#ch: missandei

[caracarnn]

He had been ruminating about far too many things of late: Daenerys' safety ever since the assassination attempt, the fact that they were getting closer and closer to their intended goal, and the feelings that had been coursing through him ever since she had tossed that bridal wreath at his feet. That had filled him with excitement, nervousness, an overwhelming feeling of love that he wasn't even sure what to do with it. Rand wanted more than the barrenness of the life that he had always lived with. But then she had come into his life and it had given him something more. Except there was only one thing left for him to do.

Turning the corner he found the rooms that the girl lived in and he lifted his hand to knock. A moment passed, he waited, offering a nod of his head to one of the nearby guards. The door opened then and he looked down at the girl there before him. "Hey..." he greeted with a small, somewhat faint smile. "...mind if I come in? It'll only be for a few minutes..." - @inabcck

[stormborns]

GAME OF THRONES 3.03, Walk of Punishment

[inabcck]

@xradiant gets a plotted starter.

Missandei laid in bed with Daenerys looking up at the ceiling of the large chambers their giggles mingling in the dim light. "And his face! His face when you told him that he could not have his way just by stamping his foot." She giggled some more before turning to look at Daenerys her friend and her queen. "This one admires you, Your Grace." She gave her a soft little smile because knowing everything that Daenerys had been through during their time together alone was admirable. She was so strong and someday Missandei would be strong like her.

There was a beat as she laid there where she felt as if they could be at peace. There was no secret about the turmoil around them, but sometimes when everything was quiet at night and Daenerys invited her in for these little sleep overs it was nice. It was nice to pretend just for a little bit that they were friends and nothing was wrong with the world around them.

[joz-yyh]

Acta Est Fabula - Ch. 9

SUMMARY: Crimson Court AU. Boudica faces an uphill battle against the captain of the guard, Margaret, but at least there’s comfort to be found in the vestal’s arms. Meanwhile, Reynauld and Dismas are awakened to the news of their escapee. No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Crusader x Highwayman / Hellion x Vestal

RATING: M (vaginal fingering / grinding / drug use)

WORD COUNT: 3,450

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: Our supporting characters get the main spotlight this time, but don't worry, Damian and Tardif will be back next chapter. My first go at writing a yuri smut scene. Hope it turned out alright. (Did any of y'all catch that tortoise and the hare analogy between Barristan and Missandei?)

Also, did you know the Norse word for hot is hót? XD

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Margaret is in the middle of briefing her men when she spots Boudica stepping into town, marking her return.

“You have your orders. Dismissed.”

As her guards leave to fulfill her command, the captain marches herself right up to prodigal warrior, accusation in her voice.

“Where were you,” the markswoman snaps, giving her no room to breathe.

Despite her smaller build, Margaret doesn't let the size of the hellion's muscles interfere with her interrogation.

“Hello, nice to see you're alive and well,” Boudica replies dryly, dodging her question with petty sarcasm.

Unless their duties called for it, Boudica avoided the captain of the guard as much as possible, their code of ethics and technique always at odds.

“Forget the pleasantries,” snarls the captain, her glove chopping through air, “I want answers. Heard you were the last one to see him before he escaped.”

The warrior woman leers at Margaret's tone, the rise of her voice, meeting it with a low growl of her own.

“Yes, if you must know, I delivered his food. When I returned, I saw the bars were pried apart.”

“And you didn’t think it necessary to alert the other guards because …?”

“There wasn't time,” she explains calmly, “I was determined to handle it myself.”

“And were you successful,” asks Margaret, already knowing the outcome, just waiting for the other to admit it aloud.

Boudica answers with a sneer upon her lips, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of saying, “No.”

Margaret is smug, stalking a circle around her prime suspect, red forelocks bobbing along with the feather in her hat.

“Well, due to your poor judgment, the prisoner got away and two of our guards are dead.”

“Someone was killed,” asks the ponytailed huntress, brows lifting in surprise, having no idea.

Seeing the hellion caught unawares does throw Margaret's theory off, having suspected the painted warrior had a hand in their demise.

“Yes, the two men I had stationed outside. Both of their throats were cut.”

Margaret watches Boudica closely, seeing what emotions pass through her, guilt and mourning among them. “You’re sure you don't know anything about it?”

“No, I don’t.” Instant aggravation, a flat remark aimed at the musketeer.

“It's not nice to point fingers.”

The comment comes from Missandei, inserting herself into the conversation, defending her comrade.

What was once competitive rivalry has now turned into a bitter grudge, Margaret turning to her fellow sharp shooter with contempt.

“Do not tell me how to run my ward. Everyone is a suspect.”

Missandei was not the type to be intimidated by her counterpart, throwing it right back in her face with cool blue steel, “By your own logic, that includes you as well.”

“What,” grits Margaret, fists clenched.

Missy crosses her gauntlet-clad arms, offering an explanation.

“You said so yourself, no one is above suspicion. You could easily use your position as captain to cover up evidence, manipulate your men to your advantage. For all we know, you're the one who sprung him loose.”

Despite Margaret holding a higher rank, she still resented Missandei for being better than her, hated her even more now that she was calling her credibility into question.

Before things can grow too heated, Fergus' bark pierces the night air, her shaggy paws approaching the trio, yapping at the captain in particular.

“What's that mutt doing here? Shouldn't you be out searching for the murderer?”

“Actually, that's exactly what we’re here to report,” William says, coming up after his loyal canine, back from their scouting mission, “The trail led us to the crimson court.”

The musketeer steps back, feeling threatened and outnumbered.

"Then why aren’t you out pursuing them?”

He laughs just a little condescendingly at Margaret’s unreasonable expectations.

“Missy and I make a great team, but for the two of us to go in there unprepared and without reinforcements would be suicide. Thought you might want to know that the culprit might be a bloodsucker.”

“The two victims bled out on the ground,” the captain reveals, “we found no bite marks on their neck.”

“Maybe they weren't hungry,” William says with a shrug, “Or maybe this is some ploy to turn us against each other which given the state of things, seems to be working.”

The musketeer swears this lot has spent too much time around Tardif, adapting his mutinous tendencies. Did no one respect authority anymore? Margie grits her teeth, frustrated that the tides have turned on her.

As bleak as the circumstance may be, her detective instincts kick in, keen eyes noticing a possible clue.

“Those marks on your glaive, were they always there?”

Fear flickers across Boudica’s face, quickly masked by anger. “What are you going on about now?”

“You were close with Tardif,” Maragret says, feeling a bit more confident at this discovery, “Who's to say you didn’t help him escape?”

“Do you have proof or is this more biased conjecture,” Boudica argues, getting fed up, “Perhaps, I should mention to lady Junia that if you were competent in your position, Tardif never would have gotten away in the first place.”

“I knew it,” Margaret hollers, “You’re all against me. Out to relieve me of my position!”

“Not this again,” the archer sighs, “we all know you're captain of the guard. No one's calling that into question. I lost. You won. There, I said it. Are you happy now?”

No, no she's not. Missandei was Barristan's favorite, hand picked for the position after he retired, but it was overridden, handed to Margaret instead in a flex of power unearned.

“How can I be? I can't trust any of you! I know you all hate me for taking his place.”

“No one hates you,” William says, “you're the only one taking it personally.”

“Not everything’s a competition, Margie. Loosen up,” Missandei says, hoping to inspire some compassion.

“You loosen up! And you,” Margaret says, pointing her finger now at Boudica, “don’t go too far.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Having lost the higher ground, the musketeer storms away, crashing her shoulder against Boudica's, to which the hellion shoves her right back, making the other girl waver in her thigh-high boots, cape staggering in the wind, the group waiting til she’s out of earshot to finally relax, speak casually.

“Thanks for the assist back there,” Boudica remarks, smiling at the two specialists.

“You would have done the same for us,” William nods, loyal to a fault, same as his four-legged friend, “Truth be told, that girl’s in way over her head. Job's too much for her.”

The lawman looks to Fergus, meeting her brown beady eyes, resting a hand upon her head.

The arbalest joins in to console her, squatting down to give the shaggy dog some chest rubs, her collar tag jingling, “Sorry, she yelled at you, girl. Margie's having a bad day.”

Tail wagging, Fergus bathes the freckles of her nose in kisses.

“We all know the job was yours, Missy. Barristan picked you as his successor. Should've stayed that way.”

“Well, Reynauld had the final say in that,” the arbalest reminds him, looking just a bit sad, having already made peace with it.

“I know. It just ain't right.”

“Nothing we can do about it now.”

“True, guess all we can do is hope for the best,” William sighs, shaking his golden locks with disparagement.

“Should visit *skilpadda (turtle) sometime,” Boudica suggests, “I am sure he would love it.”

It's a mantra the arbalest has told herself countless times, missing her mentor dearly, and yet something has been holding her back.

“I haven't gone to see him since the changeover. I guess I just don't want to see him disappointed.”

“I don't think a visit from you could ever disappoint him, *kanin (rabbit).”

With encouragement like this, Missandei can't help feeling a whole shine better, like a polished medal.

“Thanks guys.”

“Hey, you think he's alive? Tardif, I mean.” asks the blonde-haired ranger, peering off towards the untamed wilds of the vampire’s den.

“It's the bloodsuckers that should be worried,” remarks Boudica, sharing in the same distant gaze.

“Yeah, remember our bet,” Missandei smirks at her gambling partner, “I am sure he's carved out his own little slice of paradise out there.”

“How could I forget? I am still recovering from the loss.”

“Then, c'mon let's get a drink. Drown our sorrows,” suggests the easy-go-lucky archer, standing tall in her grieves, reinvigorated with purpose.

“Suppose the captain would want us to lay low, let her handle the investigation,” William nods in agreement, “That is, so long as you're buying.”

He fixes the dark-skinned beauty with the same sad puppy eyes that Fergus is so good at making, his bearded scruff only adding to the effect.

“Yeah, yeah, you don't have to beg. I'll cover the tab. Boudica, you wanna join us? I’ll buy you a turkey leg.”

“Give my half to Fenrir, here,” she chuckles, petting the wolfhound's spine, a series of spirited swipes through shaggy fur. “I think I am going to turn in for the night.”

The talented pooch stands on hind legs, giving the hellion a doggy hug, licking at her face, making both Missy and Will laugh.

“I think you just became Fergus’ new favorite person.”

“Only until she finishes eating.”

The valkyrie indulges the canine with a little dance before setting her paws back down, Boudica remaining there, kneeling. She meets the pup's soulful brown eyes, a hand under her muzzle, making a vow.

Fergus’ tongue bleps out, giving a gentle lap at her nose in promise.

"Look out for each other, OK? I don't want to lose anyone else.”

“You can count on us,” the houndmaster assures her, dutiful, striking a courageous pose.

“Good.”

Boudica rises, pleased with this, finding it hard to contain her smile around them.

“Send Junia our love,” adds Missandei with a chipper, knowing exactly where the vestal's honor guard would be heading after this exchange.

“I will. Be safe my friends.”

“You too. We'll see you around,” the arbalest waves, the two parties going their separate ways.

—-

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Reynauld awakes to the insufferable pounding of his chamber door, his guard shouting an endlessly string of, “M’lord! M’lord!”

The crusader grumbles, holding his aching head, hardly sober enough to deal with this disturbance so early in the morning.

“Yes, yes, what is it?”

“Sir, please, come to the door. It's urgent.”

The crusader is no less annoyed, having no choice, but to get out of bed.

“I'll be right there.”

Reynauld turns to Dismas, a master of quick change, his partner already retrieving his trousers from off the floor, pulling them up around his waist. Such was a soldier's life, needing to be ready at a moment's notice, surprises like this bound to happen.

Usually, they would be given more time to cuddle, Dismas’ ear pressed to Reynauld's chest, arms coiled around one another, but now he can only mourn the empty pool of sheets growing cold beside him.

Rey can't be bothered to fully dress, dawning a robe, tying the sash closed as he answers the door, opening it just a sliver.

“What's this all about?”

“It's the prisoner, Tardif. He's escaped.”

“Ha,” Dismas shouts from afar, “ya better be jokin’!”

Reynauld ignores the interjection, keeping the ex-bandit out of sight.

“I am afraid not,” the guard answers, “it happened at 0300 hours.”

A singular thought circulates within the archbishop's mind, ‘the baroness will not be pleased.’

“Inform Junia that her presence is required in the meeting room. We will deal with this accordingly.”

“Sir,” the guard advises, “Boudica is a suspect.”

Reynauld doesn't like his judgment being called into question, even if it's overtly insinuated.

He leers with a vestige of authority, tone stern as he says, “My orders have not changed. Now go.”

The guard salutes, off to carry out his command and Reynauld promptly shuts the door.

“This is bad, very bad.” Dismas frets, the news hitting him the hardest. If Tardif truly knew what Dismas thought he knew, then their missing man just became a very big liability.

“You worry too much. It's only a matter of time until we find him. And when we do, his actions solidify his offenses. He's done us a favor.”

The ravenette appreciates the vote of confidence, hoping it's enough to manifest Tardif back into their custody once more.

“God, I hope yer right.”

His breath is heavy, expelling, head sunk against Rey's shoulder.

“I am always right,” he reminds him, stroking a hand through the heckles of his partner's neck, allowing this interlude of solace, “Now, get dressed. We have work to do.”

“I am dressed,” the highwayman argues, “You're the one walkin’ ‘round with that slinky robe on.”

It's true, aside from his boots and jacket, Dismas is presentable, the sneaky pickpocket playing with the twin ribbons that hang around his knight's hips.

Rey chuckles, glad to see his paramour calm again, “Help me suit up, won't you?”

Dismas loved putting the crusader’s armor on almost as much as he enjoyed taking it off, looking forward to the transformation with a sultry glint in his eyes. To see him shining, the embodiment of romantic heroism reflected back in that floor length, golden encrusted mirror, light pouring in from all around, was quite the inspiring sight.

“Always.”

He leans into his superior, soliciting a kiss, the cunning man grinning into it.

—--

The vestal is in her private quarters, poised at her desk, indulging in a fine line of sanguine snuff. A sniffle follows, a rub at her nose as the drug takes effect, leaning back against her chair, hoping to settle her nerves.

Boudica, the prowling tigress, lingers in the shadows, stealthy when she wants to be, her blue eyes observing. The room is large, dark save for a few flickering candles, plenty of places for her to hide. When it suits her, the hellion sneaks up on Junia, stealing a startled surprise from her lady.

“Caught you,” she shouts, clutching the nun from behind, covering her mouth so she cannot scream, strapping her middle down with the other.

Junia’s startled cry is muffled, dominated by the warrior’s laugh, Boudica revealing herself.

“Oh, Boudica! Thank goodness it's you!”

The vestal rests her hand over the callous ones now crossed over her chest, heart still thumping.

“Really got the jump on you that time.”

“Yes, yes you did, but tell me, how’d it go? Is he alright,” she asks, swiveling in her seat, both fear and excitement warring in her eyes.

The hellion smirks, using her nickname, a special code phrase that signified a successful mission.

“I am Scarlet Night, keeper of dawn.”

Junia finally relaxes into her touch, stifled relief pushed from her lungs.

“Good. I never would have forgiven myself if it had turned out any other way.”

“I know. He sends his love. Says for you to lay off the snuff.”

Boudica raises an eyebrow, nodding in regards to the canister the vestal just polished off.

Junia cackles, boisterous, tears coming to her eyes with the force of her laughter.

Boudica revels in it, her mistress’ humor a rare thing these days, letting her go on for as long as she wished.

“Such a caring boy,” the nun says, her tone crumbling, melancholy, “He has suffered much. I still grieve for the life he lost.”

“As do I, but we did the best we could. Gave him all the love we had.”

“I can only hope it's enough. He deserved better than what we could give him.”

“Perhaps, this is a tale held true by many, but his spirit is far from broken.”

“Always so stubborn,” Junia adds, recalling fond memories of his youth, “never one to give up.”

“You know,” Boudica elicits, shifting around, hooking a leg over the corner of the desk, using it as a stool, “I think he may be seeing someone.”

Junia faces her partner with wide eyes, mouth aghast as they partake in this gossip.

“Our Tardif? Are you sure?”

The redheaded huntress nods, staring at the flickering candelabra’s flame.

“Ever since he returned from the court, he's been a different man.”

“I've noticed it too,” Junia concurs, “but I never thought … well, I assumed his mission was the cause.”

Boudica begins to hum, harmonizing an old Norse song, a gentle celebration, providing an escape from troublesome thoughts.

“What do you think she's like,” asks Junia, trying to imagine it just as she imagines rolling hills and flower meadows.

“Beautiful like you. Strong like me.”

“I expect so,” Junia giggles, soothing like a turtle dove, “Do you think he would introduce us?”

It's the hellion’s turn to chuckle. “Hm, doubtful. Knowing us, we'd probably scare her off.”

“How else could we be sure they'd make a proper fit? If she could survive us, then the two of them could survive anything.”

“I can only hope I am around to see it. Margaret is desperate to find me guilty of the crime.”

“Yes, I heard,” she laments, reaching out to hold her honor guard's hand, squeezing it tight, “We’ll find a way, always have.”

The hellion can see how her precious vestal hangs her head, so full of worry, for her and for him.

“When’s the last time you've slept, my lady?”

“Hm? Oh … probably not since you've held me,” she admits quietly, cheeks becoming as rosy as the powder she keeps.

“Then, it's time I do so again.”

“Boudica— ,” she gasps, scandalous, peering around the room for hidden voyeurs, “out in the open like this?”

“I made sure to lock the door, close the curtains. Besides, If those *fífls (idiots) can get away with it, why not us?”

“We must set a better example.”

“We do, considering how loud they get,” the hellion teases, recalling too many instances when she came across questionable noises coming from Reynauld’s room.

“You always could make me laugh.”

“That's not all I can do,” she smirks, grasping her lady by the thighs, sitting her atop the desk she once occupied, standing between her spread legs.

“Oh …”

The redhead has successfully boxed the fair maiden in, widening the gap of Junia's legs with rough swiftness, making the woman gasp, inclining her weight into hers, desiring a kiss.

A swallowed bleat against ruby lips, sweet, innocent like a lamb, Boudica's fingers slipping under her skirt.

Her touch glides up, past the crease of soft skin, white like magnolia petals, Junia gasping into her mouth, shivering the closer she gets to burning heat.

The hellion traces a thumb around her folds, rubbing down the front of her slit, hidden behind a swell of dark curls and cotton undergarments, growing wet for her.

Junia holds the harsh ferocity of her features, pulling her tigress closer, shifting her weight, slipping her hands down, grabbing hold of barbaric breasts.

“No need to be shy, my lady,” Boudica teases, the heat of passion coloring her face, propositioning Junia to squeeze them harder.

She topples the nun down, the vestal melting against the desk as her lover thrusts, their lower halves meeting despite all the layers of fabric still left between them.

“I want to feel you, inside,” Junia breathes, delirious with desire, consumed by her vibrant spice.

“*Ja, I want it too,” she pants, foreheads touching as she finally pushes two fingers past waiting flesh, making them both groan.

“So hot,” Boudica revels, fingers dripping with her slick, impressed by her velvety smooth pussy. She thought about wetting her fingers first, showing off her tongue, but Junia didn't need it, not at all.

“Mm, more. Let me have your full strength.”

“As my lady wishes.”

Boudica thrusts in, making her beloved moan, watching her writhe, grinding her hips for more of her touch.

She adds another finger, Junia taking it all, the hellion rewarding her with a vibrato of swipes over her clit.

The huntress feels her clench, arch, gush against her fingertips. She drinks it all in, the sight, the sound, delighting in the taste of her.

“*Ástin mín (my love),” she cries, reaching to intertwine their hands, the warrior holding her tightly through the hymns of bliss.

Junia had remembered the term the hellion had taught her, Boudica blessed to hear the call of her homeland in her sweetheart’s voice, a sacred spark of wildfire.

“Shall we move this to the bed,” she asks once the vestal’s breaths have settled, “Try it without our clothes this time?”

There was more maneuverability to be had there, more positions to try and the hellion wanted to ride her until she was ragged and sore.

“You better,” Junia lilts, glowing with a beauty that could rival the goddess Freya, “You haven't worn me out yet.”

“Heaven help you when I do.”

[bynightafangirl]

Bonus: 

[janiedean]

How annoying is Missandei? First at all, DO NOT INTERRUPT MY BABIES while they're having a conversation I've been waiting for years, second at all, Sansa didn't tell Tyrion Daenerys was a b*tch or a terrible ruler, she simlpy said that while he is loyal to her she is loyal to the North, who wants to be indipendent. Not to mention,on a personal note, I don't like the idea of overlapping gratitude and submission, I really hope the show doesn't turn oround on the whole indipendence thing.

... anon, not to... like.... be a spoilsport but.... can we just see the whole picture?

now, I say this as someone who lowkey ships tyrion and sansa, has not much interest in dany’s storyline overall and doesn’t care for dany either way so like I’m not invested but....... from missandei’s pov she had all the right to say that and worse? I mean sorry guys but:

as much as one can find dany’s methods/standards questionable or not, to missandei she’s the person that a) freed her from slavery, b) brought her from a position where she doesn’t refer to herself in first person to main advisor to *someone who goes around with dragons* c) gave her an immensely better life, d) isn’t just her employer but her friend, e) gave her an immensely better life in which she found love too because going with the show verse she did;

so like, OBVIOUSLY missandei loves dany, wow, I can’t imagine why, it’s not gratitude and submission, it’s that for her and for people dany *freed* it’s a question of completely overturning the status quo and as much as I think that dany’s failure to see that you can’t just do it snapping your fingers without taking the bigger picture into account is her largest problem, to *them* it doesn’t matter;

now, as far as missandei’s concerned her side has gone north abandoning their main target, going with her entire army and entourage to help the northerners with the undead, knowing they might die and most likely will, and all they got back was people staring at them like they distrusted them, sansa openly going like ‘well how are we feeding them’ when they’re there to help and they need them, sansa being downright rude to dany (because she was and as much as I love sansa as a character that was downright bad writing and I’m standing by it) and zero recognition for their efforts;

now she is locked in a crypt doing zilch while her best friend and the man she loves with whom she has plans for the future are out there killing zombies and upholding their deal with jon.......... and sansa goes about northern independence with tyrion and the likes putting his loyalty to dany (person jon has kneeled to let’s just remember that, and as much as ppl dislike it it was his decision only to take) as it’s a bad thing when missandei’s loyalty to dany is literally what turned her life around from utter shit and she has to shut up?

like sorry anon but she was very much within her rights to say it, from her pov she was absolutely right to point out that the northerners bar jon and a few others have been behaving like ungrateful arses to them because that’s what happened in 8x01 dot and she’s not annoying for that. like, for her pov she was right and honestly I hope sansa learned something from it because the entire point is that the stakes are higher than individual wants.

now: I also think that dany’s fixation on not having the independent north is iffy and honestly i just want everyone to get along, BUT: guys. not to be that person, but: robb didn’t even come up with that idea. everyone else did. if it was for him they’d have ceded to stannis the moment he knew ned was dead. it was his war council who decided the north had to be independent, not him, and this idea that the north has to be independent at all costs but just the north imvho is just.... very misleading? like, either they split into the seven kingdoms again and we have reinassance-like reigns that are better than westeros’s feudalism or okay we can have the independent north but is not a thing that was implied since the beginning, it was not a thing robb particularly wanted, it wasn’t a thing ned wanted and the fact that robb eventually died for it doesn’t mean that now they have to die on that hill, too, and tbh I also can’t with this idea that by kneeling jon disrespected his entire family’s legacy because he did absolutely no such thing and he did exactly the same thing the last kitn before robb did for reasons that to him were perfectly legit. and the fact that people don’t seem to be able to band together in the face of death because they’re squibbling about politics at this point says a lot about how this show’s writing could be improved, and that’s my two cents.

but like. missandei from her pov was absolutely in the right and ngl someone had to say it imvho, so. sorry, but I really can’t agree with that, and I say it as someone who cares a lot more about the starks than dany, that cares way more about jon than dany and who isn’t much of a fan of the targ restoration theory X°DDD

[fybadassladies]

Game of Thrones Ladies' Season 8 Character Posters

[hyacinths-bridgerton]

Your Grace, there’s still no words from the Unsullied.   Soon.

[carnagebled-a]

f.ear street and g.ot muses tag dump xoxo

[firequeendany]

What Daenerys lost since she met Jon:

2 dragons

Missandei

Jorah Mormont

Half of the Unsullied

Most of the Dothraki

Claim to the Iron Throne

HER LIFE!!!!

In conclusion men are trash.

I hope D&D will burn in hell for this.

[devilsmenu]

[ SHARE ] sender, seeing that receiver is cold, wraps their jacket around them for anyone & missandei

"Oh, no, you didn't have to give me your jacket" Lonnie said waving her hands like saying it was okay. "I didn't know it would be such a cold night so I didn't bought mine".

[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

“Lost and Found” | for @youcancallme-ray​  quest prompt — jorleesi summer solstice  Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Epilogue Chapter 1

Daenerys learned much of Aemon Targaryen from Jon Snow after their last meeting. Merely days passed when she and Jorah had gone to Essos to see the current state of a thriving and free Meereen. Another reason to visit was to see her dear friend Missandei. She had been living in Naath with her husband, Grey Worm, who chose to stay behind to work and watch over their dwelling. Missandei would then travel with the Northern couple to Bear Island where she would be staying a few weeks for leisure. Despite the satisfaction of being in Essos, only Aemon clouded Daenerys’ thoughts. Jorah grew concerned over her state and decided to take action.

[stilesssolo]

A time line would be great!

ALRIGHT here is the official BICBTY flashback timeline. I will update this as chapters are posted (and I’ll link it in the story!)

Time zero is when they get signed, everything will have a plus or minus # of years from then! Things without a chapter label are from the Dany POV interlude chapter, which is in chronological order already (though there are time jumps between scenes).

-(2 years before time zero) Ch 1: first Almost Brothers concert

-(1 year before time zero) Ch 9: driving back to Winterfell after a gig

-(April, year 0) Ch 2: Dany and Jon first meet// Dany getting back from the bar after first meeting Jon

-(May, 0) Post phone call with Dany’s dad, Dany goes to meet Jon’s siblings for the first time 

-(Late June, 0) Ch 3: Jon and Dany’s park date// band practice

-(August, 0) Dany and Jon at the piano when Dany knows she loves Jon

-(August, 0) Ch 8: Jon plays Dany Lovebug

-(April, 1) Ch 4: after the concert at the end of their first tour

-(July, 1) Camp Rock red carpet

-(September-November, 1) Sansa and Dany move in together

-(December, 1) Christmas at Dany’s parents’ house

-(May, 2) Dany’s first talk show appearance

-(August, 2) A Little Bit Longer comes out and the boys go to buy it 

-(December, 2) Ch 6: Almost Brothers perform in Rockefeller Center for Christmas 

-(March, 3) Dany out at lunch with Missandei while Jon is filming Camp Rock 2

-(November, 3) the night they meet Margaery and get papped // Ch 5: morning after they meet Margaery

-(November, 3) Ch 7: Davos tells the band about their new schedule

-(January, 4) Dany is frustrated with how an audition went / Ch 8: Jon is working on the song Paranoid

-(April into summer, 4) Dany goes on tour with Jon and the Almost Brothers

-(June, 5) Everyone goes to the Reputation concert

-(July, 5) Dany getting the part in For the Throne and telling Jon

-(September, 5) Dany on set for the pilot

-(December, 5) Dany’s flight home from Qarth when she learns that For the Throne got picked up

-(December, 5) Ch 8: Jon tells his brothers he’s going to Essos with Dany // Dany overhears this conversation

-(December, 5) Dany moves to Essos

-(December, 5) Ch10: Jon finds out Dany’s left

-(February, 6) Dany in Essos finding out she’s pregnant with Ella 

-(April, 6) Ch 11: the band’s last show

-(August, 6) Ch 7: Ella is born and Dany calls Jon

-(October, 7) Ch 12: Ygritte breaks up with Jon

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentyNine

Title: A New King

Words: 2,040

Warnings: Slight language

A/N: It’s almost over! Just one more chapter and the series is done, I can’t believe it! Also, if you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write something for you! 

Taglist:  @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It had been a week since your son had been born and many things had happened. You learned that one of Daenerys’ dragons had been killed, most of the fleet destroyed, and Missandei captured. Brienne had come to visit you and the child as well. She apologized for the way she handled things when she encountered your trio years ago. She did not know the significance Sandor had in your life and never knew how to approach you about it. You accepted her apology immediately and you apologized to her as well for your naïve attitude and your hate towards her.

The same night Brienne apologized to you, Jaime Lannister fled Winterfell to go back to Cersei. You had known that Brienne and Jaime were together and when you found out he left, you went to console her.

 “He doesn’t deserve you,” you said. “If he leaves you for another woman when he had you then he’s not worth your tears.”

 You wiped away the tears running down her cheeks and looked her in the eyes.

 “You are strong. You are beautiful. You deserve better. Don’t let one man ruin things for you forever. It’s okay to still love him, but don’t let that take over everything.”

 Brienne gave you a watery smile and sat up a little straighter.

 “Thank you, Lady [y/n],” Brienne said. You stood up and kissed her forehead.

 “You should get some rest. I have a feeling that we’re going to do some traveling soon.”

 ---

 Turns out that you were right. A raven arrived from King’s Landing a week later and before you knew it, you were traveling down the Kingsroad. Brienne and Sansa hadn’t wanted you go with them because of the baby, but you went anyways. It took little less than a month to get to the Capital and it looked nothing like you remembered.

 Buildings and houses were charred and crumbling. Ash was still on the streets, swept away into corners. The Red Keep was almost all burnt down. The people of King’s Landing were trying their best to rebuild their homes and lives but it would take years to get things back to the way they were.

 The raven had told you where to go and once more, you found yourself in the Dragonpit. You were seated between Sansa and Brienne, your babe on your lap. Bran and Arya were next to Sansa. You were the first ones there. Ser Davos and Gendry were the next ones to arrive, with Yara, Robin, Yhon Royce, and the rest to follow. Another person showed up with the last group and you couldn’t breathe. It was Sandor, alive and well. The two of you locked eyes and your chest hurt. He looked like he was going to approach you when Greyworm brought out Tyrion before you in chains. Jon was nowhere to be seen.

 “Where’s Jon?” Sansa asked Greyworm.

 “He is our prisoner.”

 “So is Lord Tyrion,” you said. “They were both supposed to be here.”

 “We will decide the fate of our prisoners. This is our city now.”

 “If you look outside the walls of your city, you’ll find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.”

 “And you will find thousands of Unsullied who believe that it is.”

 “Some of you are quick to forgive. The Ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow put a knife through her heart. Let them give him what he deserves,” Yara said, venom spewing from her words.

 “Say one more word about killing my brother and I’ll slit your throat.” Arya’s face was ruthless and cold. Yara made to stand up but Ser Davos beat her to it.

 “Friends, please. We’ve been killing each other for too long.” He turned to face Greyworm. “Torgo Nudho. Am I saying that properly? If it weren’t for you and your men, we would have lost the fight with the dead. This country owes you a debt that can never be repaid. But let us try. There is land in the Reach. Good land. The people that used to live there are gone. Make it your own, start your own house with the Unsullied as your bannermen.”

 “I agree. We’ve had enough war. Thousands of you, thousands of us. You know how it ends. There has to be another way,” you said.

 “We do not need payment. We need justice,” Greyworm spat. “Jon Snow cannot go free.”

 Ser Davos sat back down and Tyrion let out a small breath.

 “It’s not for you to decide,” Tyrion said.

 “You are not here to speak!” Greyworm shouted. “Everyone has heard enough words from you.”

 “You’re right. And no one’s any better for it. But it’s not for you to decide.” Tyrion looked up at everyone. “Jon Snow committed his crime here. It is for our King to decide. Or our Queen.”

 “But we don’t have a King or Queen,” Royce said.

 “You’re the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.”

 “Make your choice. Quickly.”

 Everyone was silent for once and was looking around at the other people. Nobody spoke until your uncle stood up. He started a little speech talking about him being one of the senior lords in the country and that he knew a little bit about statecraft. It was then that Sansa intervened.

 “Uncle. Please sit,” she said. He kind of spluttered a bit and only sat down when Sansa gestured to his seat with her head. He backed into a pole and it took all your willpower not to laugh.

 “Well, we have to choose someone,” Royce said. That’s when Sam got up and suggested that the people help pick a monarch. Everyone did laugh at that and Sam sat back down, more than slightly embarrassed. It was a funny notion, but you didn’t laugh at your friend.

 “I suppose you want the crown,” your uncle said to Tyrion.

 “Me? No. Half the people hate me for serving Daenerys and the other half hate me for betraying her. Can’t think of a worse choice.”

 “Who then?” You asked.

 “What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags?” Tyrion shook his head. “Stories. There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it. And who has a better story than Bran the Broken?”

 You sat up a little straighter and looked at your siblings in confusion. When you looked back at Tyrion, he kept speaking.

 “The boy who fell from a high tower and lived. He knew he would never walk again, so he learned how to fly. He went beyond the wall. A crippled boy. And he became the Three-Eyed-Raven. He is our memory, our history. All the wars, weddings, births, massacres, and famines. Our triumphs and our defeats. Our past. Who better to lead us into the future?”

 “Bran has no interest in ruling and he can’t father children,” Sansa said.

 “Good. Sons of Kings can be cruel and stupid, as you well know. His will never torment us,” Tyrion said to Sansa. To Greyworm he said, “That is the wheel our Queen wanted to break.”

 “From now on rulers will not be born. They will be chosen on this spot by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros to serve the realm.” He turned to Bran. “I know you don’t want it. I know you don’t care about power. But I ask you now, if we choose you, would you wear the crown?”

 “Why do you think I came all this way?” Bran said after a moment. Tyrion looked a little shocked that Bran had actually said yes and you knew that the other people in this meeting were feeling the same way.

 “To Brandon of House Stark, I say aye,” Tyrion said. Everyone was quiet until you and Sam said ‘aye’ at the same time. Tyrion sent the both of you a grateful look. Your uncle was next followed by the men from the Vale. Yara and the new Prince of Dorne agreed as well along with Gendry and Ser Davos. Brienne agreed as well, but you saw that Sansa was trying to pick out words again.

 “You know I love you, little brother. I always will. You’ll be a good King. But tens of thousands of Northmen fell defending Westeros. And those who survived have fought too hard and too much to ever kneel again,” Sansa said. “The North will remain an independent country, as it was for thousands of years.”

 Bran nodded in consent and you could see the relief flood through Sansa’s body.

 “All hail Bran the Broken,” Tyrion said. Everyone stood up and repeated those words. When everyone sat back down, Tyrion bowed to the new King and started to make his way out of the Pit.

 “Tyrion,” Bran called. “You will be my hand.”

 “N-No, your grace. I don’t want it.”

 “I know. And I don’t want to be King.” Tyrion shook his head.

 “I don’t deserve it. I thought I was wise but it turns out I’m not. I thought that I knew what was right, but I did not. Choose Ser Davos. Choose anyone else.”

 “I choose you.”

 “You cannot,” Greyworm said angrily.

 “Yes I can. I’m King.”

 “This man is a criminal. He deserves justice.”

 “He just got it. He’s made a lot of terrible mistakes. He’s going to spend the rest of his days fixing them.”

 Greyworm was angry and he spat out, “That’s not enough!”

 ---

 After about an hour of talking, a decision was made. Jon would go back to Castle Black as a member of the Night’s Watch. You and your sisters wanted him freed completely, but you recognized that this was the only way for your brother to keep his head. You would miss seeing him every day, but you’d lived with this before so it shouldn’t be too hard. Jon was to leave that evening and you had a few hours before you had to say goodbye. Everyone was slowly trickling out of the Dragonpit when Sandor came up to you.

 “Dove,” Sandor said quietly. You froze and slowly turned around.

 “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

 “You did.”

 “Why are you here, Sandor?” Your voice sounded tired and Sandor could see it in your eyes.

 “I heard you were here and I wanted to talk to you.”

 “Talk about what? How you left me for some petty revenge? How I gave birth with you not by my side? How I have been raising our son without you?”

 “I-I have a son?” Sandor’s heart skipped a beat and your chest tightened at the sound of his voice breaking.

 “Yes.”

 “What’s his name?”

 “Eddard. Eddard Stark.”

 “Are you going by Stark too?”

 “Ever since you left me.” Sandor was silent for a moment. He stepped closer to you tentatively.

 “Would you ever take me back?” You sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

 “I know I fucked up and I know it will take a lot to fix it. If you’ll even take me back, that is. But even if you decide not to, I want you to know that I still love you. I always have. I’ll always love our babe and I will do anything for the two of you.”

 His voice was so quiet you could barely hear it, but it was also so loud that it was ringing in your ears. Your eyes filled with tears and you gestured to Sansa to take Eddard from your arms. When your arms were free, you wrapped them around Sandor tightly. It took him a few seconds to respond, but soon you were being spun around. You let out a giggle that was cut short by Sandor kissing you. It was a sweet kiss that you broke shortly after it began.

 “While I love kissing you, I think you’d like to officially meet your son, yes?”

 Sandor’s eyes lit up and Sansa brought over your son. You took him from her and gently placed him in his father’s arms. You showed Sandor how to hold him properly and the sight made you melt. Finally, your family was complete.

[joz-yyh]

Acta Est Fabula - Ch. 5

SUMMARY: Crimson Court AU. Tardif reports back to the Order to protect the one he holds dear. It goes just as horribly as he expected. No Beta. Read at your own risk.

PAIRING: Bounty Hunter x Flagellant / Crusader x Highwayman / Vestal x Hellion

RATING: M (violence / swearing)

WORD COUNT: 2,857  

READ ON Ao3: -> HERE!!

A/N: Lots of characters introduced in this chapter as well as some lore! There's a reason behind every action and mysteries will be revealed in time. Comments and questions welcome~

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Tardif ascends the marble church steps with a burdensome trudge, the sentries waiting up ahead a familiar pair.

Missandei whistles at his arrival, surprised to see him, “Well, look who it is! We were starting to take bets on whether or not you were dead.”

“Feared the worst had happened,” William concurs, talking with his hands, drawing an invisible arch, “The great Nighthawk finally meets his match, slain at the top of his prime.”

“Teh, ye guys wish,” Tardif badgers, setting the rumors straight, “Ain't no one alive who can beat me.”

“Told you, man,” the female sharpshooter smirks, making a grabby motion with her glove, waiting for the other to pay up.

“Taking money straight outta the dog's mouth, you are,” William sighs, sticking out his lower lip, rummaging through his gear.

The houndmaster finally digs out a small coin purse, but is hesitant, looking down at his canine companion in morose consignment.

“Yeah right,” the arbalest growls, snatching up her winnings, “you know how many scraps I sneak Fergus from under the table? She’s getting fed plenty.”

“Explains why I've had to adjust her harness,” the houndmaster muses, rubbing his chin whiskers in assessment.

With a swivel of her floppy ears, the armor clad pet gives a guilty whimper.

“Serves ye right,” Tardif says, brushing the blonde man's shoulder in a mock punch, “Shoulda never bet against me.”

He takes a step back, eyeing the vanguards expectantly.

“Why do they got you two out here guardin’ the door fer, anyway? Thought ye guys would have better things to do.”

“I definitely do,” Missy adds before jabbing her thumb at the other, “don't know about kibbles and bits over here, though.”

William sighs, his posture a perpetual slump from moping too much, “Enough of your horrible dog puns.”

“But they're so good! Fergus loves my dog puns.”

The shaggy wolfdog barks in reply, making the pony-tailed girl grin.

“Told you!”

“Ignore her,” mumbles William, “I know I do.”

“Hey!”

The brute does just that, blocking out her bravado of puffed cheeks and sore green eyes.

“Ye were sayin’?”

“Right. Guess, the powers that be sent out a battalion while ye were gone. We're just filling in.”

“Hn,” Tardif muses, “Wonder what fer?”

“They didn't say,” the houndmaster drawls, crossing his arms in thought, “Not high enough on the ladder, apparently, strictly ‘need to know,’ but I could find out for you, for a price.

“Tryin’ to earn yer gamblin’ debt back, I see.”

“Any way I can.”

“Nice catchin’ up with ye,” Tardif says, patting them both on the shoulder, stepping past their vigil and into the great hall, “but I should get goin’. They’re expectin’ me.”

“You too,” the arbalest smiles, “good luck in there.”

“I'll be here if you change your mind,” William shrugs, mourning his empty pockets.

Tardif takes a deep breath as he enters the long corridor, ignoring the whispers and stares of those lining it, eyes focused solely ahead. It’s a wearisome walk, one of prejudice and judgment that makes him miss the company of his friends.

Lowly hunters like himself were not as well-received as those who were considered of higher rank. A ass-backwards shame considering others of his caliber had the most to lose, doing the dirty work none of the “purer” folk wanted to sully their hands with.

Another series of guards impede his path, blocking his access to the throne room, a poignant caduceus of axes that nearly clip his nose.

“Halt!”

“You must wait to be announced.”

Tardif swallows down the urge to argue that useless code of conduct. There were far too many stupid rules for his liking.

“Send him in,” Reynauld commands, standing from the dias further inside, “He's late.”

The guards remove their barrier, but sneer at Tardif, thinking him too irreverent for an audience with the knight superior, but Tardif returns their malice, leering right back as he traverses beyond their jurisdiction.

Reynauld seems too preoccupied with the scroll in his hands to pay him any mind, the length of it unfurled around his feet, trailing longer than his cape.

The church of Hamlet was governed by joint authority, Reynauld the decisive hammer of fire and action while Junia had a reputation for healing, a passive, merciful ruler that cherished goodness and virtue.

Tardif strides up to the set of twin thrones, kneeling before them to submit his findings.

“Hunter Darkwing reporting back from codename Rapture.”

“‘bout time,” Dismas barks from the shadows, leaning against one of the long red drapes, “Didn't think it would take ya four whole days, but then again, I was betting on the other guy.”

Of course the crusader’s personal body guard would criticize his work. He and Tardif never did get along, always at each other's throats, this undoubtedly causing more strife.

“That'll do Dismas,” Reynauld advises, looking up from his correspondence, tone gentle despite the scallywag who it’s reserved for.

“Teh, if you say so boss,” he growls, crossing his arms, staring out the window into obscurity.

“Well, I never had a doubt,” Boudica retorts, side-eyeing the ex highwayman, standing proudly with her glaive.

The brute can't help smirking in return, knowing at least the reformed hellion was rooting for him.

“Tardif, how nice to see you again,” the vestal smiles, awash in robes of white gold, the ever present warrior woman by her side.

Just as Reynauld has his right hand man, so too does the vestal have her honor guard, each their own inseparable match.

“I take it the threat has been neutralized,” the knight ventures, skipping past the pleasantries, eager to finish this unsavory business.

“More than that,” Tardif answers.

That earns him the holy crusader's undivided attention. “More? How can it be more? Explain.”

“Got a good reason fer takin’ as long as I did. Not only is the target neutralized, I dispatched the baron along with him.”

The room goes silent, Reynauld stiff as always, Tardif unable to discern his reaction from the narrow gaps in his helmet.

Junia and Boudica waver between shocked and impressed and Dismas is well … Dismas.

Tight-lipped as they are, waiting for the knight to share his verdict, the prodigal messenger instigates it.

“C'mon, don't leave me hangin’ in suspense. Tell me yer impressed.”

“He gotta be shittin’ me with this guy,” Dismas scoffs to himself, trying to hide his laugh of pity, “What an idiot.”

Junia's halo of Light glows brightly, reprehensible of such foul language, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Reynauld, the crusader reconciled for the moment.

"Taking down the entire brood is beyond you, Tardif,” the knight finally speaks, as if preaching to a child, “It does not fall to one man, but to all of us.”

“Didn’t ye hear wot I said,” the huntsman snaps, resentful of Reynauld’s lackluster reception, ”I killed the baron.”

“Yes,” the knight begins, throwing his precious scroll upon the ground, stepping up to the pretentious upstart with self-righteous fury, “I heard you defied orders, took authority beyond your rank and you’re being entirely smug about it, feeling entitled to our praise.”

Despite the knight superior standing before him now, garbed in all his shining, mantled glory, Tardif does not feel the distinction of status, addressing him as he would any other man.

“Who cares ‘bout all that,” the brute argues, doubling down, “I just took out the guy no one else could. Hell, ye should send me out again. Betcha I could slay every last one of ‘em wit’ an arm tied behind my back.”

The knight takes a moment to steel himself, gauntlets gripped into fists, pacifying his enraged tone. “Tardif, while I admit you are an exceptional warrior, you are also arrogant, insubordinate. You fail to grasp what is not your place to decide.”

Tardif can hardly stand the hypocrisy.

“Wot diplomacy is there in killin’ beings already deemed unfit to exist?”

The caped crusader does not entertain this, ignoring his underlings' words, a segway for his own victimized tangent.

“I knew it was a risk choosing you for this task,” the knight laments, bowing his head, “A grave disappointment I now regret. And though it pains me to do so, you’re hereby relieved of your hunter status.”

“Like hell I am,” Tardif barks, done with this charade, turning his back on the injustice, intent on storming out.

A steadfast grip reigns him in by the arm, the apprehender none other than the long-haired wild cat Boudica.

“Do not resist,” the warrior woman advises, a tinge of sympathy in her voice, “you know I have to bring you in.”

“Listen to the lady,” mocks Dismas, striding up to his left, enjoying his fall from grace a bit too much, “wouldn’t want to see ya get hurt.”

“Don't worry,” Tardif smirks, “I won't.”

In another horribly brash decision, the brutish delinquent suckerpunches the scarf-wearing bandit, an elbow jab delivered swiftly between the eyes.

The rebellious Tardif is feeling rather proud of himself, much better once he sees Dismas stagger backwards, blood pouring down from his crooked nostrils.

“Makin’ yer little lap dog do everythin’ fer ye as usual I see,” the axeman taunts, an insult aimed at Reynauld, but he stares at his dark-haired lackey, the injured man snarling, his scarf hanging around his neck to reveal his gruesome face scars.

The ex-highwayman wipes his lip, red droplets speckling the stone floor, drawing his firearm in retaliation, shoving the barrel against Tardif's back. “Go on. Say it again. I dare ya. ”

“Insolent savage,” Reynauld roars, demanding obedience from his flock, “can I teach you nothing of humility?”

“Oh, there is one thing I’ve learned,” Tardif intones, raising a middle finger, “Fuck ye!”

“Tardif, please,” Junia begs, breaking her silence, unable to watch this descent into madness any longer.

“My lady,” the persecuted hunter beseeches, “is this how I am to be repaid for all my years of devoted service? Being stripped and unmade? How many times must I lie naked before ye?”

Junia had been like a mother to him, as much as she could be before being coerced into the tireless position she wields now. A part of her will always see Tardif as a frightened little orphan boy, will seek to protect him above all else, hoping to one day absolve her own sins.

“Reynauld … ,” Junia councils, turning to face her fellow bishop, a chord struck within her, “is this punishment not too harsh? Surely, there must be another way.”

“You are too soft on him,” Reynauld decrees, knowing what angle his disciple was playing, “Let us see how he behaves after a few fastidious nights in prison. Perhaps, if he is remorseful of his actions, I will reinstate his title. Until then, get him out of my sight.”

—-

Dismas shoves Tardif forward, leading him down the stairs, further into the dungeon below.

He’s still sporting his pistol, poking it against the captive’s spine every chance he gets, Boudica’s escort trailing behind them, bottle-necked in such a tight space.

They’re underground, the seedy basement just as historic as the church itself, the old layout left unrenovated since it was built, but then again a prison didn’t have to be inviting. Tardif had visited this place a few times in the past, almost desensitized to it's eeriness.

“That's far enough,” the ex-bandit calls, halting their progress just shy of the empty cell, “Boudica, strip him down.”

Once more, the redhead gives her comrade an emphatic look, the brute raising his arms up in surrender as she moves to relieve him of his weapons.

His belts are unclasped one by one, feeling less like a man and more like a thing, a tool robbed of it’s usefulness, a blade dulled and discarded. The hellion hefts his possessions around her shoulder, hooking his weapons onto her own series of straps while he endures this demeaning penalty.

“That should be everything,” the refurbished warrior announces, taking a step back, dressed to the hilt in his gear, signaling her task complete.

Dismas moves to inspect her work, noticing she's missed one item in particular.

“Forgot this,” Dismas says, ripping off the brute’s scouter.

“That stays wit’ me,” Tardif says, eyes forthright and stern, schooling his tone.

“You growin’ attached to the bloodsuckers or somethin’,” Dismas snickers, raising a brow, dangling the parasite's cage around by the clip, “wouldn’t that be the scandal of the century.”

“Don’t like people takin’ wot’s mine,” Tardif growls, putting on his best poker face. If they take Pierre from him now, the highwayman would probably squash him out of existence or worse.

“Teh, s'pose you two can keep 'nother company,” the ex-highwayman says, tossing the tiny creature at him, “Fine, take it. Don’t say I never gave ya nottin’.”

Tardif catches it, clutching the cage tight to his chest, masking his relief as Dismas shoves the brute inside his cozy new home. The gunslinger means to trip him, but the braided man is too big and his balance too practiced. At most Tardif stumbles, keeping his footing.

“Always knew you were destined for a grimy prison cell,” Dismas smirks, eagerly latching the door closed, locking it with a clatter.

“Always knew yer were destined to take it in the ass,” Tardif parries, face a vindictive glower.

Dismas is understandably incensed by the accusation, snarling as he aims his gun, intending to blow the lips right off his wise-cracking tongue.

“Enough,” Boudica shouts, knocking his gun away with her glaive, the firearm discharging against the bars. The bullet ricochets, missing it’s mark and Tardif silently thanks the Light for the hellion’s quick-thinking reflexes.

She leers at Dismas, anger notched across her nose, hurling a harsh reprimand, “He is our comrade at arms. He deserves some respect.”

“Ain't no more, remember,” the bandit sneers, tearing away from their confrontation to retrieve his pistol from the floor. He curses when he spots a nick in the metal casing, an imperfection caused by her meddling, one he’ll have to grind down if there’s any chance of buffing it out.

“That has yet to be seen,” Boudica says, watching the trigger happy hostile carefully.

Dust filters into the air, the side-shaven bandit following the trail of smoke to track where the pellet struck mortar and stone, prying at the hole with his finger.

“If you ask me,” he drawls, rife with ire, blowing against the debris, “He should rot in here. Better yet if we watch him hang.”

“Only if ye join me there,” Tardif quips.

“You wish.” The gunslinger laughs, twirling his pistol around before holstering it, “Maybe that lil’ bloodsucker there will do us all a favor and drink ya in your sleep.”

He spits at ground near the cell, taking his leave, whistling a funeral march, a trait usually customary of the knight superior.

With him gone the hellion can finally relax, her outward visage finally giving way, allowing her true self to shine.

She strides up to the thick-headed ex-hunter, scolding him through the palisade.

“What were you thinking,” Boudica urges, a grimace upon her face, wrinkling the war paint on her eyes, “You knew your actions would displease Reynauld.”

As much as Tardif trusts the hellion with his life, he cannot burden her with the truth.

“I was thinkin’, ‘ey, if I wipe out all the monsters, then we get a much needed vacation.’”

Her expression eases into a frustrated sigh, shaking her head of dreadlocks, “You are brave, *Kló (Talon), like myself. I admire that, but also very *þrár (stubborn).”

“I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“I would expect no less,” Boudica says, her blue eyes serious despite the more light-hearted tone, “I will speak with lady Junia, see what I can do for you. Until then, keep your head down.”

Her words are reminiscent of the shrewd disciplinary lessons Junia would often instill in him, but Boudica had the fierce wild heart to back it up.

“Can't cause much trouble from in here,” the axeman shrugs, looking around the lame accommodations. Bits of straw are scattered about the cell, iron manacles nailed to the wall, a questionably stained bucket positioned in the corner. Well, at least there was a bed, though it wasn’t much more than a weathered slab of wood suspended by chain.

Her dark lips curl into a smirk, recognizing Tardif as the resourceful kind, an underdog never to be outwitted for long.

“Sure you could. I know you.”

“Heh heh, yer right.”

The well-meaning hellion reaches her painted hand through the bars, offering assurances, “Be strong my friend. I will visit again when I can.”

He accepts the gesture, their palms sealing together tightly, making a vow of his own.

“Ye better, else I'll hunt ye down myself.”

A flex of muscle is shared between them, his and then hers, their arms swelling with combined effort.

“If it ever comes to that, I will meet you head on,” she nods, shaking on it before letting go.

The two friends part ways, Tardif watching as her tabard disappears behind a wall of pewter, headed back the same way she came.

[bynightafangirl]

Gurl…