#fic: the queens passageway

[sepherinaspoppies]

Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

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my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.  

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.  

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible. 

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico. 

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?” 

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful. 

“The bus–” 

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude. 

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.    

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her. 

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her. 

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear. 

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting. 

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin. 

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it” 

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid. 

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.” 

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news) 

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?” 

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away. 

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist. 

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance. 

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision. 

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection. 

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together. 

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile. 

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies. 

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run. 

She ignored it, again. 

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit. 

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.  

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze. 

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen. 

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore. 

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family. 

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood. 

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have. 

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys) 

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair. 

Silver. 

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?” 

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth. 

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight. 

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.” 

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.” 

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever. 

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so. 

“I don’t—” 

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye. 

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist. 

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.” 

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down. 

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.” 

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her. 

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp. 

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic. 

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully. 

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic. 

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out. 

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.  

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative. 

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red. 

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe. 

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic. 

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand. 

Blood. Her blood. 

Run! 

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face. 

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor. 

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…” 

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there. 

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.” 

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.” 

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned. 

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.” 

Fuck. 

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?” 

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one. 

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass) 

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.” 

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[lokisgoodgirl]

Welcome to the Hostile F*cks Library! A link to my regular Masterlist is HERE This collection list is COMPLETE.

These fics can be read as one-shots/two-parters or chronologically as a thinly plotted series.

Each "event" will have a duo of fics, following an infuriatingly smug Avenger!Loki and a Y/N trying desperately not to staple things to his sexy face.

All of them will contain smut. Hostile smut*. The first entry in each duo contains light, thirsty smut, and the second...filth, friends. Filth. 1. The Wetsuit (w/c 3.2k) 2. The Wetsuit: Tight Passageways (w/c 3.1k)

3. Full Throttle (w/c 3.1k) 4. Full Throttle: Motel ( w/c 3.2k)

5. The Red Dress (w/c 3.7k) 6. The Red Dress: Ruined (w/c 2.5k)

7. Highland Fling (w/c 3.6k) 8. Highland Fling: The Battlements (2.8k)

9. Crossed Swords (w/c 4.2k) 10.Crossed Swords: To the Hilt (3.3k) 11. Captain's Orders (w/c 4.3k) 12. Captain's Orders: New Depths (w/c 3.8k) 13. Hot & Bothered (w/c 4.6k) 14. Hot & Bothered: Snack Shack (w/c 4.2k) 15. Bow to Me (w/c 4.2k) 16. Bow to Me: Quivering (w/c 3.8k) 17. Holy Orders (w/c 3.6k) 18. Holy Orders: Mercy (w/c 3.2k) 19. Final Bids (w/c 4.8k) 20. Final Bids: Love Wins (w/c 3.8k) Epilogue. Public Relations (2.2k)

Beautiful collection moodboard by @mochie85 - thank you my queen! *Hostile, but consensual.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Do you know of any fics that are being regularly updated? Like current fics where the next chapter is being upload every tot days? I miss having a new chapter of a fic to look forward to reading 🥲🥲 please and thanks ♡♡

One way to check is to go on A03 and in work search, select the relationship you want - "Blaine anderson/Kurt Hummel" and you can select Works in Progress. Currently here are a handful updating regularly, if i don't mention your fic, please feel free to let me know. ~Jen

Undiscovered By @heartsmadeofbooks chap 1/?

All Blaine Anderson needs is a little help to put himself through school. That’s all. But he’s going to get so much more than he hoped for when he meets Kurt Hummel, the successful, sexy workaholic who in turn needs someone to make the loneliness disappear.

~~~~~

Klueless by @kurtsascot chap 4/22

It’s 1995. Kurt’s a senior at McKinley High, and he’s looking to lose his virginity and get his love life in order before he goes off to college.

Unfortunately, Blaine, the pretentious son of Burt’s ex-wife, is in Lima to intern for Burt’s congressional reelection campaign, and Kurt is stuck dealing with him until the election is over.

~~~~~

14 Stones of A curse by Anna_Timberlake @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion chap 5/15

“It's the only way to break the curse, Kurt. Believe me.”

These were the words that had driven 29-year-old Kurt Hummel to take a long break from his prestigious job at Vogue.com and travel approximately 3300 miles. He didn't know if it was true. But if it was, will he be able to break the long impending curse of his soulmate? Welcome to the journey of Kurt Hummel discoverying his past self and his soulmate.

Soulmates and fantasy- AU and reincarnation.

~~~~~

Falling for you By @bitbybitwrites chap 4/5

Doctor!blaine, florist!Kurt, Dadfic, Christmas

~~~~~

And longer fic, updating weekly/monthly:

Sonder by @gleefulpoppet chap 77/?

 Kurt is one of the most respected and talked about men in the fashion industry and business world. His app Style•Revolution is the fastest-growing app in history, still rising after three years. Recently, he moved the company to Seattle to be at the heart of the newest technology epicenter in the United States. Yet, with all his success, experience keeps teaching him to be wary of people’s motives who want to be close to him, and he wonders if he’ll be alone forever. Or maybe this city has plans for him that he can’t imagine when his gaze locks with a mysterious, honey-hazel-eyed busker.

~~~~~

Out of Eden By @wowbright chap 64/75 est

As a gay Mormon, Kurt Hummel has decided to go the rest of his life without falling in love. But toward the end of his two years as a missionary in Germany, Elder Anderson moves into his apartment—and Kurt's best-laid plans fall apart.

~~~~~

Head over Feet By @spaceorphan18 chap 8/15

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other's orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

~~~~~

The Queen's Passageway By @coffeegleek Part 4 of one shots of Everybody's Naked & There's a Country to Run verse

This is an expansion upon the one-shot, Passage Ways, chapter 12 of One-Shots in the Everybody’s Naked & There’s a Country To Run verse. You don't have to know the verse to read it.

[bitchysoulwasteland]

"Queen?"

Thranduil X Reader

Word count: 1,111 (probably the longest yet. ;)

(A/N: all gifts in this fic do not belong to me but belong to their respective creators/owners. Do not reblog or repost any of my work. Enjoy) 

You had your music playing through your earphones as you jogged though the tunnels and passageways of Mirkwood's palace. Many elves through you strange with your taste for things. Especially your clothes. You, the new queen of Mirkwood. Many wondered what the king saw in you. But you were their queen and Thranduil was their king. No one could question you both without good enough reason. If any. Everyone knew that if they uttered a bad word about you, they would be sent immediately to the cells. That was if Thranduil was feeling particularly merciful. 

You passed by Tariel who gave you a smile which you gladly returned. Thankfully, she was one of the more calm-natured elves and as she's a Captain Of The Guard, you had worked and learnt a lot from her throughout your time in Mirkwood. 

Being considered a 'halfling' wasn't easy, especially since your mother was an elf but your father had been a human. You had grown up on Earth, gone to school as well as high school there, had moved after your father died and the bullying became constant. So, to stop her child being put through any more pain, she decided it was best to move you both to her home. Middle Earth. Of course, that hadn't been easy. The side glances you had been given by the majority of those native to Middle Earth had been hard to cope with at first. And of course, to most elves you went against everything their culture included. Although you had pointed ears, you always wore some type of 70s or 80s band t-shirt. Your (h/c) hair was cut (h/l). You never wore a skirt or any feminine wear of any kind, instead opting for jeans and a leather jacket. And, to top it all of, you didn't listen to their music. You listened to classic rock. But, what most found the strangest of all, you always listened to a band called "Queen". 

Some were repulsed by all of this. But to your surprise, their king Thranduil found all of this intriguing. 

You had met the king by chance when you were travelling with Thorin and the company and were found in Mirkwood. They too thought you strange, but warmed to you quickly and you soon became closest with Fili and Kili. Kili even said you were like the 'sister he never had'. Thorin, of course became extremely overprotective of you. Everyday since then, you had thanked Gods that you had met Gandalf The Grey and that he had introduced you to your second family. Unknown to you, you had already caught Thranduil's eye then.

During the Battle Of Five Armies, you met again whilst you were fighting an Orc in Dale. You had been separated from he company and decided to put your sword skills into practice. Although, you had underestimated the Orc you were up against. 

The fight seemed endless, though it had only been going on for a good five minutes. You swung your sword, nearly missing the Orc as you tried to dodge its attack. You were knocked to the floor and winded as the side of its blade struck your shoulder, narrowly missing your heart and other vital organs. The Orc raised its blade as you desperately fought to regain your breath. You shouldn't die like this. It was a pointless, waste of a good death. You closed your eyes as blade started its decline to finish you off. Then, it stopped.  

You opened your eyes as the blade clattered to the floor alongside the Orc that would have killed you. Should have killed you. But what you saw shocked you more than the blow that threw you to the floor in the first place. Before you stood the king of Mirkwood, bloody sword in one hand whilst the other reached out as an offer to help you up. Grateful for the king's kindness, you accepted his help and got up off of the floor. 

"You didn't have to help me up, your majesty. I could've coped myself." 

"I know, meleth. But I was not going to leave you there on the snow to freeze." 

"Thank you, your highness." You attempted a small curtsey. 

"Please, there is no need for formality. Call me Thranduil." He smiled at you. 

"Thank you, Thranduil." You would've added more but there were more Orcs coming. Without another word, you ran into the opposite direction to the king of Mirkwood, sword already unsheathed. Thranduil let out a rare smile as he watched you defend both the elves of his kingdom and those who had chosen to protect their own.  

That was almost sixty years ago now. 

You would be lying if you said you didn't think of the Dwarves, Gandalf, Bilbo and the adventure in general when your mind wasn't overrun by other things. 

Your converse made no noise on the palace floor as you walked to the throne room, having changed after your run. You knew that Thranduil would be there after he wasn't in the library when you checked. You herd voices coming from the room as you opened the door. It was impossible. No. Just improbable. Gandalf was standing there alongside a few of what looked like Hobbits. 

"That ring has not been seen for years. How could you even possibly think that an elf would have it?" Thranduil questioned as your curiosity got the better of you. You were tired of standing at the door, so you walked over to where the group was to make yourself known. 

"The last time I saw that ring, it was in the pocket of a Hobbit." You said as everyone turned to look at you. Thranduil stood, a glint of amusement in his eye as he watched your interaction with the wizard. 

"(Y/N). I did not know that you would grace us with your presence." Gandalf said with a smirk, sarcasm as an undertone of his sentence. Of course he knew you would be here. You were never one for keeping yourself out of trouble. Especially when that trouble was linked to a wizard. Even more so when that trouble was linked to either himself or Radagast The Brown.

You turned to leave but before you opened the door, you added. "Keep yourselves out of trouble, young Hobbits. You too, Gandalf The Grey. I don't want to have to go with Lady Galdriel to save you from the brink of death again. Quite literally." With that, you walked out of the room. 

"Will we ever see her again?" Frodo asked to witch Gandalf responded. 

"I will be surprised if we do not."

[futuristicpenguinwizard]

Can I have some wimp of one of your Lucemond’s fic?

Aemond was severely sick. All the maesters that saw his condition said the same thing. 'The boy is with the flower sickness' which Aemond found to be another name for hormonal problems. But he didn't know why it was so bad, or why it hurted so much. He was five days straight in his bed, he couldn't even get up due to sickness. And on the seventh day it was when they started to think that it might not be a simple sickness condition. What could have caused such a thing? Nobody knew. Queen Alicent refused to let anyone but Aemond's maesters and personal servants into the chamber. She refused to let anyone see him. On the eleventh day in confinement, the whispers began, saying that Aemond had some kind of illness, an illness that can be passed from person to person and therefore the queen would not let anyone, not even her own children, into Aemond's room. And over time, when the servants began to hear the sound of ghostly steps next to the young prince's chambers, up and down the halls, always after lunch and before dinner. Many thought that perhaps the prince had an illness brought on by one of the ghosts of Red keep, but the truth was much simpler than that, Aemond received regular visits from his nephew, Lucerys. 

On that particular afternoon, the steps were tighter, faster, as if someone was in a big hurry. And indeed, Lucerys was in a hurry that day. He wouldn't stay for lunch, he would have to go traveling with his grandsire, Corlys. He was willing to see Aemond before the day after tomorrow, which was when he would finally return. Aemond heard the soft knocks of the wall. The secret knocks between him and Lucerys. He'd be lying if he said the highlight of his day wasn't waiting for Lucerys. He didn't have much to do while confined. Aemond rose from his bed and walked barefoot to where the passageway's door was. The omega then pulled up a chair, a heavy chair that made a squeaky noise when dragged across the floor. The chair stopped along with its feet in front of a wall sconce, he made a point to climb carefully onto the chair and when he stabilized himself in the chair that was shaking from the unevenness of the floor, he pulled the sconce with both hands. 

"Aemond." Lucerys's cheerful voice was quickly present in the chamber as soon as the door was opened.

"Luke, what are you doing here?" Aemond carefully climbed down from his chair. He broke away immediately in a short laugh when he saw Lucerys' smile, who was missing one of his front teeth. Aemond found it funny, especially when he whistled through the hole accidentally.

"I came to see you." Lucerys said "I brought you lemon pie." Aemond looked down at the plate in his nephew's hand. Aemond was confined within the walls of not only his room, but also of the castle, his own walls. He was a stranger to everyone, to himself, but somehow he found comfort in Lucerys, from his jokes and his small gestures. Aemond knew his mother disliked him spending too much time with Lucerys, but he felt very close to his nephew. He felt like he belonged somewhere when they talked, when they spent time together.

"We can't be alone in the room, I'm still in my nightgown."  Aemond said, taking the plate from Lucerys' hand with an almost imperceptible smile. "Give me the fork." He extended his right hand towards the boy who was just watching him carefully. Lucerys with no second thoughts gave him the fork "Thank you." Aemond walked to the couch in his room carefully, staggering a little, due to dizziness. 

"Are you alright?" Lucerys asked. It was obvious that Aemond wasn't well, but nobody told Luke how his uncle was, if he was fine, if he was eating right. People just said Aemond couldn't play with him and Arrax, which made Lucerys sad, not only because he wanted to be close to Aemond, but also because he knew that Aemond liked to be close to Arrax, he knew the boy fantasized about having a dragon, that none of his eggs had hatched so he blamed himself. Lucerys hated to see Aemond sad, maybe that was the worst part of being friends with his uncle. Aemond always carried guilt with him, he felt like he was not enough, and even Lucerys being young he understood that, and that made him as much as sad as Aemond.

"No." Aemond was simple. "My mother said I'm sick with a terrible disease." For a few seconds, Lucerys was afraid this meant the imminent death of the person he considered to be more than his best friend.

[mr-nauseam]

So some time ago @rosesandalfazemas ask me for a list of fanfic recommendations... You probably have already read most of them or even know more works because this is a small world and I'm outdated but well!

ENGPORT FICS -AO3 EDITION

> Lovesick by Ludwiggle73

Summary: Fresh out of rehab, Arthur Kirkland is ready to get his life back to normal—or, at least, as normal as a rockstar’s life can be. He’s supposed to be sober now . . . but everyone knows love can be a drug. He might have a new lease on life, but the withdrawal of a lovesick heart could very well be the end of him.

...

This is a classic, you know I will never shut up about this one but is punk ENGPORT, what we needed in this damn world and a great character study about England!

> O grito das gaivotas (The cry of seagulls) by Saso_615

Summary: João took out two bottles of rum and his precious instrument from the boat they had settled on the beach. Arthur was already close to the greener parts of the island ; palm trees, different kinds of plants, tall grass and bird chants drew the prince's attention. Though, he would be stopped by his captain who wanted to stay closer to the water.

"I'll teach you how to dance like the women in my country. Venha. (Come)" He placed a hand behind Arthur's back to lead him to a perfect spot.

"I will not dance like a woman!" The brit protested, though it only made the portuguese laugh.

"Come on, even for me?"

...

I just read the title in Portuguese and I UNDERSTOOD NOW WHAT IT SAYS AND WHY IT IS WRITTEN LIKE THAT. Eu sou agora muito poderoso.

What can I say? It's fucking amazing. PLEASE read the warnings also if you can't stand a bastardized characterization of Spain I think it would be better to don't read this one but If you can. Go ahead!!

> Of Pointed Teeth and Tongue by Allheroeswearhats

Summary: Arthur Kirkland, against his best wishes and reason, is in love with the memory of someone he met on a beach many years ago.

...

*I pound the table*

THIS IS PURE ART. YOU HAVE NO IDEA JUST READ IT!!

> Sailing away by chocoCate

Summary: There is a secret place in the depths of the castle of Picas, a magical room accessed through an invisible passageway.

Only a few people have been lucky enough to observe the room, drawn by an arcane magic that dates back to the time of creation.

Inside, the hands of a clock guide the destinies of the chosen, consecrating them as the new rulers of Picas.

Only Kings, Queens and Jacks have the honor of observing its ancestral mechanisms, of perceiving the strange sensation of the magic that caresses their skin and envelops them completely, of listening to the ticking of the hands that write their future.

No one escapes the destiny marked by the impassive hands, according to ancient legends.

But someone tries; well, this is the story of that attempt.

...

IS IN ITALIAN... I translate that description BUT HEAR ME OUT!! JUST USE THE TRANSLATOR BECAUSE THIS ONE IS A CARDVERSE ENGPORT + PIRARES. WHAT A WONDERFUL CREATION. THIS ONE REALLY WORTH ALL THAT WORK.

> For i want what i cannot have by primaveris

Summary: Not at all, Arthur, Afonso wants to say, you're so much stronger and braver than I could ever dream to be.

...

I read this a long time ago but I remember even now, how, like a ghost these words hunt me for we so touching. A cute and tortured fan work.

> Watch me cry all my tears by our beloved: Kai_Maciel

Summary: An aging, sickly sailor leaves his empty house to venture into the sea once more. This time, he won't be coming back.

...

The title is a foreshadow of how you will end after read this one but I swear IT WILL WORTH IT!!

> The Dark World is Not Far from Us by le_serpent_qui_nous_devore

Summary: Summer, 1943. War warms the Mediterranean. Portugal simmers in his own resentment.

...

VERY HISTORIC. NOT EXACTLY A ENGPORT ENGPORT ONE IN A EXPLICIT WAY BUT IS A MASTERPIECE

> Alliances by NothinToSeeHere

(best username 🤭)

Summary: Arthur stumbles across his nemesis, Francis and brother, Allistor together in a compromising position, and lifelong friend Miguel (Portugal) is by his side in an instant. Much angst, and lots of fluff for the rarepair lovers!

...

Dude YOU DONT KNOW. BUT THIS ONE MAKE ME FALL INTO ENGPORT. I read this one on tumblr and gOD WHAT A EXPERIENCE!! Very emotional 💗👌

> Murphy's Law by extrastellar

Summary: Arthur is single and salty, and he can't even be left in peace at a dumb frat party, but at least the bloke who interrupted his sulking is actually pretty hot. So it's just Arthur's bad luck that everything that can go wrong, does go wrong and he ends up without a name, or a number, and a mission.

...

One of my comfort fics 💗

> Jorge's Day by Shachaai

Summary: A small group of Nations attend a garden party on the feast day of a patron saint some of them share. It's obviously not a birthday party for one of them. It obviously is.

...

Shachaai IS ONE OF THESE NAMES. Like of course! if you became a engport fan you will ending reading one of their stories because they will make all engport content existing for years but that one is my favorite

> A Guiding Star by sailorgreywolf

Summary: Portugal and England's once strong and enduring relationship is filled with rough edges and complications that must be resolved if they are to return to their love.

They have a heart-to-heart talk.

...

This one dont have a summary but I make one. I hope it mades justice to it.

> A faery song by our godness: cakewizard

Summary: What an odd nation his friend was, Portugal thought and took his offered hand. He was more careful during the rest of the trail, watching for upturned roots and low hanging branches, England’s tight grip on his hand leading the way.

...

People will say they carry the burden of making the world's best engport and they will be right 🙄

[wordstro]

[3] game of thrones-inspired au + prince hongjoong + "all you have to do is beg."

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

a/n: 13k words, gender neutral reader, uhhh some very sad reunions, implications of abuse (not hongjoong), implications of cheating, daddy issues........i blame those anthology posts ppl make with every sad dad-related quote ever, also in game of thrones there's a tradition called the bedding ceremony and it definitely is very coercive/pretty much assault played off as a fun little traditional thing in the books so i will not be delving into it in this fic, it happens but not as terribly and i wanted to warn yall since it can be triggering, hongjoong is toxic/mean, anxiety descriptions, the beginnings of what i like to call the hongjoongification of y/n

-

"have you found robes fit for a royal?" yeosang asked as he escorted you from the queen's waiting room to yours. the queen hadn't seemed ecstatic, in fact she only seemed sad for you, despite her short sentences and clear exhaustion. her reaction only worried you further, as hongjoong was her son. even after all these years, you could never discern hongjoong and the queen's relationship. the queen was fond of hongjoong, and hongjoong of her, but hongjoong barely spoke of her. you heard from the maids that he visited her chambers often, but that was the only extent to their relationship you were privy to. yet, here the queen was, seemingly sad over this betrothal. you'd tried on the traditional kim wedding robes, the maids clapping at the sight of you. and the queen had merely nodded and pat your cheek before she dismissed you.

yeosang matched your pace as you strode through the halls of the red keep, ignoring the eyes on you. not one person in court bothered to hide their whispers. the king wasted no time in announcing the wedding, and you found yourself more worried for san than yourself, as was still at storm's end. at this rate, the seven kingdoms would know before san. a hasty marriage between hongjoong and you would only have the people of the court believe something foul was afoot, especially since san and you courted each other so publicly all these months.

for a moment, the only sound between you both was the clinking of yeosang's armor, and the murmured greetings of servants as you passed into more private parts of the red keep.

you said then, "should you continue addressing me in such a tone?"

"have you found robes fit for a royal, your grace?" yeosang repeated, tacking on the title with a taunting grin.

you sighed, turning the corner, "i've always had robes fit for a royal in dorne."

"that is in the past. soon you'll have resided here longer than you have in dorne, you know."

you did not like that reminder. it brought an ache to your chest, and the urge to fling yourself from the nearest window to escape - an impossible feat since all your windows have had golden grates latched to them since you arrived - or take the narrow passageways behind the walls and run far far away. but you did not know where to go, and you could barely handle a sword, despite your lessons, as hongjoong, yeosang, ser johnny, and ser yuta liked to remind you. only mingi ever told you that you were improving in that area.

you paused at your chamber doors. you spoke without really looking at yeosang, "you said once that whomever i wed will determine my fate."

you turned to look up at yeosang, and a faint ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips at whatever he thought of your expression. he tilted his head, said, "you remembered that? i am touched, your grace."

you'd glared at his teasing tone, even as you clarified, "i want to know what happens when i marry the prince? you seemed so sure of yourself when you spoke of my fate. what of this arrangement, then? what is my fate now?"

yeosang's smile did not slip from his face as you wanted. kang yeosang would never give you the pleasure of vindication. he merely dragged a hand through his yellow-blond hair, his dark eyes piercing. his hand remained at the hilt of his sword, even as he said, "you will become king hongjoong's partner, my liege. his monarch."

you'd rolled your eyes. before you could respond, yeosang added a quiet, "and his weakness."

"weakness?" you'd laughed in disbelief.

"i suppose," yeosang tilted his head, the smile on his face a pretty thing, the signature kang amusement flitting across his face. "you always were a weakness of sorts."

"i am not." you'd glared, though your stomach flipped and heat curled at your cheeks. surely he did not believe such drivel. you said, "i never was, and i doubt that will change just because i am his spouse."

yeosang raised a brow at you. still he shrugged, clearly not bothering to inquire further. he said, "let's say you are not a weakness. you'll still be one of the most protected, most beloved, and most targeted people in the seven kingdoms."

that brought you pause. "targeted?"

"not many have love for a mad king with a penchant for burning anyone he disagrees with at the stake. the monarchy has always been a target, but, nowadays, i'd say the king's paranoia may come from a place of truth."

"and you've...known this?"

"i am in his kingsguard," yeosang said, as if it should be quite obvious to you. "i know of every threat, real or perceived."

"yes," you'd pressed, raising a brow, "but your father is the hand."

"my father does not tell me much."

"right." you bit out, rolling your eyes at his evasiveness.

yeosang laughed, but his eyes were dark, calculating, the expression of the kangs through and through. he shook his head, still, as he murmured, "rest assured that i never imagined hongjoong would put you in this position. especially with the queen - we'd all agreed you were much too sweet to play these games."

"yet, the moment i stepped onto the shores of king's landing, i've been entangled in them."

"blame your father for that."

you do. you do blame your father, and that was the worst of it.

you grit your teeth, said, "i do not need you all deciding such things on my behalf. i can decide on my own."

"i must admit, that is what concerns me most. your decisions have landed you in terrible situations with terrible enemies."

you glared at him and the clear jab at your intelligence. yeosang only smiled, and raised his hands in the air, mocking a placating gesture.

you'd continued glaring, even as you shouldered your way in to your chambers without giving him another glance nor word. he did not deserve such kindness. not when he hadn't bothered to answer your question properly in the first place, and only left you with more to think about.

~.~.~.~.~

guests began to arrive in small groups over the course of the next few days, and the servants of the red keep were left scrambling. your lessons were even cancelled in preparation for the wedding. you hadn't seen the king, his small council, or even hongjoong since that night.

when you'd told him he'd cost you your freedom, he'd grit his teeth and turned away. he'd left you in the empty throne room with the rotting flesh of his dead brother still lingering, his departing footsteps echoing all around, and you'd stared at his retreating back, at yeosang meeting your gaze over his shoulder even as he trailed after hongjoong.

hongjoong always had a response. he always returned your words with vitriol or amusement of his own. yet tonight, the throne room doors were flung open, and they remained open, because the servants and guards of the red keep did not consider your status high enough to wait on, not when the king has already dismissed the room and the prince has left, and you were left alone, your heart in your throat and your palms sweaty and your knees shaky. you held your breath as you left the throne room, as you trailed through the halls of the red keep you regrettably knew better than the halls of your home in sunspear, steadying yourself against the cold stone walls as you walked through the silent halls. you'd entered your chambers, ignoring the bowed head of one of the kingsguard that remained stationed by your door - an action of either the king or hongjoong that you did not wish to dwell on the implications behind - and even as you shut the door behind you and trailed into your chambers, you were too shocked to sob the way you knew you should have. you only slipped from your robes, and rubbed perfume oil in your palms until they were slippery and the scent of musk and roses invaded all your senses. you tried to mask the scent of rotting flesh still lingering in your nose, but you could still smell it. you believed you'd never forget it - that it would haunt you, a lasting memory of the king and queen's late son. you merely laid in your bed until the sun poured through the grates of your window, and stared at the ceiling you'd long memorized.

since that night, you'd only seen yeosang on the few occasions where he was one of the kingsguard asked to escort you back to your chambers.

you did not see mingi until days before the wedding, when the doors to the library creaked open, and mingi stuck his head in, his wide smile dragging out a smile of your own.

he sauntered into the library, his armor clinking as he walked, and he took a seat across from you, watching as you closed the book documenting wild plants you'd been engrossed in. you'd decided a few days ago, somewhere between the way your maids fell silent when you entered your chambers to bathe and your septa suggesting you go to the godswood and pray instead of lounging about in the library or your chambers, that since you knew nothing, you'd make it a point to learn everything. so you spent too many hours reading of the geography around king's landing. your septa scoffed at you every morning, leaving you alone in the library. you read of the wild plants of each of the kingdoms. even accounts of the plants that grew outside of westeros. you read anything and everything that gave you information about something outside of king's landing. perhaps, you hoped you could leave. one day. perhaps, you could go to the godswood and pray to every god who wanted to listen; you were certainly starting to become restless enough for such an absurd thing.

"doing some light reading?" he asked, eyeing the cover with a raised brow.

you'd shrugged, and mingi only nodded. he did not tend to push, and you were glad for it.

you said, "to what do i owe the pleasure, ser mingi?"

mingi's laugh was a sweet, loud, boisterous thing that filled the quiet library. one of the maesters that spent his time organizing the library shushed you both from the other side of the room. mingi giggled. you could not help but join.

he sobered up much too quickly. you watched as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. he said, deep voice soft, "san asked me to find you."

you'd blinked, "he's here?"

"he arrived this morning," mingi said. "i left him in the courtyard."

you'd nodded, frowning at your fingers. you wrung your hands together. suddenly, you were nervous. you had not done anything wrong. you did not get a choice in the matter, in fact, yet you the nerves curled at the pit of your stomach.

mingi cleared his throat, "you do not need to see him yet. if you do not wish to."

you looked up at mingi. no one ever cared what you wished for. his expression held a sincerity you had not seen since sunspear, since yunho and wooyoung and your parents and -

"i do," you said, shaking away the loudness of your thoughts.

mingi only nodded as he rose from his seat, and held a hand out to you. you took it.

in the quiet halls, empty due to all the servants being busy with wedding preparations, mingi asked, "may i speak candidly?"

you'd frowned up at him, "you never need to ask, ser mingi."

mingi smiled, shaking his head, as he said, "i am sorry, y/n. you deserve more than you've been given."

you smiled as best as you could, despite the nerves, "it's all right. at least marrying the heir means i have the kingsguard to protect me?"

"the kingsguard only protects the king." mingi shook his head, and you detected a hint of pain in his tone, his eyes falling to his boots as he said, "still you have me, and yeosang. we're not much, but hongjoong listens to us."

you'd frowned at his words but before you could respond, you'd both arrived at the edge of the courtyard.

"mingi?" you murmured, worried by his stiff shoulders, watching as he bowed.

he shook his head, gesturing towards the courtyard, "lord san is waiting."

you did not push, as he would not have. instead, you'd nodded, and took the steps down into the courtyard, glancing back to watch mingi turn away back into the halls. with every conversation and interaction, you only worried further of your fate, and you despised king's landing - hongjoong - for it.

~.~.~.~.~

you found san where you always did, deep in the courtyard observing the flowers in bloom. this time, he peered at a white, almost translucent flower that grew in spirals along the stem.

the sun sat high in the sky, but the air was crisp. cold even. it left san with reddened ears and flushed cheeks. he still wore his riding boots. he must have been too busy to rest in his chambers after he arrived. san turned his gaze from the flower in front of him to you. his kind eyes were a gentle thing, one you'd come to miss over the stretches of time without him in the red keep.

his dimpled smile made your chest ache. the same ache that you felt when you thought of sunspear. when you thought of yeosang telling you that soon you'd have lived more name-days outside of dorne than in.

san held a hand out to you, and you took it, and his fingers were cold. they were not warm. when you looked at him, you only felt loss. perhaps, you'd invested too much into san. he warned you often that he didn't think the king would approve. you were naïve and you held onto hope, but were you so awful to do such a thing? were you in the wrong to see hope in another? to invest in it, even a little?

san held your hand in both his, and he rubbed it between his palms. you chewed the inside of your mouth before you said, "you're cold."

"so are you," his smile was always kind. you wanted to believe kindness was enough, but perhaps hongjoong truly was correct.

you looked from your intertwined hands to san's face. he met your gaze, and he held it as you finally asked, "what did your father tell you?"

san smiled. he let go of your hands, and he gestured to the bench off to the side. you both took a seat, the two of you turning to face each other. san rested an elbow on the back of the bench as he rested his chin on his knuckles.

"that the king refused to bless our betrothal," san's smile fell from his face, his kind eyes hardening, "and that he insinuated that house choi is conspiring against him."

you'd nodded, said, "i fear what he would have done to you if you were there."

"i heard what he said," san frowned, and for the first time you see a hint of fury in his eyes. you'd never understood the choi's house words, ours is the fury, until that very moment. you did not think the chois capable of fury. lord choi was always polite and calm, and san? well you did not think him capable of anger, let alone fury. you felt fury often, a byproduct of your gilded cage, and you could not imagine san displaying such unbridled anger.

yet here san sat, jaw clenched, barely restrained. it reminded you of late nights when you'd stare at your sharpened hair combs, and imagine despicable things. it made you frown, even as san continued, "hongjoong informed me of his father's threats. he also told me that the king wished to wed you to the corpse of a babe."

your frown deepened. a part of you had hoped san would not hear that detail. you did not want pity from him now, after all this time without it.

san's brows furrowed, and the fury lessened a bit as he smiled slightly, "hongjoong countered the king with his own proposal."

"you spoke to hongjoong?"

it was all you could say. you still did not know how to articulate how you felt about hongjoong's proposal, his stepping in when he did, and your subsequent betrothal. san studied you for a long moment, before he explained, "he spoke to me. the night of."

your eyes widened.

san sighed, "he rode to storm's end on his dragon. nearly jumped out of my skin at the sight. and...and he commanded me not to tell anyone."

"oh," you blinked, "should you be telling me this then?"

"i thought knowing he...that he worries like the rest of us would ease your nerves," san murmured. "hongjoong won't hurt you, y/n."

"i don't -"

"he told me you found him terrifying," san cut you off with a raised brow. "that you thought he'd be worse than his father."

you'd glared, "i didn't mean it. i was only...i wasn't..."

you'd trailed off, and san pressed a hand to yours, and he said, "it's okay to mean it. it's okay to be scared. you are not weak for it."

you let him hold your hand as you slumped against the bench and took in his words. he was right. that was a constant with san, that he was often right and you could never dispute his logic because of it. you muttered, "i knew you were too good to be true."

san let out a small laugh. he said, "i tried to prepare for this. for the king to reject our union, but i..."

he sighed, shaking his head.

"hoped?" you said with a laugh of your own. it fell flat, even to your own ears.

still, san smiled as he fiddled with your fingers between his, his hands warm, "too much, i fear."

"my septa would say we did not pray to the gods enough."

san let out a breathless laugh, one you were glad to let settle in your memories. san lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss.

he said, "i will miss you."

the worst of it, you knew, was that you'd see him at court for the rest of your lives. in hindsight, he would always be there, but missing someone did not always mean distance. when hongjoong ascended the throne, san would take his father's place in hongjoong's small council. lord choi san of storm's end. you would see each other often then, and you'd wonder of what could have been, and he would come to pity you eventually, you knew, because hongjoong would rather have you visit the caricatures of sunspear in the depths of king's landing then take you there himself. hongjoong could very well keep you in this gilded cage and watch you rot. perhaps that is what scared you most about hongjoong. that he could decide your fate however he saw fit, just as his father could. hongjoong would sit on his throne, and you would sit tucked away in your chambers, and every time you passed san during feasts or in the halls or at dinner when he visited his friends you would wonder of what could have been. you knew it. and you could tell san knew it too as he looked at you with sorrowful eyes. you did not want to lose hope in the idea of setting foot in sunspear once more, but perhaps that was how it was meant to be.

you reached up and pressed your thumb to san's cheek. he let you, merely watching as you studied him.

you said, "whenever you visit, i will be here."

it was meant to be reassuring, but san pursed his lips, and the fury in his eyes was a sharp thing. a painful thing, really.

"i know," san closed his eyes, "and i am sorry for it."

"do not pity me." you told him, squeezing the hand he had in yours even as you pressed a finger under san's jaw, urging him to open his eyes and meet your gaze. he did, his eyes soft. kind. "swear to me you will not pity me. you will do as you always would, and we will not grieve for what could have been. swear it."

he searched your eyes for a long moment. it made the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end when he said, "are you certain?"

you nodded.

his eyes glistened, and you wanted to ask why but you did not. like with mingi, you did not wish to push. you did not wish to know, truly. you only nodded and nodded, fingers still resting under san's jaw, and san's voice was a soft thing, like an evening breeze, like the sound of your mother's voice when she called to you and wooyoung and yunho to come to her side, like the gentleness that exuded from yunho's very-being, like all the kindness you'd ever known in sunspear. all the kindness you'd known here wrapped gently into san's voice, his touch, his sad eyes, as he said, "i swear it."

you thought you'd been helping him, when you asked such a thing of him. you believed you were saving yourself grief.

you were not.

you pressed a kiss to his cheek, as chaste as the one he pressed to your hand, and as you leaned away he repeated, softer than ever, a whisper almost, "i swear it, y/n."

~.~.~.~.~

two days before the wedding, hongjoong leaned against the door to the library.

for a moment, you'd felt embarrassed at the sight of yourself with books and maps sprawled around you. you'd pushed two tables together with the help of the library's maester, who eyed you with resignation despite doing all you'd asked without complaint as he may have once before, and you had books stacked atop each other, a map of westeros and essos laid out in front of you. the map of essos was incomplete, and you'd fixated on perusing through books to determine the geography of essos on your own. clearly a terribly grandiose goal judging from the way the maester had raised a brow when you'd told him. still he merely disappeared and left you to your own devices. you could tell that he held a modicum of pity for you. at least it was either pity, or he believed you were succumbing to madness. you certainly felt as if you were succumbing to madness as the wedding drew closer. you barely slept and you tried to ignore the feeling of impending doom growing in your chest.

hongjoong merely remained propped against the entrance to the library, his arms folded over his chest, his silver-blond hair tied up. he certainly appeared more presentable than you did. his dark eyes remained fixed upon you, and for a moment you remained frozen. moments passed between you both, before you returned your attention to the map in front of you, ignoring the heat of embarrassment and his eyes still clearly fixed on the top of your head.

after a beat, hongjoong said, "y/n."

you only hummed, flipping through the book in front of you without quite seeing it. your heart raced against your ribs, and you did not wish to speak to hongjoong. you'd prefer if you never had to speak to him again, but at least for now you did not want to see him until you stood at the horrible altar.

another beat.

"y/n," he repeated, though this time his tone was laced with irritation. he said, "come to the dining hall."

you looked up at him once more, careful to avoid his dark gaze, frowning, "i am not hungry."

"that was not a request," hongjoong said, tone firm. his eyes narrowed slightly, but he still remained leaning against the door, still watching you, his gaze flitting over the books and maps in front of you.

your frown deepened as hongjoong quirked a brow at you.

"well? must i repeat myself, dearly betrothed?"

you grimaced at the mocking condescension dripping from his words, but you knew that despite everything he was still the heir, and you had to listen to him eventually. truly, you were in no mood to argue anyway.

you slammed the book shut in front of you. he merely watched as you stood, the chair creaking as it teetered on its hind legs. you grabbed it, pushing it in, and you snapped, "fine. happy?"

he did not respond to your lack of formalities, only rolled his eyes and spun on his heels.

he walked out of the library, the door slamming shut behind him. the resounding thud made your heart jump.

still, you followed after him. he only waited a moment for you to exit the library before he started walking. his robes swished in front of you, and his pace was a brutal thing you did not bother to keep up with. the silence between you both was an icy thing you were not planning on breaking first. you were angry with hongjoong. you would always be angry with him. you wanted -

he came to a sudden halt, steps from the dining hall. his robes fluttered around him as he turned to look you over for a long moment. his hard expression softened enough for you to frown, glancing at the dining hall as you did so. he replied, as if he could read the anxiety in your expression, "there's something for you in there. i suggest you attempt a smile, at the very least." he paused, "and you may thank me later."

you'd scowled at him, even as he spun, and opened the door. you'd never seen him open his own doors. wherever he went, he was announced, with fanfare and servants opening doors for him.

he swung the door open and stepped aside for you to enter first. you frowned at him, nervous. it was not customary for anyone to enter a room before a member of the royal family, but perhaps you'd have to get used to this since you would take on the kim banners in a few days' time.

he sighed, before he reached over and pressed a hand to the middle of your back. you jolted forward, away from his touch.

you entered the dining hall first.

you -

"oh, my love," her voice was unfamiliar. that thought would remain a heavy burden on your shoulders long after that moment passed. the way you did not recognize them for a long, long second. the unfamiliarity, despite the heaviness settling in your heart. seated at the dining table where you would usually sit with hongjoong, yeosang, mingi, and, on occasion, san, sat your mother, and where her hair was once full of color, it was now peppered gray. her skin was not so smooth, and her smile not so bright, and her beauty was dulled by an ancient sadness you understood all too well. your heart stopped when she whispered, "how you've grown."

you'd blinked. once, twice, three times, until it clicked.

until you felt your knees buckle beneath the weight of your realization, and you reached for the back of the dining chair. a hand touched the middle of your back. a light touch, barely there, and you looked over your shoulder at hongjoong, in disbelief. why would he...? his expression remained blank, unwavering.

oh.

you turned back to her.

your mother.

oh gods, it was your -

"mother, look again. if anything, they've gotten shorter," a deeper voice interrupted, and you tore your eyes from her, to the table, and you'd admonished yourself briefly for losing your composure in such a way. your vision tunneled onto your mother. you hadn't even considered -

your stomach flipped and your heart clenched and there was nothing keeping you upright aside from your grip on the chair in front of you. hongjoong's hand was gone, and you almost hoped for it back. almost.

your thoughts were blank as you stared and stared, and despite the unfamiliarity of the voice, you only needed to take a single glance to know. you were afraid you would not recognize them, that the years would take even that from you, and in many ways it had, but you still somehow knew.

two boys sat on either side of your mother, both with dark hair and skin kissed by the sun, but one was short and all angles and muscles, and the other tall even seated, all sinewy limbs and an aura of grace he never had before. they both held their heads high with a confidence that was only budding when you left sunspear. no longer were they boys made of gangly limbs. no longer could you pretend that the poor memories you had of them were accurate. it would never be accurate, and your memories were just distant things. still, despite that, they were not strangers. you knew them instantly, and you always would, and as they looked at you you found deep comfort in that revelation.

wooyoung was short and stocky, and the mischief in his expression still lingered, though it remained as a subtle undercurrent. a warning even. wooyoung's dark hair was longer - to his shoulders - and tied back into a knot, and you could still see the boy you remembered him as, in his small smile, and his eyes, and the way he fiddled with the sleeve of his robe as he looked at you. but the boy you remembered and the boy in front of you were too different. your head hurt at the thought of having to reconcile such a thing.

it was the same for yunho. his face still held the softness you remembered, but his eyes were hardened, and the kindness in his eyes were guarded. he held his chin up the way mingi did when he drew his swords, and the boy you knew long ago would not have dared swat at a fly, let alone raise a sword, but yunho's hand rests on the hilt of his sword as he smiles, and his eyes are wary as they flicker over your shoulder. still, his smile was a soft thing, a gentle thing, and it made your chest ache.

you stood there, gripping the chair in front of you as you committed the sight of them to your memories, and they looked at you as if they were doing the same. the ache in your chest worsened as you did so, and you knew this was a happy moment, a moment of celebration really, but you could not help but mourn the years you missed. the thought of missing all these years hurt more than your memories of them or the shallow letters or the way you imagined them every name-day, growing alongside you. your brothers grew up without you, and you without them, and that would always leave a hole. but, by the gods, how you've missed them. you felt, for the first time, as if you could breathe again. as if you were going to be all right, somehow, someway.

"it appears i am taller than you though," you said to wooyoung - the very thought that this was wooyoung before you in the flesh, that this was yunho, and your mother made you giddy and terrified all at once. to your horror, your voice crumbled halfway through your sentence. you choked back your sob, biting down on your lips.

still, wooyoung's small smile widened, and it was the same as when he was a boy. his eyes shone bright, teary almost. you bit down harder on your bottom lip, until you could taste blood. you refused to allow hongjoong to witness your vulnerability. certainly not when he was the one to arrange this.

there was another long beat of silence, drawn out and tense, a heavier burden on your shoulders really.

hongjoong was the one to break the silence. his voice echoed behind you, "i must take my leave. i will return shortly with lord jeong."

you turned to meet his gaze. he should not leave, as you doubted the king would be happy with his son leaving his dornish guests to conspire with his ward, but hongjoong merely dipped his head in a strange moment of acknowledgement, his brows furrowed slightly as he turned on his heels. the doors shut behind him, and you stared after him for a moment before you returned your attention to your family. only then had you registered hongjoong's words.

lord jeong.

your father was also here. that brought another wave emotions, and you did not know if you dreaded that meeting or not.

you looked at yunho, and your hands still shook, but you managed to keep your voice steady as you said, "you haven't grown either. not one bit."

it is strange how your family could be so familiar, yet so different.

yunho let out the smallest of laughs. it bubbled up from his lips, but his eyes were soft, kind.

then the sound of chairs scraping across the stone floor echoed through the dining hall, a chorus of scrapes, a chorus of movement. your grip on the chair in front of you grew tighter as they stood. as they drew closer. as it registered just how real this moment was.

your mother gathered you into her arms, and she cupped your cheeks, and dragged her hands along every part of you she could reach, her eyes searching your face, and she fussed, "you're so cold, my child. all these years, and you've refused to listen to my advice as well." she stroked your cheek, murmured, "kingdoms apart, yet stubborn just like your brothers."

and you tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a broken sob that you could no longer suppress. you did not have to, with hongjoong gone and you alone with you family. you pressed your face into the crook of your mother's neck. you used to do it so often before, but you did not think it possible to miss a gesture as small as this. but you found yourself burying your face in the crook of your mother's neck, your chest tight as you tried and failed to breathe through your sob. you cried, and your chest hurt with the weight of it, and the sound tore through the quiet dining hall.

your mother pressed her palms to your face as she leaned away, tears in her eyes as she sniffled, and she studied you as if she would never see you again. you did not want to dwell on the thought. not when wooyoung tackled you into an embrace as soon as your mother let go.

no headlocks or childhood roughness, merely him reaching over and clinging to you, a small sniffle reaching your ears. you sensed the hesitation, the slight awkwardness, and you resented it. the years created a gap neither of you were sure how to navigate through. it made this worse somehow. you blinked away another onslaught of tears, if only to see him clearly and commit him to memory as he deserved. he tried to step away after a moment, but you clung to him, and he giggled, rocking you side to side. he cupped your cheek and brushed at your tears, and you looked over his shoulder, and met yunho's gaze then. the softness there was as you remembered, and this time the tears fell freely as you let go of wooyoung and reached for yunho. his embrace was as warm and kind as you remembered it. it was a warmth and kindness you'd missed dearly in king's landing. he held you as your mother did, as wooyoung did, as if you would disappear at any moment, and the sound of yunho and wooyoung and your mother crying burrowed itself in your heart.

as you embraced your family, and laughed through another onslaught of tears as you furiously wiped at them, you found yourself despising hongjoong for this. he wanted you to thank him, but were you truly thankful for this knowing that your family would have to go back to sunspear and you would not be able to go with them. were you truly thankful knowing that hongjoong, or the king, could have allowed this whenever they wished? you did not know when you'd see them once more. you did not know when they'd be allowed to visit you again. as you took a seat at the dining table, and your mother, wooyoung, and yunho drew their chairs close to you, as your mother squeezed your hand and refused to let go and wooyoung pushed all kinds of food onto your plate, and yunho wiped at his tears with the back of his hands, his expression hardening once more, you found you would have been more content with never seeing them again than having to lose them once more after this.

~.~.~.~.~

hours later, your mother was called away to speak to the queen. hongjoong had not returned. in that moment, you were completely alone with your brothers. you wondered, briefly, what the king would do if he learned of this. you were never truly left alone in all your time as the king's ward, and now you were alone with the two people you're sure the king despised more than your father.

yunho reached across the table, over the half-empty glasses of sunspear-grown wine and untouched fruits on your plate - you were too busy asking a thousand questions so you could somehow fill the years you'd missed to eat much. yunho answered with smiles while wooyoung recounted all kinds of stories, his loud laugh bounding off the walls and ceilings, and your mother merely sat with her chin rested on her palm and a fondness in her glittering eyes as she watched her children - and he pressed a finger to the scar on your arm. the burn.

you'd blinked, frowning at yunho's frown. yunho leaned back on his chair.

you explained, without much prompt, "remember when i first arrived here and wrote of dragons?" you brushed your fingers along the scar, "that was the night i got this."

wooyoung's brows furrowed. he leaned over, brushing a thumb over the rough skin of the scar. he looked up at yunho briefly, before his gaze flit to meet yours. there was anger there, the kind you used to see from him over petty childish things. before, it never bothered you, but now it felt as if it wasn't for anything petty, or childish, and it made you drop your hands to your lap as you pulled your sleeve over the scar. you looked to yunho, however his gaze was a contemplative thing, though there was a hint of anger there you've never known yunho capable of. it reminded you of san, and a part of you lamented that thought. san should have reminded you of yunho, but your time with yunho was stolen from you, and now yunho and wooyoung were reminders. you turned back to wooyoung, and he sighed, "you never mentioned it."

"i didn't want anyone to know i'd snuck into the dragonpit. if i wrote you of the incident, the entire small council would have known.

wooyoung sighed once more, a heavy thing, his shoulders slumping. the implication was clear, but you all knew your letters were being read.

after a moment, a hint of a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes twinkling. he said, "you thought sneaking in would be the best way to see dragons?"

you laughed, "how else would a ward see dragons?"

"you could have just asked," yunho mumbled.

you frowned. wooyoung rolled his eyes, "that is boring."

you laughed when yunho tossed a grape at wooyoung. it felt nice to laugh, and that thought alone was enough to sober you. you fiddled with your fingers in your lap, and the hall went quiet once more. you said, "why did neither of you visit as you promised?"

it's a childish question. you doubted the king would have let them step foot into the red keep without a viable reason. and you were not a viable reason.

but they never tried. they never tried, and you needed someone or something to be angry about.

you scowled half-heartedly at both of them.

"we wanted to," yunho spoke gently, but there was an exhaustion to his gaze.

"but you didn't try, and here i am," your voice rang through the dining hall, echoing. you gestured around you. "caged, alone, and set to wed the son of a mad king."

"it will be better than being a ward," wooyoung's voice was a low thing, hesitant, but firm.

you looked to him, eyes wide. you could not even find anger in you at his words. wooyoung did not know. he did not reside at court. you did not write him detailed letters because of lord kang's spying. how could wooyoung possibly know of your true worries? your fears? still, you asked, "how can you be so sure of that? how can you be sure that wedding the prince would be better than - than being a ward?"

there was a pause. you watched as wooyoung and yunho exchanged a look you could not read.

then wooyoung leaned close, his voice dropping into a whisper only you and yunho could hear. his eyes flickered between yours, searching, his jaw set, and his gaze was a sharp thing. he murmured, "is there a reason why you...why i should not be sure that your status will keep you safe?" wooyoung reached out and pressed a hand over yours, his voice soft, "has the prince hurt you, y/n?"

his tone held an edge to it you'd never heard from him before. something that hovered the way a sword would before a strike. it made you feel safe, strangely, in a way you hadn't felt in a while. no one here ever asked such questions - san, in all his wisdom, only ever provided you solutions, and you figured that was because comfort like this was meant for the pitied, and san did not pity you. perhaps, wooyoung and yunho did, but with wooyoung and yunho, it did not feel pathetic the way pity from strangers did. it felt like concern and care, and it warmed your heart and calmed your worries more than you'd ever admit aloud to them.

yet, you found yourself shaking your head. perhaps, you found hongjoong irritating and terrifying. perhaps, hongjoong despised you. but he never really hurt you. the one time in the hall, you'd choked him first. you've both said horrible things to each other. as the prince and heir to the iron throne, he wielded more power over you than you him. but he stepped in on your behalf. he saved you from that dragon years ago. san said he would not hurt you. in fact, hongjoong's never really hurt you. "he's never hurt me."

not yet, at least. the thought made your chest tighten.

it was as if your brothers could hear your thoughts. as if they knew the not yet lingering over your heads and at the tip of your tongue. that it was very much a possibility. it always would be. that was the world of kings and heirs.

wooyoung's hand tightened around your fingers. yunho's voice, however, was gentle despite his words.

"if prince hongjoong ever devolves into madness," yunho's voice rang in your ears, settled under your skin, and it made your eyes fill with tears, "we will come for you. i will bring you home, y/n."

you'd blinked through your tears at him. you did not want to dwell on the implication that you would not return otherwise. how could the heir's spouse ever reside in sunspear anyway? your voice sounded small, even to your own ears, "will you really?

yunho nodded, pressing a heavy hand to your shoulder, the warmth of his hand a gentle reminder of how cold king's landing truly was, and he said, "i swear it."

"on the gods," wooyoung let go of you and pressed a fruit to his lips his wet eyes full of a fire that reminded you of the sunset, "old and new, dead and alive. every single fucking one of them."

"i expect you both to keep that promise, then," you said, your laugh and joke falling flat.

still, yunho laughed even as he wiped at his wet cheeks with the back of his hand, snatching fruit from your untouched plate, and wooyoung drank more wine. before either of you could say another word, the doors to the dining hall opened, and your mother and father entered the hall, hongjoong leading the way. he met your gaze for a brief moment, brows furrowing as his gaze lingered, before he looked at your brothers. you glanced at them, and wooyoung had his eyes narrowed, while yunho's smile remained cold and polite.

hongjoong merely gestured at the dining hall doors.

"the king and queen wishes for me to escort you to the guest quarters," hongjoong said. "i hope your meal was to your liking."

yunho nodded briskly.

wooyoung only shrugged, his eyes narrowed, "it could have been better, your grace."

your mother threw wooyoung and yunho a sharp look, even as she said, "don't mind him. he tends to get cranky after long hours of sea travel. it was wonderful, your grace."

hongjoong's brows were furrowed in disbelief, and wooyoung snorted while yunho suppressed a small smile. your mother glared at them both.

your gaze flickered to the man that entered the room, however. your father. lord jeong.

he met your gaze over hongjoong's head, and you could pick out the pieces of him you often glimpsed in your mirrors and reflections. your chin. your ears. the pieces of him you saw in your brothers. eyes. height. hair. yunho's smile. wooyoung's nose.

you often would replay your last moments with him aboard the ship from sunspear to king's landing. the way he kneeled before you. the way he clasped his hands over yours.

your mother turned to hongjoong then, gesturing for him to join your brothers' side. they spoke quietly, clearly giving you and your father privacy, however hongjoong glanced your way anyway. wooyoung said something to him that made hongjoong's head snap to the side and his brows raise. your mother pinched wooyoung's back, something you only noticed from your angle, hidden from hongjoong's view, and wooyoung snickered at her, the sound reverberating off the high ceiling of the dining hall. wooyoung still bowed his head, his mouth moving. yunho spoke over him.

your father stepped fully into your view then, and you turned your attention to him. you shook the memories you had of him away. you'd replayed those moments so often, the grew into nightmares. sometimes your father would burst into flames, either by dragonfire or by the king's green fire he used to execute anyone disloyal. other times he would turn into the mad king, with claws for fingernails and a dripping grin and a chilling laugh.

"my child," your father's voice held a tremor of emotion you did not wish to pinpoint, "my y/n."

you'd blinked at him, at his words. my y/n. if you were his, then why had he let you go? why did he exchange your freedom for politics? perhaps, such an act would have been excusable if he'd only prepared you for king's landing, yet he hadn't even bothered doing that.

the anger curled at the pit of your stomach. it was always there, always gnawing at your insides like a hungry beast. like hongjoong's dragon when you'd seen it feast on animal carcasses from afar, too scared to step into the dragonpit since that night with the mad king and his council.

lord jeong's smile was dejected, "it has been too long."

"it has," was all you could say, watching him as your stomach churned.

"i do not enjoy when one of my children resents me," he sighed, shaking his head. his smile remained, however.

you frowned, "i do not resent you, father."

that was not true.

"that is not true," lord jeong chuckled. "we may have spent a long time apart, but you are still my child. more so than your mother hoped, judging from the accounts i've heard of your time here. i know you well. i expected there would be resentment in your heart when we met again, but how i wished it would not be so."

"how can i not resent you?" the admission alone made your chest feel tight, especially when your father leaned his head back to blink rapidly at the sky, as if he were lamenting the gods. you should be happy to see him. you knew that as a child of the prince of dorne, you had duties to fulfil, and this was one of them. you should not resent him, yet you did. you always would. he was your father, yet he had not been your father. and that only fueled the terrible gnawing beast at the pit of your stomach. you said, "you sent me here with nothing to fend myself with."

"i know," your father held out a hand, and you allowed him to take yours. you could not refuse it, despite everything. he kneeled in front of you, clasping your hands in his, just as he did on that ship. you were much taller now, or perhaps his back has grown more curved with old age, and you towered over him in a way you hadn't before. lost time shows itself in the smallest of gestures. this was one of them.

you tugged at his hands. he let you tug him to his feet. still, his knights that had followed him into the dining hall averted their gazes at the sight. everything was the same, yet it was so utterly different. you were someone else entirely this time, and your father was barely a father, and your brothers looked on with melancholic eyes, and your mother turned her back to the sight, and hongjoong merely frowned. hongjoong was not there before, and you did not like that he was here now. watching. seeing you. you felt as if he could see the monstrous anger at the pit of your stomach, that he would add this moment as yet another mental tally to his list of reasons why he believed you were just like him.

"i am sorry, y/n," lord jeong, the prince of dorne, your aging father, said, "will you allow me a chance to amend this?"

it tugged at your heartstrings, but you both knew that no matter how hard he tried, you were here now and you were set to marry prince hongjoong, heir to the iron throne. yunho would be the next prince of dorne, and dorne would be tied to westeros in both vows and blood. you hadn't been to sunspear since you were four-and-ten, and you would likely never return. once upon a time, you would have believed your father could do anything, as all children did. but you were no longer four-and-ten, and a worshipper to any of the gods, whether they were old or new or your parents. at twenty, you knew your father could never amend something so broken.

your voice came out too sharp, too bitter, "it's too late to amend this. not without..."

you sighed, trailing off, and your father finished, his eyes bright, "war."

you shook your head, said, "that is not worth it."

for a moment, your father merely met your gaze. you could not read his expression. after a moment, he said, "perhaps not."

"just tell me this," you asked, "do you regret it?"

"as a ruler? no," your father's voice was quiet as it rang between you both, "but as a father? every single day."

perhaps your father would have waged war to amend this, but lord jeong would never, and you both knew it.

so, you only nodded, and gestured towards the doors to the dining hall, where hongjoong, wooyoung, yunho, and your mother waited. your father left with them, and though your resentment for him did not grow any smaller, you understood.

with that, however, you were left alone. you were always left alone.

~.~.~.~.~

it took you a moment to gather yourself, but as you stepped out of the empty dining hall, the servants rushing around you to clean up, you were met with an unexpected face outside the dining hall, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned heavily against the stone walls.

you blinked in surprise. yeosang stood straight as he bowed his head and announced, "i was asked to escort you back to your chambers, my liege."

you wished to deny him, but the only people who would ask yeosang of such a thing were not the deniable types.

besides, his tone did not hold its usual teasing lilt. though his smile was a lopsided thing, one you feared had become a permanent fixture upon his features. you wondered often if he knew how to look genuine. it'd suit his pretty features.

still, you simply nodded, shaking the last remnants of your vulnerability away. you should not allow such a thing to happen again, you knew. you strode past him, and yeosang did not say a word. he merely stayed in step behind you, the sounds of both your footsteps and the light clinks of his armor echoing along the halls. the only breaks in the silence was the occasional greetings from other members of the court or servants. they used to ignore you, but you refused to dwell on the reasons behind the sudden interest.

your wing of the red keep was always quiet. even the decorations were less grandiose. it was another way for the kims to remind you of your place, no doubt, but you found you'd miss it. surely, you would move into hongjoong's wing after all this, and that thought alone made your stomach churn with anxiety.

you pressed a palm to the door to your chambers, but the anxious twist in your stomach only grew. you hated that feeling, more than anything. in that moment, all you wanted was to flee. you wanted to return to sunspear and lay under the sun and -

"what would you do if i tried to leave?" you spun to face yeosang, your heart racing at the thought. you doubted you would be able to get far - the kims had dragons and the entire city watch at their disposal and your maps would be difficult to apply outside the library when you had no real idea of the layout or terrain of king's landing or the land outside of the city.

"leave?" yeosang tilted his head, his dark eyes alight with curiosity and another emotion you could not pinpoint. you did not wish to decipher it, in fact. you were tired of maintaining hyperawareness of the body language of those around you.

"run away. flee. leave the red keep," you studied him for a long moment, but he remained unreadable, "i've memorized half the maps in the library, you know."

yeosang nodded slowly. he said, "as a member of the kingsguard, i'd have to stop you."

you frowned at his specification. you raised a brow, crossing your arms, "but as kang yeosang?"

"i would like to see how you leaving plays out," he said with a snort, and a twinkle of that teasing kang amusement he always carried.

"oh," you nodded. you were not sure what answer you expected, but you certainly did not expect such honesty regarding yeosang's penchant for games. but did yeosang ever lie to you about such things? you should not have expected anything else.

"as yeosang, however," yeosang continued, "i'd wonder why you hadn't attempted to flee any sooner. mingi mentioned the maps and botany books."

you blinked in surprise at him, "he told you?"

"why wouldn't he?"

you crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring the question and instead opting for your next curiosity, "is there a distinction? between kang yeosang and yeosang?"

yeosang rolled his eyes, "at court, there always is."

you frowned. your father had made such a distinction moments ago, as prince of dorne and as your father. begrudgingly enough, yeosang was right.

yeosang said, "are you getting cold feet?"

at that, you rolled your eyes, "that is one way to describe it."

"you know," yeosang smiled, shifting from foot-to-foot, his armor clinking with each shift, "i spent the morning with the prince while he gave your brothers a tour of the red keep. i must admit, it was quite enlightening." yeosang gave you a critical once-over that made you scowl, even as he said, "here i thought your attitude was an outlier. wooyoung may be even bolder than you, my liege."

the thought of yeosang and hongjoong spending an entire morning with yunho and wooyoung made you grimace. you could only imagine what was exchanged between them. you probed, "you spoke to them?"

"quite a bit about many things," yeosang snorted, his eyes growing distant for a moment, "sparred even."

your frown deepened at that. you hadn't seen any bruises on your brothers or hongjoong during lunch. you said, "i should hope you lost."

a bubble of laughter spilled from yeosang's lips. it was a genuine thing, loud and encompassing, echoing off the walls and filling the quiet of your halls in a way it hadn't seen since you first stepped into your wing of the red keep. yeosang shook his head, said, "praying on my downfall, are you?"

you could not help the smile at his laugh. it was a contagious thing, and it was new. it was nice. you were right in thinking that genuineness suited yeosang. still, he was a kang, and he'd always be a kang. and, after that, he was hongjoong's kingsguard and best friend. you said, "i would never."

"your brothers asked after your lessons, so we took them through the motions of your day," yeosang gazed flickered over yours, eyes searching, and all the mischief gone. all that was left was a look that felt as if he could see right through you and into your head. he murmured, "they love you quite a bit, don't they?"

"as i do them," you bristled slightly at his tone. "you don't appear too happy about that."

yeosang let out a small, humorless laugh. you found it jarring compared to the belly-ache of a laugh he let out earlier.

"surely you understand why."

you only stared at him. his smile fell.

he said, "wars have been started for less, y/n. much, much less."

~.~.~.~.~

the morning of your wedding, your septa and the maids entered your bedchambers with a determination that made you laugh, despite everything. perhaps you were on the verge of madness since you hadn't slept at all, something your septa had admonished you for immediately.

westeros wedding traditions were a long, tedious thing, especially coupled with all the vows you'd have to recite in the sept to the gods. you were not even sure whether you'd have to participate in the added old kim tradition of taking dragonglass to hongjoong and your lips. the thought made your stomach churn. you doubted you be allowed to complete any dornish wedding traditions. the rowdiness. the fun. the lack of formalities. it was something you loved when you'd attended a wedding as a child. something you wished for yourself once upon a time. and then, there was the bedding ceremony. where your friends would carry your spouse to their chambers during the feast, disrobing them as they carried them through the halls, before tossing them onto the bed. your spouse's friends would do the same to you. then they'd lock you in the bedroom, laugh and tease you both to their heart's content, and leave you to consummate the marriage. it was a vulgar, terrifying tradition, one you might have felt different about if your spouse was not prince kim hongjoong.

your stomach turned at the thought of it.

you did not get to see your family again, as you were whisked through the motions of the day, and the nerves clawed at your insides each time you caught a glimpse of them, only to be pulled away.

the queen straightened your clothes as you stood in the halls behind the closed doors to the sept, the seven-sided prayer room where vows were made, where you were to walk down the aisle. yeosang and mingi stood at either side of the door.

the queen, bent and tired and smaller than you remembered, smiled gently, and she said, "good luck, dear."

it felt like a warning.

you found yourself asking, "who is going to walk me?"

the queen looked at you with sad eyes. she said, "the king is your ward. he would like to give you away."

no.

you shook your head. it was a small thing. you did not know if you would make it down the sept with the mad king and his claws on you. you'd vowed long ago you will kill him before he could ever touch you again. the thought rang in your head. all day, you'd wanted your mother or your brothers, or even your father, for just one moment. yet, even now, king kim wanted to flaunt the power he had over lord jeong and dorne.

you looked at the queen. you said, "it is tradition for my family to walk with me."

the queen's brows furrowed.

your chest was tight.

you said, "i have never asked you of anything, your grace. please grant me this, at least."

you did not expect much. she tugged at your collar once more, before she turned and left.

you looked at yeosang and mingi. mingi smiled sweetly. he said, "you look wonderful."

you thought you were going to cry. it felt as if you were walking to your execution. as if they were dressing you up like a pig for slaughter. you'd blinked at mingi, once, twice, and his sweet smile slipped from his expression, turning into concern.

yeosang only pat mingi's back and said, "get back into position. we're to start soon."

in the end, your father hooked his arm through your elbow, and he said, "endure, my child. just for a little longer."

you looked up at him, and your fingers curled around his arm, and maybe he was not your father anymore, but he was for a little while, and that was what kept you holding on, you believe.

the music was loud, and you kept your focus straight ahead, on the septon. not on hongjoong. never on hongjoong.

at least until your father walked you to your designated spot, and gently pried your fingers off his arm as he took his seat. at least until you were facing hongjoong, and his gaze flickered to your hands, to the way they remained balled fists at your side before he met your gaze. the septon spoke and spoke, but hongjoong's gaze remained on you.

his white hair curled at his shoulders, lying loose. today, it was not so messy, as if someone had taken a hair comb to it. his robes were regal black and red, made of silk that matched the outfit you'd been put into. silver chains fastened his cloak to his robes, and his hand was adorned with silver rings, both old and new. his dark eyes remained fixed on you, his sharp features somehow softer as he looked at you. kinder. perhaps that was because of the sunlight streaming in from the windows above. either way, his gaze lingered in a way that made the nerves so much worse. you focused on the details, until the septon's words echoed around you, jolting you from your thoughts, "look upon each other and say the words."

you were given the words by your septa, to list off the names of each of the seven gods. your voice sounded steadier to your ears than you thought it could be. you were glad for it. hongjoong listed the names alongside you, both your voices ringing together in the room.

then the room went silent, and hongjoong watched you with unreadable eyes, his jaw ticking slightly. the septon looked at you expectantly. you swallowed, before you said, "i am his, and he is mine. from this day, until the end of my days."

the septon looked to hongjoong. he smiled, and it was a small thing, the corners of his lips lilting up. he held your gaze as he said, voice low, voice ringing into the silence, "i am yours, and you are mine. from this day, until the end of my days."

if your heart stilled because of him or the way he changed the vows to speak directly to you, or because you were now wedded to prince hongjoong of westeros, you would not know, for hongjoong then said, "with this kiss, i pledge my love."

you'd froze, and he stepped close, his eyes flickering over your face for a moment, before he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. it lasted mere seconds. the mad king shook his head from his place behind hongjoong. as hongjoong moved back and you both turned to the clapping and hooting audience of court members and nobility, you did not think you could endure any longer. you met san's eyes, to the right sat next to his father, and he smiled kindly, and you looked to your family then, and they sat rigid and watchful, too polite, and you were too overwhelmed to think let alone react. hongjoong's hand remained in yours as you were both ushered from the room first, down the aisle, to the feast.

~.~.~.~.~

"how wonderful that i may finally call you my child through marriage," the mad king reached over and dragged his long nails along your cheek. you suppressed a shudder. he looked at hongjoong, said, "perhaps you have proved yourself useful at long last, my son."

you watched as he threw his arms back, as he gestured to your father, beckoning him forward, and he said, "not only am i in possession of an army fourteen thousand strong, but i may now welcome another child to my family. the gods have truly blessed us, have they not, lord jeong?"

your father smiled through his teeth, "extraordinarily, your grace."

the mad king threw his head back and laughed, his voice booming through the great dining hall. he shouted, "let us feast then! to a blessed union and new beginnings."

then the king stumbled to his throne, and hongjoong scoffed under his breath.

your father was quickly joined by your mother. your father did not say anything, but your mother reached over and pat your cheek, wordless before she downed her glass of wine. she looked to hongjoong, and said, "you will treat them well."

"yes, of course."

"that was not a request, your grace."

hongjoong blinked. your mother stepped down, back to the table. wooyoung was in deep conversation with san, while yunho and mingi exchanged a bow - a sight that made your heart warm, strangely enough.

hongjoong said, "i finally see where you and your brothers get your audacity from."

you glared at hongjoong.

he let out a breathless laugh, before he turned away from you and sat at his spot at the head table, his mother between him and his father. his gaze swept over the guests at the feast drinking before it lifted up to meet yours. he gestured at the seat next to him. you did not wish to endure any longer.

but you still sat down. without a word or a glance hongjoong's way, you took the wine cup in front of you and downed it. a servant came scurrying your way, refilling it immediately. you'd blinked at the action - they'd never done such a thing for you before.

you downed another. and another. you looked at hongjoong. he only laughed.

you looked down at your family. your father mingled as he should. so did you mother. yunho looked up at you, and he raised a glass to you, and you drank from your seat at the table, and wooyoung rested his chin on his palm as he smiled sadly up at you as he spoke to san, and the beast at the pit of your stomach wished to burst from you right then, in front of everyone. you wished to burn everything here, and burn yourself with it.

you wanted to go to your bedchambers, with the caged windows, and you wanted to stare at the ceiling. you wanted to return to being a mere ward.

but you were a kim now, moreso you think then you'd ever been a jeong, let alone dornish.

~.~.~.~.~

you were drunker than you'd wanted to be when the guests called for the bedding ceremony. it was a flurry of movement. one moment, you and hongjoong were sitting at the table watching your guests dance. and the next, you were being tugged from the chair and tossed into the air. hongjoong's laughter was a loud thing. you could see him being pulled away in the other direction, yunho and wooyoung tugging him along. you'd blinked when you realized what was happening, panic settling in your stomach.

mingi tossed you in the air. he murmured, "sorry" before he tugged at your cloak. that was all that was tossed aside. you looked over his shoulder as yeosang trailed after mingi, not so subtly pushing any of the other drunken noblemen or lieges pushing their way towards you. mingi grabbed a shoe and tossed it back. it satisfied their need for tradition, you realized, and it did not leave you disrobed. your fingers curled around mingi's shoulder in thanks. mingi merely kicked open the door to hongjoong's bedchambers and placed you carefully on the bed. yeosang waved everyone out.

moments later, hongjoong stumbled into his chambers, his hair a mess, and his cloak missing. his silk shirt was torn. otherwise he was also clothed. still, you would not have put it past your brothers to have bruised hongjoong up under the guise of the bedding ceremony. the thought made you smile, despite everything.

you sat on his bed, watching as he paused at the foot of the bed. you could hear drunken teasing and laughter beyond the closed door, but the sheer fact that you were utterly alone with hongjoong made blood rush to your ears and your heart race and that overwhelming, angry feeling you've felt all day rear it's ugly head.

hongjoong peered down at you, tilting his head as his gaze swept down your form. despite the messy hair, and torn shirt, he still looked so regal, larger than life really, and you watched with bated breath as he stepped closer. one step, two steps, until his shins knocked against the side of the mattress, inches from your feet.

he bent at the waist, until his face hovered above you. it was a slow descent, and you held your breath all the while.

he lifted a hand, and brushed his fingers along your cheek, your jaw, the cool touch of one of his rings making you jerk away. you said, "what are you doing?"

"touching what's mine."

you'd blinked.

he said, "is that not what we vowed to each other. i am yours, and you are mine."

"i don't -" you shook your head, said, "i am not yours. i am no one's to own."

he raised a brow, still hovering, dark eyes still watching, and you could not endure any longer.

you pressed a hand to his chest and pushed him. he stumbled back, surprised. even as you rose from the bed and repeated, voice sharp, anger bubbling at your chest, "i am not yours, and i never will be."

then he laughed. he laughed, and it set something off in you. something angry and vindictive, something that had been growing inside you all this time, waiting for you to allow it to rear its head. you shoved him again. harder.

he stumbled back once more, and you kept shoving him, until his back hit the wall. it was like the hallway all over again, except this time, you were so angry and overwhelmed and absolutely exhausted with hongjoong's games that all you wanted was for him to shut his mouth.

his laughter died quickly. before you could say anything, he shoved you back. you blinked in surprise, making a move to push him, but he shoved you once more, and you stumbled back. his shoves were softer than yours, small pushes that made you step back because you did not want him to touch you. you'd used much more force. still he pushed you. once, twice, as many times as you him, until the back of your knees hit the bed and your legs buckled at the impact. you fell back onto the bed, and he followed you, climbing onto the bed, knees on either side of your legs and his weight a light pressure on your legs. you smacked him hard, so he reached for your hands, his fingers curling around your wrists as he pinned them away, the rings on his fingers digging into your skin. he peered down at you, annoyed, "did you think i'd allow this a second time? one time is fine, but how many times have you hit me?"

you struggled against his grip, but he kept you pinned to the bed, merely watching you thrash with a strange look in his eyes. you said, "fuck off."

"how many times?" his voice was low, annoyed, even as glared down at you.

"i - don't know." the struggling was fruitless. you both knew it. so you stopped, scowling up at him. his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes dark. you vowed, then, that you would never allow yourself to end up in such a position with him again. you spat, "can you blame me? i do not want this. would you not do the same if you were in my position?"

for a moment hongjoong merely studied you, before he sighed and let go of your wrists. often, you wondered if he even knew how to imagine himself in other's positions.

he rolled off you, sitting cross-legged at your side on the bed as he peered down at you. "contrary to what you seem to believe, i am no monster, y/n. i do not bed anyone without their enthusiastic consent. i will not have you, y/n, until you ask."

his voice was a low thing. kind almost. it settled over all your feelings, and it broke something inside you. you pressed your hands to your face, to your mouth, but you were breathing too hard and too fast, and the ache in your chest became too large, too heavy, too painful. it was everything you'd felt throughout the night. it was everything all at once, and it was too much. you stared at the ceiling - it was taller than yours, more dizzying. the entire room was so much bigger, and you felt so small in hongjoong's too-big bed.

you said, voice muffled by your hand pressed to your mouth to quiet yourself, to hold yourself together, "do you know what my father said to me today?"

hongjoong had already rolled off the bed, had shrugged his torn shirt from his shoulders, and you'd averted your gaze from his bare skin as you waited for a response. acknowledgment. why you needed him to acknowledge your words, you did not know.

after a moment of shuffling, hongjoong stood over you at the edge of the bed, peering down at you. he wore his sleeping robes, and his eyes were a heavy, unreadable thing. you took that as enough of a response. enough acknowledgement.

"he told me to endure. and i thought i could but -" you pressed your other hand to your stinging eyes, your chest heaving. you felt as though your chest would cave in with the heaviness of your father's words and his actions, and the fact that you were here now in hongjoong's bedchambers, tied to him until the end of your days. all for a game of thrones you had no hand in. a searing part of you wished someone would start a war for you, but you were not worth such things.

"you've endured for over six years," hongjoong said, peering down at you, "you would think your father would have kinder words for you after all these years."

you dropped your hand from your stinging eyes and looked up at him, "i do not think fathers know how to be kind."

hongjoong blinked rapidly at you, glancing away briefly, his eyes lingering across the room. then he looked back down at you as he spoke, each word slow, thoughtful, "is this how we reconcile? over our unkind fathers?"

you laughed then, you could not help it. hongjoong's gaze remained fixed on you, the corner of his lip tipping upwards. you said, "we could."

"we could," hongjoong said with a nod.

you'd blinked at him, watching as hongjoong reached out and brushed a finger down your cheek, along your jaw, under your chin.

you stared at him as you said, "we won't though, will we?"

"i'll consider reconciling if you beg me for it," hongjoong smiled softly, his touch along your jaw softer still. "i'll give you all the power you've ever wanted. all you have to do is beg."

his voice was a low thing, and your emotions were on high. his touch drew you in, though you did not want to admit it. in this moment, you'd considered it. for a moment, you considered giving in. who were you, but a creature of dorne in a gilded cage, meant to shadow the future king of westeros. nothing more, nothing less. you were tired, and you did not wish to endure any longer.

but, he wanted you to beg. he wanted you to need him, and you refused. you did not wish to need anyone any longer. not san and storm's end. not your father, or even your brothers.

despite it all, you did not want it.

so you reached up and pushed his hand from your face. hongjoong chuckled, a soft thing that settled under your skin.

he said, "one day, you will."

he said it with such certainty, the itch under your skin and the beast in your belly grew ten times larger. you were never quite so zealous, but every nerve in your body wished for you to prove hongjoong wrong. to have him grovel for you instead.

"let us pray that you live to see such a day," you said. your words were very much treason, but hongjoong did not bother to comment on it. instead, he only grinned, all teeth, and sparkling eyes.

he said, "go to sleep, y/n. you're drunk."

[albionscastle]

Baggage

Chapter 1: Little Brat

Guy of Gisbourne & OC

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, Black Knight, Enforcer of the Sheriff and general asshat finds a little creature that may or may not change his life.

*this fic came about while chatting with the lovely @captaintauriel77 about how soft we thought Gisbourne would be with a little girl. It has kind of exploded from there. Thank you for supporting all my crazy ideas.

tw* mild mentions of violence  AO3 link

Fic Masterlist

Sir Guy of Gisbourne was in a foul mood. He stomped through the castle and everyone was quick to get the hell out of the giant man's way before they were swatted, shoved or even stabbed. He had been known to do all when he was particularly pissed. No-one wanted to be on the receiving end of Gisbourne's temper, or any other mood he might be experiencing for that matter. As he stalked the passageways of the castle, all Guy could think about was how badly he wanted to escape. He couldn't breathe here, the walls always seemed as though they were closing in on him and he mostly felt like an animal trapped in a cage. He hated the Sheriff, he had always hated the man, and while he enjoyed the power he had, he didn't always feel the glee he portrayed whilst carrying out his duties. Neither did he enjoy some of the "attention" that Vaisey had been showing him of late. Oh he knew there were men and women in the world of a particular persuasion and ordinarily it didn't bother him in the slightest, but this man was a snake, evil to the core and the mere sight of him made him want to vomit. Gisbourne himself was a man of very questionable morals, he admitted, but he didn't think he was the monster that Vaisey was. Not yet at least.

Even if he appeared to be one.

He left the castle as soon as he could, preferring to ride to Loxley alone at night, rather than spend another moment in the stifling atmosphere of Nottingham. It wasn't as though Hood ever strayed from whatever hovel he was holed up in at night anymore. Apparently he had better things to occupy his time with, Guy thought bitterly as he imagined Robin and Marian together, not understanding why he tortured himself this way.

Pulling his horse up in front of his manor, he felt himself getting calmer, at least as calm as he ever could be. This wasn't home, not really, home was long gone, burned into ashes along with his parents, and his sister was somewhere far away where he couldn't reach her. Everyone he had ever loved no longer existed in his world, and he no longer cared much about anyone in this one. The one person he had dared to love had betrayed him, and she had broken his heart into a million pieces with a damn smile on her face. He had wanted, in that moment, to kill her, to make her bleed into the dust of the Holy Land as she had made his heart bleed into his chest. Guy had thought himself a worthy catch, he had money, a home and lands, a title. Had Marian married him he would have treated her like a queen, but instead she had now gone off to live in the forest with that skinny, sanctimonious hypocrite, Loxley. The man still looked like a boy and he really was far too judgemental for someone who had delighted in throwing rocks at him as a child.

A smirk stretched Guy's lips as he dismounted, leading his horse into the stable. He felt no guilt about usurping Robin's lands and living in his house, if anything the bastard deserved it for all the years of bullying. If the mother had still lived, things might be different, or at the least Guy would have made sure she was comfortable as Lady Loxley had always been kind to him as a child. If there was one thing that he truly hated it was the mistreatment of a woman or a child. Vaisey could never know that and as such Guy had too often participated in the harassment or killing of both. He took no pleasure in it and he never prolonged the event. If they had to be dispatched he did so with the efficiency of an assassin. If they had to be tossed from their homes, it was with a few coins hidden in their meager belongings. If Vaisey had any inkling then he would have another way to manipulate him as he had no qualms about hurting women and children, in fact he enjoyed it all the more. At least Guy had never crossed the line of killing for killing's sake.

Gisbourne would never admit it out loud but he had been ashamed of the way he had behaved after Marian had left him at the altar. It was why he had left her with Robin in the Holy Land. Burning down her home had not been his finest hour, but that was how he had always been. If he hurt he became like a rabid animal, fighting in anger and pain against whoever was doing the hurting. He had lashed out and acted as less than a man and for that he was sorry. Not that it mattered anyway, Marian had hurt him so badly that he had vowed to never let a soul get near him again. It was a lonely existence, but at least he would never hurt like that again.

A sniffle from inside the stable suddenly caught his attention and he was instantly on his guard. Silently drawing his sword, Guy stalked to the entryway, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched in the gloom for whoever was hiding back there. He bared his teeth, hearing another noise that sounded like a sob coming from behind the hay in the corner. His prey had no idea that he was even there and like a panther, Guy slid through the dark, looking forward to facing the intruder who dared to hide from him. He was spoiling for a fight.

Moving into place, he slid over the hay, swiping his sword through the air.

“Gotcha!” he sneered, taking a step forward to dispatch his unwitting victim.

The stopped dead in his tracks at the same moment a shrill squeal pierced the air.

It wasn’t a man he saw in front of him but a filthy little girl, who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight winters, crouched in the corner and gaping at him with fear in her eyes. Her skinny arms were raised, as if to fend him off and he could just make out a ratty blanket laying across a pile of hay. Guy was so shocked that he didn’t move for a moment while he tried to process his thoughts. For some reason the fear in the child’s eyes angered him and he snarled at her, causing her to try and back further away from him.

“Nowhere to go, little one.” his voice was menacing, he wanted to scare the little brat who had the audacity to sneak into his stable. He took a step forward, knowing his black cloak and large frame had to terrify her.

“What are you doing here?” He watched her gulp. “Tell me, before I run you through!”

Big, fat tears started to streak down the dirt on her face and Guy felt a tiny nudge of guilt gnawing at his gut. Still, he couldn’t take any chances, even a small child could easily be used as a spy for Hood or the Sheriff. She continued to silently stare at him, her little body trembling from both cold and terror. With a sigh, Gisbourne sheathed his sword and squatted down in front of the child, running a gloved hand down his face. He was tired, aggravated and he just wanted to go to sleep yet instead he was doing this, whatever this was.

“I am losing my patience, child. I won’t hurt you but I wish to know how you came to be here.”

“You just said you would run me through!” the girl cried out, before covering her mouth with her hands.

“So you do speak?” Guy’s eyebrow arched, her little spark amused him. “Then you can tell me who you are and where you come from.”

“I don’t know where I am.” she squeaked. “I come from Lincoln. Please don’t hurt me sir, I just wanted to sleep, I’m so tired. I didn’t mean to be a problem. I’ll leave, I promise.”

She started to gather her little satchel and blanket.

“Stop!” Guy commanded, and she instantly obeyed. “You go nowhere Until I’m sure you aren’t a spy.”

“I’m not a spy, I’m a kid.” she muttered.

A sassy kid at that, Guy thought.

“You are in Nottinghamshire, there are spies everywhere, many of them children. We hang little spies as well as big ones.”

‘I’m not a spy!” She stomped her foot as hard as she could. “I don’t have a home and I am tired. I didn’t think anyone would mind. It’s not like I stole anything.”

She thrust her satchel at him, sounding offended even though he had not accused her of stealing.

“Well this is my stable so I might mind you’re being here.” he looked through her bag and saw nothing but a ragged doll, some stale bread and a piece of moldy cheese. As if on cue, he heard the girl’s stomach rumble angrily. She was so skinny she looked like she was wasting away and even in the gloominess Guy could see the dark shadows under her eyes. He had been her once.

“And who are you then?”

“The Lord of this manor.” Guy shrugged.

“I figured that part out already.” she grumbled. “What Manor? Which Lord?”

“Locksley Manor, Sir Guy of Gisborne at your service.” He mocked, hardly surprised when her face went bone white under the dirt.

“Please, please don’t hurt me.” she started begging. “I’ll leave, I promise! I never would have come here if I had known.”

“Known what?” Gisbourne snapped.

“That, that….you were the Lord here!”

“I suggest you explain to me what you mean by that statement, child.”

She shook her head.

“Do as I say!” he roared.

The girl yelped.

“I heard people talking about you in one of the villages. They were very cruel to me.” she swallowed hard. “They said that Guy of Gisbourne was a monster.”

He had no doubt that he certainly looked like one to this girl.

“Go on.”

“Please sir, don’t make me.”

“Do it if you wish to live.”

‘Alright. They said you were a cruel man, that you enjoyed torturing and killing people. They said you were evil, like a demon from hell.”

Guy threw back his head and laughed.

“I am no demon from hell, child, just a man. But I am cruel, do not doubt that.”

“Do you really enjoy torturing and killing people?” she whispered.

“No.” he surprised himself with that admittance. “But I have done both, and likely will again.”

“Why?”

“Because it is my job.” he shrugged.

“You should get another job.” she stated matter-of -factly.

“Probably, but as you have heard, I’m a monster.”

She regarded him with a stare that made him very uncomfortable.

“I don’t think you are, Sir. Maybe a bad man, but not a monster.”

“And what makes you think that I’m not a monster?” he growled.

“You took care of your horse. A monster wouldn’t do that.”

The logic of a child. He rose suddenly and grabbed the girl by the back of her, whatever she was wearing, and lifted her off the ground while she kicked and screamed. She connected her feet with his knee a few times as he stomped to the manor and he was pretty sure she called him a bastard whoreson at one point. Begrudgingly he admired her spirit, even as he accepted that he would have several bruises the next day.

Throwing the door to the house open, Guy strode across the hall and back to the kitchen, the child squirming the whole way. Agnes, the cook, stood from her seat, eyes wide as the Master clomped in  and dropped the child at her feet.

“Please do something about…this.” he gestured to the girl who was glaring at him from the floor. “I think it's a girl, but I can’t be sure through all that dirt and muck. A bath, a meal, some clothing and a place to sleep. Don’t take your eyes off her for a second.

“Yes my Lord.” Agnes curtsied, bemused by this turn of events.

Guy left without a backward glance, certain that his orders would be carried out. He sat in his favorite chair, staring pensively into the fire as he contemplated his current situation. His time with Vaisey needed to come to an end, for his own state of mind, and soul if he believed in such a thing. It was common knowledge that the populace hated him, but somehow it bothered him to hear it from the lips of the little girl.

It hadn’t always been this way, once he had been a loving son and brother, an eager and hopeful young man. Until the harsh realities of life had shown him the way things really were. Only the strong and merciless survived and thrived. And so he had killed that young man and allowed something dark and unrecognizable to rise in his place.

Something that Marian had hated, and been afraid of. Something everyone was afraid of, even himself.

“My Lord?”

Gisbourne shook off his thoughts to see the cook standing a few feet away.

“What is it?” Agnes had been his nurse as a child, before everything went to shit, though he was the only soul who knew that little fact. She was the only person he respected, and in turn she was loyal to a fault. Even so, she was still very cautious around him and if he’d still had a heart, that might have hurt him.

“I did as you asked, my Lord. The baggage is asleep on a cot in my room.

He nodded.

“A girl, I presume?”

Yes Sir, a half starved one with a mighty mouth on her. She certainly made her opinion about your treatment of her well-known.”

His lips curved, almost into a smile before he tightened them again.

“She’s clean, fed and comfortable. What else did she want from me?” Guy huffed, picking at his gloves.

“She said you were no gentleman to drag a lady like that.” Agnes was amused by the baffled look on the Master’s face.

Several choked sounds escaped from Guy’s lips as he tried to fight back and failed miserably. Tears were in his eyes before he could finally calm himself enough to let the mask slip back down.

“The little brat is lucky I didn’t kill her for trespassing, she should be thankful for what I’ve done.”

Agnes sighed. For a moment she had seen a glimpse of the boy she had so loved, but just as quickly it was gone. Only the angry eyes and stony expression remained in place of it.

“You are right of course, my Lord. may I ask what is to be done with her?”

“I’ll send her off tomorrow and she can resume whatever journey she thinks she is on.”

He waved Agnes away and walked back out to finish with his horse who was quite peeved with him for leaving the saddle on for so long. A sneaky apple and a good brushing changed the animal’s mood dramatically and he relished the attention lavished on him by his master. It was as Guy was closing the wooden door of the stall that he remembered the satchel the child had been carrying. It still lay on the hay where he had dropped it earlier and he decided to take it inside and look through it properly. Again, all he found was the rag doll and the green food. The latter he threw away, the former he examined closely, noting the fine workmanship despite the tears and mends. Someone had loved the doll for a long time. He wondered how it came to be in her possession, maybe she was a thief after all.

Somehow though, he doubted that. His instincts told him the child was harmless, more an annoyance than anything. Taking the doll, Guy walked through the kitchen to Agnes’s room and quietly eased the door open enough to see the sleeping form of the little girl. Fighting his desire to wake her up and interrogate her, he simply leaned in and placed the doll on the pillow beside her head.

“Tomorrow you can go back to where you came from, you little brat.” he hissed into the darkness, pulling the woolen blanket up to cover the girl’s shoulders.

He left the room and stomped upstairs muttering under his breath, never once realizing that Agnes had been awake the whole time, a sly smile on her face.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne was about to meet his match.

[oldshrewsburyian]

First Lines Game

I was tagged by @plaidadder and... maybe also someone else? I have not been keeping up with these, sorry. Anyway, I was pleased to be tagged and here is my response to:

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

[I’m omitting 3-sentence fics because, well, they are only three sentences long. Drabbles are excluded also.]

Sometimes, Marion of Sherwood thinks about other lives she could have lived. --Love is in the greenwood (building him a house), a.k.a. the ROS nonsense fic

The lettering on the frosted glass window was crisp black, outlined in gold. --Wild Barter, a.k.a. the Ivanhoe noir au

“Men have died, from time to time,” I said, “and worms have eaten them.” --The Fall of Princes

Marion has a strange relationship with death. --Deathless Bargain

“Back to sea before long,” says Frederick Wentworth, after the Treaty of London is signed. --For Those In Peril On The Sea

His memories are patchy, afterwards. --All the Powders of the Merchant

“You’ve overlooked something, dear boy.” --The Hands File

Maria flees through narrow passageways towards the queen. --Horizons of Our Hopes

I stepped out of the studded oak doors of Les Revenants and forced myself to take deep breaths. --And Every Demon Wants His Pound of Flesh

I think of myself as quite reserved. --The NACBS and Other Incidents

...Apparently almost no one is having a good time in these fics. Oops? At least sometimes they are having a better time by the end? Tagging with usual caveats @counterwiddershins, @qqueenofhades, @gaslightgallows, @kivrin, @rain-sleet-snow (and if you’d like to consider yourself tagged, feel free.)

[van1lla-v1lla1n]

writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

tagged by @jaynovz :) (this was a fun exercise, thank you Jay!)

1. so violence begets violence (black sails silverflint)

“Attend to me in my cabin,” Flint said to Silver, presumptuous as ever, though his haughtiness had taken on this haunted glint.

2. upon my mother's breast (hotd rhaenicent)

“You know there’s another passageway, like the one from your chambers, that leads to the queen’s,” Daemon said.

3. the secret he carries between humiliations (sas rogue heroes mayne/jordan)

“Jordan,” Paddy said, feigning French. “Come.”

4. parity (black sails silverflint)

As if by some act of God they had escaped the doldrums.

5. the green fields we might visit (the terror irving/tozer femslash)

“It seems the prodigal Tozer girl is back again,” Georgie Kingston whispered into her ear.

6. a dusk holiday (sas rogue heroes mayne/sadler)

“Ever fuck a mate, Paddy Mayne?”

7. the violence of vulnerability (reylo??)

After he destroyed the holding cell that had been meant for the scavenger, Kylo managed to wrest back some semblance of control.

8. MTN DEW BAJA BLAST FREEZE-ARITA (the terror taco bell au asl;fh)

“You’re a glorified bean rehydrator, Cornelius."

9. the wilderness that waits (the terror armitozer)

Too many days out with hunting parties and Tozer, blind from all the white, had to submit to being led back to the ships. 

10. selfish (the boys maeve/butcher)

It was their shared hate that had made Maeve lean in the first time, the cruel curl of Butcher’s mouth when he thought of killing Homelander.

------

(technically i skipped my most recent fic, which is anne/max, bc the first line is an outright mention of sexual assault which i can't tag for very well here)

more of these kick off with dialogue than i'd've expected! looking back further i feel like it's a recent shift, but then almost all of these are shortish one-shots, and starting with dialogue feels like a quick way to get things moving, both narratively and for me in the actual act of writing them?

consider this a free-for-all tag if you'd like to partake in this game! (& feel free to tag me if you do so i can see yours <3)

[sotwk]

Greenleaf's Day Out, Chapter 5: Royal Welcome (young Legolas family fic)

Completed Work: Chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Summary: Legolas accompanies his eldest brother, Crown Prince Mirion, on an important royal duty. (brief OC character profile in end notes).

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: G-rated, fluff, family, comedy

To Read on AOC: Link

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

Greenleaf's Day Out

Chapter 5 - Royal Welcome

Third Age 250

The Woodland Realm, Greenwood the Great

"Ninniel! Ninniel!"

The long-suffering nursemaid gave a startled jerk when Legolas’s cry rose suddenly from behind her, as she stood in the quiet of his chambers preparing linens and fresh clothing for his bath. A hand pressed to her breast, she smiled at the elfling who rounded the enormous bed that separated them and began tugging urgently at her skirts. 

“Is it true what the guards are saying? Is it?!”

“What rumor has caught your ears now, sweetling?” Ninniel rested a gentle hand on his head to steady the squirming child. 

Nearly three hundred years had passed since she came from Caras Galadhon to live in Bâr Lasgalen and enter the service of Queen Maereth. Through those centuries, she helped raise all five of the royal sons from infancy, loving them as she did her own three grown sons. Each prince was special and dear to her in a unique way (although if pressed, she would confess to a secret favorite). She knew well the myriad of quirks, strengths, and flaws in their personalities, big and small, and guarded them with the fierce devotion she held for the Elvenking’s family. 

After only eight short years with him, she still had much to learn about little Legolas, but one thing was already clear to her. His eagerness to participate in all aspects of palace life, even happenings most already dismissed as mundane at that age, surpassed the energy ever demonstrated by any of his brothers. And although supervising all that zest and vigor for hours on end taxed Ninniel’s own reserves, it was the silent wish of her heart that Legolas retain his childlike nature for many more years ahead. 

“I was out on the terrace and I overheard Glanedhel say to Naurion that they require two more riders to assemble a number of six. Six palace riders! That is a protoble escort for the Crown Prince!” His small pale face shone with the triumph of his reasoning. “Which must mean Mirion is riding out to meet Ammë!” 

“I believe you mean 'protocol' your Highness,” Ninniel said mildly, astonished though she was by his deductions. "In which case, you are correct." The elfing’s powers of observation seemed to rise by tenfold when it related to matters of his personal interest. He struggled to remember the correct words to the aerlinns and other holy chants his mother attempted to teach him, or the Quenyan names of the fabled cities across the Western Sea. But he could identify nearly every guard that held a post at Bâr Lasgalen, a half-hundred ever rotating faces, and he mastered the location of every  single chamber and passageway in his father’s grand palace as though he had lived there since its first stones were laid. 

“May I ride out with Mirion and his escort?” asked Legolas, positively giddy just from anticipation.  “Ammë would be so surprised to see me there!”

“She would indeed. But wait a moment--you do not know for certain where your brother is going."

He countered her logic immediately. “The only way to know is by asking!"

As he fidgeted with impatience, Ninniel hesitated. Would it please the Queen to come home to a son that was freshly bathed, well-fed, and ready to tuck in for the night? Or would she rather see her beloved youngest ahorse and out on the Men-i-Naugrim to meet her? She knew her Lady long and well enough to be certain of the answer. 

She breathed out a sigh. "With Prince Mirion's consent, if he is indeed leading an escort for the queen, you may ride with him."

Legolas hollered his thanks and was halfway out the room by the end of her sentence. The riding party could depart at any moment, so he had not a second to lose!

Fortunately, Mirion was not difficult to track down. Much like it was for their father the King, it was near impossible for the Crown Prince to go anywhere unnoticed by the palace’s many other residents. The third roving servant Legolas queried, somewhere between the morning solarium and the portrait chamber, redirected him to the opposite end of the long hall that ran through the palace’s east wing.

Legolas gave a merry wave to the lone guard that stood outside the King and Queen’s empty chambers. His greeting went unreturned, but his sharp eyes noticed the hint of a smile between the cheek pieces of the sentry’s burnished helm. 

The elfling strode up to a great oak door that bore different markings from that of his parents. He raised his fist and pounded, but all his force produced just a faint noise against the solid wood. Nonetheless, he heard a response from within, bidding him to enter. 

“I knew you would come running as soon as you heard.” Mirion turned away from the mirror to smile at his little brother, whilst his valet moved around him, continuing the precise task of draping and fastening a heavy crimson cloak about his shoulders. 

“Then you already know what I have come to ask.” Legolas clasped his hands together and closed his eyes as though in prayer. “Please, please, please may I ride out with you? Ninniel said I may, by your leave!”

“It is true I am going to meet Ammë on the Road, but I have other business to attend to beforehand.” Mirion gestured at the black tunic he wore, woven with intricate patterns in threads of gold, and tapped a fingertip against the silver wreath that encircled his head.

As Legolas felt his heart sink, he scrunched up his nose in distaste. “What sort of business?” he asked, although his brother’s regal attire made it obvious. Boring, fussy, royal business, which the king’s councilors liked to call “official”. The sort of business that drained the fun out of their father every time he donned clothing like that. 

“A sort of business that I would like to invite you to accompany me on.”

Legolas’s eyes widened and his head made a sudden jerk of surprise. “You would? Me?” The rise of excitement quickly morphed back into skepticism. “Why?”

“Because it would be a new experience for you.” The valet finally finished fiddling with his cloak, which allowed Mirion to move towards his brother. “And if I am to allow you to ride out into the night with me, I would like to be able to tell Ammë you learned something valuable from it.”

“Make haste now. We cannot be late and you must dress for the occasion!” Ignoring Legolas’s attempts to ask more questions, he gave the elfling a gentle push back towards the door, while nodding to his valet. “Orthor will help Ninniel select something appropriate. I shall meet you in the courtyard.”

The entire escort of six riders were already assembled and standing by their horses by the time Legolas sprinted down the palace steps, his own crimson riding cloak streaming behind him. Only after both princes had climbed onto their saddles did they mount their steeds in unison. Legolas guided his chestnut mare, Noruin, next to Gwaeron, Mirion’s black stallion. The guards flanked them in pairs, four behind and two at the lead, the foremost bearing the green and silver banner of the Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm.

Artwork by Bosslogic, Henry Cavill imagined as Aegon Targaryen

“Now will you please tell me where we are going?” Legolas grumbled, as they started down the pathway leading away from the King’s grounds. All of his brothers found some strange pleasure in keeping him in suspense whenever they could, regardless of how often he complained about disliking surprises. “Whom are we visiting that is so terribly important?”

He fought the urge to yank at the stiff, high collar of his embroidered tunic. Orthor had made clear that he was expected to keep himself presentable for at least the first leg of their journey. If he succeeded at that, then perhaps Mirion would allow him to shed the rest of the livery on the way to meet their mother. 

“We have not far to go,” Mirion responded. “Just to a family’s home at Willowdell. They welcomed a new child this morning, and I am going to bring them the Crown’s Blessing.”

“The Crown’s Blessing!?” Legolas squeaked, snapping his horse’s reins so abruptly that even the patient Noruin nickered in objection. “That is important business!”

“I would say it is the most sacred of all my duties,” said Mirion. “And undoubtedly the one I take the most pride and pleasure in.” He touched his hand over his heart and smiled. “I am honored that Ada and Ammë have chosen to pass the charge on to me. However, sometimes I fear I make a disappointing substitute for the King and Queen.”

“You are the Crown Prince,” Legolas declared in his simple reasoning. “The task suits you.” 

“Well, they will at least be glad to receive the blessing from not just one but two princes.” Mirion glanced sideways at his littlest brother. “Has Ammë taught you the Kyermë?”

Legolas flushed red to his eartips and dropped his chin. “She made me recite it once…or twice…” he mumbled. He did not want to admit that their mother’s repeated attempts to teach him the holy prayer have so far remained unsuccessful. “I have not quite mastered it… yet.”

“It is Ancient Quenya, and so many words are difficult,” Mirion said sympathetically, though Legolas knew well that his eldest brother spoke fluent Quenya as effortlessly as he did Sindarin, Silvan, and Westron. “But do not worry yourself. Watch closely and do as I do, and all will be well.”

A short ride took their party past the northwestern border of the King’s lands and straight into Willowdell, a village of a few dozen dwellings scattered amongst the whiteleaf willows. It was just one out of the few hundred Silvan communities in the Woodland Realm, but one of the handful that Legolas had visited before.

Memories from only two summers ago flooded back to the elfling as they rode up to a large, straw-roofed structure he immediately recognized--the guild hall. Among the elves of Willowdell were the realm’s best crafters, particularly renowned for their basket weaving. Legolas’s father had brought him along to observe the skilled labors of their guild, for it was the Elvenking’s custom to periodically visit the workers from every single trade practiced in Greenwood the Great.

“The kingdom’s true wealth lies in the skilled hands and industrious spirits of our kinfolk,” Thranduil explained to his inquisitive son. “Skills that answer nearly every need or desire of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, and so we have commerce unlike any Elven realm ever established in these lands. It is my charge as king, our charge as the ruling family, to ensure they have all the resources they need to practice their trades. Through this, we shall all prosper.”

The riders dismounted by the entrance of the guild hall, and the two rear guards took the reins of the horses to secure them on nearby posts. Legolas peered at the closed doors, puzzled by the empty silence so different from the flurry of activity he remembered at his last visit. “Where is everyone?”

“In their homes,” said Mirion. “Feasting and toasting the new life that has joined their village. Our people work hard, but we stop to celebrate and give thanks for the greatest of Eru’s gifts.” 

“Come.” The elder prince motioned to a lone cottage in the distance. “They are waiting.”

Legolas followed, but mulled over in his head the seemingly countless celebrations that followed the begetting of each new elfling. He was most familiar with the Mereth Eruhin, the grandest of the Greenwood festivals when the entire realm was invited to feast at the king’s table. The guests of highest honor were the children born over the past year, and it was a marvel unmatched indeed to see not just one, or even just two or three, babes side by side. Reputedly the greatest number ever presented at Mereth Eruhin was twenty-four, about a century before Legolas was born. He himself had never seen more than eight, and he hoped to witness the record being broken someday. 

An ellon with eager dark eyes and a nervous smile stood at the pathway to the cottage as the princes approached. “My lords, I am truly honored to welcome you to our home.” He bowed low at the waist to each prince, and Legolas tilted his head in the way he had been taught to respond. His father and brothers, even Gelir, looked so regal when they did it, but he always felt like he was just nodding at the ground. 

“The honor is ours Raegnir, to bring you the King and Queen’s congratulations,” Mirion said, and they followed the new father into the cottage. Two guards each carried in an oak chest emblazoned with the Elvenking’s crest, which they set down by the entryway before leaving to stand outside with the rest of the escort.

An elleth sat upon a wicker rocking chair by the warmth of the hearth. She looked up from the small bundle cradled in her arms and hurried to rise, but Mirion quickly motioned for her to remain where she was. “Please. There is no need to disturb his rest, or yours.” While Legolas hovered some distance away, the Crown Prince went down on one knee before the young mother. 

“You are Breneril?” When she nodded in answer, Mirion smiled. “May I know the little one’s name?”

“We have named him Glaenir, my lord.” She leaned forward and carefully adjusted the swaddling clothes to offer him a better view. 

In spite of himself, Legolas also crept a few steps forward to look at the sweet, pink face with squinty eyes, puckered lips, and a little dot of a nose. “He is so small!” he breathed an awestruck whisper. Then he clamped a hand over his mouth, for the infant suddenly stirred and popped a tiny fist out from under the swaddle, as though reaching for the faces hovering above him. 

“Would you like to hold him, Caun-i-Conin?” offered Breneril. “He has a calm nature.”

Legolas keenly watched the transfer of this precious bundle from the mother to Mirion. The newborn seemed to shrink and appear even tinier, more fragile in his brother’s arms. Mirion surpassed all the Woodland princes in size; he was bigger than their father or even Turhir, although not as tall as either. And he was almost frighteningly strong; Legolas had spent much time watching him flatten and taper enormous plates of steel at the palace smithy, swinging a great hammer the elfling could barely raise off the ground. 

His physical strength did not encroach into his gentle nature, however, and Legolas was reminded of this as Mirion cradled Glaenir to his chest, resting the little head upon his broad shoulder. His hand, with fingers thick with callouses, smoothed the baby’s fine dark hair, and he started to hum a tender lullaby as he rocked side to side. 

“He is of a sweet and trusting nature indeed,” Mirion remarked to the parents, who beamed as they watched this scene unfold. “Not even one of my brothers was this accepting of me the first time I carried them.”

“We were certain he would take to you, my lord,” said Raegnir. “If I may say so, fatherhood will suit you well. May the day soon come when you beget children of your own.” 

Mirion smiled, but as he glanced down at the child nestled against his chest, a strange sadness passed over his face. “You are very kind.” After one last caress of the baby’s head, he reached out and carefully returned Glaenir to his parents. “If you are ready, Prince Legolas and I will proceed with the blessing.”

Legolas hurried to follow Mirion’s instructions as they made the preparations. While one of the oak chests was filled with various presents for the new elfling, such as clothing and toys, the other held a single gift far more special and invaluable. 

Legolas stopped to admire the calarsil as he drew it out of the chest and held it between his hands. A similar orb-shaped lantern wrought in silver hung at his bedside in the palace, and hundreds more shone in the homes of every Greenwood elf born in the Third Age. No two calarsils were exactly alike, but each one bore a crystal in its center about the size of an acorn, from which issued a soft white light that pulsed like candle flame. It was a light that, by design of its maker, would shine faithfully and unceasingly until the crystal was smashed. 

Mothers had taken to calling this crafted gemstone a faemir. With it they taught their children about Eru Iluvatar, and about his gift of fëa through which they had life and strength and goodness. 

Legolas brought the calarsil to the baby’s parents. Raegnir bowed as he accepted it, giving repeated thanks, and tears flowed from Breneril’s eyes, so moved was she by the lantern’s beauty and the love it represented. 

As Breneril cradled their son at her breast, Raegnir held the lantern over the child’s head. Mirion stepped close to the young family and with his eyes lowered to the newborn’s face, began to sing the Kyermë. 

Legolas bowed his head and murmured along the few words he could remember, but did so as quietly as he could. His brother’s deep, rich tone was especially pleasing in song, and he did not want to tarnish it. While Legolas did not know its exact translation, he knew from his mother’s teachings that the Quenyan hymn was a prayer of supplication for Eru’s graces. The Queen herself learned it from her own mother, who carried it across the Belegaer with all the other memories of her birthplace in Tirion.

“The Crown’s Blessing is a promise,” Queen Maereth had told him. “From us, the King’s family, to all those born in Greenwood, that we will care for them as our own, until their fëa departs this world. The Kyermë invokes Eru and hallows that promise, so we must never break it.”

The sun had set by the time they had finished, and when the princes exited the cottage, a crowd had gathered outside to commence the village’s celebration. It took a while longer for them to politely take their leave, for Mirion was determined not to disappoint anyone wishing to greet and speak with him.

“The Woodland Realm grows,” Mirion mused aloud, as they finally rode out of Willowdell and made for the Forest Road. “You have not lived long enough to notice, but when I was your age, there were not nearly this many elves, this many families, dwelling close to Bâr Lasgalen. Willowdell did not exist at all, and neither did most of the villages north of the Emyn Duir.”

“That is good, is it not?”

“Yes, and it has been Ada’s goal since he came to the throne. ‘A kingdom with people as numerous and radiant as Elbereth’s stars’, he told me.” Mirion raised his hand toward the evening skies overhead and smiled at his own childhood memory of riding out in the forest with his father, their path lit only by the evening lights.

“Outside Greenwood, you might hear it said by others that the time of the Eldar has passed, and these lands will soon be left to the Secondborn,” the Crown Prince continued. “But not for our people. Ennor has always been our home, and it shall continue to be for ages unforeseen. In the lands of the Elvenking, we will endure!”

“We will endure.” Legolas repeated the words often spoken by their father at gatherings, claimed by him as the motto of his house. He startled when all six of the guards suddenly shouted the words as well, drawing laughter from his older brother. 

“I have heard from Master Raedor that your riding improves each day by leaps and bounds,” Mirion said. He drew up his stallion’s reins and nodded at the long wide road that stretched before them. “Perhaps you would like to show me. Ammë is waiting!”

Continue reading: Chapter 6 - Last Little One

NOTES:

MIRION THRANDUILION Crown Prince of the Woodland Realm, Heir to the Elvenking’s Throne, Prince of Princes (Caun-i-Conin) Year of Birth: Second Age 3430 Most noteworthy skills: unparalleled skill with the broadsword; bladesmithing Notable physical feature: significantly muscular build Hair Color: silver-blonde Eye Color: green Etymology: “Great Treasure” (Sindarin)

CAUN-I-CONIN (“Prince of Princes” - Sindarin) Royal title bestowed on Prince Mirion of the Woodland Realm by his father King Thranduil in T.A. 225, a few years after the birth of Prince Gelir, the King’s fourth son. This title designates him as chief over his four younger brothers, granting him command over them (individually and as a group) and all forces that may answer to them. However, this authority is not absolute, and can be supplanted by either the King and Queen. In accepting the title, Mirion also swore a sacred oath of responsibility for the welfare of his brothers, as well as any wives they take or children they beget.

MERETH ERUHIN (“Feast of Eru’s Children” - Sindarin) A grand feast hosted each year by the Elvenking for the entire Woodland realm, which began on the first day of Ethuil (Elvish spring), and lasted for twelve days. The tradition was established in T.A. 50 by King Thranduil and Queen Maereth, as a celebration of the realm’s peace and growing prosperity, and in thanksgiving for Eru’s blessings. Elf children are especially celebrated and are traditionally given presents by both the crown and the entire community.

CALARSIL (“Lantern of White Light” - Sindarin) An orb-shaped lantern made of glass and silver containing a light-bearing crystal colloquially called a faemir (“soul gem”). The faemir is a clear crystal that holds and radiates a white light that does not extinguish or fade. It was created by Lord Olondir, the Master Craftsman of the Woodland Realm. He guards the secret of its making, and therefore has crafted every single faemir in existence. The silver lanterns themselves are made by his apprentices.

The tradition of gifting a calarsil to every newborn elf in Greenwood was started by King Thranduil and Queen Maereth early in their reign. The lantern is displayed proudly in the home of its elven owner, who treasures it for life. In the event of the owner’s passing, the lantern is destroyed and the faemir crushed into a fine dust as part of the burial ritual.

[thelazyecrivain]

Fluffbruary - Day 17 (Fantasy)

Seventeenth day of @fluffbruary, using the prompt "fantasy"

I know, I cracked up. I wanted to keep it short when I saw how late I was, but I love this kind of AU so much that the more I wrote, the more ideas I had. If anyone has similar fics to this one, Prince Sherlock and Knight John, I'm interested!

Read on AO3

French Version

-----

John jumped on his white horse, and ordered it forward. A dozen guards followed him and together they rode into the magical woods surrounding the royal family's residential castle. It was starting to get dark, so Captain Watson must not waste any time

This morning the younger of the two princes set off on his morning walk. Normally, Greg Lestrade, the Prince's personal guard, goes with him. But in a matter of seconds, he managed to lose his guard. It wasn't the first time this had happened, so it didn't worry the king and queen. When seventeen o'clock struck, tea time, and the prince had still not returned, the parents ordered him to be fetched. The order was given directly to John, the captain of the royal guard. He chose ten men, took what was needed to treat the prince if he was in a critical condition, and rode his horse into the forest, which was known to be a place where you would not venture into at night, at the risk of your life. 

Three hours later, night has fallen completely, their lantern dimly illuminating their path. Still no sign of the prince. He knows he has been ordered to keep looking for him until he finds him, so he refuses when one of the soldiers offers to set up camp for the night. If they want to avoid one of the many creatures in the forest, they must keep moving.

The Prince's personal guard was with them and despite the directions he gave on the path they had taken this morning, still no sign of the Prince.

When John yawned for the third time in a minute, a cry was heard throughout the forest, waking him up abruptly. Without thinking, the whole group galloped towards the cry, John and Lestrade in the lead. But if they could guess which area it was in, they could not determine it precisely. John ordered them to split into pairs.

John and Lestrade together, walking through their patch of forest when he finds tall grass crushed by a man. At a glance, they understand each other and follow this trail. They arrive at a large waterfall, framed by majestic plants, the blue water magically illuminating. John could have stopped and admired it if the prince wasn't at the top of the waterfall, what looks like a wolf preventing him from moving away from the edge.

John orders Greg to fetch the other guards while he follows the passageway to the top of the waterfall. Soon he reached the top and saw the terrified prince on the verge of falling into the water, the white wolf making his size pushing him towards the edge while growling. When he saw John, the latter beckoned him to be quiet. He dismounted, drew his sword and took the wolf by surprise. He stuck the blade in its throat, giving it no chance. 

The animal tried to defend itself against its attacker but fell down, dead. Except that by turning suddenly, the wolf frightened the prince who took a step back. This was the step too far and John could only watch him lose his balance and fall. John didn't think twice and threw off his cloak and sword before following the prince and diving into the water.

The shock of the cold water took his breath away but he soon saw the prince sinking to the depths, and swam towards him. He managed to catch him, sticking to him so as not to lose him and quickly surfaced. He took a deep breath as he emerged from the water and was greeted by all the other guards. John swam to the edge, taking care to keep the prince's head above water. 

He was helped to pull the prince out of the water, lying down on the grass and John did not waste a minute. He tried to nurse the unconscious prince back to health, while the other guards, illuminating them, could only watch John do it, hoping he would succeed. If they brought the prince back lifeless, the Queen would not be kind to them.

Fortunately, a sigh of relief was heard throughout the group as the prince began to cough, expelling the water lodged in his lungs. John helped him sit up to prevent him from choking.

"Captain Watson?" The prince asked weakly. John smiled at him, wanting to reassure him.

"It's over, my prince." John says gently, not wanting the others to hear him. "We're here to take you back."

(continue below the cut)

The prince's handsome face twists in pain, then his body begins to tremble. The night was cool and his waterlogged clothes did not help him to warm up. John ordered something to dry the prince and two guards went to get towels, which they always keep with them, and asked others to fetch his horse and cloak still at the top of the waterfall. He took off the cloak and part of the prince's clothes, glancing at the other guards to make them turn around. He wiped him with the towels and draped his cloak around his trembling body.

He mounted his horse and with Greg's help, the prince rode in front of him, his legs on the same side, his head resting on his shoulder. John had his arms around him to keep him from falling and to keep him close. He managed to dry himself off slightly and change by stealing dry clothes from the other guards.

They made their way back, everyone already dreaming of their bed or a fire. The Prince's trembling calmed as he went, his still wet curls tickling John's face. John kept one hand protectively around his waist while the other held the horse's reins. The ride back was quicker and John quickly made his way to the main entrance of the castle while the other guards made their way back to their huts. Only Greg follows him.

He held the prince tightly against him and dismounted, carrying him towards his chambers. A panicked servant girl saw them and John ordered her to tell the King and Queen. He found the prince's room and went in to lay him on his bed. Three maids arrived in the room and John had no say in the matter as he was removed from the room. 

The eldest maid, Mrs. Hudson, reassured him that he was in good hands and that he would be told as soon as he was well. The King and Queen soon arrive, thanking him and his team for finding him and when they offer to return with the other guards, he refuses, saying he will leave once he is sure the Prince is well. The royal couple did not object, but John did not miss the look they gave each other.

John ended up alone in the hallway, watching the maids go in and out of the room, with the doctor arriving a few minutes later, obviously rushed out of bed. John is a doctor, but the Queen had refused to allow him to care for the Prince, saying that he had already found the Prince and that she could not ask him to care for him in addition.

But seeing the doctor being driven away with hoarse cries, John was not surprised when a servant girl went to fetch him, her tired eyes begging him to accept. John followed her and set to work immediately, under the watchful eyes of the prince's parents. Despite the fact that he was beginning to feel tired, he did his job well. The Prince is awake but completely exhausted. He watches him behind his heavy eyelids, his eyes never leaving him.

He explains that he has caught a cold and will have to rest for several days. There is nothing broken, no visible injury, but there is a risk of pneumonia. The Queen agreed when John asked if he could stay at his bedside tonight to watch over him. Clean clothes were brought to him, and a cot to sleep on at the foot of the bed, and at last there was no one left in the room but him and the Prince.

He lay down, sinking into a light sleep, ready if the prince needed anything. He was right, for later that night the Prince called faintly to him. John got up to see him shivering, completely buried under the sheets except for a few curls sticking out.

"Prince Sherlock?" John whispers.

"I'm cold." Explains the prince while pulling his head out of the sheets. He looks so vulnerable that John's heart sinks.

John sees the fireplace and turns it on before pulling the prince out of bed. He moved his cot to stand in front of the fire and took the sheets from the Prince's bed and put them around his shoulders. The prince thanked him silently with a look. He sat in front of the fireplace, the large sheets wrapped around him warmly. John went to fetch a chair when the Prince called to him again. He turned to see him lift part of his sheet.

It's an invitation.

It's true that the idea of being warm next to the prince he loves makes him want to, but if they're caught in such a position, one might get the wrong idea and the Queen will never tolerate it. When the prince sends him a pleading look, he cannot say no. He settled down next to him and immediately the Prince settled against him, his head against his shoulder, and a warmth spread through John's chest. It wasn't coming from the fireplace.

He dared to put an arm around him, keeping him close as he felt the prince warm against him. He rested his back against a chair behind him and allowed himself to close his eyes, letting the prince's breathing lull him to sleep.

***

He wakes to the sound of birds, a weight on his chest and hair tickling his face. There is a conversation, words exchanged in a low voice and it takes John's sleeping brain a while to realise that it is Prince Sherlock and the Queen. He wakes up abruptly, ending the conversation. He thought he would fall into the Queen's angry, accusing gaze, but instead he saw kindness, a gentle smile on her lips. His son had the same expression, looking peaceful. Not many people are lucky enough to see the Prince so cold looking so serene.

"How are you feeling, Captain Watson?" The Queen asks.

John nods, wary all the same.

"Don't worry, I know you would never want to hurt my son."

John nods and can see the smile the Prince sends his way in the corner of his eye. 

"To tell you the truth, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while." Her face hardened, and John understood that this was a rather serious matter. He felt the prince tense against him. "For some months now, my son has been telling me of his interest in you." She said without sparing a word.

He looked down at the prince, surprised. The latter blushed, while keeping his eyes riveted on his mother. 

"I was not in favour of such an affair. But you are a respectable man, a brilliant guard who has risen through the ranks, loyal to our family and for some inexplicable reason my son has set his sights on you. After much discussion, my husband and I have decided that we will allow your union."

John is speechless. He could never have dreamed of such a thing. The hopeful look the prince sends him only makes his heart beat faster.

"Just one question." The Queen nodded. "Would I be able to continue to perform my job as royal guard." 

"Obviously, I know you value your position as a captain in the Royal Guard. We will discuss these details later." She said with a wave of her hand. "I'll leave you to discuss all that with the prince."

She smiled and left the room. John looked at the prince as she closed the door. He flicked a fallen curl back onto his forehead with his fingertips, before placing his hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with his thumb. The prince closed his eyes.

"Is this really what you want?"

"More than anything." Sherlock murmured.

He kissed his forehead, whispering "my prince." The concerned man smiled before opening his eyes, his gaze filled with tenderness. He could only kiss him tenderly.

Five months later, they were married, surrounded by John's friends and the royal family.

(tell me if you wish to be tagged !) @topsyturvy-turtely @missdeliadili @mxster-jocale

[mightbekelly]

The Sea Witch’s Bargain - A NamGiSeok MerMay Fic

Title: The Sea Witch’s Bargain

Rating: Teen and Up

Words Count: 6.9k

After the queen usurped power, Yoongi & Hoseok thought their friend (Prince Namjoon) was dead. After a decade’s long quest to avenge him and take back the kingdom they learn the truth: he was merely given to the Sea Witch - a mysterious water-dwelling entity with strange powers. So begins their new quest: rescue their friend from the Sea Witch’s claim on him. Written for Underwater Mystery Fest.

SNIPPET

After riding their horses hard for the last two days, these last steps are the hardest for Yoongi as he and Hoseok navigate the treacherous caverns of the sea witch’s domain. Daylight has long since been left behind as they walk the rocky path beside rushing waters lit only by the dim green glow of bioluminescent algae and their torches.

“Do you think he’ll remember us,” Hoseok asks as they navigate their way through the caverns. The path is wet so the duo have to move carefully to keep from slipping into the water and being carried away by the fearsome tide.

“If he’s even still alive,” Yoongi grumbles as he tries to find his step. It’s been too long to let hope soothe his pain.

Hoseok frowns at that. “He has to be,” he says with determination. “We’ve come so far.”

Yoongi hates how crestfallen Hoseok looks as he picks his way along the rocky path, both of them clinging to the slimy wall of the cave as they traverse a narrow passageway. Perhaps after all these years, Hoseok is the only one who can still remember who Yoongi used to be and that has to be worth something. “Yes,” Yoongi offers up. “If he’s alive I’m sure he’ll remember us.”

His friend’s smile returns, brighter than the sun in such a gloomy place. “We aren’t knobby-kneed teens anymore,” Hoseok says with an almost reminiscent sigh. “I wonder how different he looks.”

“You look the same,” Yoongi offers to keep the conversation going. Any distraction he can offer his friend on their final quest.

Hoseok laughs. “You don’t,” he says. “Well, maybe your height hasn’t changed.”

Yoongi has seen his reflection and he’s no longer the fresh faced boy Prince Namjoon last saw. He’s become a man, even if his height hasn’t changed much, his body has become leaner with muscle. A scar over his right eye is the most obvious of changes, but Yoongi knows he no longer smiles as easily or shares a kind word with anyone who isn’t Hoseok.

They were set on this path ten years ago when the Queen declared Prince Kim Namjoon, Yoongi and Hoseok’s closest friend, dead and her own son the rightful heir to the kingdom. A lie only brought to light after ten long years of plotting and bloodshed.

[snowdice]

Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 91]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39

Only going to be working for a short amount of time. Just getting a bit of prep done for the class I’m teaching in a month or so.

Chapter 40 (Thomas)

Thomas wasn’t sure what to do in this sort of situation. It had been three days since Logan had come to him in a panic saying that Virgil had ran off somewhere and he couldn’t find him. Apparently, the boy had been panicking and had accidentally slapped Logan before freaking out and running away. No one had seen him since, and not for lack of trying. They had searched all over the castle and the grounds, but Virgil was nowhere to be found. Thomas just hoped he was still in the castle and hadn’t tried to go outside. Winter was still raging across the land. It had been blizzarding for the past week on and off. It made Thomas and everyone else worry about the child.

Logan and Patton said he did not like the cold and had refused to go outside since snow had started to fall, so that was a point in favor of him still being in the castle somewhere. Normally, the fact that they couldn’t find him in three days despite having many people looking for him, would indicate he had left the castle, but thinking back to the hide-and-seek debacle, it was entirely likely he’d just stuffed himself in some secret passageway somewhere.

At least, that is what Thomas assured Logan to comfort him. In truth, if he was panicked enough to run from his friends for days, Thomas wasn’t sure if he was thinking rationally. Would the panic about hitting Logan overwhelm his dislike of the cold? Thomas didn’t know him well enough to know.

He sighed and rose from his desk; he’d been working on penning a letter to the Queen of Lamir to check in with her. The snow should be letting up in a couple of days long enough to get a letter out by means of carrier dove. He decided to take it to the dovecoat now and leave it with one of the handlers.

He left his office and wandered down the hallway, turning right instead of left like he normally would when he was going back to the royal wing. Instead, he took a path he didn’t often take that would lead to a staircase that let out at the door nearest the dovecoat.

As he passed through a hall with a bunch of old portraits, he suddenly remembered something from when he was young and stopped by a picture of a woman hanging across from a small bench. There was a secret passage there that he’d found when he was only 12 and had only ever shown to one other person before. It was just a room with nothing much special about it other than the fact that it was hidden away. Usually, he’d just pass it by, but today he was thinking about Virgil lost (hopefully) somewhere in the castle who liked secret passages.

It wouldn’t hurt to check one of the few secret areas Thomas knew about for signs of life, would it?

That in mind, he walked over to the painting and ran his hand along the side of it until he found a place he could push his fingers into. He pulled and the painting swung out to reveal a small door. He opened the door into a room a bit smaller than his own bedroom. Despite not having any heating elements since it was a secret room, it was still fairly warm since there were rooms around it that were heated.

Thomas reached over to fumble with the lights he’d sneakily installed when he was a child, and the space was suddenly filled with dim light.

He closed the door behind himself and stepped into the room. He glanced around for anything out of place, though it had been a while since he’d been in here. He squinted at the very limited amount of furniture and had just walked across the room to look in an old chest when he heard a noise coming from…the floor?

Thomas looked towards where the noise was coming from and was surprised to hear the sound of something sliding right before a head of dark hair popped up. Virgil lithely pulled himself out of the hole in the ground and shut it behind him.

Thomas froze. Sure, he’d come in here specifically to look for signs of Virgil, but he had not been prepared for Virgil to suddenly crawl out of the floor. He hadn’t even realized there was a second entrance to this room.

Virgil didn’t notice Thomas on the other side of the room. Thomas wasn’t sure what to do. Virgil was always quick to startle, especially around Thomas. If he said something, surely the boy would disappear back down the tunnel he’d just left.

Virgil took a few all but silent steps towards the side of the room opposite from Thomas.

Thomas was still trying to figure out what to do when Virgil suddenly stopped. He tilted his head to look up at the lights Thomas had turned on when entering the room. Then his eyes shot to Thomas.

“Uh,” Thomas said. “Hi.” Silence. “Please don’…”

Virgil turned tail and sprinted to the opposite side of the room, scaling an old bookshelf that tottered dangerously under his weight.

“… t run.”

He had the instinct to chase after him, worried that there was another entrance he’d dart through and be gone forever, but he stifled it. That would just terrify the poor thing even more.

“Uh,” Thomas said, not entirely sure he wasn’t speaking to an empty room as he could not see Virgil anymore. “It’s okay.” He paused. “Logan’s not mad. No one is. Both him and Patton are very worried though. We’d all appreciate if you came out.” He paused again and only got silence in return.

Cautiously he took a couple of steps towards the other side of the room.

“Please?” he said.

When there was again no response, he took a couple more steps towards the bookshelf until he was standing directly in front of it. He just barely managed to catch a glint of the dim room lights reflecting off a pair of dark brown eyes.

He was not just talking to an empty room then.

 “Hey there,” he said softly. The eyes disappeared immediately, but now Thomas knew they were there. “Alright.” He wished he could get someone else for this conversation, but there was no way he could leave and come back to Virgil still there. Instead, he took a seat on the ground a couple of feet away from the bookshelf. He thought for a moment. “You know, I found this place myself,” he said. “I never knew that trap door was there though. You’re pretty good at finding tunnels.” He leaned back a bit, trying to catch a glimpse of the top of the bookshelf.

“I used to keep some food here at one point, but I’m afraid even if I left anything it’d be pretty bad at this point.” Thomas thought for a moment. “I hope you’ve eaten something recently. The kitchen is open for you whenever you want food, though I’m sure Patton’s mom would like to make you something special. She’s been worried. You know how she is when people miss meals. Everyone’s been worried.”

He let it hang in silence again, and to his surprise there was just a bit of shifting from the top of the bookshelf. “Why?” Virgil’s voice asked.

“Well,” Thomas answered, “because a lot of people around here care about you.”

“I hit Logan,” he said, clearly assuming that Thomas didn’t know.

“I know,” Thomas said.

“He’s the prince,” Virgil pointed out.

“Maybe,” Thomas said, “but he’s also your friend. He cares about you more than he does about getting slapped once when you were clearly in distress. In fact, he was never mad at all about it. He was just worried about how you responded. It seems like wherever you lived before coming to the castle wasn’t the best and we were a little worried we might not see you again if you got too startled.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Virgil said.

“It does to me,” Thomas said. “I wish it did to you.”

Silence once again greeted his words.

“Are you going to come down from there at some point?”

“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Thomas shrugged. “Well, I’m not going to be leaving until you do,” he said.

“So eventually the royal guards are just going to tear me down,” he concluded.

“Well, no one knows I’m here,” Thomas said. “I came on a whim. The only person I ever told about this place is already dead. I doubt they’ll find us.”

“You’re the king,” Virgil said. “You shouldn’t be somewhere that people don’t know where you are. What if…?”

“Hmm?” Thomas prompted.

“What if an assassin attacks you or something?”

“I doubt an assassin is going to come find me in this little room no one knows about but us,” Thomas said with a smile.

There was a pause. “You’re as bad as Logan with your safety,” he grumbled and Thomas just chuckled. Then, after a moment, Virgil said, “Are you really not mad that I hit your son.”

“No, Virgil,” Thomas said. “I know it was an accident. I understand.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment, and Thomas was content to wait for him to think it through for however long he needed.

“Logan really isn’t mad?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Thomas promised. “He’s not.”

And then, blessedly, he heard movement from the top of the bookshelf. Virgil slowly climbed down, and Thomas didn’t dare stand up or really move at all other than breathing.

“Ready to come out of the tunnels now?” he asked after a few minutes of stalemate while Virgil watched him like he expected Thomas to leap forward and bite him.

He nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay,” said Thomas. “Good.”

  Chapter 41 Arc III: Bonding with the King (Virgil)

Virgil, despite cautiously believing the king’s words, was still half surprised when he wasn’t immediately thrown into the dungeon upon leaving the safety of the walls with the man. He didn’t even call the guards. Instead, he just calmly led Virgil down a set of stairs with a warm, not restraining, hand on his shoulder.

Virgil didn’t know what to think. He didn’t understand how he could not be in trouble for smacking the prince, but he was also cold, tired, and hungry from his days spent in the castle walls. He’d once been used to being all of those things, but now after only living in the castle for a little over a month, they stung a little harder. He even found himself leaning into the kings hand a bit, having missed hugs from Patton and Logan in the last few days.

He’d memorized enough about the castle layout to know they were going in the direction of the kitchen. He also knew that it was midafternoon between lunch and supper being served. There weren’t many people in their path except for the guards and they didn’t even give him a second glance.

The king took Virgil through the same side entrance Patton and Logan often used instead of through the dining hall. Patton’s mom’s office door was closed and instead of going all the way to the kitchen, the king paused to knock on it.

“Helen,” the king called through the door. “Would you mind coming out here please?”

“Just a moment,” was called back through the door and after just a few seconds the door was opening. Her eyes landed on him, and she immediately looked relieved. “Virgil,” she said. “Goodness where have you been? Patton’s been worried sick.”

Virgil bit his lip, unsure what to say to that. He’d assumed Patton would be mad at him too when he learned Virgil had hit Logan, but then again, according to the king not even Logan was mad.

“Would you mind making something for him to eat?” the king asked.

Her eyes snapped to him. “Oh, yes, of course. Virgil, sweetie, what do you want?”

Virgil just shrugged.

“Ham sandwich for now,” she said studying him, “and then I’ll make something more for dinner. Let me go grab your meal preference cards.” She stepped back into her office and grabbed the little box off of her desk full of the cards she always sent with any new food she served Virgil, so he could rank them.

Virgil watched, confused. He never did quite understand Helen with her endless willingness to feed him and to get his opinion about what she fed him with. She always reminded him of Patton with how kind she often was, though she was a little stricter than Patton ever had the heart to be.

There was no sternness to her now, however. She was fussing over him as she led them to the kitchen and started warming water for tea before grabbing the ingredients needed for the promised ham sandwich.

She made him clean his hands of the dirt and dust they’d acquired from days crawling through secret passageways before handing him the sandwich. Thomas at one point stepped out of the kitchen for a few moments but was back quickly with a smile. Virgil smiled back at him hesitantly. He was still surprised he was in the kitchen drinking warm tea and eating a sandwich as the head chef personally fretted over him.

The king also accepted a mug of tea and didn’t even watch over it closely despite Virgil sitting right there in poisoning distance. Instead of looking worried or angry when he noticed Virgil staring at him and his mug, he simply smiled softly and ask him if he needed more tea.

This man… was an idiot.

Virgil had thought that Logan wasn’t careful about his own personal safety, but apparently Logan had actually improved upon his family’s habit of being reckless. Virgil would have to complement him and provide him with more opportunities for growth if he was that willing to grow and adapt.

…If Logan didn’t hate him now.

Thomas said he wasn’t mad, but he could be lying or wrong. Virgil had hit Logan. Virgil knew he’d never been fond of the people who’d hit him. Of course, in this case, Virgil hadn’t meant to do it, but he still had. Even if Logan wasn’t actively mad, there was the possibility that he wouldn’t like Virgil anymore. That was almost worse because people who were mad might eventually calm down and forgive you, but if someone just decides emotionlessly that they don’t like you anymore, that’s a lot harder to reverse.

Logan had always been nice to him despite being a prince who didn’t need to give him the time of day and despite knowing why Virgil had come here. Logan was his friend. He didn’t want to lose that.

He finished off the ham sandwich pretty quickly and Patton’s mom almost immediately set down a plate of cheese and crackers.

“Thank you,” Virgil said softly.

“Of course,” Ms. Heart said, and Virgil jumped a bit in surprise when a hand touched his head, but calmed down after just a moment. It wasn’t that different than Patton, though he wasn’t that used to adults touching him. At least not gently or at all in the castle. “I’m glad you’re okay.” The hand stayed in his hair for only a second longer before pulling away. “Hmm,” she said. “Have you been living in the walls perchance?”

Virgil nodded at her.

“Ah,” she said, wiping off her hand on her apron. “Perhaps a bath would be in order after you finish eating.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“More tea?”

He nodded again and she moved to take his mug over to the kettle. He turned to pop one of the crackers with cheese into his mouth and was still chewing when the nearest door suddenly sprung open.

He flinched, looking up to see Logan in the doorway, breathing like he’d run all the way from the other side of the castle. “Virgil,” he said sounding relieved. He’d crossed the room before Virgil had a chance to get anxious and was wrapping him up in a hug before he could do more than lightly flinch in surprise. “Thank goodness you’re okay. Where have you been?”

“In the walls,” Virgil replied.

Logan rubbed a circle into his back and hugged him harder. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Virgil jerked in surprise. “Why are you sorry?”

“I made you run away,” he said. “You were scared of me.”

“I hit you,” Virgil pointed out confused.

“It was an accident. You were having a bad day and I touched you without permission. It was my fault.”

“I…” Virgil said, “but…”

“I’m not going to be angry when it was just an accident, Virgil,” Logan said.

Virgil didn’t know what to say. He tucked his head against Logan’s shoulder and sniffled a bit. “Sorry anyway,” he said.

“It’s okay,” Logan said. Virgil felt a kiss being pressed to the top of his head. “Patton and I were really worried.”

“Oh,” he said. Tears started to leak from his eyes as he sniffled more. Logan just held him even tighter to the point it was starting to restrict breathing, but Virgil didn’t want him to let go. “Sorry,” he said again.

“Hush,” was the gentle response. The hug continued for a long few moments before Logan pulled back to look at him. “You are very dirty,” he commented.

“You’re a bit dirty now too,” Ms. Heart pointed out with a chuckle. Logan glanced down at his front. You could see an outline of Virgil’s body on his clothes.

“Ah,” he said. “It seems I am.” He seemed amused though, and honestly if he wasn’t going to be mad at Virgil for slapping him and then running away and hiding for days, he probably wasn’t going to be mad about that.

The king and Patton’s mom also didn’t seem unhappy with him getting the prince messy when he glanced at them. Ms. Heart seemed entertained, and the king was just smiling.

Virgil felt himself calming down more than he had in days, assured that Logan didn’t hate him and tentatively trusting that neither of the adults planned to lash out at him anytime soon. Ms. Heart handed him his refilled mug of tea and pointed him back at the food. Virgil relaxed fully into his chair.

Until, of course, the door blasted back open, word having gotten to Patton who proceeded to strangle him with a hug and cry at him loudly, but that was okay too.

  Chapter 42 (Patton)

“Come on,” Patton urged. “You’re already all dressed up.”

Virgil made a dissatisfied noise like a cat that had just been picked up from its spot on a heated blanket.

“We’ll barely be outside five minutes,” Patton said. “You won’t even notice the cold.”

“Will so,” Virgil argued back.

Virgil’s return to the castle proper had been relieving. Everyone had been content to let him curl up on the floor near the fireplace and sleep for the past couple of weeks, but life did move on, and Patton and Logan had talked. They had agreed that Virgil’s constant anxiety about the weather probably wasn’t good for him. It had played a major part in making him stressed out enough to hit Logan which had caused the entire mess with him disappearing.

They’d brought it up to Virgil gently and, while they’d had to dial it back on requests like actually playing in the snow, the suggestion that they take the short trip from the castle to the horse stables was met with some interest. However, now that the time had come to make the trek, he seemed to be having doubts.

“Honestly,” Logan said. “I don’t think you’ll even feel the cold in that get up.”

They had, indeed covered the boy from head to toe. He currently looked a couple of inches taller and wider than he actually was bundled up with every piece of extra snow gear they could find.

He looked adorable with only his eyes uncovered even if said eyes were glaring at them both. However, Patton was a little worried he’d overheat if they didn’t leave soon.

“I don’t like snow,” Virgil said.

“We know, Virgil,” Logan said. That was the problem. They were hoping that a little minimal exposure would help him calm down just a bit. “The path’s been cleared of snow and ice though and it isn’t that much of a walk. You’ll be fine and then we’ll be able to look at all of the horses.���

Virgil still looked unconvinced.

“Just half an hour, Virgil, please,” Logan said.

“…Fine,” Virgil relented.

“Great,” said Patton, grabbing his coat sleeve and tugging him towards the door. Logan followed behind and Princess Marisol seeing they were going somewhere, got up and padded after them.

They made it all the way to the door nearest the stable. Patton could see when he opened it that the path they were to take was well cleared. Virgil still did not appear enthused. He glared at the outside like it had a knife.

Princess Marisol, for her part, saw Patton open the door, hissed, and abandoned them to strut off towards the kitchen.

“She knows what she’s talking about,” mumbled Virgil.

Patton sighed.

“Come on Virgil, I promise it won’t be that bad.” Patton offered a gloved hand. “You can hold my hand the whole way.”

Virgil was still frowning up a storm that would rival the one that had caused the snow in the first place, but he did take Patton’s hand. Patton used his grip on the hand to pull him forward through the door. It was still very chilly, Patton thought as they walked outside. Patton had chosen a coat that was a bit lighter since they were only walking to the stable and the wind bit him through it. He really hoped Virgil’s outfit was warm enough to keep him from freaking out.

Luckily, it did seem to be keeping him warm enough because, while he was tense, he still let Patton lead him forward.

They made it to the stable faster than usual since all three of them were quickening their pace. Patton gave a sigh of relief when he entered the stable and the warmer air inside of it. The stable wasn’t as warm as the castle, but it was warm enough that most of the stable hands only worked in light coats most of the winter. At least, they did inside the stable.

The head stable hand had already been warned about their visit beforehand and was waiting for the three of them at the door. “Good morning,” she greeted them, and… Virgil was already hiding himself behind Patton’s back.

“Hi!” Patton said cheerfully. He stepped to the side, so Virgil was no longer hidden. Virgil glared, reaching out to grab the edge of Patton’s sleeve and tugging on it in discontent. “This is Loraine, Virgil,” Patton said, nodding at her. When he glanced her way, he became a lot shyer, looking down at her feet instead of at her face. “She takes care of the horses. Say hello.”

“…Hello,” Virgil said quietly.

“Hi,” she said. “I hear you wanted to see the horses.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, we have plenty for you to meet and they’re mostly all inside because of the cold. Usually in the summer most want to spend a lot of time in the pasture. Let me show you around.”

Loraine showed them around the stable a bit even though Patton and Logan already knew where everything was. Virgil slowly got a little bit more comfortable, even asking a couple of questions unprompted. Surprisingly, there weren’t many basic questions about horses like Patton had expected. On the contrary, he seemed to know a good amount about horses already.

“Have you worked with horses before?” Loraine asked a bit into the tour after Virgil expressed interest in what they were feeding some of the older horses.

“I used to help take care of horses sometimes when people came to visit the orphanage,” he said. “They’re nice.”

“Do you ride?” Loraine asked.

Virgil shook his head. “I just fed them and cleaned up after them,” he said.

“Well, maybe you can try to learn when it gets a bit warmer,” she offered. “It’s a lot of fun.”

He nodded. “That would be nice,” he said.

After that, she mostly let them wander around looking at different horses in the stalls. She even let them feed some of the gentler ones who didn’t have a specific diet.

It was about 25 minutes into their adventure and while Virgil obviously liked the horses, Patton could already tell his anxiety was rising every time he took his glove off to feed a horse and it hit the chilly air. Patton glanced at Logan.

“Right,” Logan said. “We should probably be heading back inside, but I would like to stop by and see Mr. Apples before leaving. Otherwise, he will be cross with me.”

“Mr. Apples?” Virgil asked.

“He’s one of the horses,” Logan explained, moving to where the different treats were kept for the horses.

“Why do you need to see him in particular?”

Logan paused, his hand hovering briefly over the container of red apples before reaching in to grab one. “He was my Pa’s horse,” he said. “He likes when I visit him.”

“Logan’s the only one he likes visiting him,” Loraine added as she started to lead them towards where Mr. Apples’ stall was.

Patton had learned long ago that Mr. Apples could be a bit crabby. He wasn’t as mean to Patton as he was to some people, but he wasn’t exactly nice either. Patton tended to keep his distance whenever Logan went to visit.

Now, he stood on the other side of the hall from where Mr. Apples was as Logan stepped forward to greet him.

Logan spoke to him softly for a bit and he nuzzled his face against Logan’s shoulder with a huff. Eventually, he offered a piece of apple which Mr. Apple happily took.

“Can I say hello to him?” Virgil asked.

Logan glanced back at him. “Sure,” he said, “though be careful. He doesn’t like… anyone besides me.”

Virgil nodded and stepped forward cautiously. “Hello,” Virgil said. Mr. Apples turned his head to look at Virgil. There were a couple of seconds of silence and then Mr. Apple’s snorted softly. Virgil took that as permission to stretch out a hand.

“Wait,” Logan said. “He bites actually and…” Mr. Apples pressed his nose to Virgil’s hand softly and Virgil gently stroked it a couple of times.

“Huh,” said Loraine. “You’re officially the third person he’s ever liked, and you could say Prince Logan was cheating since he was grandfathered in as a baby.”

“Really?” Virgil asked. “He seems nice enough.”

Loraine rolled her eyes. Patton noticed she was standing a good distance away from the stall herself. “Oh no,” she said. “Trust me. He’s a bastard to everyone else.”

Virgil just frowned and pet the horse’s nose again. Mr. Apples leaned forward to nibble at his hair a bit.

Logan smiled at him and handed him one of the apple pieces to feed Mr. Apples which Virgil offered to the horse on a flat hand. “Red apples are his favorite,” he told Virgil. “He refuses to eat green.”

Logan and Virgil finished feeding Mr. Apples his treat and then it was time for Virgil to face the cold once again to return to the castle. Patton hoped this positive experience of going outside would make him more open to it in the future.

  Chapter 43 (Logan)

Logan woke once again being strangled by an assassin. He sighed and attempted to squirm away. Virgil made an unhappy grumbling noise at the movement and squeezed him tighter. “I am just,” Logan said, shoving at the arm around him, “trying to get into a position where I can breathe.”

Unfortunately, there was no reasoning with an unconscious Virgil. Getting into an upright position was a battle and the boy was laying across his lap by the time he managed it, clutching one of Logan’s arms.

Logan huffed at his sleeping form, reaching over with his free arm to switch on his bedside lamp.

Despite how warm the room was, Logan assumed the temperature outside was extremely cold today. Virgil seemed to have some internal thermostat that seemed to know how cold it was outside even while snug in Logan’s bedroom. The tighter the boy clung in his sleep, the colder Logan knew it must be. Logan looked down at Virgil’s face. He and Patton had wanted to convince Virgil to spend a bit of time outside today, but if it was as cold as Virgil’s behavior indicated, perhaps they should wait for another day.

Logan reached over for the book on his nightstand that he’d learned to keep there for this exact reason. His reading speed had actually increased since Virgil’s arrival at the castle which was impressive. He’d only gotten this book two days before and was worried he’d finish it before Virgil woke this morning.

Luckily, he was incorrect, and Virgil began to stir a bit earlier than he usually did. Logan glanced down from his book when he felt Virgil shift only to find his eyes were open and staring at Logan.

“Good morning,” Logan greeted. Virgil’s fingers squeezed Logan’s arms lightly much like one would expect the cat currently sleeping soundly on Virgil’s pillow to knead its paws into its chosen person.

“Hi,” Virgil said, groggily. “Book?”

“It’s a book about various trade agreements that happened in the last 500 years,” Logan said, knowing what he was asking.

“Interesting?” Virgil asked.

Logan smiled a bit. “You would likely not be particularly interested since you do not already have knowledge of the players nor the politics of trade agreements in general.”

“Oh, okay,” Virgil said with a yawn.

Logan felt fondness warm his chest. “I can read you a different book if you would like,” he offered.

Virgil eyed the book in Logan’s hand. “You’re almost done with that one,” he pointed out. “You can finish it first.”

“You just want an excuse to continue to lay in bed,” Logan accused fondly.

Virgil did not even bother arguing, shifting a bit so he was laying with his head on his own pillow, but curling into Logan’s side. He was calm this morning which was honestly an odd thing. He was rarely truly calm while awake and even in sleep his face was sometimes pinched in tension. Logan and Patton’s plans for exposure therapy to cold weather seemed to help his resting anxiety level a bit, but it was still much higher than it was for normal people. Right now, though, he seemed fully content.

Logan was glad he could feel this comfortable near him, perhaps even comfortable because Logan was near. It was a striking contrast to how he’d been when he’d come here or even how he’d been when he’d accidently slapped Logan. He felt a surge of… something more than the standard sympathy one might feel for someone when he thought of Virgil’s fear and what had transpired to cause it. It was a bit like anger, but not quite. He could not quite put a name to it, but he did know it made him want to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again. He would ensure nothing bad ever happened to him again no matter what it took.

Logan read for a little while longer. Virgil was still and calm most of the time, but Logan was pretty sure he didn’t go back to sleep. He shifted to look up at Logan when he set the book on the nightstand.

“Would you like to go to the library with me this morning?” Logan asked. “I need a new book and perhaps we could get you something too for your reading lessons. I was thinking we could go to the main library.” He had never taken Virgil there yet as there did tend to be a few more people than the more secluded library Logan favored. Yet, he’d been getting marginally more comfortable in small crowds, and Logan thought he might like to see it.

“Sure,” Virgil agreed easily. “After breakfast though?”

“Of course,” Logan agreed. “We don’t want Ms. Heart to get on us about your eating schedule again.”

Virgil nodded in agreement and climbed out of bed to get dressed. They had a short meal in the dining hall. Virgil was still adamant that Logan did not eat any of the muffins set out on the table, and with Patton still reportedly in bed, Logan did not have nearly enough social prowess on his side to argue with him this morning. Instead, they only ate things straight from the kitchen. Virgil still got a card with his meal which Logan had to fill out for him at the end. As always, he ranked everything on the plate a ‘5/5.’

The library wasn’t too far from the main dining hall. It was in the opposite direction of the way they would go if they were going back to the royal wing past the ballroom and through the entryway. In the summer, they would have gone through the courtyard. In fact, if it had been just Logan, he would have ran across the open area quickly despite not having a coat, but with Virgil in tow, he chose to walk all the way around. Though honestly, since it was Virgil’s first time entering the library, it would be more impressive entering it from its main entrance than from the side one that castle residents in a hurry would use.

He looked over at Virgil as he pushed open the library doors to see his reaction. Virgil’s eyes widened a bit as he saw the huge room with the many bookshelves.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” Logan asked with a smile.

“You have two stories of books?” Virgil asked, looking at the spiral staircase that led to the second floor, awed. “I didn’t even… There are more books than I’ve ever seen in my life in this one room.

“And these are just the things available to the general public. There are also record rooms only used by certain people and rooms with restricted book access based on skill, like some magic books.”

“That’s a lot…” Virgil said. What was maybe insecurity flashed through his eyes.

“It’s an overwhelming amount of knowledge, but different people can find what they need,” Logan said, pulling him out of the doorway and towards where they keep the children’s books. “Here, let’s go get books you can try to read yourself and then we’ll find some books you would be interested in that I can read to you.” They stopped at a shelf. “These would be perhaps just a bit beyond your current reading level, but they would be a good challenge, I believe. Pick whichever you like.”

Virgil took a moment to stare at the pictures on the books. He squinted at the titles for a bit longer and asked Logan what a few said before choosing some from the shelf. Two of them were about different crops and one was about a family of foxes.

“Are those three enough?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Virgil replied.

“Do you want to explore the library a bit or just get a book for me to read you and leave?” Logan asked, not wanting to overwhelm him.

“I’d like to look around a bit,” Virgil replied.

“Okay.”

Logan had frequented the main library when he’d been younger. Though he often spent his time now in the smaller library that had been tailored to his specific interests, he still came to the main library fairly frequently. He knew many good places to sit with a book. There were nice window seats that looked out into the courtyard and a corner near a small fireplace. Logan showed him the door that led to the courtyard and where the door to the more restricted books were, though they didn’t go into any of them right now.

Virgil seemed to like the library well enough, following Logan around willingly. Logan did have to pull him away from a few places when he looked a bit too intently at some high, but sturdy bookshelves. And the chandelier.

He did look like he was constantly straddling the line between being in awe of and being overwhelmed by the size of the library, so Logan decided to end the tour after a bit and work on picking out a book.

“What type of book would you like to read?” Logan asked.

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Whatever you think is best is fine. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“But I’ve chosen every book I’ve read to you so far,” Logan said with a frown. “We should get something tailored to your interests.”

“I don’t have interests, Logan,” Virgil said with an eyeroll.

“You have some interests,” Logan said.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“You like climbing,” Logan said, “and… horses. You and Mr. Deknis seem to get along.”

“Are there books about climbing?” Virgil asked.

“There are books about everything,” Logan claimed.

“Bullshit.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Careful with that language. Just because Patton isn’t here doesn’t mean you get to be crude.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“I will tattle.”

“Fuck,” said Virgil.

Logan shook his head in exasperation but couldn’t help but smile a bit. There was something about Virgil when he felt comfortable enough to be slightly unruly that made Logan happy. It felt like a glimpse of the actual Virgil beneath his usual caution towards the world.

“How about we ask the librarian if there are any books on climbing,” Logan suggested. “Dr. Macey knows where all of the books would be. I can introduce you to them.”

Virgil didn’t look particularly pleased about meeting a new person, but he also didn’t seem overly distressed by the thought, so Logan tugged him along to the librarian’s small office where Logan had seen them disappear a few minutes ago. He knocked on the door.

It swung open a few seconds later and Dr. Macey’s head poked out. “Good morning, Prince Logan,” they said. They glanced at Virgil, “and, Virgil, I would assume.”

“I’ve mentioned you,” Logan said because he saw Virgil immediately start to freak out about a random person knowing his name. Though, honestly, he was sure Dr. Macey had heard about him from other sources as well. He turned back to the librarian. “I was wondering if you could help Virgil pick out a book. He hasn’t gotten many chances to read in his life and isn’t sure what type of thing he’d like. Also, if it could somehow involve climbing to prove a point, that would be appreciated.”

“Climbing, eh?” Dr. Macey asked, thinking for a couple of seconds. “I think I can probably find something.”

Dr. Macey spent a bit of time looking through the shelves. They made small talk with Virgil, and while Virgil seemed a bit guarded (likely because Dr. Macey was asking questions about him trying to figure out more about what type of book he liked), he seemed fairly calm. Logan was pleased to think he liked the library. Maybe when he was a bit better at reading and he’d adjusted more to the size of the room and the concept that other castle residents could come around, he’d want to spend some time down here.

Eventually, Dr. Macey picked out three options and let Virgil choose which one he wanted. There was a fantasy book, an adventure story, and a mystery story.

“All of these have to do with climbing?” Virgil asked skeptically.

“There’s at least one good long climb in each,” Dr. Macey promised with a smile.

Virgil studied the books for a long moment. Eventually, he pointed to one that had the title, “Into the Mist,” which was the fantasy book.

“Good choice,” Dr. Macey said. Logan was certain they would have said that regardless of which Virgil chose, but Virgil still lit up slightly at the praise. The librarian handed the book to Virgil and set the other two aside to reshelve later.

“Thank you, Dr. Macey,” Logan said.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” they said.

“I think that’s it for today,” Logan said. “Let’s go back upstairs Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, clutching his chosen book as they left the library.

  Chapter 44 (Thomas)

Loraine had called Thomas down to the stables to talk about a concern that had cropped up about their grain stores. They’d found mold in one of the grain bins which had, of course, soiled everything stored there. Luckily it ended up being one of the smaller grain bins, but it still provided some concern for getting through the winter. As it was, they would be able to make it through, but a lot less comfortably.

Thomas mostly trusted the three who ran the animal husbandry on the castle’s lands to deal with it, but he still provided his opinion when asked.

 The meeting had taken a few hours. When he’d come down, the sun had been shining. It had been still cold, but not as freezing the last few days, though he was under no illusion that winter was anywhere near over. A point which was emphasized when he stepped out of Loraine’s office and glanced out of a window only to see what appeared to be a blizzard happening outside.

Great. He wasn’t exactly enthused about walking back to the castle in that. Wanting to delay it as long as possible, he turned away from the window and walked towards the other end of the stable.

 He grabbed an apple along the way, intending to feed it to Mr. Apples while convincing himself to make the jaunt back up to the castle. To his surprise, Mr. Apple’s head didn’t pop into the hall upon hearing someone enter his domain (aka the hall outside of his stall). This was odd as Mr. Apples was a territorial bastard who was always sure to be prepared to confront anyone who came within range or eat an apple if the person invading his space happened to be one of the few he wouldn’t attempt to bite on sight. Yet, no white nose popped into sight.

 When Thomas approached the stall, he figured out why. There was someone in the stall, but unlike most instances of someone being in a stall with Mr. Apples, the person was not being bitten, spit at, or anything else. Instead, Mr. Apples was standing there calm as day as Virgil ran a brush over his flank.

Thomas stared at them for a moment. He found himself wondering if Mr. Apples had died and someone had replaced him with another white horse so the royal family didn’t get upset like one might replace a child’s dead goldfish if it dies while they’re away.

 However, then, Mr. Apples realized he was there. The disdain in his expression upon catching sight of Thomas told him this was no imposter. He apparently by some miracle had just found another person he liked. Which… did pose an issue for Thomas.

Virgil had calmed down around his presence a bit ever since Thomas had found him hiding in the castle, but Thomas wasn’t sure how he would feel about being confronted by Thomas’s presence without warning. In the past, he’d been rather jumpy. If Thomas startled a person Mr. Apples liked in front of Mr. Apples, the tentative peace between Thomas and the horse would surely be over.

 He debated simply walking away like Mr. Apples’ expression was insisting, but before he could, Virgil glanced up at him. Thankfully, he didn’t jump. He looked at Thomas for a second, seeming a bit unsure. They hadn’t been alone since he’d stopped being completely terrified of Thomas’s existence after all, but eventually settled on saying, “Uh, hello your majesty.”

“Hello Virgil,” Thomas replied with a small smile. “You can just call me Thomas if you’d like.”

Virgil didn’t seem to know what to say to that, so Thomas dropped it for now.

“Mr. Apples seems to like you,” he said.

 “He’s a good horse,” Virgil said, patting Mr. Apples’ side. Mr. Apples sent Thomas a smug look. Well, this… was a very familiar conversation.

Having learned long ago not to bother arguing his case, Thomas just said, “He doesn’t like many people.”

“Logan said that,” Virgil said.

“Where is Logan?” Thomas asked, curious. Usually, Virgil wasn’t too far from him or Patton, but Thomas hadn’t seen a sign of them in the stable.

“He’s studying in his library,” Virgil said, “but I wanted to come to the stable since the weather was slightly nicer.”

“And Patton?”

“He had a meeting with your advisor.”

 “Makes sense,” Thomas said. He was glad Virgil was apparently comfortable enough now to go places without one of the other boys. He reluctantly supposed he had Mr. Apples to thank for that. “I brought him and apple. Would you like to feed it to him?”

“Sure,” Virgil said.

Thomas smiled and handed over one of the apple slices over the stall gate to Virgil who fed it to Mr. Apples. Once the horse was finished with that slice, Thomas handed him another.

“Don’t you want to feed it some to him?” Virgil asked.

“He’ll enjoy it much more from you,” Thomas replied.

 Virgil frowned, but Mr. Apples threw his head in agreement. Virgil ended up feeding the rest of the apple to the horse.

“Would you like to walk back to the castle with me?” Thomas asked once the horse was busy chowing down on his last slice.

“Sure,” Virgil replied. Thomas smiled at him and helped him put away the brush and other supplies he’d been using on Mr. Apples.

Everything went smoothly until he and Virgil moved to leave the stable. The second that Virgil’s eyes saw the weather conditions outside he paused. Thomas did have to admit that he also wasn’t a fan of what was going on outside. The castle was only a dark blob in the distance when the snow was falling that fast.

 Yet, there was something different about Virgil’s expression. It didn’t just seem like reluctance to get cold and wet. Thomas had unfortunately seen Virgil terrified a few times before and it was definitely fear flashing in his eyes right now.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked softly. Virgil jumped at his voice, but for once Thomas didn’t think he had himself to blame for that.

“I…” Virgil hesitated. “I’m just going to stay here for a while.”

Thomas looked at him and then at the snow outside. “You don’t like the snow, I assume?”

Virgil curled one arm around his waist, gripping the opposite wrist. He shrugged one shoulder. “Bad experience.”

 “Oh,” Thomas said, “I see.” The child was looking away from Thomas as well as from the snow outside. His eyes were fixed on a bale of hay. “I guess we’ll just stay out here for a bit.”

Virgil’s eyes shot back to him. “You don’t have to stay,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Thomas shrugged. “I didn’t really want to go out in that anyway.”

Virgil bit his lip. “You’re king,” he said. “You have important things to do. You don’t need to sit out in a horse stable with me because of my issues.”

“You’ll be amazed how much time I’ve spent sitting in a horse stable in my life, king or not,” Thomas said with a rueful smile.

 Virgil still seemed unsure. “You don’t have to,” he said. There was no way Thomas was going to leave a child who was afraid of snowstorms for whatever reason alone in a horse stable even if he wouldn’t technically be alone with all of the workers.

“It’s fine,” said Thomas. “I’m sure the stable hands would be willing to share some of the tea in their breakroom with us. We’ll wait for a bit and then see if the storm decides to let up later.”

“If you’re sure,” Virgil said.

“I am,” Thomas said with a smile before leading him towards the staff breakroom and away from the sight of the snow falling outside.

  Chapter 45 (Virgil)

The king took him a little room in the center of the stables. There were two people sitting in the room when they entered. They looked up at their entrance, but didn’t spare them a second glance, going back to playing a game with cards. This both made sense because the king should be able to go wherever he wanted without question and didn’t make sense because Virgil had assumed most people working for the castle would jump into asking if the king needed anything when he entered a room.

Instead, the king walked over to a small counter at the side of the room.

 If Virgil did not know that he was the king, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell. He’d dressed to be in a horse stable today. There was no crown or any jewelry really in sight except for a necklace. His clothing was perhaps of better quality than most who worked in a stable would wear every day, but not by a large margin. He could have just been a stable manager or something if Virgil did not know better.

He glanced back at Virgil once he’d grabbed a few clean cups. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.

 “I don’t care,” Virgil said.

“Have you tried hot apple cider before?” the king asked.

Virgil shook his head.

“Well, it looks like they have some cider being kept warm here,” he said touching a small barrel that was sitting on the counter. There was a slight glow to the barrel that Virgil recognized as a heating enchantment.

“Sure,” Virgil said. “I like apples.”

The king smiled and turned to pour out a glass of the drink through a spigot on the side of the barrel. He offered it to Virgil. The king was serving Virgil a drink. That was… really weird. He was a weird king.

 He took the cup. It was warm from the drink and Virgil felt some of the tension that had been in his shoulders since he’d seen the amount of snow outside release as his fingers warmed up.

“It has more spices than things like apple juice,” the king said. “Mostly cinnamon, but also things like cloves, ginger, and nutmeg.”

Virgil didn’t really know what any of those things tasted like off of the top of his head other than cinnamon and, of course, apples. He took a cautious sip anyway.

“Like it?” the king asked, a smile growing on his face quickly in response to whatever face Virgil was making.

 Virgil nodded vigorously.

“Good,” the king said with a chuckle. He turned to get another glass of the apple cider for himself. “Let’s sit,” he said motioning with his head to a couch. It was the only free seating available other than one extra chair at the table where the two stable hands were playing cards.

Virgil did as he said, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. It was an old, but comfortable couch. Most of the things in this room seemed pretty old, though all in good condition. It made sense that they wouldn’t want to have a bunch of new furniture when people were just using it to take a break between cleaning horse stalls.

 It was a nice little room all the same and warmer than the rest of the building. The two stable hands had slung their light coats over the backs of their chairs and the king also took his off before sitting. Virgil kept his on.

There were a few hooks where it looked like the workers kept their heavier winter coats for when they left the stable as well as some bags and a couple of paintings.

“That one looks like Mr. Apples,” Virgil pointed out.

The king glanced at the painting. “It is Mr. Apples actually,” he told Virgil.

 “He was absolutely impossible to keep still for it. He went back in forth from trying to bite the artist to trying to show off for his owner. I’m pretty sure the artist made his eyes red if you look close enough just to express his displeasure somehow.”

“Logan?” Virgil asked.

“Oh, no,” said the king. “That was when my husband was alive.”

Virgil immediately internally cringed. Externally he said a quick “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” said the king. “He’s not a taboo topic to me.”

 Virgil searched his face, but he really didn’t seem mad. There was maybe a bit of sadness around his expression, but he wasn’t angry.

“Logan always seems upset when he mentions him.”

“He’s mentioned him to you?” the king asked, sounding surprised.

“A few times,” Virgil said. “He said the headpiece was his favorite and, when he realized I didn’t like the snow, he tried to convince me it wasn’t all bad by telling me how they used to play in the snow when he was little.

“Logan doesn’t usually talk about him much,” the king said. “He was just a child when he died. It hit him very hard.”

 Virgil had noticed that himself.

“It’s good he’s talking about him at least a bit.” The king mused, taking a sip of his drink. “He was the son of a stable hand here.”

“You married a stable hand’s son?” Virgil asked and something about his tone made the king laugh.

“I did,” he confirmed. “We met when we were teenagers about your age. His father had come to work at the castle, and they lived in one of the houses out back. There weren’t many kids in the castle at the time and we both liked the gardens and the orchard, so we ended up friends.”

 This knowledge just reaffirmed to Virgil that Logan’s dad was an odd king. From what little Virgil knew of princes, they were not supposed to befriend the children of stable hands they met in the gardens and kings were certainly not supposed to marry them. Then again, Logan was also a prince and he had befriended an assassin he found in his bedroom. In fact, now that he thought about it, Patton was now a royal advisor in training, but even he was just the son of a chef.

Perhaps the royalty of Prijaznia were just like that. He was once again glad he hadn’t managed to kill the king.

 He’d been glad for a while now. At first it had been because he’d gotten to know Logan and knew killing his dad would have made him sad. Now, though, he thought it was a good thing he didn’t kill the king because the king didn’t deserve to die from what Virgil had seen. He was nice.

He even got up and got Virgil more of the apple cider when he finished his first cup of it. He continued to sit with him and talk to him about different things like what he, Logan, and Patton had been doing in the past few days.

 Eventually, the king went to go check if the weather was any better, leaving Virgil to finish his third glass of cider.

“It’s snowing less hard now,” the king told him when he got back, “but it’s still snowing. It’s also going to start to get dark soon. Do you want to try to go back?”

Virgil didn’t really. He didn’t want to be outside when it was snowing at all, but he also really wanted to be back at the castle before it was night. He’d much prefer to sleep in a bed or even in his closet than somewhere in the stable.

 “Yeah, we can try to go back,” Virgil replied.

“Alright,” the king said. He grabbed his coat off of the couch from where he’d set it. Virgil had also taken off his coat eventually, so he grabbed his as well. Once they were both dressed, they walked back to the stable door.

Virgil hesitated when he saw the snow. It was better than it had been earlier, but it still was falling fairly hard. He shifted nervously. That was going to be cold.

At least now he could see the castle clearly, so he didn’t have to worry about getting lost in the snow and dying… probably.

 “Here,” said the king. He reached for Virgil slowly and Virgil tensed but allowed it. The king took off the hood Virgil had put up and readjusted the cloth hat under it so it was over his ears before putting the hood back up. He pulled on some strings that Virgil hadn’t realized until right then tightened the hood so it wouldn’t fall off his head in the wind. Then, the king took off the scarf around his own neck and wrapped it twice around Virgil, so it covered his mouth and nose. The only exposed area of his face was now his eyes.

 “Now will get the least amount of snow on you as possible,” the king said.

“Thanks,” Virgil said. It came out a little muffled.

He smiled at him. “Do you,” he asked, sounding a bit awkward, “want to hold my hand?”

He didn’t particularly. He’d held hands with Logan and Patton before, but that was different. This was the king. Then again… he looked out at the snow. He really didn’t want to risk getting lost in the snow and he was less likely to get lost in the snow if he was holding on to someone, especially someone who knew his way around the castle grounds very well.

 Biting his lip behind the borrowed scarf, he decided he’d already taken way too many liberties when it came to the king. He shook his head no. “No thank you.”

“Alright,” said the king. “Offer is open if you change your mind. Ready to go?”

Virgil nodded, grimacing as he stepped out into the cold, the king at his side. Even with the nice winter coat from Logan and the king’s scarf, it was still noticeably cold. Still, he was not cold enough to justify the icy chill that went down his spine and the way his lungs felt frozen solid causing him to pant trying to take in air. It shouldn’t be this way. He’d been in much colder weather for much longer and with a lot less.

 “Are you alright?” the king asked when Virgil couldn’t help but slow down to a stop, shivering.

Virgil looked up at him. Unlike Virgil’s face, he had no scarf to protect him from the weather, but he didn’t seem concerned about that. He seemed much more concerned about Virgil. His reddening face was pinched, and he didn’t look like a man as powerful as a king. He looked like… well, he looked like a concerned father, like Logan’s father.

“Can…” Virgil choked out. He held out his hand.

“Of course,” he said. “Like I said, the offer is open.” He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around Virgil’s. Virgil immediately felt the warmth of them, though it may have been more in his head. There were two pairs of thick gloves between their skin.

Logan’s dad led him by the hand all the way back to the castle.

  Chapter 46 (Patton)

Patton hadn’t been aware until Virgil came along what Mr. Deknis did in the winter. Most of his staff had gone home for the winter or had winter tasks to do, but Mr. Deknis and a few choice members of his staff still apparently did a lot despite not being able to plant anything. He frequently invited Virgil to join in on these tasks, and Virgil often accepted. Patton wasn’t sure why he seemed to enjoy things like deep cleaning gardening tools and checking over equipment, but he did, so Patton was glad.

“Alright, that’s enough of that for today,” Mr. Deknis said once Virgil finished brushing off the paste that had been applied to remove rust from a hoe.

 “Are you sure?” Virgil asked. “I have more time to work. Even if you need to go, I can still work on something. Unless you don’t want me messing with things without supervision…”

“I’m not telling you to leave, Virgil,” Mr. Deknis said with a half-smile. “I just thought you might want to help me out with something else today.”

“Oh, okay. Sure,” Virgil agreed, sounding just a touch excited.

“Let’s put all of this away,” Mr. Deknis said.

Virgil and Patton helped him put things away, though Patton felt more like a hindrance as both Mr. Deknis and Virgil seemed to know exactly where everything in the room went whereas Patton wasn’t sure about some things.

 Patton didn’t always come with Virgil when he was helping out Mr. Deknis. Sometimes Logan would come instead, and Virgil had been coming alone with increasing frequency over the last month or so.

He seemed to like it. He always seemed to look forward to spending time with Mr. Deknis and not only because Mr. Deknis often bribed him with snacks of dried or pickled fruits and vegetables.

Once all of the tools and cleaning equipment were stored away, Mr. Deknis led them down the hall. Mr. Deknis had an entire hall to himself on the first floor of the castle which included his bedroom as well as places to dry and can things.

 Where he was leading them to now was a small study next to his bedroom. Patton had never been there before and by the way Virgil was curiously looking around, neither had he. It was a cute little area with a small desk and a bookshelf full of books that seemed to all be on plants.

“I’m starting to think about what I want to grow in the gardens next year,” Mr. Deknis explained as they crammed into the small office. He pointed to a large piece of paper on his desk.  “This is the plan at the moment though it’s nowhere near finalized.”

 He pointed at a sketched out square on the large paper. “I was thinking I wanted to plant something new here, but I don’t know what. It’s just a small patch between the vegetable and flower garden. It’s sort of by the one three teared fountain. I usually use that patch for newer plants, so it could be a vegetable or a flower. I was thinking you could help me pick out something to put there.”

Virgil looked up at him eyes wide.

Mr. Deknis smiled at him. “Would you like to?”

“I…” Virgil said. “I wouldn’t have any idea what to put.”

 “Well, I have a few different books of plants you can flip through,” he said. “Any idea what kind of plant you’d like to grow?”

Virgil shrugged.

“I’ll just give you a few for now,” Mr. Deknis said, selecting three different books. “If you can’t find anything you like, just let me know and I’ll give you another book. There are plenty of different types of things to grow. This is just a start.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, eyes staring down at the field of flowers drawn on the cover of the book on the top of the stack in his arms.

 They spent the afternoon on the floor of Mr. Deknis’ living room. The gardener made them some lavender tea and let them eat some candied walnuts and then retreated to an armchair to read his own book about plants. Patton and Virgil laid on the floor flipping through the different books. Virgil still wasn’t very good at reading, so Patton would read the descriptions of the plants that caught his eye to him. One of the books was about different vegetables and one was about herbs, which of course, did catch Virgil’s attention a bit because of his love for edible things, yet the pictures of flowers seemed to interest him the most.

 They ended up eventually looking only in the flower book. A while after that, it became clear that he preferred flowers in the orchid family verses composite flowers because he liked the shape of their petals better. So, then they focused more on looking at the different types of orchids that existed.

“There are a lot more types of orchids than I knew there were,” Patton said.

“It’s the second largest family of flowers,” Mr. Deknis told them from his chair. “There’s a lot of different kinds, over 28,000 species at least. Vanilla comes from an orchid plant. If there are none in that book you especially want, I could get a book specifically on orchids.”

 Virgil, having already flipped through the book multiple times looking at the orchids, looked up at him with a bit of excitement in his eyes. “I would like that,” he said. “Yes, please.”

Mr. Deknis’ eyes softened on him and he got to his feet. “I’ll go see what I have in the office.”

“Getting to grow something in the garden is exciting,” Patton said once Mr. Deknis left.

“Yeah,” Virgil replied. “It is.”

It was very nice of Mr. Deknis too, Patton thought. He didn’t have to offer to let Virgil plant something, in fact, him happening to have an empty patch in his plans was probably a little bit of a fib, but it was a nice one.

 Virgil liked plants and it would give him something to look forward to over the winter and then something to do in the spring and summer. Honestly, Patton could wait to see him experience the castle in the spring. He��d already loved it in the fall, let alone when things started to grow. Patton had a feeling he’d be spending a lot more time outside this summer.

Mr. Deknis came back with a good sized book filled with pictures of flowers. “Why don’t you take this with you for tonight,” he suggested. “It’s almost dinner time. We can talk about it more when you come to help me again on Saturday.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, taking the book. “I will see you Saturday then.”

“See you Saturday, Virgil,” he said with a smile.

  Chapter 47 (Logan)

Logan and Virgil had gotten into the habit of having reading lessons in the afternoons 3 times a week. They would sit in the small library near the royal wing for an hour or two and do different things. Logan had started with just teaching him letters, but he’d memorized those long ago at this point. Now, Logan would spend most of the time having him read simpler books out loud and correcting any mistakes he made along the way. Improvement was surprisingly fast, though in truth, Logan hadn’t had any measure for how long it would take a teenager to learn to read and Virgil was quite dedicated.

 Usually, their lessons ended with Logan reading a more complicated book while letting him follow along. The last week, they had been reading the library book Virgil had chosen for himself, Into the Mist. It was an interesting book to read to Virgil, though Logan was unsure if it would be as interesting if he were to read it on his own. In truth, it was a good, but rather ordinary fantasy book. Virgil, however, seemed incredibly fascinated by it. He had never heard a high fantasy story before in his life and he was constantly comparing and contrasting things in the book to things he understood in real life as well as asking Logan about them.

 It also became clear that Virgil did not quite understand real life fully. He attributed the same amount of awe to hearing the ocean being described as he did to the main character’s climb up the sky to a cloud city in hopes of saving his love interest’s life. In fact, he seemed more in awe of Logan’s explanation of the ocean since it actually existed. Logan had a sudden intense urge to plan a trip to see an ocean at some point in the future. Lamir was a costal country and its castle sat on top of a cliff that overlooked the sea.

 It would be easy enough to take a trip to their ally’s country at some point.

“So, cloud mites don’t exist?” Virgil confirmed yet again.

“No,” Logan said. “They don’t. In fact, their existence would go against all magical laws since they are sentient without being alive.”

“But crabs do?” Virgil asked.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Crabs do not go against the natural order of things,” Logan said.

“But why?” Virgil asked.

“I… don’t understand the question.”

“They don’t have the right number of legs.”

“W-what do you mean by that?” Logan asked, confused.

“Animals can only have an even number of legs on either side.”

“No,” Logan said. Virgil nodded vigorously. “What about beetles? Those have 6 legs. Three on each side.”

“But beetles are bug,” Virgil pointed out.

“Bugs are animals,” Logan argued.

“No, they’re not.”

His face was so serious, and he was so sure, that it was funny. “Bugs are animals,” Logan said.

Virgil seemed confused by this. “But they have 6 legs.”

Logan couldn’t help but laughing at that. “Virgil, what do you think and animal is?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Virgil said, pouting slightly at being laughed at. Logan leaned over to bump their shoulder together which seemed to pacify him. “Cows. Birds. Frogs.”

“I think we need to get you a tutor. You are missing some fundamental building blocks in your education.”

 He huffed, peering at the book.

“It’s no fault of your own,” Logan assured. “You are not born with information like that. People were just negligent in teaching you these things.”

Virgil nodded. “That actually reminds me of something.”

“Mmm?” Logan asked.

“There’s something I need to teach you.”

“And what would that be?” Logan asked.

“Survival instincts.”

“What?”

Virgil slammed his hand down on Logan’s desk. “You have no survival instincts,” he declared. “I bet you don’t even know what hemlock tastes like.”

“Isn’t that poisonous.”

“Yes,” Virgil said.

“Then of course I don’t know what it tastes like.”

“Exactly! That’s the problem.”

 “I don’t need to know what poison tastes like, Virgil,” Logan said.

“Yes, you do,” Virgil argued. “It’s an important skill.”

“I think your view of what constitutes as an ‘important skill may be skewed,” Logan said.

“You’re a prince,” Virgil said. “Knowing about poisons is an important skill for you.”

“It’s really not though.”

“You’re at war,” Virgil reminded, “and they already tried to assassinate your father. Do you think they’re not going to send someone else when your father is alive at winter’s end and they’ve heard no word from their assassin? Do you think if they realize you’re not easily manipulatable, they won’t come for you too?”

 “Well, I mean…” Logan said. “You do have a point there.”

“And you need to learn how to climb things and catch things.”

“Why do I need to know how to catch things?”

“We’ve already had this discussion,” Virgil said. “In case someone throws a knife at you.”

Wait. When had they had that conversation?

“And while we’re on the topic of knives, you need to know how to use a knife effectively.”

“I know how to use a knife,” Logan climbed even though he knew he didn’t know how to use a knife in the way Virgil was talking about.

 Virgil, despite having no concept of taxonomic classification, was no fool. “Chopping things for potions doesn’t count,” Virgil said. “I’m talking stabbing lessons. For you and Patton, though to be honest, Patton has an advantage already over you when it comes to using weapons.”

“Why does he…” Logan thought. “Because he managed to get a hit on you with a cookie sheet one time?”

“His reflexes are better,” Virgil said, “as well as his ability to use his environment to his advantage. You’re always completely oblivious about what’s going on around you.”

“Excuse me. I am incredibly observant,” said Logan.

 “How many chairs are in the dinning room we walked through to get here two hours ago?” Virgil asked.

Logan thought for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“Exactly! You walk by them every day and you don’t even know how many chairs there are in that room.”

“I have no idea what that has to do with anything.”

“How would you know if someone tampered with the chairs if you don’t know how many of them there are or their positions.”

“Tamper with the chairs?” Logan asked. “What are you talking about? I filter out unnecessary information. That doesn’t mean I’m not observant.”

 “Yes, it does,” Virgil said. “Plus, half the time you don’t even know where I am when you know I’m in the same room as you,” Virgil said.

“Well, that’s because you climb on top of things and hide in walls!” Logan said. “That’s hardly fair.”

“You mean I’m quiet and good at hiding like… an assassin might be.”

Logan pursed his lips. Virgil tilted his head and smiled at him. “I am plenty observant,” Logan insisted once again.

“Prove it,” Virgil said.

“And how should I do that?” Logan asked. “Beyond simply memorizing the furniture arrangements?”

Virgil shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll get an opportunity soon.”

[foxleycrow]

Thranduil & Túrin playing together in Doriath, for @tolkiengenweek —when I realized they could have been kids in Doriath at the same time, I had to draw them together.

This one also comes with a short accompanying fic about their meeting:

To Wear an Elven Crown

Thranduil had longed to meet the Adan since he had heard the first tales of his arrival in Doriath. His wish had displaced most other longings in his heart. If he could speak to an Adan, he could practice his Mannish and ask him about so many things, like the life of his people and the world outside the Fence. Beleg Cúthalion had found the Adan lost in the woods, and then King Thingol had adopted him! Thranduil had never heard of anyone adopting an Adan, let alone the king himself. If he were now Thingol's son, did that mean he was an Elf, as well as a Man? 

Thranduil had asked his father several times whether he could visit the Adan, but each time he was told the newcomer was too unwell. He had been sick and weak when he was discovered, and he was not yet strong enough to entertain company. This news sank him into a deep state of worry. The Edain could contract illnesses, and were mortal. What if this one became very sick, or even died! Of course, the healers of Doriath were the greatest in Middle-earth, but the Adan had come from dangerous lands far from the protection of Doriath, where anything might have befallen him. Thranduil had heard stories of strange fevers and chills that Edain could suffer from; what if the Elven healers did not know how to treat them?

"If he were to speak with someone his own age, Ada, he might feel better." The Adan was young, like himself. Not precisely the same age, since Edain aged so differently, but near enough in essence. He wondered what kind of games the Edain played. Maybe they had invented some no Elves had dreamed of…

"Do you believe so?" asked Oropher, raising an eyebrow. "An interesting perspective. I did not know you had become such an expert on the matter."

"I would feel better, if it were me." In defiance of his father's eyebrow, he added, "I asked Beleg to tell me everything he knows about the Edain."

"Oh, so you are an expert. My mistake." Oropher's hand settled on his head. Thranduil felt the warmth of his father's skin on his brow and blinked. "He has been through much, little Tuil," said Oropher. "We will not tax him any more than we need to."

After offering a gentle pat, Oropher withdrew his hand. Thranduil lay back, resting his head among the grasses. Thranduil did not expect his father to understand, for Oropher was very old. There were no children in King Thingol's house, and if they would not allow Thranduil to visit and talk to the Adan, then they would not have let any other children in to speak to him; that was obvious.

"I am an expert," Thranduil murmured, closing his eyes. Beleg had told him that the Edain could grow lonely and sad, like Elves, and that they too loved to dance and sing and tell tales. The Adan was named Túrin, and his father had been an Elf-friend. That meant he was an Elf-friend, too. If he was a friend, then he should be treated as one and given a warm welcome by everyone in Menegroth. Surely that would make him feel better than being kept away from others.

"Are you falling asleep?" Oropher asked. "I'll take you back home."

He shook his head stubbornly, the blades of grass making themselves felt on his cheeks and chin. Narrow, but not quite sharp. They did not hurt, but he sensed each one keenly. "No, I want to nap out here in the sun." They were well behind the Fence and close to Menegroth, so these woods were safe and guarded. He could play or explore or rest among the trees whenever he liked, because Queen Melian kept them all from harm.

He heard Oropher's soft laughter and felt his father's hand settle on his head again briefly. Then he was only aware of the warm sun heating his skin and the faintly prickly touch of the grass carpeting the clearing. Soon, he was not aware of the clearing either, lost in a dream, wandering far from the waking world. He dreamed he was journeying through a dark, withered wood, bristling with dead branches. The sky was veiled with dense, gray clouds. There was an unnatural air to them, as if storm clouds had been thickened with smoke.

There was a cold wind at his back, and he was all alone. The dead trees were so tall, they made him feel smaller. He heard something moving behind him, breaking branches and rustling through shriveled leaves. An animal? Or something worse? He did not know, and he did not want to turn to look, so he ran. He ran until he felt he had been always running, yet no matter how quick his steps, the noises behind him persisted, never any closer, but never farther away.

Thranduil woke with a gasp. He sat up and scanned the clearing. It was as green and tranquil as it had been when he fell asleep. He heard the low buzz of insect song and the faint voices of the trees. Father was gone. He saw no sign of anyone nearby, although that was not unusual. The sun's light was starting to fade from the sky. It was that between-time when patches of sunlight were still scattered across the forest floor, while the first stars appeared in the purpling twilight above. Thranduil rose to his feet. He was a little hungry, but he was well-rested, and he wasn't ready to return home. He would rather play, until Father came to fetch him. He left the clearing, slipping into the undergrowth as soundlessly as possible.

One of his favorite games was Marchwarden. It was more fun to play with someone else, but it was a game he could also play alone, simply by moving as quickly and quietly as possible, so that no enemies could see or hear him—exactly like a Marchwarden. He was tracking. Not hunting, but searching for any sign of danger, to keep Doriath safe. He studied whatever tracks he came across, or other signs of passage, such as broken twigs or bent grasses, trying to judge who or what had come the same way, and how long ago. He could wander like this for hours, happily, alone.

He was not entirely happy. He was more uneasy as he searched for signs in the grass, because of his dream. Within the dead wood, he had felt like he would never be allowed to rest, racing with an enemy eternally at his back. Dreams always meant something, but not always what you thought they meant. It took a wise Elf to read dreams. He could have asked his father about it, and maybe he would later. Now, he stalked through the dense growth, crouching low so his pale hair couldn't be seen.

When he heard low and distant voices, Thranduil was still lost in his game, so he crouched lower, listening intently as he crept closer. He slowed his breathing, his heartbeat, hiding as he'd been taught.

"—where he could have gone—?"

"We will find him, and soon. There's only so far...."

"I hadn't thought he was strong enough. I would never have guessed he'd be so quick."

"You shouldn't underestimate—"

The speakers moved away, out of the range of his hearing. Those were two of Thingol's guards. Could they have been talking about the Adan? It was possible, and not only because Thranduil thought of the Adan so often. Who else would they have thought wasn't strong enough? If the Adan was lost, he might grow sicker. Imagine how upset King Thingol would be. If Thranduil was a Marchwarden, then he had a duty to do whatever he could to protect everyone in Doriath: including any Edain. He moved on again, more quickly and with greater purpose.

He studied the forest, down to the least leaf, and he listened to the birds singing, the faint breeze moving through the branches. He listened for telltale noises, or telltale silences. He wondered whether the Adan had had a nightmare, like he had. Maybe that was why he had run off. It must have been hard for him to leave his home behind, especially because of the war: that distant, dark shadow hanging over everything, even the forests of Doriath.

Where would an Adan go? Possibly into the undergrowth, where he was. A place where someone small would hide. Thranduil knew of many secret spaces ideal for concealing himself, but few of them were nearby, close to where the guards were hunting. A slight Adan would leave faint footprints. Like Thranduil, he would have been trained in how to hide, if he were in danger. Thranduil was sure that the great trackers of Doriath could find anyone, but maybe Túrin would be difficult to find, more difficult than they expected.

Thranduil headed toward the Dome—it was a vast, curving structure of twisted woody shrubs, crowned with flowering vines. It was bright enough to draw the eye of a stranger to these woods, and dense enough to provide ample cover and shelter. Thranduil often crawled in there to play, because it was like a fortress. He could pretend he ruled there, lord of the branches and leaves and blossoms.

Thranduil found a faint indentation that might have been left by someone running this way. Shortly after that, he spied a tiny tuft of thread, caught on a hooked thorn. It was bright blue in color, so it stood out more than it might have otherwise. Could he have been correct in thinking the Adan might have been come this way? He had been guessing, but maybe he really was a Marchwarden. He would have to tell Beleg, if he succeeded in his hunt.

Emboldened by the thought that he might be better at tracking than Thingol's own guard, Thranduil sank to his knees and crawled into one of the narrow passageways that led into the Dome. With twisting branches on either side of him, and a ceiling of ivy above, no one outside would be able to see him, once he had travelled the length of a few paces. There were no wider  ways in, the growth here was so dense. Anyone who was much larger than Thranduil would have had to cut their way through. Among the branches, Thranduil caught sight of another slight scrap of blue thread. The branches here loved to tug on clothing.

Encouraged, Thranduil moved faster, until he arrived at a fall of dense vines, pushed through them, and found himself confronted by a pair of dark, shining eyes, staring at him. The Adan gave a start, but did not run. It was hard to travel quickly within the Dome, especially if one didn't know it as well as Thranduil did. Thranduil had half-suspected he was imagining his grand success in tracking, so he sat, blinked and stared back at his quarry, startled and bewildered and pleased.

The Adan was seated with his knees drawn up toward his chest. He was very thin, the thinnest child Thranduil had ever seen. His narrow face made his eyes look bigger. Here, he was walled off from the world—or most of it. He looked a great deal like an Elf, although Thranduil could tell he was different as well. It was hard to say exactly why; he simply felt different, like the night air felt different from the air of day, or the atmosphere before a storm as opposed to in the dry season: different in so many various slight ways, some of which were easier to describe than others.

Although Thranduil had longed for their meeting with joy, he felt unexpectedly solemn, now that it was taking place. "Hello," he ventured, in Sindarin. "I'm Thranduil, Son of Oropher."

The Adan blinked, and for a moment, Thranduil wasn't sure if he would—or could—reply, but at last he answered softly, "I'm Túrin, Son of Húrin."

"Why are you out here?" Thranduil asked. He didn't wish to sound accusatory, so he added, "Did you want to play?"

Túrin looked away, into the shadows between the leaves. "I wanted to be by myself."

Thranduil nodded, as this was perfectly understandable. "I like to be by myself, too."

Túrin's gaze shifted back to Thranduil. He seemed relieved to hear this, exhaling.

"Can I stay, though?" Thranduil asked. "Now that I'm here."

"You can stay," Túrin said.

Thranduil knew that Thingol and all his guards and attendants and everyone must be nervous, but he didn't think a little while longer would do any harm, especially not when Túrin must have run here for a reason. Being surrounded by everyone at court could be overwhelming. Thranduil had never been far away from home and everyone he knew before, but it must be hard. It would be better not to rush him. He would let Túrin rest for a little while, and then he would take him to Thingol—just as Beleg had, before.

"I can show you something," he offered.

After another hesitation, Túrin nodded.

"Follow me," said Thranduil. He crawled ahead, between the branches, into the gloom. The last of the day's slight, slipping in through the leaves and vines above, made soft, pale shifting shapes on their hands and on the ground beneath. After a long way, the structure of the dome opened up onto a green glade, surrounded by dense undergrowth on all sides. No one would walk here casually, and if he and Túrin didn't stand up, no one would be able to see them from outside the enclosure. The glade was also hidden, but there was more room to stretch out, and even lie down. It was a fine place for a nap, with soft earth and open sky above. Clusters of flowers grew in profusion, along with tufts of dense grass. Thranduil and Túrin admired their new hiding place in silence, while birds sang in the trees overhead. It was not yet true night, only early twilight. The birds would keep singing a little longer.

"I come here sometimes when I want to be alone," Thranduil said. In the past days and weeks, he had formulated an ever-growing list of questions he would like to ask the Adan, but he did not ask a single one of them now.

Túrin nodded again, lowering his gaze. He reached down and ran his fingers through the grass. There were shadows beneath his eyes, and he did not smile.

"Everyone's looking for you," said Thranduil. "They must be worried."

"I didn't mean to make anyone worry. They shouldn't worry. I don't know why I—" He broke off, closing his eyes.

"It's all right. No one will be angry with you," Thranduil reassured him quickly, moved by Túrin's pained expression. "I'm not angry. I've been waiting to meet you. I've never met an Adan before."

Túrin's eyes reopened, slowly. "Never?"

Thranduil inclined his head in confirmation. "Never."

"I hadn't really met Elves before," said Túrin.

"But now you have. You've met Beleg, and King Thingol, and me. Everyone's happy you're here, that's why they're worried. But we don't have to go back right away. We can wait until you feel better." He cast about the glade, looking for something else he could show the Adan, to cheer him. Along with the two of them, the glade was bursting with life, all the usual green and growing things, rising from the earth and insisting on themselves… "Here—I'll make you something."

"Make me what—?"

"Look." Thranduil's gaze went to a stand of nearby pale purple flowers. These particular blossoms were edible and often harvested. It would do no harm to take a few, especially at this time of year. Quickly, he plucked a few of them, leaving a length of green stem on each. Once he had gathered enough, he wove them together. Flowers and grasses were easy to weave, especially into a circle. When they were joined, he tapped them with his fingers. He could feel the energy moving through the blooms and stems. He closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on that living force, pressing the separate strands of it into one: forging it into a single, singing ring and willing the flowers—live, preserve. They were no longer separate blooms; they had become a single entity. Their petals, which had been in the first stage of wilting, straightened with pride, made fresh and new. It was such a simple thing to do, yet Túrin was wide-eyed and rapt, staring at his hands as if he had performed a wonder. "A crown for you, Prince Túrin." Thranduil reached out and settled the circlet of blooms on Túrin's head.

Finally, Túrin smiled at him. Thranduil smiled back.

They did not stay long, alone in that green glade together, hidden by a conspiracy of leaves and vines and branches. They were never meant to stay long. The world outside was waiting for them to emerge. While the sun receded and the stars began to show themselves—one by one at first, then all at once, like a rain of jewels scattering across the sky—they played and laughed for a few moments.

As Thranduil predicted, when they returned to Menegroth, Túrin did not receive a single scolding. Thingol wrapped him in a fierce embrace. Beleg was as impressed by Thranduil's skills as Thranduil had hoped. He praised Thranduil for his skill in tracking, and said he could visit Túrin whenever he wanted. Eventually, he was able to ask Túrin every question on his extensive list.

Many long years later, tragedy faded into myth for so many, but not for those who were there. Thranduil rarely listened to the sad songs that touched on the subject of Túrin Turambar, but when a certain mood was on him, he would ask the harpers to play one of the few he approved of. Thranduil had grown very old. Seated on his throne, wearing his own heavy crown, he would lean back and remember the smile of a young boy with his dark hair full of flowers.

[4dtk]

more than a bet (cont. from a sweet bet)

anon: “ohmygod i loved that sub!jae work sm😭😭 would you be able to do more?? maybe with a soft femdom and whiny jae? its truly heartbreaking seeing the lack of sub!jae on here 😔” i’m glad you liked it!!!!! hope u like this one too <3 i might have made reader a bit of a mean dom i’m sorry ;;

ps was gonna make jae orgasm untouched but…. aha / you don't have to read the previous part to understand but anon is talking about this fic!

warnings/tags: pegging, bit of dacryphilia, handjob, sub!jaehyun, soft femdom!reader, brief face-sitting, brief cunnilingus

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, MINORS DNI!

“back for more already?” you laughed, eyeing the timid boy standing in front of you with fists clenched onto the straps of his book bag. his knuckles turn white from how tight he’s holding it and you don’t miss the nervous shifting he does with his feet.

all jaehyun lets out is a dreamy sigh, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he ignores the calls of his friends a metre from him.

he’s tall, although all the male wants to do right now is turn to mush with the uncomfortable rub of his thighs against each other and the gaze you’re looking down at him with.

it’s no different when you have him in your bed later and in the palm of your hand, literally, as the other clutches onto the sheets with the same intensity earlier, the skin of his neck exposed from how far he’s dropped his head back in pleasure.

jaehyun’s dick leaks pre-cum like no other while his tip throbs red, begging to be touched impatiently by your rather patient hand. it stays at the base of his cock, squeezing and unsqueezing as the other’s whines reach your ears.

“(y-y/n)… hurts s’bad!” jaehyun groans, eyes which were scrunched tight opening as they plead with you. it was shameless in the way his legs were spread to accommodate you in between, with the occasional buck of his hips that made the rustling of sheets ever resonant in the room. he was at your mercy, from day one in the quiet classroom, and he was at your mercy, now, with mouth parted as delicious moans spilled from his lips.

“what does, baby?” you ask, knowing full well what he was hinting at before leaning down to place a harmless kiss on his tip. you relish in the way you make him feel, the gesture making his thighs almost close, something that he does out of habit if not for your hands holding them open.

“t-that! that hurts, (y/n)-ssi!” he chokes on the moan he lets out, twitching with sensitivity when you finally move your hand along his shaft, giving him what he wants. your hand moves easily with how much he’s leaking, the lewd noises increasing in volume as you increase your pace. you make sure to pump his full length, up, down, up, down, with his arousal providing for sufficient lube.

jaehyun lets out a sob, slapping a hand over his mouth as the knot in his stomach tightens and tightens, threatening to release at any moment with how good you’re making him feel. your lips feel dry with the desperation in his movements, sounds and noises alike bringing much wetness to your underwear. it’s not the priority on your mind for now, rather more fixated on helping jaehyun to his high.

“you wanna cum, hm?” you mocked with a grin, speeding up your hand while the other goes up to tweak at his nipples, rolling them in between your thumb and index as his moans become more prominent and frequent. there’s multiple affirmations spilling from his lips, yes, yes, yes, i wanna c-cum!

“go on, then, cum,” you prompt with a pant and it hits. it hits like truck as a sultry groan rips from his throat while you observe how his veins pop out in frustration and quads flex when the string snaps. jaehyun’s eager to get more pleasure as he jerks into your already moving hand.

there’s endless profanities mixed in with mewls as he spills all over your hand, white hot spurts of cum dripping from his tip and down the back of his hand. you so skillfully lick it up while it’s still wrapped around his cock, deliberately avoiding the shaft.

as jaehyun catches his breath, there’s a whispered question of do you think you’re ready? you don’t push it when he shakes his head, but you realise that you’re thankful. so so thankful he’s come back a second time for you to be able to see this again.

and again.

and again.

the next time, you’re lapping at his hole, prodding and teasing with your tongue while his face stays buried in his sheets. he’s struggling to keep a quiet front even when you slip a finger in, both from embarrassment and the family movie going on outside and sticks his ass up into your face achingly.

“that’s it, baby boy, relax for me. gotta prepare you for my cock, now, yeah?” you moan at how easy his hole is sucking in your finger, no doubt doing the same to your strap later on.

jaehyun watches in awe as you remove your outfit, eyes lingering on the obvious bulge sticking out of your underwear. his mouth hangs open, both in fear and excitement with you having worn the strap-on for the whole day of university, lips turning up at the mere thought of you ruining him in the next few minutes.

“whatcha smiling about?” you grinned, guiding his chest down onto the bed again as he mumbles with a whine, something that makes you freeze up in the midst of lubing your cock.

“just thinking of how dumb you’d fuck me, (y/n)-ssi.” you’re sure it’s the innocence laced within the voice, so pure, so needy, yet so dirty.

your breath is shaky as you ease the strap-on into him. every inch that disappears into him only make you groan in the sight, while the male bites down on a finger to prevent any noise. by then, you’re unable to keep a cap on your lust, snapping your hips to deliver a hard thrust that has jaehyun’s moans hitting the walls.

“you doing okay, honey?”

jaehyun only hums, a pleased smile spreading across his lips as he turns back to you with eyes that take your breath away. they’re dilated, tinted with something you never knew you could bring out of jaehyun.

as his back arches to get more of your cock, you have to swallow. it’s the only way to take your mind off the sweat glistening off his back and the tight grip his hand has on your thigh.

“’s so good, (y/n), ’s so so good- mmh!” he drawls out his speech while you continue to thrust in and out at his confirmation, losing just a bit of control with how smoothly your name rolls of his tongue.

your hips meet his ass continuously, feeling the burn of your thighs and the roughness of the sheets below you. there’s distant chatter outside the door, fortunate enough for jaehyun’s room to be at the end of a passageway and away from the living room.

“h-harder! faster, p..pleeease-!” he almost screams when your cock meets his prostate, mouth dropped at the immense pleasure and tongue lolling out.

tears lingered at the corners of jaehyun’s eyes, making you want to cum on the spot with the expression on his face. beautiful, beautiful, all spread out for me. it repeated like a mantra in your head.

jaehyun cries out when your hand wraps around his cock and he swears he sees heaven for a second with eyes rolling back. you’re stroking with fervour, matching the pace of your satisfying thrusts and the squelching sounds only contribute to the atmosphere, room smelling like sex and musk and desperation.

“c’mon, baby boy, cum on my cock. do your worst.”

and he really does.

“hhhn- cumming, cumming, so good- so full!” jaehyun whimpers into the sheets, just loud enough for you to hear when you’re hovering over his body. it’s the most the male’s cummed since the last time, white staining both the sheets below you and your hand while his body jerks at the intense orgasm.

you hum, easing out the strap that jaehyun moans at the emptiness. nevertheless, he relaxes when you place a kiss on his shoulder, still recovering from the hypnotising high.

“what about.. you… (y/n)-ssi?” he slurs, turning his head on the pillow so his eyes could see you in your glory.

“you’re tired, aren’t you? come, let’s rest up-“

“no…” jaehyun whines, and you’re so close to edge him again, “wanna eat you out, (y/n)…”

your lips can taste his cum when you bite a finger out of nervousness, hands fumbling to remove your strap almost immediately. you’re positively soaked when you touch yourself after, caving in to your desire when jaehyun drags you closer.

“just relax, (y/n). take your seat,” he’s still delirious, giggling when your surprise shows. and when you eventually do? it’s the best fucking seat that he offers, his mouth sucking on your clit as your legs tremble around his ears.

“you’re delicious, (y/n).”

it’s the best fucking seat and jaehyun’s glad to clean up after you, worshipping you at the foot of your throne adorned with gold and velvet that he always comes back to. it’s addicting, but how could he resist when you’re a queen that never stops giving?