#and then the first bars of the (shipped) gold standard and i almost fall out the chair holy shit

[fezwearingjellybananas]

It was a close call after a bad morning but guess what I did yesterday

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: Out of Reach

“Soulmates” has become the equivalent of “love at first sight” across the galaxy. Lock eyes with someone, hold out a bare hand for a greeting, it’s as simple as that. .

But Din doesn’t think about any of that as he stares at the black-robed Jedi in front of him. 

Or "The 5 Times Din and Luke Didn't Touch Skin-to-Skin and the 1 Time They Did'

Day 1 of @dinlukenation‘s Dinluke week! My very first soulmate AU ever!

A HUGE thanks to @notsosweet16 for betaing!

AO3 Link

-=-=-=-

1.

“Soulmates” has become the equivalent of “love at first sight” across the galaxy. Lock eyes with someone, hold out a bare hand for a greeting, it’s as simple as that. People’s hands are covered in tattoos where they first made contact with their soulmate, romantic or otherwise. Wearing gloves has become something of a statement, limiting your ability to easily find your soulmate.

But Din doesn’t think about any of that as he stares at the black-robed Jedi in front of him. He doesn’t think about soulmates, or his Creed, or anything of the sort. He just thinks about Grogu, how he wants him to see his face clearly before he has to go with his people.

And so, he takes off his helmet, finally able to look at Grogu without the filter of the T-visor.

Din can’t imagine handing Grogu over, can’t imagine physically being responsible for this separation. He sets Grogu on the floor, lets him toddle to safety, something Din could never provide.

He doesn’t remember how he got back on Boba’s ship. His helmet is still off but he has the vague notion that no one saw him.

Not that it matters.

He comes out of the fog when his body cries for it, so he drags himself out of the cot and to the fresher, cognizant enough to be thankful no one else is in this part of the ship.

He takes care of his business and is faced with his reflection in the mirror. He realizes then that he should’ve kept his gaze to the sink, but now that he’s looking, he can’t tear his gaze away.

Puffy, red rimmed eyes meet his, brown curls matted to one side where he’d been laying down, but he can’t pull his eyes away to the small flower tattoo on his cheek. Din doesn’t know a damn thing about flowers, but it’s small and green, with a million little petals surrounding the center.

It’s right where Grogu touched him.

As if he didn’t know already, as if he needed magic ink to tell him what he knew in his heart of hearts from that first moment he held out a finger to the child.

He stays there until his legs burn and the tears come back. He’s glad no one is there to watch him.

2.

Din is slumping in his seat, one of the first things they beat out of foundlings before they earned their armor. Beskar is sacred, it demands a straight spine and discipline when wearing it.

He couldn’t think of a better way to make his displeasure known for this political party Bo-Katan is dragging him to than to slump in his seat on the ride there. Especially in this gold-plated nonsense Bo-Katan pulled out once they’d taken back Sundari. This armor isn’t his, it’s a shell that other Mandos are shoved in, a shell Din never asked for.

Bo-Katan turns around in her seat to face him, a scowl on her face. She almost looks as displeased with the situation as Din does.

“You’re acting like a child,” she says.

“Then fight me.” He holds the darksaber loosely in his hand, dangerously close to dropping it.

“I’m not about to kick a man when he’s already down. Pull yourself together and I’ll challenge you.” She turns back, eyes to the swirl of hyperspace. “We’re nearly there, pull yourself together.”

That’s been the majority of their interactions for the past few months. Bo-Katan refuses to take the saber back unless it’s a fair fight and he can’t bring himself to care. What’s left is a lot of tight silences. While Din still finds that taking back Mandalore is a fool’s errand, he can at least admit that kicking Imp ass feels cathartic.

But the weight in his chest comes back when he takes off his helmet in the borrowed room on the cruiser. Then he feels like he has all the time to consider never putting his helmet on again, leaving him to stare at the reflection, at that small bundle of petals on his cheek.

Din only has four other soulmate tattoos; two from his parents, one from the Armorer, and one from Paz. He’s seen people in the galaxy with thousands, covering their entire bodies. It’s in these moments he decides to keep the helmet on, if only to hold this small part to himself, to keep it as secret as possible.

Today, Bo-Katan needs him as the figurehead for some New Republic party. Din wanted to tune out the plans, but Koska’s infernal tapping prevented that. The whole point of this was to make a strong showing in order to prove that Mandalore was strong enough to not join the New Republic. That political meeting wouldn’t take place for a month, but Din still had to go to this stupid party.

They exit hyperspace to see Chandrilla, a bright spot in the sights. They bring the small vessel to where they’re directed, landing in amongst a hundred other ships with senators of all races disembarking. Din clips the darksaber to his belt and heaves himself up, following after Bo-Katan with Wolves at his back.

He tunes out of the security check, with Kryze firmly stating that “the Mand’alor” would not be without his darksaber. Din wants to shove the offending thing in the security guard’s direction, let it get lost, let the responsibility fall from his shoulders.

But the security guard bends to Kryze’s will and the darksaber remains firmly at his side as they enter the paty, descending a short staircase to the main area.

It’s not as opulent as Din expected, he’s crashed fancier when bringing in bounties. He can hear Bo-Katan whisper to Wolves about how different it would’ve been on Mandalore in its prime, with matching tables and tablecloths, with crystals all of the same matching set. Din tunes out the conversation to look for the quietest place to hunker down and wait for the night to end. The area is entirely open, tall windows letting in light from the setting sun, illuminating where senators mingle and where tables are set up for dinner later.

He continues his scan of the room but stops as his eyes lock with a man across the room, a man with dirty blond hair, wearing all black robes.

Din barely realizes he’s walking until he is face to face with the man.

He can barely keep the fury out of his voice when he asks, “Where’s Grogu?”

The man, who looked calm before, now looks at him with raised eyebrows. “I- You changed your armor.”

That… isn’t the response he had been expecting, but it still doesn’t answer his question.

“You said Grogu would be safe with you. Where is he?”

He steps forward, forcing the Jedi to step back, but he’s not scared like most people are when he does that.

“He is safe! I couldn’t get out of attending so I got Chewie to babysit! I’ll be back as soon as I can. Sometimes I’m forced to come to New Republic meetings, but I have systems in place.” The Jedi looks him dead in the eyes, an impressive feat considering the helmet. “I give you my word that your son is safe.”

The sincerity grips Din to his core and before he can say anything in response, Bo-Katan has finally caught up to him and is dragging him away.

She brings him to an alcove that he’s already decided will be where he spends the rest of the party. She thrusts a finger in his face. He doesn’t flinch.

“I didn’t mind you doing your own thing at this party because I thought you wouldn’t do anything,” she hisses. “I didn’t expect you to yell at the last karking Jedi in the galaxy! Don’t do that again!”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

The look on her face is one of the best things he’s seen recently. He makes a mental note to thank Fett for teaching him that insult.

The rest of the party passes in a blur. Din stays where he is, just watching from the shadows. Sometimes he catches sight of the Jedi, who seems to have made it his mission to talk to everyone. He cuts an imposing figure still, even when not in combat, in all black robes flowing behind him. Dinner is served and Din stays in place, knowing there are ration bars on the ship.

He sees the Jedi laugh at something a woman in white says, his head tilted back, and he looks the most human he has all night. Din turns back to watching the two Nite Owls.

Finally, Bo-Katan signals that the night is over. He leaves his spot and joins them. They’re halfway up the steps when a voice calls out to them.

He turns to find the Jedi, face slightly flushed, a step or so below them.

“Manda’lor, I apologize for how the night started. I wish to make steps in order to make up for that in the future, if you’ll allow it,” he said, holding a gloved hand out.

He could feel the heat of Bo-Katan’s stare on the back of his neck.

“Okay,” he says, shaking his hand.

That’s why he hears the scrape of flimsi against the leather of his gloves. He pulls back his hand, palming the paper to look at later. The Jedi nods and wishes them a safe flight.

It’s only when he’s safe in his room on the cruiser does he look at the paper the Jedi slipped him.

It’s a set of coordinates and a note.

The Jedi school needs to be kept a secret to ensure the safety of the padawans. I’ll be back on the surface in two standard days. I hope this is okay as a first step.

-Luke Skywalker

3.

He leaves for Yavin as soon as he can. Bo-Katan doesn’t question him, just lets him take one of the ships from the cruiser with the promise that he will come back when he’s of right mind to fight her for the darksaber.

It’s the first time they’ve agreed on anything. He leaves the gold-plated beskar in the borrowed room and leaves, feeling more like himself than he has in a while.

As he powers up the hyperdrive, the same phrase burns its way through his skull.

I’m going to see Grogu again.

A restless few hours in hyperspace later, he arrives on Yavin IV in the early morning. He picks up a hail and it’s Skywalker, who leads him through where to land.

He lands near one of the tall structures that poke out of the tree line. The ramp of the ship lowers, but when he sees Grogu, held in the arms of the Jedi, it’s not soon enough. He leaps off the ship, landing in a way that his knees will protest later, but he can’t help himself. His son is there, wiggling out of the Jedi’s grip so he can run up and meet him in the middle.

Din scoops his child up and holds him close, pressing his forehead to his. Grogu babbles nonsense and it’s the most beautiful noise he’s heard.

When his heart stops racing, he looks up and realizes that Skywalker is surrounded by five other kids, a human, a Miraluka, a Wookie, and two Twi’leks.

His gaze finds Luke’s again.

He clears his throat. “Thank you.”

Skywalker gives him an easy smile and says, “Let me show you around.”

He gets the tour of the temple, often interrupted by the curious questions of the children who have latched onto him. At the end, Luke shuffles everyone off to dinner, but holds Din back for a moment, a hand on his elbow, fingers finding the spaces between his armor.

“This isn’t a one-time thing,” Luke says. “You’re welcome back to the school whenever you want. I just ask that you don’t interrupt Grogu’s lessons and you keep the school a secret.”

And with that, Din falls into a routine.

He starts taking bounties again, something Greef is all the more happy for even if he sticks to small ones that won’t take months to bring in. He visits the school at least once a month, circling the planet if need be, to make sure he doesn’t land during lessons. He’s thankful for any time he gets with Grogu, before or after lessons.

It’s in the times in-between where he finds himself surprisingly restless. Luke said to consider himself a guest, but his body itches for action. Yavin is a peaceful planet, so instead of action, he finds projects for himself.

First are the lights in the basement. Then a side door that hesitates a second too long before opening. Luke tries to dissuade him from working, but Din’s stalwart. The next time Din comes for a visit, Luke shows him the list of updates he wanted to do, which he had made when he first moved in, again reassuring Din that he doesn’t need to do anything with it.

Din takes it gladly.

He’s working on the overhead fan in the kitchen - it gets stuck on the highest setting - when Luke’s droid bumps the back of his leg. Luke has introduced it to him, but the name escapes him. He doesn’t find himself recoiling from droids anymore, but he still prefers to put distance between droids and himself and Grogu.

He glances down at the shiny blue and white astromech. “What?”

The droid spins in a circle, beeping loudly.

“What? Do you want a damn cookie?”

The droid spins in a more furious circle and finally, he sees the problem.

“Oh, your wheel is stuck.”

The droid lets out a beep that sounds exasperated, but he can’t be sure.

“Well, why are you telling me? Go tell Skywalker.”

The droid makes a bunch more beeping noises and moves toward the window. Din, at a loss for what else to do, followed. He sees Luke in the courtyard with the padawans. They’re sitting in a circle, legs crossed, eyes closed. Even at this distance, Din can see how peaceful Luke looks, how the lines smooth from his face, lines someone Luke’s age shouldn’t have yet.

He looks down at the droid that’s moving in a semi-circle, back and forth. He thinks it’s trying to look cute.

“Alright. Lemme see it.”

It’s an awkward dance to get the droid to prop up its leg. He imagines Luke must have a space set up for this very thing, but his tools are already here and he’s not about to go poking where Luke hasn’t already told him he could go.

It’s where Luke and the foundlings find him when they come in for lessons, Din hunched over the astromech, quietly bitching back as it beeps in apparent distress.

“I’m almost done!” Din exclaims, holding the last two wires in his hand. “Do you want me to stop here? Your movement would be even more limited.”

“Are you two having fun?” Luke asks, snapping Din out of his reverie.

He turns to face a smirking Luke, glad the helmet hides the warmth inexplicably climbing up his face.

“This thing demanded I fix his leg.” He taps the leg in question, which gets Artoo’s head spinning.

Luke snorts but puts on the same face he gives his students when they’ve done something bad. “That’s not very nice, Artoo, he was just trying to help!”

Artoo shakes its head, which might be an apology? Din can’t tell because then Luke is squatting down in front of him, a hand on Din’s knee for balance.

“If he’s not going to thank you, I will. You didn’t have to.”

And Din realizes he didn’t. It had never occurred to him not to do this for Artoo, for Luke.

“You were busy, and this piece of shit wasn’t letting up.”

That definitely gets him an angry beep from Artoo, but Luke just smiles.

“He’s definitely thankful,” he says with a smile that seems to come easy to him.

Din, not knowing what to say in response, just nods and finishes soldering the last wires in place. With the hatch in place, Artoo straightens up and gives them a turn around the kitchen. He then gives a series of loud beeps as he turns in a tight circle.

“Yes, you look very nice,” Luke says to the droid, who bumps his leg in affirmation. Luke continues, “Well, while I’m here, do you want a tune up, buddy?”

The droid spins his head in an affirmative and Luke chuckles.

“Alright, let’s go down to my workshop.”

Luke takes a couple of steps before turning back.

“Coming?”

Din looks up from where he was putting his tools away. “Do… you want me here?”

“Of course! Besides, you know what they say, four hands are better than two.”

“I’ve never heard that before.”

“You’ve never met a besalisk before then.”

Din just shakes his head, an amused smile on his face that he knows Luke can’t see, but he packs up his tools and follows Luke to the workshop, which is easily the messiest place in the temple. Parts are strewn everywhere, there are tables but they merely serve as a means to hold more stuff, but Luke walks in like it’s home, throwing his robe over a chair, shoulders relaxing with the movement.

Artoo wheels over to a spot against the wall, and Din quickly realizes the platform elevates for better access on the droid. The tools float over and with a jerk of Luke’s head, he beckons Din over.

He settles in on the other side of Artoo, wordlessly putting his tools with Luke’s between them. He lets Luke open the main access panel and already, the astromech is beeping up a storm.

“What’s he saying?”

Luke doesn’t look up from his work, pulling out the necessary parts and handing some over to Din.

“Artoo is bitching about the last time I did this for him. No, it was not on Hoth.” He lightly smacks the droid’s recently fixed leg.

Din can’t help the way his head tilts. “Why would you ever go to Hoth?”

“It was a Rebel base for a while.”

And Luke launches into a story about the initial days at that base, jumping into the snow just to jump in the hot springs. That turns into his story taking down an AT-AT by himself. He can tell Luke is skipping over parts based on when he pauses, but Din doesn’t mind the censorship. Din even finds himself recounting the events of Sorgan. He finds himself startlingly content like this, passing tools to one another, swapping stories, a mouthy droid between them.

4.

Din can’t find Luke anywhere, but he’s not about to panic just yet.

The last time he has seen Luke was when they were trading off kids. Since the list of repairs has gotten shorter and shorter, he helps with the children. Luke has never asked for his help, but the grateful look is evident to Din when he arrives to take the foundlings off his hands. Din is in charge of the kids after lessons, giving Luke the break he desperately needs before dinner.  On some days, Din has to leave a heated plate outside of Luke’s door, the Jedi already passed out from a long day.

And so, with Artoo on reluctant-babysitter duty, Din wanders the halls of the temple, checking in all the usual places; the workshop, the study, the meditation room, and the man’s personal room.

It’s only when he walks outside the temple and looks up does he find Luke, a dark spot on the levels of the temple. He didn’t even know there was a way to get onto them.

So, he powers on his jetpack and takes a short flight up. Luke glances at him for a moment before he looks back to the horizon. Din swallows, noticing how the robe falls off his shoulder, revealing a brown tunic, the collar being pulled down with the weight of the robe, revealing freckled skin.

“You missed dinner,” he says, by way of greeting.

“Ah, sorry. I was cleaning after the kids and looked up and… have you seen anything like it?”

Din looks at the horizon and he really tries, but it looks most of the same as most sunsets he’s seen on moons like Yavin IV; varying shades of red petering off into soft clouds.

He sits down, leaving plenty of space between him and Luke, to try and see if being at his level will give him the same experience. It doesn’t

Before he can give an appropriate answer, Luke whips his head around and stares at him, really scrutinizing him. Din is struck dumb for a moment, unaware as to why he’s under such a microscope.

Finally, Luke speaks up. “How well can you see the colors?”

“Not terribly well.” When was the last time he looked at a sunset without the helmet? Sorgan, all those months ago?

Luke considers him again before pulling at the cloth belt at his waist. Before Din can realize what he’s doing, the cloth is around his eyes, firmly tied in place.

“Here. This okay?” Luke asks.

Din is struck dumb for another moment. Luke had just been waxing about how beautiful the sunset was and now… was blinding himself so Din could see. Has anyone ever done that for him? Din can’t remember.

“Um… how well can you see?”

“I see a little bit of the sky, but that’s it. Dark as night in here.”

Din holds up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“One,” he says with a smile like he’s told a joke.

“Okay… okay.” Din takes a shaky breath before undoing the clasp and removing his helmet, putting it to the side.

Immediately, the world is bathed in a soft red. He looks to the horizon and his breath catches in his throat. The sun is low in the sky, surrounded by a deep orange that fades into red. The clouds, as few of them that there are, look like they’re on fire. He shifts closer to Luke, just enough so the glare of the sun against his ship (his ship, that he bought with his own money, no longer relying on Bo-Katan’s charity) is no longer in his eyes.

Luke must correctly interpret his silence for awe.

“Right?” Luke says, happiness clear in his voice. “But I’ll be honest, no sunset can match a binary sunset on Tatooine.”        

“You’re from Tatooine?”

“Yeah, 19 miserable years under those suns. ‘Course now… I think a lot differently about that time.”

And just like that, Luke is talking about shooting womp rats and all the things he and his friends did to fight off the boredom. He touches on the excitement when his friends were getting their soulmate tattoos, the games they’d play to touch and see. His hands fly about as he does so and Din can detect a hint of a twang in his voice the more he talks about his past. He also catches how his voice pauses when he talks about his aunt and uncle who raised him, but he doesn’t press.

His hands settle as Din finds himself talking about his youth in the Fighting Corps, the mischief he and his siblings would get into, even when they should have been too tired to move.

Din looks down and sees that the tips of Luke’s fingers are touching his own. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not, so he leaves his hand there.

By the time the other moons are visible, the two of them are still up there.

5.

Maybe it’s a bad idea to take a high-profile bounty right after losing the darksaber to Bo-Katan, but Din is feeling on top of the world, so he decides to act like it. As he nurses his wounds on his ship, it’s clear he’s rustier than he realized.

He delivers on the bounty though, he’s not that out of practice. Nonetheless, he ends up using more bacta on himself than he anticipated. That’s after realizing that the tube was expired by a couple of months, but he slips into old habits, using the spray anyway.

As much as Din planned on going straight to Yavin, he lingers in Nevarro, lingering in the market before buckling down and using his new found credits. He buys a pack of cookies for the foundlings, a plush bantha for Grogu, and he hesitates further before grabbing the leather gloves and slapping them on top of the pile.

Din spends most of the ride to Yavin IV wondering if he should forget the gloves or give them to Luke as intended. He doesn’t think about how his hand keeps finding his arm and rubbing at it.

He comms ahead to let Luke know he’s arriving so that when he touches down, Luke’s corralling the children to stand far enough back. Grogu is the first to escape, running up and not slowing down, but Din considers himself an expert at picking up his son, even when he’s holding things in his other hand. The children crowd around him and soon he’s divested of the cookies and plush. He can see the other man’s expression soften at the sight, and further soften when Din holds out the gloves.

“I… I thought of you when I saw them,” he says, suddenly nervous.

Luke takes them, bare hand feeling the smooth leather. He looks back up to Din.

“Thank you,” he says. His eyes slide down Din’s body, holding him in place until he stops.

He turns to the children around him. “Tayf, can you bring everyone inside for nap time?”

The Miraluka girl nods, corralling all of the smaller children into the Temple. The Wookie walks up and wordlessly holds out his hands for Grogu. Din gives him over easily, knowing how much Grogu loves his new friends. He goes to follow the kids, but a firm hand on his elbow stops him.

Leaning in close, Luke whispers, “Are you okay?”

“What?”

Luke balls up the sleeve of his robes and pressed on his arm. He looks up at him with intent in his eyes. “You’re bleeding.”

Din looks himself over and the movement causes pain to flare up on his arm and that’s when he remembers.

“I’m fine. The bacta I used had expired, but that’s it.”

Luke’s still looking at him with a steely gaze, but the grip on his elbow lessens.

“Can you… indulge me and let me help you out still? You should probably wash out the old bacta anyway.”

Din’s tongue suddenly feels much heavier. “But your students…”

“Can handle nap time by themselves. Please? If your Creed will allow it?”

Din accepts.

Luke keeps an arm on him the entire walk there and Din has reasons why that’s unnecessary on the tip of his tongue, that he’s survived far, far worse, that the wound is on his arm and not his hand, but he keeps his mouth shut. Luke steers him to a fresher that is out of the way enough that the kids won’t walk in on them.

Luke gestures for him to sit on the edge of the tub and once seated, looks much more nervous than he did outside.

“Um, if you need me to turn around or… something.”

“I can take off my armor while you grab the bacta?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s a good idea!”

Luke leaves. Alone, Din carefully pulls off and lays down the pauldron and vambrace on the ground next to him. He considers the flight suit before carefully rolling it up past the wound. It squeezes uncomfortably, but it’s better than stripping entirely or cutting the sleeve.

Luke returns with a small pile of things in his hands.

“This is maybe a little too much but,” the glove snaps against his skin and he hisses, “you never know.”

Din just nods, suddenly trying to remember the last person who took this much care with him.

The actual process of cleaning up and bandaging is quick. Not much blood was trickling out, so it was a routine process. That’s what Din tells himself as he hyperfocuses on the occasional drag of the glove on his skin, the tender way Luke’s fingers prod at the wound for signs of infection, how their faces seem so, so close right now.

But it’s a barely there feeling, and then Din is pulling the sleeve back into place and Luke is shucking off the latex.

“Thank you.”

Luke gives him a small smile. “Just make sure you restock before you leave. The temple’s stores are open to you.”

“I know.”

Luke turns to start dinner but pauses. “Thank you for the gloves by the way.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not.”

The wound tingled for ages after Luke left, and Din was left to consider if it was because of the bacta working or Luke’s proximity. He brings up his other hand to trace the wound, to try and chase that lingering warmth.

 +1.

All of the famous soulmate stories involve the touch being a big climactic moment. Holos show the touch happening at the exact right or wrong time. Stars, even Han and Leia had that moment, shouting at each other in the Rebel base. According to Luke, everyone could recount where they were when the shouting suddenly stopped as they made contact.

Din and Luke don’t get a big moment. They get dishes.

The padawans are all asleep in their beds. Din is washing dishes and Luke is drying. Din’s gloves lie abandoned on the table. Din hands a bowl to Luke, their fingers brush with no thought-

And then it clicks.

The two of them whip their heads up to stare at each other, the bowl forgotten on the floor, shattered.

“Did that-?”

“Are we-?”

Din pulls his arm closer to him to confirm that yes, there’s now a small flower tattoo where their fingers brushed, bright, long golden petals drooping toward his palm.

He looks up and sees Luke checking the same with his hand.

Din tries to battle down the rising panic in his throat as he speaks, “I- It’s okay, this doesn’t have to be anything else than friendship.”

Luke looks up sharply. “What… what if I want it to be more?”

“But… attachments?”

“I’m attached to my sister whether I like it or not. I… I’m a grown ass man who can love without falling to the darkside. I’d be able to let you go, like now if you said you wanted to stay friends.”

Din feels dizzy as he admits, “I don’t want to just be friends.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They hold eye contact and Din is suddenly aware of the space between them.

And how he doesn’t want there to be space between them.

He grasps Luke’s fingers, this time better appreciating the warmth in them. He feels Luke’s fingers flex against his and that just emboldens him to reach up with his other hand and cup the other man’s face. He can more so feel rather than hear how Luke’s voice hitches, feels the warmth of his cheeks as they flare red.

“Can I… do something?”

“Sure,” Luke says, a touch breathless.

Din lets go of Luke’s jaw and brings his hand around. He tangles his fingers in Luke’s hair, sighing at the softens, at the knots he runs into, made from being out all day with the kids.

He tilts Luke’s head forward, bringing his head forward as well, until their foreheads meet. Luke closes his eyes with the movement and Din is just happy to stand here.

He whispers, “This is called a keldabe kiss.”

Still with eyes closed, Luke smiles. “I like it.”

Din does too.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Beneath a Black Flag

Summary: Having turned to a life of piracy after being betrayed by the Amestrian navy, Captain Roy Mustang and Quartermaster Maes Hughes of the Phoenix are on a mission to find the wreck of the legendary treasure ship Xerxes, hoping to both strike rich and prevent the mythical Philosopher’s Stone from ending up in the navy’s clutches…

Written for the WriYe August Shorts Challenge, and very loosely inspired by Black Sails.

Rated: T

Beneath a Black Flag

Seeing the lights of Port Aerugo always felt like coming home. Even back when he’d been a legitimate navy captain, Roy had always felt more at ease in the rough and ready world of the southern port, with its bars and brothels and black market warehouses, than he had ever done in the more respectable places that his ships had docked in. The Amestrian navy had always adopted a laissez-faire attitude to the place: several attempts to ‘civilise’ it had fallen flat, ending in easy victory for the pirates who made it their base of operations, and humiliation for the navy. 

The Phoenix dropped anchor in the bay and her crew started to disembark, eager for the pleasures of dry land after a long and difficult last haul. Still, the trip had been successful, which had raised people’s spirits no end. 

“Roy? Were you intending on getting off this ship any time soon? Earth to Roy?”

Roy turned from his position gazing out over the Port Aerugo twilight and found Maes behind him, arms folded and an amused expression on his face.

“For someone who lives on the sea, you’re spending a worrying amount of time with your head in the clouds.” Maes came up beside him, leaning on the rail. “What’s eating you this time?”

Roy sighed. “I’m just thinking about the magnitude of what we’ve taken on. Do you ever look at what we’re doing and think ‘this is madness, I should pack it all in and become a tomato farmer instead’?”

“Yes. Frequently. But I know you’ve got a plan, however hare-brained it might be, so I trust you to navigate us through it. I’m not promising that I’m not going to force you into tomato farming as soon as it’s all over, though. You actually will give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“Have I ever got us killed?”

“No,” Maes admitted, “but you can’t deny that we’ve had some very close calls.”

Roy grimaced. He definitely couldn’t deny it, and he would have to admit to being glad that their next sortie would hopefully provide the last piece of the puzzle that they had been chasing for so long and bring with it the reward they desperately sought. All they had to do now was to stay one step ahead of the navy, but that was proving easier said than done.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked Maes eventually.

“What, the navy?”

“Yes. Well, not the navy specifically. But the time before, when life was less complicated.”

“Was life really less complicated in the navy? It wasn’t as hard and it probably wasn’t quite as constantly dangerous, but complicated? Roy, you of all people know that it was infinitely more complicated back then.” He wrapped an arm around Roy’s shoulders and pulled him in close, pressing a kiss to his temple, and Roy had to smile. “Do you really want to go back to a time when we had to hide?”

In a way, piracy was nothing but hiding, always trying to outfox the navy, but ever since they had started sailing under a black flag, Roy and Maes had never had to hide their relationship or make out that they were something they weren’t. Snatched moments here and there and the ever-present threat of being found out and court-martialed for daring to fall in love had given way to easy acceptance and the closeness that they’d never been allowed before.

“No,” he agreed. “I’d rather have this.”

Maes gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Come on. Let’s go ashore. Everyone else has already left apart from the night watch. I’m beginning to forget what dry land looks like.”

Captain and quartermaster made their way towards the final longboat making preparations for its launch, and soon they were walking through the streets of Port Aerugo. It was a place that never slept, coming even more alive after dark when the drunks started carousing and the brothel girls started touting for business. Roy and Maes were well-known enough not to be bothered by the latter, who just gave them a cheerful wave as they went past and went to try their luck with the other, incredibly willing members of Phoenix’s crew.

As always, their path took them to Madam Christmas’s. Bar and brothel rolled into one, the place had always tried to maintain an air of elegance in an increasingly tawdry world, and above all its other attractions, it would always be a safe place for Roy.

Madam Christmas gave them a nod as they walked in, whisky ready on the counter for them. Roy knocked it back, savouring the burn.

“This is good stuff. Whose prize did you skim this off the top of?”

Madam Christmas laughed. “I got it from Armstrong. The cask was too bloody to be sold on through the warehouse so I took it off her hands for a very reasonable price.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. Oliver Armstrong was known for being absolutely terrifying, but in his experience her reputation preceded her so much that she never needed to resort to bloodshed. Crews saw the Briggs Fortress coming with its black flag flying and they just handed over their manifests with their hands up.

“It’s not like her to make a mess,” Maes commented. “She likes things quick and simple.”

“I’m sure that this one would have been quick and simple too if some idiot hadn’t signed his own death warrant by telling her she ought to be off having babies instead of captaining a pirate ship.

“Ah.” Maes and Roy looked at each other. “Yes, that would definitely do it.”

“I bet she and Riza had a great laugh about it afterwards. Anyway, enough of Armstrong. I take it that your voyage was successful?”

Roy nodded. “Yes. We’re ready to go as soon as Phoenix is prepared for the trip.”

Madam Christmas let out a low whistle. “You really think you’ve found it? I was beginning to believe the nay-sayers who maintain that the lost treasure of Xerxes is just a myth.”

There was a small part of Roy that would admit that he too was beginning to believe the same. The legendary treasure ship had wrecked somewhere in the southern seas decades ago, and so many stories had been built up around it over time that it was difficult to know what was real and what was embellishment, with all the accounts varying wildly. 

Just one thread had remained constant throughout, and that was the thread that Roy had never stopped pulling on. Among the treasures on board the Xerxes was a Philosopher’s Stone.

All alchemists were familiar with the concept of Philosopher’s Stones and Roy was no exception. Rarer than the rubies they resembled, the navy had been trying to get their hands on one for as long as anyone could remember. Whilst Roy didn’t believe the stories of turning lead into gold or producing the elixir of life, he absolutely believed in the stone being used to bypass equivalent exchange and make alchemists’ raw power stronger by tenfold.

Which was why Roy was determined to stop the navy getting anywhere near one by any means necessary.

“Well.” Madam Christmas gave Roy an impressed look. “If you can track it down then more power to you. Metaphorically speaking, of course. I’m well aware of your thoughts on the whole matter. Just as long as you give me a cut of the treasure for giving you bed and board all these years.”

Roy rolled his eyes but he couldn’t deny that it had been a blessing to have a home base that wasn’t floating. There was always a bed waiting for him at Madam Christmas’s, and finishing his second shot of Olivier Armstrong’s filched whisky, he decided it was high time that he made his way there. Maes followed him out of the bar. Tomorrow the real work would begin, prepping the Phoenix for her next and arguably most important journey and charting their course for the fabled location of the Xerxes wreck, but tonight could just be for them, and they could forget the trials they would soon be facing.

X

Roy never slept properly the first night back on dry land after a long voyage, missing the gentle - and sometimes not so gentle - rocking of the ship to lull him off to sleep. He envied Maes, who could drop off anywhere in any position and be completely dead to the world within five minutes. 

He ran his fingertips over the scar on Maes’s chest, too close to his heart for comfort. All pirates had scars, most had many, and they were generally worn as badges of honour for battles survived. This one, though… This one was the reason they were here in the first place, the moment that had started this very long journey towards the Xerxes treasure.

“Stop thinking about it.” Maes caught his wandering hand, opening his eyes and looking up at Roy blearily. “I survived, that’s all that matters.”

Roy rolled over, looking up at the ceiling. He knew that Maes was right, of course, but he couldn’t help thinking about what might have been. It was something he dwelled on often.

Most pirates did not set out to become pirates and Roy was no exception. He had never had any desire to turn to a life of piracy in his younger days. His first interest had always been alchemy, and going into the military as a naval alchemist had seemed like a natural career progression. Every ship in the navy carried an alchemist as standard; it was almost guaranteed job security. Most pirate ships carried at least one as well - Roy had never known whether the navy’s alchemy programme was a response to the pirates or if it was the other way round, but the set up had been established for so long that no one really questioned it. 

He had earned his alchemy license and graduated from the naval academy where he had met Maes and history had been made. They had joined a ship, and Roy was pretty sure that neither of them had intended to look back, despite the constant difficulty and secrecy that had to surround their relationship. 

Life had never been anything close to perfect, but it was as good as Roy thought that they would ever get, and he had been content with it. It had all been going really well until the incident at the admiralty. 

He was pulled out of his train of thought by Maes rolling over on top of him and leaning in for a long kiss.

“You worry too much,” he said softly once he finally let Roy up for air. “And you always seem to blame yourself for things that weren’t anything to do with you.”

“Maes…”

“Oh, shush.” He kissed him again and Roy surrendered into it, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Maes’s back to pull him in closer. It was easy to push the uneasy thoughts to the side when they were like this, Maes warm and solid and very alive in his arms reminding him that despite what might have happened, it did not actually happen, and the past wasn’t a place that it was healthy to stay in for too long. 

After all, when it came down to it, they would never have found out about the navy’s plans for the Philosopher’s Stone if it hadn’t been for everything that had happened. They would all still be blissfully unaware and unwittingly assisting in potentially ending the world as everyone knew it. As it was, Maes had chased a loose thread that the navy had most definitely not wanted him to chase, and ended up with a bullet in his chest for the trouble. 

Roy had cut all ties with the navy as soon as he had found Maes collapsed halfway down the street from the admiralty building, and whilst he might often look back and wonder what might have been after that moonlit flit to Port Aerugo, he could never bring himself to regret it doing what he had done and both of them ending up joining the life of piracy.

“Now…” Maes purred in his ear, making Roy’s stomach flip-flop. “For the love of God will you go to sleep.”

Roy couldn’t help laughing. 

X

The weather was good for making repairs, bright sunshine and a cool breeze, but not enough wind to make working on the sails and rigging unwieldy and dangerous. A thorough assessment of the damage sustained on their last sortie had shown that the problems were largely superficial, and Phoenix should be fully ship-shape again within just a couple of days. Leaving the crew to tackle the repairs and Maes to supervise restocking for their next and most important voyage, Roy was gathering intelligence. It was all very well having worked out where the Xerxes had wrecked, but that wasn’t going to be of any use if the navy were swarming all over the area. Roy really didn’t want to have to shoot his way out. Or shoot his way in, for that matter. 

“Mustang. It’s been a while.”

Grumman was in his usual haunt, sitting in one corner of the Armstrongs’ bar in the shadows with his hat pulled down over his eyes, trying to affect an air of mystery. Unfortunately, Roy had known him long enough to know that there was no mystery at all to him, he was simply a very shrewd man with a lot of contacts in strange places. Even those completely new to Port Aerugo tended to regard him with raised eyebrows rather than any kind of awe these days. 

“It has, Grumman. Can I get you something?”

“That depends.” Grumman swung his feet down off the table and leaned in. “What do you want in return?”

“Information, Grumman, like always. Preferably useful information and preferably about naval movements in the coming weeks.”

“Well, I think I might be able to help you there. You know my usual.”

With alcohol procured, Mustang returned to Grumman’s information dispensary and settled in for one of the old man’s stories. He was surprised when he didn’t spin off into a tale about his granddaughter’s latest exploits. 

“So, you’ve found it then?”

“Potentially. Either way, I’d rather not have the navy on my back when I go looking for it.”

“No, I can appreciate that. I’ll admit that I haven’t had any reports for a few days, but it’s not looking too bad out there, just the usual patrols, and they don’t normally go as far south as you’ll be heading. At least, I assume that you’ll be heading south?”

Roy made no indication either way. He considered Grumman to be a friend, but information was money in all businesses and he didn’t trust the old fox as far as he could throw him. He knew that he was not the only pirate in Port Aerugo who was on a quest for the Philosopher’s Stone, and he knew that not all of them had the same intentions as he did. 

He hoped that familial loyalty would win out in the end when it came to Grumman, though. His daughter sailed with Armstrong - hence his permanent fixture in her family’s bar - and Armstrong’s opinion of the navy and the Philosopher’s Stone were well-known. Roy certainly wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of her by assisting in anything other than the Stone’s ultimate destruction.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in your endeavours,” Grumman said. “Of course, if you do find what you’re looking for then I’m sure that the residents of Port Aerugo will be expecting you to keep them in rum for a long time to come.”

Roy raised an eyebrow. “If I do find what I’m looking for, Grumman, then Hughes and I will be retiring to the country and never setting foot on a ship again.”

Grumman just chuckled. “You’d never do that. You enjoy the call of the sea too much.”

Roy left Grumman to it, paying for another drink for the old man and heading back towards the Phoenix. He didn’t really have any intention to retire on his potential gains from this journey, he was far too cynical to believe in such romantic notions, but he couldn’t deny that he often thought about a life without looking over his shoulder for the navy every five minutes. Perhaps he could be one step closer to that at least. 

X

It was a cool and clear morning when they set sail in search of the goal that they had been chasing for so long, a strong wind blowing them steadily away from Port Aerugo and into the southern seas. It should have been the ideal conditions for starting a voyage, and indeed, most of the crew were in high spirits having had such a good beginning - hopes were high that they would ultimately succeed. 

There was something in the air that made Roy uneasy though. He couldn’t really pinpoint what it was, putting it down to just an alchemist’s instinct. 

“Hey. It’ll be ok. Whatever gets thrown at us, we can weather it.” 

Roy laughed as Maes came up beside him. “I’ve never understood where you get your relentless optimism from.”

“Well, it’s certainly not from you. Being shot by your own side tends to put things in perspective and you learn that life’s too short to be morose. Just think of all the riches that are coming our way. I know, I know, that’s not the reason why you���re doing this, but stop thinking altruistically for a moment and bask in the glory of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination.”

“I suppose there’s something comforting in that,” Roy agreed. He looked out at the open sea in front of them again. It would take a few days of sailing before they came into sight of the supposed wreck site, and it didn’t seem like there would be anything getting in their way. Even with Grumman’s intelligence, though, the navy were never to be trusted not to put a spanner in the works. Sometimes Roy thought that they had some kind of sixth sense going on with their uncanny ability to be just where they weren’t wanted. 

Someone hailed Maes and Roy was left alone with his thoughts. He turned back to survey the bustle of the ship’s normal operations. They had started life as a rather rag-tag bunch, many of them leaving the navy for various reasons that Roy had not inquired into, but over time they had come together into an efficient crew who worked well together. Breda was at the helm, keeping Phoenix steady as she cut through the sea, Havoc up in the crow’s nest keeping watch, Catalina and Fuery scampering over the rigging. Roy would trust this crew with his life, and when he thought about what was at stake for them on this latest outing, he knew he would far rather have these people by his side than any of the naval crews he had sailed with in his time.

All the same, he still couldn’t get that uneasy feeling to go away, despite the perfect conditions, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Perfect conditions for them meant perfect conditions for every other ship that might be out here in the southern waters with potentially nefarious intent.

The other shoe dropped three days into their voyage when the wind began to pick up further.

“Sails!” Havoc yelled down from the crow’s nest.

“What? Shit.” Roy whirled around to look in the direction that Havoc was indicating, finding the bearing he was shouting and extending his telescope. 

“Friendly or not?” Maes had jogged over to him and was leaning over the railing, squinting at the vague white shapes on the horizon. 

“Likely not, looks like a navy flag.” Roy looked back at the helm. “Maintain present course and speed.”

Breda nodded, holding the helm steady as Roy continued to look at the ship that had joined them.

“Dammit, Grumman said that there weren’t any patrols in this area.”

“I know he’s usually pretty reliable but he’s been wrong before. Sometimes the navy just like to mess with us.”

“I swear they’re psychic,” Roy muttered. He held out the telescope to Maes. 

“I don’t know why you’re giving it to me, I’ve got the worst eyesight on the ship.”

“Just take a look.”

Maes dutifully took a look. “I think you’re right. Definitely looks like a navy ship. She’s going at a hell of a lick as well, we’ll be able to see for ourselves shortly.”

“As long as she keeps coming straight and doesn’t turn.” Roy did not want to be broadsided by a full navy cannonade. They were going at a steady pace themselves and if they kept up this way then there was the slim chance that the two ships paths would not cross and the navy ship would end up behind them, playing catch-up and giving them the upper hand. 

“I really don’t like this,” Maes said. “It’s too much of a coincidence for them to be in the same place as us.”

“Well, it’s not exactly a secret that we’ve been hunting the Xerxes all this time, but I thought that our main problem would be competition, not the navy. They must be getting desperate if they’re following up on gossip coming out of Port Aerugo. You’re right, though. I don’t like it at all.” He turned to the rest of the crew, all of whom were now watching the fast approaching sails. “Ready the cannons!”

The crew jumped to it, all those that could be spared racing down to the cannons and beginning to prepare them. Roy really hoped it would come to nothing, but as the navy ship kept bearing down towards them, he knew that it would be in vain.

“It had to be the Bradley, didn’t it? Of all the ships in the fleet, the one that came after us had to be the Bradley.”

The approaching ship was beginning to turn side-on to them. It was a double-edged sword; they had a larger target to hit with their own cannons, but they were now also a larger target for the navy’s. 

The Phoenix had one thing that the navy didn’t, though. The Phoenix had Roy. Leaving Maes in charge on deck, he went below to the guns, checking the fuses as he pulled on his spark gloves. Flames on board a ship full of gunpowder were not normally a good idea, and his choice to learn flame alchemy as a potential alchemist afloat had raised more than a few eyebrows, but his years aboard Phoenix and the many tricky situations he had found himself in had honed his skills considerably. 

The rest of the crew, having seen him in action many times before, dutifully stood back before he snapped, pinpoint flames igniting the fuses just at the precise moments that he needed them. The thunder of the cannon nearly deafened him, but he could see that at least some of the balls had hit their mark. Now it was time for the navy to return fire as they reloaded.

“Incoming!”

Roy heard the earsplitting crunch of a cannonball blasting the railings on deck above him and he grimaced. The ship’s master would not be happy about that one. 

“Sails to starboard!”

Roy swore violently on hearing the exclamation being passed around the ship from the crow’s nest. Somehow they’d managed to get themselves into a trap. This was not how he had envisioned this trip going. They had done so well at avoiding the naval patrols. 

The cannons reloaded, Roy set the fuses again before Maes stuck his head down onto the gun deck and hailed him.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem..”

“I heard. Any identification yet?”

Above them, the crew hit the deck as another volley of cannon fire from the Bradley soared over them. Most of the balls this time seemed to fall short; perhaps they’d overdone it on the powder the first time. 

“No flags,” Maes said. “Wait…”

He vanished up onto the deck again as Breda called out to him, and Roy took advantage of the brief lull of reloading to peer out of one of the gun ports with his telescope. Another ship was indeed bearing down on them from the opposite side, this one fighting against the wind and creaking with the speed that it was putting on. There were no identifying flags on it, and it didn’t appear to be a typical naval ship.

“Captain, we’re being hailed.”

This time it was Fuery coming down onto the gun deck. Roy followed him back up, watching the little flashes of light from the approaching ship.

Need a hand Mustang?

Relief flooded through Roy’s veins as the newcomers unfurled a black flag and swung the ship around. Now that they were closer, he could recognise Briggs Fortress, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to see Olivier Armstrong in his life. 

X

“Message from the Briggs, Captain. Armstrong and Hawkeye are coming over.”

As fearsome as the Bradley was, the pride of the Amestrian navy that struck annoyance if not fear into the hearts of pirates everywhere, it was no match for two ships working together to scupper it, and the Phoenix and the Briggs had left it floundering and unsteerable with most of its crew bobbing in the water behind them, sailing the same course together for a few miles until they were sure that they were out of harm’s way and could slow down to make any immediately needed repairs.

Fuery threw a line over the side as one of the Briggs’ longboats drew up alongside them, and a couple of minutes later, Olivier and Riza were on the deck. 

“Well, that was bracing,” Olivier said grimly. “Honestly, Mustang, you should know better than to go after something as big as the Xerxes without a consort.”

Pirate ships usually worked alone, after all, there were a limited number of prizes on the seas and they were all in competition for their livelihoods, but it wasn’t unheard of for a couple of crews to team up and go after a particularly lucrative or well-guarded ship in return for sharing the profits. In the case of the Xerxes, Olivier did have a point, especially considering how much naval interest there was in locating the wreck, and the fact that the treasure wasn’t their main objective anyway. 

“Mind you, this is you we’re talking about, and your capacity for idiocy is well-known, so I can’t say that I’m exactly surprised by this.”

Roy sighed but didn’t rise to the bait; he was too grateful for the help that the Briggs crew had provided to argue with Olivier now.

“I didn’t want to publicise things too much. Not everyone is as scrupulous as you and I when it comes to what’s at stake here.”

“Mustang, my thoughts on the navy, the Philosopher’s Stone, and alchemy in general are well known. As much as it pains me to say it, I’ll gladly work with you to keep the bloody thing out of the wrong hands. Anyway, I suppose we should explain our fortuitous presence here.”

“I was going to ask about that,” Maes said, eyeing the two women with equal parts respect and suspicion. “Has Grumman been spilling his secrets?”

“In a manner. When he received intelligence that the navy were on the move into the south, specifically where you were going and where he’d told you they weren’t likely to go, he felt it courteous to let you know, and since we were in the area, Riza persuaded me to take off on a mad goose chase after you.” Olivier shot a glance sideways at her lover. “The things I do for you. Anyway, it looks like it was lucky we arrived when we did.”

Roy nodded. “Thank you.” 

The four of them moved into Roy’s cabin to discuss the route that they were taking and the approximate location of the treasure that they had finally found. It felt strange to be sharing it so openly having spent so many months trying to keep their research under wraps, but they were so close to the end of it all now. Roy really didn’t want to face another situation like the one they’d just narrowly escaped without being able to make repairs to the ship. They couldn’t afford to turn back towards Port Aerugo now, not with the navy on their tail already.

Riza looked over the maps, giving everything her expert navigator’s eye.

“I’ve no idea how you managed to piece it all together,” she said, “but it all looks watertight.”

“Well, in that case, shall we get going?” Maes asked. “This little skirmish has lost us some valuable time and we need to course correct. If the Bradley's out here then she won’t be alone, and I’d rather get as much of a head start as possible.”

“See, your quartermaster talks sense,” Olivier complained as she and Riza made their way back towards their longboat. “You should listen to him.”

“Yes, Roy. You should listen to me.”

Roy just smacked Maes in the arm.

“Ow! Man down! Man down!”

“It’ll be man overboard if you’re not careful,” Roy growled.

In the longboat, Riza rolled her eyes as she and Olivier began to row back to the Briggs.

“Sometimes I wonder how those two manage to get anything done.”

X

“Is this it? I have to say, Mustang, you’re not filling me with an awful lot of confidence here.”

They had reached the supposed site of the Xerxes wreck, the Briggs coming up alongside the Phoenix and dropping anchor as Olivier shouted across the prow. So far they had not come across any other navy vessels in the area, but the Bradley was the fastest in the fleet so it made sense that she would catch up to them first. Roy was already working out a more circuitous route back to Port Aerugo to try and avoid the other ships that had no doubt been sent after the advance guard.

On the face of it, he had to admit that Olivier had a point. The place that they had come to was little more than a large jagged rock sticking up out of the water, seemingly innocuous. It certainly wasn’t an island large enough to have treasure buried on it, but given some of the lethal-looking protrusions, he could well see why the Xerxes would have wrecked here on a dark and stormy night.

“According to all the research I’ve done, this is where she wrecked. The sea levels and tides have to be just right for the rock to be visible about the waterline.”

Riza leaned over the rail and peered down into the still waters below. 

“I can’t see anything down there but then, we don’t know how deep it might go.”

“We’re not looking for the wreck itself anyway,” Roy pointed out. “It’ll be nothing more than rotten planks by now. We’re looking for what was on the wreck, and it should be on that rock.”

“For the love of God, Mustang, where?”

“You’ll see. Hughes, are you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Captain.” Maes followed him over to where Breda and Fuery were making a longboat ready to cast off, and soon they were rowing in towards the rock. It was a fraught journey, the waves lapping against the rock causing odd eddies that threatened to bash them against the side, and the ever present threat of being snuck up on by the navy was weighing heavy in the back of Roy’s mind all the time. 

“You’re a sly one, Mustang.” 

They had reached a fissure in the rock, invisible to them from the distance of the ships and only appearing once they were up close. If Roy’s theory proved true, then it was inside this fissure that the treasure of Xerxes would be found. With the fissure so well-hidden and the rock half-submerged most of the time, it would be the perfect resting place, and there was little wonder that no-one else had tracked it down before.

They tied up the boats and clambered awkwardly up onto the rock, lighting lanterns before edging their way into the fissure. It was tight going at first, but opened out after a few yards to give them more breathing space. Maes was leading the way, Riza bringing up the rear, leaving Roy with Olivier in the middle. He could feel her eyes boring into his back, and he was glad that the trip would hopefully be a short one. The tunnel angled down a steep incline and Roy could tell that they were below the waterline now. Hopefully they’d be able to get back up again. 

“Captain.”

Maes stopped abruptly, causing Roy to nearly run into him, and he peered over his quartermaster’s shoulder, grinning.”

“Ye of little faith, Armstrong.”

It was not the massive haul that legend had built it up into, but Roy had been expecting that. With something like the Xerxes, everything about it had been blown so out of proportion that the tales had reached the stage of the thing being rumoured to have been carrying so much gold that any ordinary ship would have sunk under the sheer weight of it. 

It was still a decent prize though; even after splitting with the crew of the Briggs it would be a hefty nest egg for them all. 

“Enough to retire on, do you think?” Maes asked. “Get a little place in the country and live comfortably?” 

“Potentially. We’ll have to get Falman and Fuery to make a proper account of it back in Aerugo.” They moved further into the small cavern where the treasure had been stored. The gold and jewels were not their main concern and all four of them knew it. Riza turned back to get help from the ships to shift the loot, and Olivier came into the cavern.

“Right, let’s find this blessed stone and get out of here before we’ve got the navy breathing down our necks again.”

Looking for a red stone in a chest full of jewels was never going to be the easiest of tasks, but the sooner they started sifting, the sooner they could be sure of making sure that the thing  was lost forever. Roy really didn’t like the idea of having it hiding in plain sight on the Phoenix or the Briggs for any longer than necessary. 

“Got it.” Maes held up a leather satchel unearthed from the bottom of one of the chests and rolled his eyes when Olivier and Roy both gave him incredulous looks. “Yes, I know it’s not the stone. Captain’s log. It might give us a clue where to look.”

He began filing through waterlogged pages as Olivier and Roy continued to work through separating out everything that remotely resembled a ruby until Riza returned with a few men from both ships, forming a chain to pass everything out of the cavern and along the fissure. 

“We’ve got sails on the horizon,” she warned. “Miles reckons we’ve got just under three hours before they’re in firing range and they’re riding low, they’ve got the heavy guns.”

“All right, we can focus on finding objects of mass destruction later, let’s move on out.”

Both crews were used to clearing loot quickly; it never did to take your time grabbing merchandise off a boarded ship when the navy might pounce at any moment, and soon the cavern was cleaned out and the two ships were weighing anchor, moving away from the rock in convoy. The navy sails were still on their tail and the lookouts were keeping sharp eyes on them, but they were not yet in a position where it looked like they were gaining, and Roy was confident of his ability to lose them once they were back in more familiar waters. If necessary they could split up, each of them leading a navy ship away. Maes was still reading the captain’s log in a desperate search for something that could help them.

Roy watched the expressions that crossed over Maes’s face as he skimmed over the last couple of pages of text. He seemed to run the entire gamut from overjoyed to incredulous to angry and back again.

“Roy, take a look at this.” He came over, handing off a couple of damp sheets of parchment. The ink had run and the writing was barely legible, but Roy could still make out the captain of the Xerxes’s final message.

The rest of the treasure I shall leave in this rock. Those canny enough to find it are welcome to it. I myself have no further need of it. To those who come in search of the Philosopher’s Stone, I can offer only disappointment. There is no stone. There never was. It was a legend we concocted and fed to strike fear into the hearts of those who might set upon us for our cargo. Take the jewels and leave all foolish attempts of immortality and power beyond imagination behind. 

May the wind always be at your back. VH. 1756

Roy had to read it three times before the message sank in. On the one hand, this entire outing had been for nothing. It meant that they had left the navy for nothing, Maes had been shot for nothing. On the other hand, they didn’t need to worry about the Philosopher’s Stone falling into the navy’s hands now, and they had a boatload of treasure to boot. It was all so unbelievably ludicrous that Roy couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Roy?” Maes was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Roy, are you ok?”

Roy nodded, pulling Maes in close out of sheer relief that it was all over. Maes’s arms came around him, the safe haven that he’d always been, and Roy sighed. 

“We’re definitely retiring after this.”

“I’m already planning the tomato farm.” 

They stayed in their embrace for a little while longer until Roy finally broke away. 

“We should tell Armstrong that she can call off the search in her share of the loot.”

“I’ll get Fuery to send a message over. Honestly, trust us to go on a righteous mission to rid the world of a dangerous legendary artefact only to find that it never existed in the first place.”

It was an odd irony, but as they looked out over the open sea in front of them, Roy could not bring himself to care. All was well that ended well, and with the news from Havoc in the crow’s nest that they had lost the navy ships following them, all was definitely ending well and heading in the direction of a bright new beginning.

[akechicrimes]

I'd love to hear your commentary on "A Level Knife": It's one of my gold standard fics and I often revisit it to get a refresher on what feels like really accurate character voices/interactions! (also sorry for sending you the prompt "grief" when you were looking for fluff lol)

level knife

LMAO dont apologize, i might have asked for prompts but let’s be real...... i definitely went through those prompts and chose all the ones with angst in them because im an angst writer at heart :’)

im so 😳😳 that u think that fic has accurate characterization especially because it was the first shuake fic i ever wrote and i was PARANOID about messing up the characterization........ i was so worried hfmghfgmh

the original conceit was that goro wouldnt get his hair cut in public because he doesnt want to be seen in an inelegant state, but then it derailed because. akira is a silent protagonist.

because it was my first shuake fic, i really stressed over the characterization for both of them in this fic, so i was like, ok, i’ll start small and easy, and i’ll just try and replicate as best as i can one of the typical interactions that they have at the leblanc bar. i was very dead certain that i did NOT want to give akira a personality outside of what he has in canon, because i felt strongly that akira has a canon personality, even if it’s understated. but then that meant that i had to confront the fact that it would be incredibly unnerving to hold a conversation with a jrpg protagonist who barely spoke. 

and i remember being like, aw, fuck, what am i gonna do?? should i cave and give him a personality? long story short i was SO god damn stubborn that i stuck to my guns and went with akira “silent protagonist” kurusu who says only four words at a time, even went out of my way to shorten his sentences and remove some of his dialogue, and then as soon as i did that the rest of it just sort of....... happened

once i decided that akira was going to behave the way he did, it seemed the natural conclusion that nervous akira’s silence and lack of expression would make anyone, but especially someone who wants people’s approval as much as goro does, how difficult it would be to figure out how to make a type of human connection when everyone else around goro seems to fall easily for the detective prince shtick, how uncertain goro might feel, never sure what akira is thinking, like goro’s shooting in the dark until he’d just nervous-talk on and on and on, trying to get any sort of reaction out of him and then being confused by whatever reaction he gets because akira has such a brick wall for a face.......... but that probably those are exactly the qualities that goro finds so interesting and even admirable...... it was kind of almost an accident that goro wound up behaving so skittishly, but ten i remembered that goro has a habit in vanilla cutscenes of just showing up  in akira’s house and throws words at him like he’s desperate for a reaction until suddenly standing up and running the fuck away JSKJSKJ

all these characterizations were mostly an accident because i was thinking about transferring JRPG Silent Protagonists To the Fanfiction Page and i wasnt deep in the Goro Characterization Meta Sauce yet but i guess......... i think i always wondered if akira and akechi can be rivals if goro doesn’t feel genuinely threatened by akira on some level?? not even in an angry hatred way, but in an insecure and nervous way........ threatened by his abilities, his mysteriousness, akira’s apparent lack of emotional weakness, how much goro finds himself doing stupid shit around akira, or just the mortifying ordeal of being known......... LMAO

but i havent really written anything since about goro having soft weak sides of himself that make him uncertain and nervous ever since....... i mean it’s come up here and there but maybe i should reincorporate that idea more meaningfully into the way i write him from now on 🤔🤔

also i distinctly remember that when i wrote this fic, i was like, “well i dont REALLY ship shuake, it’s just a neat idea and a series of prompts that i saw on tumblr, i’ll just do these seven prompts and then go back to writing pegoryu and shukita” and obviously that. did not happen. as you can see. loooooooooooooooolololololol

ask for the director’s cut on a fic i’ve written

[theartofbeinganeldar]

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 2

Summary: You're a fantasy-loving, LARPing human from this world, who's the black sheep of society because of your obsession for the unreal and alienation of what's real. When you're in the middle of a LARP battle with some pretty phony boars, you fall out of a tree and bust your head. You wake up, alone, and are suddenly attacked by some very pissed-off, very real wargs. Without any idea of how you got there, you got dropped into Middle-Earth, with only bits and pieces of memories of Tolkien's masterpiece, though your recollection of everything else is perfectly clear. And of all places in Middle-Earth, you got dropped into Mirkwood, with some suspicious, potentially hostile, Woodland Elves...

Chapter No.: Chapter 1

Key: [Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: Listen to Medieval Pagan Music, Runestones when reading this chapter.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused,  Denethor's a bitch as always, Boromir lives, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Worm Tongue Grima Wormtongue, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

When I said I hated reality, I didn't mean I wanted to be ripped from it without my family.

How they'd healed you so efficiently was beyond your comprehension, and nobody came to visit you. You couldn't bring yourself to eat much of what they brought you. To think you'd finally gotten your wish, you'd finally, somehow gotten sucked into some alternate reality where fiction was fact and what you'd known and lived in for your entire life was nonexistent... It was amazing. Surreal.

But you couldn't stay here. Not without your family. Not without your mom, not without [B/N], not without [S/N]. [F/N]... You wished you could've at least said goodbye to him. Life without the only people you'd ever had seemed unreal, incomprehensible, and too nightmarish. Too... Alone. You couldn't lose them.

For hours, you waited, pacing the ten-by-ten cell furiously. You had to find some way to get out, some way to find whatever portal you'd triggered... A sound at the barred door made you freeze in place, whipping around like a meerkat. It was Blue-Eyes, and some of his guards, one of which was unlocking the door. "Are you letting me go?"

Blue-Eyes stared at you as if trying to figure out whether or not you were desperate or stupid. Finally, he shook his head, probably deciding it was most likely both in your case. Well, screw him. "My father wishes to see you."

You glanced to each of the guards that came to grip either of your arms. "Is that... Bad?"

Blue-Eyes smirked. "It depends on his mood."

You glared at him as the other two Elves ushered you out of the door, onto the precariously thin ledge just outside of the cell. "You're trying to freak me out, aren't you?"

Blue-Eyes didn't answer, but took up the rear of the procession. They lead you to a platform overlooking all of the mazelike bridge-sets of the dungeons, and opened a pair of elaborately crafted doors. You balked, your jaw fell, your eyes widened as far as they'd go, stunned by the view.

The building you'd thought was surrounded by trees? It was a palace-city, which stretched back from the front wall as far as you could see. And it was made entirely of trees. Bridges of wood, twisting trunks, curling pillars of wood holding up a vaultrf ceiling which opened up to the orange-gold canopy, and beyond, the cloudless blue sky. Huge, arched windows with stained glass of amber filled the front wall, framed in wood, every few dozen feet, letting in a golden light that made the entire place seem more surreal than it already was. Leaves fell too slowly here, as if afraid that touching the ground would destroy their fabulousness. Elves inhabited every floor, sailing gracefully around like gorgeous swans that glared down at the sudden ugly duckling in their midst.

You felt tiny.

"This is your home?" You breathed in amazement, going where the guards took you on autopilot as you drank in the magnificent sight. "It's bigger than the town I live in!"

"This is just a small portion of it," Blue-Eyes had a hint of pride in his voice. You glanced over your shoulder to see him taking in the view with a faint smile on his face. "This part is my father's palace. Only nobles and militia reside here."

"It's beautiful..." You surveyed the palace in awe. I'm here. I'm really here! This is where I'm supposed to be! "Do you all have different floors? Is it flameproof? What happens if there's a forest fire? Can you even get forest fires here?"

"Why would you like to know?" Blue-Eyes demanded sharply, all kindness gone just as suddenly as it'd arrived, replaced with obvious suspicion and disdain.

You sighed, and dropped the subject. You wouldn't be finding anything out about this place today. The guards lead you up a short flight of stairs, which stopped at a huge circular pavilion, lined with a different type of guard in silver armor and navy-blue masks covering their lower faces. They stood almost impossibly still, and each carried a deadly spear.

More stairs, curving upward from each side of the pavilion, lead to a massive throne of carved wood. A regal Elf lounged on it, holding a curled wooden staff. He wore silver robes lined on the inside with a deep crimson, and a crown of thin branches styled like an elk's antlers --or maybe a thornbush-- sat atop his head of snow-white hair. Piercing blue eyes watched you from underneath strangely dark (And thick.) brows, but his catlike face was drawn into an unreadable expression.

Blue-Eyes stepped before you and the guards, and put his right arm over his chest, fist resting over his heart, as he bowed at the waist. "My king, we have brought the prisoner."

Inwardly, you winced. What kind of father forced his son to call him 'my king'?

The Elvenking flicked his fingers toward the guards on either side of you. "Leave us."

As they left with barely a clink of armor, Blue-Eyes grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, forcing you to your knees. His grip was like iron. He leaned down to snarl in your ear, "Show respect. His majesty has shown you a great kindness in allowing you to live."

Aw, fuck. You forgot that these guys had healed you. If Lord Fabulous over there had decided that by even so much as breathing near his lands you didn't deserve for your wounds to be healed, you'd be dead right now. "O-oh..." You quickly fixed your position, and even bowed your head with an arm over your chest, like Blue-Eyes had done. "Sorry..."

"My son tells me he found you trying to escape from warg-bound orcs on our northern border," Elvenking drawled slowly. Wargs... Those big dogs... Why does that sound familiar? Were they in a book? Mythology? A game? You couldn't remember, and Elvenking didn't give you time to. "You were found near-death, and without any apparent recollection of how you came to be there. Is that correct?"

You weren't sure how to adress him. "Yes, sir. My lord. Your majesty. I'm sorry."

Elvenking continued. "Would you like to elaborate on what you do remember?"

His tone wasn't kind. It was "Tell me bitch or I will throw you off into the chasms below."

And there were lots of chasms.

"You won't believe me," You started, and risked a glance; Blue-Eyes and Elvenking watched you warily. You could easily say you were from this world, but you didn't know anything about it. You couldn't lie believably. And even if you could, Elves can sense lies. You figured you'd get some extra points if you were totally honest. "But I'll tell you anyway." So you started out with your explanation of coming from a place called Earth, and that you'd been having a battle against some pretty fake boars played by unconvincing actors in Live Action Roleplay, when you'd fallen out of a tree, banged yourself up, and knocked yourself out. You then proceeded to explain about the big dogs and the orcs.

Elvenking lifted his chin slightly for the sole purpose of glowering at you. "Tell me more of this... Earth." You told him all you could. About cars and trains and jets and phones, then on to TVs and movies, and the huge skyscrapers, and how modern slang was different from what it had been, and how where you came from, Elves and orcs and dragons were all part of a genre known as fantasy. You even tried, for a brief period of time, to explain the subject of eMail and social sites like Tumblr and Twitter, but you gave up at their odd looks as they tried to comprehend the concept. You told them about all seven continents, presidents, world leaders, endless wars, hunger, trashing the planet and all other shit that was wrong with Earth.

You could've been there for hours explaining it all. When you were finished, Elvenking regarded you like he'd just came to the conclusion that you just weren't normal. "It seems, [Y/N], that your world is poisoned."

"It is!" You agreed excitedly. "Nobody cares about it anymore! It's why I grew up to be so... Un-normal, by my world's standards."

"I see..." Elvenking blinked slowly. "Then you are, since you are a spawn of this Earth, equal poison to this world, are you not?"

All the blood drained from your face. "What?"

He looked to Blue-Eyes. "Kill them."

Blue-Eyes gripped you by the back of the head, and your hands flew to his wrist as he yanked your head back. With a flourish, he drew one of his ivory-handled knives and pressed it to your throat. "Wait!" You screamed, and Elvenking raised a hand.

"Last words?" Blue-Eyes sneered.

"I don't know where I am," You choked out quickly; the cool steel of the blade was digging into your neck, cutting a fine line. "I don't know how I got here, but usually when stuff like this happens in movies, there's always a portal. Let me find it-- send an escort if you want! Take me back to where you found me, and I'll find the portal and go home. You'll never see me again!"

Elvenking dropped his hand, and your heart jumped, expecting your head to go with it. "Do you really think that is wise? I sense no dishonesty from you, but you could very well be a spy from your world, which seems so intent on conquering and destroying peace. I will not let this world, much less my own land, fall prey to yours."

"I won't tell anyone about you, or this place, I promise! I don't even know where this is!" Tears of frustration pricked the corners of your eyes. "I'm not a damn spy! I don't even know how I got here! Give me a couple of days to find the portal. Then I'll leave. What if there was a way for you to know I'll keep my word? Like a blood-oath, or something!"

"And if asked where you had gone?" Blue-Eyes countered, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'll tell them I went to Narnia, dammit! They never take me seriously anyway!" Your eyes widened. "This isn't Narnia, is it? Narnia didn't have Elves!"

"No, this is not... Narnia." Elvenking replied. "And you will not know the name of this land. You have three days to find your portal. You will be accompanied by a small assembly of my best warriors. If you do not find the door to your world within the given three days... I will give the order to kill you."

You swallowed hard. The steel dragged across your throat painfully. "Th-that sounds fair." It didn't, but, you just rolled with it.

"Legolas, you will go with them," Elvenking said; something clicked in your mind. You knew that name... You knew that name. But... Why?

Blue-Eyes-- Legolas-- nodded and finally removed the blade from your throat. Lord Fabulous inclined his head once, and you vaguely thanked him, too concerned with how you knew Blue-Eyes's name. He kept a tight, painful grip on your arm, actually digging his fingers in until you were pretty sure he cut off most of your circulation.

When you reached your cell, he thrust you in roughly, making you stumble forward. You whipped around to glare at him. "Could you be careful, Blue-Eyes?"

He paused in locking the door. Confused, he brought his sapphire eyes to meet your [e/c] ones. "What did you just call me?"

"Blue-Eyes," You suddenly felt a little embarassed about picking a nickname for him. Shit, you'd never let that bother you before. He could screw off. "I didn't know your name until a few minutes ago, so... I just picked something to call you."

He raised an eyebrow incredulously. "And you chose to call me after my eyes." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.

You flushed a little, glancing to the side with only your eyes nervously, then back to him. "Uh... Yeah. That's pretty much it."

He rolled his eyes and walked away. Before you even realized what you were doing, you'd ran to the bars and grabbed hold of them, pressing your cheek up against them to watch him walk away. "Blue-Eyes!" He stopped, but didn't turn around. "Your name... Legolas. I think I've heard it before."

He turned his head slightly, like he might be interested, but your hopes fell through the floor when he just continued walking. You immediately wished you'd've said something to get his attention, so he'd come talk to you. Like, Hey, I'm really a spy for Earth, MWAHAHAHAHAHA.

Ok, maybe not that drastic...

But you did wish he'd stayed to talk to you. Even if he'd tried to kill you. Legolas... You slid down the bars, sitting on the floor. Your knees came up to your chest of their own accord. Legolas... What do your Elf eyes see? You knew that you knew his name, but where did you know it from?

They're taking...

Aw, damn. It was right on the tip of your brain. Lord Fabulous looked really familiar, too. He reminded you of Ronan the Accuser from Marvel. Why couldn't you remember? Was it a side-effect of being tossed to another reality? What else did you not remember...?

You sat there for hours, until one of the guards brought you some food. You picked at the meal, as a tune got stuck in your head that you couldn't quite place...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

Here, the song fizzed out like a radio signal, then you got another bit of it...

All shall fade..

All shall...

...Fade...

~ominous time skip~

You, Blue-Eyes, and a team of Elvish warriors like the ones who'd helped you escape the dogs and orcs set out at dawn, which was way too early for someone used to getting up at noon most of the time. All the Elves showed off their glowy perfect selves by leaping gracefully to pebble to pebble like the regal shits they were, including Blue-Eyes.

Actually, scratch that. Blue-Eyes was the fucking king of being a show-off.

They moved fast, and you were surprisingly able to keep up with them. Not one of the Elves wanted to speak to you; they seemed to consider you an abomination.

You kinda seen what they were getting at, though. You were still in your bright white, blue, and black sci-fi Elf outfit from yesterday, complete with the latex ears and bright blue faux-hawk, which had become much less faux-hawk-y after sleep. You were covered in dried blood, dirt, and parts of your outfit were ripped. You'd tried to clean up as best as you could when you were woken up by using the water from the cup you'd been given to scrub your face and arms with the stunningly clean sheets on your cot.

In other words, you stuck out like a bright blue flower in a field of dark grass. You didn't know the way back to the river, so most of the Elves surrounded you discreetly while Blue-Eyes took the lead. Every one of them had a bow or sword or knife out and ready, so one wrong sniff and you were dead.

You traveled for about an hour before anyone spoke. It was Blue-Eyes, to your surprise. "Why is your hair blue?"

"Huh?" Of all possible questions, that one hadn't been expected. Though, that was kind of dumb of you, to just assume they wouldn't eventually wonder if everybody from your world had crazy hair colors.

"Your hair," Blue-Eyes specified, sounding condescending, like his hair was much better than yours because it was long and perfect and almost white. "Why is it blue?"

"Oh," You cleared your throat. "It's dye. My real color is [h/c]. Lots of people do it where I come from. You can dye it a natural color, or an unnatural color, like so. Some keep their natural color and just add streaks that aren't their natural colors. Some dye their full hair, like me, for the sole purpose of cosplay--uh, dressing up as made-up characters for events--and others dye it just for fun. Or to stand out, I guess. But I wouldn't advise it. It ruins your hair. I just don't care, though."

"Why would anyone want to do that?" One Elf asked in horror, then sneered at you. "I suppose those of your world simply do not appreciate the naturalities of the body."

You shrugged. You should see the LGTBQ+ community... But you didn't feel like explaining any of that to these people right now. Especially when they obviously looked down on stuff like that.

"And what character are you meant to be?" Blue-Eyes asked in a challenging tone.

You flushed. "... A sci-fi Elf."

"...Sci-Fi?" A different Elf asked. "What is that?"

"Science fiction," You specified. "Basically, I'm supposed to be an Elf from another planet. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Is that why you have pointed ears?" Blue-Eyes questioned, and you nodded.

"Yeah. They're latex-- a kind of rubber. Wait, do you even have rubber here?" You waved a hand. "Nevermind. They can come off pretty easily, though. Speaking of which, I'd better take them off before they cause damage..." You reached up to one of your ears, despite the looks the Elves gave you.

Blue-Eyes stopped for a minute, halting the whole group. He looked at you like you were crazy. "Whyever would you put something on your body that could cause damage?"

You blinked. "That is a very good question, Blue-Eyes, and one I don't exactly have an answer for. Almost everybody does it at some point." You felt for the flap of latex, but you couldn't find it. Hell, you couldn't even find the edge of the prosthetic. "Oh shit..." You breathed.

"What is it?" Legolas huffed, and turned around impatiently.

Your eyes widened; you couldn't let them think you were panicking, but, well, you were, and shortly after, you did. "I-I can't get it off."

Blue-Eyes's brow furrowed. "Will it cause permanent damage if they are not removed?"

"Maybe? Yes? My skin goes red and itchy and starts to swell up if I touch latex for too long, so, I'm gonna go with a definitely on this one. Just keep walking. I should have them off by the time we get to the river."

But you didn't. There was no flap, no edge of the latex. If it weren't for the fact that you did put latex ears on, you wouldn't have known you had latex ears on. A suspicion grew in your core, so you grabbed hold of the pointed tip, and pinched down with your nails hard and fast. "Ow!"

Every Elf turned to look at you as you pulled your hand away. Some blood was on the tips of your fingers. "Why, in the name of the Valar, would you hurt yourself?" Legolas sighed like a parent lecturing a child, but you were staring at your fingertips in shock. Valar...

"I'm an Elf..."

"I beg your pardon?" Apparently the mere thought of being the same race as you was too much for Blue-Eyes to handle. It was fucking offensive.

"I'm an Elf!" You shouted, and snatched your hand to your chest. "The ears won't come off! They bled and hurt when I pinched them! I'm a damn Elf! When I fell through that portal, I was a normal human! Now I'm an Elf! I don't know whether I should be freaking out or excited!"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "It won't be permanent. Obviously, here you're an Elf. There, you're not. When we get you through the portal, you'll be a human again."

"But..." I don't want to be human... Yet, you were also trying desperately to get back to your family, on pain of death and loss of cool fantasy land. If only you'd wake up to learn you were in some kind of damn coma...

You waved your hands. "Ok. Alright, fine. Is this where you found me?"

Legolas gestured to a particular rock. "The exact spot. Do you think you could find your way from here?"

You smirked; you'd always been good at knowing your way. "Please. I was born with an innate sense of direction. Now how the fuck do we get over this damn river?"

Legolas grinned. "You're an eldar now, aren't you? See if you can get across it yourself." Eldar... That had to mean an Elf of some sort, right?

You stared him down for a second, hands on your hips. He smirked cockily back, pure smugness on his expression. "Ok. Sure. What's life without risk?"

So you took a deep breath, and headed for the opposite bank.

You and your siblings had this special hiking trail in a park, and on this trail was a creek slash pond area. Several of them. You'd always cross the creek carefully, each step placed just so, and quietly, too, so that you could see the frogs-- it was a frog hunt without actually killing said frogs. The exercise gave you all good balance and a know-how for shit not that rock.

But this river was much different than the creek back home. It was clear, and clean, and strong as fuck, so one wrong move and you'd be whooshed away, with Blue-Eyes giving Lord Fabulous the excuse of "Oh they died in the river tragically oops..."

The rocks were unstable. The river swelled over them every so often to make them slippery. Your rubber boots were less than zero help. But you were an Elf now, right? So that had to make you unfairly agile. You took another deep inhale, then took what you hoped was a graceful leaping step, only for you to slip and nearly bust your ass. Elvish powers have to be learned. Noted.

When you finally got to the other side of the bank, you were stiff, and your heart was pounding. Behind you, the Elves sneered and jeered and all kinds of other "eers". You whipped around, and flipped them off. They looked somewhere between shocked, offended, and terrified. You realized they might not know the symbolism of it, and might think you were cursing them. When they reached you, Blue-Eyes was the first to demand what that was all about. "What was that all about?!"

You panicked under pressure. "U-uh... I-it's a minor insult where I come from. Very minor. We use it frequently as a joke among close friends. A friendly insult. Yeah. Sorry. Won't happen again." He totally didn't believe you. So you quickly changed the subject. "O-oh, uh, this way!"

Scenery seen at night was harder to recognize during the day, and vise versa, but you knew you hadn't gone too far up the river when you came across some massive paw prints and scrape marks from where you'd skidded down the bank. Another bonus clue was the scrap of bright blue fabric, from your skirt/tunic thing, hanging precariously from a branch.

It took you the better part of an hour to find the tree you'd woken up at. "Okay, this it it."

"Are you certain?" Blue-Eyes asked you.

"Wait." You laid down, and yep, everything was the same, except in daylight. Legolas frowned at you as you stood, probably ashamed to even breathe the same air as you. "Yeah, this is it."

Blue-Eyes ordered something in Elvish, jerking his head. The Elves immediately set about making camp. "So, in your world, you fell from the highest branches of an oak, yes?"

"Yep, breaking several things in the process."

"And you lost consciousness after you hit the forest floor?"

"Yep."

Legolas hummed and looked up into the canopy. "Then by all means... The portal should be where you laid."

You glanced down at your feet before bouncing up and down a little. "Nope. Nothing."

Legolas huffed. "You may have to try climbing this tree and falling into this spot."

A deranged laugh escaped your throat, which you quickly stifled. "I'm sorry, but are you crazy? What if I die? We don't have the same healing stuff as you guys unless you can pay for it up front, and I'm very poor. So is all of my family. We can't afford that shit. So if I die, what's the point in going back?"

Legolas glared at you. "I didn't mean from very high. Just high enough to hopefully send you through, but not high enough to kill you. Your healers will mend broken bones, will they not?"

You scoffed dejectedly. "Yeah, but for a pretty hefty bill..." You threw your hands up. "Whatever. I'll die anyway if I don't try. Might as well." With Legolas watching you carefully to make sure you didn't try to jump from tree to tree, you started to climb.

Was it really only yesterday that you'd been having a fun, standard LARPing day with your family and [F/N]? The real world seemed like fantasy, now. This felt real. This felt like where you should be. But if your family weren't here, you wouldn't be able to enjoy it. You'd always feel as if you abandoned them. You wondered, did time pass differently? Did it go faster there, and slower here? Or was it the other way around? Would you find the portal, and return to the real world to find your family long gone and the year a thousand into the future? Then you'd wish you'd never left this place. Or would you find not a moment had passed, and to them, it was still the terrifying moment of not knowing if you were dead or alive, to find you unharmed? Would you then be able to convince them to fall through, even on the chance that the portal could only be used a handful of times, and if it did work, would a millenia had passed here? Even Blue-Eyes would've aged by that point, however slightly.

Once you'd reached a suitable height, you braced yourself against the trunk. "How's this?"

Legolas nodded. "Fine. Jump when you're ready.”

You took a minute... Ah... Better get this over with. One does not simply... Damn, what was that meme? "Ok, ready when you are."

Legolas stepped back, and waited; you hesitated, then jumped, and you felt deja vu as you barreled toward the ground, landing flat on your back. The impact knocked the wind out of you, and you felt a painful snap in your right ribcage. You kept your eyes closed; you heard nothing aside from the birds in the trees. You hoped, then hoped some more, expecting at any moment to hear the frantic footfalls of your family rushing to help you...

"Well, I see I was entirely wrong on the matter," Blue-Eyes stated simply, and you frowned. Fuck...

"Ya think? I'm still seeing priss-ass Elves in a goddamn forest that isn't the one I fell in. Fuck you, Blue-Eyes, for having me break a rib for no good damned reason." You glared at him as you tried to sit up, barely making it halfway before Legolas helped you, albeit roughly.

"Watch your tongue," Blue-Eyes snapped. "If it were not for us, you would be dead."

You pursed your lips. "You're gonna kill me anyway just for breathing on your trees, so why didn't you just let me die?"

For a second, Legolas seemed to feel pity for you. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. Perhaps if we fail to locate your way home, I could convince my father to refrain from executing you."

You huffed, wincing as the action hurt your broken-on-some-level ribs. "Why? So I can live the rest of my suddenly immortal life in a dark cell, underground, just for existing? Hell no. I'd rather die."

"Perhaps you could have another use," Legolas offered, and you shook your head.

"Never in my life have I been considered useful." You eyed Blue-Eyes disdainfully. "Ever. By anybody. If you can find a place for somebody like me that doesn't involve imprisonment, fine. But I won't be able to live with myself if I can't find a way back to Earth. I need my family. They're all I ever had."

Legolas knelt beside you. "You... Seem to be very close with them. You love this..." He looked off into the trees, searching for the word. "...Life, so much, and have wished for it for so long, but you'd give it up, to be with them in a world that does not want you... You have a brave heart."

You took the compliment. "Thanks. Now let's find this damn portal, shall we? I've got a couple more ribs to bust."

Tag List: @tesserphantom​ @thedragonghostofmordor​

@taurlel​ @hauntedsiriel​

[shera-dnd]

The Hunter part 1- I Hate You

First chapter of my super self indulgent Catralonnie fic

It was supposed to be a single long chapter, but it made more sense to turn it into a proper multichapter fic

Anyway here is my nonsense. Enjoy the ride

Most merchants took the long way around the Crimson Wastes. No point running into bandits or any of the natural traps hidden in the sands, especially if your cargo is of the sensitive kind, but some still tried to save time by cutting straight through the desert. Only fools or those in extreme hurry would even consider doing that.

It was in one of those shortcuts that Catra found herself. She calmly guided her cart through the wastes, her desert clothes hiding most of her defining features. Catra was no fool in a rush to die. Today, Catra was bait.

Though her normal duties as left hand of the queen meant she spent most of her time locked in Brightmoon castle with all the princesses, she still took any opportunity she could to be out in the field. Plus she was pretty sure Double Trouble could hold down the fort while she was away on this little vacation. Okay, maybe she couldn’t call it a vacation when thousands of lives were at stake, but that had become the standard over these past few years. 

Catra yawned, she just wanted those stupid bandits to try and rob her already so she had something to do. Almost on cue the bandits did exactly that, jumping out from behind rocks and dunes, weapons pointed directly at her. Catra relaxed, leaned back, and closed her eyes. Sounds of battle surrounded her for a few moments and then there was silence.

“This pass is dangerous,” A strange sounding voice informed her. Of course they used voice modulation, otherwise it would be too easy. “Whatever you’re carrying is not worth your life.”

Catra lazily opened her eyes. Around her were the unconscious bodies of a dozen bandits and before her stood the cause of their defeat, a mysterious figure known only as The Hunter. They were covered from head to toe in scavenged weapons, armor and gadgets from the war. Plates of enchanted Mystacor steel covered an Etherian Horde exoskeleton, a Clone Horde laser cannon was hanging from her back next to a Bright Moon guard spear. Their face was covered by a stylized Horde helmet. They definitely had quite the collection.

“What I carry is more important than both our lives, Hunter.” Catra declared, over dramatically - maybe she was spending too much time with Double Trouble - before tossing away her disguise “And what I carry is news.”

“Catra!” The Hunter’s modulated voice called, full of an exhausted resentment; something Catra hadn’t heard in such a long time it almost felt nostalgic. “What do you want?”

“To do my job,” She answered, dropping from her cart to meet the Hunter face to face. “And to do that I need someone minimally capable.”

“Go ask your princesses,” The Hunter dismissed her, turning around to leave. “I have more important things to do.” With a quick movement, Catra wrapped her whip around their arm, holding them in place.

“No, you don’t have anything more important than this.” Catra insisted, her expression challenging them to do anything funny. “And I’m not sending a princess to do a mercenary’s job.”

“I’m no mercenary!” They declared as they yanked their tied up arm. Catra was pulled fast towards them, but she was ready and landed feet first on their chest, before flipping back and landing on her feet.

“Could have fooled me” Catra joked as she dodged a punch to the face.

“I don’t do this for money.” They argued, blocking one of Catra’s kicks.

“Don’t tell me you’re doing this for the greater good or something!” She chuckled as she spin kicked the Hunter.

“Is that so hard to believe?” They asked, grabbing Catra’s leg and tossing the woman aside. “That some people just wanna do good?” Catra pulled on the whip, using the Hunter as an anchor to right herself as she landed.

“I was just making sure you were the right person for the job.” Catra answered, running back towards them and kicking their feet from under them. “I take it you would be interested in saving a few thousand lives.”

The Hunter jumped up in a single fluid motion. No longer in the mood to answer each other they continued their aggressive negotiations in silence. Catra had to admit that she was starting to enjoy this, there was a certain familiarity to their movements, an exhilarating back and forth that Catra hadn’t had in a long time. Not since her and Adora- No, she wouldn’t think about that.

Catra pinned them to the ground, her face was covered in dirt, sweat, and a bit of blood from a couple of hits that connected, but that could not dissuade her smug victorious smile. Looking down at the Hunter she couldn’t help but have a strange sense of deja vu.

“Do I know you?” Catra asked, releasing the Hunter, but not completely getting up.

“I hate you.” The Hunter snarled as they pushed themselves up.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Catra joked “Are all your negotiations like this?” They did not respond to this, simply climbing onto the cart and waiting for Catra to join.

“Whatever that job is,” They started, not turning to look at Catra as she climbed aboard. “I’m in.”

~~~

The job was simple. Find a group of bandits in the Wastes, kick them all senseless and destroy the giant super weapon they stole from a fallen Horde Prime ship. Easy. Of course, a group that had a giant super weapon and was on their way to hold entire kingdoms hostage was probably very well hidden, but that was nothing that Catra and her new companion couldn’t deal with.

“Why aren’t the princesses doing something?” The Hunter inquired “Or soldiers?”

“Princesses aren’t known for being subtle.” Catra explained, “We need to get this done swiftly and discreetly, otherwise they might act out and fire at random before we have the time to do anything.” They nodded along with the explanation, probably running through some other options in their head.

“What about Adora?” They asked. Adora,  not She-ra. That made it a little easier for Catra to figure out who her mysterious friend was.

“Busy somewhere else.” Was all she was willing to say. The Hunter nodded to that too.

“Huntara?” They questioned again.

“Who do you think mentioned you?” She answered and though there was not outward reaction, Catra was pretty sure The Hunter was smiling under their helmet.

The rest of their trip was completely silent. They were both more than comfortable with the sustained silence and neither wanted to share more than was absolutely necessary with the other.

Catra was the first to break the silence when she noticed the familiar pile of bones before them.

“Why here of all places?” Catra asked, groaning at her memories of that bar.

“We need supplies and information.” The Hunter stated matter of factly as they jumped out of the cart.

“If you can call drunken gossip real information...” Catra argued, but her companion made a point of ignoring her and walking into the bar by themselves.

Catra let out an annoyed sigh and followed them in. The bar was still just as shitty as it had been nearly a decade ago and it was definitely just as smelly. Catra leaned against a wall in the back, far from any other patrons, and simply watched the Hunter do their work. They had made a b-line for a lizard person in the corner - probably some contact of theirs - and began talking to them in low growls. So her companion spoke lizard? That narrowed the possible suspects even more.

Whatever the two were talking about must’ve been very engrossing as neither of them noticed a couple of shady fellows approaching them from behind. Catra made no effort to help them out as she was pretty sure they wouldn’t need any.

“There are only two rules in the Crimson Wastes...” One of the idiots announced and Catra had to hold back a groan. Nearly a decade and this shithole was still the same.

Before they could finish that tired line Catra already had her whip tied around their throat. Their friend took a knife from their belt and was immediately decked right in the teeth for it. Next thing they knew it was a bar fight.

Catra jumped over a table to join her companion and almost as a reflex they began fighting back to back, covering each other’s blind spots as they pushed back the bandits and drunkards that surrounded them. That same feeling of strange familiarity washed over Catra once again.

“Did you get the information you need?” Catra asked the Hunter, a little more joy than she would like tinged her voice.

“Not yet.” They answered “Gimme a moment.” And with that the Hunter picked up one of their assailants and put him through a table. Catra had to admit that even though she had spent all day in the desert, that was by far the hottest thing she’d seen all day.

~~~

Their campfire was the only light in the Wastes for many miles, a beacon of gold and red against the darkness that surrounded them. Their meal was not the best, but compared to Horde ration bars it was a delicacy. They ate in silence, the same way they travelled and the same way they set up camp. If the silence was broken, it was only by one of Catra’s brief snarky remarks.

Strangely Catra had become less and less comfortable with the silence as the time went on. Her need for answers was starting to overpower her need for peace and quiet.

“You’re a Horde soldier.” Catra stated. That much she knew to be true, she recognized their combat training.

The Hunter had lifted their helmet just enough to be able to eat the stew they had prepared. They lowered it back down before they spoke again.

“Were.” They corrected before returning to their meal. That simple confirmation was more than enough to get Catra thinking again. Things started falling into place as she got closer to understanding who this person was.

“You’re trying to fix things.” Catra stated, she did not need confirmation. “People accepted you after the war, but you couldn't accept yourself. You didn’t feel redeemed, so you decided that playing hero was the only way to fix that.” The Hunter stopped their spoon halfway towards their mouth.

“You speak from experience.” They answered, not bothering to lower the mask again. Their voice held an accusation that Catra made no effort to defend against.

“I guess I’ve been there.” Catra admitted “But no amount of playing hero can fix what I did.”

“You’re right.” They agreed, anger flaring in their voice “You can never fix the damage you’ve caused, and you’re not a hero.”

“Are you?” Catra asked, sincerely curious of what they would answer.

“I hate you, Catra.” They deflected.

“You have every right to,” Catra conceded “Lonnie.” The Hunter did not answer for a while, seemingly measuring their options, before finally taking off the helmet entirely.

Lonnie looked tired. Not like she hadn’t gotten any sleep or something, but there was a general tiredness that seemed to seep into every aspect of her expression. The years had not been kind to her.

“Admitting it won’t change things.” She said, before returning to her stew.

“I wasn’t expecting to,” Catra shrugged, acting nonchalantly to hide her worry over the other girl. “It’s just good to hear I’ll be playing hero with someone I can trust.”

Lonnie was one of her fellow cadets, she was among the best, she had stuck around for longer than most and what did Catra do to her? She worked her to the bone, she made her life miserable, pushed her away when she tried to comfort her. If only Lonnie had recovered, if only she was happy now, then Catra wouldn't feel this guilt.

Lonnie was also the only person who really understood Catra. The only other who, when welcomed with open arms and warm smiles, couldn’t feel anything but pain and guilt. The only one who also had to prove to themselves what the rest of the world already knew, that they were a good person.

“I wish I could say the same about you.” Lonnie spat and Catra did not argue or disagree. Catra knew she had not earned Lonnie’s trust, and more than earned her hatred, but this lack of reaction was not what the other woman expected.

The hunter sighed and looked away from Catra, deciding that her stew was much more interesting right now. Her expression shifted; it struggled to remain angry and annoyed, but it soon gave in to that exhaustion from before, and then to sadness. A sadness that stabbed Catra’s heart like a cold knife.

“If you keep staring I’m putting the helmet back on.” Lonnie declared. Catra averted her gaze.

Silence fell over them once again. This time it was an uneasy silence, a long and unyielding one, one that put Catra on edge. Only the wind and the fire dared break it.

[rosemaidenvixen]

Christmas in New Trollmarket

Final part of @mintharpy‘s secret santa gift from last year, hope you all enjoy,

Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and Blessed Yule to you all!

Ao3

Christmas Day

Human and troll sleep cycles were not at all similar, due to one species having a fatal reaction to sunlight and needing far less sleep in general. But on this particular morning, both species put in effort to wake up in their underground dwelling at the same time as the sun rose on the surface.

Jim stretched and yawned. For simplicity’s sake, the human visitors’ sleeping area had been set up in rooms immediately adjacent to Blinky’s library. Due to Jim’s desire to help with holiday preparations late into the night, he had eventually fallen asleep on the library floor itself.

Jim blinked the sleep out of his eyes and waited for everyone else to wake up.

Claire and her parents were the first group to walk in, with Barbara and Strickler following shortly behind them.

“Morning,” Jim greeted them “You guys sleep alright?”

“Uh huh,” Claire replied with a yawn “What’s for breakfast?”

Jim picked up a tray from one of the library’s workbenches “Cookies; red plate for humans, green plate for trolls,”

Claire walked up and plucked a cookie from the human plate “How’d you make the troll compatible cookies?”

“The two main differences are cooking time and the addition of large amounts of sand,” he said while popping one of the aforementioned cookies into his mouth, grinning at Claire’s nauseated expression.

It was at that moment Toby ran into the library, with his Nana, Blinky, and AAARRRGGHH on his heels “Are you guys ready for presents!”

“Not before everyone’s had dessert for breakfast,” Claire said through a mouthful of cookie crumbs and frosting. Toby deflated, but only slightly. Ten minutes later, once everyone had a Christmas confection in one hand and a caffeinated beverage in the other, Toby made a beeline for the tree.

“Okay, now it’s present time,” he grabbed two packages “These ones first,” he handed the larger of the boxes to AAARRRGGHH “This one’s for you,”

AAARRRGGHH opened the package as delicately as he could manage. An elated look appeared on his face once he discovered the box’s contents; a Christmas stocking stuffed to the brim with used argyle socks.

“SOCKS!”

AAARRRGGHH proceed to chow down with gusto. Wasting no time, Toby handed the next box to Jim.

Curious Jim unwrapped it, revealing the last thing he ever would have expected. .

“A sweater?”

“I knitted it myself,” Nana piped up.

Jim smiled at her in gratitude while he pulled the troll-sized sweater on over his t shirt, making sure it didn’t snag on his horns “Thanks Mrs. Domzalski, I love it,”

Noticing Claire wink at him while pulling a familiar package out from under the tree, Jim turned to Toby “Now it’s your turn,”

Claire approached and handed Toby the box “Merry Christmas TP,”

Eagerly, Toby tore into the offered present “Let’s see; hammer, chisel, tweezers, and is this a crystal pendulum?”

“Actually Tobes, it’s a Troll-standard geology kit,”

“Really!?”

“You betcha,” Claire cut in “The pendulum crystals can be used for infrared, UV, radiation, and apparently the magic levels,”

“We made a written guide to what they all do, so don’t try to use the magic crystal as a geiger counter,”

“Awesomesauce!”

While the three of them were busy going over Toby’s new gear, AAARRRGGHH pulled a box comparable in size to a treasure chest from under the tree “FOR BLINKY,”

“Oh, for me? You shouldn’t have, but since you have already gone to such trouble, let’s see what we have here….” Blinky tore off the paper, revealing a large old-fashioned trunk

Barbara smiled at him “This one is from AAARRRGGHH, Strickler, and me,”

Even more curious now, Blinky lifted the trunk’s lid “How joyous! you have gifted me with tomes to expand my new library!”

“It’s a combination of human and Changeling literature that we thought you would enjoy,” Strickler explained.

“I recommend you start with this one,” Barbara pulled out a large, maroon colored book that had a very simplistic design. AAARRRGGHH looked noticeably bashful.

“Why this one in particular?”

“AAARRRGGHH wrote it himself,” Strickler said matter-of-factly “It’s an autobiography of sorts,”

“Truly?!”

“OTHERS HELPED,” AAARRRGGHH mumbled while sheepishly avoiding eye contact.

Blinky clasped the book to his chest with all four limbs “I will treasure it for the rest of my days,”

Knowing that the adults in their group would be preoccupied with Blinky’s new books for the time being, Jim took the opportunity to pull a red and gold envelope off of the tree “This is for you Claire,”

Claire opened the envelope and squealed at the contents “Papa Skull tickets!”

“The concert’s next April, I thought that maybe we could go together?,”

She leaped up and threw her arms around his neck “Of course we can! Thank you thank you thank you!”

Breaking the hug Claire ran to the tree and pulled out a large gift bag “Now here’s your gift from me,”

Jim pulled out the tissue paper to reveal a professional looking leather case. He opened the case, exposing blades of different shapes and sizes lining either side; with each one tucked into an individual sleeve.

“Chef’s knives!”

“I figured that it was time chef Jim got a professional set,”

“Thank you, they’re perfect,”

Barbara picked up three boxes and handed them to Jim, Claire, and Toby “You guys should open these at the same time,”

Together, they tore off the paper and opened the boxes, Jim pulled out a thick black book and noticed Toby and Claire with identical ones “Are these scrapbooks?”

“We thought that you kids would like something to keep all your memories of Arcadia in, so we all collaborated and made these,” Nana explained.

“Don’t worry,” Ophelia reassured them “We left out the embarrassing baby pictures,”

“Most of them,” Javier corrected.

Claire hugged her scrapbook “Thanks, these are great,”

Blinky met Jim and Claire’s eyes with four of his. Upon receiving nods of confirmation from both of them, he grabbed four boxes from under the tree and approached the rest of the group with them “We had planned to ship these to you as soon as we could contact a reputable postage service, but since you’re already here….”

He handed a box to Barbara, the Nuñez’s, Toby, and AAARRRGGHH, respectively. Jim and Claire shared exstatic grins, these particular gifts to their families were the ones that they were looking forward to giving the most.

Toby finished opening his first “Is this a….mirror ball?” the others pulled out their identical reflective spheres with looks of varying confusion.

Strickler on the other hand, looked at the gifts with awe and reverence “Are those….”

“Scrying stones!” Blinky shouted, unable to contain his glee.

“Oh yeah,” Toby said “What are scrying stones?”

“They’re crystals enchanted so that anyone who owns one can use it to communicate to anyone else that owns a stone, regardless of distance,” Claire clarified.

“Yep,” Jim chipperly added “Now we can talk whenever we want,” During the journey to New Trollmarket communication had been spotty at the best of times. There was even a period of almost three weeks where they were completely out of contact. Jim and Claire had been talking about more stable forms of communication with Blinky for a while. This was the solution they had ultimately come up with.

“Thank you so much,” Ophelia said while lovingly cradling her stone.

“They are also exceedingly rare,” Strickler added “It must have take a great deal of effort for you to acquire this many,”

Eyes brimming with tears, Barbara came over to Jim and embraced him “Now you can call twice a day,”

“I’ll do that, Merry Christmas Mom,”

Now that all the presents had been opened, everyone just sat back to eat their cookies and relax in the decorated library. Eventually, Toby stood up “I don’t know about you guys, but feel like going outside and enjoying the white Christmas,”

“Sounds great,” Claire got to her feet “How about it Jim? Want to pop the sunlight stone in your amulet so Toby and I can kick your butt in a snowball war?”

Jim smirked “Oh I’m not going to be the one getting my butt kicked,”

*

One change into winter clothes and sunlight-immunity armor later; Jim, Claire, and Toby were in the woods above New Trollmarket, wading through the copious amounts of snow on the ground.

“This is amazing!” Toby shouted into the snow-covered trees “We never got snow like this at home,”

“I know, it’s incredible!” Claire said while twirling in the falling flakes.

Jim smiled at his friends “Maybe this can be a new tradition,”

“Sounds good to me,” Toby said before flopping down on his back to make a snow angel. Jim chuckled at his friend’s antics, only to feel an icy ball of slush hit the back of his head.

Claire looked smugly at the two of them while casually rolling another snowball in her hands “I believe someone said something about kicking our butts in a snowball war?”

Toby got to his feet, all business now “Oh you want a war? Well you got one,”

The next several hours were spent in nonstop, frosty combat. Whether it was setting up ambushes, constructing forts of varying size and architectural integrity, or no-holds-barred three way fights. Occasionally, some of the adults would show up to check on them. Mostly they stuck to the sidelines, prefering to watch the kids over joining in their winter warfare. A notable exception was when Barbara and Strickler checked up on them and Strickler decided to get his hands dirty. He did quite well at first, setting up a multitude of successful blitz attacks on each of them. Only when the trio were able to corner Strickler and dump a literal truckload of snow on him did he and Barbara decide it was time to go back down.

After sunset Blinky and AAARRRGGHH came up to join them, by that point they had moved on from snowball fights to sculpting snowmen. With the additional help they were able to make six snowmen, a vaguely AAARRRGGHH shaped snow mound, and a veritable army of snow-gnomes. By that time it had gotten completely dark, and Claire and Toby were starting to feel the cold, so they retired to Blinky’s library.

Nana met them at the entrance “You kids have fun?”

All three gave sounds of assent.

“Well here,” she placed a mug in each of their hands “Have some hot coco,”

The three of them took deep sips from each of their mugs, Jim smacked his lips at the delicious taste “How’d you manage to make a troll version of hot cocoa?”

“It was actually pretty easy,” Barbara chimed in “As it turns out hot chocolate is already pretty similar to existing troll drinks, I just had to swap a few ingredients,”

Claire sniffed Jim’s mug and made a face “Do we want to know what’s in this?”

“Most certainly not,” Blinky repiled.

They all settled in to comfortable silence, before Javier spoke up “So Barbara, I have to ask, an exploding turkey?”

She and Jim chucked at the memories his question brought up.

“It’s embarrassing really,” Barbara replied “One year I was trying to roast a turkey for Christmas dinner, and to this day I don’t know what I did, but he turkey exploded in the oven,”

Ophelia stared at her slack-jawed “Really!?”

“Yep,” Jim replied “It scared the hell out of me at the time,”

“We heard the explosion all the way over in our house,” Toby added.

Barbara chuckled “I was just glad that I didn’t need to call the fire department,”

At this the elder Nuñezs smirked at each other while Claire groaned “It’s funny you should mention that…”

“Dad, please, not this story,”

“Well now you have to tell us,” Jim said eagerly.

Javier continued “One Christmas when Claire was a toddler, she somehow managed to stick her head through the stair banisters and get stuck,”

Claire moaned in mortification.

“We ended up having to call the fire department to cut her free,” Ophelia concluded before turning to the Domzalskis “How about you, any stories?”

“Nothing that crazy,” Toby replied “Just the one year where the tree fell on me,”

“He thought that the elf on the shelf was trying to kill him,” Nana clarified.

Blinky stood up “If I may, while us trolls do not share many of your human holidays, during the festival celebrating the discovery of the Arcadian Hearthstone, I consumed so much glug that I became inebriated to the extent that I invited a colony of gnomes to share our living space,”

AAARRRGGHH nodded in confirmation “VENDEL NOT HAPPY,”

Jim watched as they all continued on sharing stories of disastrous holidays and drunken hijinks. His mom had been right. Christmas this year was nothing like it had been in the past, but it had been new and amazing.

He cleared his throat “Well I for one am looking forward to all the mishaps Christmas at New Trollmarket is sure to have,”

His friends and family all laughed and agreed with him before the discussion once again turned to happy memories of the past and all their hopeful ideas for the future, as the first Christmas of New Trollmarket came to a peaceful end.

[erasethedarkness]

Silver Threaded Lining -Day 6 | Blind Date / Setup- (Best Jeanist x f!Reader)

Summary: Working at a news station had its perks- and one of them included being friends with a popular newswoman. When asked to take her place in a blind date, you were skeptical but wanted to help her out, accepting the request in the end. Neither of you had any idea what was in store for you once you arrived at the venerated Chateux de Joel Robuchon. 

Note: Ship and reader requested by Every.man.at.midnight on Ao3!!! Also, this reader insert is… definitely a more larger than life one. Like, it’s probably not really relatable, but hopefully it’s still one that can suspend your beliefs. The reasoning for this is that I wanted to take into consideration the type of person Best Jeanist is, and this is what I came up with and what felt most intuitive to me. Also, I’m tempted to write a sequel or turn this into a series? Just because it’s … so… fantastical and extra? Let me know what you guys think. Hopefully I didn't butcher his character since this is my first time writing for him. 

Theme Song: Tell Me Baby - Red Hot Chili Peppers 

Reader: Female (requested)

Words: 2908

Tell me baby, what's your story…

Working as a makeup artist was one of your greatest pleasures. You got to mess around with different palettes, special effects, and meet people from all walks of life. Professionally, you were employed by one of the top news stations, which gave you the opportunity to work on celebrities and heroes. And for fun, you ran a special effects channel with a fairly sizeable following and sponsorships from various makeup brands. Life was pretty solid and good, though you were too busy to focus on every aspect of it. With your work and social life booming, it was only natural that your personal and romantic life were neglected.

“Say, (Y/N), are you free tomorrow night?” one of the news anchors asked as you worked on her makeup. Her eyes were closed and brows raised, so you couldn’t make out much of an expression as you applied some shadows, but you two were fairly close and you could be honest with her. In the workplace, she was basically your best friend.

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Well… could I ask you for a huuuge favor? Please? I’ll seriously owe you one.”

You paused from her makeup, cuing the newswoman to open her eyes and look at you. She was faced with a somewhat worried and skeptical expression as you inquired more.

“What trouble did you get into?”

“It’s not trouble!” she quickly defended herself before sighing and closing her eyes so you could resume your work. “It’s just… One of my friends set me up on a date, but I’ve been talking to this guy from SVME a lot lately and I think we’re hitting it off really well, so... I don’t really wanna go on this date. But, you’re single and pretty and talented and, like… I think that whoever my friend’s got waiting for this date is gonna be a great person and maybe even a good fit for you. It’s someone she’s trying to set me up with, so… it’s not like I mean any disrespect, y’know? I’m just asking for a favor, one girl to another. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Please?”

You listened to her argument, meticulously applying false lashes and then blending it into the eyeliner so it looked flawless. Taking a step back, you looked at her face to make sure it was symmetrical and up to standard.

“You have no idea who the guy is?” you sighed, giving away that you were seriously considering it. You wanted to help her out, and it’d been about a year since your last date because you were just sick of bothering when you had other things to do, like manage a successful channel on top of working.

“Not at all. She just promised I wouldn’t be disappointed. So… hopefully you won’t be either?”

With a sigh, you told her to open her mouth so you could apply lipstick. “...Alright,” you agreed. “What are the details?” She went into everything she knew- time, location, and expectations- and promised to reimburse you for any money you’d potentially have to spend. You nodded, simply noting everything.

The following night came, and you gave yourself a final look over before leaving. Your makeup was perfect and set, you weren’t worried about your lipstick fading or distorting with dinner, the dress you picked was elegant, flattering, and trendy, and the heels you wore were both fashionable and comfortable. You were aces. The friend you were doing this favor for sent you a car that would take you to your destination, and without time for a moment’s hesitance, you were chauffeured to the rendezvous.

From the moment you arrived, you were treated no less than royalty. As soon as the car pulled up, a valet opened the door for you. “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle. Bienvenue au Chateux de Joel Robuchon,” (“Good evening, Miss. Welcome to Chateux de Joel Robuchon,”) he greeted you with a bow, gesturing towards the western inspired establishment with an immaculate white glove. You smiled politely at him with a small nod of your head, stepping out gracefully. The valet closed the door behind you, the car leaving a second after, and you were left with a small walk across the elegant courtyard to the four-story building. When you arrived, the doors were opened for you once again, and you were greeted with a fusion of elegant French and Japanese hospitality and grace.

It really was like being in a castle. A host came to meet you and took your jacket, while a hostess guided you to the second level where the restaurant and lounge operated. She asked what name the reservation was under, and you gave her your friend’s. With a smile, the hostess suggested you help yourself to a drink at the Rouge Bar while you waited, as you were the first to arrive. Finding that agreeable, you were escorted to an elegant, more than fully equipped and stocked lounge. It was dark with warm, golden lighting that made the red walls something sensual and alluring, rather than loud or intimidating. Black leather furniture beckoned you to take a seat wherever you pleased, and you were promptly met by a waiter offering a drink menu. You ordered a light wine to sip at while you waited for your mystery date, and gazed around the bar. At least it was going to be easy for him to figure out who he was meeting- you were the only lady waiting alone.

As you reclined and sipped, you noticed some of the patrons’ behaviors change. Eyes were skirting to and from the entrance and voices hushed themselves. You managed to hear a woman whisper to another, “Oh my goodness, is that… That’s Best Jeanist!” The temptation to turn around and see the hero for yourself was great, but your dignity and pride were greater, so you didn’t flinch or move to follow everyone else’s gaze. Bringing the wine glass to your lips, you tasted it once again before noticing the curious eyes beginning to fall on you.

“Miss (Y/N)?”

You knew that voice- you knew it from countless interviews, and having met the hero once when he appeared on your news channel. Of all the makeup artists, you were the lucky one who got to powder and touch up his already faultness face. With fluid timing, you blinked while gracefully turning your head to the speaker, eyes opening with an almost hypnotic look. A single green eye received yours, its match hidden beneath fastidiously combed and treated blond hair. His expression was covered by a square silk scarf that was both tasteful and contemporary, complimenting his navy three piece suit. It was no wonder this man was at the forefront of men’s fashion.

“Best Jeanist.” You acknowledged him by his hero name, a calm and sweet smile on your lips. Although you couldn’t see it, you hoped he was smiling from the way the corners of his eyes seemed to just barely move. The hero bowed to you, his hand extended to help you stand, creating a scene that was almost impossible to believe- both to you and those spectating. Delicately, you lifted your hand from the wine glass and placed your fingertips into his palm. With nimble finesse, his fingers curled behind yours, thumb gently crossing over your knuckles as you rose to your feet, and then respectfully let go as you thanked him.

Your thoughts raced as you two were escorted to your table. How could your friend pass this up? On top of that, how did she not know that she was going on a date with Best Jeanist? And who was her friend that was able to convince the No. 3 Pro Hero to even go on a blind date? You had so many questions that were going to be answered the next time you saw her.

A new elegance welcomed you as you two entered Joel Robuchon Restaurant. Dreamy gold lighting and draperies warmed the walls while black dominated everything else. Tables were blanketed in a silky black cloth, their legs just as dark and matching the chairs that framed them. Polished and shining black vases and centerpieces decorated the tables while the flowers, accents, and plates were a stark and contrasting white. It was beautiful and even surreal- especially for a first date, set up or not.

Agreeing on the 6-course specialty menu and a bottle of wine to share, the date began smoothly. You both expressed your preferences and were pleasantly surprised to share some similar tastes, needing to compromise on very little. Starting off this way allowed an immediate familiarity to develop between you two, the conversation becoming more natural and effortless as a result. He made you smile and you made him laugh, all before the bread basket arrived. Even though you were sitting across from the revered Fiber Hero, you didn’t feel any pressure or unease. It honestly felt like you two were on the same page, the same level, in the same ballpark, and just… equal. Already, there was a foundation of mutual respect laid down, and he even asked you to call him by his name as you two worked through the six plates, taking your time and getting to know each other.

“So how is your recovery coming along?” you asked him in a soft voice with genuine concern and interest. Everyone knew the damage he took from All For One and that he would be resting for an unknown but extended period of time.

“Quite well,” he answered professionally. Although he’d been looking at you all night, his gaze became a bit sharper at your question. It wasn’t that he was soured by it, but you could tell it was something he was fairly guarded about. He was able to walk and move, yet there must have been more limitations than before.

“Is that the newsroom answer?”

The hero chuckled at your perceptiveness, making you hope again that he was smiling afterwards. Your imagination was vividly curious of what it would look like, but that was something even you weren’t bold enough to ask yet.

Offering your own smile to him, you carried on gracefully, unaffected by the closed off topic. “I’m glad that you’ve recovered as much as you already have, and look forward to seeing you back in action,” you supported. “I think only the greatest heroes could survive and recover from such grave injuries. It really shows you have so much you want to live for.” Your sincerity softened that steeled look he gave you, and eased away the faint tension that came with it.

“Thank you, (Y/N).” His voice was casual again. Even with the composed and dignified way that he spoke, you were able to pick up the differences between his relaxed and formal speeches. “Experiences like this are rather humbling, for better or worse. They remind us all that heroes, too, are human.”

“Had you forgotten that you were, Hakamata?” There was something coquettish in your voice, bolstered by the confidence you had in catching the nuances he expected to slip through.

“It’s easy to forget,” he responded, meeting your coyness with his own. “I am greatly honored to be a widely received hero and icon- as accessible as the availability and handiness of denim itself. Such responsibilities require a near superhuman balance in life.” The way he spoke of his popularity was anything but arrogant, showing that he took this all very seriously. It wasn’t simply a job or profession- being a hero was an identity that everything else conformed to. “In its own way, the time necessary to heal is a kindness.”

His words were enchanting with the way he spoke. Each syllable was magnetic, tempting you closer to the person across from you not as a hero, but as a man. Your conversation was scarcely interrupted by the restaurant’s staff, plates coming and going as if phantoms were providing them. In this moment, there was only him in your field of view. “How so?”

“It’s the only reason a moment like this is possible right now,” he explained with a foreign glint in his eye. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it would look like if eyes could smile. “While we’ve met once before, it was brief and strictly business. Wouldn’t you agree this time is a benevolent result of my injuries?”

Your lips pulled back as you chuckled softly, your cheeks lifting with a smile as you blushed and averted your eyes. For the first time tonight, he charmed you, and he did it without relying on fame or prestige. Seeing a break in the conversation, the attentive wait staff approached your table, retrieving the empty plates and bowls, pouring the last of the bottle of wine for you two, and then presenting you with a dessert trolley that could rival entire bakeries and chocolatiers. An espresso list accompanied the sweets, and you two ended up with the same order, save for a minor detail in your truffles. One was accented by raspberries, and the other by thin orange slices.

“Only in part. This was also the work of our friends, wasn’t it?” you teased him with a mirthful smirk.

“That’s true,” he agreed, explicitly acknowledging for the first time that this was a blind date. “However, no amount of planning could make two unwilling people meet in circumstances like this. Close encounters are perhaps the strongest reminders that, as humans, we seek a love and intimacy beyond praise and fame. And if I may be candid, (Y/N), I’m honored to have been recommended to you. It may seem silly, but… I do place trust and faith in a close friend’s suggestion.”

Once again you blushed, closing your eyes this time as you took a sip of your cappuccino. He was more of a gentleman than you expected- and you certainly had high expectations for such an exemplary hero.

“I take it you’re skeptical of those you meet on your own?” The question was rhetorical. “I suppose you’d have to be; there must be a plentitude of people with ulterior motives seeking your attention and affection.” You placed your cup in its saucer, your hands coming together in your lap afterwards as you sat ladylike with a sweet smile on your face despite the seriousness of your words. “For what it’s worth, I had no idea who I’d meet tonight. When you offered your hand, it felt like a dream- this whole date has.”

At last, you could tell with certainty that Best Jeanist was actually smiling beneath that silk scarf. His handsome expression was as joyous as it was composed, and you were proven very wrong in believing he couldn’t become more of a heartthrob.

“If we continued meeting, would I be able to convince you reality was better than a dream?”

You were stunned by the smoothness of his words. As a rule of thumb, you were exceptionally skeptical of charismatic men, but you made an allowance for the one across from you tonight. While others came off as womanizers and playboys, Hakamata seemed knightly and trustworthy. After all, the whole of Tokyo trusted him with their lives- including you.

“I would love to find out.”

As you two finished dining, the bill was directly handed to the hero. You offered to pay, or at least cover part of it, but his kind eyes and voice told you there was no need, and the expenses were already taken care of. He took the bill, and you could make out that it seemed like some sort of letter before he folded it and slipped it into his breast pocket. Standing, he opened his hand to you once again and guided you to take hold of his arm as he escorted you downstairs. You two walked with a closeness that evolved over the course of your extravagant dinner, and he waited patiently for you as you received your jacket before escorting you outside.

Before getting close enough to signal the valet to open the door, Best Jeanist stopped with you. His arm shifted so that your hand fell into his as you turned to face him. “May I see you again, (Y/N)?”

Your eyes gazed into his and noticed that his hair was pulled back just enough to allow you to see them both. You couldn’t help but grin a bit widely, your teeth just barely showing as you nodded. “Yes,” you answered in what only came out as a whisper. That unmistakable joy gleamed in his eyes at your response, and you two exchanged personal contact information. When it was all saved, he finished walking you to the familiar car that awaited. Just as you were about to sink into your seat, your date brought your hand towards his lips, his other coming up to the scarf and lowering it just enough so he could give it a proper kiss, covering his face afterwards as he brought his eyes to yours.

“Thank you for this wonderful night. I look forward to the next.”

You blushed as you thanked him in return, the door closing soon after and the driver taking you back home. This was a night you’d never forget, and the idea of future ones with him quickened your heart.

… You’re so lovely, are you lonely?

[mmazzeroo]

Chapter 2: DANY I - How Does She Do That?

@helloimnotawesome - Happy 2nd December <3

Chapter 2:

DANY I - How Does She Do That?

"What a shit day!" she mumbled as she idly ran her finger round the edge of the shots-glass. That lousy piece of shit! It was her third and last glass for the night. He's not worth your tears, Dany, remember that!

She could feel Viserys edging closer. Holding up her hand, she closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't want to talk about it, Vis. Not now."

"Alright sis," he placed his arm across her shoulders, "just say the word if your brothers need to 'wake the dragon' on someone's ass, yeah?"

She nodded and couldn't help the little smile that crossed her lips.

Giving her a tight squeeze and a kiss on the head he whispered, "you know where to find me when you're ready."

Her sweet brother. Always loving and protective. Both of them though she was closer with Vis than Rhae. Could be very funny too, but couldn't think of that now. She could feel the anger coursing through her veins, needing to project it somewhere. She just couldn't deal with it right now.

"And what's with all the fucking elfs and gnomes and lights and relentless singing everywhere?! The noise. Oh the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!", she cried out. Pissed off at Christmas because of an asshole? Good choice Dany, not a cliché at all. At. All! She rolled her eyes at herself.

"'tis the season", replied Tyrion calmly. "So just hakuna your tatas there for a sec 'Grinch'."

"'tis the season", she said mockingly, "yeah season for all the rats to crawl out of the sewer. Hope the turtles are enjoying the peace and quiet. I know I would!" She knew she sounded bitter but she couldn't find it in her heart to care. Not now. "Besides", she continued, "it was Halloween like last week! No reason to break out Santa and the reindeers just yet if you asked me."

"It was Halloween a few weeks ago...and no one asked thus the lovely cheery decorations everywhere", Tyrion said sarcastically. In the background Tormund muttered something about reindeers and farting.

She sighed again staring at the glass in front of her. He's not worth your anger either, Dany. Just drag your ass to bed, sleep it off and start afresh tomorrow. Gently pushing the still full glass away she slid down from the stool. Staggering a bit she blinked a few times trying to gain her balance.

Davos' gentle voice sounded behind her, "I'll have this added to your tab Dany-girl, don't worry."

She gave him a half-hearted thumps-up.

When he stretched his arm over the bar and padded her on the shoulder she reached her own hand up and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Thanks, Dadvos.

The old sailor had a good heart. He had landed on their shores some 12-13 years ago with a badly infected leg wound. In the end Dr. Stark had to amputate the leg below the knee to save Mr. Seaworth's life. Having lost his own family to war he had dedicated his life to helping others caught in the same kind of chaos. On that fateful night his ship docked in King's Landing he had been dragged into the ER by a shouting Gendry. They'd barely managed to dock before Davos had collapsed. What no one knew at the time was that the ship was loaded with Dothrakhi refugees. Scared, hungry, many wounded, and almost all of them seasick, but what parent wasn't willing to risk almost anything to save the lives of their children? Even crossing the poisoned water if it meant safety.

Gendry, being Gendry, had of course confessed to Dr. Stark after a day or two not knowing what else to do or where else to go. So her mom and Dr. Stark had pulled a few strings and somehow managed to get DA Tyrell (current President Tyrell) to reward Mr. Seaworth with amnesty for his heroic actions instead of being charged with human trafficking. They had showed up at the docks with food, water and meds for the refugees before sending them over to Dragonstone where a Dothrakhi community had long been established.  

Since then the Stark pack, Vis and herself had basically adopted Davos as their uncle, or 'Dadvos' as they lovingly grew to call him. Not entirely trusting his footing with an artificial leg he had given up sailing; not for good but no more rescue missions. Instead he and Tyrion had established a little pub which served as the front end of their 'shelter for cripples, bastards and broken things' as Tyrion proudly referred to it. Hot Pie and Gendry had been the first beneficiaries — Hot Pie had been sent to culinary school and now worked as head-chef at the pub. Overseeing trainees was part of the job description but Gendry and Davos made sure to alway be around. Hot Pie was a good guy, but a few sandwiches short of a picnic so to speak, so some of the kids liked to try to play tricks on him once in a while. Something that did not sit well with Dadvos! Gendry helped work the bar and being a pretty good handyman as well he would fix up whatever needed a brush up here and there. And Tyrion? Well, being a Lannister he obviously provided the cash, and though being trained as a psychologist, he also managed the business side of the pub. Loving every second of it. The heart of the place was Davos himself - always ready to listen, play games, give advise, or simply let people have their space.

Reaching the door, bag in hand she heard Tormund call out to her, "Whatever stupid shit the fucker did, where I'm from his woman would cut off his cock and wear it on a string around her neck as a trophy!"

"A pecker that small could never be anyone's trophy", she replied dryly stepping out in the snow.

Out in the cold she remembered why cold weather and alcohol is such a bad mix. You only feel warm because of the booze, Dany, don't let your body fool you. She could feel her head buzzing. Breathe! Stay focused! Luckily the hospital and thus the Stark and Targaryen residence was just across the street.

Watching the ground as she walked trying to steady her steps in the slippery snow, she didn't notice the man coming towards her. Inevitably they collided in the hospital foyer.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"My apologies, miss!"

With the speed of light a strong arm was wrapped around her back preventing her from falling on her ass. Looking up she saw a familiar face.

"Commander Selmy", she smiled, "what a surprise! Sorry for, literally, bumping into you like this."

"Could say the same to you, Dr. Targaryen." He removed his arm from her back and gently resting his hand on her upper arm. "Was just informed that you weren't expected back until tomorrow or, technically, later today." He smiled back at her.

She cleared her throat. "Yes well, complications arose, ensued, were overcome."

Narrowing his eyes slightly Commander Selmy gave her a long inquisitive look. She did her best to look back at him with as much confidence as she could muster at this hour. Just breathe, Dany. Whatever you do he'll know something's up anyway. Whatever his conclusion he just gave her a tight nod and warm smile.

"Right, I best be on my way now, have something for the lab." He lifted his hand slightly holding up a paper-bag.

"Oh? Has there been any trouble here?" She looked around the foyer for any signs of an altercation of some form, but saw nothing other than the usual few anxious relatives and a couple of nurses sitting behind the reception desk working quietly.

"There was a serious traffic accident earlier in the evening. A family of five was brought in, but no ID's so..." He trailed off. When anyone was admitted to the hospital without any kind of identification fingerprints and blood samples were taken to hopefully verify the individuals' identity that way.

"So standard operating procedure was followed. Got it!" She nodded absentmindedly eyes again scanning her surroundings. "But why you though?" Her head shot up, eyebrows furrowed, giving him a puzzled look. "It's usually something the City Watch handles, but you're Commander of the Gold Cloaks. Must be very high priority." She  tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. What in the Seven Hells is going on?

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes looking over and behind her clearly avoiding direct eye contact. Looking very uncomfortable he cleared his throat and said, "Just a precaution. Wish you a good night Dr. Targaryen." He was out the doors before she could respond. What the fuck was that about?!

As she crossed to the private lift at the back of the foyer she was approached by Margaery.

"Dany! Didn't think you—"

"—you'd be back until tomorrow, yeah I know", she finished exasperated.

Margaery gave her an amused look trying to hide a smile. "Won't ask", she said smiling holding up her hands as if surrendering. "Since you're here though would you be up for doing me a favour?"

"What's up?"

"Grey is currently sitting watch at a dog we got in this evening. The poor thing was in a terrible vehicle accident. Thing is he's beginning to wake up and..." Margaery looked at her expectantly.

"And you'd like me to go have a look to see if I'm going to get my head bit off, is that it?" she asked with a smirk while crossing her arms over her chest.

"Exactly!" Margaery grinned.

"Give me the headlines as we walk." Work! Nothing focuses the mind like work! Maybe that's why I enjoy it so much? Who do you think you're kidding, Dany, that's exactly why you love your job! That and you get to help. Helping does make me feel useful. She could feel the anger from earlier slowly began to subside, her body felt more relaxed. The alcohol had done it's job now it was time for her to do hers, and with a task at hand she quickly felt sober again. Strange how the mind can clear up like that. Damn it Dany, pay attention to Marg now!

"He came in sedated so we had to work quickly. The x-rays only showed a broken front leg. Lots of bumps and bruises though and some burns, but overall just getting away from that alive is a miracle."

"How so?"

"According to Tormund the vehicle took a tumble downhill and burst into flames."

She gasped in shock. Poor guy! "What about the rest of the family?"

Margaery waited as she dropped her bag off by the door to their break-room. She heard Margaery sigh next to her. The normally optimistic woman was clearly hesitant.

"They didn't exactly get away that easily." Another heavy sigh. "The man was patched up by Dr. Lannister and is currently stable and expected to wake up sometime within the next few days. His wife on the other hand..." She trailed off and dropped her eyes to the floor.

Her heart dropped. Oh gods! "She didn't make it." The words came out only as a whisper.

Margaery closed her eyes and shook her head slightly. "Sadly no." She lifted her head again and looked at Dany, "but Dr. Martell and Robb were able to save the babies so I guess there's a bit of a silver-lining?"

"Babies? She was pregnant? How far along was she?!" She could feel her eyes grow big in horror. Does this story just keep getting worse?!

"Robb said based on weight and length they estimate she was about 36 weeks, so based on that alone the babies are quite well and safe." Oh thank the Gods, but there's a 'but' there's always a 'but'. "But" Yup, fucking knew it. "because of the rolling, falling and  various hits their mother suffered Dr. Martell wants to keep them under observation for a while just to make sure they're as good as can be. Robb's up there with them now."

"Wow! Can't even imagine what it must be like for him when he wakes up." She couldn't find any words to describe how she felt for that man somehow losing and gaining everything the same night.

They walked in silence until they reached the pens at the back of the vet wing. The smaller animals had cages where they could rest and heal, but the bigger ones had a pen. Basically fences only about 50 cm high as the animals kept there were not in a condition to stand up on their own, and this way also made it easier for the caretakers to check on them, change bandages etc.

In the pen in front of her was a big fluffy ball of white fur with two red eyes squarely fixed on Grey. He's gorgeous! Teeth barred and a low growling.

"Hey there sweetheart", she said tenderly as she carefully stepped in front of Grey. "I know this is scary. Unknown surroundings, unknown humans, and bet that foot of yours hurt too." She was gently guiding Grey away from her and towards Margaery and the door. "I'm sure those wounds on your leg and shoulder is stinging as well." She kept talking in a calm and gentle tone until the dog stopped growling.

"Atta boy, just breathe, I won't let anyone hurt you." She was holding a palm against the fence letting him get a proper sniff.

Glancing towards Margaery she asked, "do we know his name?"

"His name tag said 'Ghost' which by the looks of him is a very fitting name I'd say."

Grey smiled and nodded.

"Ghost", she whispered. The dog looked up. Didn't care when Marg said your name? "Hmm like my voice, do you?" She couldn't help the smile forming on her lips.

She opened the gate of the pen and took a seat in the corner next to the dog's head. A bold move but a necessary one. For a few tense seconds the dog just laid there looking at her. Then, as if he'd made up his mind about something, he put his head in her lap.

She carefully stroked his head and neck. "I'm so sorry this happened to you and your family," she whispered, "and I promise we're all doing everything we can to make you feel better."

She moved a bit lower so that Ghost was resting his head on her stomach. That way she could rest a bit as well.

Last thing she heard before dozing off was Grey's voice, "How does she do that?"

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 1X07 - The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

We’re finally here: This episode. This is another one of those episodes that feels a little nerve wracking to touch upon for reasons you probably know. At the same time, I’m really interested to see how my perception of a character who I used to really like changes given how so far I’ve found his appearances to be lackluster. 

I guess we’ll find out. Join me under the cut for a journey most heart-stopping because there was LOADS to unpack here.

Press Release One of the town’s residents begins to remember their fairytale past, and Storybrooke mourns the loss of one of their own. Meanwhile, in the fairytale world that was, the Evil Queen attempts to find a heartless assassin to murder Snow White. General Thoughts Past Okay, so I know Regina’s emotions were fake in that opening scene between her and Snow, but they have so much chemistry. I love the way that Snow trusts her. She really does see Regina as her step mother and you feel the friendship that they’re later revealed to have had in the past. And it’s a real testament to Lana’s acting how she can go from this sympathetic mother figure in one shot to vile and sinister in the next! We also get to see more of Regina’s cleverness here. The Huntsman is a really well-defined character. The way he’s shot by the cameras show his size and strength well and the way others view him characterize his loneliness. We see his skill and his heart immediately and how he has no shame over it. That’s so important to see with men in the media.

Additionally, I like how at first the Huntsman refuses to speak but when Regina calls him birth parents his “parents,” he wastes no time correcting her. It’s important that this was shown because while they do do a really good job showing the nuances of the situation in the struggles between Emma and Regina, the fact that the show and our sympathies are supposed to align with Emma can give people who aren’t paying attention the feeling of an anti-adoption sentiment to the show. In addition to reinforcing The Huntsman’s bond with the wolves, we get to see that adoption sentiment shown unwaveringly positive. But here’s what I don’t get. Why does The Huntsman agree that he doesn’t have compassion? He literally just killed two guys and a deer for his wolf friend and in that very scene, he shows compassion for his wolf kin. It’s not like he’s trying to prove he’s strong in front of Regina. She’s not holding anything above his head - not even pride. I feel like this would’ve worked better if we saw the wolves in danger of extinction or something, but as is, the very thing The Huntsman wants goes against the very reason Regina sought him out in the first place: She wants a being with no compassion, and The Huntsman’s primary motivation is compassion. And it shows. Snow’s actions that are supposed to be a big show to the Huntsman that she’s worth saving aren’t big enough to combat the way he expresses how he views humans and sincer there’s never been anything else to betray the words he says, it feels weird. I’m not sure if Snow is supposed to be shown as a woman so above the standards of humanity that Huntsy has been exposed to or that Huntsy is just too nice a guy to kill someone not threatening him or the wolves. If Snow had shown an appreciation for wolves, I feel like that would’ve been a good compromise, but as it stands, the relationship between Snow and Huntsy feels flaccid. Present While I detest the scene that brought it on, the journey of Graham recovering his memories is really well paced and is an interesting one to take. You can hear how Graham’s manner of speaking changes as he recovers his memories. The way he describes the wolf in his dream’s eyes “one was blood-red and the other was black as night.” That’s a very sudden, but interesting change, showing the impact of the curse beginning to crumble at his feet. Additionally, he gets to talk to a fair variety of characters and while it’s his final episode, it never feels like it’s too sudden or inappropriate. Everything - thanks to his bits of memories and the words of others - feels natural in that respect. I also found the counter journey Regina takes to nip Graham’s recovery in the bud to be fascinating too. You can see the subtle “oh shit” in her eyes as Graham states that his wolf dream was more than that.

I take issue with how Graham doesn’t feel things. Where is this coming from and why was it never touched upon earlier? I get that when your heart is taken, your emotions feel more dulled, but the show hasn’t done a good job showing Graham as having dulled emotions and this episode blatantly shows him feeling panic, lust, and curiosity in droves. This is the driving force behind his character in this episode, but the writing and acting aren’t doing a great job in selling that concept to me and it makes the primary driving force behind Graham’s journey not work. And the argument that the kiss he and Emma shared revealed those lack of feelings doesn’t work either because he was already talking about how he doesn’t feel things before they kissed. That scene with Emma and Mary Margaret was just adorable! Emma and MM are each other’s life coaches - MM is teaching Emma about trust, and Emma illuminates her on stuff like one night stands. And they’re very supportive and adult about the whole thing! That said, I do take issue with the direction it takes. I mean, relationship aside, Graham’s actions were pretty fucked up last night and flowers weren’t going to solve that. I’m going to leave it there because I have a space for both shipping and anti-shipping below. I’m torn between liking Graham decision to leave Regina and thinking that it came out of nowhere. Regina hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary that Graham would have heard about in this episode, so why is he suddenly blaming her. Hell, it’s not like he knows that she’s the Evil Queen! And even if he did, this scene is supposed to imply that he’s taking a point of view more founded in reality, and again - Regina hasn’t done anything strange that he’s heard of. In the scenes they’ve spent together and the scenes that he’s spent with other characters, he hadn’t learned anything new about his relationship with Regina or how that relationship relates to itself. For a story like this to work, the character should learn that while he can’t get what he thinks he wants (his heart), he gets what he needs (an understanding that he’s in a relationship that needs to end). However, since we never got to see point outside of the flashback where their relationship was bad - apart from not believing him about a dream, something Emma didn’t believe him about either - we don’t see a reason why he should end things off. Still, with the knowledge (that is only in hindsight because it wasn’t revealed at that point) that Regina took his heart, it is great to see him stand up to her. Insights “What the hell” is right! That dart scene just left a bad feeling in my insides. And then that loud public scene Graham makes of it. So there’s this letter that I found on TV Tropes from Graham to Emma, and it’s rather dramatic. I’m thoroughly convinced that it was made after this scene. Oh God! That CG deer! At least the one in “Snow Falls” looked a little real! This one looks like it jumped out of a PS2 game! “Since when do you want me to stay, anyways?” I have to wonder who was it that initiated their “relationship” (And don’t worry, we’ll get to how fucked up that is over at the “Darker Aspects” segment)? Did Graham just one evening show up at Regina doorstep raring to go? Gold, who gardens in the forest?! I imagine this was when he buried the dagger. I wonder, did Regina just happen to get a mirror’s view over The Huntsman at exactly the wrong time? He killed them because they were threatening to kill him and his wolf and he cries over his animal kills, not because he’s heartless! OR, do you think perhaps that she manipulated the guys at the bar to talk to him like that so she could scope his strength out? I wonder who this wolf was to Graham when he was growing up? A father figure? A mother figure? A sibling? Friend? Second cousin twice removed? “Those who kill and those who are killed.” Regina, you’re starting to sound like Flowey! Avoid golden flowers! Really, Isaac? A baby animal is the best illustration you’ve got for that desperately emotional encounter? Did they fire their artist and just use whatever the most artistic intern submitted? And then some of the other artwork in the book is so detailed and beautiful! Were there multiple artists for the book in-universe? Holy shit! I forgot about the physical fight between Regina and Emma! I actually shouted “FUCK” when it came on! Arcs Emma’s journey of belief AND Regina’s control over the town- While I take large issue with this episode, I do like that Emma actually had to suffer a loss here. Regina by this point had “lost” in every episode - maybe not the war, but certainly the battle. Emma had managed to earn the friends and relations that Regina clearly didn’t want her to obtain. And now, just on the cusp of another small victory, Regina (I apologize for the literal objectification of Graham to follow) takes it away. It reinforces her menace, something we’ll see in the next episode. This aspect of the episode - while unfortunately used through a really terrible love triangle - does give the emotional impact necessary. Favorite Dynamic Graham and Henry. This dynamic was the only one in the episode for me that almost fully worked. GRAHAM-ted (I needed a joke after this episode), it was a short scene, but here’s why I like it. Both characters are in the perfect place to be having this conversation. Graham is on the verge of mental collapse and is in desperate need of both validation and answers. And Henry is able to give those answers. I only wish he had been more enthused since someone was finally believing him. However, their moment together brings a level of calming insight as well as a genuine connection between both of the characters. Writer How the mighty have fallen. After two stellar episodes, A&E give me this dud. It’s weird, this episode - like the prior successes - is focused externally. Graham, Emma, and Regina are the focal characters, with MM, Henry, and Gold serving as supporting cast members. However, where it different is that there’s no internal focus in either plot or continuity. Problems with Graham arise out of nowhere and aren’t expanded on in a comprehensible way and Huntsy’s motivations and feelings in the flashback are frustratingly unclear. Since he’s the main character of the episode, because of these faults, it feels sloppy.

That and the issues in the next section really weaken this episode, to say the least. Darker Aspects Trigger warning for rape and consent issues discussion below.

I didn’t hate this when I first watched it. However, it’s been over three years since I’ve watched it and “the villain can do terrible things like that because they’re the villain” doesn’t fly any more in my book. Now, watching those kisses between Graham and Regina in both realms makes my skin crawl. And the fact that it never gets touched upon again set a shitty precedent for non consensual sex that would repeat itself a number of times and will remain as an unwavering black spot on Regina’s redemption arc (Which otherwise worked for me pretty well).

Just...why would they do that? I’m not a rape victim, and I don’t feel comfortable telling anyone - victim or not - how to show it - if at all - in media. I have my own opinion of it, but that’s neither here nor there. Still, I will say this: This just isn’t the way to show it - never giving the victim a lucid moment to reflect on their own rape is fucked up. What’s worse is that I remember reading A&E deny that it was rape in Storybrooke, and that’s just doubly awful. Rating 3/10. This was a genuinely terrible episode, and not just because of the *ahem* Darker Aspects, although that really didn’t help. Thematically and from a character perspective, I wasn’t sold on either Graham or Huntsy’s journeys. In the past, there was no focus and in the present, there was no establishment, and in the case of both, they had the beginning and endpoints of the episode down, but clearly didn’t know what to do with the middle to get them there. The two parts are a cluttered mess vaguely threaded together, but bereft of the meat that a journey needs to entail to work in terms of storytelling. The only saving grace of the episode - in addition to the acting, which is always good - is the line of characters that Graham interacts with while on his journey to...breaking up with Regina. Dark Side of the Ship Normally, I have another segment here called “Flip My Ship” and it’s supposed to be a place for all things “shippy goodness.” However, today, I have no “shippy goodness” to flail about. In fact, I have negative thoughts about the ships here, and unfortunately, while I try to keep anti-shipping out of my episode rewatches, this pairing is frustratingly story relevant and I feel like I need to touch upon them. If you like Gremma, I suggest ending off here. You have been warned. Now that I’ve fully seen Gremma for a second time, I can fully say that I hate it.

It’s weird. I used to like it. Before this rewatch, it was up there in my favorite Emma ships. However, I despise it now that I’ve taken a closer eye to the series and his character. While I’ve had negative feelings towards their relationship for the entirety of episodes 1-7, I’ll do what I can to focus on this episode specifically.

I hate how the ship bastardized that scene with Emma and MM because where do we see feelings between Graham and Emma to the point where her rejecting an advance that didn’t even happen was a problem? The most I can see is her rejecting the hot chocolate because those are just her walls, and a bit of banter. They’ve known each other for maybe a month and we’ve barely seen them interact. I think they’ve spoken fifteen lines to each other maximum. With all of the good Emma dynamics out there, this is the only one so far that is bad because it tries to tell much more about Emma than it’s bothering to show. If this episode was happening in episode 14 or something after a couple of episodes of Graham and Emma working on cases together, that would work. I’d believe it. But they haven’t. The only bits of police work they’ve done together have had Emma interact with other characters (MM in “Snow Falls” and Regina in both “Pilot” and “That Still Small Voice” and if there’s a crush at all, it’s only been shown on Graham’s side, and shoddily at that. It just feels unearned for the focus and buildup they’re trying to give this couple. I liked them a bit more towards the end of the episode, but that’s only because Graham had stood up for himself and protected Emma so I can actually see there being some romantic chemistry there. But that’s right before he dies, and far later than I was supposed to feel for this couple.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

I never like writing negative reviews. No one does, and unless they’re based on comedy, reviewers who say they like writing negative reviews are to be avoided. It broke my heart that an episode that I formerly liked disappointed me so much upon my second viewing of it and I hope that future shitty episodes are few and far between. Thank you again to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this project together, and I’ll see you next time.

Operation Rewatch Archives Season Tally (56/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (23/70) Liz Tigelaar (10/20) David Goodman (9/50) Jane Espenson (6/60) Andrew Chambliss (8/10) Ian Goldberg (8/10)

[ladystylestores]

The Mormon church’s century-long mission to crack China

There are only five state-sanctioned religious associations in China, all under the tight control of the Communist Party. Others walk a delicate legal tightrope, with the threat of a crackdown always hanging over their heads. While the government tolerates foreigners practicing their religion and attending services together, it takes a hard line against anything approaching proselytising or missionary work, a prohibition the Mormon Church takes seriously.

“We have to ask to see if they have a foreign passport to attend,” said Jason, a lifelong member of the Church who worked in Shanghai for almost a decade until relocating back to the United State in 2018. “I have frequently been this person watching the doors and on many occasions I have sadly had to turn away Chinese citizens who wished to worship with us.”

And that is during the good times. In recent years, the Chinese government has increased its regulation of religious worship, launched crackdowns against underground churches and instituted new restrictions on those faiths which operate in the grey area of only catering to foreigners.

So the Church’s announcement on April 5, that it plans to open a temple in Shanghai, the first ever in mainland China, was seen by some as a bold decision.

The Church claims it won’t change anything, but the idea that a US church with expansion in its DNA could open an official temple in China is likely to be controversial — and may not be allowed by Beijing. Already, authorities in Shanghai have suggested that the announcement was made without their prior approval, even as experts said the Church would likely never have revealed the plans without a clear go ahead.

In Salt Lake City, Utah, the spiritual headquarters of the US-based Church, Jason “could hardly believe” the news.

“I couldn’t have imagined that we would ever have a temple in Shanghai at this time,” he said. “Immediately, my WeChat started lighting up as we were all expressing joy and excitement with our China friends.”

Jason is a pseudonym. Like several other current members of the Church interviewed for this story, he requested anonymity to speak about its functioning in China without the permission of Church leadership.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints declined multiple requests for an interview for this story, referring CNN to a website about its operations in China and President Russell Nelson’s statement on April 5.

In the beginning

Founded in upstate New York by Joseph Smith in 1830, it took the Mormon Church some 117 years to grow from six initial members to its first million. Today, it claims more than 16.5 million members globally, with most outside the US.

While the true size of the church is debated (some say they include members who are no longer active) one thing is clear: the massive growth of the Church has been achieved through the work of thousands of missionaries.

Smith said he received a revelation in February 1831, in which God told his followers to “go forth in my name, every one of you” and “build up my church in every region.”

That is how the Church arrived in China over a century and a half ago.

Its start in the country, however, was less than auspicious. In 1853, its then-leader Brigham Young dispatched three missionaries to British-controlled Hong Kong, then a common staging ground for those seeking to spread the gospel in China.

When they arrived, however, they realized that China was in the midst of a bloody civil war, making travel outside of Hong Kong exceptionally dangerous. Their reception in the city was not much better, as the English-language press ran lurid articles about the Mormon faith and accused the faith of blasphemy. Their funds running out, they struggled even to find a Chinese teacher.

“Our staying here to learn the Chinese language without one friend or one possible recourse to us appears totally impractable (sic),” the missionaries wrote in a letter to church leaders as, less than two months after they had arrived in Asia, they boarded a ship bound for California, historian Stephen Prince recounts in his biography of one of the missionaries, Hosea Stout.

It was not until 1949 that the Church established a permanent presence in Hong Kong, with the intention again of using the city to get a foothold into China.

“Nearly one billion of our Father’s children live in China,” then-President Spencer Kimball said in 1978. “If we could only make a small beginning in every nation, soon the converts among each kindred and tongue could step forth as lights to their own people.”

Beginning in 1980, Church leadership began reaching out to the Chinese authorities to try to get permission to operate in the country, and in 1986, small church branches — meeting houses — were organized in Beijing and Xi’an, though only those holding foreign passports were permitted to attend. According to the Church, today there are around 10 meeting houses across mainland China. By comparison, there are around the same number in Hong Kong alone, and more than 50 meeting houses in self-governed Taiwan, where the Church claims around 61,000 members.

Despite this apparent lack of progress, Church leaders say they have built a strong relationship with the Chinese authorities, and in 2010 they announced moves to “regularize” their activities in the country.

“The Church deeply appreciates the courtesy of the Chinese leadership in opening up a way to better define how the Church and its members can proceed with daily activities, all in harmony with Chinese law,” spokesman Michael Otterson said at the time. “They have become thoroughly familiar with us through numerous contacts, and they have seen how we and our members operate in China. They know that we are people of our word when it comes to respecting Chinese law and cultural expectations.”

Currently, two types of Mormon worship are permitted in China: services for foreign nationals, and services for Chinese nationals who converted while overseas. The two are kept separate, and the Church is careful to avoid any sign of seeking to expand its Chinese membership within the country. Unlike with other countries in which it operates, however, the church does not provide membership figures for China.

Building trust

The Chinese Communist Party has always had an uneasy relationship with religion. The state is officially atheist, and the tens of millions of Party members are barred from holding religious beliefs.

Despite a constitutional commitment to religious freedom, only a handful of faiths are permitted to operate, each under umbrella organizations with strong links to the Communist Party.

Two are considered domestic faiths — Buddhism and Taoism — while the others are foreign religions, with varying historical pedigrees in the country, Islam, Protestantism and Catholicism, though Chinese Catholic organizations operate separately to Rome.

Other religions fall into a grey area: the State Council says it is “open” to foreign organizations — but only if they respect China’s sovereignty and principle of religious self-administration.

In practice, this means religious bodies’ first loyalty must be to the Communist Party, not a foreign Church leadership. This point has caused a long-standing rift with the Vatican since the establishment of the People’s Republic, and Chinese Catholics operate separately to the global church, though some progress has been made towards rapprochement in recent years.

Despite this, religious practice is on the rise. But alongside this growth in belief has come increased suspicion of “foreign” religions, particularly Islam and Christianity (though both have long-histories in China). Muslims in the far-western region of Xinjiang have had their religious practices strictly curtailed, while underground Christian churches, once broadly tolerated, have been cracked down upon.

Indeed, around the time Nelson was making the announcement of the new temple, International Christian Concern, a US-based advocacy group, said that believers holding Easter services online were raided by the authorities. Local police could not be reached for comment, the Early Rain Covenant Church which organized the service is considered an “underground,” or unlicensed, operation and has previously been ordered to cease activities, according to Human Rights Watch.

“The Chinese government is very suspicious of religion as a vehicle for potential political opposition,” said William Nee, a Hong Kong-based researcher for Amnesty International.

Pierre Vendassi, an expert on Christianity in China, said that the government “is mainly trying to take back the control over religious activities, and uses full force to do so, after a period of time when people could almost freely opt for unregistered, unmonitored religious activities, without facing any consequences, most of the time.”

“Now the message is clear: either accept state control, monitoring and restrictions, or face state hostility,” he said. “For the Christian activities, the purpose is to get house churches and Catholic underground church back under control.”

As far as non-official faiths go, the Mormon Church is perhaps the gold standard for such a group in China. Current and former members, as well as outside observers, agreed that the Church is scrupulous about following Chinese law and avoiding anything that could be seen as proselytization.

Nee contrasted this with “other forms of Protestant Christianity or evangelical traditions coming out of the US, who have a much more aggressive or underground strategy for spreading the faith.”

Sarah, a Mormon who worked as a university professor for several years in China, said she “did not tell people what church I belonged to or even if I belonged to a church.”

“Some friends would ask me if I was Christian. I would say yes (but) we do not talk about it in China,” she said. “They would nod and agree. That is as far as the conversation would go.”

Marcelo Gameiro, a Church member living in Shanghai, said that he does not talk about the church “because it is against the law.”

“But I don’t hide (that) I am a member of the church,” he added. “When I was in Huzhou, I used to go to the Hangzhou branch, it took me three hours to get there, and people started to notice I was going somewhere every Sunday dressed in a tie, so I did tell them where I was going with no problem, I just did not preach the gospel to anyone.”

Sarah said she would “occasionally see Christian religious groups that would come in and rather openly flout the rules of China.” American students would get scholarships in China and then try and convert their classmates.

“Several times I talked to them about it, I asked is this the right thing to do, are you making a good example,” she said. “I heard from Chinese people who got rather angry because people would come from other countries and give away Bibles and start conversations about religion, and they would say we are not allowed to talk about this in China.”

Playing the long game

John Wakefield, a now ex-Mormon who came to Hong Kong as a missionary in the 1980s and still lives in the city, said a big part of the Mormon religion is “we’re going to convert the whole world” and that it’s the fastest growing church in the world. “For them, numbers are really important,” he said.

Another former Mormon, Bryce Bushman, who lived in China for almost four years, where he worked as an urban planner and designer, said that: “Mormon doctrine states that the LDS Church will eventually cover the whole Earth.”

“It’s considered a prophecy, something that is definitely going to happen at some point in the future,” he said. “This gives both the church organization and the members of the church a kind of patient confidence that eventually every nation on earth will allow Mormon missionaries to proselyte and establish church congregations.”

Mormon doctrine also permits “baptisms for the dead,” allowing for the potential salvation of those already deceased, who can then “choose to accept or reject what has been done in their behalf.” This alleviates somewhat the need to spread the word of Jesus to people before they die, has been stated as a motivation for some evangelical missionaries to take great risks in the name of saving souls.

This patience allows the Church to play the long game in China, confident that one day it will be able to bring its message to the country’s vast population.

Josh Steimle, a practicing Mormon who lived in the Chinese city of Shenzhen for two years, said it “would have been so easy to pass along the URL to a Church website to someone who was curious, or give them a Book of Mormon, or a pamphlet about the Church.”

“It was very difficult because we’re a Church that believes in sharing what we believe, and we’re always being encouraged to be good missionaries, and then to move to China and be told to not say a word about what we believe seems to be contrary to everything we’ve been taught,” he added. “But it’s all about the long term vs. the short term. If we shared our beliefs in violation of Chinese law, a few people might join our Church and then the Church would be shut down and kicked out of the country.”

Temple doctrine

On paper, a temple should not be too much for the Chinese authorities to stomach.

In its description of the proposed temple in Shanghai, the Church is clear that this does not represent a climactic shift, nor will the Chinese temple be anything like the grand white stone buildings that dot many American cities.

“It would be modest in appearance. It would fit and be consistent with local custom and environment as a place of peace, tranquility, and dignity,” the Church said of the proposed temple, which it said is intended to serve as a replacement for the Hong Kong building, which is currently closed for “long-planned maintenance and renovation.”

It said that entry will be limited to Chinese members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints — those who have converted overseas and returned to China — adding that this “does not represent a change in the legal status” or the ability of missionaries to operate in China.

Unlike a regular church, Mormon temples are not open to non-members, and even those within the Church must be considered in good standing and receive a “recommend” from a Church official in order to enter.

While the Church appears to be downplaying the significance of a potential temple, all current and former members interviewed by CNN agreed that it would be a major achievement.

Steimle said that it was “difficult to express how big of a deal this is for me, personally, other members of the Church who have ties to China, and really to the entire Church membership worldwide. It’s going to be a very small temple, but it’s a huge thing for the Church.”

Temples are where the most important and sacred Mormon ceremonies are carried out, including baptisms and “celestial marriages.”

If established, the temple would not be the first active place of worship in Shanghai for an unofficial religion. In recent years, limited services have been held at the Ohel Rachel Synagogue, a historic building that predates the establishment of the Communist state. Most Jews in China however continue to practice behind closed doors, in arrangements similar to Mormon meeting houses.

Whether Mormons in China will be able to get nearer to that presence remains to be seen. In a statement issued two days after the Church’s announcement, the Shanghai Municipal Bureau of Ethnic and Religious Affairs said that “according to the relevant laws and regulations of China, foreigners are not allowed to set up religious organizations or venues for religious activities in China.”

The bureau denied any knowledge of plans for a temple in Shanghai, saying they were the “wishful thinking of the Mormon Church in the United States.”

When CNN asked the Church about the current status of the project, a spokesman would only provide a link to the Church’s website detailing plans for the temple and how it would operate. Church representatives would neither confirm nor deny the veracity of the original statement announcing the temple. However, since reporting on this story began, reference to the Shanghai temple has been removed from the Church’s website, though it is still available on an archived version of the page.

Vendassi, the expert on religion in China, said that despite this apparent denial by the authorities, a temple may still end up opening at some point in the near future.

“If an LDS temple has been announced in Shanghai, I think it means they probably had a ‘go’ from Chinese officials to do so,” Vendassi said. “Even if the government says it is a unilateral statement — they actually have no interest in making a bilateral statement, because that would send a message of religious openness.”

Nee, the Amnesty researcher, said that while there was no reason on paper for the Chinese authorities to object to a temple, he doubted whether officials “would be willing to understand the nuances of religions and their theologies” in order to permit such an institution.

As a uniquely American religion, Mormonism’s hopes in China may also be hurt by worsening relations between Washington and Beijing. In the same month the Shanghai temple was announced, Senator Mitt Romney said the coronavirus pandemic had exposed China’s “grand strategy for economic, military and geopolitical domination.”

Romney is by no means alone in criticizing Beijing, but as the country’s highest-ranking elected Mormon, his words may carry more weight with China’s leaders when they are considering the Church’s position there.

China change

If the Mormon Church does have to exercise more patience before they open a temple in mainland China, what are a few more years or decades after a century and a half?

Responding to a question of when China would be open to missionaries in 1991, Elder Dallin Oaks — a senior Church leader — said that “I state my belief that China is already ‘open’ — it is we who are closed … We must understand their way of thinking … observe their laws, and follow their example of patience.”

Quoting Mormon scripture, Oaks added that God “will bring His purposes to pass in that great nation ‘in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will’.”

Mormons who lived in China spoke of the country with great fondness, despite the restrictions placed on how they worshipped there. Both Jason and Sarah keep in contact with Chinese friends over WeChat, and hope to visit again in future.

Sarah saw many parallels between China and the Mormon people, pointing in particular to the importance of venerating ancestors in Chinese culture.

“My ancestors are special to me,” she said. “Many of them joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while our first leader, Joseph Smith, was a prophet. Like the people of China who went on the (Long March), my people also traveled across a continent in search of their dream.”

Two of Jason’s four children were born while the family was living in Shanghai, and the kids went to local Chinese schools. Jason and his wife made a concerted effort to integrate into Chinese life more than many other expats around them, doing “many things that few foreigners experience in China.”

“We didn’t speak any Chinese when we came but we did when we left,” he said. This brought him closer both to locals and to other members of the foreign Mormon community who weren’t as comfortable operating in China.

“I can’t possibly begin to count the number of people we had over for dinners, the people we took shopping because everything the supermarket was unfamiliar, how many people we helped to simply get a Chinese phone number and register for WeChat, both for members of our Church and those who were not.”

Both were optimistic about the future of the Church in China, but emphasized the need for patience, a view shared by Steimle.

“Great progress usually doesn’t happen in a straight line,” he said. “Although there have been crackdowns on religion in China, perhaps the obedience of our members and the trust and friendship our Church leadership has built up over the years by working openly with the Chinese government will help open doors.”

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[readbookywooks]

Sansa

The southern sky was black with smoke. It rose swirling off a hundred distant fires, its sooty fingers smudging out the stars. Across the Blackwater Rush, a line of flame burned nightly from horizon to horizon, while on this side the Imp had fired the whole riverfront: docks and warehouses, homes and brothels, everything outside the city walls.

Even in the Red Keep, the air tasted of ashes. When Sansa found Ser Dontos in the quiet of the godswood, he asked if she'd been crying. "It's only from the smoke," she lied. "It looks as though half the kingswood is burning."

"Lord Stannis wants to smoke out the Imp's savages." Dontos swayed as he spoke, one hand on the trunk of a chestnut tree. A wine stain discolored the red-and-yellow motley of his tunic. "They kill his scouts and raid his baggage train. And the wildlings have been lighting fires too. The Imp told the queen that Stannis had better train his horses to eat ash, since he would find no blade of grass. I heard him say so. I hear all sorts of things as a fool that I never heard when I was a knight. They talk as though I am not there, and"—he leaned close, breathing his winey breath right in her face—"the Spider pays in gold for any little trifle. I think Moon Boy has been his for years."

He is drunk again. My poor Florian he names himself, and so he is. But he is all I have. "Is it true Lord Stannis burned the godswood at Storm's End?"

Dontos nodded. "He made a great pyre of the trees as an offering to his new god. The red priestess made him do it. They say she rules him now, body and soul. He's vowed to burn the Great Sept of Baelor too, if he takes the city."

"Let him." When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she'd thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. "I want it burned."

"Hush, child, the gods will hear you."

"Why should they? They never hear my prayers."

"Yes they do. They sent me to you, didn't they?"

Sansa picked at the bark of a tree. She felt light-headed, almost feverish. "They sent you, but what good have you done? You promised you would take me home, but I'm still here."

Dontos patted her arm. "I've spoken to a certain man I know, a good friend to me . . . and you, my lady. He will hire a swift ship to take us to safety, when the time is right."

"The time is right now," Sansa insisted, "before the fighting starts. They've forgotten about me. I know we could slip away if we tried."

"Child, child." Dontos shook his head. "Out of the castle, yes, we could do that, but the city gates are more heavily guarded than ever, and the Imp has even closed off the river."

It was true. The Blackwater Rush was as empty as Sansa had ever seen it. All the ferries had been withdrawn to the north bank, and the trading galleys had fled or been seized by the Imp to be made over for battle. The only ships to be seen were the king's war galleys. They rowed endlessly up and down, staying to the deep water in the middle of the river and exchanging flights of arrows with Stannis's archers on the south shore.

Lord Stannis himself was still on the march, but his vanguard had appeared two nights ago during the black of the moon. King's Landing had woken to the sight of their tents and banners. They were five thousand, Sansa had heard, near as many as all the gold cloaks in the city. They flew the red or green apples of House Fossoway, the turtle of Estermont, and the fox-and-flowers of Florent, and their commander was Ser Guyard Morrigen, a famous southron knight who men now called Guyard the Green. His standard showed a crow in flight, its black wings spread wide against a storm-green sky. But it was the pale yellow banners that worried the city. Long ragged tails streamed behind them like flickering flames, and in place of a lord's sigil they bore the device of a god: the burning heart of the Lord of Light.

"When Stannis comes, he'll have ten times as many men as Joffrey does, everyone says so."

Dontos squeezed her shoulder. "The size of his host does not matter, sweetling, so long as they are on the wrong side of the river. Stannis cannot cross without ships."

"He has ships. More than Joffrey."

"It's a long sail from Storm's End, the fleet will need to come up Massey's Hook and through the Gullet and across Blackwater Bay. Perhaps the good gods will send a storm to sweep them from the seas." Dontos gave a hopeful smile. "It is not easy for you, I know. You must be patient, child. When my friend returns to the city, we shall have our ship. Have faith in your Florian, and try not to be afraid."

Sansa dug her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy, twisting and pinching, worse every day. Nightmares of the day Princess Myrcella had sailed still troubled her sleep; dark suffocating dreams that woke her in the black of night, struggling for breath. She could hear the people screaming at her, screaming without words, like animals. They had hemmed her in and thrown filth at her and tried to pull her off her horse, and would have done worse if the Hound had not cut his way to her side. They had torn the High Septon to pieces and smashed in Ser Aron's head with a rock. Try not to be afraid! he said.

The whole city was afraid. Sansa could see it from the castle walls. The smallfolk were hiding themselves behind closed shutters and barred doors as if that would keep them safe. The last time King's Landing had fallen, the Lannisters looted and raped as they pleased and put hundreds to the sword, even though the city had opened its gates. This time the Imp meant to fight, and a city that fought could expect no mercy at all.

Dontos was prattling on. "If I were still a knight, I should have to put on armor and man the walls with the rest. I ought to kiss King Joffrey's feet and thank him sweetly."

"If you thanked him for making you a fool, he'd make you a knight again," Sansa said sharply.

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?"

"Joffrey and his mother say I'm stupid."

"Let them. You're safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda's daughter, do they?" Dontos covered his mouth to stifle a burp. "Gods preserve you, my little Jonquil." He was growing weepy. The wine did that to him. "Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck." He swayed toward her.

Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep. She had been weeping too much of late. It was unseemly, she knew, but she could not seem to help herself; the tears would come, sometimes over a trifle, and nothing she did could hold them back.

The drawbridge to Maegor's Holdfast was unguarded. The Imp had moved most of the gold cloaks to the city walls, and the white knights of the Kingsguard had duties more important than dogging her heels. Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go.

She crossed over the dry moat with its cruel iron spikes and made her way up the narrow turnpike stair, but when she reached the door of her bedchamber she could not bear to enter. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there were no air to breathe.

Turning back to the stair, Sansa climbed. The smoke blotted out the stars and the thin crescent of moon, so the roof was dark and thick with shadows. Yet from here she could see everything: the Red Keep's tall towers and great cornerforts, the maze of city streets beyond, to south and west the river running black, the bay to the east, the columns of smoke and cinders, and fires, fires everywhere. Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants with torches, and crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. Down by the Mud Gate, outlined against the drifting smoke, she could make out the vague shape of the three huge catapults, the biggest anyone had ever seen, overtopping the walls by a good twenty feet. Yet none of it made her feel less fearful. A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her.

She grabbed a merlon for support, her fingers scrabbling at the rough stone. "Let go of me," she cried. "Let go."

"The little bird thinks she has wings, does she? Or do you mean to end up crippled like that brother of yours?"

Sansa twisted in his grasp. "I wasn't going to fall. It was only . . . you startled me, that's all."

"You mean I scared you. And still do."

She took a deep breath to calm herself. "I thought I was alone, I . . . " She glanced away.

"The little bird still can't bear to look at me, can she?" The Hound released her. "You were glad enough to see my face when the mob had you, though. Remember?"

Sansa remembered all too well. She remembered the way they had howled, the feel of the blood running down her cheek from where the stone had struck her, and the garlic stink on the breath of the man who had tried to pull her from her horse. She could still feel the cruel pinch of fingers on her wrist as she lost her balance and began to fall.

She'd thought she was going to die then, but the fingers had twitched, all five at once, and the man had shrieked loud as a horse. When his hand fell away, another hand, stronger, shoved her back into her saddle. The man with the garlicky breath was on the ground, blood pumping out the stump of his arm, but there were others all around, some with clubs in hand. The Hound leapt at them, his sword a blur of steel that trailed a red mist as it swung. When they broke and ran before him he had laughed, his terrible burned face for a moment transformed.

She made herself look at that face now, really look. It was only courteous, and a lady must never forget her courtesies. The scars are not the worst part, nor even the way his mouth twitches. It's his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger. "I . . . I should have come to you after," she said haltingly. "To thank you, for . . . for saving me . . . you were so brave."

"Brave?" His laugh was half a snarl. "A dog doesn't need courage to chase off rats. They had me thirty to one, and not a man of them dared face me."

She hated the way he talked, always so harsh and angry. "Does it give you joy to scare people?"

"No, it gives me joy to kill people." His mouth twitched. "Wrinkle up your face all you like, but spare me this false piety. You were a high lord's get. Don't tell me Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell never killed a man."

"That was his duty. He never liked it."

"Is that what he told you?" Clegane laughed again. "Your father lied. Killing is the sweetest thing there is." He drew his longsword. "Here's your truth. Your precious father found that out on Baelor's steps. Lord of Winterfell, Hand of the King, Warden of the North, the mighty Eddard Stark, of a line eight thousand years old . . . but Ilyn Payne's blade went through his neck all the same, didn't it? Do you remember the dance he did when his head came off his shoulders?"

Sansa hugged herself, suddenly cold. "Why are you always so hateful? I was thanking you . . . "

"Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it's all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing." He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel. "I killed my first man at twelve. I've lost count of how many I've killed since then. High lords with old names, fat rich men dressed in velvet, knights puffed up like bladders with their honors, yes, and women and children too—they're all meat, and I'm the butcher. Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers." Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. "So long as I have this," he said, lifting the sword from her throat, "there's no man on earth I need fear."

Except your brother, Sansa thought, but she had better sense than to say it aloud. He is a dog, just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any man who tries to hurt his masters. "Not even the men across the river?"

Clegane's eyes turned toward the distant fires. "All this burning." He sheathed his sword. "Only cowards fight with fire."

"Lord Stannis is no coward."

"He's not the man his brother was either. Robert never let a little thing like a river stop him."

"What will you do when he crosses?"

"Fight. Kill. Die, maybe."

"Aren't you afraid? The gods might send you down to some terrible hell for all the evil you've done."

"What evil?" He laughed. "What gods?"

"The gods who made us all."

"All?" he mocked. "Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

"True knights protect the weak."

He snorted. "There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can't protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don't ever believe any different."

Sansa backed away from him. "You're awful."

"I'm honest. It's the world that's awful. Now fly away, little bird, I'm sick of you peeping at me."

Wordless, she fled. She was afraid of Sandor Clegane . . . and yet, some part of her wished that Ser Dontos had a little of the Hound's ferocity. There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies.

That night Sansa dreamed of the riot again. The mob surged around her, shrieking, a maddened beast with a thousand faces. Everywhere she turned she saw faces twisted into monstrous inhuman masks. She wept and told them she had never done them hurt, yet they dragged her from her horse all the same. "No," she cried, "no, please, don't, don't," but no one paid her any heed. She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

When she woke, the pale light of morning was slanting through her window, yet she felt as sick and achy as if she had not slept at all. There was something sticky on her thighs. When she threw back the blanket and saw the blood, all she could think was that her dream had somehow come true. She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid.

But as she crouched there, on her hands and knees, understanding came. "No, please," Sansa whimpered, "please, no." She didn't want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

Madness took hold of her. Pulling herself up by the bedpost, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. When her maidservants saw it they would know. Then she remembered the bedclothes. She rushed back to the bed and stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told. All she could think was that she had to get rid of it, or else they'd see. She couldn't let them see, or they'd marry her to Joffrey and make her lay with him.

Snatching up her knife, Sana hacked at the sheet, cutting out the stain. If they ask me about the hole, what will I say? Tears ran down her face. She pulled the torn sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well. I'll have to burn them. She balled up the evidence, stuffed it in the fireplace, drenched it in oil from her bedside lamp, and lit it afire. Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move. Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.

In the end it took three of them to pull her away. And it was all for nothing. The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

When the fire was out, they carried off the singed featherbed, fanned away the worst of the smoke, and brought up a tub. Women came and went, muttering and looking at her strangely. They filled the tub with scalding hot water, bathed her and washed her hair and gave her a cloth to wear between her legs. By then Sansa was calm again, and ashamed for her folly. The smoke had ruined most of her clothing. One of the women went away and came back with a green wool shift that was almost her size. "It's not as pretty as your own things, but it will serve," she announced when she'd pulled it down over Sansa's head. "Your shoes weren't burned, so at least you won't need to go barefoot to the queen."

Cersei Lannister was breaking her fast when Sansa was ushered into her solar. "You may sit," the queen said graciously. "Are you hungry?" She gestured at the table. There was porridge, honey, milk, boiled eggs, and crisp fried fish.

The sight of the food made Sansa feel ill. Her tummy was tied in a knot. "No, thank you, Your Grace."

"I don't blame you. Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. And now you're setting fires as well. What did you hope to accomplish?"

Sansa lowered her head. "The blood frightened me."

"The blood is the seal of your womanhood. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. You've had your first flowering, no more."

Sansa had never felt less flowery. "My lady mother told me, but I . . . I thought it would be different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know. Less . . . less messy, and more magical."

Queen Cersei laughed. "Wait until you birth a child, Sansa. A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon enough . . . and the parts that look like magic often turn out to be messiest of all." She took a sip of milk. "So now you are a woman. Do you have the least idea of what that means?"

"It means that I am now fit to be wedded and bedded," said Sansa, "and to bear children for the king."

The queen gave a wry smile. "A prospect that no longer entices you as it once did, I can see. I will not fault you for that. Joffrey has always been difficult. Even his birth . . . I labored a day and a half to bring him forth. You cannot imagine the pain, Sansa. I screamed so loudly that I fancied Robert might hear me in the kingswood."

"His Grace was not with you?"

"Robert? Robert was hunting. That was his custom. Whenever my time was near, my royal husband would flee to the trees with his huntsmen and hounds. When he returned he would present me with some pelts or a stag's head, and I would present him with a baby.

"Not that I wanted him to stay, mind you. I had Grand Maester Pycelle and an army of midwives, and I had my brother. When they told Jaime he was not allowed in the birthing room, he smiled and asked which of them proposed to keep him out.

"Joffrey will show you no such devotion, I fear. You could thank your sister for that, if she weren't dead. He's never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You're stronger than you seem, though. I expect you'll survive a bit of humiliation. I did. You may never love the king, but you'll love his children."

"I love His Grace with all my heart," Sansa said.

The queen sighed. "You had best learn some new lies, and quickly. Lord Stannis will not like that one, I promise you."

"The new High Septon said that the gods will never permit Lord Stannis to win, since Joffrey is the rightful king."

A half smile flickered across the queen's face. "Robert's trueborn son and heir. Though Joff would cry whenever Robert picked him up. His Grace did not like that. His bastards had always gurgled at him happily, and sucked his finger when he put it in their little baseborn mouths. Robert wanted smiles and cheers, always, so he went where he found them, to his friends and his whores. Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa?"

"Everyone wants to be loved."

"I see flowering hasn't made you any brighter," said Cersei. "Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same."