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julii-wings · 3 years

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Art of Seduction

-; [ Albedo x Reader ] ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

This is my first post on Tumblr, so I hope you guys enjoy! I apologize in advance for any spelling mistakes or errors - this is not fully proofread! With that in mind, I hope to be writing more genshin scenarios like this :)

"I am Albedo, Chief Alchemist of the Knights of Favonius. You carry the aura of the stars, interesting... I would like to study you, if you do not mind. I'm certain we will have many opportunities to be alone in the future."

Word Count ── · · · ✦ 1.8k

Warnings ── · · · ✦ spoilers for shadows amidst storms

Synopsis ── · · · ✦ following after act 3 of shadows amidst snowstorms, you were quite troubled by the recent events that took place, and decide to check on albedo to confirm if he's the real subject 1 or the imposter. turns out he had other plans as well.

Clang.

Monstadt's cathedral bell swayed against the backdrop of a cloudless sky, the spires of the old church piercing the veil of sunlight that fell upon the land of freedom. The bell's tolling eventually became but muted noise in your ears as you let your feet dangle over the plaza's wall. Barbatos' shadow covered you in his immortalized glory from the center of the plaza, outstretched arms in offering to the brisk wind that swept by to caress the sun-kissed skin of any disciple that it met in its path.

You could feel the breath of the breeze scurry down your neck, having no qualms with mussing up your hair that billowed in front of your face. Your cheek was warmed by the press of your palm against your skin, a perfect imprint left behind as you let your hand flop into your lap. A sigh left your lips and was left to the whims of the wind as your gaze searched the peak of Dragonspine, the picturesque view of its frosted cliffs such a tantalizing beckon for the unaware.

For you knew now what rested amidst the dangerous snow drifts and hidden corners—the thorns upon a rose that would prick the fool who carelessly plucked it from its stem. And you had been one of its many victims. Lured in by the frozen wonders and forgotten mysteries, you had thought the towering mountain that lay in solitude on the border of Mondstadt and Liyue was just another obstacle in your quest on this foreign world. How wrong you had been.

Dragonspine had always been pegged as a dangerous place, filled with monsters and hoarders who braved the cold just for the chance of finding treasure. And those weren't even the greatest threat! Puzzle mechanisms lay scattered in the snow, remnants of the past civilization that had called the merciless cold their home. Behemoths of advanced technology buried in pockets of caves that wound through the bowels of the mountain lay in wait, having endured the centuries of constant blizzards. You never knew that such a place could be the fancy of anyone's eyes.

And yet here you were, slumped upon the wall of the plaza outside of the cathedral, your mind sifting through what secrets Dragonspine still withheld and a certain alchemist's words that had been parted to you just a few hours prior to your coming to the plaza.

"When someone's pockets are full and their spirit is fulfilled, they don't easily fall prey to this kind of yearning."

What had he meant by that? The alchemist always veiled his true thoughts behind complicated analogies, and you weren't on his level of understanding to comprehend their meanings right away such as he. In all honesty, you still felt a feeling of dread coil around your heart, Albedo suddenly feeling like a stranger. While it wasn't the first time you had seen someone's true colors, and had to cast them off as an enemy in the end, you had thought that perhaps the people of Mondstadt would be the ones you could call family. Now even that was out of the question.

Still, however, Albedo had seemed quite insistent on your return to Dragonspine, brought on by the request of your flying companion, Paimon, who had wanted a machine to preserve her... fruit juice. Had you not known Paimon as well as you do now, you would've found her motive odd. Unfortunately, strange interactions of all sizes were to be expected to be had whenever Paimon was around. This time, you were glad she seemed to get the hint that you wanted some time alone to organize your thoughts.

Should you heed the alchemist's words for the sake of your faithful companion, or as a show that he still held your trust despite the odd event that had happened on Dragonspine over the course of the week? Closing your eyes you could imagine the biting sting of the untamed wind as it trailed slivers of ice on your worn clothing, cutting the thin fabric to assault your paled skin. And when you had fought through the worst of it, you were only met with blank azure eyes that held none of the familiar fascination whenever they beheld you.

Learning the truth of Albedo, of his creation rather than birth, of his story rather than his journey, it had all been so much to process. And on top of that, Albedo wasn't the only... Albedo out there. There was more than one. You had had your suspicious from the start, of course, when everyone else's attention was drawn to the winter camp hosted by Cyrus of the Adventurer's Guild. But you knew Albedo, or at least you thought you knew.

However, your last encounter with him in front of the small alchemy shop had your mind reeling back to the fight with the imposter posing as him. Could you truly trust him after that? What if the Albedo you knew was the one felled by your own blade? You shook your head, ridding the thought at once. The Albedo you had fought had been a mutated whopperflower. For archons' sake you even saw the cursed creature reveal itself with your own eyes!

So why was it so hard for you to convince yourself that Albedo--the real one--was alright? Had it been the calm pools of blue you had grown fond of losing yourself in had no trace of that quiet thoughtfulness when you last saw him? Or perhaps it had been the slight smug tone he spoke with when inquiring about Paimon's sunsettias. Either way, you felt a need to check on the alchemist.

Against your initial wariness on going back to Dragonspine, your worry outweighed your instinct to let Albedo be. You had to see for yourself that the imposter was truly gone, and that the Albedo you knew was... well, you weren't too sure yet of what exactly you wanted to confirm. Your feet were already carrying you toward the nearest waypoint, your hands reaching up to hoist you up the wall as you found familiar footing in the little imperfections of the column you were climbing.

The waypoint gently hummed as you approached, a hand outstretched to lay your palm on the device. Your eyes slid shut as soon as you felt the tips of your fingers make contact, picturing Dragonspine and feeling a shiver run through your body as a sudden force of cold enveloped you. You were immediately slapped in the face as Dragonspine's blizzard barreled past, pushing you along like a feather. The waypoint you had just teleported to was soon lost in the thickening screen of white.

Luckily for you, however, though you dreaded this mountain you knew it well enough to have a general grasp of where Albedo's camp lay, blizzard and snow be damned. It took you a little longer than you'd like carefully finding your way to the tucked away camp the alchemist had made so he could study away from the comforts of his laboratory in Mondstadt. And like you had suspected, Albedo was there poring over his notes and paintings, the dull sheen of teal preserving the light of wonder in his eyes serving to dispel the chill that had claimed you.

He was alright and everything seemed to be as it should be—your unease put to rest with how quickly things returned to normal.

"Traveler, you came."

Your eyes blinked snowflakes from your lashes, focusing on the gentle cadence of the alchemist's voice as you notice him walking toward you.

"I didn't expect you to come so soon. Please, come in and get warmed up."

Albedo gestured to the small firepit that lay in the center of his camp, the many instruments of his profession angled specifically so as to shelter the bed of ash from the majority of the wind. Even down to the small details Albedo was keen on ensuring that the best possible results would be achieved. You took his advice and sat down on one of the chairs placed around the firepit. Since neither of you were pyro wielders, you make do with transferring an ember from one of the torches nearby. Soon you were coaxing a fire to life, its hissing flames chasing away the last bit of chill in your body.

Albedo soon joined you, the shifting hues of orange and yellow a nice contrast to the tame shade of his blue eyes. You found yourself lowering your gaze to the curve of his neck, a soft slope that served as a perfect canvas for the diamond resting just below his throat. You remembered his story about that mark, that defining fault that had made the imposter believe him to be imperfect.

"Have you come to ask about the juice machine that Paimon wanted?"

Albedo had asked it so suddenly that you were pulled from your thoughts, snapping your eyes up to meet his inquisitive gaze. You had forgotten that you had only come here to check up on him, Paimon's juice obsession having occupied the back of your mind. You shook your head, and were rewarded with a small smile. But Albedo's smiles always made you feel that he knew more than he let on--which was true most of the time--but this smile held something more... It was nothing sinister, unlike the manic grin the imposter wore that made you shiver in unease. No, this was more mischievous, more sly, like you had walked into something you shouldn't have.

"Good. I haven't started on researching that yet. Your coming here allows me to further my research on a different subject entirely."

You were tempted to ask. He had piqued your interest, after all. But when he turned to look at you, his smile never wavering as his eyes dragged you into their welcoming depths, you found your voice dying in your throat.

"I still would like to study you, Traveler, if you do not mind. You carry the aura of the stars, after all."

He had drawn close to you, enough so that each breath fanned across your face in a pleasant wave of brief warmth, giving your cheeks another reason other than being cold to flush noticeably. Albedo's eyes momentarily flickered to the response elicited from his actions, his hands coming up to ever so gently cradle your chin in gloved palms.

"How interesting. Shall we take it further?"

You hadn't expected his voice to drop to a whisper, making his chest rumble with how low he had spoken. It made you tremble with anticipation, your head nodding eagerly as you couldn't trust your voice with how dry your throat had gotten. The coarse material of his gloved thumb followed the shape of your bottom lip, before dropping to the curve of your jaw that led to your ear. You could feel his own lips, cold and chapped, move against the pliant skin of the outer shell of your ear, the contact alone making you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer as you bit your lip to stifle a moan.

"Shall I leave my own mark upon you... Traveler?"

#genshin x reader #genshin imagines #albedo #genshin albedo #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin impact #albedo genshin #genshin impact albedo

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attourney-at-lycan · 2 years

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............ Hc that Janus Raised Abby because fuck you Uncle Janus feeds my soul

HC that Janus and Jeffrey were goodish friends

HC that Jeffrey knew that Zane wouldn't do anything to get Janus killed (or do anything to hurt him too bad) so thats why he knew that if something happened to him Janus would be a safe option for Abby

HC that Janus is absolutely Terrible with kids

HC that he taught Abby to fight

HC that he gave Abby Jeffreys swords when he thought she was old enough

HC that he is in No way human

HC that he has shoulder length Curly hair

Hc that he "slowly" becomes protective of Abby

HC that the only reason he was "taken down" was actually just because he didnt have enough time to raise a kid and slaughter dozens of villages so he faked his death

Hc that he supported Abby when she started to act as a sellsword of sorts

HC that Abby is the one that tells him Katelyn is Back after the 15 years

Hc that he's a shadow knight

Hc that the scars on his face are from when he died

Hc that he kept contact with Ivy just too keep track of what she was doing

Hc that when he heard reports of Garroth being at the Invasion of Okhasis he thought Zane was back

Hc that he tried to find a way to get rid of his immortality after he learned that Zane was dead

Hc that he went very unstable

Hc that he and Zane had amulets that would glow as long as the other was alive (or Alive-ish)

Hc that he and Zane had been planning on getting married (privately) sometime after the Battle at Phoenix Drop

Hc that he keeps the rings that would've been used on the same glowy amulet.

UNCLE JANUS OH MY GOD. i love this so much hold on. HOLD ON.

Jeffrey knew that Zane wouldn't do anything to get Janus killed (or do anything to hurt him too bad) so thats why he knew that if something happened to him Janus would be a safe option for Abby

i love this concept so much. it's so good- ur telling me ur hc is big boobed brooding janus is also now a dilf? yes. (i say dilf bc uilf does not sound good) BUT JEFFORY IS SO SMART- that does sound like something he'd do. i feel like maybe janus agreed because they owed jeffory a big favor. if it weren't im not sure if janus would've stay with abby, he'd have given her away.

though i can imagine they would've tried to do that, leave her at a village in tu'la but when he turned and walked a couple feet, she would chase after them and hug his legs not wanting to him to leave her too. she looks up at him w/ her big green eyes and janus has to fucking look away bc how the fuck do you raise a kid.

he has shoulder length Curly hair

yes. Yes. YES. so true fr, they would look so good w/ shoulder length curly hair.... SO GOOD. man bun janus imagine... on my knees rn

Janus is absolutely Terrible with kids / taught Abby to fight / gave Abby Jeffreys swords when he thought she was old enough / "slowly" becomes protective of Abby / supported Abby when she started to act as a sellsword of sorts

janus is the type of parental figure who believes that the only way they can take care of abby is to teach her how to fight to protect herself. hence the swords and teaching her how to fight- he's probably awkwardly tried to console her when she needs it and abby's learned that this man does not know how to do that. but it kinda shows that he cares?

i feel like abby knows this man isn't good but she still cares for him. as she gt older i think a rift did start to happen because she knows they had a relationship to the person who killed her biological dad, but still it's not like the time he spent protected and taught her for the last fifteen years was going to just go away. hence the rift.

also the whole gave jeffory's sword when they thought she was old enogh just makes me thinkg of- him handing her jeffory's words literally at ten years old.

i love this concept so muhc, i am so tempted to just add it to my rewrite I REALLY AM

he is in No way human / he's a shadow knight / the scars on his face are from when he died / tried to find a way to get rid of his immortality after he learned that Zane was dead / went very unstable

yo Like this So Much. ITS LIKE. it does fit? LIKE REALLY REALLY FITS. i like the idea of janus being a shadow knight since the beginning. he could've been an older shadow knight though i do wonder if he's a shadow knight would the whole jury of nine powers still affect him or would he just not get one? but TRYING T GET RID OF HIS IMMORTALITY OH LORD.. cryign in the club rn.

#i love these hcs so much #UR HCS ARE SO GOOD THEY'RE GIVING ME IDEAS!!!!!!!#aphmau #minecraft diaries #janus the silver death #jeffory the golden heart #zane ro'meave

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thepartyresponsible · 4 years

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this fill is for @missonthemoon (who cannot be tagged? idk, tumblr), who asked for a soundtrack fill for jason todd to “shake it out” by florence and the machine. somehow this became a frank castle/jason todd game of thrones au.

i do not possess an extensive knowledge of asoiaf canon intricacies, but neither does david benioff, and look how far he got.

anyway, here’s some angst. i might crosspost this one to ao3, because it’s almost five thousand words long.

---

The Wall is a long way north for a King’s Landing bastard, but Jason fits here as well as he’s ever fit anywhere. He liked the Dornish heat better, but he never quite acclimated to the clothes. And he certainly belongs with these men more than he ever belonged with anyone in Harrenhal.

“Going ranging again, Jay?” Roy Harper was a lord’s son once, too. They have that in common, although they don’t talk about things like that now.

Jason keeps his eyes on the saddlebags he’s packing. “Frank Castle is needed in King’s Landing.”

Roy huffs out a breath, and it hangs in the air, frosted fog that fades slower than Jason likes. “Needed now?”

Jason looks around them at all the hallmarks of late autumn. The summer left them months ago, but the South is only now starting to feel it. “Needed now,” he confirms.

“Well, Rumlow,” Roy says. “Or Stryker. There are others who could go.”

There are others. Of course there are. But Jason’s the only one who knows where Frank Castle lives. “I’ll be fastest,” Jason says. “And I’m going alone.”

“The wildlings will eat you,” Roy says. “They’re starving.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “If I get killed by a pack of starving wildlings, they’re welcome to boil me into their stew. A few more months of this, and we’ll be eating our dead, too.”

The southern lords have been miserly with the Wall’s supplies. Bruce will feed them if Jason asks, but he hasn’t asked. He won’t ever ask. He’ll write to Grayson if the youngest of the Watch start to show their ribs, but he won’t ask Bruce Wayne for anything at all.

“I’ll go with you,” Roy offers.

The wildlings like Roy. They tug at his red hair, call him lucky. In the summer, in peaceful times, Roy outshot every single one of them, and they had been so enamored with him that Jason had stayed awake all night to make sure none of them snuck into their tent to steal Roy away.

“Stay here,” Jason says, because he’s nobody’s lord, but he looks after those who look to him. “Keep watch.”

Rumlow left him for dead the first time they went ranging north of the Wall. Jason didn’t blame him for it, not then and not later. His horse tripped on an unlucky stone, and Jason’s leg broke in two places when the mare landed on top of him.

Rumlow killed her before he left. It was a mercy Jason had been working up to doing himself.

He offered to kill Jason, too. “They’ll come at night, otherwise,” Rumlow said, as he sorted through their supplies, leaving Jason with the food he could spare. “Better to die in daylight, I think. Cleaner.”

“Who’ll come?” Jason asked, sick with pain, tasting vomit and copper with every inhale.

Rumlow shrugged, looked up. There was some vague apology in his eyes, but nothing heavy enough to leave a mark. “The wolves,” he said. “The wildlings. It’s the same.”

“Leave the sword,” Jason said. It was Bruce’s once. Jason never did give it back.

“I could send it to your father,” Rumlow offered. His hand was wrapped around the hilt like he meant to keep it. Well, he was a soldier, before the Wall. He had to know its worth. “You could keep mine.”

Jason reached for his sword, and, after a long pause, Rumlow returned it. “I don’t have a father,” Jason said.

But the weight of the sword in his hand reminded him that, once, he did.

Frank Castle lives in one of the old forests, among trees so tall and quiet that Jason can almost feel them breathe. Jason’s horse shies at shadows, and he doesn’t blame her. He can feel something pressing against him, a magic he doesn’t know enough to name.

It’s been two years since he was last here, but he remembers the way. He walks it every night before he falls asleep, pictures the path in his mind.

If the Watch wants to speak to Frank Castle, they send brothers to camp on a rocky hilltop outside the woods and build a smoky fire. It may be a day or so before Frank appears, but he always answers in the end. Any of the brothers could have made the trek; any of them could have set the fire.

But only Jason knows where he lives.

And the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch believes that, out of all of them, only Jason can lure him out.

Jason knows he can’t lure Frank Castle anywhere. He knows what the brothers believe, what his Lord Commander believes about those months he spent with Frank in the woods, about why Frank is in these woods at all, but he doesn’t have any power over him.

If he ever did, he gave it up. That’s all Jason knows to do with power. Give it to him, and he’ll give it away, always.

He always gives every piece of himself away.

It wasn’t wolves or wildlings that found him, delirious and half-dead, propped against a tree because he could no longer sit up on his own. It was Frank Castle, appearing in front of him like a thing from a dream.

Jason didn’t even lift his sword when he saw him. He didn’t know who he was. Not a wildling. He knew that much. Dark-haired, stern, and serious, still wearing the trappings of a Riverlands knight. But Jason was too far gone to recognize him then, even when Frank put his fingers under his chin, lifted his eyes to the light.

“I should have left you in Dorne,” Frank told him.

And then Jason did recognize him. And it felt like the gods were laughing at him, so Jason laughed too.

When Frank lifted him onto his horse, the pain swelled so black and hungry that it ate Jason alive.

There’s a fire in Frank’s hearth, and Jason watches the smoke rise through the trees. He didn’t mistime his departure from Castle Black, but the sun rises and sets so quickly these days that it has already been dark for hours. He walked the last hour or so, leading his horse carefully through the trees.

Frank must know he’s here. Frank knows everything that happens in these woods.

Jason ties his horse to a tree near the cabin. He walks up to the door. He wants to push it open and step inside, claim a space that used to almost belong to him, but he knocks, and he waits. Frank answers a full minute later.

“Jason,” he says. It’s not a greeting. It is barely an acknowledgement. His eyes move across Jason in quick, cursory flicks, like he doesn’t want to look at all. “Come inside,” he says. “You’ve been out too long.”

“I’m not going to freeze to death,” Jason says. He’s suitably outfitted for the weather. The Lord Commander, after all, is invested in this mission. “The Watch does--”

“Inside,” Frank says, shoving the door open wider and shouldering his way past Jason. “I’ll see to your horse.”

When Jason was young, when he still wore the bat of Harrenhal, he believed himself in love with Frank Castle. Bruce Wayne hadn’t approved of him, considered him unnecessarily brutal and cruel, but Jason hadn’t minded the blood.

Frank Castle was kind to everyone who couldn’t lift a sword against him. All the servants, all the smallfolk. If Bruce had looked past the battlefield, past the ruthlessness, past Frank’s history of slitting throats to stop sieges, he would have seen it, the same way Jason saw it.

Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Bruce, for all his good intentions, only ever saw justice as a chess match: straightforward, with rules and players and endings. He minimized harm; he spared every life he could, and he didn’t seem to notice the way the scales always dripped bloodier for it.

Jason grew up on the streets of King’s Landing, with a mother who was taken from him piece by piece and then all at once. He knew how wolves were. They ate. It was their nature. And sparing a wolf was only an act of mercy if the lives of sheep were worth nothing at all.

Frank killed wolves. And lions, and eagles, and dragons, and bears, and anyone and anything. Frank was some kind of wolf himself.

And Jason, when he was young enough to think he could love anyone at all, loved Frank for showing him that there was nothing wrong with the way he was. For being like him, where it mattered. In the heart of him, beating always, hungry always, no matter what sigil he stitched into his shirt, no matter how faithfully he fed himself from Bruce’s table of mercy and chivalry.

Frank showed him that wolves could eat wolves. And Jason feasted for years until it got him sent to the Wall.

Jason sits by Frank’s fire and lets the warmth seep into his bones. Snow melts on his clothes and drips onto the floorboards, and Jason ignores it. In the years of his absence, Frank has erased all traces of him from this place. Jason intends now to leave more permanent marks.

“Are you hungry?” It’s the first thing Frank says, long minutes after he comes back inside. He’s still standing by the door. He must have been standing there, staring at the back of Jason’s head all this time.

Is he hungry?

“No,” Jason says. He hasn’t eaten well in weeks. He splits all his meals with the younger brothers, feeds the ones who seem to need it the most.

Frank should have seen him in summer. He was so much more impressive then.

But he saw him in Dorne, and that was probably the wildest and most dangerous Jason’s ever been. Certainly, it was the most beautiful he’s ever been, a fact Talia saw to with the amused, condescending regard of a child just on the verge of outgrowing her favorite doll.

Frank sighs. Jason doesn’t even have to look at him to know what that sigh means. It means he’s tired, frustrated. Exhausted by the way Jason lies to him. He’d sighed like that when Jason lied about his leg, too. When he pushed himself too far.

What right does Frank have to be irritated by a thing like that? All Jason’s life, showing vulnerability has been, at best, a humiliation. Usually it’s regarded as a challenge. Or an invitation.

If it was different with Frank for a while, it’s not any different now.

“Why are you here?” Frank asks. “Who sent you?”

Jason could lie to him, but there isn’t any point to it. The truth is the only excusable reason for him to be here at all. “There’s an army,” he says. “Some Free Cities bastards are funding an invasion of Dothraki. They’ll make landfall, burn the fields. It’s still harvest time in the Reach.”

Frank doesn’t say anything. The silence stirs between them, a restless, twisting thing, serpentine and fanged.

“Your lord called his bannermen,” Jason says.

“I am no one’s bannerman,” Frank says.

I am no one’s son.

After all of it, after the Joker, after the run to Dorne with knights hounding after him, after years of sitting beside Talia and letting her handfeed him the names of men who needed to die, Frank Castle arrived at Sunspear with a letter from their lord.

“Your father wants you home,” Frank told him.

“I have no father,” Jason said. “I am no one’s son.”

Frank stared at him for so long that Jason grew restless, shifted impatiently at Talia’s side. And then, with a sigh, Frank relented. “Your lord wants you home.”

Jason was a dangerous thing when he fled King’s Landing, but he was a deadly one after years with Talia. He dealt in poisoned drinks and poisoned blades. He could shrug in and out of courtly affectations, could slip into a window as a lord and out as a servant. At Harrenhal, he wore a mask, and it suffocated him. The trick, Talia taught him, was to remember to take it off.

Jason laughed, sharp and angry, even then, even after years to dull the sting. “The last thing he wants,” he said, “is for me to come home.”

“If you stop this,” Frank said, “if you stop killing these men, if you--”

“Have you stopped?” Jason asked. Talia smiled, soft and amused, half-hidden behind her hand. She had never tried to make him into something he wasn’t. She never attempted to re-forge a knife into a trowel; she only directed the blade.

“I kill criminals and soldiers,” Frank said. And then, when Jason opened his mouth, he continued, louder, harsher. “I kill the men who are mine to kill. You’ve been killing men you have no claim to.”

But Jason was born a bastard. He belonged to no one, and no one belonged to him. He was the world’s, and the world was his, and he had learned to kill anyone who needed killing. If the Seven Kingdoms allowed its powerful men to go rancid, Jason burned bright enough to cauterize the wound before the infection spread further.

“If you don’t make amends for this,” Frank told him, “if you don’t answer for these deaths, something will have to be done about you.”

And Jason knows what will have to be done about someone like him. He knows who will do it. Wolves eat wolves.

“Nothing will be done about him,” Talia said, leaning forward, smiling even wider now.

Frank looked at her. He wasn’t afraid of her, not for a heartbeat. Jason looked between them, measured it out. A snake and a wolf made for interesting enemies, but it didn’t seem like the kind of fight that ended in a clean victory for either.

“If you come home,” Frank said, looking to Jason, “and beg forgiveness, it will be given to you.”

So Jason went home. But he didn’t beg. He wouldn’t ask forgiveness for good work. He wasn’t ashamed of anything he’d done.

Bruce banished him to the Wall.

Frank followed and then went farther, left Jason behind.

Frank gives him stew, and bread, and some drink, sweet and spiced, that the wildlings must have brewed. Jason takes all of it. He can’t waste food even when he’s eating regularly. There are lessons learned in childhood that work their way to the bone.

“Why should I go?” Frank asks. He’s crouched in front of the fire, too close to it. He’s staring at the embers, like he’s divining something in the way they fall to ash. “They won’t come up here and fetch me. If some Dothraki screamers burn a lord’s fields, what does it matter to me?”

Jason pushes the bread around the inside of the bowl. It’s neatly carved; Frank no doubt did it himself. He’s taken well to domesticity for a man whose name can clear a pub of Southern soldiers.

Or could, anyway.

Who knows what Southern soldiers are scared of now? Dothraki, no doubt.

“Because it won’t just be the fields burning,” Jason says. “It’ll be the farmers.”

The farmers and their sons, and then their daughters and their wives, and whole villages of smallfolk who may fight if cornered but won’t fight well enough to save themselves. It won’t be the Reach’s lords who burn. Just as it won’t be the king and his court. It’ll be the servants and the whores, the less lucky bastards of King’s Landing.

“Are you going?” Frank turns toward him. It’s the first time he’s looked at him like he knows him at all.

Jason moves his spoon around in the bowl, follows the fine lines of the wood grain. “I’ve been told my exile will be lifted until the invasion is over. If I bring you back with me.”

Frank doesn’t make a sound, but he doesn’t need to. Jason can read his skepticism in the flat slash of his mouth. “And if I don’t go, you’ll stay at the Wall?”

Jason can’t hold back his laughter; he’s too surprised by it. “Of course I’m going,” he says. “They’ll just kill me for it, after.”

He doesn’t care about an invading force of Dothraki, financed by some Free Cities bankers. He doesn’t care about any lord’s fields. He doesn’t care if every vineyard burns and all the wine cups go empty. But it’ll be the smallfolk who suffer most, the way they always do.

Smallfolk are taught to swallow blood from a very young age. Jason developed a taste for it, learned to hunger for it.

But not every sheep can shed its skin to find teeth and claws beneath.

Not every sheep should have to.

It took months for his leg to heal. Frank made sure it healed well.

He cooked for him, cared for him, gave Jason the only bed in the house and slept on the floor until Jason threatened to join him. Even when Frank climbed in next to him, he was careful to leave a respectful space between them.

Jason loved him once, when he was young. It would have been easy to love him again. But what would be the point?

“I swore an oath,” Jason told him, when the worst of the delirium faded away. “I have to go back to the Wall.”

“When you can walk,” Frank replied. And then, “When you can ride.”

In those months, it was easy to remember that Frank grew up a farmer’s son. He was knighted when he was barely twenty, rose steadily until he hit the limits of Bruce Wayne’s respect.

Jason was at the knighting ceremony. He was thirteen, freshly scrubbed clean from the slums of King’s Landing, and he liked Frank, even then, because the slow drag of his vowels made him the only person in Harrenhal who Jason could speak to without hating the sound of his own voice.

Frank made a life north of the Wall that felt like the life he’d given up when he took up a sword. Jason was a stranger to it. He’d never known anything like it. There had never been a peaceful life for him to trade away. If he’d stayed in King’s Landing, he would’ve died young and alone.

“You could stay,” Frank told him, the day Jason hauled himself up into Frank’s horse’s saddle and rode around the clearing, barely flinching at all. “For a while longer. For as long as you like. You could stay here.”

Jason looked down at him and wondered what Frank was doing here. Why he left, why he followed Jason to the Wall, why he went beyond it.

“I could’ve stayed in Dorne, too,” he said.

But he swore an oath. And he carried Bruce Wayne’s sword.

And maybe he could never change what he was, but it was in an orphan’s nature to hope to become something better.

“Why did you leave?” Frank asks. Jason grimaces, biting back a flinch, and Frank shakes his head. “Not here. Harrenhal. After the Joker, why didn’t you come home? Bruce would have forgiven you then. Why in the seven hells did you go to Talia?”

Jason doesn’t know how to answer that. It had seemed inevitable at the time. It still does, looking back, like a thousand forking paths that all led to the same place.

“As soon as you taught me to fight,” Jason says, “I knew I was going to kill the Joker.”

And maybe he’d known before then. Maybe he knew when he was twelve, when Bruce Wayne, the Lord of Harrenhal, was offering him a new life, a chance to go away and grow strong and tall, come back angry and armed and fully grown. Maybe he knew when he went to Frank, when he was fifteen and still growing into his shoulders, when he asked Frank to teach him to fight.

Not like his father taught him. Not like Grayson taught him. He didn’t want pretty. He didn’t want honorable. He wanted it to hurt, and he wanted it to be ruthless. He wanted merciless. Brutal. Fatal.

What the Joker did in King’s Landing, the ways he hurt people, it flared too brightly to look away from. Jason couldn’t live in a world where things like that happened. When he went back to the streets that ate his mother alive, he fed them the Joker’s blood.

He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. The Joker was the second richest man in King’s Landing, but he died the same as the poorest. Death was an equalizer, but only when equally applied. Jason found his worth by learning to tip the scales by whatever means he could.

“But why did you go to Talia?” Frank asks. “Why didn’t you---” He cuts himself off, looks away.

“Why didn’t I go begging to Bruce?” Jason asks. “Or the king? Bend the knee, beg for mercy? It was right to kill him, Frank. For what he did to me, for what he did to my mother. I won’t ask for forgiveness. They should’ve begged me. Bruce, and the king, and all of them. They should’ve begged for my forgiveness. They should’ve begged all of us.”

Jason twists away, stares into the fire. Frank is silent at his side.

“They call themselves good men,” Jason says. “Talia understood. When people like the Joker walk free, clean hands are cowards’ hands. She taught me how to kill them.”

She made him an assassin. And what a betrayal Bruce must've thought that was.

“I didn’t mean Bruce,” Frank says. “I don’t care about him. Why didn’t you come to me?”

Jason was eighteen when he killed the Joker. He did it with his father’s sword. It felt blasphemous until the Joker’s blood was seeping into his boots, and then it felt righteous, and holy. No one else would die to that laughter. No one would hear it ringing, drowning out their last ragged breaths. No one else would cry, shaking and small, while their hearts raced with that mad chattering laughter.

He wiped the blade clean on the Joker’s shirt. And then, to be certain he was dead, Jason took his knife and stabbed the Joker in the chest until his arm shook.

He was always going to become this. He stole Bruce Wayne’s horse when he was twelve, and he led him on a chase through King’s Landing, and there was something in him then that might have been better, but he gave it up. The anger and hate built up like smoke inside him, and it smothered out whatever better thing he could have been.

He stared at the blood, and he thought about Bruce. And he thought about Dick Grayson. And he thought about Frank Castle, who taught him to fight in ways better suited to his nature. He knew how to duel like a knight if he needed to, but the cuts that brought the Joker down were cruel and ugly and base.

There was no reason to cry and no one to care if he did. He was what he’d always been. He’d done what he was always going to do.

The Joker was dead. He wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

But killing the Joker killed the part of him that belonged to Bruce, to Harrenhal, to Frank Castle. Talia, he knew, would understand. She’d known what he was since the moment she met him.

“She’s an assassin,” Frank had told him. His tone had not implied that it was an insult. He’d watched her carefully, this Dornish princess who arrived, unannounced, to visit Bruce.

“Is she here to kill Bruce?” Jason had been halfway to drawing his knife, and Frank jostled him, shook his head.

“She kills bad men,” he said. And then, after a moment, “And inconvenient ones.”

Talia smiled when she met him. She stole his knife from its sheath, spun it in her hand. “If you poison the blade,” she told him, “you could kill so much faster.”

“I kill fast enough,” he said, although, back then, he hadn’t killed anyone at all.

She laughed and leaned closer, patted him like a puppy. “Well, little bird, if you ever find they aren’t dying aren’t fast enough, Dorne is kind to people like us.”

People like us.

Even Bruce had never claimed him as he was. Had wanted, always, to remake him into something more similar to himself.

Jason knew by then that there were very few people like him. And even fewer who embraced it.

After the Joker was dead long enough for the blood to stop running, Jason cleaned his knife and headed south.

The sun burned so hot in Dorne that it felt like all his sins boiled away, like the heat left him pure.

Jason doesn’t know why he didn’t go to Frank after the Joker, except there will always be some part of him that can’t ask anyone for anything. He was a tool for Talia, a knife offered, hilt-first, for her to stab into the hearts of troublesome men. He could be that for her, could offer himself up in trade for her protection, but, at eighteen, he had nothing to offer Frank.

He still has nothing to offer him.

“Frank,” he says. “I’m going. I told them I would ask you to come with me. I’ll leave in the morning.”

For months, they slept together in this home. They worked, and they hunted, and they lived alongside each other. Jason fell asleep with Frank beside him, woke up with Frank’s arm curled around his waist.

Jason’s never known a peaceful life, but those handful of months come closes. Close enough, anyway, to finally know its worth. Close enough to teach him the value of what was taken from him by his father’s violent drunkenness, by the Joker’s mad menace, by the king and his callous court, by every little lord who lived so sweetly while the smallfolk starved in the streets.

His whole life, Jason’s been angry. Rootless and wounded, scrounging in the dirt even when Bruce washed him clean or Talia dressed him in silks. Bruce couldn’t cleanse him, and Talia couldn’t soothe him. It was Frank, in the end, who did both.

Frank, who showed him what it was like to live beside someone who didn’t ask more than he could give. Frank who shared a quiet cabin in a lonely wood, where Jason never had to beg or earn entry, because he already belonged inside.

Jason had that. He couldn’t keep it. Maybe, after everything, he has no right to peace.

“And do you think I’ll stay here?” Frank asks. He’s looking at Jason like he’s asking for something, but Jason would give him anything, if he had anything at all to offer. “Stay here and wait to hear how you died?”

Jason shakes his head, swallows the rest of the honeyed drink Frank gave him. “I don’t know what you’ll do,” he says. Because he doesn’t, and he never has.

Frank followed him all the way to Dorne, all the way to the Wall. But he’s never once stayed with him.

Frank stares at him, and time stretches out between them, brimming with pain and distance. Jason feels, somehow, that they have always just missed each other, that the paths they’re on run parallel but never overlap for long. Those months, in this cabin, were the easiest, kindest months of Jason’s life.

But they are not peaceful men. And Jason can’t say, in this moment or any other, whether that’s something they’ve earned or something they’ve suffered.

Frank reaches out to touch him, and the callouses on his fingers are rough against Jason’s skin, catch on the edge of the scar tissue on his face. His touch is impossibly gentle as he traces the long-healed J that the Joker carved into his face, when he was nine years old and his mother was late paying her debts.

“Frank,” Jason says. Because he has no right to ask, and nothing to use as leverage that he wouldn’t happily offer up for free. But he’s heading south in the morning, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever be back. Not to this cabin, and not to Frank.

But Frank’s hand drops suddenly away from his face, and the silence that builds between them is suffocating and familiar.

“Well.” Frank looks troubled when he stands, eyes the sword hanging over his hearth with some bittersweet expression, like hope or resignation. “I suppose I’m someone’s bannerman after all.”

#writing #fic #fill #soundtrack fills

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smolsleepyfox · 5 years

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Ok, so with those writing prompts: Gloryhammer; anger prompt nr. 18. I'll leave the choice of characters up to you.

I know this was an anger prompt but somehow my hand slipped and now it’s funny, partially inspired by you and DML’s latest stories. Enjoy.“Goose”

Characters: Dreadlord Proletius, Zargothrax

Summary: Zargothrax is Not Happy with how things are going in his Pyramid of Evil, and Proletius gets to feel it, but in a different way than expected.

The room was entirely silent, only the clicking of nails on crystal being heard.

Zargothrax was annoyed.

VERY annoyed.

Evaporating a few goblins had not helped his mood in the slightest. Neither had the drink he'd summoned for himself nor the fuzzy socks that at least solved the issue of having cold feet. Or just take a hot bath. Really, he'd thought updating the heating system with some magic should have solved the problem, and the air was warm. Somehow though, it didn't help.

A shudder ran through him, and he flicked his fingers to heat up the air around him a little more.

For some reason, he thought about a story he'd heard many centuries ago, as a child that had not yet discovered the grand gift bestowed upon it.

When you were cold or shuddered out of nowhere, a goose just walked over your grave.

He'd have goose tonight, he decided. With sweet gravy and potatoes, because even a dark emperor knew the value of tasty potatoes. At least they didn't ask dumb questions or made your feet cold randomly.

But first, business, which was the reason for his ill humor in the first place.

When he proclaimed himself emperor of Dundee, he had not realized how much WORK that meant. He couldn't just vanish for days into some ritual that left him satisfied, but exhausted, because when he inevitably came back, work had piled up even more than it already did.

Sure, the audiences were fun. People were scared of him and revered him, which was what he'd always wanted, but if he simply slaughtered everyone who annoyed him once, there would soon be nobody left to rule over, which was why he'd abstained from giving that order for weeks now.

Which didn't improve his mood.

So when the doors opened, he was about ready to let go of his resolution and just zap the being that dared interrupt his sulking, until he saw that it was Dreadlord Proletius.

The only person he could NOT take his mood out on, because the knight was far too valuable an asset to be killed.

Well, not killed killed, he was already dead, but Zargothrax was not about to split hairs. Speaking of hair, he should maybe clip his a bit, there was this ONE curl that he could not tame even with magic and it drove him mad with anger.

"My lord?"

Zargothrax jumped, having been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed the deathknight come closer, standing at the bottom of the stairs to the throne now.

"What?!"

"We... finished the task you gave us." Ser Proletius looked nervous. All people did when they stood before Zargothrax’ crystalline throne, as they should, but his force's commander usually didn't seem that anxious. That could only mean something was up.

"Which task?", Zargothrax asked, both to test the dreadlord.... and also because he couldn't remember. He had a lot on his plate at the moment, little of which was edible.

Proletius looked at him like a deer that had just spotted an eagle diving for it.

Hm, tomorrow he could have deer. It had been a while and perhaps he could go out and indulge in the silly, but satisfying tradition of hunting."....we... conquered Edinburgh? ...my lord?", Ser Proletius said, once more interrupting Zargothrax’ pondering.The sorcerer let the shadows covering his eyes work to his advantage as he thought hard if, and when, he'd ordered this particular operation.

Proletius cleared his throat, wincing as something popped in there, reminding him to renew the spells that kept his body from falling apart bit by bit. The battle had taken a bigger toll than he'd feared, the winding, narrow streets not ideal for an attack from the sky.

"We also uh, slaughtered some peasant in Auchtermuchty, Lord Zargothrax."

Zargothrax blinked at him. Then his eyes narrowed, their usually muted glow turning to blazing crimson.

"I did not ask you to do that, did I now?"

Proletius involuntarily took a step back. And a few more as Zargothrax got up, descending the stairs leading up to his throne of polished onyx.

"In fact, as I recall," the dark emperor went on, his voice dangerously low, "I remember specifically saying that Auchtermuchty should be left alone, for now."

"No, I'm pretty sure-" Proletius fell silent, with horror realizing that arguing with Zargothrax was not something one did if they wanted to live without pain.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Lord Zargothrax," Proletius replied as calmly as he could. "My apologies, I must have mixed something up-"

Lights exploded in front of his face. He felt his armoured hand hit something as he fell, perhaps one of the pillars, before his back hit the floor with a clatter of armour. His head followed soon after, responding with a flash of pain and nausea that lasted for anythign between seconds or hours. When his sight cleared and he tried to get up, groaning quietly, he expected Zargothrax to stand over him, ready to hit or kick him again. It wouldn't be the first time the dark emperor had taken out his anger on him.

But instead, his eyes met those of his superior, who looked exactly as shocked as Proletius was. His hood had fallen back, revealing smooth brown hair, and blood dripping from his lip.

He was also sitting on the floor with his robe having tangled itself in his legs, revealing what looked suspiciously like tight leggings sporting the black and white pattern of a piano keyboard... under thick woollen socks in the ugliest green and purple pattern Ser Proletius had ever seen.

Zargothrax wiped his face, blinking down at the red spots on his glove as if he had never seen either blood, nor a hand, ever before.

".....Are you alright, my Lord?", Proletius asked carefully.

They sat in a poor of water, the moisture of the nigh tropical air in the room having accumulated on the stones. Zargothrax must have slipped while being too concentrated on scaring the pants off his force's commander.

He'd already wondered why it was so warm in here.

The sorcerer got to his feet, staggering slightly until he could disentangle his legs from his red robe, pulling up his hood and generally trying to recover his dignity. The fact that his black cloak and the entire back of his robe were dripping wet did not help.

"My Lord, the messengers from London are he-" The goblin went up in flames."No more meetings," Zargothrax ordered. "Get someone to bring me dinner. Goose, with gravy and potatoes. And it better be good." With that, he turned on his heel – Proletius pointedly overlooking the flash of magic as Zargothrax saved himself from another fall on the slippery floor – and strode past the throne to his private chambers. If the cloak hadn't been soaked, it would have made for a wonderfully dramatic exit. Like this, it only dragged after him like a sad cleaning rag.

Dreadlord Proletius turned his head as he heard the door open. His second-in-command blinked at him, taking a moment to spot his superior on the floor.

"Um... any orders?"

Proletius only shrugged. He got up, shaking as much water off his armour as he could, and followed his knight out of the throne room. All in all, it could have been worse. He could have gotten his ass beaten again.Or another monologue.

"By the way, where do we keep our geese?"

#gloryhammer fanfic #foxy writes #zargothrax #dreadlord proletius

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xaz-fr · 6 years

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Set in a fantasy world of the semi socialist society Fey Alliance with magic, dick head dragon riders, benevolent necromancers, and even bigger dick head gods of mischief. The Zealous Servant is the story about a guy named Spayar who, has to keep his crown prince of a bff from being murdered by his entire family by murdering them first. Though Spayar just wants to take a nap and find a cute boy to kiss and not have to worry about his corpse potentially being dragged through the street after a war. Better win that shit then.

I will only ping this particular list once and if you want to be pinged for future posts a like or reblog will get you on the next pinglist. Reblogs (especially with a dumb comment but not required) are way more appreciated as it allows other people to see the work

@deadpool-scar-bro @starry-ampelope @golden-lionsnake @aw-some-musics @fullbearauthorclam @ragirl243 @redlion-fr @purple-forget-me-nots @unburdened-billy @trashcano08 @typefulls @slighteyewing @incel-tears @dgmana @genonehell @frxemriss

My favorite thing about Spayar is that no matter how cool he is or becomes this chapter still happens and shows he’a fucking idiot lols.

On the few clear days in the Meltong Basin during the wet season Assarus came to life like an ant hive. Most people tried to stay indoors as often as possible in the autumn because it rained nearly every day, so when the sky was clear and the weather warlockd predicted no rain everyone made sure to make the most of it. Spayar was on his mare in traffic, Duren sitting in front of him, sitting straight up and looking all around. Thankfully Spayar still had several inches on him or it would be a problem.

His mare barely noticed the extra weight. She had a deep brown coat, thick legs, and great big hooves with great feathering. She was a horse who's ancestors had once worked the fields and now were the mounts of royalty and their favored. Von had gifted her to Spayar three years ago when Spayar complained about always having different horses wherever they went. Now she was his, he couldn't even begin to think of how expensive a horse like Spayar's was, trained for battle and didn't even flinch when her rider used magic. Not to mention the size, she was massive, and everyone got out of her way.

"Where are we going?" Duren asked, turning around to look at Spayar, holding onto the pommel to keep from falling off.

"You'll see," though of course Duren knew why. He'd begged and begged Spayar over breakfast to show him how to ride and Spayar had given in if only to just make him shut up. By now they were leaving Bellringer and into South Garden which looked like it was trying very hard to mimic the style of Nedrag and the Garden with it's clean, boxy, buildings and covered in fauna. The city of Assarus or Surassa themselves had no one culture. They were a melting pot of all the provinces, and thus all the kingdoms the Alliance had conquered in its two thousand year being. Parts of South Garden looked like Nedalia or Dalican, there were motifs from the Yellow Hills in South Garden and he saw symbols from the city Peonia painted on the sides of buildings. People from the west of the Alliance had settled South Garden, much like the east had settled in Bellringer with it's gray stone buildings and clocks and its focus on craft rather than aesthetic.

"Shouldn't we be going outside the city?" Duren asked since South Garden was further in and really Spayar just wanted to get to Tradesmens as quickly as possible since unlike Peonia it sometimes mimicked itself after South Garden was one of the most twisting and confusing districts in the capital other than perhaps Cat's Cradle, even the Mire and Downriver were more organized than this.

"You'll see," Spayar just said again pushing his mare through a busy intersection full of people. When they saw his big war horse they jumped out of the way. Spayar was trying to be nice but he was getting annoyed with how busy this damn city was and he had a big horse. Big horses won over busy pedestrians.

"I can see Swan Island from here," Duren pointed once they finally got through South Garden and into Tradesmens. Spayar looked and indeed they could see the holy island from here over the low buildings and warehouses of Tradesmens, meaning Spayar was way off course. "Are we going to Swan Island?" Duren asked, confused.

"No," even as he made his mare head for the river. They came up to the walled bank of the Meltong and could see Swan Island easily. A small lake had formed here in the Meltong river in a low part of the land before it continued its journey south to the Break and the Fea’staal Sea. behind. Swan Island sat in the middle of the lake and it was a large, beautiful park, filled with temples. From here they could see people going in and out of them and people on horses or people enjoying the sunlight on the grass or under the trees.

"Can we go to Swan Island?" Duren asked.

"I thought you wanted to learn to ride," Spayar said.

"Yeah I know, but we rarely go to Swan Island."

"Another time. I'll take you and the girls on Asumsest if you want," and he turned his horse to start down the road, running parallel to the river, towards the Winter Palace at the top of the hill in the distance. Tradesmens was full of canals that went into warehouses from the river and looked more like something from the country of Tipin or even Joti than anything else. Bridges spanned every canal for horses and pedestrians, though they were too steep and high to allow bigger boats through, so carriages had to take other routes. Few people were on the River Road but there were a lot of boats in the river. The Meltong was always full of boats and today was especially bad since it was full of trade ships and barges as well as personal boats with brightly colored sails or sides. At the very least both the river and the river road were orderly.

The River Road wound north and east, through parts of South Garden, where Spayar didn’t let anyone get in his way lest they get trampled by war horse hooves, and then through the entire length of Uptown. The Hillsman children all went to school in Uptown. Mostly because their father could afford the cabby ride there and back every day and Anora’s private secondary schooling there. It was a wealthy neighborhood and it seemed like the was a bank on every street from every major city in the Alliance. At the last everyone moved with purpose here, no dawdling or frolicking about like in South Garden. Here people were all business and people stayed on the side walks and out of the traffic of horses, carriages, and some strange two wheeled contraption Spayar had never seen but flew down the street as quick as any horse. It looked like a buggy but wasn't pulled by a horse. He have to look into that.

When the River Road finally dumped them into Fey's Shadow Duren turned to Spayar accusingly. Spayar just rose his brows at his brother. Duren frowned the Hillsman frown at Spayar and turned back around. In Fey's Shadow the roads were wide and well kept, the manses behind their tall, thick, walls, were every style in the Alliance. The wealthiest people lived in Fey's Shadow and most nobles had houses here as well, and built their mansions in the style of their home province. You could see the entire gambit of architectural styles in Fey's Shadow from the low, spider web-like dwellings of the Wren-Kel, to the tall, low eaved, state house of the Peony. Spayar kept his horse on still and Duren's head kept moving, looking all around, trying to see everything. A lot of the houses were out of sight behind the walls but he tried, to caught glimpses of them through the gates.

At some point they came to the Twin Switches bridges, where the Meltong looped back around to itself and were only a few hundred feet apart. Two identical bridges built in a northern style spanned both parts of the Meltong and as they crossed the first bridge you could sort of see over the thick, protective, wall of the North estate. Duren raised himself up in the saddle a bit as though to see better before sitting back down. The North estate was the most heavily fortified estate they’d seen thus far, and the largest. Spayar knew there were bigger ones than the North’s, but it was up there.

“Who lives there?” Duren asked Spayar.

“The Norths,” Spayar said.

“Wow,” he said, “Do you know them?”

“By reputation, now sit down I can’t see,” and Duren turned right way round and sat properly as they started to cross the second Switch. Very shortly after they’d passed the North estate the road started to slant upwards to the Palace which gleamed like a snow capped mountain from the peak.

There were no walls around the grounds of the Winter Palace, just like the rest of Assarus. There hadn't been an attack on the capital in two thousand years when neighboring nations had thought the young Alliance weak. Even the Federation wasn't stupid enough to attack their northern capital. You touched Assarus and a wrath that couldn't be imagined was unleashed. Not since Sinou's death had anyone tried to take Assarus or rather, Surassa, with any serious intent. The first Asuras had made sure the fear of what the Le'Acard could do would be felt through the ages until the end of time.

No one stopped Spayar as he rode up to the palace and Duren started to shift in front of him in wonder. It was above Duren to ever think of coming to the Winter Palace. His brother had been born and raised in Bellringer and he wasn't a knight, or a courtier or anyone of importance really.

Spayar didn't get too close to the Palace, instead he went around to the side where the stables were, where his own horse had been bred. A stable hand came out to see him when he got closer. "Sir," he bowed when he saw Spayar. Spayar recognized him.

"Oh stand up Jill," Spayar said, unimpressed. The stable hand, Jill, looked up, a rueful smile on his face like what Spayar did to Von Jill bowed to Spayar to annoy him.

The oldest son of a talented seamstress Jill was a spry young man Spayar's age with a gap in his front teeth, large ears, big green eyes, and hair the color of a carrot that stuck out wildly from any hat he tried to wear. They'd been sort of friends before Spayar had met Von, more friends because their mothers were friends. After Jill had finished his mandatory schooling in Bellringer he’d begged Spayar to get him a job in the Palace. So Spayar had and now he worked in the stables, right where Jill wanted to be with his love of animals. "You ain't impression' no one,” casually taking on the low born drawl of those in Middleton where he knew Jill lived, across the river from Bellringer.

Jill laughed and stood up straight, walking over to take the mare's bridle as Spayar dismounted with a grunt. Damn horse sometimes felt too big for him, even with his long legs. "Wha'cha here for?" Jill asked.

"Riding lessons, c'mon Duren," he held his arms up for his little brother. Duren dragged one leg over the saddle so he was sitting with both on the same side and then slid down into Spayar's arms. He wasn't strong enough to catch Duren anymore, his brother too big for that, but he could make sure he got to the ground safely.

"For who? You? You’re one of the best riders I know," and Jill sucked on his gap.

"No no, for my brother," Duren stood behind Spayar. He didn't know Jill, Spayar wasn't surprised, the damn guy slept with the horses now and rarely went home to Middleton despite talking like he'd lived there his entire life. Spayar also didn’t see or mention Jill like he did his actual friends. They’d been boys together but had nothing in common anymore and didn’t really interact except for times like these. "I need an easy horse, lower to the ground than her," he patted his mare's neck fondly.

"Wan’a pony?" he asked, "We have a few of ‘em marshy geldings.”

"Yeah, that sounds fine."

"You got it," and then he turned back towards the stables, leading Spayar's horse away. As he did Jill yelled, "Mavok, get one of the ponies saddled up!"

"Who was that?" Duren asked him.

"A friend," Spayar said, Duren just looked confused. "What?" he asked.

"You have other friends other than the prince?" Duren asked.

"Of course I do," Spayar said irritably. Spayar had a lot of friends, though few good ones, and countless acquaintances he knew more about than he had any right to. "Vondugard isn't my only friend."

"Seems like," Duren said, making a face, "dooim says so a least."

"Dad doesn't know half the things I do," thank the gods for that. “Don’t listen to everything dad says, he’s not always right.”

Duren frowned, not liking Spayar talking about their dad in any negative light. “Why do I have to ride a pony? I want to ride a horse," Duren decided to complain about that instead.

"A pony is fine to start with and probably as much as a horse as you'll ever ride," he patted Duren's shoulder. Duren looked at him sourly. "You're a smith brother, not a knight, you got no need for a horse."

"What about you then? Are you a knight?"

"No," Spayar agreed. Gods no he wasn't a knight.

"Then why do you have a horse?"

Spayar laughed, "More than just knights own horses, Duren. You see people not knights on horses don't you?" Duren nodded slowly. "A horse is just expensive. Expensive to buy, expensive to care for, expensive to house. I'm really lucky to have a horse like mine. But you," he tapped his brother's nose, "will be fine with a pony for today. Once you get better we'll move you to a horse."

"Okay," Duren said, Spayar could see the wheels of Duren's mind turning. But before he could figure it all out Jill was back leading a pony, fully saddled. It was a fairly tall pony, rather thin, with long, narrow, legs, but still many hands shorter than Spayar’s mare.

"Here w’are, one of them marshy ponies of LoHanJo'in," meaning it was a Adoshade horse. They'd bred them from the water ponies who lived in and around the Boggart swamps that took up most of LoHanJo'in province. They were just tall enough to stand above the water line most places and short enough to stay out of the way of the lower branches of the trees in the swamps and small enough to squeeze between trees to escape predators.

"Thanks," Spayar said and Jill handed him the lead.

"His name's Ollie, ‘e's a good boy," and Jill patted the pony's rump, Ollie swished his tail.

"We'll have him back before lunch probably," Spayar said.

"No rush. Hillsman can take him out as long as he wants, Stablemaster said that."

“Really?’ Spayar asked, raising his brows at Jill.

“Aaaah, not in so many words,” Jill said, grinning a gap toothed grin.

“Great,” Spayar said, half laughing, “Take care of my horse while I'm out."

Jill laughed, "She'll be a princess while she's here," he promised.

Spayar grinned and motioned to his brother to follow him as he led him and the pony away from the stables. "Spayar," Duren asked as they went to a field. Unlike most of the land around the capital the hill the palace sat on was hard ground. It was why Spayar had picked up here and not just anywhere, Duren wouldn't have to worry about potholes or wetland.

"Yeah?" Spayar asked.

"Does your horse have a name?"

Spayar looked up from where he was checking the pony's bridal, "Uh... no," he realized. He'd never named his horse. Three years and his horse didn't have a name. It had honestly never occurred to him.

Duren hadn’t been expecting Spayar to actually agree with him that his horse didn’t have a name. "It doesn't?"

"I guess not," Spayar admitted and looked back on his life choices where he hadn’t named his own horse.

"You should name her," Duren insisted.

"I wouldn't even know what to call her," Spayar said, "I always just call her girl."

"That's a terrible name." Spayar frowned, now he felt weird about it. How had he not noticed he'd never named his own horse? He’d had her for three years. How hadn't anyone noticed? Or what if they had but had felt like it wasn’t their place to point it out? Maybe everyone knew Spayar’s horse didn’t have a name and wondered what was wrong with him. It made Spayar feel self conscious about the entire thing. He couldn’t just go around asking people if they knew his horse’s name either because then if they didn’t know then they would. "You should think of a name for her," Duren said.

"I guess," Spayar said, though honestly giving his horse a name now would be more weird since he was so used to her not having one. "I'll think about it, now lets get you up.” Mainly he just wanted to get off the subject of his horse not having a name. Hopefully Duren would forget that they’d ever had this conversation.

He showed Duren how to mount a horse. Duren climbed onto Ollie's back with only a bit of trouble. Spayar handed Duren the reigns and saw that Jill had also given him a long lead line as well. Thanks Jill. "Marshy ponies are really well trained," Spayar told his brother to continue to stay off the subject of his own horse. “So you just need to give it a little nudge to get him going. With your heel... yeah like that," and Duren got the pony to start to walk. "Not so tight on the reins," he said as he let the lead rope out.

"How do I turn?" Duren asked.

"Pull them the direction you want them to go. Not too hard," and Duren did so. The pony started to moved in an arc with Spayar as it's center point. Spayar turned as the pony walked and Duren was so focused on the pony it was like he’d forgotten his brother was an absolute idiot.

"Spayar," Duren said after he'd walked the pony around Spayar in a circle a few times "what's a gelding?"

"It's a boy horse that can't have children."

Duren was paying attention to the pony when he asked, "Like you?"

"What! No. I'm not a gelding," thank the gods he wasn't. He rather enjoyed all his equipment, and all their functions.

"But you can't have children," Duren looked at Spayar.

"I am fully capable," Spayar said, trying not to be irritated. Duren was only eight, he was allowed to be stupid. It was surprisingly difficult to not be angry though. "I just won't."

"Cause boys can't have babies?"

"Exactly," Spayar said, "And a gelding is a horse who's been castrated. It's different."

"Well what's castrated mean?"

"It means they cut the balls off." Spayar laughed at Duren's horrified face. His brother looked down at his lap like to assure himself he was still in one piece. "They only do it to horses,” he assured Duren. That didn't mean Spayar couldn't think of at least a dozen reasons or crimes that would get a man castrated, and not just the balls either.

"Why do they do that?"

"To make them calmer."

"But what about making more horses?"

"They don't geld all the stallions Duren," Spayar sighed, "and the Adoshade only gift out or sell gelded marshy ponies, so other places can't breed them."

"Why?"

"Politics, don't worry about it," yeah only Spayar had to worry about that sort of stuff. "Try and make your pony go faster," Spayar encouraged to get them off the talk of horse balls. First making Spayar come to the realization his horse didn’t have a name and now horse balls. Something was wrong with his little brother. Duren tapped the pony again and Ollie started to go faster.

They were out there for a while until Duren said his legs hurt. "Owww," he complained as he got off Ollie. "Why does that hurt so much?"

"You aren't used to it," Spayar said, patting Ollie who looked ready for a rest and to not go in circles anymore. Duren was rubbing the inside of his thighs, looking pained. "Lets head back to the stable, I'm sure Ollie wants his lunch," and he started to walk, Duren rubbed for a few more seconds before following.

"You rode all the way to Peonia and back in like two weeks,” Duren said, looking at Spayar with something like awe.

"I did," he agreed.

"Didn't it hurt?"

Spayar shrugged, "It's just uncomfortable. You get used to it honestly, from being in the saddle so much."

"Doesn't your dick hurt though?"

Spayar snorted, "Usually the whole area just goes numb before it starts to hurt."

"You've ridden a horse with a numb butt?" Duren cried, eyes wide.

"Yeap," Spayar said. "But I ride all the time. The more you do the less it hurts."

"Oh," Duren looked contemplative a moment. "You're not a knight, right Spayar?"

"Nope."

"Then what are you? You can fight and do magic like a knight and a warlock, but you aren't are you?"

"I'm not a knight," Spayar said, "all magic users are warlocks, you know that."

"Then what are you?" Spayar thought about that a moment. What was he? "Spayar?"

"I'm thinkin'," Spayar said as they approached the stables. Jill didn't meet them this time and they entered the building. "Hello," he called. The royal stables were huge and each stall had a name plaque beside the door. Despite that it was easy to get lost and it wasn’t best to wander without a stablehand to guide you. "Hello," he called again. It'd take them forever to find Ollie's stall on their own. He sighed and started down the stall lined corridor, at the very least he could find Ollie's stall. Though he also needed to find his horse. This was probably a horrible idea. Where was everyone?

They walked through the stables to the other side where there was a covered area that led to one of the two large courtyards that stood guard next to the large looping drive at the front of the palace. There they found seemingly all the stable hands, standing back and out of the way. In front of them was a gilt carriage pulled by a team of four, black, horses of the same sick as his own made and standing beside it was a fair haired woman who was yelling at the holsters. Spayar recognized her by voice alone, it was Von's second oldest sister; Obi.

"What's going on?" Spayar asked one of the stable hands quietly, thankfully Duren had enough sense to be silent.

"Her highness keeps changing her mind about what she wants," they said, frowning. "First she wanted white horses, than brown horses, now black horses, and only females. Something' wrong with the carriage, this or that uhg.”

"Well... I have a pony that needs to be put away," Spayar said.

"At least it's something to do, what's his name?"

"Ollie."

"Right, I'll take him. You got a horse, sir?” they said and took Ollie’s lead. Meanwhile Obi was still yelling, irritated something wasn't happening fast enough. Spayar hated Obi. Spayar genuinely hated few people, but Obi was one of them. She was a handful.

“Yes, she’s a royal breed, dark brown coat, white hairs, Jill put her away for me.”

“Ah, I know that one. I’ll bring her here, sir,” and they left with Ollie.

Spayar turned around when he heard Obi crack one stable hand across the face. "Do not talk back to me," she yelled at the man who was now on the ground, hand over one side of their face.

"Apologizes your highness, I was merely-

She stepped on him, stomped was more a correct term honestly. The stable hand cried out, his sound of pain startling the horses. "I said do not talk back to me!"

"I'm sorry," the stable hand stammered. Spayar knew he shouldn’t intervene. He didn’t really have much to do with the other royals unless they put themselves in front of him. It was less messy and he wouldn’t get to know them and feel bad when he plotted their murder. He was about to turn away and take Duren with him when he recognized the stablehand. He cursed to himself. Of course it had to be Jill. Of course it had to be because Can’dhe liked to torment him. Liked to put things in his way and test his character.

He looked down at his brother and saw his brother recognized Jill as well. What would it look like if Spayar just turned a blind eye? How could he explain to his baby brother that it was better if he didn’t get involved? He couldn’t. Not after Spayar had called Jill his friend. What sort of person left their ‘friend’ to be beat over nothing. He sighed a little. He was about to do something stupid and reckless and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

"Learn to listen when your betters speak," Obi spat made to stomp on Jill again. This time Spayar flicked his hand to cast a spell and caught her heeled foot in mid air with a messy weave that clung to the air on spider silk connections. It did hold her though. She whirled on the stable hands accusingly, fire in her cerulean blue eyes. "Who's doing that?" she demanded.

Nothing for it. He’d started this, he had to finish it. Spayar stepped forward, leaving Duren with another stable hand who didn't need to be told to hold his brother back. "Hello your highness," he bowed to her neatly, extending his arms a bit and wishing he was wearing a bit nicer clothes. Anyone watching saw it as mocking but Obi, unobservant as always, saw it as respectful. What she did see was that he didn’t bow nearly as low as he would to Von or even the king. The king. Her nostrils flared angrily.

Obi was the prettiest of Von’s siblings and loved the gut, emulating all the most popular styles from there. Obi had long, delicate, golden locks she wore in immaculate ringlets of the Dalicites. Her nails were always freshly manicured and painted like a Nedalian. Today they were apple red with yellow tips. Her bright blue eyes were ringed in Aldashi style liner, the wings conservative like she’d done them herself and was intimidated by them. They weren’t nearly as long or elegant as Tassa’s. Even her clothes were western Alliance with a high hem on her skirt over a pair of lace tights and a bodice that showed off her flat, golden, stomach and pushed her breasts together while keeping her shoulders bare. For the aesthetics she was lovely. Under that gilded facade she was a miasma of stupidity and temper made of methane that just needed the slightest spark to erupt in either spouting off something so ignorant it actually gave you pause, or she’d turn you inside out with a temper tantrum.

"Spayar," she said his name like he was a piece of shit on her shoe, "what do you think you're doing?"

"Keeping you from hurting an innocent man," Spayar said calmly, standing up again. He didn't avert his eyes when he spoke to Obi either, he didn't know how to anymore. Von demanded that Spayar looked at him on level when they spoke and he did it out of habit to all people of standing.

Obi looked down and sneered at Jill who swallowed. "If I want to it's my prerogative," she said and snapped Spayar's weave holding her leg like he knew she would. This time when Obi made to stomp on Jill Spayar uttered one word and Obi lost her footing and fell ass up on her back. There was a stunned silence in the courtyard. Here Spayar had to play carefully or he’d have a fire on his hands. He wasn’t a pyromacer either and Von want here.

"That man is under your mother's employ and thus under the protection of the Le'Acard," Spayar said, hands behind his back so no one could see how hard they were trembling. He wasn't angry. He was afraid. He wasn't afraid of much but pissing off someone who could kill him effortlessly was one of them. Von wasn't around to protect him from his sister like sometimes. It was one thing to kill your brother’s best friend when he was alone, it was quite another to do it in front of him. Especially a d’aelar. Normally that would make him immune from most attacks by the Le’Acard. Not from Obi. Obi didn’t care. When she was angry or insulted and not handled carefully she’d take on anyone.

Obi stared at him like she couldn't believe he'd really just done that. He'd just humiliated her in front of a bunch of stable hands. "What are you looking at?" she snarled at Jill who was also staring, slightly slack jawed.

"Nothing, your highness," he looked away quickly

She got to her feet and marched over to Spayar. Obi was shorter than him, but it didn't matter, she was like fire. Literally she was fire and was a pyromacer like her brother Von. For a second Spayar thought the tips of her coiled hair sparked and became flame. Not unheard of for a powerful pyromacer. "You would do such a thing?" she hissed.

Spayar kept very calm. Obi won when you talked back, when you got angry. He'd seen enough of her fighting with Teldin, Tallalsala and Dellin to know how she was, what she did, and how temperamental she was. When Obi started to smolder if you struck back in anger like she did she’d just ignite and you’d lose. It was something that happened often enough and only staying perfectly calm in the face of her wrath would see her be handled out of that spark of rage. “I would," he said.

"I am a Le'Acard, you would lay a hand on me?" she demanded, fire in her eyes, her breath as hot as a forge on his face.

"I did no such thing-

"You still-

"I simply stopped you from making a mistake," he just talked right over her. The only way for Obi to hear you was to just talk over her.

"Me? A mistake?" she laughed.

"So you would rather me tell the stable master you beat one of his best stable boys and then he would tell your mother?" Spayar asked her curiously.

Obi froze. She hadn't thought of that. Of course she hadn't. Obi was an idiot of the first degree. Of Von's siblings she was the least he was worried about because Obi didn't have the patience or brain power to plan a coup, let alone the temperament to see it through to completion. She might know Tallalsala was meeting with the Clan and Teldin had the White Foot and Wren-Kal in his pocket, but that meant nothing to Obi. It was like telling her there was a particular bad thunderstorm outside. It would pass, as it always did. "My mother?" she asked and it was like Spayar had dropped a block of ice on white hot iron.

"Yes," Spayar said, "Asuras Virilia takes great pride in the horses her stable breeds, and thus those who work there. You wouldn't want her to know you were abusing them would you?" Spayar was talking out of his ass of course. Obi was too dumb to know differently. She believed everything people told her. A temper with gullibility did not make a good match and was how you threw sand over the tinder of her temper. He looked at the carriage, "Didn't you have somewhere to be, my lady?" he asked her rather innocently, switching topics and confusing her by now being worried for her well being and her time table.

"I do," she said slowly, unsure what he was doing or how to react appropriately since just a moment ago she’d been ready to burn him alive.

"I would hate for you to be late," there was a driver already sitting in the seat up front, staring at Spayar like he was crazy. "Since I'm sure it's terribly important if you need to go."

"It is," she said and pursed her lips at him. She hadn't even realized what he was doing. How did Von have a sibling like Obi?

"I'm sure they're waiting for you," he moved his fingers and the carriage door opened, beckoning Obi.

"This idiot-

"Had the best intentions your highness. You really shouldn't worry about such trvilalries," and already Obi had gone from being mad at him for humiliating her to complacent and ready to do what he said. If you didn’t set her off Obi was actually very easy to deal with. It was just she was easily set off. You just had to use a certain tone with her and she cooled down and did what you said once you showed her that yes; you were the boss here, not her. Honestly she was a bit like a horse. If the rumors were true she was ridden about as much as the common use horses in the stables too. "Driver," he called, "where are you going?"

"We're going to Mirin, my lord," the driver said. The capital of Kou. That made Spayar slightly uneasy. A million possibilities ran through his head about why Obi would be going to the capital of Kou. She had to have a handler, behind the scenes, trying to put her on the throne. If only so she’d be a figurehead.

"That's a long way," Spayar said, “Who are you going to see?”

“The Lady Lenni,” she said. Spayar wracked his brain. Who was the Lady Lenni?

“Well if you don’t leave soon it’ll be too late in the day to make any way down the Westernlance. You wouldn’t want to put off seeing her another day would you?”

“No,” Obi said adamantly.

“Then we should get you on your way,” he said, barely even in the moment with Obi. He was thinking of who the Lady Lenni was. He helped her into the carriage and Spayar closed the door with a pleasant smile. He waved to the driver once he stepped back and the driver, who finally had to look away from his stupefied amazement at Spayar, flicked the reins to put the horses into a trot. Obi would be out of the city before she realized Spayar had manipulated her and she’d told him where she was going and who she was seeing.

"That was amazing," Jill said from the ground. "How'd you do that?"

"I have a lot of practice dealing with Le'Acard," Spayar offered Jill his hand. Jill took it and Spayar hauled him to his feet. Jill wasn't really wounded, but he was a bit battered. "Go to the palace healer, get healed up, if they throw a fuss say I sent you."

"You're right amazing Spayar," Jill said.

Spayar just shrugged, "Go on, me and Duren are for home."

"Right right," Jill said, and dusted himself off a bit. "Thanks," he said again, grinning his gap toothed grin at Spayar. Spayar went back to find his brother, "What you lot standing around for?" Jill cried at the other stable hands, "You gots stuff to do, so go do it!" and they scattered.

Duren was standing with his mare and another man that made Spayar stop dead, the warm feeling of victory over Obi leeching away instantly.

Teldin was holding onto Spayar's horse’s reins and standing next to Duren like it was the most natural thing he could do. "Your highness," he bowed to Teldin much lower than he had for Obi. Unlike her Teldin actually garnered real respect.

As with the rest of the past few generations of Le’Acard Teldin was fair and blonde, his hair in last decade’s style of long and slicked back. Unlike some of his siblings his skin was the color of flour and his eyes were such a brown they were practically black. He had mean eyes like an owl's and a long, proud looking face. He was well built and filled his autumn coat well. This was the man who threatened Von's life, and thus Spayar's own life; the oldest son of the Asuras.

"What can I do for you, your highness?" Spayar asked, straightening. As he did he noticed that twined around Teldin’s neck was a long, leaf green, snake with eyes too smart to be an animal. A shapeshifter. Spayar knew who it was instantly and it put him on more edge than he already was with Teldin’s appearance. Sade was a powerful warlock and shifter and practically Teldin’s second in command. She was practically another Spayar. Why would she be here with Teldin now?

"That was very impressive," Teldin said, he had the voice of a singer, the type you could listen to forever. "Not many people can so expertly manipulate Obi out of a rage," he said it thoughtfully but also like he didn’t actually care.

"You're too kind, your highness," Spayar said.

"Where's my brother?" he asked.

"Vondugard, your highness?"

"Who else would I ask you about?" though they both knew realistically Spayar probably knew the whereabouts of all the Le'Acard children despite only having been in Assarus a few days since his trip to the gut.

"I don't know. I just came home from serving time a few days ago. He wasn't here when I arrived,” he lied.

Teldin put a mean stare onto Spayar but he didn't flinch, didn't move a single inch. "You're a good d'alaer," Teldin said and cocked his head at Spayar in a very predatory fashion. "But you're wasted on my brother." Teldin knew Spayar was lying. He knew and knew Spayar knew he knew but pushing Spayar to answer would get him no where nor would it actually help him. He was just testing Spayar, like he always did, to see what he could get out of him.

"Your brother takes very good care of me," Spayar swallowed. This wasn't the first time Teldin had approached Spayar about changing his alliances. Teldin and Tallalsala had both done it, since they were the two better players on the field. They knew what it meant that Von had a d'alaer and they didn't. Sinou had had a famous d'alaer who helped him conquer the first realms of the Alliance. It was the opinion of most of the Alliance and especially the Le'Acard that Asuras who had a d'alaer on their sides were more competent rulers, better in every way. That they could instill such zealous devotion in someone meant they knew what they were doing. Teldin, Tallalsala and Dellin all hated Von in equal measure they were jealous of him because he had Spayar; his d'alaer.

Spayar was the d'aelar of this generation, the first one since since the early eighteen hundreds. His kind weren’t common and there was only ever one at a time. If there were more they’d constantly be compared until one was proclaimed the true d'aelar in the style of the d'aelar of old. The only way to get the benefit of a d'aelar now was to either kill Spayar and get your own or convince him that it was in his best interest to side with them. He’d been on the end of enough threats to himself and his family and promises of the world, stars and everything in between to know that it was serious for the Le’Acard. They knew the importance of his title, what it meant for them and the nobles, commoners and soldiers of the Alliance in the coming Conflict. The greatest Asuri had d’aelar. They wanted one too. Unfortunately there was only one Spayar.

"I would do better," Teldin said, "whatever he does for you I can do better.” Not the first promise Teldin had ever given him. “Or whatever he doesn’t do for you,” and Spayar did his best not to just grab his brother and bolt. It sounded like he was being courted and not asked to betray his best friend. Knowing Teldin there was all sorts of meaning behind those words and promises he’d follow up on to get the advantage over his siblings. Spayar did his best to not think about Von like that, let alone his viper of a brother.

"I'm not interested," Spayar said instead, once again putting his hands behind his back so Teldin wouldn’t see how they trembled. He just wanted Teldin to leave him alone. "I am Vondugard's d’aelar. His d'aelar I shall stay. As I’ve said before, I want nothing from you, Teldin,” he said. Sade’s body extended out towards Spayar a bit and the human eyes in a snake’s head were reproachful.

Teldin frowned, “You’re sure? Now’s the time to pick sides, d’aelar. Do you really want to be one of those who visits a temple of Lemp?” All the hair stood up on Spayar’s body. Most of the time just the presence of a d'aelar by a Le’Acard’s side was enough to rally most of the nation to them and they’d come through and sit on the throne. But sometimes, it wasn’t. The crown heir in question was killed. D’aelar knew they wouldn’t be spared after a Conflict’s close like their donalim. The only way out was to leave the Alliance and never return, leaving behind everything and one you’d ever known, or kill yourself. Since suicide was against their religion and the will of Lemp necromancers would assist people in their suicides. The d'aelar who went to temples of Lemp were a select few, and they all did so out of shame and grief when their best friends, or - in one case - their lover, had lost the Conflict.

“Careful,” Spayar said slowly, to not betray the hard beating of his heart. “Your dread is showing, your highness,” he said and bowed a little. Sade flicked her tongue at Spayar hatefully and he wondered what the hell had just gotten into him to say that to Teldin’s face. The prince wasn’t the least bit amused.

Teldin dropped his mare's lead and walked away without goodbye. Spayar's heart was all the way up in his throat as he walked away. He lurched forward, grabbed his horse’s lead and his brother’s hand and dragged them away.

"Spayar-

"Later," and Spayar said and stopped long enough to help Duren onto his horse. He scrambled up after his brother.

"But who was that-

"Duren," Spayar said sharply and kicked his mare into a canter to get away from the stables. “Not. Now.” He looked over his shoulder but didn’t see Teldin. Thankfully Duren didn’t ask any more questions and Spayar could focus on putting as much distance between them and the Palace as humanely possible. It was of course this time, when Spayar felt the stress of Teldin and the Conflict on his shoulders, that he remembered that Lady Lenni was the name of a the High Priestess of Belladha, goddess of wisdom. What a stupid thing he’d think of now and what a pointless person Obi was going to see. Spayar didn’t know if he was more annoyed with himself for knowing who Lenni even was, or for thinking about that instead of the fact that Teldin had just promised him if he didn’t join him that he’d make sure Spayar visited a temple of Lemp.

He really hated the royals.

#Writeblr #Writblr #original fantasy #original story #Horse #zs

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harveybwabbit92 · 6 years

Text

DMC: Innocent souls 1

The following is a non profit fan based story, Devil May Cry belongs to Capcom. please support the official release.

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

Gaila whimpered as her stomach growled, her dull lavender eyes scanned the empty streets as she sat huddled behind a bakery waiting for the staff to throw away the unsold bread jumped hearing the backdoor.

The white haired child flinched as she hid farther behind the trashcans, it was Marco the bakery owner taking out the trash this time not his wife...Who was a sweet old lady, who secretly left lunch bags for Gaila knowing the that this was probably the only meal the little girl would have for a while...Marco however.

Gaila remembered the last time he caught her stealing from the dumpster. he grabbed her arm called her a dirty mutt and other names and threatened to report her to the cops if he ever saw her again...and she'd be damned if she was going back to that hell hole!

The eight year old noticed the old mans limp and felt a sliver of guilt when she recalled Bruno biting Marco's ankle to get the old man off her, however another rumble from her tummy soon flushed that feeling out. Gaila stood dead still as Marco took the garbage bag and threw in the dumpster; cussing about him being to old for this crap. The eight year old slowly stood up careful not to make a sound when a can dropped from the trash cans she was hiding behind. she threw her hand over her mouth so not to gasp. Marco whipped his head in the direction the sound came from.

"Whose there?!"

"If it's the same little bitch who bit me, good luck eating tonight!"

Marco scanned the alley waiting when a cat jump from where he thought the noise came from, with a dismissive grunt he reached into he pocket and took out a pad lock and chain. Gaila could only wince as she watch her dinner get locked away. she felt her eyes tear up as Marco walked back into his shop and turn off the lights. Soon the alley was in complete darkness And Gaila was left hungry. and wondering how a sweet old lady like Francesca got stuck with a cold hearted man like Marco... as Bruno nuzzled the little girl from inside her worn out hoodie.

The soccer ball sized demon frowned feeling he was letting Sparda down, as he could only watch his deceased master's grandchild live like this; suddenly a smell a cheesy garlicky smell... Bruno's ball like body shifted and looked outside the mouth of the alley. He saw a very lost looking teenager, sitting on his scooter squinting at his note pad; while the kid was busy Bruno jumped out of Gaila's hoodie and stealthily made his way over to the scooter.

The teen had gotten off to use a pay-phone, while Bruno opened the pizza box strapped behind it, the demi-devil arm switched to his knight form opened the pizza box; grabbed a few slices, and quietly closed it before silently running back to his young mistress. Gaila nearly had a heart attack when Bruno ran off, her eyes tried to see where he had gone when a large black figure with lighting bolt like eyes stared down at her the girl frowned "Bruno! where-" she was cut off by him handing her three slices of pizza still warm...

Bruno then went back to his smaller form and settled back into Gaila's hoodie as the eight year old greedily chowed down only slowing when she picked the olives off, she tried to give Bruno the last slice. but, he refused settling for the crusts and discarded olives, and with that the two were on their way out into night.

Meanwhile

Dante was pissed! that not only was the kid late with his pizza! there were three missing slices and there were olives on it! He contemplated whether he should complain to Romano. but, considering they'll bring up his tab...he begrudgingly let it go.

The next morning... Nero's pov in third person.

Nero slightly bobbed his head to the music coming from his earbud, while he waited for the light to change, It wasn't like he was in a rush or anything; as he took his sweet time getting to Devil may Cry, when the sound of a little kids giggling got his attention. the teen turned and saw a group kids oohing and awing at a little white haired girl in ratty clothes, who was bouncing a black and red soccer ball? he hummed thinking nothing of it, till out of his peripheral... when the girl stretched the ball out like silly putty and it bounced back into it's original shape. That's when Nero noticed the tail,rabbit like ears and the red lighting bolt shaped eyes staring at him...A demon!

The teen felt his stomach tighten "Hey you!" Nero yelled at the girl who jumped five feet in the air, Her purple eyes found his blue ones, in a flash she was off running, "wait" Nero shouted as he tried to follow, but a bus sped passed him blocking his path! When the bus was gone so was the girl. He went over to where she was standing and asked the kids about her they of course; scattered the second he looked at them, Nero scratched the back of his head looked down and saw a hat? he recognized it the girl was wearing it before she ran off he sighed picking it up:looks like he and Dante finally got a job.

Later...

"Yo, old man! you awake?" Nero said slamming the door open "I am now..." Dante moaned from under his magazine ignoring the old man jab he yawned and sat himself up gave Nero a tired glance which quickly turned to concern when he noticed how shaken up the younger male was. "what happen? Your girlfriend dump ya?" Dante joked trying to get a rise out of the teen who just glared at him.

"All have you know we're doing fine."

"Then the hell's got you all spooked?"

"I saw demon at the park on the way here...at least i think it was?"

"YOU THINK?! there's is no "you think" in this business kid! either it was or it wasn't...what did it look like?"

Nero gave Dante the run down, and jumped when Dante's energy changed "And you just let her run off with it?!" the elder hunter growled as Nero backed off "It's not like I meant to!" the teen argued as Dante calmed himself; grabbing his coat and weapons Nero gave him a wide birth just as Morrison arrived the old man could sense the tension the second he stepped out of his car. "What happen?" the old man asked as Nero awkwardly scratched his head "I s-sort of messed up." he repeated what happened on his way over.

Morrison eyes widened the child's description before pulling out a photo "Is this her?" Nero's eyes widened at the girl's photo. "Yeah! that's her!" Dante curiously looked over Morrison's shoulder, he could already tell this child wasn't completely human, which made the situation even more dire.

"Her name is Gaila Maxwell age 8; her social worker reported her missing three days ago, but, she been missing longer then that." Dante's eyes narrowed as he took in the kids features a weird feeling curdle in his stomach, he shrugged it off as Nero held the girl's hat out for Dante.

He could already smell the demon's stench on along with the girl's Morrison and Nero took the low ground while Dante took high, he was at the same park Nero had last seen the kid, when a slightly different aroma got his attention; it was sweet, mixed with grave soil and sage... "She gone to the hills." A voice said causing to look up at the trees when he noticed her,a woman with golden yellow eyes and raven hair lazily watching him from a large tree.*Who the hell is this?* Dante mentally screamed as his eyes drank in her appearance and frankly he was liking what he was seeing.

She was totally his type! she wore a plum scarf that faded into a sky blue, a nice rack that was safe and snug in black and yellow bikini top, with tight denim shorts with black g-string hugging her hips and shredded stockings. Dante gave her a sly smirk before shaking his head remembering what he was there for.

"Sorry what?"

"The little girl you're looking for... I saw her run off into woods towards the hills."

"Oh, yeah thanks..."

"just call me Ripple, it was good seeing you again Danny."

Ripple said jumping from her perch and calmly walking away, Dante just nodded and took off in the direction Ripple pointed out to him when a thought occurred "Wait how-..." the ravenette was already gone.*why does she know that nickname?!* There was only one girl who ever called him that... but, she *It's in the past, Dante focus on finding the kid.* with that Dante continued his job.

Meanwhile

Gaila was in a very bad situation after that boy had yelled at her this morning, she thought he was one of Marco's employees there to report her to police and that met social services knew where she was! so, she ran only she didn't know the area well enough, to realize there was something worst out here, then some cranky old man and it was hunting her...

"hurry up Bruno..." the little girl muttered rubbing her arms Bruno had gone ahead to find a way out of this forest; he said he'd come back for her when he found the exit. the white haired child sighed leaning against a fallen log as she waited for her friends return, when a sudden pinch stung her arm she looked down and saw blood leaking down her arm along with with a hole in her sweater she hissed in pain and confusion when had that happen? maybe she caught her arm on something?

Then it occurred to her, she had been standing still, in a clearing! with nothing sharp that could've pos- Gaila ducked and rolled just as a sickle came flying out of the shadows missing her head by a hair! but, managed to nicked her cheek. the eight year old yelped as tears welled in her eyes, she looked up in the direction the sickle came from. her stomach felt like a block of ice as these ragged twitchy deformed monsters emerged from the darkness. one of the monsters sniffed the air and let out a giddy giggle and he pointed at her "Blood of Sparda!?" it exclaimed as the monstrous horde approached the little girl, Gaila could only shut her eyes wait for the end.

Only nothing happened...Gaila's purple eyes looked up and gasped seeing a large demon standing in front of her and pile of bloody ash at it's feet; the rest of the creatures seemed to hesitate as they observed this newcomer, it's chest and eyes were a blazing orange, it's face was very human looking. Gaila assume it was male because of it's stubble like spikes on it's chin and large broad frame that it was made of black scales and red armor resembling a long red trench-coat.

Unknown to the girl, Dante was observing her too... And He was pissed right the fuck off! with every scratch and cut he saw on her tiny body. He calmly leaned down gently pulled a twig out of her white hair as he examined her cheek and arm, his face contorted into a snarl as primal growl rumbled from his throat.

He silently picked Gaila up and held her close to him as his enraged gaze landed on horde the demons responsible for her injuries and they could sense his killing intent; a few fled while they could. But, the few brave ones that stayed? Yeah...they Barely registered what had happened hit them; before Rebellion had pierced trough their rotted bodies like paper. "Damn you son of Sparda! you can't protect her forever!" one shrieked before rebellion tore it's body in half soon into dust.

Dante turned to the left over demons who shivered under his gaze "Boo." he hissed the demons flinched and took off into the night when he was sure they were gone, Dante de-triggered and calmly turned his attention at the little girl in his arms. Who was gawking at him, if he was her position he do the same, the half-demon smirked "Hey..." she blinked "hi..." she shyly whispered back Dante felt his heart flutter, before a twig snap caused Dante to whipped his head in it's direction he aimed ivory at the intruder only for the girl to grab his wrist "No, stop! that's Bruno! he's my friend!" she begged as Dante stared at her baffled.

"He's not your friend kid, he's a demon."

"Bruno's different he protects me."

"well, he's done a good job proving that today!"

"Please don't...hurt him..."

The child begged Dante was conflicted here he had a kid who was bleeding out and small soccer ball shivering under his gaze, the hunter growled holstering his gun, "Fine! but, if he I find out he was just a lure to get you out here-" he turned to the small demon with a looked that set a car on fire "I'll pop em' like a balloon" he hissed the demon squeaked and nodded before bouncing after the white haired man.

=============================================== This is set in a AU where Dante met Nero four years before DMC4 and is fostering/mentoring him.

ages

Dante 34

Nero 15

Gaila 8

Lady 29

Trish unknown

Patty 10

Morrison 47

#classic devil may cry #Dante #Nero #morrison #anime/game #fanfic #my stuff #crappy grammer #crappy writing

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daringdragons · 8 years

Photo

[Pictured: Kepi, Thain]

@crazyfangarlady @rosy-peryton @serpens-fr @dragonhomeclan @jadedragons @shadowdrac-rising @fr-lore-hub If anybody else wants to be pinged for future lore updates, just ask~!

Related stories: Roava Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, Kepi Comes To Stay, Sibling Bonding Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, The Knight and The Healer, The Knight and His Shadow Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, general story tag~

recommended listening: x x

Shifting Winds, Part One: the devil’s inside, you opened the door

Six months had passed since Kepi had arrived at Clan Roava. Since she had arrived that first sunny day for a visit, and had decided to stay for a bit longer.

(Of course, the plan had always been for her to stay, but her brother didn’t know that. Her brother didn’t know quite a few things.)

Five months had passed since she first kissed Rusila, had first let their flirting turn into something more, had begun to fall in love.

(That hadn’t been apart of the plan, but it didn’t make much difference. Rusila would only benefit from being with Kepi once things fell into place, she wouldn’t be harmed, or so the Coatl kept reminding herself.)

It had been easier than she had assumed it would be to settle into life at Roava. Traveling around the world had certainly been fun, had made her happy, but there was also a sort of comfort that came with having a place to call home. Having friends around the castle and village, having a family that loved her so freely, it was…nice.

Her job as a member of the Clan Guard could be a bit boring at times, but it was still fun, still felt rewarding.

Six months in, she found herself on the job one one of those boring nights; she was stationed on top of the wall that surrounded the castle, tasked with patrolling along the edge, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious and let anyone in through the closed gate if need-be.

The night was warm, so she supposed that’s why the sudden coldness that came over her made her blood run cold, filling her with a sort of dread.

(It wasn’t. She knew that, but she refused to admit it.)

Even before she turned around, ready to begin her next walk around the wall, she knew what she was going to find. Still, she couldn’t quite contain the jump of surprise when she turned to find a certain Nocturne standing inches away, a familiar smile on his face.

She had met Thain a year ago, during her travels, in a small tavern on the border between the Tangled Wood and the Sunbeam Ruins.

When she’d first entered, eyes scanning across the other occupants, she’d noticed him in one corner, at a table by himself, a cloak mostly concealing his face. Paying him no more mind than everybody else in the packed room, she’d made her way to the bar, sitting down at one of the stools as she ordered.

She felt his presence before she actually noticed him, a sudden chill coming over her in the otherwise stuffy room. It wasn’t until she glanced slightly to her right that she realized that he had crossed the room and sat down on the stool next to her. He was staring at her from beneath his cloak, icy white eyes making her involuntarily shudder for the second time.

“Hi,” She offered with a small sideways wave of her hand, her lips upturning in the semblance of a smile.

“Hello,” His voice was velvety smooth in response, hands coming up to pull back the hood of his cloak. His hair was short, with an almost-but-not-quite slicked back appearance, green with flecks of blue throughout; several dark red spines poked through, slanting backwards, matching the dark red of his skin.

(With his pointed nose and strong jawline, Kepi supposed he was handsome, though there was an almost…eeriness to him that negated that thought.)

As the bartender handed Kepi her drink, and took the strange Nocturne’s order, she attempted to break through the awkwardness.

“So, where are you headed?” The tavern was no more than a crossroads; everybody in there was on some sort of journey.

He regarded her for a few moments, silent, his stare verging on making her uncomfortable when he finally responded.

“My path is taking me through the Wood next. After that, we shall see.”

“Oh, so like me, then…I sort of just go wherever the wind takes me,” She smirked at the joke of sorts, Windborn eyes glinting. “The Tangled Wood can be a little…dangerous, though, are you going alone?”

“That was the plan. Why, are you offering to travel through with me?” A small smile came to his face, eyes questioning.

It wasn’t necessarily a strange question for Kepi, not when she so often traveled with others. She would meet single or groups of travelers in inns or taverns much like the one they were in, and if she found them interesting enough, offered them her company for a bit. She was mostly content to travel on her own, but traveling with others for a short while, meeting new and interesting people and learning their stories, that was half the fun of exploring for her.

Nonetheless, she hesitated for a few seconds; she had barely spoken to this Nocturne for more than a few minutes, didn’t know anything at all about him. But, there was something intriguing about him, something below the surface that made her want to learn more. And so-

“Sure, why not? I wasn’t sure where I was headed next anyhow, and I don’t like the thought of anyone going through those dark woods by themself,” She smiled fully, extending a hand towards him. “I’m Kepi, by the way.”

He stared at the outstretched hand for a few moments before taking it in his own, shaking her hand slightly; she nearly pulled away out of reflex as soon as he touched her, his skin colder than ice, leaving her hand almost numb afterwards.

“Thain,” He smirked, an odd glint in his eye as he held her hand for a few moments too long. “A pleasure to meet you, Kepi.”

They left the next day after spending the night at a nearby inn, meeting up outside after a good night’s rest. As they began their trek through the Wood, the morning light soon gave way to the natural darkness of the Shadowlands, the mist so thick at times that Kepi felt she might choke on it.

When it became a tad too much, she concentrated for a moment before releasing a small burst of air around them, momentarily clearing the fog. When Thain turned to look at her, an almost impressed look in her eye, she shrugged.

“My dad’s the real wind mage…that right there, what I just did, is pretty much all I can do…it’s more than either of my brothers can do, though, I’m the only one that inherited any of his ability,” She grinned, crooked and proud at the same time.

Thain remained silent, simply staring at her more, and she felt hesitant to try and start any more conversation for the moment.

They’d been traveling for two days - two long, mostly awkward days of Kepi almost regretting agreeing to go with Thain - when they encountered him.

The fog was light in the area they were in, offering views of the dark trees all around them, almost beautiful as they stretched towards the sky, the sentinels of the Wood.

Suddenly, as they walked along the path between the trees, Kepi spotted what appeared to be a dragon, simply standing off to the side of the path, staring straight ahead.

Coming to a full stop, Kepi held out a hand for Thain to stop as well, cocking her head to the side as she stared at the blindfolded dragon, feeling almost amused. Sure, the Tangled Wood was full of odd folks, but the way that this dragon was just standing there, statuelike, he felt almost out of place.

When he turned, slowly, to stare directly at Kepi, she felt an odd chill run down her spine, barely able to contain the shiver that came over her.

Her curious side overriding the one telling her that it might not exactly be safe to approach such a mysterious figure, she walked closer, standing in front of him for a moment, staring at his blindfolded face, before clearing her throat slightly. She didn’t pay much attention to Thain, who had crept closer as well, stopping a few paces behind her, watching the encounter with a careful eye.

“Uh…hey there,” She started, unsure what exactly her plan was in talking to the strange dragon; she hadn’t quite thought that far ahead. She settled on the first question that came to mind, even if it was a little direct; something made her feel as though it was the right thing to ask in this situation. “Who are you?”

"It holds no importance...our paths will never cross again." He paused, as if he'd lost his focus, before resuming a few seconds of silence later. "But you need to know of where your own will go...of the magic that carries you...from your father, son of a god, and the Wind itself that flows in your blood..."

Thain, bemused at first by his traveling companion’s awkward attempt at speaking to the mysterious dragon, felt his breath hitch at what the Skydancer said.

Well then, he thought, wheels already turning in his head. He leaned in a bit closer as the Skydancer spoke to Kepi in halted, drawn out sentences, listening closely as he spoke of what he had seen, of her brother, of kings and queens, of what laid before her.

Eventually, the mysterious seer paused mid-sentence, and when he didn’t continue after a few minutes, Kepi turned away, her face almost blank, seemingly in shock at everything she had just been told. She started when she found Thain there, nearly right next to her, seeming to of practically forgotten what she had been doing prior to her encounter.

“Did…did you hear all of that?” She asked after a few moments, voice strained, not looking directly at Thain.

“I did. It was all rather…fascinating.”

She snorted, as though that was the understatement of the century, a smile coming to her face and falling away just as quickly, her thoughts racing.

“I…some of the things he said…”

“You know,” He cut her off, his tone smooth. “If what he said was true, about your father, then I believe the power inside of you must be much greater than you realize. You would be capable of amazing things, perhaps…perhaps I could help you with harnessing those abilities, with learning to use them properly.”

(What he didn’t say was that he had sensed that great power inside of her from the moment she set foot in that tavern, his own powerful magicks drawn to her, as though saying there she is.)

Finally meeting his eyes, he saw that tears were pricking at the edges, the sudden and very surprising information that the seer had given her a bit much for her to take in. He nearly grinned, thankful for the opportunity to strike when she was so vulnerable, so confused.

“I…that would be…that would be great, thank you, are you…are you sure?”

He did grin then, a chilling thing that might’ve given Kepi an ominous feeling had she been paying attention.

“Of course, it would be my honor.”

What followed in the next few months was a grueling, almost painful training regimen, as Thain set about helping Kepi in drawing out the powers inside of her. They both learned that her power was vast, even stronger than Thain first thought, much to his quiet delight.

“Your father,” He said one day during their training, after she had produced a rather intense gust of wind. “Is a fool…his powers can only be even stronger than your own, and yet he uses them to…what? Fly an airship? He’s an absolute idiot for not-”

He was unable to finish his sentence, as he was shoved against a nearby tree, the wind holding him there for a moment before he was released, stumbling forward as he immediately stared at Kepi with outrage. His glare was nothing compared to her own, though, pure venom seeping into every word as she spoke.

“Never speak of my father like that again. Ever.”

And he didn’t. For a few weeks, at least, until he subtly mentioned it again, this time more careful in his words. She merely grunted in response, concentrating on the small twister that she was carefully weaving.

After that, he mentioned it more and more, until, eventually, she began agreeing with him, not only about her father, but about what could be done with her powers, with her status as he referred to her lineage.

“You know,” He began one night at dinner, in the way that he began so many of his statements. “Being a queen is practically one or two steps away from being a goddess, considering who you’re related to. …Didn’t you say that your brother recently became a king?”

Kepi was…uncertain at first, though he saw the light in her eyes, something there seeming very interested. It was simpler than when he turned her against her father, reminding her how foolish her brother was, at least from what she had told him, wondering if such a dragon could be fit to rule.

It was only a matter of time before she started to agree, to even almost seem to think that what Thain was saying was her idea.

Then, then it was only a matter of perfecting the plan that Thain had already concocting, of figuring out every little detail.

They parted ways not long after, Kepi on her way to Clan Roava, and Thain to seek out the necessary components for their plan to work. Thain would join her in six months, give or take, once she had had enough time to ingratiate herself with the dragons of Roava.

And now, six months later, here Thain stood in the dark of the night, the moon above casting an almost eerie light over him as it poked through the clouds.

“Kepi,” He smiled, the chill around him almost visible. “It’s so good to finally see you again.”

who wants to help me kick Thain’s ass?

part two coming very soon! shit is about to go Down and it’s going to be great

if anyone has any questions or anything about what’s going on here definitely ask I want to yell about these dragons so much

also!! special thank you to sildy crazyfangarlady for helping me out with the "mysterious seer"/Morgan, since he's her character! =3

#fr clan lore #flight rising #flightrising #flight rising stories #flight rising clan lore #clan story #clan roava #kepi #thain #shifting winds #there's going to be so much drama and suffering i can't wait to finally have it all written out #this is so long i'm so sorry

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daringdragons · 8 years

Photo

[Pictured: Arys, Evie]

@toothlessrising @crazyfangarlady @serpens-fr @dragonhomeclan @viafr If anyone else wants to be pinged for future lore from me, let me know~!

Related stories: Roava Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, Kepi Comes To Stay, Sibling Bonding Pt. 1 and Pt. 2, The Knight and The Healer, general story tag~

(btw, if anyone wants descriptions on how these two look in their human forms, just ask~!)

The Knight and His Shadow, Part 1

Arys had always liked Edain, had considered her a friend; he admired her fierce devotion to the deity that they shared, the Lightweaver, and had never minded her occasional over-zealousness the way the others in the Clan Guard seemed to...he often wondered if he was her only true friend outside of her mate.

So, when Edain’s mate, Eucario, first brought around their child, scarcely more than a toddler, to visit her and the rest of the Guard, he offered the small girl a “Hello” and a small wave, despite his general aversion and confusion when it came to younglings.

The child, a Ridgeback like her father, had been taught early how to shift into the smaller, fleshy forms that most of the residents of Roava took, and so she stood much smaller than Arys than she might've in their dragon forms. Craning her neck to look up, up, up at the Wildclaw, her bright yellow eyes widened at the sight of him in his golden plate armor.

“Hi,” She responded, barely more than a whisper, her hand raising in an attempt at a wave. The two stared at each other for a long moment, Arys not entirely unused to small children being awed by his appearance, before Eucario broke the silence with an “awww” at his daughter’s greeting; Arys would notice in the coming weeks that the Ridgeback tended to “aw” at most everything his daughter did, the already normally enthusiastic dragon now almost unbearably so in fatherhood.

When her father led her away a short while later, encouraging her to wave goodbye to her mother, the child only had eyes for Arys.

This would prove to be a bit of a problem.

The day had been long, and would be longer still, and Arys wanted nothing more than to spend a few moments with his mate. They had agreed earlier in the day to meet on the beach, so after finding someone to take over his guard duty for a short while, the Wildclaw made his way down there.

As he approached the shore, he could clearly make out Ravi, standing with his back to the ocean, waiting. Coming closer, he could clearly see the amused look on his mate's face.

“What's so funny?”

Ravi's grin only widened, pointing his finger over Arys’ shoulder.

“You seem to have a follower.”

The Wildclaw instantly knew what his mate meant, though he didn't quite believe, until he quickly turned around to find wide yellow eyes staring up at him.

This was not the first time this had happened. In the weeks since the child, Evie, as her parents had named her, had first met Arys, he had found her following more times than he could count. She had grown a bit taller, but she was quiet as ever, and this included her footsteps - Arys liked to think that he was alert, with a keen sense of hearing, but very rarely had he actually heard the small Ridgeback following him.

Much to Arys’ confusion, Edain and Eucario merely found their daughter's stalking of him cute. The first few times they had, of course, been quite worried about wherever their child had slipped away to, but once they realized that Evie was only ever with Arys, who they knew she would be safe with, their worry turned into amusement.

Thus, situations like this had become a regular occurrence.

Arys sighed, begrudgingly reaching out his hand for Evie to take. “Let's get you back to your father, you really-” Some sort of scolding died on his lips, it would do no good to dissuade her anyhow, and the pout she normally gave the few times he had asked her not to follow him was positively unfair.

Ravi raised his closed fist to his mouth, stifling an “Aw~” at the sight of the child taking his mate's hand - he found Arys’ little “problem” absolutely adorable.

“Not a word,” Arys warned when he glanced at his mate, wagging a finger at him for effect.

Ravi only laughed, “Of course not, dear. Hurry back now, at this rate I'll barely have any time to kiss that pretty face of yours before you have to get back to work.”

The Wildclaw promptly scooped up Evie in his arms, much to Ravi's amusement and the child's delight, practically dashing back to the castle.

“Teachmehowtobelikeyouplease.”

Arys had been standing at his usual post - just outside of the king's throneroom, directly to the left of the double doors -, when the small voice broke the silence in the hall.

Looking down and to his left, he was met with his former shadow. As Evie had grown, while she still plainly stared at Arys when they were in the same room, she had stopped following him, seemingly embarrassed by her younger self’s starry eyed stalking. Now, gangly and fully in the throes of adolescence, she was shy as ever, her eyes averting to somewhere else down the hall when Arys turned to look at her.

“...What?” He questioned, unsure if he had correctly heard her, and even if he had, he was a little confused.

“I...I want you to train me to be a...a knight.”

He simply stared at her for a few long moments, blinking, in surprise or something else he wasn't sure, and the prolonged silence was enough to trigger the young Ridgeback into saying more.

“Ev-ever since I could remember, I was...I wanted to be just like you. With your...gallantry and your...your calmness, an-and your devotion towards the king, and everything else,” She finished her stammer, her cheeks reddening as she went on.

Another long beat of silence and she began to backtrack.

“Nev-nevermind, this was stupid, I shouldn't of-” There were tears in her eyes, as quickly as that, and Arys was finally jostled out of his surprised silence.

“No! I mean...that's not stupid. I've never...trained anybody before, but I would be honored, Evie.” He swallowed, offering the barest of smiles, and a much larger grin broke out on the younger dragon's face before she reigned it in a bit.

“Really?” She breathed out, nearly seeming to be vibrating with excitement, an odd sight on the normally quiet, reserved dragon. “I didn't...thank you so much...when can we start?”

“Let's say 6AM, tomorrow morning,” He responded, and the smile faded even more from her face as she stopped herself from protesting, instead offering a nod much too serious for someone her age.

“That's adorable,” Ravi gushed, Arys having just finished telling him about his latest encounter with Evie.

“I don't know the first thing about training anyone, Ravi,” Arys nearly whined, if the Wildclaw was in fact capable of whining. They were relaxing in Ravi's room, Arys reclined on the bed, most of his armor neatly placed on the floor due to lack of anywhere else to put it; a large wooden table took up one wall of the small room, but it was absolutely covered with books on magic and healing, pieces of parchment with spells and recipes messily scrawled on them, and entirely too many healing supplies to properly fit on the table.

This was where Ravi sat, finishing writing something on a piece of parchment, a bottle of something glowing an odd shade of yellow next to him. The fading sun shone through a window facing the table, and Arys’ train of thought halted for a moment as he simply had to stop and stare at his mate, nearly glowing in the light.

“You’ll do fine,” Ravi assured, rolling up the piece of parchment and tucking it into a cubby hole on the table, turning in his chair to give the Wildclaw a soft smile. “You learned just fine...you learned exceptionally well, in fact, that much is made clear by what an excellent knight you are...just take all of that and give it to her, as best you can.”

The Skydancer stood, crossing the room to his bed in two steps, practically collapsing on the mattress next to his smaller mate, rolling onto his side and propping his head up with his hand.

“You thrive on structure, Arys, stop trying to pretend like you haven’t already begun to plan her first lesson in excruciating detail,” He grinned, and if the way Arys pursed his lips and averted his eyes were any indication, he was spot on.

“Stop being grumpy for the sake of being grumpy,” Ravi teased as he leaned forward, kissing his blushing mate on the nose, before rolling on top of the Wildclaw and proceeding to cover the other dragon’s face with kisses until a smile broke out on Arys’ face, letting out a teasing sigh.

“Alright, alright, come here,” He simply murmured, wrapping his arms around Ravi as he pulled him in for a proper kiss, putting thoughts of do I start her with a blunted sword or a real one and should I get the blacksmith to make her some armor or is it too early on the backburner for the time being.

that’s gay

stay tuned for the next part where I proceed to cry along with Ravi over how adorable Arys and Evie are!

#flight rising #flightrising #fr clan lore #flight rising stories #flight rising clan lore #clan story #clan roava #arys #evie #ravi #edain #eucario #idk if those last two necessarily deserve a tag but whatevs #dad!eucario gives me life this is the role he's been waiting his whole life to fill #he is the Best Dad #i wasn't going to split this into parts originally but this right here is approximately 1.5k words #so i figured i probably should lol #we'll see how long the next part actually ends up being tho exactly 0% of it has been written #i hate naming stories so much this one has a silly name but whatever

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