her back, half under him.

“You are. Cassandra, stop. You are. What you do, who you are. All one thing.” The pressure is remorseless, she can all but feel the bruises forming. “You are not leaving here until you look at me.” “I. Hate. Words.” She has never meant anything more passionately in her life.

“They have their place. Cassandra. Turn around.” The tension across her shoulders is nigh unbearable, her hands in fists on the covers. If only she could lash out. If only she had not come here with him. If only. If only. Unwilling, slowly, she calms.

“Cassandra.” She breathes out and then turns as gracefully as she can, sitting on her hip, sliding away as far as she can. “Let me go.” He ignores it. She has seen Varric in all of his moods, caused no few of the darker ones herself. But never in all of their acquaintance has she seen him look like this. His eyes are too wide, his jaw too tight and there is both pain on his face and something else brighter and darker.

She swallows and tightens her hands. She will not disgrace herself further with weakness by reaching out.

“I am an absolute ass, but we’ve already covered that. If you don’t get what you want, well, neither do I.” He settles back just a little himself, his hands still wrapped around her, still wary. One starts to move tentatively, stroking up her hip. “Nobody gets what they want most of the time. All you can do is grab what you can, for as long as you can and do your best to let it go when it has to leave. Not that I have a great track record with that.” “No.” Neither of them say the name. Inanely she wonders where his crossbow even is. She hasn’t seen it once this night. “No, it is very true that you do not.” “We all have our burdens to bear, Seeker. You can’t ask for things. I am lousy for letting things go. Not the important things. So I’ve learned to try not to let anything be too important if I can help it.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “It hurts too much otherwise.” “Is that why you invited me here? To… to grab what you could?” It is not what she intended but the heat that flares in his eyes flashes across her skin like a burn. She cannot forestall the race of goose flesh and he smiles at it, staring. “Oh, absolutely.” “Varric.” “All of it, Cassandra. All of you, as much as I could get you to share. You don’t want to know how often I’ve thought about how I’d make you say my name. Breathe it. How often you’d scream it. Yes, the world is absolute shit. Crap just keeps falling apart as fast as you fix it and you think I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow? The day after, shit, the weeks and months after? I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“You are not a pretty face at all.” “Rub it in, why don’t you. Then again, if you wanted pretty, Cullen might not be completely locked down yet. There’s still time, Seeker.” “Varric.” “Better than dwarf. See, we’re already improving at this talking thing.” How he does it, she has no idea. She is still vibrating with tension but the urge to laugh is rising up just as inexorably. She raises a fist, not even sure what she’s going to do with it and he catches it in gentle fingers. He presses a kiss to her knuckles and it’s warm, spreading through her flesh.

“Shit never stays fixed. You know it. I know it. But just because that’s how it goes doesn’t mean you can’t dig out things for yourself every now and again. Just one night, Cassandra. That’s all I asked for, all I expect. I know I can’t get more from you but I’ll be damned if I’ll turn it away because it’s not everything. I never get everything.” His mouth explores and her fingers uncurl slowly. Her fingertips brush his jaw. “That’s just how it goes.” “Did. Did you want… what are you saying, Varric?” “I don’t even know. But fuck, Seeker, you’re here. I’m here. You’re gracing my bed like the goddess you are and you’ve so far said my name in just about every way I’ve ever wanted to hear it. Well, including a few I’d be alright with never hearing again.”

“Goddess?” For some reason, that’s what her mind fixates on.

“Cassandra, the Maker Himself would get hard looking at you.”

After everything, the blush hits her like a slap across the cheek, the heat of it crawling in dull fingers down her neck. “You are impossible!” she hisses.

“And honest. Very, very honest.” “You have never been honest a day in your life.” She is embarrassed, prickly enough still to want to wound.

He presses a kiss to her palm, cupping her fingers against his jaw. “It’s not day. Not yet.” She opens her mouth and then closes it again. His lips continue to move against her skin and it feels like he’s kissing her everywhere. Varric lowers his face to her palm again, hiding his expression. When he lifts it again after a moment, she cannot breathe for his eyes.

“So. One more time. No second thoughts?” “I do not think I have managed a decent first thought since you kissed me.”

His unexpected laughter is bone deep, filling the space. “That‘s… shit, that’s all anyone can ask for. Come here. Come here. If you hate words so much, I’m on board with that. Let’s get rid of them for you.”

This time when he pulls, she follows bonelessly, locking her arms carefully around his neck. He has no such restraint, his kiss fierce as sunshine.

One, two, a hundred, she has no idea. There is only the touch of his hands, the glint of light gilding his skin as the candlelight flickers and gutters, his mouth travelling over her skin even as her hands map everything in return. When his teeth graze her throat, she slides her hand down to find him hard, heavy. He groans with appreciation and when he rolls to his back, she follows easily.

“Up. Up, Seeker.” His hands urge her to her knees and she complies without thought, straddling his hips. “Still injured, remember? I’m going to lie here like an invalid and let you do all the work this time.”

She spreads her fingers on his chest, rising up even as he positions himself beneath her. When she sinks back down, engulfing him, it feels so good, so perfect that she arches, breath stuttering. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, Cassandra. That feels. You look.” She curves back to look down at him. “Oh,” she tries to smile. “Yes.” He growls with amusement and then he thrusts and she rocks with it like the sea and then there is only where they are joined together.

There is worship in his hands, she can feel it. His fingers skim her ribs, her breasts, slide down over her hips, curve over the flex of her ass, rise again as if he cannot stop touching her. She can’t stop staring. His hands span her waist as if measuring her between them and when she rolls her hips, his eyes close even as his body strains. She has never thought of herself like this. Her body serves as she bids it to, to do the things she must, more sword than woman and she has accepted that all her life. But in this moment there is only the power surging between her legs, the flex of his body, the groove of concentration creasing itself between his brows. The discovery that she controls all of it. Suddenly, more than anything, she wants it to be true.

She tries to drag it out as long as she can but too soon she needs it faster, harder, the tempo increasing. She drags her fingers over his chest, slick with sweat now, digging into his stomach. So good, so strong beneath her.

Her thighs burn with the effort and it’s better than she could ever have expected, better than any dream, any fumbling exploration of her own body. She can feel the sweat trickling down her back, prickling across her shoulders, hot on her skin. She slides her fingers up his arms, digging into the muscle as if to draw blood. In response he fucks into her hard and fast, snapping her teeth together and her spine curves in the oldest question of all.

His eyes open again and they are black with desire. It almost undoes her, that look. She bites her lip to hold it back, the taste of unexpected copper flooding her mouth. She swallows it down in a rush. His hands close hard and snaps his hips up, digging into her and she chokes on the feeling, clawing without caring what she might damage. “That’s it. That’s it, Cassandra. That’s it, come for me, come on me, give. Give to me.” She hears the words, a chant that is the only reality in the world. There is nothing outside of the circle of his arms, even the room indistinct. She forces herself to move slower and slower in response, deeper, tighter, watching his face, listening. He’s so deep inside her she can’t tell anymore where he ends, where she begins.

“Give it to me. Fuck. Fuck, Cassandra. Fall apart for me. Mine. You’re mine. Give.” She doesn’t even realize she’s closed her eyes until she opens them again.

“Varric.” It’s more question than name and she starts to shudder, prickling with presentiment. She runs her hands down his body again, appreciating, touching. What she wants. What she needs. Liar. Cheat. Thief. She touches his mouth shakily, spreading her fingers. Beloved. So beloved and she’ll never be able to say it properly. There are no words. She leans down, dream slow, and his mouth opens beneath hers.

His tongue flicks out, licking and then there is only heat, spasm and she hears herself crying out from somewhere far away, completely unable to stop. His hands are clamped on her hips as she writhes on top of him and there’s heat between her thighs, sticky, damp, sweet as sugar. Words of praise, curses, she hears her name over and over again between kisses like drowning, a fist knotted in her hair.

Times passes. She hears only her heartbeat, his hand stroking the curve of her hip, her fingers cradling his face to her chest.

She’s nearly asleep when he moves again.

“Cassandra.” She shifts, truly unwilling to wake up. His chuckle puffs against her skin. “Seeker.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” she complains before she truly registers her words. “The day you stop calling me dwarf when you’re annoyed, I’ll consider it.” She stretches then, reveling in the feel of her skin on his, sticky as they are. “What is it, Varric?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to be able to breathe again. You’re heavy, love. Shift over.” She hears herself grumble but obligingly moves, cuddling into his side. His arm draws her back in again and there is are a few moments of adjustment. She ends up with his head on her shoulder, fingers spread over his chest.

“Varric?” “Mmm?” “Why is your bed so large?” She wiggles her toes. She’s not even close to finding the end of it. “Orgies.” “Varric.” “Five orgies. Every night. Even when I’m not here to supervise.” “I… do not believe you.” “I’m wounded.” She can feel the kiss on the curve of her breast, his sleepy amusement.

“Yes. And I will wound you more in a moment.” “Cruel, Seeker, so cruel. Would you believe then that I’d made it my life’s goal to get you in here with me so I made sure it was big enough?” She blinks, processing that. “What?” He sighs. “No. But I like it better than the real reason, which is that the room came with a qunari sized bed and I just never got around to getting a new one. Been kinda busy, you know. Helluva time finding furniture that would fit around it too. I had to get rid of the fire grate to make room and something’s going to go up in flames one night, I just know it.” “Oh.” “Hey. I’m a firm believer in hedonism too. It worked out.” She threads her fingers through his chest hair, stroking down his stomach. “Cassandra,” he rumbles. “If you want to start again, I’ll warn you that it’s not a problem.” “You… you could? Again?” She is sleepily astonished and it’s more than apparent in her voice.

“Well, maybe that part of me needs some more rest but I have fingers, a working tongue and all the will in the world.” She slaps his chest and he catches her fingers to plant a kiss on them. “Just say the word. Better yet, don’t say anything and just kiss me somewhere.” Why she does it, afterwards she has no idea. She is beyond replete, satiated, stilled both inside and out with the lovemaking and the conflicting, tidal surge of her heart. But she shifts, pushing herself up with one hand, the other on his ribs to look down.

His hair is a tangled mess, his eyes tired and sleepy but the smile on his face is pure confidence. “You just want to hear me say your name again.” She cannot believe she just said that, particularly when the smile spreads into a true smirk. “You got me, Seeker. Dead to rights.”

She makes a noise and drops her mouth to his nipple. She kisses slowly, exploring the texture and the salt. His hand crawls into her hair and he shifts once, and then again. Encouraged she tries it on the other one. When the nub of flesh pops out from between her lips, he groans so quietly she can hardly hear it, more tremble than sound and it makes her feel wicked. “Just kiss you? Like that, you mean?” “Just. Just like that. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

This time it’s slow as stars. His fingers slide between her thighs, work themselves into her in unhurried rhythm. She fists careful hands in his hair as he leans over her, the last flicker of light finally dying and then there is only his breath on hers, the taste of his mouth. His tongue laps at her skin, returning the favor to her breasts until she is gasping with the sensation, writhing slow and helpless. He murmurs things she afterwards can never remember, teeth at her throat, her collarbone, kissing the well of her shoulder. His fingers curl and curl again and she holds him tighter and tighter. Then a rough thumb parts her slick folds, circling and then she cannot think to think.

When she finally comes, she gives him his name because she can think of nothing else. And for the first time in what feels like days, she is asleep.

She’s sprawled on her stomach when she wakes and for a long, blissful moment there is only disorientation. The light is wrong, the shape of the room is wrong and she is much, much too warm, the bed much too soft. She blinks, shifts and realizes in a haze that she is oddly naked but it is only when her body protests in a shockingly intimate manner that it all comes flooding back.

She looks over. Varric is still asleep, his long eyes closed. Something under her heart stutters. Gold shadows his jaw, darkening his face. In sleep, he does not appear a child but there is still something there, some shape of who he could have been once upon a time that is closer to the surface than she has ever seen before. A younger man peeking out, the lines of care smoothed if not erased. One who might have once upon a time asked a different woman to spend more than a single night.

She turns away before she can complete the thought. She tries to be quiet, sliding out from the bed. In the morning light, details pick themselves out of the jumbled memory of last night. His room is not large but unlike her spare quarters, he has crammed what seems like three lives in it. A desk of sturdy construction is jammed against the far wall, chests stacked on others wedged between it and the one remaining corner. Paper drifts over both, scattered quills, what looks to be a suspicious dark stain on the wall that might very well the remnants of a thrown pot of ink. A taller armoire tries to hold its breath near the door. Surprisingly there are several daggers sticking out of it and she blinks. She has no idea what it did to offend him but the error appears to have been grievous indeed.

The one patch of empty wall holds the cold fireplace. Not a single ember is showing now and does indeed lack any sort of protective covering. Not a single square inch of the floor is showing either, something she had not noticed at all in the night, completely covered in overlapping rugs. They’re so colourful and complicated that the patterns make her dizzy just to look at them. She can only assume that Varric doesn’t care for his feet to be cold. It takes her an inordinately long time to find her clothes and she refuses to think about it. It is only when she is tucking in her shirt that she realizes he is awake.

“Good morning,” she says. “Good morning, Seeker.” He tucks an arm under his head but makes no move to get up. The sheet is tangled around his waist but he makes no move to cover himself. One foot peeks out. “I was going to stay deeply asleep but then realized I didn’t much feel like being a coward for some reason. I have no idea what’s come over me lately.” “A belated attack of manners, perhaps.” “Perhaps.” Her fingers thread her belt automatically. She finds one boot near the sad armoire. She looks around for the other. “Try under the desk. Lots of stuff ends up under there for whatever reason.” “Thank you, Varric.” She ducks and sure enough, there it is. She stamps both of them on and suddenly she is ready. “No thanks needed, Seeker. The pleasure was all mine.” The tone is sardonic, drawn out and she looks over before she can think better of it. His face is as she expected; amused, knowing, breezily open as if his greatest thought is what he wants to have for breakfast. It is a lie and she knows it is but for a long moment she considers leaving him with it. They do not owe each other anything, the night is over. Would it not be kinder?

Kinder to who? She looks at the ceiling. “I wish you to give me something.” “Seeker?” “No. I will not longer tolerate that from you. You will call me by name.”

The room gains a stillness it did not have before and she can hear the slow breath he takes. “That might not be such a good idea,” he says finally. “I do not care. I have never let good ideas get the way of what I feel is right. And Seeker I am, yes, but to you I would be more.” The pause is long enough that she drops her gaze to meet his eyes. His face has gone wary, and she can all but see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Finally he shrugs and relaxes. “Cassandra.”

She nods her head sharply, swallowing the thud of her heart. She can hear it in his voice. Wonders if he hears it too, if others will. “Varric. I will not pretend that I do not feel as I feel, even if I may never have the chance again to… express it this way. If this is all we will have, I would have you know that I regret nothing. And you will give me something to remember it by.” It’s his turn to swallow. “Okay.” She takes a breath. “I thought perhaps to take one of your tunics. They are wonderful, you know. Even Vivienne admires them, for all that she claims to deplore your fashion.” “My tunic.” “Yes,” she replies unperturbed. “They would not fit but I imagine it would bring you much pleasure to imagine me wearing one. Just your tunic,” she adds after a moment. “Cassandra.” His voice has lost all of its nonchalance and he’s upright in bed, one firm hand planted as if he had started to get out of it before thinking better of the motion. She walks back. Every step, her body remembers the night before, loose and bruised and delightfully boneless. She slides a hip onto the bed and then her hand is in his hair, threading through it before she can stop herself.

“But I have thought better of it.” “Oh, I don’t know, See… Cassandra. I think that’s a really, really good idea. Inspired, even. Fuck, I bet it would barely cover...” His breath whistles out. “Are you sure?” His voice is wistful. “Perhaps. But it is not what I really want.” “Name it.” “I cannot. We cannot. Pah.” She stumbles on the words and scowls. “You would think I would be magically better at this by now. These words.” His hand takes hers and he leans forward. “I wouldn't recognize you if you were.” His kiss is tentative, undemanding but for all of that neither of them are breathing steady when he finally breaks it. “What do you want of me?” “My father is dead but regardless, I do not think my uncle would accept a mere three goats and a sheaf of wheat from you. 78th in line I might be, but the name Pentaghast still has more weight than I would like.” “Cassandra. I did not just hear that.” “You did, but it is impractical. And very foolish, even for me. Assuming of course you would like to offer my uncle a goat.” “I’d offer the bastard a gold plated one with five heads if he’d accept it. What’s the point of being filthy rich if you can’t be extravagant now and again.” His mouth breathes against her skin. “You’re killing me here.” She takes a breath and taps his ear. “This.” He blinks. She taps again, ringing her fingernail on the gold. “I cannot wear a ring on my finger. I would like one of these instead.” “I. What?” It is rare to push Varric into speechlessness and she savors the moment, trembling as it is. “One of your earrings. I would wear it.” “You are. Killing me here, Seeker. Cassandra.” “I did not ask the Maker for your life only to have you expire in bed for the request of a gift you can well afford.” “Shit. Okay. Fine. They’re welded on but as soon as I find my brains again and a decent goldsmith, it’s yours. Dagna. Dagna can probably do it. Shit. She’ll want to know why.”

“That is your problem, Varric. You overthink.” “I overthink?” “Do as I do. Say nothing and glare. If they ask again, pull out a dagger and stab something. They will stop asking.” He starts to laugh and then they are kissing, hands tangling and she can no more help it than she could have stopped the sun rising. Finally she rests her forehead on his. His finger winds around the loose length of her half undone braid, a gentle tug on her scalp. “I do not know what is to happen, Varric. I simply do not. But you asked for what you wanted and I gave what I wanted and if I wear a ring of gold to my grave without saying why, then it is my prerogative to do so. And you will not deny me.”

“No. No, Cassandra, I will not.” “Good. Then we understand each other.”

She stands and walks to the door without looking back.

----------------------------------- Coda

The weeks pass in a blaze of heat and work, outfitting and coordinating the exodus that begins to trickle out of Skyhold. Cassandra keeps her head down and does as she is asked, does as she needs to, then spends the rest of her time laying out the next steps to her own path once all that is required of her here is completed. There is at once too much and not enough to do but she keeps herself busy, mapping out her tentative route for when it is her turn to leave. It is hard not to think but she does as best as she can, ignoring the pull of her heart which for once is not perfectly aligned with her will.

So she is weary to the bone as she limps into her room after yet another afternoon's sparring practice. If she expects to clear the Frostbacks before winter sets in, she has perhaps a handful of weeks left before she must start but the days are still warm and it feels like a morass she cannot seem to lift her feet from. It takes her longer than normal to struggle out of her armor, exhaustion pulling everything out of alignment and she blames the fatigue for not noticing the neat leather packet waiting on her pallet. It is only when she is down to her undershirt and pants and thinking longingly of a bath that she sees it.

She does not immediately put it together. It is flat, roughly square and slightly larger than her spread hands together. Her first thought is missives, letters, perhaps a tome requested from a library and forgotten in the last hectic month. It is only when she breaks the binding cord and flips open the waxed leather that she understands. There is no one there to see her smile so she indulges it. She breathes out, listening to the sudden racing of her heart before reaching in.

The green-gold silk shimmers, tantalizing under her calloused fingers. She regrets for a moment that her fingers are dirty but it falls away. He would not care.

The workmanship is indeed exquisite, the thick embroidery brighter than she remembers. She holds it to her face and it smells like he does. She is sitting on her pallet, stroking it over and over before she thinks to look for the rest. The vellum at the bottom of the packet is thick, offcut and cream. It is not signed but it does not need to be.

forgive me, I couldn’t resist is all it says. Stabbed through the corner is a single loop of heavy gold.

She does not say his name but it trembles in the cast off reflection against the paper.

#cassarric #cassandra pentaghast #varric tethras #fanfiction #dragon age inquisition

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raendown · 4 years

Link

What a way to celebrate Tobirama’s birthday. xD

Pairing: None Word count: 4022 Chapter: 3/4 Rated: T+ Summary: Months after the village is built Izuna is near his breaking point. Peace is nice, don’t get him wrong, but he could do without the pale shadow that follows behind him everywhere he goes. All he wants is to understand. What the hell is Tobirama’s obsession with watching him?

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 3

As a child Izuna can remember his mother teaching him a method of meditating on his own breathing pattern in an attempt to rein in his temper. It had worked to some extent then. At the moment he finds himself having much more limited success. It wouldn’t be so bad if his unwanted mission partner would only travel beside him but no matter what speed they move at somehow Tobirama always ends up just a step or two behind and it’s driving him absolutely wild.

“Have you tried some sort of rewards system?”

“Different ones, yes.”

Even worse still is that they have managed to keep up a semblance of amicable conversation for nearly the entire journey as if there is nothing more between them but the fact that their brothers are friends. Tobirama’s voice carries no hint of aggression, no undue curiosity, and there are certainly no hints of any romantic endeavors. At some point they find themselves on the topic of a child in the Uchiha clan who doesn’t pay even half the attention he should to his lessons and Izuna is vaguely surprised that his companion’s interest seems to be more for the boy than for him.

“Behavioral based or progression based?”

“What’s the difference?”

“If the child feels he is unable to obtain whatever goals have been set for him then he may not feel motivated even by the promise of a reward.”

Listening to him speak in such a bland tone leaves Izuna confused. He isn’t sure whether the man is trying to pretend his weird stalking isn’t happening or if he is merely striving for a bit of normalcy while they are forced to travel together but either way the efforts are pointless. It‘s impossible to pretend that everything is normal while Tobirama refuses to actually walk beside him.

“Huh, I never thought of it like that,” he murmurs, willing to keep the conversation up if only so he isn’t traveling in silence with an old enemy standing just behind his unprotected back. “We’ve tried to do it like that and we’ve tried to bribe him with sweets for even just showing up every day – I swear every tooth in his head is a sweet one. Nothing works.”

While his companion hums thoughtfully Izuna tries to remember if there are any other methods they have used to try and convince little Kagami to take his training more seriously. The little tyke has so much potential. Such a shame that he insists on wasting it all. If he had some other interest or passion that he were trying to pursue instead Izuna might understand, not all of their clan members are fighters after all, but at times it feels as though Kagami seems determined to simply never grow up.

A pause in the steps behind him catches his attention and Izuna turns to see that Tobirama has gone stiff, his head turned away, eyes narrowed where they stare in to the middle distance off east. Instinctively Izuna turns to look that way as well only to realize that Tobirama probably isn’t actually looking with his eyes.

“Three inbound at high speeds. Feels like Kaminari no Kuni shinobi.”

“Gods, how powerful is your sensing?” Izuna grumbles, loosening his sword in its sheath.

“More than I ever allowed the Uchiha to discover.” Tobirama’s gaze flicks over towards him and there is something dark hidden there before he looks away. “An oversight, perhaps, that I have not seen fit to share my true abilities with our new allies.”

“Right. Let’s take care of this and then we’re having a nice long conversation on exactly what you’re capable of.”

Before there is time for any sort of reply their new company arrives, flitting in to the treetops above them and pausing to assess the situation. Izuna takes a good grip on the handle of his favorite sword, tightening his fingers one by one, counting breaths just as his mother taught him.

In, out, one. Three opponents, one male and two female.

In, out, two. A sword glimmers in the hand of one female, something heavy and club like in the hands of the male, close combat fighters.

In, out, three. Large chakra stores burn almost tangibly in the air around the third, clearly a distance fighter, he will need to keep an eye out for whatever jutsu she has up her sleeve.

He never gets to four breaths. From behind him Tobirama explodes in to motion, charging the woman nearly bursting at the seams with her own chakra. A low hiss cuts the air just before the man leaps in to defend his companion. Izuna rolls his shoulders and acknowledges that he has been left to face the woman bearing a sword to match his own, the perfect opponent. Out of all the spars he has enjoyed with many and varied people since moving to Konoha very few of them have been able to match his skill with a blade enough to offer a proper challenge. In a strange way he almost misses his battles with the man he is currently fighting alongside if only because he worries that without Tobirama to face he might lose his edge.

Sparks leap between their weapons and Izuna realizes that he has moved out of habit without even consciously deciding to, sword leaping to hand and meeting the one aiming for his neck. For a single heartbeat they struggle, brute strength against brute strength, then the woman twists and dodges back once she realizes that his bulk outweighs her own. Rather than allow her the time to think up another angle of attack Izuna hefts his sword and watches her respond with a snarl of frustration. Good. That means she is off balance and an opponent who has no time to think is an opponent he can easily beat.

Only sharp reflexes stop his blade from cutting through the wrong flesh, pulling up a mere instant before he would have pierced Tobirama through the side as his mission partner suddenly appears between them to deflect his opponent’s blade. Then he is skipping away again with a snarl of his own. Izuna floods his eyes with chakra just to take in the expression of something almost like desperation on the man’s face. His reputation being what it is, revealing his greatest battle advantage has the added benefit of causing his opponent to hesitate. Not many people who know what it can do are stupid enough to attack an active Sharingan straight on and Izuna is oddly glad to see that his opponent is not stupid. Easy kills are no fun.

As Tobirama is pressed back by his own two assailants Izuna rushes in to keep this one busy. He can’t afford to let her find her bearings; he learned the hard way when he was younger to never underestimate how many tricks your opponent might have up their sleeve. She might seem like her skills barely match his own but he has no way of knowing what tricks or seals or the like she might pull out at a moment’s notice.

Neither does he have a chance to find out, as it happens. Each time their clash looks as though it might be about to get interesting Tobirama appears between them. At first Izuna accepts that he simply needs to dodge quite a lot while trying to face a long range and a short range fighter at the same time; keeping up with two different styles means keeping on your toes. It isn’t until his Sharingan focuses in on the pair chasing his partner around the field that he realizes both of them are downright ragged looking. One bleeds from several places and the other looks just on the verge of an asthmatic attack so out of breath are they. In contrast Tobirama looks tense yet still in good condition.

So if it’s Tobirama that is leading them around by the nose rather than the one getting chased why on earth does he keep dashing in between Izuna and his own kill? There’s a whole forest here to move around in.

Annoying as it is, the trained shinobi in his soul can’t help but admire how quickly Tobirama moves from place to place, how seamlessly he manages to insert himself just in time to deflect whatever attack Izuna is about to meet and then dance away again as though he’d never been there. Whatever else he is there can be no denying that he’s a skilled fighter. The problem is trying to figure out what the hell he is up to.

It simply doesn’t make sense, Izuna thinks as he takes his opportunity to bull in close and drive the woman back with a rapid flurry of attacks. Weeks and months of stalking that Izuna has been interpreting as some lingering form of aggression. Now suddenly the man is jumping in front of him in battle. Has he been making observations leading him to the conclusion that Izuna’s skills have diminished somehow? That certainly makes more sense than the ridiculous rumors of forbidden love, although it’s also wildly more insulting. Yet even that theory includes enough gaping holes that he can’t quite believe it either.

By the time Izuna finds an opening to drive his blade through his opponent’s neck and watch her gurgle out her last curses on the forest floor he is equal parts curious and livid. Tobirama dispatches of his own two assailants only a moment later as though he has merely been playing with them as some morbid excuse to remain occupied. He waits just long enough to clean his sword and slide it back in to the scabbard across his back, then Izuna is marching across the torn clearing to take the collar of his old rival’s armor and drag them face to face, oddly unsurprised that he is allowed to do so with no resistance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls. “I’m not so softened by this stupid dream of our brothers’ that I’ve forgotten how to defend myself! I had that covered!”

“Your skill was never in question,” Tobirama murmurs. He looks entirely calm, unruffled, and that only irritates Izuna further.

“It sure as hell feels questioned with you babying me like some genin out on their first run! If you think I need to polish a few things then say it to my face, damn it, quit treating me with kid gloves! I didn’t need it back home and I don’t need it here!”

Composed as he ever is, Tobirama fails to react in any satisfying sort of way. He fails to so much as blink while Izuna screams in his face but there is one thing to be gained from overreacting. From this close – perhaps the first time they have ever been so close outside of battle – it is plain to see the well of something dark and deep in those red eyes so like the Sharingan, something that brings ice crawling up Izuna’s spine though he can’t yet define what it is. It’s enough to snap his jaw shut and make him step away to watch quietly as Tobirama turns, murmuring again that they should press on to their destination.

An uncomfortable mixture of anger and confusion with shades of worry twists itself into knots inside Izuna’s belly, keeping his mouth shut for the rest of their mission, speaking only when it is absolutely necessary. On the journey home he can feel the back of his neck itching with Tobirama’s eyes almost every step of the way but he holds his tongue for fear of what else he might see in that unwavering gaze.

When they make it back to the village the first thing they do is make their report to Hashirama, of course. Madara joins them and together they remain sequestered for over an hour discussing the results of their goodwill efforts. Despite his attempts to appear nonchalant Izuna is fairly sure the clan they were visiting with had noticed some tensions between himself and Tobirama but in a strange way it had actually worked out in their favor as their hosts seemed to be impressed with how well they function together anyway. Talking about that without making a big deal of why exactly there had been some friction in their unity is difficult. Izuna is more than glad when finally they have said all there is to say for now and he is able to drag his brother off towards home.

Madara puts up a good act of wanting to stay and finish his work. He fools no one. Not even his workaholic tendencies are enough to keep him from spending a bit of quality time with his favorite sibling – although Izuna does notice the man tucking a few scrolls in to his sleeve before they depart. It gets him out the door, however, so no comments are made until finally they are making their way through the gate leading in to the Uchiha district.

“I can’t figure out his angle,” he blurts, too eager for another’s opinion to bother with context.

“Who, Hashirama?”

“No! Don’t be an idiot, that tree is as transparent as glass with his intentions. I mean his gods damned brother!”

Humming contemplatively, Madara pulls a bit of hair forward to fiddle with. “Wouldn’t having him forced to travel with you sort of negate the stalking? I know you didn’t want him along but I thought it would be nice for you to at least drag him out of the shadows.”

Rather tempted to pull at his own hair, Izuna takes several breaths and counts them before he is able to form a reply through the flash of temper.

Thankfully his brother has the good grace not to interrupt as he recounts everything that’s happened while he was away. His description of the way Tobirama seemed to constantly find his way between Izuna and his opponent during their battle brings a crease to Madara's brow that only deepens as the story goes on. Slowly making their way up one of the side streets, a shortcut towards their home, he tosses the chunk of hair he is playing with back over his shoulder only to grab another and start again.

“Strange,” he rumbles. “Very strange. I honestly have no idea what the hell this is all about.”

“I know that it’s ridiculous but I just need to hear someone else say this out loud: please tell me it’s not plausible that he’s actually fallen in love with me somehow.”

“Plausible, technically yes. Probable, a very strong no.”

“Oh thank the gods.” Izuna slumps with relief to finally have another confirm his thoughts.

After rolling his eyes Madara slips right back in to thoughtfulness. “There’s something about this that just doesn’t quite sit with me the right way. I know it would make the most sense to say that he still doesn’t trust you, that he’s been following you to keep a close watch or whatever, but for some reason I just can’t make myself believe that. There’s no other evidence of that in any other behavior.”

“Yes, thanks, I didn’t quite notice that for myself.”

“If that’s how you’re going to behave then I don’t see why you started talking about it! Go jabber at someone else if you’re just going to be all snooty about whatever I have to say!” With a sniff Madara turns up his nose and quickens his steps.

While Izuna isn’t entirely sure how he ends up being left alone outside he isn’t all that surprised either. The two of them share like tempers after all. Madara is as given to hissy fits as he himself can freely admit to being. He follows behind at a slower pace and lets himself in to the home they share, nodding at the shoes kicked off haphazardly at just the right spot where they might trip him up if he weren’t already expecting to see them there.

Madara is angrily plugging in their fancy new electric kettle when he enters the kitchen and slumps down in to the closest chair, blowing out his fringe with exasperation.

“Done being a baby?” he asks bluntly. Madara crinkles his nose.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re still thinking about it. I can practically see the gears turning in your head.”

His brother pauses in the act of pulling down two cups with the continuing thoughts he doesn’t bother to deny spilling out over his face. “Obviously I am. I keep trying to think of some other reason he might be doing this but nothing comes to mind. If it’s not that he doesn’t trust you and it’s not that he has some sort of romantic whatever–”

“Kami please no,” Izuna interrupts with a shudder.

“–then he clearly has some other special interest in you but I am honestly stumped. If it were almost anyone else I might go so far as jealousy except the two of you have always been so closely matched that I can’t see either being jealous of the other.” Madara jolts himself in to movement again, reaching for the tea leaves, but continues speaking even as he measures them out. “I would have considered that he was trying to learn something specific about you too but for the fact that he hasn’t been shy about asking for any other information he’s wanted on our clan.”

“Which is a lot of information, actually.”

“Hm. I guess. No more than we’ve asked from the others, though, and nothing that he’s asked for has been any more suspicious or invasive than the things we’ve asked about the Senju in turn.”

Izuna rattles his nails against the hardwood table. “Do you think that could be it? Maybe there’s something he wants to find out but it’s inappropriate or he knows we won’t want to share whatever information he’s after.”

He waits with as much patience as he can muster while the other tosses that idea around but even as he speaks the words Izuna himself realizes that probably isn’t it either. Tobirama might be a sneaky bastard on the battlefield and more than capable of subterfuge when it’s necessary during a mission but in daily life he has shown himself to prefer as direct a route as possible to whatever goal he has in his sights. Finally Madara pushes both teacups towards the kettle and leaves it to boil as he comes over to sit at the table.

“No,” his brother says. “That just doesn’t sound right either. And the worst part is that I can’t say why it doesn’t sound right. It feels like there’s something nagging at the back of my brain, something important that I’ve forgotten. Like a missing piece of the puzzle.”

“Would your friend know anything do you think?”

Madara blinks. “Hashirama? He might. It would be worth asking if he’s got any idea what crawled up his brother’s ass.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be going over to their house for dinner tomorrow night?” Izuna rattles his fingers again but this time it is less with frustration and more to express the satisfaction of the stars aligning just for him. He is further pleased to see his sibling lean back with widening eyes.

“I am going to dinner, yes. He asked me over because both Tobirama and Mito are supposed to be busy and he wanted company. We’ll be all alone.”

“You couldn’t wish for a better opportunity to ask a few questions,” Izuna purrs with satisfaction.

When the kettle begins to whistle they turn the conversation towards other things. Spending time together after being apart – even if for so short a time – is only one of the ways they maintain such a tight bond between them. Even here in another home the shadows of the siblings they have lost echo around every corner, chased away only by the warmth of knowing that Madara will always stand beside him against whatever the world might choose to throw at them.

After a while, however, he finds other thoughts wriggling in, thoughts that Izuna knows he is above and yet he can’t seem to push them away without addressing them. Tracing the rim of his nearly empty cup gives him something else to look at as he fills the lull that has fallen naturally in their conversation.

“Can I ask you something?” He waits for the curious grunt before going on. “Why don’t you seem more worried about this whole Tobirama situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“If there was someone following you around all the time I think I’d be a lot more freaked out about it than you seem to be. Not that I’m angry or making any accusations! It’s just…odd. You’re usually so overprotective it’s hard for me to even flirt with anyone.”

“Hn.” Madara bunches his brows together as though mildly offended by the insinuation that he might not care. “I guess I just don’t feel any ill intentions from him. Something in my gut tells me that he hasn’t got anything bad up his sleeve. The way he interacts with you – hell, the way he interacts with all the rest of our clan – I just can’t bring myself to believe that he’s after anything terrible. I guess I was just unconsciously acknowledging that I don’t believe you’re in any sort of danger.”

Somehow that only increases the dread pooling in Izuna’s gut.

“If he doesn’t have any bad intentions then the kami only know what else he could have in that twisted brain of his. Ancestors watch over me.”

While his brother snorts and gently teases him for being so dramatic Izuna lets the words drift by him without actually listening. The entire reason he’s been wanting to go out on a mission is to get away from this situation with his old rival and just clear his mind a bit. Now that he’s been denied that opportunity and come home only more confused in the aftermath he realizes more than ever that he needs a night to just relax, to let everything else fade away until his mind is empty of all worries. And what better way to achieve that then a night on the town with someone he can trust to be entirely disinterested in whatever drama he’s gotten himself embroiled in this time?

“You gonna be okay on your own tonight?” he cuts in through whatever the other is saying. “I think I’ll go see if I can drag Hikaku down to one of the taverns for a few hours.”

“Don’t you have work to catch up on tomorrow?” Madara asks.

“I’m not going to get drunk or anything, don’t worry, I’m not that stupid. Just thought it would be nice to unwind for a while.”

Even as he nods understandingly Madara puts one hand to his chest and exclaims in dramatic fashion, “Because you’re just so stressed with all the work you do, of course. Helping to run a village, keeping both eyes on a walking tree, achieving your lifelong dreams. Oh no wait, that’s me.”

“Fuck off,” Izuna calls cheerfully over his shoulder as he makes his way out of the room, deliberately leaving the teacup behind for the other to clean up after him. Pettiness is just another family trait.

With any luck Hikaku will be as willing to indulge him as his aniki is. Izuna reaches back to pull the tie from his hair and run his fingers through it. Perhaps a bath is in order first to wash the dirt of the road away, he probably still smells like the rivers they’ve been trudging through. Unpacking can wait for tomorrow. If his cousin doesn’t want to come out then he fully intends to bully his way in to the other man’s home and find something there to help him get his mind off of things. Tobirama can remain a problem for another day just once more.

Tomorrow his brother will speak with Hashirama and ask their questions. Tomorrow, he hopes, they will have answers.

#rae writes #tobirama #izuna #madara #fanfiction

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i-heart-danchou · 5 years

Text

Pain

Kill the beast titan. Kill the beast titan.

Over and over the words play in Levi’s mind; it helps him fight the exhaustion, it helps keep him on his feet. It focuses him, it keeps him steady.

Erwin’s dead. You told him to die and he’s dead now, you’ll never see him aga— Kill the beast titan. Kill the beast titan. You swore to him, Levi. You swore.

The intrusive thoughts permeate his mind and he shakes them off. Erwin didn’t die for nothing, as long as he takes that hairy bastard down then this all had meaning— please, please!

Levi’s running low on gas now, he doesn’t have enough blades to fight. He can see his promise fizzling out before him, can see that monster getting away, can almost imagine the disappointment in Erwin’s eyes.

You let him down, Levi. You promised him, you failed. Erwin died for nothing.

So he won’t give up, he gives chase and follows that thing as far as he can. He spots Eren on the rooftop and his hope rises for a moment; there’s a chance now, he can give chase and kill the beast once and for all.

Eren’s about to give his equipment over, then a desperate little noise distracts him. A charred body— Armin? Fuck,— lies on the tiles at their feet and… it’s breathing. Eren’s desperation is obvious as he demands the syringe, and Levi hesitates.

Erwin. Erwin might be alive, he might be dying out in that field, he— he’s all alone out there, he’s probably in pain, might not be lucid, I… Erwin. I want to give the injection to Erwin, please, please.

There’s no time for hesitation, and Eren’s becoming increasingly agitated. Mikasa’s there too now, their eyes are on Levi and he knows he can’t stall forever. His hair falls over his eyes.

It’s too late. Erwin is dead. Don’t waste this chance.

He ruefully hands the syringe over, chiding himself for hoping. His heart is foolish and aching. Erwin is gone, and letting this child die isn’t going to bring him back.

Still. He feels like he’s signing Erwin’s death certificate as he passes the box to Eren. Abandoning all hope, giving up on him, removing any possible chance for…

Floch’s appearance is sudden and unexpected. Levi’s heart soars as he sees Erwin’s beautiful blond hair glinting in the sun. The beast titan is forgotten, his vow at the back of his mind. There is only one goal now, only one thing that matters.

Save Erwin.

His eyes are wide, his mind swimming. Levi takes the box back and clutches it to his chest. He’d almost given it away, he’d almost killed Erwin… fuck, fuck! There’s still a chance, he… he’s happy and relieved and he can’t believe that after a whole life of losses and failures he’s been blessed with this chance.

Save Erwin.

He lets out a shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and he rushes to help.

The wounds are… bad. Life threatening, agonizing; they don’t have time to mess around. Floch is being too rough with the commander, and Levi gently eases him off the boy’s back, resting him on the roof tiles as delicately as he can.

Erwin’s skin is warm, his chest rises and falls and his moist breath tickles Levi’s palm.

“He’s breathing.” He says, maybe more to convince himself than anyone else. “He’s alive.”

It’s impossible, the odds astronomical, but he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. There’s hope for humanity and it’s bleeding out on the shattered tiles of this roof.

Eren and Mikasa must realize what this means, and their hackles raise and they move into defensive positions.

“I’m giving this injection to Erwin.” He clarifies. It feels good to say it, it feels good to hear it. Erwin is going to live. Erwin is going to survive.

Eren moves into Levi’s personal space and demands the syringe. Mikasa stands with her blades drawn, glaring daggers at Levi.

Levi doesn’t blame them. If the situation were reversed, surely he would go to similar lengths to get the injection back for Erwin. They’re young, they’re blind, they don’t understand. So he’s calm, he’s patient, and he explains his reasoning. Erwin is the hope of mankind, Erwin will lead humanity to victory, Erwin is everything.

Levi is not a man who is easily intimidated, and although the boy has a height advantage, Levi does not stand down.

“You… you said you’d give the injection to Armin.”

Levi doesn’t scoff. Two lives hang in the balance, this isn’t a joke, but… he wants to be clear, he wants them to understand.

“I’m reviving the one who can save humanity.” He says calmly, but his heart is racing. Erwin is bleeding out, they don’t have fucking time for this. Mikasa is advancing on him, and Levi feels exhausted. Children. They’re fucking children. “Do you have the faintest damn clue what you’re doing?” He demands, keeping his voice calm and steady. “This is Erwin. He’s the commander of the Survey Corps. You just want to watch him die?” They don’t even see that their choice will leave Erwin to rot… they don’t care that they’re screaming and begging so that another human being will bleed to death.

“I don’t have time for this. Get out of my way.”

Eren resorts to physical force then, but Levi has always been stronger.

“Eren. Keep your feelings out of this.”

The boy is unstable, trembling, crying. “MY feelings??? Why did you hesitate before???”

There’s an accusation in his words, an ugly insinuation that Levi can’t deny. You hesitated because your fucking boyfriend is in the mix, right? You hesitated because your gay ass couldn’t stand to let blondie go!

Levi can’t deny that. He’s not ashamed of his love for Erwin, he never has been. He won’t allow his love to be used as a weapon. “I was considering the possibility that Erwin might be alive.” Of course he was. What else could it have been?

Eren tries to take the box from him in earnest. Levi strikes him then, knocks half his teeth out and it’s satisfying as hell. Mikasa launches into the air, the sharp end of her blade pressed against Levi’s neck. He can’t conjure anger, he’s so exhausted— Erwin’s dying beside them, there’s no time, there’s no time! Mikasa wails like an infant and he still tries to reason with her. They deserve to understand this choice.

They scream, they cry, they beg. It doesn’t matter, Erwin is getting the injection. Still… Mikasa is stronger than he realized, Mikasa is motivated just as Levi himself is. He needs help, and he’s not sure where to get it.

He’s grateful for Floch’s intervention, at least… he was, until he hears the man speak. He tells a story of desperate violence beyond the walls. He describes the scene of carnage and Levi’s stomach drops.

Levi imagines Erwin with his guts hanging out in the middle of a blood soaked field. His loyal horse gasping in agony beside him, his consciousness fading, his strength ebbing out of him. Perhaps he was proud, perhaps remorseful… Levi wonders if Erwin had seen him take down the beast titan, or if he’d been blinded by his injury before the fruits of his sacrifice were reaped.

“When I found the commander, I was going to finish him off.”

He imagines Floch… this upstart, this angry young man who blames Erwin for everything, approaching the man that he loves with a blade in his hand. Perhaps Erwin sees him, eyes wide, the sun glinting off the metal. Would he embrace death? Fear it? No. Floch doesn’t have the stones to kill someone who is staring him in the face. The Erwin in his mind is like the one on the roof: beautiful, bleeding, departed.

Was it mercy? Was it anger? The boy is reeling, and Levi feels sick. He’s glad, so glad, that Erwin didn’t die at the end of this boy’s blade. “But that’s going too easy on him. I thought he ought to taste more of this hell.”

Throughout their time together, people have always badmouthed Erwin. To his face, behind his back, in front of Levi… it’s nothing new. Yet Levi had never heard someone reveling in Erwin’s suffering before. This child who knows nothing of the demons Erwin had battled, the pain and despair he surmounted every day and continued to fight… Erwin deserves to… suffer?

Levi searches for humanity on this rooftop. He finds it in Erwin, in the steady rise and fall of his chest, in the stump of his arm and the commander’s emerald. His gaze finds Armin, fighting for life… and then… these people. A boy having a hissy fit, a girl throwing a tantrum, begging for the light of Levi’s life to die and… this… Floch… speaking of Erwin like he’s garbage, like he’s nothing.

He calls Erwin a devil, and Levi’s nausea peaks. Erwin is brilliant, he’s brave, he’s selfless, he’s human. He’s everything to Levi, and it makes him sick to hear him disrespected in such a way.

He imagines Floch roughly grabbing their commander, patching him up just long enough that he could be dragged up to this roof. He imagines Erwin groaning in pain as he’s jostled about, perhaps questioning the course of events, wondering where he was or… how he was robbed of all agency. Perhaps a soft little noise escapes his lips, maybe he says Levi’s name. He feels sick.

Hanji arrives then, and somehow manages to talk Mikasa down before she lashes out further. Levi is unmoved by her wailing, and draws up the injection for Erwin. A clammy hand grabs his boot and he stares down at Eren, desperately begging him to reconsider.

Dreams. Oceans. Children. They’re so pitiful. He doesn’t kick the boy away, because he knows how hard this is for him. Levi understands, even if it angers him.

Mikasa and Eren are dragged away, and Levi is glad for the silence. His mind is racing.

Armin’s ocean…. Erwin’s dream… he thinks of Kenny too. Levi has never responded to crying or begging, it’s not about to start working now. Everyone’s a slave to something.

He kneels down beside Erwin and is relieved to see he’s still breathing. Levi is gentle and careful as he rolls Erwin’s sleeve up. Idly he thinks how muscular he is, how strong he is, how nice it’ll be to have both Erwin’s arms wrapped around him again.

Save Erwin.

The needle barely touches Erwin’s skin and the man flinches away, his hand shooting into the air like a schoolchild.

Levi’s eyes go wide. “Erwin??” The realization hits him and his eyes go wide.

Erwin doesn’t want this. Erwin doesn’t want to be made into a titan.

The commander is mumbling something… something about a teacher, about humans… he’s not aware, he’s dreaming and he doesn’t know where he is. His father, surely. He’s a child again, he’s that same little boy with a dream that he always was. Erwin’s eyes are glazed and unfocused, and it breaks Levi’s heart to see him like this.

He doesn’t want this. He’s done so much already, he’s given us everything— EVERYTHING. How… how can we ask him to…

Levi needs Erwin. He needs to feel his warm skin against his own in the mornings, he needs something to look up to, something to reach for. He needs him to live, his life lacks color and music without him. And yet…

Levi’s promise seeps back into his mind. That he’d made the choice, that he’d told Erwin to die… that… for the first time in as long as Levi could remember, Erwin seemed… peaceful. Erwin had smiled at him then, an angelic, serene, gentle smile which he would burn into his memories for the rest of his life.

Levi’s choice had given Erwin peace. Levi’s order had absolved Erwin of his sins, allowed him to redeem himself… that smile. That beautiful, beautiful smile.

Levi… thank you.

He takes in a shuddering breath as he realizes what he must do. Erwin deserves better than this. Deserves better than Eren and Mikasa begging for his death, deserves better than Floch calling him a monster.

Humanity needs Erwin. Humanity won’t survive without his brilliant mind, his ruthless strategy, his charisma, his experience…

Humanity can go fuck itself.

Humanity doesn’t deserve him.

Levi gently collects Erwin and brings him a safe distance so that he won’t be harmed by the ensuing titan transformation. He wants everything to be peaceful for him, he wants the rest of his life to be painless, calm, and warm. He presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right back.” He promises, and hastily gives Armin the injection.

A weak, stringy titan is born, and Levi doesn’t look at it. Erwin’s titan would have been magnificent… strong, tall, beautiful but… it’s too late now.

Floch and Hanji are in attendance, incredulous and despairing that Erwin Smith is dying before their eyes. They must think Levi a fool, or a madman, but it doesn’t matter.

He tries to explain his choice.

Erwin’s humanity was more important than the rest of humanity. Erwin’s peace mattered more than the war they faced, than the enemies that flanked them… his happiness mattered more than Levi’s. He deserved peace, he deserved to rest. It wasn’t fair to drag him back to… to this. To make him a monster, to force him to live in this nightmare.

Erwin Smith would die as a man, his humanity and dignity intact. Nothing else matters.

Levi was prepared to face a lifetime of empty beds, absent touches, and desperate loneliness to preserve that smile that Erwin had given him. He was prepared to rip his own heart into pieces so that Erwin could rest.

They’d never understand. No one would.

He promises Erwin that he’ll kill the beast titan, and Hanji informs him that Erwin is already dead.

Her words hang in the air and cut through Levi’s soul. His eyes widen, the news hits him, and his heart clenches with a pain that he never imagined possible. He knew Erwin was dying but… to hear he was actually… dead… he…. oh fuck. He stands by his choice. He has to, he can’t keep it together otherwise. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts and he wishes he were dead too.

“I see.” He manages, and he wonders if he has the strength to keep standing. Erwin’s eyes are glassy and dull, his skin is clammy and grey. His blood has soaked through his uniform, and time stands still. He’ll never speak to Erwin again, never again hear his silky deep voice, he… fuck. He missed his chance to say goodbye.

Erwin Smith is dead.

Levi doesn’t want to touch him now, doesn’t think he deserves to. The body is hollow and empty, and for a moment he blames himself. The light vanishes from Levi’s world. Voices fall on deaf ears, and Levi is numb. He did it for Erwin. He did it for Erwin.

Levi knows the remainder of his life will be a painful struggle. He is driven forward only, only to keep his promise to Erwin. Once the beast titan falls… then Levi can rest too.

Levi never smiles again. His eyes lose their sparkle, his life loses purpose. He lays Erwin to rest and leaves his heart is there with him, rotting away to nothing beside the golden commander.

#eruri #my stuff #erwin smith #levi ackerman #oh god #this one hurt a lot to write #sorry gang #erwin deserved better #levi deserved better #they both deserve to rest

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