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#and just looking at the grey skies above and thinking sunrise was supposed to be more worthwhile than this
kohakuarisaka · 3 years
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Untamed (chapter 3 of 5)
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Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader
[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.
[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.
Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5
[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]
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"Baby," a voice cooed at you while hands gently shook your shoulders, stirring you from sleep.
"Come on. Get up. The sun's gonna be rising soon," he continued, speaking to you softly.
You groaned like a wounded animal and tried to resist the pull to consciousness, hoping you could slip back away and he would cease this assault.
Of course, that didn't happen, and the murmuring and shaking didn't come to an end. You found yourself turning around and groggily taking in the sight of Hawks. He already looked wide awake, gold eyes beaming, skin glowing, handsome face as immaculate as ever.
It made you want to punch him.
"Get up," he said, more so telling than asking, albeit politely.
He had warned you last night that he intended to wake you early; but, that didn't stop you from groaning tiredly, rolling over, as if in protest, before complying with his request, removing the blanket slowly, afraid to expose yourself to the cold.
He had stoked the fireplace before waking you; that much was clear, seeing as it wasn't blistering cold when you wiggled out of bed. It was chilly, of course, but not enough to leave you trembling helplessly.
You realized that Hawks had already dressed himself, boots thumping quietly on the floor as he stepped around the bed. He had slipped on a grey T-shirt, and didn't seem to be feeling cold at all, judging by the lax way he rolled his shoulders, wings jutting out from his back gracefully.
He gave you a sideways glance, an almost untrusting look written across his face.
"I'm getting up!" you hissed at him.
Hawks wasn't expecting that sudden outburst and flinched a little, eyes widening slightly and feathers shuddering behind him. It was a comical sight, if you were being honest. It wasn't like him to be so high strung.
Before you could assume you had upset him, Hawks blew raspberries and turned away, heading for the stairs.
When he walked away, you most certainly did not admire the way his cargo pants hugged his ass, nor the way his shirt was pulled tight across the plains of his muscular back, nor how his crimson feathers looked so beautiful draped behind him.
Hawks didn't laugh when you met him downstairs; but, he sure looked like he wanted to. Here he was wearing some loose, comfortable clothes like it hadn't snowed all night, while you were dressed up in thick pants and a heavy coat with multiple layers underneath, ready to weather the elements.
As soon as you stepped downstairs, you were hit with the familiar smell of coffee lofting about the cabin. You recognized the aroma as his favorite, the one he stockpiled at the agency, that was almost always coming from his office.
He had taken the time to pour you some, as well, evident by the mug he was trying to hand to you with a suspiciously innocent look on his face.
"Seriously?" you laughed when you eyed the receptacle he was offering.
It was his merch, clearly. The mug was black with sparkly gold trim, the pattern matching the chest on his jumpsuit . It was covered in comic book style quotation marks containing, what you were guessing, was supposed to be his quotes.
Hawks watched you admire the cup, looking a little too smug for his own good, and returned to sipping from the very plain mug in his other hand.
"Do you really say these things?" you laughed, not expecting an answer because there was no way such nonsense flew from his mouth in the middle of a fight.
"Aheh. 'I am speed'," you read aloud with a scoff. "More like, 'I do speed'," you teased with a grin, catching the way he almost choked on his coffee, shoulders trembling with laughter.
"Who the hell approved these?" you added on.
"The hero commission, I think," Hawks replied, shrugging his shoulders a little.
The coffee, of course, tasted great. He bought the expensive, high-class stuff, after all. Hawks was the only person you knew who could sleep in the dirt with his visor skewed across his face, without a complaint to be had, but refused to drink anything but imported, specially grown coffee beans.
He was ushering you out the door the second you were finished with your coffee, pushing you out into the snowy forestscape, hands grabby and wings fluttering anxiously.
Before you could shudder and complain about the cold, Hawks scooped you up into his arms, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and took to the sky.
You couldn't believe he was out here without a jacket on. Your fully covered arms clung to him for dear life, shivering and trembling in the cold. He wasn't flying particularly fast; but, the winds felt punishing, ice cold biting at your cheeks and seeping in through your clothes.
You were too cold to really appreciate the beauty of the forest covered in freshly poured snow. The glistening, white peaks sparkled like something out of a fairytale in the dimly lit morning light.
"Come on, babe," Hawks cooed, turning his head to blow hot air right on your ear.
Well, no wonder he wasn't cold. It seemed to make sense to you, then, why he went into his rut during these times of the year. He was generating enough heat to be a transportable furnace.
"If you keep clinging to me like that, you're gonna miss the view," Hawks uttered, so close that his lips moved against your skin as he spoke.
You peeled back from him, away from the warmth you were desperately trying to steal. He hadn't stopped flying yet, but slowed down a bit.
"O-oh..." you whispered, taking in the snowy wilderness.
A few miles past the cabin's backyard was a cliff that dipped down into rolling mountains. He had flown overhead, granting a wonderful view of the many acres of untouched wilderness, towering trees and lush forest landscape over rolling hills and mountains.
But, Hawks hadn't dragged you out here at the crack of dawn just to see the snowy landscape. He wanted you out here right at sunrise for a very specific reason.
He had made it just in time for the sun to peak out from the horizon line, like a giant glimpsing through the trees on the mountain top.
The sun was shining a mystical light across the mountains. The overcast clouds were dark purple gliding across crystal clear, blue skies. Rays of red sunlight glided through the trees while gold laid out across the piles of snow like a glistening blanket.
"See?" Hawks murmured, his flight coming to a halt.
He hovered, fairly high up, wings flapping gently, arms still wound tight around you, holding you close. There was a gentle breeze brushing through his hair, causing the feathery strands to tickle at your cheeks.
While you were looking at the landscape in awe, he was staring at you. The sunlight lit up your face and reflected heavily on your eyes, making them glow like crystal orbs. You had finally stopped shivering, too in awe at the sight to notice the chilling bite of the wind.
He didn't say it aloud; but, the most beautiful thing in the sunrise was you.
He liked to tell himself that the rut was making him mushy, emotional. Surely, powerful pro-hero Hawks couldn't be this soft? But, he knew his rut was only amplifying what he already felt so strongly.
His rut made him less inhibited, surfaced darker, feral desires that lay in waiting under layers of discipline he had spent most of his life building.
Even without his rut, you had a power over him he couldn't deny, the power to break him, to peel back the masks he wore, to melt away his self-control, until he was reduced to a desperate animal.
Oh, but the beauty of it all was that you loved that side of him. You had proved to him that you loved every side of him, even the parts that he tried so desperately hard to ensure would never see the light of day.
Even if he could blame his desires on his mutation, that didn't change that he was an assassin, for heroes, yes, but a murderer none the less.
You-
-you knew that, and yet, still, those soft hands held him as if he was untainted. You purred beneath his touch as if those weren't the same hands he had used to kill.
"Keigo?" you hummed.
Just like that, there you were again, freeing him from the torment of his own mind, a lifeline to free him from drowning in the ocean.
"Thank you for this," you uttered, turning your head to look at him.
God, he was beautiful. His gold irises were amplified by the sunlight, like shiny coins in a wishing well, taking in the sight of you shamelessly.
The bird-like curve of his eyelids already gave him a mystical appearance, now further illuminated by the rays of light shining down from above. The wind was blowing, tossing his already frazzled hair in a senseless dance.
The bright red plumes that made up the shape of his wings looked like something out of a dream. In the sunlight, the feathers glowed magnificent crimson, glowing in sharp contrast to the pale white, wintery landscape.
Your hands, that had been gripping his shoulders during the flight, wove up the back of his neck, fingertips touching the trimmed hairs there. You felt his hands tighten where they were holding you, his arms weaving tighter, as if he could get you closer.
"Do you like it here?" Hawks uttered softly.
His tone concerned you a little, as if he was sincerely worried that you were a prisoner here.
You smiled, replying, "it's the first time we've gotten to truly be alone. I'm enjoying myself more than you think."
His gaze softened at your words. A couple of your fingers played with the soft, short hairs at the top of his neck. He felt unbearably warm there, skin slightly damp with sweat. It was startling, considering how cold it was outside.
You felt the soft brush of his lips and let your eyes flutter shut. He was slow, careful, like he was tasting something new and delicious for the first time.
When he pulled back and tilted his head, you felt the faintest drag of his chin across your cheek, felt the fine hairs of his beard tickle your skin.
He hadn't shaved in a couple weeks, leaving you to see him in a mess than most didn't get the honor of. The normally neatly trimmed hairs he shaved down to a fine patch on his chin were now covering most of his jawline, the same beautiful, pale blonde as the hair on his head.
Tantalized, you leaned in, nuzzling your cheek against his jaw, before tilting your head back and feeling the drag of his soft beard against your skin. It felt good, maybe a little too good, and you failed to suppress a quiet gasp.
When you had pulled back far enough to catch his gaze, you immediately realized his eyes had changed. The calm was gone; now, something akin to a storm was brewing underneath.
It was a look you were very familiar with.
He let out a low exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. Your name fell from his lips, low and sultry, a warning, or a curse, and it made you shudder.
Hawks tilted back suddenly and started a sharp decent downward. Having flown together many times, you weren't afraid. The arms around his shoulders tightened and you let out a soft gasp, but more so out of surprise than fear.
His wings fanned out and took him sharply soaring through the trees at a speed much faster than he had brought you here. His grip on you was almost painfully tight, as if his fingers were trying to dig past the fabric of your clothes to get to your skin.
Excitement made you forget about the biting cold, the forest around you distorted almost violently. Suddenly, the cabin door was creaking and then being slammed shut. You hadn't even seen the cabin come into view. Everything felt like a daze.
He flew up to the loft and dropped you unceremoniously at the edge of the bed. The tumble had resulted in you facing away from him; but, you could feel his eyes burning through you.
"Take off your clothes," Hawks commanded, his voice oddly polite despite the nature of his request.
Just as soon as you started working your jacket off, he was kneeling to pull at the laces on your boots. He was strangely gentle when he pulled your shoes off, less so when he tossed them aside. As you worked your shirt off, he pulled your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, leaving you mostly bare and cold.
You rotated around and leaned up on your elbows, catching his cold stare, indicating that you were not done yet. You peeled your socks off, feeling a rush of excitement at the look he was giving you.
Hawks usually wore a kind, harmless face, not that it was unnatural, for he truly was a good person. However, most could easily forget or be blind to how powerful he was.
Now, in his gold eyes, that was what you saw, the reality that he could take whatever he wanted, when he wanted. You didn't have to be reminded, for every sparring and training session did just that: you couldn't best him if your life depended on it.
Still, Hawks wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of loved, often times so passionately that you feared you couldn't keep up.
Even now, when his hands took hold of your waist, his body language dominating, wings spread wide behind him, you felt loved.
An amused sound, like a hum, rumbled out of his chest as he carefully maneuvered you around.
You were compliant, letting him roll you around and push your chest down into the bed. The hand on your back was gentle, but commanding, fingers splayed wide in the space between your shoulder blades.
Instead of nudging your thighs with his hands, a boot-clad toe poked between your ankles, commanding you to spread your legs, which you did with a low moan. You leaned up on your toes, presenting to him like an animal.
The sight threatened to send him into a spiral, and you felt his clothed body fall over you, pushing you down into the bed.
His wings flapped once, sending a sharp gust of wind spiraling around the room. There was a painfully obvious contrast between the soft texture of his shirt and the rough texture of his pants.
He made it very clear, with a roll of his hips, that he was ready to take you. The feeling of his clothed erection against your sex, combined with the knowledge that he could just slip right in without preamble, had you mewling.
"You like this," Hawks observed, the words like thunder as they rolled off his tongue.
He retreated, suddenly reeling back and standing behind you, warmth leaving along with him.
"You like when I just take?" he asked, accentuating 'take' with a smack to the back of your thigh. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did manage to startle a yelp out of you.
"Yeah," he uttered lowly, agreeing with his own observations. "You like being Hawks' little plaything," he continued, almost purring the words.
Your delirious brain didn't really know what to expect next. When you heard a thump, you had no idea what to make of it, until you felt breath on your skin and realized that was the sound of Hawks' falling onto his knees behind you.
He didn't waste any time diving in, lapping a heavy tongue across your slit, from top to bottom. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you still while his tongue breached your entrance.
If his enthusiasm and lack of grace wasn't enough, the rumbling sound he made was enough to make it obvious he liked it.
You couldn't fathom that your taste could possibly be that good; however, you didn't dare comment, especially not when he was doing things with his tongue that shouldn't be humanly possible.
A rough smack to your behind startled you from a delirious daze of pleasure. You yelped quietly, but otherwise remained compliant. When he smacked you again, this time growling faintly into your sex, it was clear he wanted something that you weren't delivering; but, you didn't know what.
"K-Keigo, what-" you whined, breaking off into a howl when he smacked you again.
Normally, such a touch would have you instinctively shriveling away; however, his grip on you was tight, and it kept you still.
Hawks smacked you again, you helplessly cried out, again, and the sound faded into moans that you couldn't possibly contain with what he was doing. You started to wonder, when another smack was delivered, if he was just doing that for his own amusement.
Eventually, he stopped and leaned back, rising to his feet. His hand slid over yours, large palm practically swallowing yours, and guided it back to your sex. You rotated a little, angling your body to follow his movement.
"Feel that," he gently commanded. "How wet and warm you are for me."
You heard the floorboard creak as he leaned back, clearly to get a good view. You did as he requested, immediately driving two fingers into yourself. Sure enough, you were slippery, walls compliant and squishy, and unbelievably warm inside.
Being ready for him with little provocation wasn't exactly a new thing. You were both very busy heroes and keeping your relationship on the downlow. That meant quickies more often than proper time together.
Yet, Hawks sounded immensely pleased; with himself or with you, you couldn't quite tell.
He returned to the floor, hand brushing your knuckles to push your fingers in as deep as they could go.
"Keigo, what are you-" you began, cutting off when his tongue returned to your heat, right alongside your fingers.
"Finger yourself," he told you, sounding oddly blissful despite the fact that you hadn't touched him at all. His cock was still trapped inside his pants, throbbing against the rough material.
You complied with his request, lacking in any grace or proper friction considering the awkward angle. However, Hawks groaned in approval at the view before leaning back in.
His tongue dipped in right alongside your digits. Immediately, he forced the pace and you were desperate to try and keep up, fingers squelching in and out of your core alongside the slobbery mess of his tongue.
Your fingers couldn't compare, lacking in the length, thickness and dexterity of his digits. But, it seemed that Hawks was less focused on getting you off and more focused on playing with you; or, maybe, you had severely underestimated what the taste of your essence was doing to him.
At some point, he pulled back, grabbed your wrist to remove your fingers from your core, and sucked them into his own mouth. You weren't expecting the teeth, and let out a low hiss when his fangs threatened to pierce the skin, holding you firmly in place while his tongue sucked your fingers clean.
He didn't release your hand when he was done. You heard the floorboards creak as he stood up, felt him tug your hand down, until your knuckles brushed his clothed cock.
"You want that?" Hawks breathed.
His free hand gently spread over the space between your shoulder blades, pushing you down before you could dare think to lean up. Your cheek was resting against the sheets, hair spewed about in a mess. His hand wandered, pushing hair out of the way until your neck and shoulders were properly exposed.
From where you laid on the bed, you couldn't make out the sight of him; but, you could see one of his wings, stretched out, looming predatorily.
"Yes," you replied hoarsely.
His hand glided over the prominent bump where your first vertebrae jutted from the top of your spine, and lowered, setting between your shoulder blades once more, where he held you still.
"Then, take it," Hawks uttered, his other hand releasing your wrist.
You let out a low hiss, wanting to curse him for making such a ridiculous request. You couldn't see his face; but, you sure as hell could feel the smirk he was wearing as he stared at you, watching your handle fumble with his belt.
You doubted it was mercy; but, Hawks leaned in closer, the tops of his thighs sliding over the backs of yours, making it a little easier to undo his belt buckle.
The button on his pants followed, but not with ease, before you tugged his zipper down. You couldn't tug his pants down like this, leaving you to fumble around with his boxers, trying to fish his cock out.
"Keigo, you fucking ass-" you growled, not bothering to hide your frustration.
Hawks laughed softly, sounding a little more out of it than he did amused. "'m sorry," he cooed. "-like seein' you struggle."
The slur in his voice should have given it away, his patience had depleted; however, it still surprised you when he suddenly swatted your hand away. He hooked his thumb on the hem of his boxers and pulled them down just enough for his cock to bob free.
You felt the smooth tip nudge at your entrance, the faintest warning, before he pushed forward and entered your moist heat.
"Ohhhh fuck," Hawks howled.
He gave you no time to become accustomed to the sudden intrusion, immediately pistoning his hips back and forth, driving his cock in and out of you.
One hand pinned your torso, while his thighs pinned your legs, and his other hand gripped your hip for leverage. You shifted your feet, trying to lift up on your toes to better the angle, and bumped against his boots.
He was still fully clothed; and, really, that shouldn't have mattered so much. After all, how many times had he freed his cock from his jumpsuit to take you quick and hard before tucking it back in and immediately looking as if nothing nefarious had occurred. Yet, still, the realization had you feeling dizzy.
Before you could nudge a hand between your thighs, something beat you to it. You recognized that bizarre texture. It was soft, sure, but a tad bit pricklier than a normal feather, with an unnatural, firm touch. The little heathen knew exactly how you liked to be touched there, too.
The wet, lewd noises of your union, skin slapping together, was drowned out by the litany of moans pouring from his mouth. If he wasn't crying out in ecstasy, he was huffing and puffing like he had just ran a marathon.
If you were being honest, he was being just a little too rough, a little too fast, offering you no reprieve. You didn't doubt that he would stop if you asked him to; but, you sure as hell didn't want him to. The intensity of it all had you on a plain of existence you rarely got to experience, where pleasure became blinding and mind-numbing.
His hand slid off your back and onto the bed, grabbing a fistful of the sheets as he set a brutal pace, the kind that threatened to unravel your sanity.
"Fuck! You feel so fucking good," he growled, sounding so out of breath and lost. "Gonna fill you up. Yeah, I am. Want my seed dripping out of you all fucking week."
High off the pleasure, and maybe a little influenced by his own state, you moaned approvingly at the suggestion.
"Baby," he whined, suddenly sounding like he was in pain. The feather fluttering against your pearl intensified, practically vibrating against you with how fast it was moving.
"Need you come, need you to come," Hawks pleaded, the words hissing out from his lips between desperate pants.
You didn't think you could come in that moment. Everything felt so good, from his cock rearranging your insides to his feather flicking at your clit. The pleasure was tingling down your thighs and crawling up your spine. You could barely breathe, let along process a coherent thought beyond Keigo.
The hand that had been holding your hip let go and joined the other in gripping the bed. He arched over you, forehead meeting your back.
"Come for me, come for me," Hawks sobbed.
You realized then, as he trembled behind you, that he had reached his own completion, and he didn't slow down until his orgasm waned. You could feel his seed, like molten lava as it filled your insides.
Hawks was still panting when he growled, "again."
He flipped you over, winding your legs over his waist and somehow managing to keep his cock seated inside of you during the transition. Your arms flopped uselessly above your head. You felt weak, laying there like a doll while he turned you over. Still, it felt good: his cock, his hands, his warmth.
One of his arms looped beneath your lower back and tugged you properly onto the bed. He climbed onto the sheets and followed, dragging you beneath him.
He was prepared to continue thrusting into you wildly and blindly chase another orgasm when your eyes met and he froze up. You could practically see him blink away delirious arousal, the sight of your debauched face bringing him back to his senses.
"B-baby, do you need me to stop?" Hawks offered, the words falling from his lips so weakly.
You huffed out a weak breath and reached for him. He leaned down, letting you wind your arms across his shoulders. Your fingers dipped across his clothed back until you reached his wings.
Hawks literally shouted when your fingers dipped into the exposed seams on the shirt and touched the baby feathers growing fresh from his back. The sound rattled your bones and made you jerk from the startle.
He didn't have to be told twice, obviously, for Hawks continued his thrusting immediately. The slippery, wet sounds of his claim over your body was downright disgusting, and you loved it. Your legs clung desperately to his hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.
One of his feathers was still pressed against your clit, now trapped between your bodies. It had stopped moving; but, every time he thrust back into you, it created delicious friction.
Your assault on his wings rendered Hawks incapable of speech. The pleasured sounds he made was almost unnatural. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was in pain between the broken, blabbering moans and choked, sharp gasping.
His arms were still wound beneath you, holding onto you for leverage and clinging to you so closely, so tightly, it was almost crushing. His wings were arched up high, flapping occasionally as if to increase the momentum behind his thrusts.
His face fell into your throat, forcing your head back into the sheets. He was burning hot, practically oozing sweat. In the corner of your eye, you could see the red tint staining his ears. You could practically feel his frustration gnawing its way through his body and into yours.
Without warning, you felt what couldn't be mistaken for anything other than Hawks' teeth piercing the skin of your neck. Sure, he had bit you before, even left faint hickies on occasion; however, this was something else entirely, and forced a scream from your throat.
You had no doubt he had pierced the skin, judging by how it burned. He was growling into the skin, holding onto you with his teeth as if you were attempting to flee. You didn't dare release his wings, fingers woven through the fine plumes, caressing the sensitive skin of his shoulder blades, where crimson feathers grew.
The bite hurt, without a doubt, but there was no denying the electrical shocks of pleasure it sent through your body. If it wasn't that, then it was the growls vibrating from his mouth onto your skin.
Suddenly, your orgasm hit, and left you screaming and gasping with a sort of ferocity you didn't think you were capable of. Something that sounded almost like his name fell from your lips at some point. Your back arched and your legs trembled where they rested around his hips.
You failed to realize he was following closely behind you. Your grip on his feathers had gone limp and you didn't notice the way his wings arched up, the tips of the longest quills nearly touching the ceiling. He kept going and going, until he was spent and your cries of ecstasy came to a halt.
Hawks let go of your throat and leaned up, removing his arms from beneath you to set his palms on the sheets. He should have felt embarrassed or ashamed or something. But, looking down at the bleeding bite wound on your shoulder, watching the way your chest heaved with heavy breaths, seeing the tint of red along your cheeks and neck, he felt blissfully proud.
Hawks scooped you into an embrace and carefully rolled onto his side, bringing you in with him and cradling you against his chest. One of his wings fell over you, the plumes stretched wide to hide you from the outside world. All you could see was him, his handsome face, the crimson feathers of his wings.
You were acutely aware that he was still inside you, still somewhat hard; but, his temperature was lowering and his breathing was steadily returning to normal. Your fingers untangled from his plumes and came around to rest limply on his chest.
He lapped his tongue softly against the bite wound until it stopped bleeding before peppering it with kisses. It stung a little and you squirmed in his grasp.
"I'm not sorry about the bite," Hawks confessed lowly, leaning back to look at your face.
"Me either," you replied, offering him a weak smile.
He looked blissfully unaware until you leaned in and sucked some of the skin of his neck into your mouth. Hawks groaned approvingly, laying still until you were satisfied and let go, leaving behind a faint, purple bruise.
You stared at his handsome face, watching the vibrant, red blush slowly leave his features as he calmed down. Blonde locks were clinging to his sweat soaked forehead and everything between the two of you reeked of sex. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to complain when he looked so damn happy.
Hawks leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against yours lips. Before he could retreat, you tilted your head and leaned in, not letting him escape. He hummed into the kiss, letting you lead until you were content and departed with a wet smack.
"Just a little bit longer," he promised, fingers gently digging into your back.
"Tell me what you're thinking," you requested, nuzzling your nose against his.
Something uncertain flickered in his gold eyes and his lids narrowed slightly.
"It's not sensical," he uttered lowly, and you felt one of his hands slide around to your front. His thumb lovingly brushed along the dip of your tummy, beneath your belly button. His gold eyes shifted down, staring at the expansion of your naval with dedication.
You both had implants. It wasn't going to happen. He knew that. Of course he did. But, he couldn't help but feel dedicated to commit to the effort, as if it would.
Your hand followed his, spreading over his fingers to press him down gently over your lower abdomen, as if this would be successful, as if there was a chance he would take. The encouragement to put him ease.
Hawks wanted to believe it was the rut talking. Some of it was, his body deliriously driven to mate, to the point that he overheated and arousal pained his core. But, his motivation wasn't purely biological. It was because it was you, whom he trusted with every fiber of his being.
But, he couldn't bring himself to tell you that. You loved being a hero, and he wasn't going to take that from you.
It felt special, being hidden with him like this, beneath his wing, whispering such depravities to one and other, that the rest of the world would never know. You felt safe, in a way that felt impossible. Here, as irrational as it sounded, you felt like Hawks could protect you from the world.
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Earthrealm customs.
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We have a big problem. This isn’t as great as I’ve hyped it up to be I fear! But I loved writing this. I’ve had to base this off the limited exposure we’ve had to Fujin. Starts off cute gets smutty. 
Warnings: Smut, oral, fluff, angst, smut, smut and more smut. 18+ under the cut.  Pairings: Fujin X Female Reader.  Word count: 6814 GIF does not belong to me. 
You stood outside the gallery. Impatiently drumming your fingers against your elbow. You clicked your tongue against your teeth. Shifting from one leg to the other. Eyes roaming around the busy street in front of you. Leaning against the cool glass of the window behind you. The skies above were blue and clear. The sun was beating down on you, making you regret taking a jacket, a that was now wrapped around your waist haphazardly. The day was only to get hotter; it was the warmest spring day of the year. But then again, it was on the cusp of summer, so it did not surprise you. You sighed, removing your phone, pretending to check it for the millionth time. Eyes looking up at the man staring at you, forcing a bittersweet smile, you returned your attention to your empty phone. It was a bad habit. You cared far too much about what people thought of you, he told you that with one of those smiles that made your heart flutter and your knees weak. You locked your phone, once more slipping it back into your short pocket, and folding your arms over your chest. No messages or missed calls, your phone was always on silent for this reason. It gave you an excuse to check your phone in awkward situations. It solidified the fact you were waiting for someone and wasn’t just some weird person stood outside the gallery. You were sure no one actually thought that, but you felt you had to prove your point, had to let people know that you were in fact waiting for your date. He wasn’t late. No late wasn’t his style. You were just early, far too early, again. But you had been excited for your date. It wasn’t often it got to be just the two of you. You’d had your outfit planned for the past week, you’d played it all out in your heard, and you intended to make the most of your time together. You checked your nails, spotless and painted a light shade of grey. Grey always reminded you of him. Grey was the colour of cloudy weather, the colour of those clouds that haunted the skies above the sea, as the wind battered the coast. A cool breeze brushed past you, causing your jacket to dance against the bare skin of your legs, and strands of hair to fly across your face. You closed your eyes. He had arrived. Savouring the moment as the breeze nipped your bare skin, as if trying to entice it to dance. The smell of freshness hitting your nostrils. It was barely a tangible smell. One moment like a fresh meadow, the next it was like fresh laundry that had been dried on the line, and then it was like the smell of the sea, salty and harsh. A small wistful smile playing on your lips. Lost in the moment. It reminded you of him, made your heartache and skip at the same time, in a unique paradox. Once the breeze had died down, once more returning to the warm spring day, you opened your eyes and the smile fades, as there is no sign of him. Your back in the city. The smell of petrol and that usual smell of the city invading your senses. You frown. You weren’t on your balcony waiting for him to appear, nor were you at the top of the Sky Temple, looking over at the beauty and majesty before you, with strong arms wrapped around you. You were in the city. The same, boring, old city. Waiting for the man you loved to return. You sighed, sliding down the window a little, your legs were beginning to tire. You regretted arriving so early. You thought it’d take you a little longer than normal to walk to the gallery from your apartment. But you were wrong. It took you 10 minutes. You did have plans to get a coffee, but the heat of the day made you change your opinion on that. You had wanted to pick up a cooler after, but upon spying the queues you’d opted against that. You had time to kill, but you didn’t want to spend it queuing in a coffee shop. Potentially spilling anything on your outfit. You weren’t vain, but you wanted today to be perfect. It had been months since you had last seen him, and you wanted to commit to memory. Who knew when you’d see him again? As much as it filled your heart with ache and yearning, you knew you had chosen this life, you had accepted this when you fell for him and he for you. Falling in love with a God wasn’t easy nor for the faint of heart. Barely seeing each other, limited time when you did, and any chance of normality slipping through your fingers. But it wasn’t all angst and waiting. Falling in love with a God was an amazing experience, one that filled you with wonder, your meetings became sacred and special. You loved nothing more than hearing the stories and tales he had to tell. His voice made anything sound amazing, he could have read you the phonebook, and you’d have become smitten. You smile to yourself, lulling your heard to the side as you look out over the road. Walking up the stairs towards you is a man. A familiar looking one at that. You narrow your eyes, placing a hand over your eyes to shield them from the light… it looked like him, only, with shorter hair. A lot shorter. You open your mouth and frown a little. It had been a few months, but you were sure you still knew what he looked like. A smile was on his face, warm and with a small hint of a playful smirk. A small, ever so slight one, barely detectable to those that didn’t know him. It was him… Fujin… Your smile returned as he strode towards you. Catching the eye of a few passers-by, who stopped to double take the figure walking past them. You would have done the same if you didn’t know him. He was tall, pushing 6’3 at the least. With hair as white and as pure as virgin snow. Hair that used to be longer than yours, and always tied back in an elegant braid; now swept back and slightly tussled. As he got closer you spied his eyes. No longer the prominent, bold, flash of glimmering silver sclera. No. His eyes were now a deep shade of brown. “Y/N.” He greeted, closing the distance till he’s stood before you in all of his glory. Smiling down at you, he softly and deftly pushes stray strands from your hair. Acting as if he wasn’t the cause for your hair to be so misplaced. “You’ve changed your hair.” You say, smiling widely up, whilst your cross your arms. You like it. As much as you like his long hair, this one did something to him. It almost made him appear more rugged, yet more sophisticated. It was different and it emphasised that sharp jawline more. His hand shot up to the short locks, running a hand through it, trying to smooth down some of strayed messed. “Kung Lao said I would suit it…” He paused, looking you up and down, trying to detect if you liked it or not. “Do you not like it Y/N?” He asked. Worry lacing his tone. You shake your head, leaning in and attempting to plant a small peck on his cheek. Pulling at the collar of the shirt he’s wearing, he leans down slightly, allowing you to finally land the kiss. “It’s different. But I think you suit it.” You whisper before leaning back and clasping your hands in front of you. His smile returns and he shakes his head before placing his hand tentatively over yours. “I am glad you like it. I was worried you would not recognise me for a moment. The unfunny jester had joked that you would not recognise me. I was worried he was right.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a spare hand. You feigned shock before shaking your head. Unfunny and a jester, it could only be Johnny. “A world in which Johnny Cage is right is a scary concept.” You tease back. You dip into your satchel, pulling out the guide to the gallery. You’d picked it up before waiting outside. You were eager to check it out. You weren’t sure how Fujin felt about it, but he seemed more than happy to see more of Earthrealm culture. “Are you excited?” You ask eagerly, gripping the glossy guide in your hand. You were hyped beyond belief, so much so, you didn’t even read the guide. You wanted to experience the exhibit with him. Fujin nodded before looking up at the building. “I am. I am very excited to see more of Earthrealms art…” He looked back down at you and smiled. “And you know of my vice for painting.” He gently gripped your hand in his. “You’re going to love this. It’s about Myths, Legends and The Gods of Old. I’m hoping there’s at least one painting of you and Raiden in here.” You tease, rubbing your fingers over his knuckles. His hands aren’t cold, but they are warm either. They are the perfect temperature.  Comfortable and they fil with you content. “Lead the way…” He encourages, leaning back and giving you space to push yourself up from your perch. You grab back a hold of his hand, as you walk towards the entrance, talking about anything and everything. His fingers intertwined with yours in an act of rebellion. Raiden discussed often with his brother about displays of public affection. But no one knew he was a god here. You were just a couple, here to admire some art.
                                                                                *
You’re both stood before a painting… well, you think it’s a painting. Fujin is behind you, hands in his pockets, eyes fixated on the painting. Smears of grey, blue and yellow paint are all over the canvas. Swirls of the colour melding into one. Dots and flashes of orange are scattered across the canvas. As if the brush had been dropped. This exhibit hadn’t been what you had expected it to be. “What is it Y/N?” Fujin asked, leaning in to whisper in your ear. As if ashamed to not know what it is. You shrug your shoulder. “Maybe it’s a sunrise?” You suggest. You weren’t one to mock art, you knew it was in the art of the beholder. But you were struggling here. Fujin nodded before opening the guidebook. “It is supposed to be a deconstructed apple of chaos, one which belonged to Eris.” Your eyes widen, you spin on your heel to face him. “The fuck?” You blurt out a little too loudly. Fujin smiles, whilst others around you frown and tsk out your outburst. You look around apologetically, mouthing sorry at the disgusted faces looking at you. Fujin chuckles to himself, his eyes dancing in the gallery lights. “I have missed you Y/N. Your honesty, is next to none.” He whispers, pulling you in to his side, so he can hold you whilst you walk. Public displays of affection are not your forte or something you’re clear on. The thought of making out on a bench or the back of a bus, turns you off majorly. But with Fujin, his displays of affection are so subtle and romantic. He’s unashamed, and mostly unadjusted to the customs of Mortals. Raiden is far more versed than his brother, and from what you can gather, mortal and Earthrealm customs confuse him still. Even after many a year among the mere mortals that call this realm home. You hadn’t expected Fujin to be this way, you imagined him to be more like Raiden… but then you figured there was a reason him and Kung Lao got on. He was more laidback than Raiden. He joked around more. A dry sense of humour if ever there was one, but it was endearing. “Do you believe an apple could cause chaos?” He asked you curiously. You shrug your shoulders before debating it in your head. “Maybe. The myth is that Eris the goddess of discord, essentially Yeeted an apple.” Fujin cut you off. A perplexed look on his face. “Yeeted? This is a word I’m not overly familiar with. I have heard Cassandra Cage and Jacqueline Briggs often speak of this Yeet.” You nod before thinking of the best way to explain it. “Yeeted, it means to throw. But it’s slang. I wouldn’t start using it in everyday conversation. It’s a… it’s an internet thing. I actually can’t remember most of the legend” You admit, watching as he nods and mulls over the word. “Eris threw the apple among the gods at the wedding feast of Peleus and Thetis. Which caused arguments amongst many of the gods and goddesses, which according to legend, sparked the Trojan War.” He looks down at you to see you’re smiling. “So, you know the legend. Do you have apples of chaos?” You ask him, curious to see if there such things. He scoffs before stopping to look at a statue. “I have never heard of them. But there is a realm of Chaos, maybe they have apple trees down there. Shujinko may know, he has visited Chaos realm. I will ask him when I see him next and I will let you know.” His way of speaking always brings a smile to your face. It’s almost poetic and breezy, he’s well-spoken and his voice always makes you feel calm. “I’ve missed you a lot.” You nuzzled into his side. The smell of a fresh breeze flooding your senses once more. He smiles down at you as you continued to walk. “A whole realm dedicated to chaos seems a bit much.” You admit. Fujin scoffs again before shaking his head. “You cannot comprehend the headache it gives me. We have always underestimated one of the Clerics that dwells there. But recently he has become, how would you put it?” He paused, looking down at you, eyes wide as if asking for help.   “A giant pain in the arse?” You say without a skip of a beat. Fujin nods before laughing a little, his strong arms encircling your waist tighter. “Yes. But enough speak of other realms. I desire to know more about this… art. Why does it lack form or content?” He curiously asked, pausing to stare at a huge canvas painted with red. You read the label. The Sea of Blood… You frown. You don’t have an answer for it. “Modern art. It doesn’t have to look like anything, it’s all about meaning and expression. I guess. I’m not too sure. I’m not a huge fan, but if it makes them happy, then it makes them happy.” Fujin shakes his head looking away. “The Sea of Blood is not one continuous shade of red.” He mutters to himself. Attracting the attention of a woman stood near him, who seemingly doesn’t agree with the God of Winds opinion. “I think it’s spot on.” Fujin shrugs his shoulders before continuing to walk with you.
You enter a corridor that is far darker than the rest of them. You were searching for the painting you knew was in the gallery. You needed him to see it. You feel his fingers caress your sides lightly, sending electric sensations up your spine. “Is the Sea of Blood actually real?” You ask him curiously. Fujin who seems to be lost in his own little world is looking around at the more traditional paintings. He hums before nodding. “Oh yes. It is very real. Y/N, what is that woman doing?” He asked, shrugging off the revelation that there is a real Sea of Blood, instead pointing his hand at the painting before you. Letting go of you to examine the scene before you.  Your eyes grow wide, mouth slightly agape and a blush forming on your face. “She’s giving him a blowjob.” You quickly say, coughing and looking away. The burn of mortal shame upon you. Fujin turns back to you, eyes wide, head tilted forward. Your answer clearly not enough. “Please explain what a ‘Blow Job’ is.” He asks, a little too loudly, once more people are looking at you. You quickly shake your head, a small smile on your lips. “Oh, that famous mortal shame.” He teases, swiping a finger over your face to trace your blush. You shake your head and continue walking, Fujin in tow, it doesn’t take him long with his long legs to catch you up. You’re searching for the end of this corridor. You know it’s got to be somewhere. “Y/N…” He asks, whispering now, trying to keep his voice down. You turn to him and shake your head looking around. The corridor is abandoned. You push him back against one of the walls. “It’s a sex act. Basically, you suck someone’s cock, till they ejaculate. I’ll tell you more about it later.” You didn’t give a shit about your explanation. Fujin tilted his head, leaning down to capture your lips. His lips were soft against yours, his arms wrapped around your hips. Fingers dancing over your back. You close your eyes and lean into the kiss. It became more heated as you pressed your body against his. Only to remember where you are. You pull away, coughing and blushing, as you look down the last part of the corridor spying a door. Fujin leans back down to capture your lips once more. “The Gallery will be closing in ten minutes.” The announcement voice echoed. You jerk back, nearly headbutting Fujin in the face. Your eyes wide. “Is something wrong?” He asks you, worry lacing that usual calm tone. You can’t believe it’s closing time already. “I just… why is it closing so early?” You quickly say, looking down at your phone. It was only 3 in the afternoon. The gallery was open till 10 on a weekend. Fujin opened the guide. “It is closing early for a ball that is been held here.” He informs you, holding the guide open for you to see. Shit… You hadn’t got to show him the painting of himself and Raiden. You sigh before looking up at him. “We better get going.” You say, moving back and grabbing his hand to help him up, not that he needed any help. He had grace and poise like you’d never seen before. The sound of late springs rain hitting the ceiling filled your ears. It was going to be an interesting walk home. Your date had been cut short, but was that bad? The two of you could always hang out at your apartment… if he was down for that. You’d been dating for a few months now; intimacy had not gone further than a few heated kisses and stolen touches. You hadn’t wanted to push anything. But everything happens for a reason.                                                                                        
                                                                                     *
You had run home with Fujin in tow. He had offered you his jacket, but you had shaken your head, all whilst pulling him through the sodden streets back to yours. Till you had arrived, when you had invited him in, he had nodded and followed you into the foyer and the elevator up to your floor. A few soft touches as you unlocked your door, had led to where you both were now. He was sat on your sofa, sodden jacket discarded on a nearby radiator drying. His shirt was now tighter, showing off that finely tuned and muscular body. You emerged from the bathroom, towelling off your soaked hair. The sound of the rain hitting the outside filled you with comfort. You glanced over to see Fujin was on your sofa, looking around your small apartment curiously. You smiled before walking towards him, grabbing a fresh towel from the clean washing pile you had yet to put away. You drop your wet towel after drying your face off. The cup of tea you made him has been drunk, the cup now lays neatly on your coffee table on a coaster. “You’re soaked.” You tease, pushing him back so you can straddle his hips. You bring the towel up and begin to towel dry his now short hair. When you pull the towel away, his eyes are looking up at you, as dark as forest yet burning as if it was on fire. Hair dishevelled and messed up. “I am sorry about that… I could remedy that…” You shake your head, fingers ghosting over his face, cleaning up stray raindrops. Your wondering where this boldness is coming from. His voice barely a whisper. Leaning in, his breath ghosting over your face, making your skin tingle and eliciting a spark reaction up your spine. You shiver, pressing your body closer to his. He had been very forward today. Far more than he’d been in the past. You weren’t complaining. He was an extremely handsome man, you run a finger across his jawline and down onto his shoulders, completely disregarding the towel and letting it fall down the back of your couch. Your, hands tremble slightly as your fingers ghost and dance over the buttons. Fujin doesn’t speak, his eyes instead locked with yours, burning brighter and brighter. As if reading your mind, he sits up, his lips locking with yours. His tongue dances over your lips, as his arms encircle your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You can feel his cock hardening beneath you. You moan into the kiss, opening your mouth enough for his tongue to slip into yours. Your tongues swirl and dance as they meet. The lingering taste of sweet tea fills you with joy. Your hands slip into his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands. Trying to grab onto something to ease your hands that were dying to touch other parts of him. His hands slip up your t-shirt, his finger brush against your bare stomach as they teasingly rub up and down. You grind down a little, to test the waters, only to elicit a groan from the god below you. Pulling away, you push his arms and hands away from you. Before yanking your t-shirt up and over your heard, throwing it to one side of your room. You look down to see his eyes are slowly becoming more cloudy… Interesting… You think to yourself, smirking before looking down at him. His eyes are burning into you, looking you up and down and taking in every inch of your body. “Y/N…” He whispers, hands running up and down your sides. His fingers caress every inch of skin he can touch and feel. Touches so soft, as if you were one of those statues back at the gallery, threatening to crack unless treat with such care. Your fingers start to slowly unbutton his grey shirt. One button at a time. You slowly take your time, whilst he’s taken aback by your body. Upon getting halfway and spying his well-toned abdomen you lose your patience. You quickly undo the rest, parting the shirt as your hands greedily splay out over his abs. Swirls of blue glowing tattoos line his right pectoral. Pulsating with every heartbeat. A few scars are littered here and there over his lower abs. You brush over them and you feel them tense underneath you. You pause in your movements. Looking back at him. His eyes are once again fixated on you. “What is wrong Y/N?” He asks you. You shake your head, a finger ghosting over his smooth lips. “Are you sure you want to do this, I don’t wanna rush you.” You admit sheepishly. Your thirst for the God of Wind had apparently taken over your senses. Fujin chuckles, cupping your cheeks as he kisses your lips softly. “I have never been surer of anything in my life.” He reassures you. “Would now be a good time, for you to explain more about this… sex act you mortals seem to perform?” He teases. A joke probably. But who are you to miss a learning opportunity. A wicked grin spreads across your lips. If he was so sure. You slide back and slowly lower yourself to the floor, nudging his legs apart so you can sit between them. His eyes are blown wide, in a mix of mild arousal and confusion. “Y/N What are you doing?” Intrigue in his voice, as he watches you sink to the floor to sit between his parted legs. You begin to rub his thighs, watching as he shivers, and feeling his body twitch and react. “How about I show you?” You tease, fingers dipping up from his thighs, and wandering towards the belt he wore. “I would… Like that very much.” He whispered, hands brushing stray damp strands of hair from your face. Your hands quickly make short work of his belt, quickly undoing it and fumbling the metal clasp to the side. You deftly pop the button on his pants and deftly undo the zip. You feel his body tense and hitch underneath you as you as you palm the bulge in his pants. “Stand up…” You prompt, one hand circling his thigh with two fingers, whilst the other gently palmed his bulge. Fujin didn’t speak or react, he stood up and you moved back give him space. Your hands travelled up his legs. You toyed with the waistband of both his boxers and pants. Your fingers deftly yanking at his shirt. Indicating you wanted it off. Fujin quickly removed his shirt, tossing it onto the sofa behind him. Your hands ran up and down his lower abdomen, caressing every inch of bare flesh before you, the feel of his powerful muscles twitching below him. Your hands run their way down to his pants, slowly tugging at the bands, before pulling them deftly down. Your soon face to face with his impressive cock. Your cunt clenched at the sight of it. It was on the large side, relatively in proportion to his body, and well suited to his form. Your hands glide down and over his cock. You feel him tense and his breath hitch, as your hands caresses his cock before gently furling your fingers around him. You look up and watch him. His eyes are closed, head lulled back, his hands clenched.
Gently you began to tease his head with your hand. You start slow, watching as his muscle tense and his reactions to your ministrations. His eyes are still closed, and his moans are muffled. He’s holding back and you can tell. You smirk to yourself whilst beginning to pick up your speed and intensity. Your hand tightens around his cock, and you begin to feel him losing control. His body shivers and you hear an escaped moan. One hand of his is digging into his hips whilst the other is still at his side. You can feel precum beading from his head, it feels slick against your fingers and you know you can’t keep up the teasing with your hands. You’d promised to show him a little bit more about Earthrealm and you’re intending to keep that promise. You remove your hand, his eyes briefly opening to look down at you. Wonderment filling them to why you have stopped. His mouth opens to interject, only to be met with shock and awe. Your mouth replaces your hand. You take him in slowly, once more testing the waters. His cock is thick and long, far bigger and thicker than you’re used to. Your tongue slowly began to swirl around his head. You felt him tense up, his body standing straight, whilst he let out a stifled moan. One of his hands shot into his hair, trying to grab and grip at it to keep in control. You watched as his eyes snapped shut and his face contorted into a pure look of pleasure. Sin incarnate, you wondered how one man could look so sinful. Like an Adonis and so much so like a … well a God really. There were no other words for what he was. You eventually took his whole shaft into your mouth, moaning around his cock as you did so. Your tongue wrapped around his base and you gagged slightly. Before your hollowed your cheeks and began to move your way back up his shaft. You paused halfway through before going back down, catching him by surprise, as he let out a loud moan. The noises he was making were sinful and encouraging you to go on. You carried on with your movements, moving and up and down his shaft, all the whilst he was coming undone. Moaning and tensing up with each movement. Your eyes watched as he moaned and stood still, one hand in his own hair, the other hovering over yours. You rolled your eyes, smirking against his cock. Your hands were currently braced against his thighs, helping to give you leverage as you fucked him with your mouth. You slowly moved one of them, finding his hand and forcing it to knot within your hair. His fingers were at first, hasty and unsure, but they eventually began to grip at the hair. Pulling it and gently tugging. You swirled your way to the tip of his cock, teasing the head by sucking and hollowing your cheeks. Before you took him by surprise, taking him deep into your mouth, until his cock is hitting the back of your mouth. Tears are streaming down your face. “By The Elder Gods…” He whispers, a loud moan ripping from his throat as his hands find their way to your hair. Messing it and tugging at the strands, forcing you further onto his cock. You’re unsure if he’s aware but you carry on. “I am… I am not going to last long…” He admits. His voice, barely a whimper. You debate carrying on and finishing him off with your mouth. You can imagine the taste of his cum as it slides down your throat. You moan at the thought, but then you wonder what his cock would be like inside your cunt… and your torn. You pull off his cock with a loud pop, you carry on slowly stroking it with your hand. “What is on your mind?” He asked. As if sensing your internal debate. “I want to sit on your cock…” You admit. Fujin croaks out a scoff before smiling and shaking his head. His eyes are open wide now, no longer the deep shade of brown, once more they are pure silver and glowing. “I would like you to do that… please…” You smile before standing up and releasing his cock from your hand.
You quickly stand and begin to shed the rest of your layers. Toeing off your shoes, shorts and then underwear. Before pulling your bra off and discarding of them. You’re unsure why but you turned around. You slide a hand over your body before turning round to see Fujin has followed suit. Stood before you. You chew your lower lip. He’s impressive beyond words. His legs are well-toned, as he stands tall and bare before you. His abs have a slight sheen to them from earlier. A strong muscular arm is holding his cock, playfully stroking it whilst those glimmering eyes look at you. “You are so beautiful…” He whispers, walking towards you whilst letting go of his cock. His hand caressing your face and pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips met and your tongues danced once more. You could feel him pressing you up against the wall of your apartment. His fingers running up and down your body as your back hit the wall and the kiss intensified. Your hands flew up into his hair, as a leg hooked behind his and you deepened the kiss. When he breaks from the kiss, his legs are nudging yours apart, whilst his fingers travel down from your neck to caress your breasts. Your nipples are hard from the cold nip of the air in the room, the coolness his body seems to emit. You shiver as he presses himself further against you, the cool of his skin melding with the warmth of your own. His fingers gently pinch and roll your pebbled nipple, between his finger and his thumb. You moan, arching your back, once more pressing your body further against his cool one. “Fujin…” You moan. He chuckles, his lips moving to your neck as his hands trail further down towards your cunt. His lips worked at sucking at your neck, before moving down to your shoulders, his lips latching to the nook of your neck before gently sucking and biting at your skin. You knew there would be marks but you didn’t care. His fingers ghost over your clit, with his thumb beginning to rub, there’s some uncertainty with his movements. The confidence seems to be fading as it gets closer to the act. His thumb picks up speed, moving around till he finds your sweet spot, until he hears that moan that elicits a shiver up his spine and an arch of your back. You could feel yourself growing wetter and wetter, your cunt was aching, and you desperately needed something inside you. Godly intuition or maybe it was your pants and muffled words of nonsense that were dripping from your lips that helped him guess. He slid one finger up into your tight cunt, moving away from your neck to give himself a better angle. You moaned, your hips bucking up into his hand as he slowly wiggled his fingers around. Once more trying to hit that sweet spot that would make you moan. You bucked your hips once more, your cunt growing used to his digit, you weren’t normally the one to beg but… “Another… please…” You whined. Fujin chuckled, before trailing peppered kisses down your collarbones and onto your chest. He inserted another finger, sliding it in, it was unexpected, and it made you gasp again. A feeling of fullness taking over you. You adjusted to his cool digits as he began to slide them in and out. Pumping them until he had picked up a steady rhythm, a rhythm that had you moaning and rocking your hips against his hands in wanton lust. You could feel your cunt starting to pulsate and tighten, the band in your abdomen tightening, he was edging you closer and closer. “I need to be inside you…” Fujin whispered into your ear, nipping at your ear as he did so. Your hands found his hair, nodding and moaning, you were becoming impatient and needed his cock. “Fuck me. Show me how a God fucks a mortal.” You begged. Fujin moaned, leaning back and swiftly removing his fingers.
You watched as he pumped his cock a few times. Coating it with your slickness. You wrapped your arms around his neck and parted your leg before raising one up to wrap it around his waist. He lined his cock up with your entrance, rubbing the head against your soaking cunt, before gently pushing it in. It was cool as it slid into you. You couldn’t even moan, your mouth opened, ready to pray to The Elder Gods for sweet release, but all you got, was emptiness as your senses were gripped by wanton lust and pure pleasure. Your eyes were closed as one hand raked against his back, whilst the other flew into his hair, trying to hold on. Fujin moaned as he slid further and further in, before he was in at the hilt. He fell forward, taking a few minutes to compose himself. He nipped at your collarbone.  Before gripping your thigh and hooking his hand under your arse. You felt comfortable and full. Wrapping the over leg around his waist, you allowed him to support all of your weight as your legs were wrapped tightly around his waist. His hand gripped your ass, squeezing and teasing the flesh beneath his greedy hands. You moaned loudly, panting almost at the feel of him inside you. He began to withdraw, your back pressed firmly against the wall, your cunt was already beginning to feel empty. You arched your back, clenching your legs around his waist, not wanting him to leave. Only to have him thrust back in. He repeated this action a few times, before picking up the pace, and rocking into your hips. You began to lose control, your grip on his hair and back losing, as both of them fell flat against the wall. Your tits bounced about as he fucked deep into you, your body bouncing against the coolness of the wall and his cool body. Hard abs pressed into soft flesh. You moaned loudly, praying your neighbours didn’t hear the banging, but also not caring. “Fuck Fujin… Fuck…” You’d lost control over your vocabulary. Only managing to utter a few words at a time. Your hips began to rock back and forth in tandem with his own thrusts. You were edging slowly towards your release but there was just something missing from this position. You needed something… you needed more. “Couch.” You managed to pant out. Fujin moaned into your shoulder before, nibbling as he fucked you deep. The angle had found was sublime. But you wanted to go on top. You needed his fingers against your clit. “I want to ride that godly cock of yours.” You manage to moan out. Fujin pants, slowing his thrusts down. The couch isn’t far from the wall, and he slides out of you. Your cunt aches and you’re left jelly legged. He slowly lets you down before you unwrap your legs and stand on the floor. You feel ready to collapse but you know your work isn’t done. You need to chase your release.
You push him back onto the sofa. Back into the position that started it all. Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips clashing into his, as your hand positions his wet and hard cock up to your entrance once more. You slowly slide down, taking his cock into you before you moan loudly. As you sink down to it, once more feeling deliciously full. Fujin wraps an arm around your waist, whilst you place your hands on his shoulders. You began to lift your hips up and down, quickly fucking his cock and hard and fast. Fujin moves a hand down to your clit and begins to rub with his thumb. You can feel that release building and bubbling. Your hips fuck in time with his fingers, your chasing the release and you don’t care if anyone else can hear you. Fujin’s confidence grows and he begins to match your hips. Pumping into you until you’ve both found a rhythm. “Oh my god… oh my god…” You moan as he fucks up into you and you move your hips in a circular motion. Your hand is digging into his shoulders, all the whilst one of his are working hard to make you cum, the other is supporting your hips and helping him to thrust up. You can feel your release coming. “I’m going to cum…” You moan loudly, leaning forward, trying to get just the right angle. Fujin breathily chuckles. “Do not hold back…” He whispers. “I need you to cum for me.” He states. And with that the band in your abdomen snap. You moan loudly, your hips rocking back and forth as you fuck out your release. Your cunt clenching around his cock tightly. As you rocked back and forth against his cock, you could feel his breathing becoming more and more laboured. His thrusts becoming more and more erratic. With a loud moan you felt him buck up into you before he came. “Y/N.” He whispered over and over again as a mantra, as he came deep inside of you. He fucked up into you a few last times, before you both fell forward. You laughed breathlessly, leaning back to see his hair was more a mess than it had been all day. His eyes still glimmered silver and were still devoid of pupils. “So…” You whisper. Only for Fujin to look up at you and lean up to catch your lips once more. The kiss is soft and tender. “That was… incredible. Tell me Y/N, are there any other Earthrealm customs you would like to show me?” He teases. You plant a kiss on his forehead, you can feel his cock hardening once more inside your sore cunt. You’re in for a long night… but then again, you did say falling in love with a god wasn’t for the faint of heart.
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otterskin · 3 years
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Finnesang - Prologue : Two Birds, One Song
All published chapters on AO3 - but here’s Chapter One, just to hook you.
Blurb: Odin is missing a raven. Without Muninn, Odin isn’t quite who he used to be. The only thing more dangerous than a man with secrets is one who can no longer keep them.
After a near-perfect Coronation years ago, Thor's become exactly the kind of king he believes his father would be proud of - if his father were still the man Thor thought he was (if he ever was).
Loki knows his place - servant of Asgard, advisor to his brother, and caregiver to his ailing father. Important roles, defining ones - and yet he feels forgotten. Sometimes literally.
Being forgotten is fatal when all that you are is someone else’s lie.
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PART ONE:
UNMADE
ᚲ ᛟ ᚹ
The RAVENS
Once we were ravens, and that only.
To be ravens is a good thing. Ravens can fly. The Sky belonged to us when we danced in it. At night we'd steal the stars away when our black bodies blotted them out. We did not belong to the Earth or the Sea, though we took the bounties of both. Some would call us thieves for that, but we were ravens only, and accountable to no-one.
And yet we were not content. We wished to have more.
We wished to be more.
When we heard it first, we could put no name to it. It was a sound, many of them, wound together in a tangle - and yet it could be followed.
So follow it we did.
We soared through rain and thunder, through blazing sun and piercing wind. Always, it moved forward, as living things must. We followed. We could not bear to live again in silence.
We beat our wings in time with its tempo and our hearts beat in time with its base. There was nothing but the song and the journey to possess it.
We followed it through forests, through villages, through cities and out into the sky again.
We saw a figure walking through clouds. He looked like one of the people who lived below - he was covered in scales like them, had four purple eyes like them, dressed as they did. But at once we saw that he was not one of them. None of them could walk the skies as easily as we flew in them. None of them sang as he did. He was a new thing, and we wanted to have him.
We danced about him, and he laughed in wonder at us.
He paused in his song to call out to us, as raucous as any lowly crow, “What are your names, then?”
We jeered. Play the sounds, creature.
He took up the thing of sticks and strings from around his neck and strummed it.
We ventured nearer, needing to feel the pulse of the tune. One of us landed on his right shoulder. One of us landed on his left. Through our toes, we could feel the rumble of his flesh, the rumble that became the sounds we would soon learn to call ‘music’.
"Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races
From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low
I will soon relate, to this tree of faces
Old tales remembered from long, long ago…”
We did not yet know what words were, but still we jittered to encounter them. The scales that disguised the singer as one of the people of below fell away, revealing pale, pinky flesh and worm-like toes where wing feathers should be. His eyes were now only two, and they were very, very blue.
"Have you no names, then? I’m between names myself at the moment. A fair number of them just…did not work out. Perhaps you can help me think of the next one.”
Before we could berate him for stopping, he continued to sing.
"I asked for companions, the Norns sent me birds
I asked them for names, but they gave me none
I suppose since I am the master of words
It falls to me to give them both some!"
He reached out to stroke our chests with a finger. It was warm. We didn’t dislike it.
“I may have made those lyrics for you, but the tune is not mine. I really should not be singing it. Yet lately, I cannot seem to get it out of my head…
“My father was a fine singer himself,
Though only when he sang with my mother.
They sang this for me when I was my first self
When I still had a sister and brother.”
The music ended. We looked at the creature. He stared hollowly out across the green skies as if he did not like the colour of them.
“It seems that no matter where I go or what I call myself, I am burdened with memories and thoughts. Not just of what was, but what could have been. Do you know what that is like, my feathered friends?”
He seemed unhappy. That was no good - his song had brought us joy, and it would not do for him to have none of his own. We called his music to our minds and cawed to it best we could, harsh and throaty.
His eyes brightened. “You are very clever, aren’t you? You’re different from the birds on Asheim. Though not so clever that you’ve yet to realize what sordid company you’re keeping now.” He strummed his instrument with a grin. “I’ve thought of names for you. You shall be Huginn and Muninn - Thought and Memory. But names are not free, my corvid companions. Upon your wings I will settle a burden, so that I might journey lighter…”
He touched a wing-toe to his head. It began to glow, bright and silver. When he withdrew the toe, it came away with a long strand of silver. It broke free from his head, and at once began to wiggle like a worm. We could not help but swallow eagerly in anticipation. He offered the worm to the first of us on his right shoulder. Without hesitation, it was devoured. He put his finger to his head once more, and this time drew out a golden worm. This he offered to the second of us, on his left shoulder. Once again, it was devoured.
He continued in this manner until we were full to bursting. The silver and gold writhed in our guts, hot and cold, filling us with emptiness and sorrow, with warmth and joy, all at once. It was only then that we realized we were no longer only ravens.
Our minds were pulled away from our bodies, away from the green skies of our home. We were taken into another body, under a different sky, in a distant time.
There, we were a boy. There, there was a garden…
It was a beautiful place.
A tall, red-bearded man held hands with a woman. Together they worked the land, pulling and pushing earth and water. Beside them were two children, a boy and girl. The girl coaxed plants from the soil, and the boy called animals to live in them.
The eyes we ravens watched from were distant, hovering far above the scene.
The man looked up at us. He opened his mouth, perhaps to call us down, to join them -
But all that came out was a terrible, wailing scream...
The ravens awoke, groggy with sleep. The baby’s wails echoed down the dark hallway, piercing even the great golden doors meant to shut away the rest of the world.
Thought looked at Memory. Memory looked back at Thought.
“You go,” croaked Thought.
“Muninn went last time,” complained Memory.
The wailing grew louder. It was a noise somewhere between a wolf having their teeth pulled and a crash collision between two speeding metal boats, complete with the two pilots arguing over whose fault it was afterwards. It was the very opposite of music.
“Huginn turn,” insisted Memory.
Huginn huffed, puffing up his feathers and shaking the sleep off of them. He flapped down off his golden perch and onto the bed. There was only one occupant, still slumbering on one side. On the other, the furs were flicked open. Huginn thought to look at the remaining shoes. The slippers were still there, but Frigga's boots were gone. Muninn remembered that she often went to the Garden at night - the only time she really could. She would not be back until sunrise.
Huginn hopped over to the remaining lump of furs. He pulled back the edges of them, revealing Odin’s face. He looked so very different from the creature who had walked the skies of the ravens’ homeworld. The red colour had long leached out of his hair, and his soft face had sprouted a grey beard and moustache to match it. At least his eyes had stayed the same - until a few nights ago when even one of them was taken from him.
Muninn recalled that he’d told them it was a trade of sorts. An eye for a baby. Huginn thought that was a rubbish trade. Odin's right eye had never screamed at them, which made it better by far.
Not wanting to waste any more potential sleep time, Huginn pecked near the newly-empty eye socket. At once the lump of furs erupted with a curse, sending Huginn flying into the air.
Odin attempted to insult his birds again but was drowned out by the baby screaming its boat-crash-wolf-yelp cry. So instead he sighed, beckoning to his birds to follow him as he lumbered out into the hallway.
Muninn tried to hide his beak under his wing and pretend he hadn’t seen the gesture. Huginn circled back and harassed him mercilessly.
“Need both,” Huginn tutted. “Always two ravens.”
Muninn relented, and soon both birds perched on Odin’s shoulders: Huginn on his right, Muninn on his left. As light as they were, Odin still moved slowly. He’d had very little sleep since returning from the final battle. The war itself hadn’t been particularly relaxing either.
Huginn felt the thought bloom in his mind as it occurred to Odin. How easy it seemed when I first took the child. Just seeing a friendly face after being abandoned had been enough to quell its cries.
They entered the nursery. Immediately the cries doubled in volume.
"Shhh-shhh-shh-sh.” Odin attempted, but the child only stopped its tears to hiccough loudly and suck in more breath, ammunition for further cacophony.
Hastily, Odin seized at a bottle waiting in a basket of ice and tried to stopper the babe with the bottle’s teat. Its mouth clamped shut and refused the milk, turning this way and that to escape.
“Still?” Odin asked it wearily.
I thought I saved you. But if you do not eat, all I have done is prolonged your death.
The thought tasted of hopelessness. It was not a favourite flavour of Huginn’s.
The babe reached out, seizing at Odin’s hand even as it ignored the bottle it held. Odin scooped the child into his arms, jostling the ravens as he patted its back. Nothing seemed wrong with it; its changing cloth was clean, its guts clear of gas. It was not even alone anymore - and yet it still would not stop crying.
“Go outside?” suggested Huginn.
“Remind baby of home,” agreed Muninn.
Odin nodded, eye still droopy with sleep.
They stepped onto the balcony. The night was clear and brimming with all the lights of Yggdrasil. As hoped, a chill was in the air.
And yet the baby still cried, digging into Odin’s beard as if trying to crawl away from the cold.
The old god sighed. “What am I to do?” he asked his ravens.
“Always, Odin ask only himself for counsel,” chided Muninn.
“I tried to turn to Frigga,” Odin protested half-heartedly.
Muginn cocked his head in judgement. The raven did not need to remind Odin of what he had done to Frigga. A flicker passed through both their minds: the memories of her face when he’d returned, bearing a strange infant to replace the one she so recently lost. She’d been waiting to share their grief - and Odin had instead asked her to disguise it, much like the false child he’d pressed to her breast.
“Odin did not think that one through,” observed Huginn.
“No. He did not,” agreed Odin, rubbing at the gauze over his socket again. He sighed.
Even Frigga’s reaction had been a friendlier welcome than he’d gotten from his own son.
I don’t know why I expected a warm welcome on my return - how could he even recognize me? He was but a babe when I left. But to see the boy instead glare at me with such suspicion, to insist on standing between his own mother and father...
But was the boy wrong to try and protect Frigga from me?
The first thing I did on my return was to break her heart.
“I am a wicked man,” Odin sighed.
"You are required to be a good king above being a good man. The two are often mutually exclusive concepts.”
Odin turned his head slightly to frown at Huginn. “That voice…”
The babe kicked him hard in the chest, trying again to squirm free of Odin’s grip.
Without thinking about it, he started to hum, bumping the child up and down as he did so.
Miraculously, the tiny creature quietened. Unscrunching its face, it peered up at him and his ravens. It seemed mesmerized by the tune.
Odin would have been glad of it, had he not recognized just what he was humming.
He stopped.
The babe immediately crumpled up again and began to fuss. Huginn, too, dipped his head in disappointment.
Despite his audience’s clear call for an encore, Odin did not pick up the tune again. Instead, he summoned the milk into his hand and tried again to feed the child. “Come on, boy,” he muttered, trying to turn its face back out from his chest. “I know it’s not as good as giant’s milk but we haven’t had any volunteers.”
His attempts jostled the ravens about on his shoulders, causing them to flap and squawk. Huginn wondered how comical they would appear to anyone walking in on the scene. Odin, King of Asgard, Conqueror, feared throughout the realms, encumbered by clingy ravens and an obstinate baby.
“Eat - the damn - milk,” Odin muttered, accompanying each word with the jab of the bottle.
“Baby liked that song,” Muninn recalled.
“Sing next time,” urged Huginn, a spark of independence clashing against Odin’s clear reticence.
“I don’t know that I can," the man muttered. “I haven’t sung in years,”
“Odin sang for many years before,” Muninn said slowly. “Muninn would know if Odin forgot how.”
“See? So sing now!” demanded Huginn.
The other raven looked away from his brother. “Muninn doesn’t like that song. It hurts.”
Huginn looked over at Muninn, scandalized. “We ravens like the song!"
But Muninn just fluffed his feathers again and wouldn’t meet Huginn’s beady eye.
The babe knocked the glass bottle from Odin’s hands. It hit the stone floor of the balcony and broke open.
Odin nearly cursed again, catching the ugly word with one syllable already hanging out of his mouth. Spending years around soldiers instead of the Court and his family had roughened his vocabulary. That was what he used his voice for, crass words and orders to make war. Not song. That belonged to a version of himself he’d long put behind him.
He would go and get a nursemaid and damn the consequences, he would go and fetch Eir and have her diagnose the child, he would go -
The baby detonated with a keening scream, piercing his eardrums and threatening to further shatter the glass bottle with its ferocity.
He would go mad if he didn’t do something right now.
Well, go madder. He must have been mad already to have taken this child in the first place.
It shouldn’t have come as easily as it did. For one thing, his voice had deepened significantly since he last said these words, and it strained at first, trying to hit the notes that used to be within easy reach. But even before he dropped to the next octave down, his seidr was stirred, flowing outwards with the euphony. In many ways, this had been how he’d first learned magic - how he first learned to speak with the air and sky, and all the intricate veins that threaded the universe together. A thousand strings to be plucked and molded into melody.
“Hearing, I ask, from the ho-o-ly races
From Norn’s eyes, watching high and low
I will soon relate, to this tree of faces
Old tales remembered from long, long ago.
Of old was the age when Ymir yet lived
No sea nor waves, nor sand was yet there
Earth was not yet, nor heavens forgive'd
All that was was the gap to nowhere.”
Muninn shifted uneasily. Memories of millennia were tangled inextricably in every bar. But to the babe, it was merely noise, clean and new and without connotation. Spellbound, it fell still in Odin’s arms.
“Lead me home, my mothers of yester
Lead me to my heart and its way
Free me from a body that festers
Free me from the urge to yet stay.
Take me from this o-ode to slaughter
Take me from Hel, though I may belong
Lead me to my sons and my daughters
Lead me home to the heart of my song.
Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls
Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”
Muninn thought of Bor, Father of Odin. He once said this was a sad song.
But did it have to be so for everyone who heard it? Odin wondered. Could it not be something else for this babe?
It could mean safety, comfort. It could mean that this child had a home…at least for a little while.
“Little while?” Muninn croaked. “How cruel.”
The All-Father ignored him and continued to sing.
“I remember yet the giants of yore
Who gave me bread in days gone by
Nine worlds I knew, Nine worlds at war
Nine voices became one battle cry…”
There were many ways this story could go. If it weren’t for me, this babe’s tale would have ended shortly after it had begun. What could be less cruel than the gift of possibilities?
“Muninn cannot remember the future, only past,” Muninn scolded. “Odin cannot know if saving baby means good or bad. It just is.”
“Even bad better than nothingness,” Huginn dissented. “This good deed.”
“Deeds have reasons why done,” Muninn muttered. “Were reasons good?”
Huginn turned his back on his brother, disgusted with his treachery. “Odin not parley with ‘good’ or ‘bad’. Odin just is. Muninn play silly games.”
“Only one rose from the sea of blood
Broken were oaths, words not what they seemed
Before the breath of liars, we scud
Shaped, like clouds, by forces unseen..."
“Odin make promise by taking baby,” insisted Muninn.
“Odin makes no promises,” Huginn hissed.
“I know the horn of Heimdall, well-hidden
As lost as the things it’s meant to return
What would I ask, if it were mine to be bidden?
Would I make new or ask to unburn?
Alone I waited when the Old One sought me
The Terror of Gods gazed in mine eyes:
‘What dost thou want? What comest thou to see?’
Dost thou look for something living or died?
‘Before thou ask, be aware there is cost -
An eye for an eye, a thought for a thought
If I am to return that which you lost
Be aware that the price is the same as the bought.
'Would you know yet more?
Knowing that wisdom is weight?
Would you know yet more?
Knowing no knowledge will sate?
Would you know yet more?
If you knew that knowing meant a forever war?’”
The babe was staring at Odin with rapt attention as if there was nothing in the universe more awe-inspiring than an old man mumbling his way through a doom-stricken ditty.
Odin tended to be the most powerful person in any room - or planet - or galaxy, really - that he happened to walk into, and so he was used to rapt attention. But there is nothing quite like being the end-all, be-all centre of existence in the eyes of an infant. For one thing, people tended to get nervous when the most powerful person in the galaxy walked into the room. This babe just wondered. It would have marvelled at him just the same if he were a moderately-successful goatherd.
This child knew so little of the world. So little about Odin. Hardly any different from most grown men, in that respect. How precious that ignorance was. How unfair that after all the world had done to this child in his short life that that innocence should be placed in Odin’s hands.
Moved to pity, Huginn bent down to preen at the babe’s few dark hairs. Muninn took off from the other shoulder, heading back inside.
“Lead me home, my brothers of yester
Lead me to my heart and its way
Free me from a body that festers
Free me from the urge to yet stay…
Take me from this o-ode to slaughter
Take me from Hel, though I may belong
Lead me to my sons and my daughters
Lead me home to the heart of my song.
Shield-time, sword-time, we enter the gold halls
Wind-time, Wolf-time, ere the world falls.”
The song was nearly complete now, and Odin was surprised to find himself slowing down, as if unwilling to let the moment go. Each time he returned to the chorus, there seemed to be some strange reciprocity from the babe. Though it could not sing, its fledgeling magic nonetheless reverberated with the melody, like the threads of a spider’s web plucked by the breeze.
"The serpent is bright, but now I must sink
My father of yester is leading me home
The sky becomes light, no more must I think
of old tales remembered from long, long ago.
It didn’t seem till now...
...so long, long ago."
It was done.
Muninn returned, bearing with him a fresh bottle of milk. He dropped it into Odin’s waiting hand. The babe seemed loose, almost liquid in Odin’s grasp, though its eyes were still bright and alert. It didn’t fight the bottle this time - but neither did it suck at the teat. Odin sighed.
“Did I ever know what was in giant’s milk, Muninn?”
The raven considered, then shook his head.
“Can you think of anything that would convince the child to drink, Huginn?”
The second raven considered, then shook his head.
“Fat lot of good you both turned out to be, eh?” Odin sighed, but there was a smile in it.
The king tried to return the babe to its crib, but its fists had knotted painfully in place in his beard. It was no use; he’d just have to take it to bed and hope it would behave until morning.
When he settled back into his half of the mattress, another pang of guilt crossed his chest.
I should be with her.
Instead, he pulled the blanket back up over himself and carefully tried to lie down without disturbing the infant.
“Give her time,” he said, though the babe was already deep in sleep. “She’s a warm heart and love to spare. She just needs time to say goodbye.”
The babe gurgled. Then, unmistakably, it hummed. Clear as the skies when Thor was in good spirits, it was the song Odin had imprinted on him, already echoing back. He listened to it make its way through the tune. At points it would stop, as if waiting for something; it took Odin a little while to realize that, even in the depths of sleep, it was waiting for a response. He’d hum back to it, sometimes along with it, creating a strange little harmony.
“We’ll make a proper Asgardian out of you yet,” he chuckled, and for a moment he could imagine that Frigga had merely gone to freshen up, that the babe was everything Odin was pretending it was, that his family had been spared their latest tragedy and all was, for that moment, well. He could forget all the inconvenient parts of reality.
The world could just be him and his borrowed boy.
He could stop the crying.
He could make things right.
“Could. What a damning word that is.”
Odin cracked open his eye and saw him in the corner of the room. Wrapped in shadows, and just as immaterial. His beard was a deeper red than it ever had been in life, and the curve of the downward-pointing horns of his helmet outlined his harsh face.
“Could is a word for regrets. Regrets are the stories we wished we lived. You were always too fond of stories. Stories are not real.”
Odin shut his eye. “Neither are you, Father.” He didn’t need to open it again to know that Bor would no longer be there. It was just a passing thought.
But the spell had been broken.
The bed was cold. His wife was still gone to the Garden to mourn over her true son while he coddled a painted imposter in what should have been her sanctuary. And even then, the babe was still sickly, still hungry, and he had nothing to fill him. He had made nothing right, only forgotten that everything was still wrong.
“Huginn - Muninn,” Odin called. “Go to Jötunheim and observe the children there. Learn what they require to suckle and grow, and return soon.”
The ravens bobbed their heads in acceptance of their task. They took flight.
The skies of Asgard roiled with starlight, but the clever birds knew which precise point of light was Jötunheim’s sole sun. Together they flew, side by side, into the ether. Light streaked, sound ceased, space bent around them, and they tore through -
We tore through…
We did, didn’t we? We ravens went to Jötunheim. We did - we saw and learned and we returned…The child lived, thanks to us…So why, why did the light and the sound continue, becoming darker, malevolent, angry? Why did it shout and accuse and become oh so terribly sad even as raging fire swept about us, between us, blackening the blackest of feathers and consuming, consuming, it was in Muninn’s mouth, it was in his stomach, it was devouring him from the inside out and he was in pain, such terrible pain and I, I the raven needed to go to my brother, needed to save him, but the moment we became I it was already too late.
Muninn was gone. A hole where a raven should be. I screamed for him, but a raven’s voice is not music, and it could not call him back.
I flew on.
My thoughts were dark.
Such angry, grieving thoughts.
My blood was dead. Taken from me. Stolen. By an enemy beyond my reach.
But not all my enemies were so.
Where was I going?
Somewhere cold, somewhere far away - and why?
To see the giants, the red eyes in the blizzard.
To Jötunheim, to the giants, to war -
As Asgard had done time and time again.
Yes, to war!
To war!
Huginn awoke with a start. Red light was streaming through the window behind him, courtesy of the sunset. He looked across from his golden perch to the empty one on the other side of the bed. As it had been for decades, it was empty.
So was the bed.
Huginn blinked at it. The sheets had been flung from the bed with force.
The door remained shut, likely still locked. But, as the breeze from the open window reminded the raven, that was not the only way out of this place.
With a flurry of greying feathers, Huginn took flight. He passed out the back of the golden room and felt the wispy touch of shattered spells try to catch at his feathers, to no avail.
The rook circled Asgard, wings straining, searching, searching.
He heard him before he saw him - the whistling of wind around the corners of the city and the low, dull roar of the stars as invisible strings drew from their raging hearts. Footfalls echoed mightily off the golden buildings, and at once Huginn knew they could not be dissuaded from their path.
There was nothing a raven, even one who was not only that, could do.
There was little anyone could do, really, but there were some who would try anyway. Inconveniently, today had to be the day they weren’t on Asgard.
Huginn braced his aching pinions, fixing his beady eyes on a star in the sky the way other ravens fixed on the glimmer of a mussel in the water.
He flew into the sky, following the faintest sounds of a half-remembered melody.
***
This and the rest on AO3:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638704/chapters/51598693
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Geraskier week day 1:  - Soulmates (part 1)
@geraskierweek 
Additional tags: none
Content warnings: none
Based on: the witcher netflix series
(Posted in multiple parts because it is too long)
Geralt never understood why people liked the sky on sunny days. When he stared up at it there was just grey. Grey with some clouds of white. And if there were no clouds of white it was all grey. There was nothing beautiful about a monotone field of grey. Sure, the warm sun that appeared too, felt comfortably warm on his face and the birds chirping away in summer were calming to listen to, but the sky? The sky was nothing to be amazed by. It was a grey desert and yet Geralt often times found himself staring at it anyway. He wondered. He wondered if he would ever see what it really looked like, what everybody saw, if it was really that stunning. He wondered but he never found an answer. Because that was the curse of not having found your soulmate yet. The curse of not seeing the colour that will eventually be all you want to stare at. Forever. The curse of never seeing the colour that holds the universe until you have met the one universe that matters. It was a cruel thing. It made one hope. It made one dream. And even a Witcher can´t resist the dreams. Not like Geralt was not already weird enough. Not seeing the beauty of the sky just made that worse. He saw no happiness in it. He had been living under a grey sky all his life, he could not imagine what a day could look like with a sky that was anything but that: grey. Dull.
And so Geralt of Rivia found himself wandering the world again, with a sky that was grey rising above his head. A sunrise with all the colours just to end up in a shade of grey he could not see the beauty in. Wondering. With Roach by his side he wandered on in search of a quest. Trying not to think about what was meant to be. He never exactly believed in the whole soulmate thing anyway. But destiny had different plans. It had been grey skies and dull life’s long enough.
Jaskier the bard was somewhat of a mistake in the soulmate system. He knew how to use his charm, he knew how to get what he wanted, who he wanted. He knew how to enjoy life with just anyone. The whole soulmate ordeal had never really bothered him too much. Sure, he still dreamt of one day meeting the one he was meant to be with. Sure, he wished that to be sooner rather than later, but there were doubts. Huge ones at that. He knew there was someone out there that was meant for him, but when it came to the whole colour thing, he was hopeless. His world was complete. No colours missing. And that, that scared him more than he liked to admit. He saw the sky in all its beautiful shades, and he saw the forest with all the greens and he even saw the earth in all its mesmerizing tones. The brown of taverns, the purple of the flowers, the silver of the jewellery. And no matter with how many colours he slept, he loved, no one ever stayed. He was alone in a world meant for pairs, a mistake in destiny that was never supposed to exist. Usually that was okay. Easy to ignore. But when you have to sing about found soulmates every time you start singing at all with no feeling and no understanding, the doubts creep back into you mind. And it didn´t matter how many grey coins were thrown in his direction, not glistening or shiny just grey, he was still alone. Lost. But he never showed. No one knew he was a mistake; no one knew he was a glitch. Jaskier knew how to get what he wanted and one aspect of that was always seeming normal. Approachable.
And so, the bard wandered the world, singing songs he didn´t write, he didn´t feel, wondering if perhaps there simply was no one out there for him. His world was complete after all. And a complete world could only mean one thing. Jaskier was a romantic but he wasn´t delusional nor was he dumb. He knew when something was meant to be. And maybe he was simply destined to be alone.
It wasn´t until much later in both their lives that they would realize their mistake. Not until a monster and a miracle brought them together. Finally.
part1 | part2 | part3 | part4 | part5
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chilling-seavey · 4 years
Text
Passchendaele - XI
A/N An early chapter for mothers day as our men receive some things from home...
T/W Descriptions of war violence, blood, physical trauma, and death
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The sunrise was dim that morning, muted by the soft grey clouds that dotted the sky as if to protect the blue skies from the dark reality of the war-torn battlefields below. The order of ‘Stand Down’ has just been called, giving the men a moment to breathe, some finding a spot to rest at the camp and some situating themselves along the front-line trench.
Zach had gone to collect their mail, rushing back across the damp ground with a wide smile spread over his face, trying to keep his head down the best he could in his excitement as he clutched a small package to his chest. He collapsed down beside Daniel with a sigh, shuffling to sit cross legged on the dirt and handed Jack a letter and Daniel a letter before smiling down at his gift he received.
Corbyn was leaned back against the small dugout he was in with a cigarette in hand, watching Zach’s grin has he read the letter and tore open the brown paper around the gift.
“Oh neat! Mum sent me socks!” Zach cheered, right away starting to untie and pull off his boots. He tossed them haphazardly to the side before tugging off his worn socks, damp from spending days on end standing in mud.
“Point your nasty feet the other way.” Jack shoved his shoulder with a disgusted grimace.
Zach glared at him but obliged, carefully pulling his clean pair up to his ankles, smiling at the warm and dry wool.
“What did you get, Seavey?” Corbyn asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“Mum just sent me a letter about how things are going at home. My sister has been working in a factory to make more uniforms and socks and supplies for us.” Daniel smiled with pride as he admired the letter in his hand. Elizabeth stopped herself from curling into him lovingly.
“Avery?” Corbyn turned to the man on his left.
“My daughter drew me a picture.” Jack whispered, staring down at the small piece of parchment in his hand.
The group watched him silently as his expressionless face melted into a sad smile and he tucked it in the inside breast pocket of his jacket alongside the letter from his wife.
“How old is she?” Elizabeth asked softly, trying to keep her voice low enough to lessen the suspicious from the Sergeant sitting with them.
“It’s her 1st birthday today.” Jack whispered, keep his eyes on the ground, his small smile faltering into a bit of a frown and he pushed his glasses higher with his knuckle before sighing and reaching for his tin of cigarettes.
“She’s going to be excited when you get back home.” Corbyn said, patting a hand to Jack’s shoulder.
“She’s never met me.” Jack breathed, his voice breaking a little at admitting that fact as he raised the lit cigarette to his lips, holding it in the air as he continued faintly, “I enlisted into the military before the war even really started and that night, I got home, and my wife told me she was pregnant. I was sent off to training two months later and haven’t been home since. I…I’ve never met my daughter. She doesn’t know who I am.”
A silence fell over their group, Zach, Daniel, Corbyn, and Elizabeth glancing at each other, no one quite knowing what to say. Jack took a quick drag of his cigarette and stood up, brushing the mud off his uniform in the process.
“I’m going to go and write back. I’ll see you.” Jack slung his rifle over his shoulder and trudged back down the trenches, his head low.
“I’ve never seen him like that.” Daniel sighed as they all watched him turn the corner out of sight, “So broken.” Daniel glanced over to Elizabeth who was already looking at him. They turned away quickly to avoid being caught staring.
“Bloody hell…mum couldn’t have made thinner socks?” Zach grumbled from Daniel’s other side as he was struggling to pull on his boot over the thick socks his mother had knitted herself, falling onto his back across the trench in the process.
“Watch it, boy.” someone snapped as he stepped over him on his way past.
Daniel pulled Zach back into a sitting position to help him get his first boot on.
“Never meeting your child.” Corbyn mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief, still clearly deep in thought about what Jack was going through. “I can’t imagine. My fiancé and I are holding off getting married until after the war so everything can happen without interruption…like enlistment. Christ. That poor man. That poor child.”
Daniel finished tying Zach’s boot and tapped the side to get him to switch, helping him to loosen the laces and fit into the second one.
The sudden gunshot made Zach almost kick Daniel in the face as they all startled. The trenches erupted into movement, soldiers running to their positions to protect from enemy fire, orders being shouted over the noise. A shell hit the dirt a few yards away, spewing soil into the trenches as the group stumbled to their feet.
“My boot isn’t on yet!” Zach shrieked, grabbing onto Daniel’s pant leg as he stood up.
“Dammit, Herron.” Daniel groaned, dropping back to his knees to finish tying up Zach’s boot. He tugged the sixteen-year-old to his feet by his arm when he finished and grabbed their rifles before rushing after Corbyn and Elizabeth down the front lines, keeping their heads low.
Their stations weren’t far down, and they all assembled together, loading their rifles and getting into position as quickly as they could.
“Bleeding Christ, they couldn’t have done this while we were on Stand To?” Jack grumbled loudly as he joined them again, cocking his gun and getting up onto the fire step between Daniel and Elizabeth.
German shells punctured the ground near them, spewing dark soil and black ash high into the air with each hit, the explosions ringing in their ears. The orders from their officers could barely be heard over the gunfire, the men firing at anything that moved past the curtain of barbed wire that separated their lines from the barren and destroyed nothingness of No Mans Land. The machine gun fire was almost the worst of it, the Germans not holding back from firing round after steady round against the British trenches, the steady heartbeat of the weaponry piercing through the thick air.
Daniel was back out of his mind again, ducking down to reload, his breathing heavy and hands shaking with adrenaline, but he wasn’t ready to give up the fight. Jack was on his right, shouting orders to those around him, always good at taking the lead when it was needed; especially since their Lieutenant was lost in the counterattack. Daniel glanced over at Elizabeth who had turned to reload too, and she sent him a wink and a crooked smile before popping back up into position. She had always been tougher than him, although he hated to really admit it.
“We need to go over!” Jack shouted.
“Like hell we do!” Corbyn yelled back as he ducked down to reload.
“How are we supposed to gain ground by hiding away like cowards?” Jack snapped. He looked behind him to farther down the line, not seeing any higher command near. “Fuckin’ bullshit.”
“You stay where you are, Lance Corporal.” Corbyn demanded.
The machine gun fire was deafening, a never-ending flow of shot after shot from both sides, the heavy clink of the empty cases falling to the ground as if counting each life they took. The German aim was impeccable, the gunner knocking off plenty of men from the British lines.
Daniel felt hopeless with a rifle up against a metal machine gun; what was one wimpy bullet going to do against a waterfall of incoming ones. A shell hit close by and exploded loudly into the air, throwing shards and clumps of soil at them.
“Christ!” Jack stumbled from the impact as he pulled the bolt on his rifle again, quickly regaining his stand and firing off a string of quick shots before ducking down to reload.
Daniel held their ground, keeping his head low behind the parapet firing into the mess of smoke and mud beyond them. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, his breathing heavy against the wood of his rifle, and his mind completely blank. It was back to instinct: fire, reload, repeat; no time to think about who was standing on the other side of the mud soaked and detonated field. He couldn’t even think of Elizabeth or how she was doing only a meter away from him. It was only getting through the next five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes; however long until one side gave up first.
It was a lottery, really, no one knew who would be next to be hit, no real method behind the madness of either side’s aim.
Jack had just stood up to get back into position after reloading, his eyebrows furrowed tightly behind his glasses. He barely got his rife above the edge of the parapet before the German gunner got him through his left shoulder.
The impact and the shock of the hit had Jack falling onto his back against the ground of the trench, cursing loudly in pain. Daniel snapped back into reality, staring down at Jack with wide eyes, frozen stiff. The blood was quickly staining Jack’s uniform, seeping out and down his arm. Daniel couldn’t look away. He couldn’t move. He could barely comprehend Elizabeth crouching down below the edge of the parapet to grab Daniel’s hand and bring his attention to her.
“It’s alight, darling, look at me.” Elizabeth said softly and he raised his light eyes to hers, “We’re just going to help Jack and clean him up a little, okay? Can you help me?”
Daniel nodded and crouched down with her on either side of Jack who was making a huge fuss against the ground, heels digging into the mud as he screamed and swore in pain, almost louder than the gunfire still going on around them.
Elizabeth took out the medical cloths she had hidden in her uniform and pressed one to Jack’s shoulder over his uniform, the deep red easily seeping through the white fabric.
“Hold that there, Dani. Lots of pressure please.” she instructed. Daniel set his hand over the cloth and pressed down, staring down at Jack’s pale face that was twisted up in agony.
“Christ, Seavey, that hurts! You motherf-”
“Be a man now, Lance Corporal.” Elizabeth teased as she worked quickly to unbutton his uniform jacket. She and Daniel carefully got him out of it, tossing the torn and soiled jacket to the side. Daniel pressed the cloth against his wound again, the white now completely coated in dark red but he kept it pressed there as Elizabeth pulled out the silk string and needle from her small nurses’ kit. 
Zach tried not to look as he bent down to reload, keeping his own mind focussed blankly on the fight. He would tend to Jack afterwards when the Germans laid off, he told himself.
“You’re doing just fine, Jack.” Elizabeth spoke gently, leaning over him a little to look at the wounded area. The cloth Daniel was holding to his shoulder wasn’t doing anything as the blood trickled out from under it and seeped into the white material of Jack’s undershirt. Elizabeth glanced up at his face, a sickening pale, his brown eyes staring up at her desperately from the ground.
His breathing was shallow, panicked, and his hand grabbed the front of her uniform, “Don’t let me die, Fisher. Not like this.”
Elizabeth looked over at Daniel, his wide blue eyes searching her green ones for instruction on what to do next. Her straight-lined expression was the conclusion enough; he was loosing too much blood too fast.
“We’re going to wrap you up and you’re going to be fine.” Elizabeth spoke as strongly as she could, handing Daniel a fresh cloth as she put the needle and thread back in her kit.
“Tell me about your daughter.” Daniel finally spoke, his voice trembling, and he looked down at Jack. The older boy stared up at him with fear in his big brown eyes, an expression Daniel had never before seen on the Lance Corporal’s face. The fight was still going on around them, the gunfire loud and piercing, orders being shouted over the noise.
“I have to go home to see my little girl. My Lavender May.” Jack let out a soft sob before peering down at his shoulder where Daniel had the cloth pressed, his hand finding Daniel’s sleeve to cling to. “Christ.”
“Keep talking to him, Jack.” Elizabeth encouraged, shielding his face a foot or two away with her cap from the sudden spew of soil from another shell hit. “Tell us about her.”
“She has my eyes.” Jack breathed shakily, his head falling back tiredly against the ground and he winced a moment in pain. “And her mother’s smile. Dark hair. I’ve been told she smells like talcum powder and fresh flowers. My garden girl.”
Daniel stared down at him, Jack’s eyes opening and closing slowly, eyebrows furrowed as if he were deep in thought.
“I’m going to nap with her under the tree in our yard. Surrounded by flowers. Feel her soft breathing against my chest.” Jack whispered, his face scrunching up has he held back tears and tried to work through the pain. He whimpered lightly as Daniel released the pressure to exchange the soiled cloth for a fresh one from Elizabeth.  
“She’s lucky to have you.” Daniel said, flinching as another shell hit the soil a little way away.
“Jesus…can I get sent home after this? I’ve had enough.” Jack mumbled.
Daniel sighed, setting his hand over Jack’s that was resting over his stomach. Jack barely squeezed his hand in response, falling weaker and weaker, his breathing slow and shallow, eyes falling closed against his cheeks.
The gunfire faded quickly, the battle drawing to a close but the details as to how were hazy as Daniel was only focussed on Jack, keeping the cloth pressed to his shoulder and his hand tucked around his. Soldiers shuffled off to their duties and to clean up from their positions, taking the long way around to give Jack his space. Zach and Corbyn stood to the side, resting their rifles against the wall and took their caps off, holding them in front of them with their heads down, staring silently at Jack’s weak body and pale face.
“I’m so tired.” Jack mumbled breathlessly.
“I know.” Daniel whispered, glancing up at Elizabeth and then to Zach and Corbyn before looking back down to Jack who took a shuttering breath and Daniel ran his thumb over his friend’s hand, “Hear that? It’s quiet now. Just rest.”
Daniel stared down solemnly at the young man, the colour disappeared from his face and lips set in a gentle pout, his chest laying still. His hand that had been clinging onto Daniel’s sleeve dropped slowly down the rough material of his uniform before falling against the ground. Elizabeth reached over and pressed her fingers to his wrist to check for a pulse.
She sat back with a sigh and looked to Daniel who was simply staring down at his friend, unmoving himself. Zach let out a small sob from his spot a few feet away, turning to keep his tears to himself. Corbyn set a comforting hand on his shoulder.
They took a moment to mourn their friend as the noonday sun started to peek through the clouds, sending stripes of bright sunlight over the solemn scene. No one noticed, however, the green-yellow tinted gas cloud that was slowly making its way over the field towards them. 
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bruciewayne · 4 years
Text
forget me not
 stevetony, fluff, hurt/comfort, amnesia, 2.7k
Tony's smile is so goddamn bright, brighter than all the stars above them and the streetlights below them, all of Steve’s fears and doubts and anxiety dissipates into the clear night sky. 
The yes he whispers, floating out in a visible cloud of vapour, is the only thing Steve can hear, filling him with joy and pure, unfiltered love, Tony’s hands, calloused and strong, grip his shoulder and pull him up for a kiss that’s more smiles and teeth than lips and tongue and Steve doesn’t want it any other way. 
When they pull apart, smiling too much, too wide, to carrying on kissing, Steve slips the ring onto Tony’s awaiting hand, steady and sure.
“I love you,” he says, reverentially, as though the speech, hardly moments prior, hadn’t covered it, hadn’t truly encompassed the amount of love he could physically have for the man before him.
Tony leans up to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
They take their time with each other that night, because they can, because what they have isn’t going anywhere. Steve knew from the start that Tony was it for him, the ring proves the feeling is reciprocated, that’s all. But he knows it’s so, so much more than that. It represents everything he thought were impossible at some point or another; it represents something he never thought he would have - permanence, unwavering, strong and steady. As constant as the skies darkening and as sure as the sun rising. 
There’s something gone, when Steve holds Tony that night, both exhausted, but in the best way, the way that makes you wish you were gods, never tiring and inexhaustible, just to carry on that minute, that hour, that millennia longer, Steve doesn’t miss the underlying feeling that what they had was a temporary sort of permanence. 
He’s not naive, he knows that divorce is a thing, he knows that, logically, they have a fifty percent chance of hating each other down to the very atom, a chance of all the love and fondness being replaced by sour bitterness and regret, but he also knows that nothing about them has ever contributed to the statistics, there’s nothing about them that went according to the universe, let alone conventional. He knows what the odds for them were. He knows that they were low, ridiculously, laughably so, but in the face of everything, in the face of the near-impossible (like throwing a million decahedron dice, one by one, and ending up with the digits of Pi. On the first try.), in the face of it all, they made it. They made it, together, longstanding and permanent. Officially. 
Tony’s lying on his chest when they wake up, the filtered, dimmed, sunlight, streaming into the room highlights their skin. It makes Tony’s hair look like silver and gold and the ring on his finger gleam and glitter. Steve can’t help it; he gently brushes a couple locks of silvering hair off Tony’s temple to press a soft kiss there, and then one more of his forehead, then his cheek, and finally, when he wakes, on his nose, just to see him scrunch his nose up, adorably, in confusion. 
It still gives Steve an insurmountable amount of nonsensical pride whenever he manages to confuse Tony.
“Good morning, beloved,” Tony says, voice low and thick, eyes still drooped as he blindly pushes his face towards Steve for a kiss.
“Morning, fiancé,” Steve replies, smiling and leaning into the kiss, humming softly.
Tony grins when they pull away, his eyes are still bright, but in that quiet way, like sunsets and sunrises, and still absolutely, without question and so far beyond doubt Steve can no longer remember it, breathtakingly gorgeous.
“I like how that sounds,” Tony admits, pressing a series of kisses to Steve’s collarbone, feathery-light and barely there; just a tease of what’s to come.
“Me too,” Steve says, taking in his appearance as JARVIS brightens up the room by clearing up the tint on the windows. Steve smiles as he sees more grey in Tony’s hair.
Tony, being both a classified genius and having known Steve for just about a decade, knows exactly what he’s smiling at, “Stop it,” he grumbles, burying his face into whatever part of Steve is closest.
Steve laughs, “You’d look good as a silver fox, baby.”
“I already look enough like your sugar daddy,” Tony says, as if he minds. He practically purrs as Steve runs his hands through his hair. Whilst he may be turning grey, he’s thankful that he’s not bald. Yet. 
“You are my sugar daddy,” Steve tells him, kissing his forehead, just on his hairline, again. “Keep it, just for a while, please?”
Tony pretends to deliberate and grumble some more, before he finally lifts his head from Steve’s chest, “You know I can’t say no to you when you beg,” he concedes, kissing Steve solidly on the lips.
At this point, the only reason Tony still dyes his hair is to keep up with public appearances, around Steve he doesn’t have to mask all that, hell, if it wasn't obvious already, Steve likes the grey hair. God, he’s lucky.
Steve rolls them over and it turns into a gentle push and pull for dominance, one that Steve easily succumbs to, moving so he’s gazing up at Tony, letting him work him, slowly, so damn slowly to orgasm, letting him use him for his own.
They have a good day, saccharine sweet, a day that goes on forever in the best way, but at the same time, it’s over in the blink of an eye, a day spent in their own bubble, riding the high that never seems to end.
The next day, Tony woke up with a kiss on his forehead and a promise to be back for breakfast. Steve’s an energetic guy, not the manic energy that Tony has; the one that comes and goes when it pleases, but the physical, tireless, near-boundless type.
Tony fully expected this. He can’t believe he’s going to spend the rest of his life with a morning person. Although, he supposes, it can’t be too bad when he gets woken up with kisses (and sometimes more if he can convince Steve to get his morning workout in some other form).
Tony also expected him to come back. 
Steve Rogers broke a promise.
A menial, mundane one at that, but it’s the principle of the thing. Steve doesn't believe in breaking promises, however menial or mundane. If he knew he was going to be back late, he would call, or text, or something, but when the clock turns past ten, it’s the first day in three years Tony’s woken to an empty bed, feeling entirely lost and confused.
Maybe he’s forgotten? Tony hopes, uncharacteristically naive, as he forced himself to get ready, quelling that rising feel that something is wrong, off, something greater than a missing text.
“JARVIS, when did Steve get back?” Tony asks, because it has to be a when, and not an if.
“Commander Rogers has not been in, or around the premises of the Compound since he left at six-oh-three earlier this morning," JARVIS replies, sympathetic. Because of course, Tony made a sympathetic AI. 
The uneasiness masks over whatever annoyance he had for his former self, and becomes even more potent when he crashes into Rhodey.
“Platypus! I didn--”
“Steve’s been kidnapped.”
Tony’s heart falls straight out the bottom of his stomach and just keeps falling and falling and falling.
The next few hours disappear in a chaotic blur of people telling him to go home, get rest, then him ignoring them entirely, because he’s not going to leave the life of his goddamn fiancé in the hands of SHIELD, then, once they finally realise that he’s not going home (and how can it be home anyway, if Steve’s not there?), hours in front of multiple 72” screens split god knows how many times, until they find where Steve is.
“You’re not going,” Fury says, blocking his entrance onto the helicarrier.
Tony just about resists calling for his suit to send a repulser to his face. “If I don’t go in the ‘carrier, I’ll follow it with the suit.”
“Nick,” Hill says, crossing her arms, “let him go.”
Fury grits his teeth. “We don’t have time for a psych eval,” he addresses the rest of the team on the helicarrier, “keep an eye on him.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing for the past five years?” Natasha calls from inside the carrier.
Fury moves out of the way, and gives them the go-ahead, watching them fly up, then tracking them on the screen in front of him when they slip above the clouds.
They find him in an industrial freezer, somewhere in Alaska, barely conscious, bloody, bruised and handcuffed by the wrists and ankles, muttering something over and over.
“...G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 98765420. Rogers, Steven G. 9876…”
Tony rushes to his side, ready to laser off the handcuffs, but Steve flinches away and stops muttering, curling in on himself as best he can. They did this to him in mere hours. When he finds whoever did this, he’s going to leave them in a room with Natasha and a toothpick and not come back until the screaming stops. Tony immediately sheds the suit, “Steve, Steve, can you hear me?”
Steve still keeps as far away as he possibly can, but he seems to recognise him. “Tony?”
“Yeah, yeah, we’re gonna get you somewhere safe.”
Steve knew that he was in the future, the HYDRA folk told him that much, and he remembers waking up before, he remembers finding out that all his friends are dead, he remembers the Battle of New York, he remembers the Avengers and he remembers moving into the Avenger’s Tower, previously Stark Tower, he remembers falling hopelessly, irredeemably, unrequitedly in love with Tony Stark.
But according to the bright red blinking, blurry numbers hanging above the door, he’s missed out on another couple years.
He hopes and hope and hopes that he hasn’t that all of that was just a hallucination or something, deliriously, as he feels himself being carried, being told not to go to sleep, not yet, because if he falls asleep, he might stay like that, he sees an older, grey-haired Tony, (well, two blurry versions of him), begging him to stay awake, slipping his hand into his and holding on. Steve tries to grip back, tries to curl his fingers around his, but he can feel himself lose consciousness, Tony’s already fading out, and he’s being manhandled onto something far softer than a helicarrier emergency bench.
Tony hates hospitals. To be fair, he’s never met anyone who likes them. Steve hates hospitals too. Does everything in his damn power to never go to them, to the point where, sometimes, in the beginning, when he still called him ‘Rogers’, he’d walk into the kitchen to find Steve digging out bullets with tweezers and bandaging the wound by himself.
He doesn’t miss that time, not really, he doesn’t miss not knowing Steve.
He’s lying in a hospital bed now, stable, according to the doctors, and it’s just a matter of time until he wakes up (if he wakes up). Steve looks so much smaller, weaker and vulnerable, so much more than Tony’s ever seen him, so much more than he ever should.
It’s almost unnatural and unnerving to see Steve with a breathing tube and an IV drip, and he’s not a particularly god-fearing, or religious man, but he finds himself making all sorts of bets, with God, with himself, almost selfishly, just so he’d never have to see Steve like this again.
He wakes up, because of course he does, because he can’t not, because Tony thinks the world can’t live on without him, because he knows that he himself can’t live on without him, because it would be a damn unfair fate for someone like Steve to predecease him.
“Congratulations,” Steve says, a little after he’s woken up, after they’ve established that the last thing he remembers happened in 2013, after Tony’s been warned, outside the room, by Fury, to take it easy with him - in 2013, they had just started becoming closer than just teammates, nowhere near to what they are now, and even though the doctors had said that he should regain his memories in the next week (turns out, HYDRA aren’t as good at memory wiping as they one were).
“On the marriage,” he confirms, quietly, in that voice that meant he’s just barely keeping down his emotions to save face for everyone around him, even if he’s down to subatomic particles, kept together by only forces that operate by the indisputable laws of the universe.
Tony doesn’t know what to say, so he thanks him, and watches over him as he sleeps.
He’s up and about in less than a day, back in the tower, going through routines that would have felt familiar to him years ago, but Tony has to root around in his own mind to recognise the way he goes to his own room at night, because why would he go to theirs when he doesn’t even know they’re together?
It hits softer than it should, really, because Tony knows that he’s going to be back to normal after a week, or because he’s so damn foolish that he thinks something irrational as love, something so irrational, the root of negative one seems positively simple in comparison, something like that, will pertain to guarantee that he gets his memories back.
He finds Steve smoking on the balcony the day after, another thing he doesn’t do as often anymore.
“I don’t know how close we are now, but may I confess something to you?” Steve asks, and it’s taken Tony all this time to realise just how lonely Steve had been at the beginning, and just how careful he’s been, even in his manner of speech.
“Of course,” Tony replies, like he always will, unbeknownst to this Steve.
“I missed another chance,” he starts, so utterly heartbroken Tony’s helpless to anything but wrap his arms tightly around him. It takes too long for Steve to drop his cigarette and respond, but Tony doesn’t let go.
“What do you mean?” Tony asks, quiet.
“I… when I woke up, the first time, everyone I knew was dead, Peggy had moved on, and I’m not-- I don’t resent her for that, or for everyone else, but I.. I lost a life and a chance at happiness, and all this, I know that we’re not… you don’t think that way or it was probably all in my head… but seeing you married and moved on… I know that I had been-- I had missed something…” Steve trails off, letting go of Tony, but not moving out of his space.
“I… Steve, you haven’t missed out on any more years,” Tony reassures.
“I hate this,” Steve says, filled with venom and bitterness, “I hate… I hate…” all his energy falls away, lost to the wind.
“I’m sorry,” he finishes, lamely, mouth barely forming the words.
It’s not a week. Steve’s back to him the next day, kissing him awake, the way he should, the way they’ve been doing for years now.
“I missed you,” Tony admits, leaning on his chest, even though Steve was with him, Steve gets what he’s trying to say.
“I love you,”  Steve says, and even though it wasn’t even a week, he’s still… he can’t tell Tony that he loves him enough, if not to show his love, than to prove it to himself: he’s allowed to love him, he didn’t lose everything, not this time.
Tony pulls a Solo, declaring that he already knew, and it makes Steve laugh, then kiss him, again and again, and again, reassuring and proving over and over until their lips are red, and they’ve whispered enough promises to fill more lives than they’ll ever lead, enough to satiate them until the sun rises again.
-
masterpost
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knightdawn · 4 years
Text
50 Questions You Have Never Been Asked
Tagged by @ma-serannas-vhenan​ ~
I don’t feel like tagging folks right now so steal it if you want to do it!
1. What is the color of your hairbrush?
I have a normal sized silvery-grey one and a small dark blue one that also came with a comb.
2. A food you never eat?
I avoid super spicy stuff.
3. Are you typically too warm or too cold?
Depends on the season, somewhat, but I have more issues with being too hot than vice-versa. (I can always bundle up more when I’m cold, at least...)
4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?
Watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with my sister.
5. What is your favorite candy bar?
The first one that came to mind was Twix but honestly ANYTHING chocolate.
6. Have you ever been to a professional sporting event?
Professional? I don’t think so. I was forced to attend some school games when I was still in high school, though. (I usually found a spot I could sit and TRY to read so make of that what you will lmao.)
7. What was the last thing you said out loud?
“Oh, hey there Wispy.” My cat came in the room. xD
8. What is your favorite ice cream?
Mint chocolate chip~
9. What was the last thing you had to drink?
Coffee
10. Do you like your wallet?
I use my phone case as my wallet, but yeah! It’s cute and has blue butterflies on it, so it makes me think of Fire Emblem: Awakening.
11. What was the last thing you ate?
Omelette.
12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?
Nope.
13. The last sporting event you watched?
Uhhh... I saw some of the winter Sumo competitions because my DAD got super into Sumo a few years ago. (He watches NHK so...) 
14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?
I like both homestyle and movie theater style.
15. Who was the last person you sent a text message to?
My mom.
16. Ever go camping?
Yep! Used to love it as a kid, we did it almost every summer for a while. Also went during college a couple times with friends.
17. Do you take vitamins?
Irregularly, but I’ve tried to be better about it lately. Mostly just the “one a day” ones, but I also take vitamin C during the winter to try and keep my immunity up.
18. Do you go to church every Sunday?
No.
19. Do you have a tan?
Nope. I have that skin tone that “always burns, never tans.”
20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?
Pizza.
21. Do you drink your soda with a straw?
No.
22. What color socks do you usually wear?
My socks come in lots of colors~ I just pick at random, lol. Today they are grey with zig-zag stripes.
23. Ever drive above the speed limit?
I mean, a few mph...? But that was just to “match the flow” because dad said that was more important than keeping to exactly the right speed. (There’s a reason I don’t drive much and it’s because I get super anxious about every tiny little thing...)
24. What terrifies you?
A lot of things.
25. Look to your left what do you see?
My water bottle.
26. What core do you hate?
I don’t really like “core” stuff at all, it kind of creeps me out.
27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent?
Steve Irwin and Hugh Jackman.
28. What is your favorite soda?
Dr. Pepper and Ginger Ale.
29. Do you go into a fast food place or just hit the drive through?
I usually end up going in. I don’t currently have a car, and on family road trips we try to make the food stops also be our breaks from being in the vehicle.
30. Who was the last person you talked to?
My sister.
31. Favorite cut of beef?
I usually just eat burgers or ground beef...
32. Last song you listened to?
Does the Avatar end credits song count? xD
33. Last book you read?
Red Seas Under Red Skies by Scott Lynch
34. Favorite day of the week?
Saturday I guess
35. Can you say the alphabet backwards?
Nope.
36. How do you like your coffee?
Black, usually.
37. Favorite pair of shoes?
I really love my black calf-high boots but I need a new pair, their soles are wearing out...ToT (I’ve had to wear sneakers lately.)
38. At what time do you usually go to bed?
2-3 am. It’s skewed a little later right now because... what is time?
39. At what time do you normally get up?
9-10 am.
40. What do you prefer - sunrises or sunsets?
Sunrise. My favorite time of day is actually the morning twilight, right before everyone wakes up... but I usually only see it on days I have accidentally stayed up all night.
41. How many blankets are on your bed?
Three: comforter, heavy blanket, and a soft throw blanket.
42. Describe your kitchen plates?
White and rather plain except they have tiny, smooth bumps around the edges. They’re easy to clean which is what really matters to me.
43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage?
I like white wine, but my favorite mixed drink is a mojito.
44. Do you play cards?
Not traditional card games, but I do play stuff like cards against humanity and other games that USE cards...
45. What color is your car?
I don’t have a car.
46. Can you change a tire?
Nope.
47. What is your favorite province?
Nova Scotia was fun to visit. (I live in the states, though. I suppose my favorite state has been Maine overall, if only because I prefer the weather there...)
48. Favorite job you ever had?
I helped my sister volunteer at a cat shelter one summer. The worst part was having to clean the food dishes and litterboxes, but the cats were fun to play with (and it was always nice to find out someone got adopted~)
49. How did you get your biggest scar?
I have a scar on each arm that are about the same size. I know one of them was from a quince bush and one was from a cat but I don’t remember which was caused by which anymore. Mom had warned me “not to play in the quince bush” because it had “big thorns” but of course I didn’t listen and got cut pretty deep while trying to get untangled from it. And I didn’t pay enough attention to the cat warning me he didn’t want to play which... is how I got the other one.
50. What did you do today that made someone happy?
I made omelette? 
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rallis-fatalis · 5 years
Text
The Fremennik Trials
Back when Rallis wasn't a big shot or a name known kingdoms over, she was just a simple explorer who wanted to see every corner of Gielinor. The world was big and she was small and she was determined to see it all. When Rallis travels north for the first time, she gets the opportunity to become part of a town and explore even more! This Relleka sure is an interesting place! Hopefully the entry trials aren't too difficult.
It was very cold this grey and gloomy day. The sky threatened to rain, but it never carried through with it. A lizard shaped splotch of blue in the form of Rallis was scrambling over the grey basalt rocks cloaked against a dreary grey sky, a bright stain of paint against an otherwise monochrome canvas. Even the waters were a similar depressing shade and the seaweed almost seemed drained of color. A grey spined head poked through the waves to investigate the cheerful giggling and chirping blue dragon from above, but ultimately resigned itself back to its depressing life under the waters.
Rallis came upon a decrepit old lighthouse perched atop dark slick rocks and stared at the structure in awe. Once she had enough, she bounced over crumbling bridges and dying shrubs and soon found the earth turning to softer dirt and crunchy undergrowth as opposed to the hard dark stone of the basalt lined barricade in the ocean. Sad workers hammered away at a broken bridge, glumly going about their day. Shadow black unicorns stomped around, angry and depressed, warning away anyone who drew near. Wolves prowled in the underbrush for food, but this blue dragon was too cheerful for their tastes. Such exuberant happiness would just give them indigestion.
The happy small dragon chirped in surprise as a fortress of fencing came into view, menacingly sharpened spears of wood jammed into the ground and pointed outward to warn away intruders. Structures loomed inside, obscured by pale grey fog and further cementing the depressing atmosphere of it all. She smiled and bounced inside. It was overcast and dark, fog and shadowed skies dyeing everything in black and white. Nothing seemed to be alive here, just dirt and stone and quiet houses drenched with condensation from the fog and sea breeze.
Despite how dead the entire world seemed to be, a noise broke through the emptiness. It was a lilting sound, like that of music, seemingly coming from nowhere. The dragon followed the sound, blindly staggering into the foggy town as if entranced. The world grew warmer, the colors brighter, and before her twirled the magic of story and song. The grey melted away into the color of fire, a sunrise on a quiet grassy hill. The cold and dreary fog faded into the warmth of sunlight and company. The quiet melancholy made way for the strings and song dedicated to weaving the tale of a better place and a better time. It was magical. What was once a depressing bland landscape turned into a picturesque storybook. The dragon smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying it all.
A low chuckle broke her trance. "It appears we have a guest."
With that, Rallis snapped back to reality and looked around. She was no longer standing in a warm field at sunrise, but rather in plain sight right smack in the middle of a very large room filled with dozens of people, and every single one of them were staring at her.
"Huh...? WHAT?!?!" She jumped back in shock. 'When?! How?!'
Someone muttered about the bouncer not doing their job, others looked her up and down in disdain, others in fear. The words 'outlander' and 'monster' echoed throughout the room. This place was not welcoming. Rallis spun around looking for a way out only to find two burly men blocking what she presumed was the only entrance. Her ears pinned back in fear as she faced down all the angry untrusting glares.
A large bearded man with an eyepatch and tankard howled from his seat in the audience. Rallis stepped back as he rose and walked nearer. "Welcome, stranger!" he boomed. "Oh no need to look so nervous, come! Sit down! Join us!"
Rallis timidly obeyed, not wanting to cause any more trouble, and slowly tiptoed over to the man. She had been insulted and shooed away by humans before, but this room wide feel of disdain and distrust was a whole new experience. It made her scales crawl. She had a seat across from the big man and at once the stares began to turn away. The people near her scooted away and the rest of the room went about their quiet murmuring.
"Don't mind them," the man started after taking a swig of his drink. "We don't get many visitors. And you're by far the most interesting to stop by! I don't think I've ever heard of a talking monster outside of the bard's tales. What brings you to Relleka? Not here to do anything untoward I hope." It was as if the room collectively had a hand on a weapon at the word.
"I don't know what that word means..." she started quietly. "But I heard music. I wanted to listen more..." She was shocked at herself at how timid and quiet she was being. She shook her head and steeled herself. This wasn't like her! She was smiley and loud and bouncy and it was time to get back to it!
"Oh and is that all? Well I'm sorry to say Olaf is done for the day. Perhaps if you had come earlier." He took another drink. "Where are you from?"
"Taverley. South east of here, long walk. Over the white mountain with all the wolves!"
"Hmm, that is far! Certainly you didn't come all this way for a bit of music! What brings a creature of your kind so far from home?"
"Exploring!" Rallis exclaimed, once again turning cheerful over the topic. "I want to see everything and everywhere and I found this place. It's so cold up here and so different!"
The man laughed. "I suppose it is cold if you're not used to it. And it is Fall. It will be terribly cold for an unprepared outlander soon so I suggest you leave before dark."
It was already starting to grow dark outside but Rallis couldn't tell if it was because of night beginning to fall or just the general grey and gloomy atmosphere of the place. Either way, it was cold outside and she wasn't prepared for it. The smidgen of wind chill was much more dangerous for a dragon than it was for a human,
"Is it okay if I stay here? Just for tonight? I don't do cold so well..."
The man frowned thoughtfully. "Unfortunately outlanders may not stay here. Traditions and rules and what have you. Only if you are Fremennik or known by one may you stay, and you are neither."
Rallis' ears drooped and a hint of fear and sadness flashed across her face before being replaced by a curious smile. "Then can I be one? A Fremmer-Nick?"
The man snorted into his cup. "You're an interesting one. Outlanders don't normally even give us the time of day, and now here one is asking to join us! And an inhuman one at that! Let me tell you, when I woke up today the last thing I was expecting was for a talking monster from mountains over to ask about becoming a Fremennik."
Some of the people nearby were listening in on the conversation and scowled at the idea. They didn't want this talking... thing in their home. It was an abomination and its demand went against their way of life.
"I want to explore," Rallis said. "And if I gotta be a Fremmer... Fremennik to do so, then I'll do it! And I wanna hear the music again!"
The man was a bit disappointed at her reasoning but hid it well. "I suppose I could let you try the trials to become a Fremennik. But be warned I will only allow it once." Rallis nodded. That was fair she supposed. "The trials weed out those who do not belong," he said quietly. "Should you want to be one of us for the wrong reasons, should you not put your best foot forward, you will find yourself unable to pass. Your determination and ideals will be tested and judged."
His words had weight, and Rallis would keep them in mind.
"It won't be easy," he continued. "And most everyone will likely be working against you. I'm sure even you can feel it."
She could, the hatred and uncertainty in the room. But that wouldn't stop her! It hadn't yet and it wouldn't now and she told him as much.
The man rose with a groan. "Well, I suppose I need to get everyone ready for tomorrow then! This should be quite the affair! You're welcome to stay in here for the night but expect to be up early tomorrow for your trials."
Rallis nodded. "Okay. Thank you, big eyepatch man!"
He chuckled and held out a hand. "I suppose we didn't introduce ourselves. Chieftain Brundt. Welcome to my village."
Rallis took it with a smile. "Rallis."
He walked off and with him went half the bystanders, giving her odd glares and stares, muttering curses. The others left in the room stayed far away from her, never making direct eye contact and keeping a considerable distance away. She was offered no food, drink, or company, and once night fell things to sleep on or with were added to the list. Not that she minded. She usually slept on the ground anyway, though she frowned at the lack of grass and leaves present.
Every patron shot her a glare as they left, as if wary and uncomfortable of a stranger staying in their town throughout the night. Rallis curled on the floor by the dwindling fire and buried her face in her arms, watching the angry people as they left. Many people she had met in her travels hated her for no other reason than because of what she was, and sadly it seemed no different here. Perhaps trying to join them wouldn't be such a good idea after all. She could always leave in the morning and fail the trials, though she doubted she would ever be welcomed back.
'How frustrating humans are sometimes...'
Eventually the room was empty save for a man nursing his drink and two other men asleep in their seats, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Rallis began to shiver by the now ash pile of a fire. Venturing north without a cloak was a bad idea, a mistake she would be sure to rectify for future exploration. But that didn't stop her from being cold now. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on falling asleep.
'Think warm thoughts. The bed at home, the beach in Catherby, that fantastic sunning rock by Ardougne, blankets... I want a blanket...'
As if hearing her silent prayer, a blanket fell over her. Her ears shot up in surprise and opened her eyes to find a tall bearded man with a long brown almost auburn ponytail and long white cape standing before her. He had another blanket in his hands which he handed over. Rallis excitedly buried her face in it with a purr and curled up in it. She chirped a quiet thank you and hid under the blankets, only her face peeking out. The man sat down next to her.
"You've certainly sparked some discussion, you know," he told her. "When was the last time I met a monster that could speak? My trip to Morytania perhaps? Where the wolves speak and wear the skin of men. I never thought I would find such a rarity in my own home."
"All of us can speak," Rallis said. "You just can't understand us."
"Maybe so! This is definitely the first time I've been able to understand the speech of a lizard."
Rallis growled at the comment but she didn't believe he meant it in the derogatory way others had before. "I'm a dragon, not a lizard!"
"My apologies if I offended you," he said sincerely. "What brings such a noble beast as a dragon to our stagnant fishing town, hm?"
Rallis shrugged. "I just wanted to see everything. I want to go everywhere!"
The man smiled. He could understand the sentiment well, wanting to see everything the world had to offer as well. "Well I hope our little town isn't a disappointment."
"No way! This place has music! That means it can't be bad!"
"Oh? Liked it, did you?"
Rallis nodded. "Yeah! It was really pretty! Reminded me of my mom. She makes pretty music too."
The man smiled. "Well I'm glad my music finally made someone happy. They don't much appreciate my work anymore." He rose and brushed the dirt off his pants. "Perhaps I'll play more if you finish your trials tomorrow."
"You got it! ... Um, what's your name?"
"Olaf the bard," he said with a bow. "And yours?"
"I'm Rallis! Rallis... the dragon, I guess."
"Beautiful name. I shall see you tomorrow, Rallis the dragon. Good night."
Olaf walked off, cape swishing behind him, and Rallis got comfortable under the blankets. 'I like him! Maybe not everyone here is an angry scowly grump!'
She fell asleep dreaming of music.
The sun wasn't even up when Rallis was awoken. Something hard and wooden slammed into the ground inches from her snout. She woke with a start and yelped as she jolted back, tangling herself in the blankets. Standing above her was a shadow of a man, hidden in a forest green hooded cloak, calculating eyes hidden in the darkness. His golden beard was braided with what appeared to be leaves, and upon closer inspection his cloak had a mantle of matching foliage, making him seem almost like some kind of nature spirit. The object he had slammed down to wake her was a bow, carved with intricate inscriptions for who knows what. He said nothing, only nodded for her to follow and slithered off into the gray morning sky like a shadow. Rallis folded the blankets on a nearby bench and clumsily ran after him.
It was just as dark and grey as yesterday, though perhaps this time because it was hardly even morning. Rallis yawned as she followed the cloaked man to the entrance of town, trying to force herself awake. The awful chill made her want to fall back asleep immediately. A few feet down the path out the gate, the man stopped, watching the fog ahead of him like a hawk.
Rallis hummed in confusion. "Wha--?"
The man snapped her snout shut with one hand and pointed into the fog with the other. Rallis growled, unappreciative of the gesture, but watched where he pointed. Vaguely in the fog was a flicker of light in the shape of a human. She squinted but couldn't make out any details. It shuffled along and wailed angrily, high pitched and distraught. The dragon flinched from the sound and saw the figure wasn't walking, but floating. It was a spirit! She shivered and looked to her companion for answers. The man began to rummage through a pouch and speak.
"To become one of us, you must do seven tasks," he whispered, voice quiet and stealthy like him. "Only twelve of us may give them to you, the twelve of Chieftain Brundt's council. Some will oblige, some won't, you need to convince them." He pulled out an oddly shaped wooden figure, much like the design of a rune talisman. "If you do the task successfully, you receive a vote. You need seven. Seven tasks for seven votes." He handed her the talisman. "This is my task. Unlike the rest of the village, I don't care what you are, what you look like, where you come from. I only care if you can pull your weight. Show me you can do just that. Catch me a draugen."
Rallis tilted her head in confusion and looked around. She turned back to him and pointed to herself. "Okay, I did it! I'm a dragon and I caught myself!"
Rallis swore she heard something like a choked laugh under the man's hood but he quickly quieted himself. He was definitely smiling now though. "Draugen, not dragon. That spirit you just saw, that's a draugen. It will disappear soon so I suggest you get going. They stay near water and in the fog. Once the sun comes out, the fog will vanish and so will it. Prove to me you can be a huntsman and catch it and you'll have my vote." He pointed to the talisman in her hands. "That will help you find and catch it."
She expected a net or something to help catch it but received nothing more. "What am I supposed to catch it with? My hands?"
"Part of the hunt is figuring things out at the most crucial moment. You will have to figure it out yourself." He nodded toward the fog. "Now get going."
Rallis pouted at the lack of direction but she wasn't about to fail! Talisman in hand, she sprinted into the fog and vanished.
Everything was muffled and distorted in the fog. Animals scurrying in the undergrowth sounded like rattling bones, their howls like the wails of demons. It was unnerving not being able to see anything. The talisman in Rallis' hands glowed brighter in certain directions and softer in others. 'It must be leading me to the spirit!' She slithered under the fog hot on the trail of the Draugen.
Running water could be heard next to her. She must have reached the river to the south, she figured. 'And that hunter said this thing stays near water. Oh, I didn't catch his name either. What is with these people and not telling me their names? They just start conversations without greetings!' Rallis shook the conversation out of her head. She had to focus. The farther along the river she trekked, the brighter the talisman glowed.
'Getting close!'
Suddenly a loud angry moan cut through the cold silence, filling Rallis with dread. It was the same moan from before, only this time much closer. It rattled her bones and made her halt in fear. It took all her willpower to take cover under a shrub. The fog was beginning to fade away, one wisp at a time, and there far in a clearing was the draugen. It was wailing to the river, as if angry it would not listen to its woes. Otherwise, it didn't seem to move on, content to scream at the water. Rallis began to think.
'Alright, so the hunter wants me to catch it and bring it back. It looks like a human. Maybe I can just grab it and drag it back?' The draugen howled, cutting off her train of thought. Rallis shook her head and shivered. That howl was horrifying, freezing the core of anyone who would hear. 'Think quick. How to catch it. I don't think he wants me to just tie it up and bring it back. Can you even tie a spirit up?' The draugen moaned again, Rallis pressed her hands over her ears and head to the dirt. 'Shut up you whiny ghost! What do I do then?! All he gave me was this glowing stick! Maybe I have to use it on the spirit in some way? The spirit I helped in Lumbridge was pretty nice once he had someone to talk to. Maybe this one just needs to talk. Oh but I didn't bring that amulet... Well maybe--'
Rallis stopped her thoughts. The world was quiet. Too quiet. The draugen wasn't moaning and groaning anymore. She peeked over the shrub and across the way to the clearing and sure enough, the spirit was gone. 'Uh-oh.' A chill ran up her spine, completely different from the cold of the morning northern air. Low moaning echoed from right behind her, an eerie saddened whisper on the wind. Turning around was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to. The dragon slowly turned around to find a blackened blue skeletal corpse standing right behind her, ethereal glow forcing the fog away. It screeched like a banshee and scared the dragon into submission. Before she could curl up and hide, the draugen grabbed her by the throat and brought her struggling form to its face.
She wanted to move, she wanted to run, she wanted to do anything, but she couldn't move an inch. The soul piercing scream, the bony fingers wrapped around her throat, the dark rotting skeletal face staring into her eyes... This was a nightmare she wanted to wake up from! The draugen opened its mouth, disgusting rotting breath hitting her in the face, and if that wasn't a wake up call, nothing was. Right as the spirit was about to scream once more, Rallis grabbed the talisman tight and bopped the spirit on its head.
"LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO!!!!!"
Each syllable was punctuated with a smack to its skull, wooden talisman making the draugen's hollow head ring. It dropped her with a growl and rubbed its head. Its precious skull had a dent! That was unforgivable! The spirit reached for the dragon again, but stopped when it noticed the talisman in her claws. It was pretty and the spirit wanted it. It reached for the talisman and Rallis pulled away. "No way! You can't have that! It's mine!"
The draugen howled again and reached for it, but instead of the wooden treasure, the spirit received another bop on the head. Now it was angry. The spirit's eyes grew red and it growled demonically. Rallis yelped and ran off, angry screaming spirit in tow.
The angry howls and silent footsteps chased her throughout the foggy forest, growing closer and closer by the second. It was impossible to see where she was going, stumbling over roots and rocks every other step. After her third nasty fall, she couldn't catch herself in time. Rallis rolled into the dirt and straight into a briar patch, snaking thorny branches grabbing hold of her like clawed hands. The talisman was sent flying, skittering to another equally thorny bush nearby. The moaning of the draugen was right beside her now, it's glowing figure breaking through the fog. Rallis ripped out of the thorns and grabbed the talisman, shredding her gloves to pieces. It was then that she noticed the talisman was still glowing, and not in the direction of the draugen.
'Is there something else?' She didn't have time to think as the skeletal glowing figure came into view. Rallis sprinted on the path the talisman was taking her.
The fog was starting to dissipate, rays of sun cutting through like a hot knife. It made the tiring run easier, but no less stressful. She was running out of time. She couldn't hear the spirit anymore, only the chirps of birds greeted her now. The talisman grew brighter and brighter until it began to flash and even heat in her hands. Rallis dropped it as she tripped over a mound of dirt by the riverbank and tumbled into the waters. She grabbed onto the crumbling earth before the currents could take her away and crawled out of the freezing water coughing and gasping. She didn't have the talisman anymore.
'Where is it? Where is it?!'
She began to panic but breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted it sitting nearby the mound she tripped over. She crawled over to grab it when a heavy weight slammed itself on the hand reaching for it. Rallis yelped and whined, in pain then fear. The draugen stepped on her hand, hard, and smushed it into the dirt. The dragon whined with tears springing to her eyes as the spirit crushed her hand, bending down to pick up the talisman without any more interruptions. It kicked her away, nearly back into the river, and stared at the wooden figure in wonder. It was flashing like crazy, as if upset someone else had a hold of it.
Rallis sniffled and cradled her crushed bleeding hand and glared at the spirit. The sun was almost fully over the mountains now, its rays piercing the draugen and beginning to make him vanish. The dragon snarled with ears pinned back in rage. 'You're not beating me you stupid ghost!' With a screech and claws out, Rallis leapt at the fading spirit and bit and clawed into it. The draugen wailed in pain, flailing and trying to throw her off. Rallis snapped and snapped like a rabid dog, grabbing the arm holding onto the talisman and chewing its hand clean off at the wrist. The talisman fell to the dirt as the sunlight dissolved the severed hand.
The draugen howled as Rallis dove for the talisman, growling as the spirit grabbed after her with one hand. The talisman flashed frantically, practically pulling itself toward the center of the dirt mound. The spirit grew panicked as if just realizing what the wooden icon was. Its skeletal face distorted in fear as it frantically tried to pull Rallis back, but the dragon wasn't having any of it. With a final shriek, she slammed the talisman so deep into the mound only the top poked out, and at once it and the draugen exploded into a shower of light. Sparkles rained down with the sun as the spirit disappeared. All was quiet, all was calm, as if nothing had ever happened.
Rallis slowly scoped the area from her spot on the dirt, panting harshly and breaking the still silence. The last wisps of fog were fading away. The birds were singing and the rabbits came out to say hello. Even the black unicorns seemed particularly happy today. The draugen was gone. Timidly, Rallis pulled the talisman out of the dirt. The spirit didn't suddenly spring out, thank Guthix. The wooden icon glowed with a different color, the shade of anger and malevolence.
'I guess this means... I caught the draugen.'
At the realization, she sighed and flopped onto the dirt and stared at the sky. She did it. But perhaps catching her breath for a moment longer wouldn't be such a bad idea.
Rallis trudged back into town with two missing gloves, two bleeding hands, clothing covered in dirt and soaked and dripping with water, and the promise of a vote. The hunter was impressed, Sigli she finally learned his name was, and was almost sure she wouldn't be able to do it. He had purposefully given her something hard to see if an outlander could even hold a candle to a Fremennik, and he was pleasantly surprised. She was sure to have his vote. Rallis wondered what he was going to do with the captured draugen, and he muttered something about a ritual and walked off. She didn't pursue.
'If all seven trials are going to be like this, maybe I'll just drop out now,' Rallis lamented. 'Or die. That's an option too.'
The sun was out, as were the people, and she had already been up for hours and was beyond exhausted. She shuffled into the building she began this whole charade in, which she learned was called the Longhall, and practically sat in the fire she was so cold. She wrung out as much water as she could and sat down to dry off. Heavy footsteps stomped up behind her and a voice as booming as thunder grabbed her attention.
"Rallis! I was looking for you!"
The dragon turned around to see Chieftain Brundt standing before her. He was shocked to see the state she was in.
"Oh my. What happened to you?"
"Sigli," was all she muttered.
Brundt nodded in understanding. "I see you've already begun then. He always did like to start early. Sigli is a man of few words. Did he explain everything well enough for you?"
Rallis nodded. "Seven tasks, seven votes, twelve possible people." A smile cracked through her glum facade. "Now six votes to go."
"Ah so you got his! Good!" He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "If I'm honest with you, Sigli's trial I find to be one of the hardest. Don't lose hope yet!"
Rallis smiled. She liked Brundt. He was like a big happy dad.
He stood back up straight. "Well, the day is still young! You should have some food and get back to work! Why don't you go see Yrsa about some clothes after you eat? You'll get sick if you keep wearing that." He motioned to her sopping wet attire. "And if she says otherwise, you can tell her I told her to help." He pointed her in the right direction and she ran off with a thank you, snagging a leg of chicken from the fire as she left.
The Yrsa lady ran a clothing store and even made shoes from scratch! She was very talented. Yrsa let Rallis have whatever she needed surprisingly, and the dragon left with a warm blue long sleeve shirt and a gray long skirt which she quickly pinned up to make it short. The woman gave her a look when she declined shoes, but when the dragon waggled three long clawed toes at her, she realized it probably wasn't the best idea to wear them. The woman was even kind enough to let Rallis leave her wet clothing there to dry by the fire. She thanked the woman profusely. It was always nice when a stranger didn't treat her like a monster, and she wasn't expecting that in this town if she was honest. Rallis would have to be sure to bring some platinum back with her to repay her kindness.
With new clothing, Rallis felt like a new dragon. She ran off at lightning speed, bouncing up to anyone and everyone to see if they had a task she could do to earn their vote. She found two other council members rather quickly and she had much more of a fun time doing those than tracking down a monster for Sigli. One man named Swensen had her do a maze. Supposedly it was difficult for most, maze having been built with magic and making anyone who stayed inside too long sick to their stomach, but Rallis was a mage herself. A little teleportation never hurt her! Another man named Peer had a test for her in the form of riddles, some spoken, some written, some even interactive. Rallis may have found her time learning human language with Reldo beyond boring, but he did teach her riddles and puzzles and those were super fun. But Peer took it a step further and had interactive riddles! Rallis was reluctant to admit she spent more time doing the riddles than she needed simply because it was so fun to mess around with all the stuff.
'Three out of three votes so far! This will be easy!'
The sun was high in the sky now, noon shining down below. The town was more bright and vibrant than yesterday, though it may have had to do with the bouncy blue dragon running around as much as it did the change in weather. Olaf was hiding a snicker as he watched the dragon bounce around the market square running errands for Sigmund.
'Ah Sigmund you crafty asshole, you're just getting the poor thing to do your work for you.'
He watched a bit longer and was about to leave when he saw the dragon run his way. She stopped in front of him, panting. "Hi! I need music!" she said between breaths.
"Good day to you too, Rallis the dragon. I thought I told you after you finished your trials."
Rallis shook her head. "No not for me! Fooorrr..." She spun around, finger pointed to the market trying to find someone particular. "Him!" she shouted victoriously as she spotted the fisherman she spoke to earlier. "He needs music!"
"As in he wants me to sing to him?" As good as Olaf thought his music was, he didn't quite think Sortur of all people would want to be regaled by his song and charm.
"No he needs a written song! For this lady he likes!"
Ah. That made sense. Wait, no it didn't! Sortur hated everyone! He only enjoyed killing monsters, fishing, and killing monsters he fished. Olaf was curious, but he'd pry later. "I can do that," Olaf told her. The dragon smiled and jumped happily. "But it'll take a little while to think of what to write. I don't suppose you can do an errand for me while I write it, could you?"
Rallis shrugged. "Sure. What do you need?"
"I was on my way to Yrsa's to pick up some new shoes when I got... sidetracked. If you could get them for me while I think of what to write, that would be great."
"Okay!" Rallis chirped. She was about to run off when Olaf stopped her.
"My apologies," he started. "But I'm simply too nosy for my own good. How have your trials been going?"
"Fine I guess. I have found seven people who can give me votes, I've gotten three, and I'm working on one! So I could have four soon!"
"That is fine! Beyond fine! Well done! Who have you spoken to?"
"First I did Sigli's trial," she started and poked her hands out of the overly long blue sleeves. The cuts weren't bleeding anymore but they were still red and angry. Olaf flinched. Sigli's trials could always be a bit brutal, though not as brutal as...
He shook his head. Hopefully she wouldn't have to do that one. Thorvald's was the worst trial of them all, or maybe second alongside Sortur's. And at the rate she was going with four out of seven votes she might not have to do his. "A tough trial to be sure. Who else?"
She was excited to talk about the other two. "Peer's and Swensen's I got! Those were fun!" Her excitement was contagious, Olaf found himself smiling too. "I tried three more but they all made fun of me," she pouted. She pointed back to the fisherman. "That guy was one of them. What was his name? Sortur? He told me I could get his vote if I made the sky turn red, the water turn pink, the rocks turn yellow, and the sun turn black. So I did!" Rallis pulled out a now slightly crumpled drawing from under her shirt to keep it out of the water by the dock and sure enough the drawing detailed just those four things, drawn as if a child had done it. Olaf choked on a snort. Sortur would surely take her answer as a slight but Olaf thought it was both creative and hilarious.
"He didn't want it though," Rallis said with drooped ears. "Now I don't know what to do with it."
"Well, I'd certainly love to take it if no one else will have it. It's charming." It was such an odd looking picture but it was really quite adorable. And if she wasn't going to get a vote from it, she might as well get some appreciation for her work. Rallis beamed and handed it over, happy someone liked it. "Honestly it might be a good thing Sortur won't give you his trial. It usually involves killing monsters." Rallis looked back at the fisherman with horror. "Who were the other two you tried?"
Rallis pointed to a woman laughing by Sortur. With the man's expressions, he was likely telling her about the picture Rallis tried to give him. "She said I was too gull-able. I don't know what sea birds have to do with it but she wouldn't talk to me after that."
Olaf rolled his eyes. 'Really Sassilik?' He watched the two laugh, probably making fun of other people throughout the day. 'Perhaps she's who he likes. Rude attracting rude.'
Rallis pointed to someone else. "And he said I could get his vote if I gave him like 100 times 100 billion coins! I may be a dragon but even I don't have that much!"
"Agnar is always looking for money to gamble with," Olaf said with a groan. "He probably thinks you're rich because you're a dragon."
Rallis snorted. "Anyway I gotta get back to work! I have to get Sigmund's vote!"
"Yes, alright, good luck! I'll be writing that ballad you need for Sortur in the Longhall." Rallis sprinted off with a thank you. "I certainly won't make it good however!" he muttered.
After much running back and forth and being a delivery dragon, Rallis got Sigmund's vote. She ran back to Olaf in the Longhall with a message from Sortur saying the bard was the worst in existence and he was a prideful fool if he thought the trash he handed over was anything but abysmal. Olaf laughed into his drink. Rallis waved goodbye and ran off to find other council members.
One other woman said no immediately and wouldn't hear anything more of the subject. Four of eight still wasn't too bad. She happened to find someone else who would help her while delivering the boots for the ballad in the Longhall for Sigmund's long chain of deliveries. Probably the happiest drunk she had ever met, Manni. It was barely past noon and the man had already downed at least six tankards of beer. He was singing and telling stories as he swung around a beer in each hand. Rallis wasn't surprised when the man said his trial would be a drinking contest. Unfortunately, that was something she could not do. Even the slightest bit of alcohol made her violently sick. She was sad to say she did in fact cheat to win his vote. She filled a keg with water beforehand and crumbled a smoke rune into the Longhall fire pit as a distraction to swap out the alcohol for water. When the smoke cleared, no one had suspected a thing, and Rallis came away with a fifth vote and a new happy drunk friend.
Rallis was told the names of the last three possible people she could get votes from, and the first of those three simply mocked her for even trying. That left the other two. She would have to get their votes if she wanted to finish the trials. There was no one else. She was surprised to hear one of the last two people was Olaf. Maybe that's why he had been watching her on and off all day, checking to see if she was even worth his time. Funnily enough, Rallis couldn't find him now. Off to the other person it was then! Thorvald.
Thorvald was huge, a giant warrior of a human. He could probably hold his sword up with just his pinky. He dwarfed Rallis and stared down at her scrawny small self with disdain. "You want to try and get my vote?"
"Yes!" Rallis shouted with an eager bounce. She wouldn't be deterred that easily.
"You're so small," Thorvald said as he held up his hand in mock measurement.
Rallis snapped at the air where his hand was. "No, you're all just too big!"
Thorvald's laughter boomed throughout the room they stood in, shaking the flimsy walls. They looked like they had been broken and shoddily put back together many times, like he kept breaking them. "You have guts! I like that! Hopefully I won't see them on the floor after this." He kicked up a rickety trapdoor beside him and pointed. "Down there is a demon in a man's skin. He is ruthless, he knows no fear, and he will never stop fighting. He has killed many, and can only be held back by valiant warriors. You will go down there and fight like your life depends on it, because it does. And you will do it unarmed."
Rallis put on a brave face but it did sound scary. She wouldn't be stopped though! She would fight that human demon and win! She carefully put her whip aside. "Please don't touch that," she warned, pointing to the weapon. "It likes to freeze people it doesn't like." Thorvald looked at it with horror. He hated magic and weapons imbued with it were even worse. Rallis gently placed her pouches and runes atop the whip and hopped down the trapdoor. She had fought unarmed plenty of times before and she wouldn't lose now!
"Remember, like your life depends on it!" Thorvald echoed after her followed by the slam of the door shutting.
The trapdoor hid a ladder that went a considerable distance underground. There were many underground and oceanic caverns in the area, and this seemed to be the former. Though this one was furnished, Rallis was surprised to see. Torches, carpets, tapestries on the rocky walls, even a bed and places to sit all much farther in. Where she stood at the end of the ladder was red paint. It traced along the rectangular stone stadium before the furnished area like a sacrificial altar. Old bloodstains dotted the stadium, trails reaching the red painted edges and disappearing. And there, stood at the opposite end, was a lone man, shirtless with what she assumed was blood drawn in a pattern across his chest, sword drawn and ready. He immediately put Rallis on guard. She figured Thorvald was playing up the drama to make her nervous by calling him a demon in human skin, but he was at least partially right. This man wasn't human, she could smell it, feel it in the air.
The man took a step forward. "My name is Koschei the Deathless," he whispered, sound bouncing off the wall to sound as if fifty of him spoke at once. "I would know your name before you die."
Rallis growled. "My name is Rallis. But it won't be me who dies today." She bared her fangs and flared her claws. "Fight me!" she roared.
Koschei was on her in the blink of an eye.
The fight couldn't even be seen by normal eyes, both of them were unnaturally fast. Every swipe Rallis gave, Koschei blocked with ease. Every swipe of his sword, Rallis dodged or blocked with her claws. She was normally the faster one in a fight, this was all new territory for her. She just had to keep up until she saw an opening. After one particularly bad miss, she saw one. He left his side open and she slashed hard with her claws. He didn't even flinch, retaliating back with a kick that sent her flying against the far wall.
Rallis fell to the ground with a thud, unable to breathe for a moment. Koschei was coming her way, taking his sweet time. His side was bleeding but he didn't even seem to feel the pain. Rallis didn't give him a chance to get any closer, rushing back into the fight with a snarl. A scratch to his arm, a nick to his cheek, a claw through his boot and into his foot, he didn't feel a thing. And every strike she landed left her open, a bash to the head, a slash to the leg, a dangerous near-hit as he stabbed at her side only to strike air. Rallis grew more tired as the fight continued. She wasn't used to things lasting this long. She usually killed or disarmed her enemy in seconds. But it didn't matter. She wasn't about to lose to this violent murderous demon!
Koschei lashed out with his sword again and Rallis bit down on his arm, straight through his arm guard. Before she could crunch down and shatter bone, he punched her square in the jaw and sent her flying. She groaned and spat the blood out of her mouth and froze. She gasped and stared at the man, horrified.
"Thorvald said you were a demon! A demon in human skin! But I've chewed through the throat of demon and human alike and I know the disgusting tastes well. You're not a demon! You're not human either but you're not a demon. I don't want to fight you anymore!"
Koschei wouldn't hear it and slammed down his sword, narrowly missing.
"Wait!" Rallis tried. "Can't we talk this out? I don't want to hurt you anymore!"
He continued to ignore her, slashing and fighting away.
'Well fine then! If that's how you want to play then I'll just take your sword from you!'
Rallis focused on his fighting style. Every time he swiped at her with his sword, she went for his hand or its hilt. First she tried to grab it and accidentally slashed his arm. Next try, she tried to bite the hilt and nearly took one of his fingers off. Then she tried grabbing again and nearly got the blade stuck in her hand! Every disarming attempt just hurt him more and she was growing frustrated.
"FOR THE LOVE OF GUTHIX, HOLD STILL!"
Rallis had had enough! She sunk a claw into his leg and brought him down. Koschei swung his sword up in defense and finally Rallis had a victory. She grabbed the sword in her jaws, teeth slicing through like a hot knife through butter, and wrenched it out of his grasp. That finally elicited an emotion from him, a blink of surprise. Rallis threw the mangled useless sword aside and helped him up. Pain might not have easily registered with him, but she messed up one of his legs pretty badly. Walking wasn't going to be easy.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to do that, BUT YOU WOULDN'T STOP! You need help!" Rallis slunk the silent man over to the ladder and set him down. She pounded on the trapdoor and shouted. "Thorvald! Thorvald, let me out! This is important!" No answer. "Thorvald I'm serious!"
Koschei hobbled to his feet and tugged on her tail, motioning for her to come down. "Thorvald..." he quietly muttered.
At once, the door swung open. Thorvald's shocked face greeted them. "Well this is highly unusual." He held a hand down for Koschei and helped him up, setting him down on a seat. Rallis followed after, panicked and upset.
"I know you said he was a demon," Rallis started. "But he's not! He's really not! When I found out, I didn't want to hurt him anymore because he might not be bad, but he kept attacking and I couldn't get him to stop! You're terrible at listening by the way Koschei! So I tried to get him to stop by breaking his weapon, and I did, but I hurt him a lot trying to do it and I didn't mean to I'm so sorry why do you even have this man in your basement anyway oh can you please help him!"
She gasped, having blurted all that out at once. The two men just blinked at her. "What in the holy name of V are you on about?" Thorvald said. Rallis opened her mouth to explain again but he waved a hand in her face. "You know what? No. Forget it." He turned to Koschei, currently pressing a nearby cloth to his bleeding side. "Koschei, how'd she do?"
The silent warrior simply held a thumbs up. Thorvald grinned.
"Good, good!" Rallis was so confused. "You fought for your life," Thorvald explained. "And then you fought for someone else's. I'm impressed! You definitely have my vote." The dragon was happy at the news but still lost. "Listen outlander, we play up the fight to be this ultimate scary thing. Fighting a monster that looks like a man with nothing but your fists. It's intimidating! This trial isn't a test on how good of a fighter you are, it's a test of bravery. Are you willing to go down unarmed into a pit you can't escape from and fight? That's what this is about, and you did it and then some."
"Oh," she managed to squeak out. "Are you okay though?" she asked Koschei.
He nodded. "I don't feel it."
Rallis was still upset. "If you're sure... I owe you now! I'll make it up to you! Whatever you want, an apology for kicking your butt!"
"You did not," he whispered.
"She totally did," Thorvald laughed. "I got him, you go run off and do whatever you have to do. You've got my vote, remember!"
Rallis nodded, bowed, took her things, and ran off. Just one to go.
The sun was finally beginning to fall. Rallis sighed. What a long day it had been. She shuffled back to Yrsa. Her clothes were dry and she wanted to get back into them. Her new Fremennik outfit was cut and bloodied. Rallis apologized profusely but Yrsa was more mad at Thorvald than her. She gave the dragon her clothes and shooed her out so she could fix them.
'The last one is Olaf. Where could he be?'
Not in the Longhall. Not watching the market. Not by the houses. So where?
As if on cue, he walked through the entrance of the town with a stretch and a yawn. Rallis walked over excitedly. Running wasn't easy with the cut she got from Koschei. "Olaf! Olaf! Olaf! I have six votes!"
"Excellent, Miss Dragon! I take it you now want to do my trial?"
Rallis nodded excitedly.
"Night is falling soon which means we will need entertainment for dinner." He took out something that was hooked to his belt, something small and wooden with golden strings. It was very simple but also very pretty. It almost seemed magical as well. "So my trial for you is simple. You'll need one of these."
"What is it?" she asked as she gave it a delicate poke.
"It's a lyre. It plays music."
Rallis was appalled. "Your instrument tells lies?"
Olaf laughed. "Not liar, lyre. It's a simple to make musical instrument that can play a lot for its size. You're going to make one of these and come back to me for the rest of your trial."
Make a lyre and come back. Sounded easy enough. Olaf ran through everything she'd need to make one and where to get it. With a determined nod, she hopped out the gate, forgetting the pain from the previous fight.
It was well into the evening when Rallis returned, lyre in hand. It wasn't as nice looking as Olaf's but in her defence it was her first time making one. It wasn't hard to make either, though sneaking passed that obnoxious troll to steal some golden wool was a pain. Hopefully the next part would be just as simple. Olaf met her by the entrance to town and walked and talked. "Good! Now you can finish the trial! All that's left is to go on stage and play!"
Rallis froze. "On... on stage?" She figured she'd have to play the instrument, he was a bard after all. But she thought maybe she would just have to play in front of a couple people, maybe sing at a table in the Longhall, not in front of ALL OF RELLEKA.
"Yes. There's a big stage at the end of the Hall. That's where I was playing when you stumbled by yesterday."
Rallis gripped her lyre tightly, claws scratching its back. "But I don't even know how to play it."
"That's what the enchantment is for. If you think it, it will play. Imagine what you want to hear and you'll find your hands simply know how to make it a reality."
Put that way, it did sound rather wondrous and magical. But she was still beyond nervous.
She didn't get a word of argument in as Olaf showed her to the back entrance of the stage. "I need to get everyone ready and inside. Give yourself a couple minutes to think and get in there!" With that, he ran off.
Rallis waited until he was gone and began to whine and pace. What was she going to do?! She couldn't just go up there and play in front of the entire town. That was horrifying! She'd rather fight Koschei again. And another draugen. At the same time! She began to panic. She didn't know how to sing. She didn't know how to play. What would they do when she went up there and realized she was awful? Would she only get the vote if she was good? Oh she did not want to do this!
She didn't even hear Olaf come back as she stood shaking by the back entrance, lost in her thoughts. She yelped and jumped with a fright as he put a hand on her shoulder. "You're keeping everyone waiting," he told her. "What's the matter?" Had it really been so long already? Hadn't he left a second ago? She heard the impatient groans from inside. Apparently not...
Rallis growled as she looked at the lyre she made. "I don't want to go up there!" she whined. "I don't even know how to play this stupid thing! It doesn't matter if it's enchanted, I'll still mess it up! And look, I have claws, I'm gonna tear the strings! And I can't sing!"
Olaf frowned. "Sad to see you give up so easily. You went to the trouble of making that lyre and yet you won't even try to play it. Considering you've done the rest of the trials, I will say I'm rather disappointed mine is the one you quit on."
Rallis' head drooped and she turned away. "I just... don't want to be laughed at... I don't want to be made fun of again." She had enough mockery today with the other council members teasing and making fun of her as they pulled her along. She could handle being made fun of for being gullible and not having the best drawing skills or even her appearance. But she didn't want to go up on stage in front of all these people and be laughed at because she didn't know what she was doing.
The bard's gaze softened a bit. "No one expects you to be a master up there tonight," he said. "It's you're first time and they're not going to make fun of you for it. And if they do, so what? You shouldn't care too much about what others think of you."
She looked at him like he just spoke backwards. "I shouldn't? But everyone else says I should."
"Probably to get something from you," he replied. "There are times you should care, sure, but playing and singing in a room full of happy drunk people is not one of those times. Don't get too hung up on other people's ideas." She still didn't seem convinced. "Rallis, do you know what the point of these trials are?"
"To see what you're good at?" she tried.
Olaf shook his head. "No. Each one shares a valuable ideal. Thorvald's trial is to be brave in the face of death. Sigli's trial is to realize there are many paths that reach a destination and it's up to you to figure out which to take. Do you know what mine is?'
Rallis shook her head.
"It's to be yourself, and be happy with who you are. I'll tell you a secret. I know my music isn't the best and I know a lot of people don't like it. I know the only time I get even a couple positive reactions is when I play music that isn't mine. But it doesn't matter because I enjoy doing it. I'm happy with what I do and who I am. That's all I want you to do. Go up there and play something you're happy to play."
"Okay," she whispered. That little pep talk made her feel a lot better. "I'm still gonna rip the strings though," she said as she held up her clawed hand for emphasis.
"Remember, it's enchanted. That little lyre is more sturdy than you think."
She ran a claw across the golden strings, ears perking up happily as it made a sound, albeit quiet. It didn't tear. She smiled. "Do I still have to sing?" she asked, trying to weasel her way out of it.
He smiled exasperatedly and shook his head. "Yes, yes you do. Just go play, have fun, and stop worrying."
He was damn near about to push her through the door and onto the stage, but she smiled and walked inside. Olaf waved and walked away. "I'll be watching from the audience! Get going, you're running late!"
Rallis ran in and hopped to the edge of the stage, peeking her head around the corner. There were a lot of people down below. The chieftain himself, the other six council members she already received votes from, and some others whose names she was still trying to remember all sat down below. Farther back were dozens of others. The room was filled to capacity. It really was the whole town inside. Rallis laughed as she saw more than half of them with a tankard of beer and more than past a little tipsy. Olaf was right. There was no reason to be nervous.
She stepped onto center stage, grabbing everyone's attention. Some lifted their mug to her, others frowned, one person yelled happily from the back. Rallis flashed a small smile then grew more serious as she looked down at lyre. There weren't many strings, so she didn't think it could make many sounds. But she knew what she wanted to play, she kept the tune in her mind, one of her favorites, and found her fingers bringing her thoughts to life, playing the strings in a pattern, over and over. Her foot tapped along, her tail swished along the floor back and forth. When the sounds came together, it sounded like rain. Beautiful, oddly mystical rain. The audience grew quiet, no more talking or laughing, and gave all their attention to the odd performer. Olaf was resting his head on his hands, watching curiously.
Shakily, Rallis started to sing, but it didn't sound like Common. It didn't even sound like words. It sounded like she was singing music from an instrument. Murmurs started to arise but she quickly shushed them by singing louder and clearer. The sound echoed off the walls, filling the whole Longhall with what sounded like a spirit singing in the rain.
Olaf slowly lifted his head from his hands, watching her move as she played and sang. Having traveled Gielinor learning music and song, there wasn't much that impressed him anymore in the world of music. But this, this was almost ethereal, like it was something mortals weren’t meant to hear.
It was as mystical as the starry skies above, endless and full of possibility. The roof made way, opening out to the night sky, and stars poured in to coat the world in magical shimmering powder. Raindrops of starlight dripped down, splashing into sparks of fire and sparkles. The world vanished and all that was left was a rain of magic against the night sky and the guide of an ethereal songstress' voice.
Rallis quietly finished her song, enchantment fading from the lyre, and timidly clutched it as she tried to appear small, shuffling away from the stage. Some of the audience looked shocked, almost unnerved even, as if trying to come down from the after effects of magic overexposure. Rallis started to droop from the silence, thinking she did something wrong.
'Fuck's sake,' Olaf thought as he stood and clapped.
That seemed to jolt some of them out of whatever stupor they were in and they timidly started to clap as well. Others nervously muttered under their breath, barely understandable. Rallis nervously smiled and exited the stage quickly, Olaf following after. He found her softly tapping at the now unenchanted strings of the lyre by the back entrance of the Longhall.
"Wow..." he said with breathless wistfulness. "That was beautiful! You are one of the greatest bards I have ever had the pleasure of watching performing!"
Rallis blushed at the compliment. "Really?"
Olaf nodded. "I have never heard anything like that before, never felt anything like that before. It was... well there are no words! Beyond magical."
"I'm glad," Rallis breathed a sigh of relief. "I know that's not what your kind sings but it's all I know. And it makes me happy."
"It was certainly different. They might not have understood it, but I thoroughly enjoyed your performance. You've earned my vote."
Rallis jumped up and down, smiling and thanking him. It was honestly rather cute.
"What language was that, by the way? The one you sang in?" Olaf asked.
"Wyvernic," she said with a toothy smile. "I like the way it sounds."
"Wyvernic? I've never heard of it. It's very pretty when you sing it, though. I'd love to hear more some time. Perhaps even a duet?"
The comment flew over her head. "Okay!" she said with a grin. "I don't think humans can speak it though. We'll talk later! Right now I gotta go see the Chieftain!"
With that, she galloped off to see Brundt and await his and the council's decision. The bard slowly trailed behind her, smiling to himself. 'She certainly is an interesting one,' he thought. 'I hope she stays a while. I'd love nothing more than to get to know her.'
As Rallis ran back into the Longhall, everyone gathered round the group of Brundt and his twelve council members. It was a short affair, those who voted for Rallis to stay raised their hand while those who disapproved stepped back. It was seven to five, just as she was promised. Rallis would stay, an honorary Fremennik of Relleka. The Hall shouted and cheered, even the unhappy and disapproving too drunk to do anything other than celebrate. Brundt gave her a name, Denkir, a name as honorable as every other Fremennik in the Hall tonight. The Hall cheered once more and drank to her name. They partied into the night until Rallis fell asleep atop a table and even then continued to drink for her. The poor dragon was tired, and she had a lot of exploring to do tomorrow. She couldn't help but smile before she fell asleep. Oh, the places she'd go...
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CHAPTER FOURTEEN - ET TU?
It took four long, torturous days for Jaha to summon Kane to his dwelling. Kane had checked and rechecked the papers so much in that time they were starting to look dog-eared. In the end, he had forced himself to leave them alone by putting them in a tin box and burying them in the woods. Blake had sent him a message telling him that Abby was effectively under house arrest but was safe and Alasdair did not appear to suspect anything. That had been a huge relief to Kane. He did not stop thinking about Abby but knowing she was safe meant he could put her to the back of his mind, and concentrate on the task ahead. He had decided that he was not entrusting the papers to Jaha, no matter what the man said. Kane wouldn’t be happy until he was putting the papers into the hands of the Warden of the East Marches himself.
Jaha was seated at his desk when Kane entered. He gestured for Kane to come forward but did not invite him to sit.
“I have spoken with the Warden.”
“Thank ye, Sir.”
“He was most interested in the papers, and has agreed to a meeting.”
“This is wonderful news, Sir.” Kane was delighted. He hadn’t been as certain as Raven that the Warden would welcome a visit from reivers, but evidently the papers were too valuable an opportunity to pass up.
“He wants to meet you, to discuss what you know of Lord Griffin’s dealings in person.”
This was even better news. Kane thought he would have had a fight on his hands to prevent Jaha from going alone with the papers, but the Warden had pre-empted that discussion with his request to see Kane.
“I will be there, of course,” Jaha continued. “To make the introductions.”
Kane nodded. “Of course, Sir. When is the meeting to take place?”
“The day after tomorrow. At Lightwater Castle.”
“Near Berwick? That is a dangerous journey, Sir.” Lightwater Castle was a new fortification on the Scottish side of the border but close to the English town of Berwick upon Tweed. It sat on an island, accessible only via a causeway at low tide. It was a full day’s ride away, right through the heart of the border country. Kane was a wanted man, by the Scots and the English. He didn’t relish the thought of such a journey.
“You will have safe passage. The Warden has guaranteed it. It would still be better to travel at night, though.”
“Aye, Sir. When shall we leave?”
“I will not be coming with you. I have other business to attend en route so I will meet you there.”
“Very well.” Kane turned to leave.
“Kane.”
“Sir?”
“Be on your best behaviour when you meet the Warden. This is a valuable relationship to me. Don’t fuck it up.”
“I won’t, Sir. I am thankful to thee for arranging it.”
Jaha nodded his head in dismissal and Kane left. A sense of euphoria overtook him, and he punched the air with his fist as he walked across the courtyard to his own dwelling. Things were moving forward at last. He could taste the anticipation; it was cold, and set his teeth on edge, like biting into a coin to test its metal.
---
Near the Isle of Light, Berwickshire
Kane was camped in an old stone barn just outside Wigton, a farmstead about a mile from the causeway that led across the sea to the Isle of Light and Lightwater Castle. He had arrived in the early hours of the morning, cold and wet from riding through the night in the rain, and had been grateful to find the barn, even though it had a door open to the elements and a roof that was more sky than timber. There was a pile of old straw in the corner, and he had burrowed into it to get warm and wait for low tide, which was due just after sunrise. He had slept fitfully, his dreams more like nightmares with Abby being caught by Sinclair when she tried to put his keys back. In the cold light of day he knew she was safe, that she had returned the keys without incident because Blake had told him, but in the dark of the night, with the rain slamming against the walls and the wind howling through the rafters, he had been filled with a great fear. The feeling lingered as he pulled on his damp clothes and fed some straw to his horse. He was annoyed, because this was going to be a great day, the day when they got rid of Abby’s husband for good, without shedding any blood. He should be happy, and confident, but instead he felt trepidation. It was only natural, he supposed; it was an important day, the biggest day of his life.
The skies were as grey as his mood, but at least it had stopped raining, and he mounted his horse to set off towards the causeway just as the sun grazed the horizon. There was no magnificent sunrise, just a gradual lifting of the gloom. Soon, he could see the island lying ahead, a dark sliver trapped between the twin greys of sky and sea. His confidence returned with every step of the horse towards his goal. He pulled up when they reached the head of the causeway. It was as though the sea had parted, to reveal a ridge of sand not much wider than a carriage and four horses. The ridge undulated as it crossed the sea to the island and tell-tale shimmers half-way along told Kane that it wasn’t fully passable yet. He waited, and watched as the tide lowered, and the mudflats slowly revealed themselves. Seabirds gathered and stalked the flats, redshanks and oystercatchers, stabbing their sharp beaks into the mud to hunt for the worms, cockles and razor shells that now had no sea water to shelter them.
At last, the causeway was clear, and Kane urged his horse forward. There was only the sound of the birds cawing and screeching to accompany their journey. Kane’s horse struggled as they crossed, each step sinking into the sand which was waterlogged, but the island got closer, and Kane knew the return journey would be easier as the sand dried and hardened. When they reached the island, Kane looked back. The sea was disappearing, the mudflats taking over, shiny and new. It would not be like that for long. He had five hours until the causeway became impassable again. That should be plenty of time to meet the Warden and discuss the papers, hatch out a plan.
He followed the old pilgrims’ path as it skirted the coast, the sand dunes giving way to cottongrass and heather. Ahead of him, across a small bay, sat Lightwater Priory, a site of worship for over a thousand years, and a place of refuge since King Henry the Eighth of England had destroyed the English priories just a few years after Kane’s birth. Kane veered off the path as he rounded the bay. He had been promised safe passage but his years with the Hundred clan had taught him caution and he didn’t want to risk getting too close to the Priory and the small village surrounding it. He couldn’t be sure that everyone living there was loyal to the Warden. He urged his horse across green fields, jumping over hedges and stone walls until he was on the opposite side of the small island. The castle sat on a rocky outcrop above the shore to the south of him. He dropped down to the coast again, skirting the edges of the mudflats until he picked up a path that would lead him to the eastern side of the castle.
He pulled up at a stone gatehouse. The castle reared up ahead of him, hewn out of the red-grey whinstone and accessible only by a steep, twisting staircase cut out of the rock. A soldier came out of the gatehouse, imposing in his bright red jacket and silver helmet that obscured most of his face except for his eyes, which bored into Kane. He stood with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other holding a pike, a fearsome-looking weapon that was like a metal axe head on top of a wooden shaft. It was almost twice the height of the soldier. He rested his weight against the shaft as he spoke.
“What’s yer business here?”
“I’m here to see the Warden. My name is Marcus Kane, of Weatherton in Dumfriesshire. The Warden is expecting me.”
The soldier sniffed. “The Warden isnae here yet.”
“Are ye expecting him?”
“Aye.”
“I am meeting another man as well, by the name of Jaha. Is he here yet?”
“No one else has been through yet today. Ye are the first.”
That was not surprising to Kane. Jaha could not have crossed to the island before Kane that morning because the tide was in. He was unlikely to have arrived the previous night because he had business to attend to.
“May I wait inside?” Rain was starting to fall again and Kane wasn’t keen on getting wet for the second time that day. He was still damp from the previous soaking.
“I suppose. Ye’ll have tae leave yer horse in the stable just beyond. This man will take ye up to the castle.” He indicated another soldier who was standing just inside the gatehouse. “Do ye have any weapons on ye?”
“Just my ballack knife,” replied Kane.
“Ye don’t mind if we don’t take yer word for that.” The soldier in the gatehouse patted Kane down, checking his jacket pockets and his socks for hidden weapons. Kane was grateful he had left the two necklaces in the box buried in the woods. He didn’t trust these soldiers not to steal them. “Leave yer knife in yer saddlebag and ye can enter the castle.”
Kane did as instructed, then followed the soldier up the steps and through the heavy wooden door into the castle itself. He was taken into a large sparsely-furnished room with a fireplace so large at one end of it, Kane fancied he could fit in it whilst sat on his horse. The walls were whitewashed stone but there were no decorations, no rich tapestries or portraits like there were in Abby’s house at Duns. The only furniture consisted of two winged-back chairs upholstered in a material of rich red and gold and a large polished oak table on which sat a candelabra holding six fat, cream-coloured candles. Kane felt too dirty and scruffy to sit on one of the fine chairs so he remained standing. The fire wasn’t lit in the enormous fireplace and the room was cold. He shivered, and pulled his jacket tighter around him. He hoped Jaha wouldn’t be long so that they could conclude their business and he could return to camp.
While he waited, he thought about his father, and whether he would be willing to receive his wayward younger son once the truth was known. Perhaps if Kane went before him with Abby as his bride, the wife Lord Robert had always wanted for him, his father would see that he had changed, was ready to settle down, be a good man, a loving husband, dutiful son. He suspected even that wouldn’t be good enough to wipe away twenty-five years of rebellious behaviour on his part, though. His mother had been killed in an ambush by reivers when he and James were young men, and the family was never the same after that. She was the linchpin that held them all together, and when she died there was no counterbalance to their father’s strictness. While his mother was alive, Kane had been the serious child, the one who needed rules and boundaries, who had a well-defined sense of right and wrong. James had been the frivolous one, blonde and handsome, with the world at his feet. After their mother died, they swapped roles, James bearing the responsibility of eldest son and heir, supportive to their father, a man to be relied upon. Kane had gambled and whored his way around the borders, shunning all responsibility, wanting only to enjoy life, because it was short, and could be taken from him at any moment.  And now he was a reiver, one of the very kind of men who had murdered his mother. It would probably be a cold day in hell before Lord Robert Kane welcomed the black sheep back into the fold, but Kane had to try, for Abby’s sake. She deserved a good life, better than he could give her as an outlaw always on the run. He allowed himself to slip into a reverie about what life would be like if he and Abby were able to be together, whether it be as Lord and Lady Kane or in some more humble worker’s life.
Kane didn’t know how much time had passed while he was daydreaming, but his legs were aching from standing, and when he looked out of the narrow slit in the wall that functioned as a window the sky was grey and heavy with rain. There was no sun to guide him, but experience told him it was getting towards midday, and that meant only an hour or two remained for him to get back to the causeway and safely away before the tide covered it again. He shifted his weight onto his other leg and continued to wait. He wasn’t too concerned about what had happened to Jaha or the Warden. Rich men liked to keep other people waiting; it reinforced their power and their belief in their superiority. Kane had seen it happen many times in his life. He wasn’t Marcus Kane, son of Lord Robert Kane of Dumfriesshire to the Warden; he was a dirty, lowdown thief and ne’er-do-well, and was to be treated as such.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, Kane finally heard footsteps on the stairs. He straightened his back, smoothed down his kilt, and tried to make himself as presentable as he could. He tapped his pouch, reassuring himself once again that the papers were there. He took a deep breath. The next phase of his life was about to begin, and he was ready.
The door opened with a creak and Jaha walked in. Kane smiled, glad that he was here at last.
“It is good to see thee, Sir.”
Jaha did not return Kane’s smile; in fact, he didn’t even look at him as he walked into the room and over towards the fireplace. Kane frowned, his happiness turning to uncertainty. Perhaps the Warden had changed his mind after all. Kane looked to the stairs where a second set of footsteps was echoing off the walls. The man who walked through the door was not the Warden of the East Marches, however. Kane didn’t know what the Warden looked like but he didn’t need to know because the man standing in front of him, his arms crossed, and a smug look on his face was all too familiar to him. Fear ran though Kane’s veins, turning his blood ice cold as Alasdair Griffin walked towards him, stopping just a sword’s length away.
“We meet again.”
Kane was speechless. He looked at Jaha, who glanced up at him and then away.
“What is going on?” That was all Kane could think of to say, and it was a stupid question because it was perfectly obvious what was going on. Jaha had betrayed him.
“What’s going on,” said Lord Griffin, “is that you have been lured into a trap and now you are captured, like the animal you are.”
Kane moved to run towards the open door but Alasdair drew his sword and held the point of it against Kane’s chest.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. If I don’t run you through first, there are soldiers outside the door, and at the bottom of the stairs, in fact all around the castle. You will be dead before you see the light of day again.”
Kane stepped back, away from the point of the sword. He held his hands up to indicate he was not going to run.
“What do you want?”
“Well, you, obviously. You are under arrest, in case you had not realised that.”
“There is no Sheriff here,” said Kane.
“I don’t need a Sheriff. I have a signed warrant for your capture, and I’m the Laird of the borders, as you now know. Everyone works for me.”
So Jaha had told Alasdair about the papers, and he was here to get them back. Kane wished he didn’t have them on his person. They would have made a good bargaining chip for his release if he had hidden them, but he had not been expecting an ambush. Jaha’s betrayal was a complete surprise. What was he getting out of this? And more to the point, had he told Alasdair about Abby? Kane decided to play this as he had told Abby, by saying as little as possible. Let Alasdair reveal his hand, and act accordingly.
“Jaha here tells me you have something that belongs to me. Something you stole.”
Kane remained silent, not tempted to look at Jaha, just staring into Alasdair’s eyes. The man was loathsome. He tried to calculate whether he could overpower him before he had chance to use his sword. Alasdair was fat and heavy. He would be slow to react. Kane was certain he could get his sword away from him and slit his throat with it before the man knew what was happening. Of course, he would die himself shortly afterwards when the soldiers came running in, but it would be worth it. Abby would be free.
“Silence is not going to help you,” Alasdair continued. If you do not speak to me, if you don’t tell me how you got the papers, I will have to assume everyone in my household helped you, from the Heid of my Guard to my lowliest servant. They will all join you on the gallows.”
Kane knew he had no choice but to give Alasdair some information. He wasn’t going to let other people die because of him.
“No one helped me. I staked out yer house. Watched the comings and goings. It was easy enough to break in once I knew the routine.”
Alasdair lowered his sword, letting the tip of it scrape along the floor, which Kane thought was a stupid thing to do. It would blunt it, render it useless.
“The papers were well hidden. I find it difficult to believe you found them easily.”
“It was not easy,” replied Kane, “but I am thorough, and persistent. It’s why I’m good at my job.”
“Your job!” Alasdair spat the words out with contempt. “You talk as though you are gainfully employed. You are nothing but a common thief.”
“It takes one to know one.”
Alasdair took a step closer to Kane. Keep coming, thought Kane. A few more steps and I’ll have yer sword before ye can blink.
“I am nothing like you,” sneered Alasdair.
“No? Ye have stolen from the King have ye not? The papers are proof.”
“To be proof, they have to exist, and you and them will be history soon enough.”
“That may be so, but there’s a lot of noise I can make before that happens, and I am not the only one who knows about yer corruption.”
Alasdair laughed. “If you’re talking about others in your sorry clan, no one’s going to believe a group of rapists and thieves over a respected Laird.”
“We all know who’s the real rapist here.” The words were out before Kane realised he’d said them, and he regretted them instantly.
Alasdair bristled. He stood up straight, raised himself to his full height, which was a good three of four inches taller than Kane.
“What did you say?”
If Kane could have bitten his tongue out he would have done. There was nothing to be done now except to see this through to its end.
“Ye know exactly what I said.”
“You have some nerve calling me a rapist when you took my wife and defiled her while I was right there!”
“It was only in revenge for what thee had done to my brother’s wife.”
Alasdair looked at Jaha. “You may leave us.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, Sir?” said Jaha. “Kane is not a man to be trusted. You shouldn’t be alone with him.”
“Ha!” said Kane. “Says the betrayer. Ye’re finished, Jaha. Once the clan hears what ye’ve done to me, they’ll never follow thee again.”
“The clan won’t be a concern of yours or mine soon.”
Kane shook his head. “Ye think I’m not trustworthy. I’ve only ever done yer bidding. I’ve been loyal, given ye everything ye’ve ever asked me for. If ye think this man is worthy of yer trust then ye’re an idiot. Whatever he’s promised thee, ye’ll never see it. I guarantee it.”
“Get out, Jaha,” said Alasdair, his voice rising.
Jaha walked out of the door, leaving Kane and Alasdair alone.
Alasdair closed the door, stood against it. Kane was still near the window. The gap between them had widened. Was Alasdair scared? Did he sense that Kane was planning to snatch his sword, kill them both rather than let Alasdair live? He wasn’t certain.
“She wanted it, you know.”
“Who did?”
“The lovely Alice. Begged me for it.”
Kane bunched his hands into fists, dug his nails into his skin. Alasdair was trying to bait him, and he was damned if he would let him.
“That must be why she was crying when I found her?”
“Women are tricky. She conned you, Kane.”
“She was covered in blood ye sick fuck!”
Alasdair stepped forward again, closer to Kane. He whispered, as though they were co-conspirators. “She likes it rough. Lots of women do.”
“Not like that! Not there! Not where ye had her.”
“Well, I don’t want women coming to me claiming their bastards are mine, taking my money, my land.”
The man was insane, thought Kane. How had he hidden this from so many people for so long? Or was he finally coming unhinged, now that his secrets were unravelling before his eyes?
“Are ye sure ye can have children, bastards or no? I heard ye’ve not managed to get a child on yer wife these past fifteen years.” Kane sent a silent apology to Abby for using her in this way, but he wanted to goad Alasdair and it was working.
“You fuck!” Alasdair lunged at Kane, meaning to hit him across the face, but Kane ducked, and grabbed Alasdair’s sword as he spun round past him, ending up closest to the door. He held the sword at Alasdair’s chest, poked the point in harder than had been done to him, drawing blood that stained the front of Alasdair’s shirt.
“We’re going to leave here, now. I’m going to hold this sword at yer throat, and if anyone tries to attack me, I’ll slit ye from ear to ear, and the last thing ye’ll hear as ye depart this life, is me laughing. Is that clear?”
Alasdair nodded, and Kane opened the door, got behind Alasdair with the sword at his throat, and went through to the stairwell. The soldier on duty went to grab his own sword. Kane held his weapon tighter against Alasdair’s throat, drawing a few drops of blood that dripped onto the man’s collar.
“Tell him to let us past.”
“Do as the man says,” said Alasdair.
They descended the stairs slowly. There was another soldier at the foot of the stairs guarding the exit. He stood aside as Kane and Alasdair approached.
“Open the door,” said Kane, and Alasdair complied, turning the heavy metal ring. Grey light and sheets of rain came in. There were no soldiers that Kane could see outside. Alasdair must have been bluffing about how many men he had brought to the castle, or else they were sheltering. Kane withdrew his sword from Alasdair’s neck as they reached the steep stone steps that led down to the stable, and Kane’s horse. He put the sword against Alasdair’s back instead, pushing him down the steps with it. When they reached the bottom, Alasdair slipped and fell. Kane dragged him into the stable, propping him against a haybale while he untethered his horse. When he was ready to leave, he poked Alasdair with the sword. The temptation to run him through was strong, so strong, but he had promised Abby he wouldn’t kill him, so he resisted. Alasdair didn’t realise that, though.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No. I’m going to take these papers directly to the King myself, and let him deal with thee. Don’t get too comfortable.” He hit Alasdair in the stomach with the handle of the sword, and the man cried out in pain and doubled over, clutching his stomach. Kane told himself it was to prevent Alasdair following him, but he got a great deal of satisfaction from seeing him red in the face, blood on his shirt, crying in pain.
“Don’t try to follow me,” he said. He mounted his horse and tucked Alasdair’s sword into his saddle. He avoided the gatehouse, picking his way along the rocky shore instead, jumping over a fence and out into the sea. Alasdair shouted something to him, but only the sound reached Kane, the shape of the words was taken away on the wind. Kane raced along the shore towards the priory. He didn’t have time to avoid it now; the tide was closing in and it was three long miles until the start of the causeway. This was no time to go the long way around. He could hear shouts behind him, and turned to see soldiers on horseback chasing after him, their red coats the only point of colour in the bleak landscape. Kane urged his horse on. The sea was swirling around them, the pilgrims’ path no longer visible, only the tops of the heather and cottongrass poking out above the water. The causeway was visible in the distance, a strip of orange in a sea of grey. Kane raced towards it, the sea splashing up around him, the rain soaking him from above. The soldiers were gaining on him, their horses’ long legs covering the ground quicker than his small nag could do.
“Come on, come on,” Kane shouted to his horse. His legs were tired from squeezing the horse’s flanks, his face stung from the rain that was coming horizontally now, driven by the strong wind. He could barely see. He kept his head down, and carried on. He imagined Abby standing on the other end of the causeway waiting for him. She was smiling, wearing that blue dress with the mother of pearl buttons he had so admired in the market place in Kelso. It wasn’t raining on the other side of the causeway in his fantasy. “I’m coming, Abby,” he shouted into the wind. When he reached the causeway he could no longer see it. He could only tell the route from the wooden marker posts that were placed at regular intervals along it. He headed out between them. The water was swirling around the horse’s ankles, but it was not too deep. He was certain they could make it. He urged the horse forward, but he had forgotten about the undulating nature of the causeway, and after a short stretch the sea was up to the horse’s knees, and he slowed, until he came to a stop, refusing to go any further. Kane urged him on, patted him, squeezed him, whispered into his ears, but it was to no avail. He turned around. A line of soldiers was flanked along the shoreline, red coats flapping in the wind, silver helmets flashing as a storm brewed, and lightning split the sky, followed by a huge clap of thunder that made Kane’s horse rear up. At the head of the line of soldiers sat Alasdair astride a huge bay horse.
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“Give it up, Kane. You can’t go any further, you’ll only drown yourself and your horse.”
Kane hesitated. Would it be such a bad thing if he drowned in the sea now, before Alasdair got to him? He thought of Abby waiting for him. How would she feel if she heard he’d killed himself? She would not see it as a sacrifice; she would think he had left her to fend for herself with that monster of a husband. No, it was better to face Alasdair, and take whatever was to come. As long as he was alive, there was hope, and as Abby had said, hope was everything. He turned his horse and waded back to the shore. The soldiers dragged him off his horse and he fell face first onto the wet sand. Alasdair came forward, grabbed Kane’s arms behind his back and cuffed them together.
“Marcus Kane. You are under arrest for crimes against the King and his subjects, including but not limited to theft, kidnapping, rape, assault and treason. Take him away.”
One of the soldiers lifted Kane to his feet, and forced him onto a horse before getting up behind him. They turned and made their way back towards the castle.
On arrival, Kane was taken downstairs rather than up, and was flung into a cell in the dungeon. The dungeon was beneath the castle, below sea level, and the walls were wet, and slimy with mould. The cell had bars along one side, but there were no windows and it was dark; the only light coming from candles lighting the hallway. The air was stale and musty, and had a foetid smell of excrement and rotting seaweed. It made Kane want to vomit, but he held it down. He had no desire to add to the filth, and he didn’t know how long he would be kept here. It was not his first time in a cell, and he had suffered under some cruel gaolers before, but none as evil as Alasdair Griffin. Kane suspected the man would want his pound of flesh before handing him over to the Sheriff to be tried in Edinburgh. Kane’s clothes were still wet through and he was shackled to the wall, so he couldn’t move far to try and warm up. He still had his pouch with him, so he manoeuvred it behind him and curled up on the damp stone floor, his head resting on the hard leather of his pouch, and tried to sleep. Rats scurried around him but he ignored them. He expected Alasdair would leave him here a few days, without food or water, in order to suppress his will. Kane was used to not eating, though, and there was enough water sliding down the walls to slake his thirst. It was salty, but if he only wet his lips with it, he would survive. He wasn’t going to let Alasdair Griffin break him.
In the end, the guards turned up for him sooner than he expected. There was no natural light to tell him what was day or night but Kane trusted his internal body clock, and was certain that no more than two days had passed since he was put into the cell. He was unshackled from the wall and chained again before being dragged out of his cell. He was pushed up the steps into a chamber that was one of a series of rooms, storerooms by the look of the barrels and wooden chests that were stacked along the walls. He was above ground because light flooded in through leaded windows. From the angle of the shadows cast he could tell it was past midday. The roof of the chamber was low, and timbered with oak. The guards pushed Kane up against one of the windows, and held his hands up as they attached the shackles to hooks in the wooden beam either side of his head. So he was to be tortured. It made sense. A man who beat his own wife with a hot poker would have no qualms about brutalising someone like Kane. Kane tried to prepare himself mentally. What did Alasdair want to know? There must be something, unless this was all for his own sadistic pleasure.
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The door opened but it wasn’t Alasdair who entered, it was Jaha. Kane strained at his bonds, trying to get to the man.
“Ye’ve got a bloody nerve coming in here, Jaha.”
“Yes, well. Lord Griffin will be here shortly, but I wanted to see you first.”
“While I can still breathe, ye mean? What do ye want?”
“You are strong, you’ll get through it. He won’t kill you. He wants you to hang, to make an example of you. He can’t do that if you die in here with no one but the rats to see.”
“If ye’ve come here to comfort me ye’re doing a crap job. Why did ye give me up? Tae him of all people.”
“You know why. I’m an opportunist. Always have been. And you gave me an opportunity too good to miss. Why give Alasdair to the Warden with no guarantee of reward, when I can give you to the man who hates you, and claim the reward and a generous donation of land and money from the soon-to-be Sir Alasdair Griffin?”
Kane shook his head. “He won’t honour his promise, that’s a guarantee for ye.”
“Oh, he will, because while I kept you stewing at camp over whether the Warden would see you or not, I gathered some excellent intelligence on Lord Griffin, with sworn testimonies, and if he doesn’t pay up, he will suffer the consequences.”
“Ye’re a bastard, Jaha. Ye’ll need the money, because the clan won’t take thee back now.”
“I’m done with the clan life. I’ve got more than enough to lead a good life. Lord Griffin is even considering giving up Arkholm Tower, and that would suit me very well.”
Jaha turned to leave but Kane called him back.
“Did ye tell him about Lady Abigail, and me?” Kane was scared to know the answer to this, because if Alasdair knew, then what had he been doing in the two days since he captured Kane? Duns House was less than half a day’s ride from the Isle of Light. Had he already got to Abby? Was that what he was going to torture Kane about?
Jaha came closer. “I am not stupid, Kane. I am not going to show my best hand right at the start of the game. No. I’m keeping that information until the time is right, and if you’re thinking you can get the clan to exact revenge on me, I would think twice. I don’t have to tell you that Lord Griffin would get great satisfaction out of hanging Lady Abigail before you, and making you watch.”
“Get out, Jaha!”
Jaha left and Kane pulled at his chains, trying to dislodge them. The shackles were iron, and strong, but the wood was old, and weak. He could feel it starting to give. If he could get free before Alasdair arrived, he could wait for him behind the door, strangle him with the chain and make a break for freedom through the window. The wood creaked above him as the nails holding the hooks in started to inch forward, and the wood began to splinter. It was hard work pulling while his hands were above his head; he was losing strength, but not determination. He hadn’t managed to get the nails more than half way out when the door opened again and Alasdair walked in with two men, one of whom was Blake. Kane was shocked to see him. Was this another betrayal? Blake didn’t speak but he gave the briefest of nods, as though in reassurance. Kane was starting to realise how Abby must have felt when she thought she was his revenge, not knowing who to trust, thinking everyone had betrayed her. If he ever got out of this mess he would not stop making that up to her for the rest of his life.
“Marcus Kane.” Alasdair tapped a long, fat wooden club on the floor and contemplated Kane, looking him up and down. He was enjoying having an audience, Kane could tell. “The Grey Wolf.” He took a slow, deep breath. “You are not such a menace now, are you?”
“It is hard to be when I am tied up and caged. Take these chains off, let us be on equal terms, and we shall see how menacing I am then.”
Alasdair laughed. “You and I can never be on equal terms. You gave up that right when you raped your brother’s wife.”
“We both know that wasn’t me.” Kane could see Blake stand straighter as he absorbed this news.
“Well, now see, it doesn’t matter what you and I know, it only matters what the people know, and you confessed to it. Not only that, I have witness statements from that very night, implicating you.”
“The people who matter, know the truth,” said Kane, looking at Blake.
“Not your father, not your brother. You’re going to die a disgrace in their eyes.”
“I am not a disgrace in my own eyes.”
Alasdair walked up to Kane and slapped him across the face. Kane’s head snapped to the side. It stung, but he’d had worse. He looked back at Alasdair.
“You’re a complete disgrace. You expect people to believe you didn’t rape your brother’s wife when you raped MY wife, and everyone on my staff knows it. She confessed it.”
There was so much Kane wanted to say, but couldn’t, because it would implicate Abby.
“Do you deny it?” continued Alasdair.
Kane shook his head. “No.”
“No. You took her into the brush, you made her lay down and you forced yourself on her, put that dirty cock of yours inside her, didn’t you?”
Kane thought Alasdair was getting too much pleasure from this line of questioning, as though he liked the thought of Kane hurting his wife. He didn’t want to pander to the man’s sick desires any more than he had to, so he kept his answer simple.
“Yes.”
“And yet you’re not a disgrace in your own eyes. Well you are to me.”
Alasdair raised the club, took a big swing, and hit Kane flat in the stomach with it. Kane was expecting it, so he tensed his muscles to make his stomach hard, but the force of it was so great it pushed him back towards the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped but couldn’t get any air because his diaphragm was in shock and had forgotten how to breathe. Kane felt light-headed, his legs started to buckle, and he sagged, his weight pulling on his wrists, making the iron rings cut into his flesh. He continued gasping, and eventually his body started to work again and some air flowed back into his lungs, giving him enough strength to pull himself upright.
“Ye’re a big man, Alasdair, hitting a man who cannae defend himself,” Kane said.
“You’re no man. You’re an animal.”
“I’m an animal! Are ye forgetting where I found the papers that incriminate thee? What they were underneath?”
Alasdair looked around at his guards. Blake was doing a good job of looking disinterested, staring straight ahead, not moving, but his face was pale, his eyes large and dark.
“Those were gifts to my wife from admirers who were too presumptuous. I didn’t see fit to give them to her.”
“Really? Yer wife’s admirers gave her lockets with their children’s hair in, and plain bands made of base metal? I think not.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think. You have no proof of any of this, and as soon as you give me the papers, that will be the end of it.”
“I’m not helping thee. If ye want the papers, ye’ll have tae find them.”
Alasdair turned to Blake. “Search him.”
Blake stepped forward, patted Kane down, as the soldiers had done to him when he first arrived at the castle what seemed like a lifetime ago. Blake mouthed a “sorry” to Kane as he searched him. So he hadn’t betrayed him; he was just following his orders. Maybe he would be useful later.
When he had finished his search, Blake stepped back. “There is nothing on his person, My Lord.”
Alasdair sighed. “Where’s his pouch? He must have one. Go and check his cell.”
Blake and the other guard left and Alasdair was left alone with Kane. He kept his distance, no doubt remembering what happened last time he let Kane get too close to him.
“I see you,” said Kane.
“Do you?”
“Aye. Ye’re a coward, who gets off on abusing people who are weaker than thee, who can’t fight back.”
“You know nothing about me.”
“Oh, I do. If ye had any balls, ye’d face me man to man, but ye can’t because ye know I’d beat thee.”
“From where I’m standing, I’m beating you well enough.”
“Only because I’m tied up. I know everything ye’ve done, all the servants ye’ve abused, the women ye’ve raped, and beaten. Why do ye do it? Does it make ye feel more of a man? Do ye have a tiny cock, or is it because ye’re firing blanks?”
Kane knew he was going to get a beating for those remarks but he didn’t care. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist taunting this odious man. Alasdair hit him in the stomach again but with the end of the club this time, and Kane retched. There was nothing in his stomach to come up except some bile, which he spat on the ground. Alasdair raised the club again but before he could swing, the door opened and he lowered the club. Kane was bent double with pain. He could only see Blake’s boots as they stopped in front of Alasdair.
“Here is his pouch, My Lord.”
“Let us see what is within.” Kane raised his head to watch as Alasdair emptied the pouch on the floor. A couple of coins bounced across the stone and a kerchief floated to the ground. A roll of parchment fell out and Alasdair picked it up, unrolled it.
“What is the meaning of this?” He showed the parchment to Kane.
“It is an inventory,” said Kane. “Of the clan’s assets.”
“Where are the papers you stole?” He put his hand in the pouch, ran it around the inside, feeling for hidden pockets. He turned it upside down and shook it. Nothing came out.
Kane remained silent.
“Where the fuck are the papers, Kane?” Alasdair’s voice was high, a hint of desperation in it.
“Are they not there?” Kane raised his eyebrows as though he were as surprised as Alasdair.
“You know damn well they are not here.” Alasdair raised the stick again. “Tell me where they are or you will suffer the consequences.”
“I cannot vouch for what has happened to my belongings whilst I have been parted from them. Jaha was here earlier. Perhaps he has taken them?”
“Jaha was here?”
“Aye. He told me he had good information on thee, perhaps that is where he got it?”
“You are lying.”
“Am I?”
Alasdair was red in the face with anger. He dropped the club, came towards Kane and pummelled his body, hitting him over and over again. Kane absorbed the blows as best he could, making himself taut, trying not to flinch. Alasdair gave Kane a good right hook to the face, splitting his lip, bruising his cheek. Blood spurted out of Kane’s mouth, misting the air.
“Sir.”
Blake stepped forward.
“What?” Alasdair turned on Blake, breathing heavily, sweat dripping off him, spittle flying from his mouth.
“Think of the courts, Sir. Ye want him hanged don’t thee? Ye are going to kill him if ye carry on, and then ye won’t get the justice ye deserve.”
Alasdair wiped his mouth, staring at Kane. “Take him back to his cell.” He turned and walked out of the room.
Blake looked at the other guard. “Go with the Master, make sure he is safe. I’ve got Kane.” The guard nodded and followed Alasdair out of the room.
Blake unhooked Kane and held him as he slid to the ground. “I’m sorry, Kane. I didn’t know he had captured thee until I got here this morning.”
Kane spat blood and saliva onto the floor. He felt in his mouth; he still had all his teeth which was a blessing. His face was sore, his body aching, but he would survive.
“Dinnae worry. I know it’s not yer fault.”
“I need to take ye back to yer cell. It’s just fer now, until I figure out a way to get ye out of here.”
Kane grabbed hold of Blake’s sleeve. “Don’t put yerself at risk because of me. I don’t want any more bloodshed.”
Blake helped Kane to his feet, put his arm over his shoulder. “If ye think I’m going to let ye die, then ye don’t know me.” They went back down the stairs, slowly, every step sending a jolt through Kane’s battered body. When they reached the cell, Blake put the shackles back on Kane, attached him to the wall.
“Blake. Tell Abby… I’ll be alright. Tell her not to worry.”
Blake nodded. “I’ll be back for thee. Stay strong.”
Kane managed a weak smile, and then Blake left, leaving him alone in the semi-darkness. Kane edged over to the wall, prised out the fern-covered stone he had loosened the day before. He put his hand in the crevice, and his fingers touched the parchments. He tapped them for luck, and then replaced the stone, smoothing the fern back down over it. He would die before he let Alasdair Griffin get his hands on them. Let him wonder and worry about where they were, who had them. Maybe his uncertainty would keep Kane alive long enough for Blake to organise a rescue. It was only a spark of hope, but it was enough.
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