#he wears a wishing stone I gave him around his neck

[guccilavalamp]

Look at what I made my husband for Valentine’s Day 🥹

[mediumgayitalian]

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———

Twenty minutes later, Solace hurries out of his cabin in cowboy boots.

And jeans.

Nico gapes at him.

“Go go go go go, questions later,” Will hisses, herding him behind the Apollo cabin. “We are on a time limit, we gotta —”

“You’re wearing close-toed shoes.”

“Yes, yes, sometimes I wear the clothes that I own. Wild. Let’s go.” Will tugs, uselessly, on his arm, but Nico’s half-certain his jaw has taken root in the ground, cementing him in place, because what the actual shit.

“Solace, you wore flip-flops to the snow-smothered bus stop in January. I thought you had, like, a condition!”

“I do have a condition. It’s called You Are Not Hurrying, Death Breath, let’s go —”

This time when he pulls, Nico stumbles after him, ducking under windowsills and inching around flower gardens. Every time someone so much as looks in their direction, Will plants both hands on his chest and shoves them into a corner somewhere, craning his neck to watch until they move on. Every time he does, another piece of Nico’s soul breaks away from his body and descends into hell. There is an actual trail of bones and tilled earth and dead grass behind him. Will doesn’t need to worry about being stealthy — the death aura of Nico’s dignity is large enough to scare off anything within a four mile radius.

“In here!”

Undeterred by the death aura, for some reason, Will seizes his bicep and shoves him in a crack between the Hypnos and Dionysus cabins. He slips in a millisecond later, crowding him against the warm bricks, forearm pressed awkwardly next to Nico’s head.

“Hnggh,” Nico gasps, mournfully wishing his last sliver of self-respect goodbye. Rest in fucking peace. “Do you have to be so — close, Will, gods —”

“Shhh!”

“If you shush me again I am going to rip your throat out —”

“Go, go, go!”

Yanked forward again, Nico doesn’t have the time to finish his threat. This time, at least, they sprint the final stretch to the shed without any more hiding and shoving.

Thank all the fucking gods. One more second of Will’s stupid torso — since fucking when does he wear polo shirts, huh, what the shit fuck is up with that — pressed against his and Nico’s bronchitis was going to come back. And this time he’s going to succumb to it.

“Okay,” Will says. He stands in front of a tarp-covered lump, gripping one side and jutting his chin out at the other. “On three, we tear this off and start pushing. We need past Thalia’s tree in under thirty seconds. Got it?”

“No,” Nico says stubbornly, “you still haven’t explained what the rush is —”

“One two three go!”

Will, unfortunately, has been tricking ADHD teenagers into doing things they don’t want to do for years, so Nico’s ripping off the tarp and shoving the chariot out of its stall faster than he can register what he’s doing. He practically sprints to keep up with Will, chariot wheels creaking happily as they rush over stones and sticks and forgotten weapons.

“We’re leaving now, Chiron! Bye!” Will hollers, moving too fast to give him a second to respond. Luckily, Chiron is similarly busy, galloping after a speeding Harley without more than a backwards wave and a sharp don’t die, please!

“That dynamite I gave Harley’ll only keep everyone distracted another thirty seconds,” Will mutters, ignoring Nico’s alarmed the fucking what you gave Harley, “so we need to move, let’s go.”

“Will — slow down a half fucking second, Christ, not everyone is seventy percent leg — we don’t even have pegasi!”

“Will you keep it down.” Will looks back and forth, eyes wide, like he’s worried someone is going to pop up with a pack of the winged animals. “Just — stop asking questions! We’re almost home free!”

“You’ve gone insane. It’s finally, actually happened, after all these years, who woulda thought, fully bonkers at age sixteen —”

“Oh, shut up.”

Muttering his complaints, Nico helps him push the infernal chariot down Half-Blood Hill. Among his grievances, he makes it abundantly clear that 1) this is stupid, 2) he did not agree to physical labour, 3) he would not have agreed to come if he had known about the physical labour, and 4) this is stupid.

“Just a few more yards, then we can —”

“Okay, no, that’s it.” Nico lets go of the chariot, letting the wheel dig into the soft ground and send the whole thing halting. He meets Will’s pout head-on; arms crossed, jaw set, foot tapping, refusing to give into those big blue eyes.

“C’mon, Neeks.” A faint explosion sounds off in the distance. Will’s eyes get more pleading, more hopeful. “We won’t have much time after the diversion wears off…”

“You have three seconds before I turn the hell around, Solace.”

“Please?”

“One.”

He pushes uselessly at the chariot. It spins a sad little circle without someone pushing the other side. “Neeks!”

“Two.”

“Alright, fine! Help me push again and I’ll explain on the way down.”

“Much easier when you just do as I say,” Nico grumbles, starting to push the stupid (horseless and therefore useless) chariot again. “Isn’t it?”

Will, predictably, rolls his eyes, although he can’t quite help the smile that pulls at his lips. Nico tells the butterflies that go buck fucking wild in his stomach to go to hell. This does nothing.

“How much do you know about the chariot?” Will asks eventually, after a couple minutes of shoving the stupid thing past a deep trench in the soil, leftover from the war. (Nico is going to set the fucking thing on fire. It’s a flying chariot — shouldn’t it be lightweight? Why is he suffering?) They’re nearly three quarters down the hill, and it takes everything Nico has not to risk it all and shadow travel the last couple dozen feet. Yeah, it might kill him, but then his problem would immediately go away. Tempting does not begin to cover it.

“Uh, big source of drama, right? Apollo and Ares worked together to seize it, argued over who got to keep it?”

He cuts a careful glance over to Will, well aware it’s a sensitive topic. He knows the question isn’t a trap — Will would never do that to him — but it’s probably best to tread lightly. As far as he’s concerned, this is a sore point that’ll take more than a couple years to heal.

Luckily, there’s no tension to Will’s face. “Mhm. I wasn’t there for much of the planning, ‘cause I was busy in the infirmary and also, like, twelve, but it took a lot of time on both sides. When Michael and everyone seized it, though, it glowed gold.”

“…Ah.”

Will snorts at his awkwardness, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure made it hard for the Ares cabin to claim, as dicey as it may be. Here, help me park it on the side of the road.”

There’s a thatch of weeds and undergrowth separating the road from the base of the hill, so dragging the chariot over is a struggle and a half. Nico can’t help but think that this task would be very easy if the chariot was harnessed to a couple pegasi and flying over the fucking thatch, as it is meant to do. When he voices this very valid thought, Will does not respond.

He does walk into a thistle, though, so Nico feels considerably better about the whole ordeal.

“The thing about the blessing —” Will grunts, yanking the chariot onto the gravel shoulder with one final tug — “is that it’s not that big of a deal. My dad blesses shit all the time. Our cabin is blessed. The infirmary is blessed. Hell, half my scalpels are blessed, and I throw those things out all the time ‘cause they’re dangerous when they get dull. Just because my dad blessed it doesn’t mean we actually have to keep it.”

“Okay…” Nico says slowly, “then why was it such a big deal?”

“The blessing on its own wasn’t.” Will’s voice gets fainter as he lowers himself onto the pavement, dragging himself under the belly of the chariot. Nico is confused for a full three seconds before a particularly rough patch of asphalt snags Will’s shirt and drags, and wow, are those jeans low rise. His throat is suddenly very dry. “Blessing a chariot on the other hand…”

Will makes a dorky little noise of success, crawling back from under the chariot. When he resurfaces, he’s grinning, carved piece of wood the same material as the chariot clenched in his hand. There’s soot smeared across his left cheek, his curls have tangled themselves into more of a mess than usual, and there are three separate scuff marks on his nice jeans.

Nico ducks his head, hiding a smile. What a dorky loser. Even dressed up as he is (boy, has Nico fallen low, if he’s calling jeans and cowboy boots dressed up), he still manages to look like…Will.

A really, really hot version of Will, but. Whatever. Details.

“The hell is that?”

“This,” Will says grandly, feeling around the wall of the chariot until he finds a specific spot, “is the reason my brother gave a fuck about a dumbass chariot.” He sticks the edge of the wooden tool in a tiny groove, wedging it open to reveal a hidden panel and a small, golden button. Nico meets Will’s grin with raised eyebrows, impressed.

“What do you know about Michael?”

“Uh, not too much.”

“You think he, in any reality, would have had that much interest in a hunk of wood?”

Nico had scarcely met him more than a couple times, but Michael Yew made an impression, that was for sure. For someone who was shorter than Nico when he was ten years old, he sure took up a lot of space. In the few times Nico remembers seeing him, he’d been concerned with his bow, his camera, or showing any given person who so much as blinked at him wrong just how quickly he could turn their ass concave. If Nico is correct, actually, the one time he and a pegasus had been in the same vicinity, they’d hissed at each other. Nico didn’t even know pegasi could hiss.

He tries to find a delicate way to say this.

“He seemed more interested in other endeavours,” he says politely.

Will laughs loudly. “He would rather shove an arrow in his eye than race a chariot!” His bright smile is impossible not to match, and Nico is relieved to find him totally comfortable, relaxed; hell, even excited. Usually, any talk of his siblings, even fond, makes him quiet. He’s glad for this change, however unusual. “Man, I loved my brother more than anything, but he was the most ornery motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. He taught me every swear in every language by the time I was nine, just because he knew it would drive Lee batty. He didn’t care about some spoil of war.”

He smirks, wide and devilish, and Nico’s knees go weak. Dimples like that should be illegal.

“He was smart, though. And he figured, if dad’s blessing made this chariot anything like his own…”

He reaches out and presses the golden button with his thumb, letting go and standing back once he registers a faint click. After a couple seconds, the chariot begins to glow, soft at first, then brighter, then Nico has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the stinging burn, and then when he opens them, it —

He gapes. Will grins.

Where the chariot used to be, is now a shiny, brand-new, black and yellow motorbike, two helmets gleaming on the sparkling leather seat.

“…Then it might be a little more than some lousy chariot.”

Without waiting for Nico to pick his jaw off the floor, Will rushes forward. He tosses one of the helmets to Nico — which he barely manages to catch, still working on processing what the fuck just happened — and tucks the other under his arm. Nico happens to notice how his biceps flex with the action, and then vows to have his father bankrupt the entire polo shirt industry, because he can never be caught lacking like this by any mortal soul. It’s humiliating.

There’s a click as Will unlatches the seat, lifting it up to access the compartment under it. He pulls out a bundle mass of black fabric, and with a flick of his shoulders reveals it to be a fucking leather jacket and oh, gods, Nico takes back the polo shirt complaints, he can live with the polo shirt. This is too much. This is —

“Any time you’re done ogling at me, you can climb on,” Will calls out. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look in Nico’s direction, instead sliding on the seat facing resolutely forward, amused smirk on his face. And because he wants Nico to die, actually, he straightens his jacket, making sure it fits his shoulders right (by the gods does it ever) brushes his hair backwards (there is no genuine reason for someone’s hair to actually shine in the sunlight) and slides his helmet on. When he finally does look back in Nico’s direction, through his raised visor, the combined sight of his sparkling blue eyes and the cut of his face under the angular helmet actually gives him tachycardia.

“I hate you,” Nico croaks. “Not joking.”

Will throws his head back and laughs, baring his long, tanned throat. Nico follows the bob of his adam’s apple like Tantalus does the forbidden fruit. It’s horrible, and what’s worse is that Will is visibly preening like the fuckin’ peacock he is. Someone should remind him he’s basically a dressed up turkey. Or something. Nico’s brain is operating at twenty percent capacity, his ability to metaphor properly is a secondary concern.

“Just get over here, you goober. We’re on a time limit, remember?”

Shoving his helmet on to hide his flaming face, Nico does, sliding on with a healthy four inches of space between them.

“Mm, not gonna work, ParaNorman. This thing’s enchanted, we’ll be going well over a hundred. Hold on properly.”

Praying to seven different gods for strength, at once, Nico scooches the agonizing few inches closer.

“Hands around waist, Death Boy.”

“I’m fucking — I’m getting there, you asshole, gimme a goddamn second.”

“Do you need help?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up so I can focus.”

Maybe it’s the healer in him, or maybe there actually is a god looking out for Nico and they decide to have mercy. Maybe it’s a third option. Either way, Will reaches back and wraps his callused hands around Nico’s wrist, tugging them gently forward and resting them on the narrow curve of his hips. Nico holds them there, along with his breath, until some of the panicky tension starts to loosen in his chest, and he relaxes forward, resting his chest against Will’s back.

“There,” he says quietly, humming with approval when Nico’s arms link properly around his waist. He squeezes his clasped wrists once — a silent you good? — and waits for Nico’s minute nod, face buried in the back of Will’s neck, before starting up the engine, revving it twice before leaning forward, body flush to the bike. Nico can practically feel his grin, it’s so clear in his mind’s eye, in the delight thrumming through Will’s entire body, that he can’t help his own smile, too, can’t help but feel the thrum of the machine, the sharp smell in the air. He tightens his hold and Will lets out a loud, whooping laugh.

“Let’s ride, baby!”

With a push off the ground and a twist of a thrusters, they’re off, leaving behind only the echo of the roaring engine and the joyful, startled sound of Nico’s shriek.

———

next

[bumblesimagines]

When Fire Meets Fate

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

A little short but hopefully good. Not very fond of this.

~~~

"I hardly understand why you refuse to cooperate with Father, (Y/N)," Alicent muttered quietly, pouring herself a cup of tea. Lifting her head, she eyed her brother with a frown, fingers slipping under the saucer to scoop it up from its spot on the table. Softly blowing, she watched the steam rise. "Everything he does is-"

"For himself." (Y/N) interrupted, running his fingers over flower designs on his mother's old jewelry box. Carefully prying it open, his eyes looked over the gemstone necklaces he'd seen his mother wear so many times. He picked one of her finer necklaces, cradling it in his palm before approaching his sister. Alicent set her cup down with a clink and raised her hands toward her hair, lifting her braids as (Y/N) moved to stand behind her. 

"Mother would hate to see how much you resent Father," Alicent murmured, releasing her hair once the necklace was secured around her neck, one hand falling to touch the gemstones. 

"Father and I have never seen eye to eye, Alicent." 

"But it's worsened, has it not? When's the last time you've had a civil conversation with him?" Alicent spun around to face him, hair swinging over her shoulder and brows knitting together. The sight of her worried doe eyes tugged at his heartstrings and (Y/N) sighed. Looking down as Alicent took his hands into her own and ran her thumb over his knuckles. "All this fighting and resentment... It'll do you no good, (Y/N). He's our father and he loves us."

"He loves you. And even then, he doesn't truly care about what you think, just what you can do for him. One day, you're gonna reflect on these days and you'll wish you had listened to me." (Y/N) met her eyes again. Big and brown like their mothers'. Even with stoic faces, their eyes betrayed them, showing an ocean of emotions. 

"You're hurting and lashing out, (Y/N)." Alicent straightened her shoulders, pink-colored lips pulling into a line. "Perhaps a prayer-"

"I will not argue with you about this again, Alicent." He muttered and slipped his hands out of her tender hold, stepping away from her and walking toward the doors.

"Where are you going?" She called out after him.

"On a walk." (Y/N) replied, pushing one of the doors open and stepping out into the hallway. Maids and guards bowed their heads as he walked past them, mumbled greetings falling from their lips. If only the other lords and ladies gave him the same ounce of respect. Sure, they greeted him similarly, only to whisper about his family as soon as his back turned to them. Not even kings and queens were safe from the rumors spread about in court. Sweet smiles turned venomous when one wasn't looking. 

Stepping onto a balcony overlooking one of the many courtyards, (Y/N) peered down at the knights below, waiting and praying to be picked for the Kingsguard. (Y/N) ran his hand along the railing, feeling the bumpy stone against his soft skin. Unlike many of his brothers, knighthood hadn't called out to him. Sure, he knew how it felt to hold a sword and swing it, but the desire to strike someone had never sprung out at him. And besides, the Hightowers had people for that. So, the skin of his hands remained without a scratch.

"Enjoying the weather, Lord (Y/N)? It's a lovely day." 

Dropping his arm to his side, he bowed his head. "Princess Rhaenys." He greeted, lifting his eyes to look at the older woman. She studied him, seemingly debating whether he'd be worth talking to or not.

"Tell me, Lord (Y/N)... How is it being the son of Otto Hightower?" Rhaenys asked as she rose from her seat, her long dark blue dress sliding across the floor as she moved.

"Lovely." (Y/N) answered dully, clasping his hands behind his back. Rhaenys hummed and smirked, stepping toward the railing and resting her arms on it, eyes traveling over the crowd of knights before they landed on Rhaenyra. The new heir stood beside Ser Harrold and looked rather bored with the task at hand. Rhaenys watched the princess closely, fingers drumming against her arm. She'd been denied the crown all those years ago because of her gender, only to watch her cousin name his daughter heir. (Y/N) knew the feeling of being so easily dismissed all too well.

"I hear you've made a name for yourself," Rhaenys spoke up once more, glancing in his direction. "The Boy Who Never Smiles... Quite the title at the mere age of five and ten." He remained silent, watching the knights as they were called up by Ser Harrold and waved off by Princess Rhaenyra.

Noticing his lack of response, Rhaenys switched topics. "I assume you are engaged?"

"I am not, Princess." 

"A boy of your status without a betrothed? Your father must have something planned. Perhaps an engagement that will finally get his blood on the throne." (Y/N) grimaced at her words despite the amusement behind them. He could imagine his dear sister talking to King Viserys late at night, saying the right words and doing the right things to get him interested. And there was nothing he could do, not when their own father encouraged it.

"I hear your sister and Princess Rhaenyra are close. Could the same be said for you?" Rhaenys asked as she pushed herself up, gaze lingering on the knights before she looked at him, head tilted and brow raised. (Y/N) looked toward Rhaenyra, watching her speak with one of the knights before shaking his head.

"We're not close." He answered, turning back to Rhaenys. "The most we've spoken about is the weather." 

While appearing unsatisfied with his answer, Rhaenys nodded and returned to her previous spot on the bench, lifting her cup toward a maid. She watched her cup fill before stopping the maid, motioning to the wine with a nod from her head but (Y/N) rejected her silent offer. 

Clearing his throat, (Y/N) moved his arms out from behind his back and toyed with the ring on his finger. "If I may be so bold, Princess..." Trailing off, he waited for her to nod before continuing. "If you had been chosen as heir back during King Jaehaerys reign, it would've saved both the Targaryens' and Hightowers' much trouble."

"You blame the throne for the death of your mother." Rhaenys mused softly.

"I blame my father. I understand being the Hand has been his job for many years but I believe you would've chosen someone else and thus we might've returned to Oldtown. Back home, she would've been a priority, not a second thought." (Y/N) explained. Rhaenys set her cup down on the table beside her. Pressing her lips together, she looked up at him and extended her hand toward him. (Y/N) hesitantly reached out, pressing his palm against hers. She ran her thumb over the back of his hand, something she most likely did to comfort her own children. 

"I offer my condolences, Lord (Y/N). Losing a mother is never easy." She spoke quietly, almost warmly. "And your support is appreciated, child."

"Thank you, Princess. I'll be taking my leave." (Y/N) retracted his hand and bowed his head, resuming his walk and continuing down the hall. He turned the corner, fingers ghosting over the spot Rhaenys had provided comfort. He felt tears prick at the back of his eyes. (Y/N) hadn't realized how much he missed the comfort of a mother. Inhaling, (Y/N) blinked away the tears. Weeping didn't bring back the dead. 

Heading down the stairs, he halted upon noticing the princess waiting at the bottom of the staircase. She offered him a smile and (Y/N) sighed, resuming his trek down the steps and walking past her, hoping she'd been waiting for someone else. But instead, she fell into step with him.

"Have a nice chat with Princess Rhaenys?" Rhaenyra questioned with a grin. Had Targaryen's always been so nosy? (Y/N) exhaled through his nose and glanced at the girl beside him. When he didn't respond, Rhaenyra quickened her pace and stood in his path, a cheeky smile appearing on her face despite his annoyance.

"Why don't you ask her?" (Y/N) breathed.

"Because I asked you, Lord (Y/N)." Rhaenyra shrugged her shoulders, a soft giggle slipping out. The happiest he'd seen her since the passing of Queen Aemma. A façade for her grief, maybe. But (Y/N) wasn't in the position to question a princess, much less one that had been made heir to the throne.

"It was a lovely chat, Princess." (Y/N) answered. "How was picking a new knight for the Kingsguard?"

"You were watching?" Rhaenyra tilted her head, long hair swaying to one side. "I chose Ser Criston Cole; the knight from the tourney who bested my uncle. Can you believe he was the only knight with battle experience?" 

"A good choice then, Princess." (Y/N) praised and the corners of her lips twitched upward. "You and your father deserve to be protected by the best and that certainly shouldn't be some fool who weeps over losing a game."

"My thoughts exactly." 

"If that is all-"

"No, it's not." Rhaenyra shook her head and took a step closer to him, hands folding infront of her. (Y/N) resisted the urge to sigh and instead motioned for her to continue with a nod. Rhaenyra looked down at her hands, running a finger over the rings adorning them. Licking her lips, she looked back at him.

"Have I done something to offend, Lord (Y/N)? I've noticed that you and I rarely speak, even when Alicent is with us. We've known each other for years, and yet... You are a stranger to me." Rhaenyra pursed her lips. 

"When you have as many siblings as us, rare is the time we get something fully to ourselves. I wouldn't wish to change the dynamic between you and Alicent by inserting myself. She cares for you, Princess. I hope the love you have for each other will help with any obstacles you face in the future." (Y/N) explained and stepped around her, arm brushing against hers as he walked past her.

"Good day, Princess."

                    ✶        ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶       ✶

When their father had told them he wished for their presence in the room where only the council were allowed, a pit had formed in (Y/N)s' stomach. He'd spent the night soothing Alicent as she paced in his room, voicing her anxieties and worries regarding Otto visiting Dragonstone to confront Prince Daemon. He'd returned in one piece, sadly enough, but the relief on Alicents face had been enough to keep (Y/N)s' thoughts to himself. He'd wished for nothing more than to hear about their fathers' demise before his plans could escalate further, but as he stood beside his twin, he knew his prayers had been ignored. They wouldn't have been called in if King Viserys didn't plan on marrying his sister.

His eyes remained trained forward, even as the other lords entered the room and took their seats. Rhaenyra stood by the refreshments table, glancing at the twins every so often in mild confusion but neither of them met her gaze, either out of guilt or anger. King Viserys turned away from the window and approached the table, looking at each lord. 

"I have decided to take a new wife." He announced, meeting Lord Corlys expectant gaze briefly before looking toward his daughter. (Y/N)s' fingers dug into his skin as a wave of hot washed over him. Rhaenyra noticed his tense figure from across the room and frowned, brows furrowing slightly. Her eyes slid over to Alicent, and then her father. The wrinkles between her brows smoothened and her eyes slightly widened in realization, head turning toward her childhood friend.

"I intend to marry..." Trailing off, King Viserys looked toward Alicent. "The Lady Alicent Hightower before spring's end." Silence fell over the room as each lord absorbed the information. (Y/N) looked at his father and clenched his jaw. His father didn't bother hiding his smugness and triumph. (Y/N)s' feet began moving on their own, leading him toward the doors. The lords turned in their chairs to watch him, the wood creaking beneath their weight. Shoving the door open, he spared a glance toward the guard he'd nearly hit, the metal clattering against the wall as the guard stumbled backwards. (Y/N) blindly walked in one direction, thoughts running wild. He didn't even notice when he reached his room, only taking note of it when the guard stationed outside his room opened the doors for him.

"I don't wish to speak with anyone, tell them as much if they come." (Y/N) ordered, getting a weak nod in return before the door closed. Taking in a shakey breath, (Y/N) leaned his forehead against the door, knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the doorknob. He pressed his lips together as anger gave way to exhaustion, his shoulders slumping and a sigh escaping his lips.

Each of his brothers had given up their lives to please their father; many becoming knights to earn his praise. But of course, nothing could ever be enough for Otto. He asked for more, desired more, demanded more. And like fools, his siblings obeyed. They hoped to make their father proud, to earn his praise and love. His mother gave him son after son until her frail body could no longer bear children and Otto repaid her by being away the night of her death, leaving her surrounded by a few of her children while she cried for him. He could sometimes hear her soft, exhausted voice at night echoing in his head. Desperate and neglected. Her image flashed in his head whenever he closed his eyes; pale skin, dry lips, darkened eyes, the outline of her bones faintly showing. No longer a beautiful woman. Just a memory.

Pushing himself away from the door, he staggered further into his room and fell back on the bed, burying his face in his hands. It'd only be a matter of time before he'd be pushed into some ridiculous plan such as a miserable marriage for an alliance or more power. He groaned at the prospect, running his hands over his face. As a man, he had more freedom, more time to do as he pleased. While the chain around his neck was longer than his sisters', it was still a chain nonetheless. And only few things would coax his father into setting him free.

 Tilting his head, he looked at the painting mountain above his desk. A painting of his mother whilst she'd been pregnant with him and Alicent. Her soft skin had grown wrinkled from age, but she still looked younger than her age. Even in the painting, one could tell how tired she'd been. Her smile felt forced and her eyes looked distant. The painter had perfectly captured the subject. A sad, shell of a woman. 

"Lord (Y/N)," The guard entered his room and (Y/N) grunted, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Before he could remind him of the order he'd given, Rhaenyra stepped inside, dismissing the guard with a wave of her hand. Her gaze lingered on the closed door, nails gently scraping against her wrist.

"Did you know?" She asked softly, turning her head in his direction, eyes slowly turning glossy.

"Princess-"

"Did you know?" Rhaenyra repeated harshly, lip curling as her eyes narrowed into an accusatory glare. (Y/N) watched at her silently, fingers pressing into the dark covers of his bed, his mothers' painting staring holes into the side of his head. Only cowards lie to the innocent, he remembered her words clear as day. One of her many lessons. She wanted good men for sons. His shoulders rose slightly as he inhaled and lowered when he exhaled. He rose from the bed and nodded, walking toward the table where wine awaited him.

"I knew Alicent had been... visiting your father."

"Visiting? Since when?" Rhaenyras' expression shifted into one of bewilderment. "How long did it take for your family to latch onto my grieving father?"

(Y/N) glared at her. "My father, you mean. This is the last thing I wished for." He poured himself a cup, setting the bottle down harder than he intended and making the contents on the table shake. "I'm sure it hadn't even been an hour before he began plotting and Alicent foolishly did what he asked of her. My sister isn't entirely innocent in this, I know that, but the choice was ultimately your father's."

"I know that." Rhaenyra spat, the tears finally flowing from her eyes. "Is that what you insinuated the other day? That my best friend marrying my father would be an obstacle you hoped we'd overcome? It hasn't even been a year since my mother died and vultures have already claimed her spot!" Rhaenyra cried out, wiping her tears away. (Y/N) drank from his cup and looked back at the distraught princess, her soft sobbing filling the quiet space. Tightening his grip around the cup, he debated comforting her. Sighing softly, he set his cup down and approached her, reaching out. The tips of his fingers touched her forearm and Rhaenyra stiffened, looking down at his hand. For a moment, (Y/N) thought she'd move out of reach, but instead, she stepped forward, hesitating before she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressing against his chest. 

"It was supposed to be Lady Laena, not Alicent... Not my only friend here..." Rhaenyra whispered, shoulders trembling with each shaky breath and sob. (Y/N) wrapped an arm around her shoulders and used his free hand to gently stroke her hair as he'd done many times with Alicent, running his fingers through her soft hair until her sobs subsided. Rhaenyra tightened her grip around him, another tear sliding down her cheek. "I have no one." She sniffled.

"You're a princess. Many would kill for your friendship."

"Only because they want something from me." Rhaenyra frowned, leaning back to look up at him, lips parting as (Y/N) gently brushed his thumb against her wet cheek, drying it.

"I'm sure you'll choose well."

"I choose you." Rhaenyra released him and swallowed, stepping back and regaining her posture. 

"Princess, it will only do you more harm-"

"Be it by order or by choice, you and I are gonna be friends, Lord (Y/N). You can understand me better than anyone. Our fathers have both let us down today... Alicent has as well. You know exactly how it feels to lose a mother. I do not wish to be alone here, and I know you feel the same. When everyone else fails us, we will have each other. When I ascend the throne as Queen Rhaenyra, I'll want you by my side as an ally and friend. I've only ever heard the truth from you. I know you are capable of showing kindness and empathy. So, please accept my offer of friendship... Because we both need someone to lean on during times like these."

[redandbrown]

The Day After

Hermione was sitting on a bench in the corner of the great hall, her back resting against the cold stone wall hugging her knees to her chest. Harry had mumbled something about sleeping before he headed towards Gryffindor tower.

Hermione felt her eyes prickle with tears from the overwhelming memories of the last 24 hours, but kept them trained on Ron. He was still huddled around Fred’s body with his family. She noticed out of all his brothers, only Bill was taller than him now, and just barely so. He was hugging his mum while she cried into his chest. Hermione felt a pang of envy at this scene, wishing she could hug her own mum right now. Immediately she felt guilty, remembering that her family was still thankfully intact.

None of the Weasley brood seemed inclined to leave Fred’s side despite having been there for hours. Hermione didn’t care how long it took. She would wait there all night for Ron if she had to, lending her silent support while he grieved with his family.

At that moment a tiny elf appeared wearing a very old dress and brandishing a tray of sandwiches at her.

“Sandwich, miss?” She asked in her squeaky high-pitched voice.

Hermione felt the unshed tears she had been holding back fall down her face.

She knelt down in front of the small creature and enveloped her in a hug. The startled elf let out a squeak that seemed to make her whole body jump.

Hermione pulled back and looked into her enormous orb-like eyes.

“I would love one. What is your name?”

“Figgy, miss!” She said trembling all over, looking thoroughly confused.

“Thank you, Figgy. This is very kind of you,” Hermione said smiling at the elf and taking a couple sandwiches off the tray.

Figgy burst into tears sobbing loudly.

“Figgy lives to serve, miss!” She squeaked, giving Hermione a watery smile.

Hermione stood up and searched for Ron again and caught him watching her. He smiled at her warmly, but his eyes told of sadness and exhaustion. She gave him a half smile back and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, “you know how I feel about elves.”

Ron turned back to his dad and seemed to be having a serious discussion with him. At one point they both stopped talking to look at her. Mr. Weasley was nodding his head at something Ron had said, and Ron started to hug each of his family members.

“Hermione?”

Hermione turned to see a familiar boy approaching her. She recognized him from classes and knew him to be a Ravenclaw in her year. She had never talked to him, though, and didn’t know his name.

He had thick, dark brown curly hair and was currently sporting a black eye and his best winning smile.

“I’m Arty. Arty VanDevender. I know we never talked to each other, but I remember seeing you in class last year, and I was always impressed with how bright you were-

“Bugger off knobhead! She’s with me!” Ron growled behind him.

Arty spun around to find Ron glaring at him only a few feet away.

“Roon!” Hermione admonished.

Ron looked at her confused “What?” A thought seemed to occur him, and his whole face fell. “You are, aren’t you?”

Hermione beamed at him. “Of course I am. But he doesn’t know that,” she added nodding towards Arty.

Ron scowled at him again. “Well now he does,” he said with finality, staring Arty down.

“Er right. I’ll just be… going, then,” Arty said rubbing the back of his neck as he walked away looking defeated.

Hermione knew she should probably be more irritated than she was, but she could find no anger towards Ron at the moment. She was still just grateful and relieved that they had both made it out of this war alive. And now they were together.

He seemed to share her feelings because he looked immensely relieved right now.

“Hi,” he said wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her head towards him so he could kiss her hair. He took advantage of their close proximity to steal a bite of her sandwich.

“I grabbed you one too,” she said handing him his own.

“Cheers,” Ron mumbled grabbing the proffered food and taking a big bite.

“C’mon. Let’s go to bed. I’m knackered,” he said around a mouthful of sandwich.

He used his arm around her to steer Hermione towards the doors leading to the stairs.

“But, Ron, what about your family? Aren’t you going home with them?”

“Hermione, I’m not leaving you here by yourself,” he said finishing his sandwich.

“But, Ron-

“No, Hermione. You’re barking if you think I’m leaving you after tonight,” that note of finality back in his voice.

Hermione didn’t know why, but she blushed slightly at his tone. At some point in their journey up to Gryffindor tower, Ron’s arm moved off of her neck and grabbed her hand to help steer her around all of the debris in the corridors.

It was eerily quiet without all the students in the hallways, and the sun was shining brightly through the large arched windows now. They walked in silence taking it all in, absorbing the destruction of their beloved school. She knew it could be fixed, but it hurt to see it like this all the same.

Reaching Gryffindor tower and entering the common room (the fat lady hadn’t even bothered with a password, just a silent bow before admitting them) had felt like stepping back in time. It was completely untouched and memories of her years spent here flooded her brain.

They both stood there, deep in their own thoughts before Ron tugged on her hand.

“C’mon,” he said quietly leading her up to the boy’s dormitory.

There was Harry, passed out on his four poster still wearing his shoes and glasses and snoring loudly.

Hermione wordlessly removed his glasses while Ron started pulling off his shoes. She pulled the covers over him and Ron used his wand to close his curtains.

“Reckon he’ll wake up anytime soon?”

“Doubtful. This is the first time in 16 years he’s slept without an evil soul inside him.”

Ron gave a humorless laugh. “Never thought of that.”

He turned to face her and started rubbing the back of his neck nervously. They stared at each other for a moment both trying to figure out their next move. There was so much that needed to be said, but right now, none of it seemed to matter.

He shook his head in disbelief. “Fuck, Hermione!” He said as he closed the gap between them and pulled her body flush against his. He bent his head to kiss her soundly, and Hermione responded immediately.

He started walking her backwards, never taking his lips off hers until her knees bumped into a bed. This seemed to jar his attention, and he broke the kiss, panting heavily.

Hermione’s heart leapt into her throat and she waited for him to say something.

He was grinning and studying her face.

“I uh- fuck, you make me nervous,” he laughed.

She couldn’t help but giggle. “You know we just fought a war, right?” She grinned back.

“Yeah, I guess we did,” he laughed.

His nervous laughter was infectious and she found herself laughing too.

“Why is this always so hard for us?” She wanted to know, feeling his thumb rubbing her hand.

“I don’t know: because we’re both pigheaded? Because Harry and the war? Because I’m an idiot?”

“You’re not an idiot, Ron. You’ve never been an idiot. Don’t say such nonsense,” she chided him, pulling a piece of rubble out of his hair.

He brought his hand up to rub her cheek.

“Reckon I couldn’t mistake that kiss you gave me,” he said quietly, watching her face.

She felt a deep blush creep up her neck and onto her cheeks. She looked down at the floor, biting back a grin.

“I um… yes, I sort of attacked you, didn’t I?” She said refusing to make eye contact.

He gently lifted her chin up to look at him. “Best moment of my life.”

“O-of your life?” She asked him, unsure if she heard him correctly.

He pulled her closer to him. “You heard me,” he said staring her in the eyes, not a trace of doubt in his voice.

“But you messed up,” he told her gravely.

“H-how?” She asked him nervously.

“Because I’m not going anywhere, now. I’m yours, Hermione Granger, so you’re just gonna have to learn to put up with me,” he told her.

Hermione’s smile returned. “I already know how to put up with you, Ronald Weasley. I’ve got seven years of practice.”

He smirked at her, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Too bad you haven’t figured out how to handle me yet. Looks like I have the advantage,” she teased him, running her fingers through his fire red hair.

Ron bit back a grin and without warning he bent down and scooped her legs out from under her. Hermione had just a moment to let out a gasp before he dropped her on his bed and jumped in next to her.

Before her brain could catch up to what had just happened, he was already hovering over her, an elbow on either side of her head, one hand playing with her hair, the other back on her cheek.

Ron let out a laugh at her bewilderment. “Reckon I got all the time I want to figure it out now,” he told her leaning in slowly and kissing her softly.

He pulled back to look at her again, wearing a completely different expression now. His face was serious; his eyes were searching. Hermione could only describe it as want. He wanted her, and he was no longer trying to hide it.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he almost whispered to her.

“So do it again,” she told him, thoroughly hoping he would.

Ron didn’t have to be told twice. He brought his lips down on hers and kissed her soundly.

Hermione was in heaven. She had waited so long for this moment, it seemed like it would never come. She had felt on more than one occasion during the past year that winding up with Ron was a long shot and winning the war a complete fantasy.

But here she was, in his bed with him on top of her kissing his way down to her neck and holding her thigh on his waist.

“Fuck you are so beautiful,” he whispered between nibbling her ear.

Hermione let out an involuntary shutter.

“Y-you think I’m beautiful?” She asked in disbelief.

Ron froze mid kiss and pulled back to look at her, searching her face before asking, “You’re joking, right?”

He looked stunned and Hermione couldn’t take the scrutinizing look he was giving her. She moved her gaze to his shirt collar, and tried to think of something to say because he seemed to be waiting for a response.

“I-I mean I thought- I hoped you had feelings for me too. But I’m not blonde and I’m, um, well shorter than…some girls…” she finished lamely.

Well damn. She had finally made the ultimate move on Ron, kissing the living daylights out of him in the middle of the battle, like the strong, fearless woman she wanted him to see in her. And now, here she was, babbling like an idiot.

“I prefer brunettes,” he finally said, ending the awkward silence that had followed her words.

She looked him in the eyes again. “You do?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Yeah. Bushy haired brunettes. With lots of attitude and big brains.”

“That sounds oddly specific,” she grinned back.

“What can I say? I know what I like,” he shrugged sliding down her body and lifting the hem of her shirt to expose her belly to him. He let out a groan and goosebumps broke out all over her body. He started half licking, half kissing her stomach and Hermione started hyperventilating.

Across the room, Harry snorted loudly behind his curtains. They both froze and looked in his direction. When he didn’t make anymore noise, Ron slid up Hermione’s body and reached over her to grab his wand. He pointed it at his own bed, closing and silencing the curtains and muttering something that sounded a lot like “cockblocking git” under his breath.

Tossing it back on his bedside table, he looked down at her again. She felt her breath catch in her throat, and saw him hesitate. “Hermione, I- shit I should slow down. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want, you know. I’m sure you’re knackered. We can just get some sleep for now, yeah?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed on his chest hard until he fell backwards. She swung her leg over his waist to straddle him.

Ron looked stunned, holding his hands halfway in the air, unsure of what to do with them,

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go to sleep, Ronald Weasley,” she told him bossily. Ron watched her as she quickly unhooked her bra behind her back and pulled both shirt and undergarment over her head.

He groaned loudly at the sight of her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said huskily and Hermione felt a wave of pleasure course through her body at his choice of words. His hands came up to knead her breasts and her eyes closed at the sensation.

She felt disoriented as he flipped them while she still had her eyes shut. He bent down and slowly licked her nipple. Hermione cried out in surprise.

Ron looked up at her. “Is that okay?” He almost whispered.

Hermione could only nod her head. Something snapped inside her, and suddenly everything was moving too slow. She reached down and grabbed his shirt, trying desperately to pull it over his head. Ron took the hint and sat back to finish what she had started.

She took in his pale skin, his shoulders dusted with freckles. She studied the brain scars that curved around his muscular arms. Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks and butterflies in her stomach. She always knew Ron was strong, but seeing him like this made her heart skip a beat. A pang of possessiveness came over her. This man was hers, all hers. And she would make sure of that.

“Hermione?” Ron asked unsure. Her eyes snapped up to his brilliant blue ones. He was smiling at her uncertainly.

She must have been staring. “Ron I- she couldn’t get the words out, but she had to, she thought as she reached out to touch his chest tentatively. He had to know how beautiful he was.

“I-I always knew you were handsome, I just um…” she didn’t know how to do this.

Ron’s ears turned bright red, and he crawled back over to her to kiss her, pushing her back down with his body. Hermione felt drunk as she surrendered to the sensation of pure bliss.

She broke the kiss. “Ron,” she said simply grabbing his hand and directing it to the button of her jeans. He froze again, studying her face.

“I want you,” she told him, holding his gaze, willing him to understand.

His hand curled around the band of her jeans, as if trying to gain some control.

“Are- are you sure?” He asked softly.

“More than anything,” Hermione told him, grabbing his face and bringing it down to her level, kissing him hard.

Ron worked diligently to rid them of their clothes, stopping to check again if this was what she wanted.

“Yes!” Hermione told him enthusiastically, pulling his shoulders toward herself, urging him on.

And Ron took her for his own, making sure she knew exactly what he felt for her. And Hermione accepted all he had to offer, matching his love and meeting it with her own. They fought, like they always did, to prove themselves worthy to the other, to make a point. But this time, their point was the same. This time their fight had turned into a dance. They held on tight as they pushed each other to the brink and then fell over the edge together.

That was it. From now on, they would fight all their battles together, side by side because that’s what you did with your person.

“Err um, Ron? Mate? You awake?” They froze, having been drifting off in sated contentment, lying in each others arms.

Ron reached for his wand on the dresser and irritably broke the silencing charm.

“Bugger off, Harry!” Hermione and Ron called in unison from behind Ron’s curtains.

“Err yep. Right then. I’ll just…” Harry’s voice trailed off sounding more distant with each word, probably fleeing the room as quickly as he could, thought Hermione.

“Come here,” Ron said to Hermione, pulling her close.

“You know, we should have just been Neville’s best mates growing up. Much less drama,” Hermione cheeked.

Ron grinned at her. “Much less,” he agreed drifting off to sleep.

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part XI: Cat

ao3

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Author's note: All right, here you go: The first part of Season Unending, in which Leara is not as together as she'd like to be following the disaster in Solitude.

Tag list: @ravenmind2001 @incorrectskyrimquotes @uwuthrad @dark-brohood @owl-screeches @binaominagata @constantfyre @kurakumi @stormbeyondreality @singleteapot @aardvark-123 @blossom-adventures @argisthebulwark @inkysqueed @average-crazy-fangirl @the-tuzen-chronicles @shivering-isles-cryptid @orangevanillabubbles @cosmermaid @thelurkershideout

Content Warning: This time, it's not Bishop. Look out for Thalmor wearing dark robes.

#######

The claw traced an electrifying trail down the side of her face, nipping at her lip before cutting down her neck. 

“Oh, my pet, but you’ve been a terribly bad girl, haven’t you?”

“I’m sorry—”

“Ah!” The claw tapped her collarbone, sharp and piercing. Sparks sprang up in its wake, hissing as they kissed her skin. “Don’t speak. I’ll not have another lie off your pretty tongue tonight.”

Iron and ozone clogged her nose. “Please—”

The claw dug deeper, joined by others, and bit into the bare swell of her chest with the shocking teeth of the mythic swamp dragons in the south. Pain seared through her veins, eroding her heart and boiling her blood. Leara screamed.

Hard stone met her, and she jerked up. Something heavy drug her arms down, and with a cry, she pushed and thrashed. Then it was at her feet, and she saw it for what it was in the dim light of the white mage’s candle. Her blanket.

At the end of the bed, Karnwyr whined. 

“I’m sorry,” Leara gasped, voice hoarse. Dry, as if she’d really been electrocuted. 

She shivered.

Lifting the blanket from the floor, she wrapped the heavy wool around her shoulders. She felt Karnwyr’s eyes follow her as she slipped her stockinged feet into the shafts of her silver and leather boots. “Go back to sleep, I’m okay,” she whispered and, for good measure, gave the wolf a reassuring scratch under the chin. Karnwyr’s brow creased, clearly skeptical. Still, he huffed and lowered his head back on his front paws. “Shh,” Leara soothed, giving him all the comfort she couldn’t feel. “Sleep.”

As if against his will, Karnwyr was lulled back to sleep by the gentle affection. He was snoring as Leara slipped out of the room. 

It wasn’t yet dawn. No light teased the eastern horizon to proclaim Magnus’s rise. She hoped it would be a bright, sunny day. She wished to feel the touch of magic on her skin before she plunged into the pending maelstrom that would be the peace conference. Yet with every breath, she could almost taste the approaching storm, hard and cold and as real as the chaos that would soon house itself in High Hrothgar. Even in the silent hallway, lit by nothing save faint starlight and her own trailing candlelight spell, she could feel the bitter wind bite at her cheeks and stir her unbound hair. Was it a bad omen, or was she still shaken from her nightmare?

What did she dream, anyway?

A cooing voice and an electric touch. Leara swallowed, her throat tight. Some variation of the same nightmare that haunted her sleep since the night of that thrice-cursed ball. Sometimes, there were other voices, and sometimes, there were knives or harp strings. Burns and smoke. But always, always there was the voice and the lightning. White hot and cloying in her veins. The stuff of nightmares that never ceased to dog her steps in the waking world. 

Bishop’s solution to her nightly awakenings was to sleep through them. In the near fortnight since leaving Solitude, Leara began to wonder if anything short of a rampaging mammoth or a legion of Daedra could be counted on to wake the ranger from his deep sleep. It worked in her favor, though. He didn’t ask about the thrashing or the crying – he didn’t know about them. Rudimentary Illusions, the kind every girl in High Rock learned to use, covered up the signs on her face. Illusion itself was never her strongest school, save her practiced Muffle and Clairvoyance, but hiding the bags under her eyes and the pallor of her skin was becoming second nature. It wasn’t the first time she’d used magic to disguise her appearance. In a twisted way, it was almost a comfort.

The door to the courtyard opened noiselessly under her hand. The frigid air didn’t bite her as hard as she might have expected, but her system was still flooded with adrenaline from the nightmare. Overhead, the thin forms of Masser and Secunda cast distorted shadows over the snow and stone, twisting the world into a vision of another world. She remembered the dancing auroras overhead when she’d left Paarthurnax that first time, back when he’d directed her to find the Elder Scroll. Now, the skies were shrouded in clouds through which only the brightest stars could pierce. All around her, the world was haunted, holding its breath on the edge of doom. The last sigh before the final plunge. 

Creeping across the barren snowscape, Leara eyed the archway and the path to the top of the Throat of the World. High winds howled against the mountainside, barring the way to Paarthurnax. Yet Leara wanted desperately to make the climb to meet him. Do dragons sleep? Would he be curled against the ruined Word Wall, lost to dreams, or awake in silent contemplation of the heavens? Would he welcome her company or turn her away at such an unholy hour?

Her legs trembled beneath her. Leara collapsed to the flagstones, her back against the unlit brazier stand. The blanket fluttered around her. Her chest ached. Burned. Froze. Then her head rolled back against the stand, her eyes sliding closed. 

She was so tired. So tired. She couldn’t make the climb.

Tears froze on the ends of her lashes.

“Paarthurnax, please . . .”

·•★•·

A gentle hand shook her awake. 

Predawn was sweeping in across the sky, depthless midnights touched here and there with the golden pinks of pending morning, mixing in a dappled grey and bruising violet off toward the west. It wasn’t yet half after four in the morning. 

Blinking in a slow haze, Leara peered up to find Master Arngeir standing over her, a frown set on his weathered face. 

“Are you well, child?” he asked, worry set around his mouth. Leara supposed she’d worry too if the prophesied hero she’d had to nurse back to health went and froze to death on the back porch before fulfilling her destiny. If her face wasn’t numb with cold, Leara imagined she’d have blushed with shame. 

“I’m all right,” she whispered. She wasn’t, but it was fine.

Master Arngeir’s frown deepened, probably because he wasn’t foolish enough to take her words at face value. He offered her a hand, and after a moment, Leara took it. Some other time, she may have been alarmed by how easily the elderly Greybeard pulled her up, but she already knew she hadn’t been eating well since long before Solitude. Maybe since before Mirmulnir. She wasn’t sure anymore. “Good morning.”

“Let us hope it will be,” said Arngeir, grim. “There are many hours still before our guests arrive, but there is much to prepare.” His hand on her shoulder, her teacher guided her back toward the monastery. 

An early breeze swirled the edges of her blanket, brushing her bare legs. Leara cast a longing look to the mountain peak, hidden as it was by clouds and the vanishing night. Her gaze fell, and she found Master Arngeir watching her, knowing. 

“It isn’t forbidden for you to make the climb whenever you wish,” he told her.

“I was worried he was sleeping,” she blurted, not willing or able to admit the exhaustion gnawing her limbs, rooting her to the earth when she sought the sky. “Have you ever seen a sleeping dragon?”

To her surprise, Master Arngeir laughed. Full of the same light, wry amusement she could almost recall in her grandfather’s voice from her earliest childhood memories. “I imagine that even dragons must rest sometimes.”

Good, maybe when this was over (if she was even there when it ended), she could rest, too.

·•★•·

Master Borri spied the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations coming around the curve of the mountain near noon. They were maybe around half a mile apart from each other, neither party daring to get too close to the other. Each was mounted with additional guards and pack horses. Amid the snow and ever-present ice on stone, it was a slow climb to the monastery. 

Even from the table where Leara sat with a light lunch of dried berries and herbal tea, she could feel the tension growing like a tightening bowstring. Or perhaps a noose, growing tight around her throat as she fell through the gallows—

No, she would not think like that! This was an opportunity, a hope to forge peace – if not a lasting peace, then perhaps a peace that could pave the way for a stronger, more steady solution down the road. Skyrim was in turmoil, and if she could in any way soothe the gash made by the Civil War while tending the burns from dragon’s fire, then she would do her best. As Dragonborn, she could only succeed or die trying.

Of course, it was as impending death crept back into her mind that Bishop finally made his appearance. Yawning and stretching, he gave his side an absent scratch as he sauntered over to Leara’s little table. Snagging a fistful of berries off her plate, he threw them back, chomping down with a short cough.

Leara winced behind her teacup. “Lovely for you to grace us with your presence.”

Beside the table where he was gnawing on a cow bone, Karnwyr grunted.

Bishop burped. “Took me forever to get comfortable on that damn cot,” he grunted. He plopped into the chair across from Leara and reached for her plate. 

She smacked his knuckles. “Oi! Let off! You snooze, you lose!”

“Please, woman, I catch most of the food you eat!” Bishop snorted. 

Leara withdrew her plate from the table, holding the remaining fruit out of Bishop’s reach. “I’m afraid you don’t have time to filch off my plate. You need to get ready!”

“Ready for what?” he asked, wiping crust from his eye.

A grimace twisted Leara’s mouth. Bishop was a frightful sight: His hair stuck out in nearly every direction, and his night clothes were in equal disarray. She was glad none of the Greybeards were there at the moment to see him. As dignified as they were, Bishop was just as frightfully embarrassing to look at. 

“The delegations will be here within a half hour or so. We need to be ready to open the doors and get the peace talks underway.”

Bishop flapped his hand in mimicry of her talking. Leara pursed her lips in a tight line. “This little tea party of yours has nothing to do with me, sweetness. It's all you and the old windbags, thinking you can get everyone in Skyrim to kiss and make nice.”

Leara ate a berry, grinding the semisweet fruit into shreds. 

“What are you going to do?” he went on. He pushed the chair back on its rear legs and leaned against the wall, his arms behind his head. “Are General Troll Face and the Stormdrain going to sit around the campfire and braid your hair? Will you do each other’s nails and makeup, too?” He leered at her, “Can I watch?”

Silently, Leara drained her teacup. Then she set it down. “You will not make a fool of me in front of them,” she said, voice cold. 

“Me? Make a fool of you? No, darling, you do that all on your own!” Bishop laughed. “What are you even trying to accomplish here, anyway? Because you sure as Hell aren’t going to establish a lasting peace between those two warmongers.”

Scooping the rest of the berries into her hands, Leara restrained the urge the throw them at Bishop’s head. Instead, she dropped them one by one into her mouth, methodical. She was too tired for this. So little sleep and such a long time before she could try to get more. The day stretched miles onward in front of her, but her patience with Bishop was growing desperately short. She was done tiptoeing around him.

“I’m trapping a dragon in Dragonsreach.”

Then she walked away, the clatter of a falling chair and broken pottery behind her. 

·•★•·

Leara was careful to avoid Bishop in the intervening time before the Imperials and Stormcloaks arrived. After leaving him in a spluttering mess of chairs and pottery shards, she’d disappeared into her cell. Her blue gown hung on the wardrobe where she left it the night before, freshened and primed for the council. Wearing armor to conduct peace talks didn’t sit right with her, so the blue dress it was. Running her fingers, still tinged pink from frostbite, over the lace, something in her chest loosened. She made it this far. She could do this.

She had to.

Once dressed, she went to stand in the foyer of High Hrothgar, her hair carefully pinned and her hands folded before her. Nerves ran electric up her arms and around her ribs, but she pushed it away. She had to. This was for Skyrim. Her discomfort wasn’t even worth considering.

The heavy doors opened, and she heard Master Arngeir greet Ulfric Stormcloak and his party. Leara’s hand tightened over her rings, the enchanted bands biting into her skin. Master Arngeir said something. Ulfric replied, his voice humming against the stones. They exchanged words that she couldn’t understand, but she remained in place. 

The thump of heavy footsteps came down the corridor, and then Ulfric Stormcloak entered the hall beside Master Arngeir. His gaze wandered over everything but her, for which she was almost grateful. Let her be a backdrop. He was taking in the ancient stones and carvings that formed High Hrothgar. Oh, yes, he lived here once, didn’t he? He was supposed to be a Greybeard a long time ago. Before the war. Odd that that slipped her mind. She needed to remain focused. It wouldn’t do for her memory or attention to slip during the peace talks. Things were tense enough as it was without her issues getting in the way. Leara swallowed, her eyes trailing from the Jarl to his party. There weren’t many of them in reality, just Ulfric, one of his generals – Galmar, wasn’t it? – and some guards. A few carried bundles of supplies on their backs; these followed Master Borri into the west wing, where the parties would be housed in empty cells for the night. The couple that remained stood near to their Jarl’s back. 

A blond head caught her eye, and Leara blinked. Then, a genuine smile blossomed over her face. 

“Ralof!”

All heads turned toward her, and Leara’s ears grew warm as she realized that, yes, she did call out her friend’s name. Her smile curved bashfully as one of the other guards elbowed Ralof, snickering. Ralof gave her a jaunty wave, and she relaxed. 

“Ah, Dragonborn,” Ulfric Stormcloak began. He stepped forward, his attention on her. “It seems your efforts have paid off.”

“That remains to be seen, Jarl Ulfric,” she said. She squeezed her rings, the black band hot. Meeting his eyes was incredibly difficult, especially after the incident with Bishop in the Windhelm Jail. Mara’s mercies, she managed it, if only because of the iron stiffening her neck and spine. “Thank you for making the trip.”

“You made a convincing argument. I’m hoping your position at the negotiation table will be as credible.” He didn’t appear quite as hard as before, but Leara remained on guard. 

“I hope not to disappoint.” 

The General, Galmar, grunted. Leara recalled how he initially scoffed at the idea of the peace council, though he gave Ulfric his support when the Jarl asked for it. She found herself glad that Ulfric brought him and not the other general, Yrsarald. Both were opinionated, yet Galmar gave the impression of being a little deeper in thought than Yrsarald. “Make it worth our time, then. The road from Windhelm was too long for us to come here to be made fools of.”

Leara’s smile was thin. “I wouldn’t dream of it, General.”

Beside them, Master Arngeir held out his hand. “Dragonborn, if you would, perhaps it is time to show Ulfric and his party to the meeting hall.”

“Of course, Master,” Leara bowed her head. “Please follow me.” 

Up the steps and down the wide stone hallway, she led them, Ulfric and Galmar at her shoulder and the guards behind. This close to Ulfric, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Did any escape her bun? She’d need to duck out and get another pin before they opened up the peace talks. Maybe two, just to be sure. 

“Well, Dragonborn, I trust there will be a point to all this,” commented Ulfric.

Leara cleared her throat. “We haven’t discussed the terms yet, Jarl Ulfric. You may not like them. Besides, General Tullius isn’t even here yet.”

“He can take his time getting here,” Galmar scoffed. “Damn faithless Imperials. Can’t even get to a meeting on time.” 

One of the guards chuckled. Ulfric’s wry face caught in her peripheral. Leara stared resolutely ahead. “They should be here fairly soon. Only, their party is larger than yours,” she said. “It’s slower going on the steps with so many.”

“Aye, too many. They can’t go anywhere without their Thalmor handlers holding the leash, and Talos knows those elves are dragging their feet every step up this mountain.”

The Thalmor . . .?

If Ulfric and Galmar hadn’t been at her back, Leara would’ve frozen in place. As it was, her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle under her. The Thalmor? She shoved her right foot forward, continuing her walk down the corridor. The Thalmor were coming? Electricity stung the too-raw nerves of her hands, biting and itching under the skin as it crawled up her arms. The Thalmor were coming. Anxiety and lightning gathered in her chest, burning and binding. 

Elenwen. 

There was the door to the meeting hall. It was a wide, low-ceilinged room with a large round table dominating the center. Its shape rather resembled a horseshoe, with a low hearth burning between the table’s arms. It was empty: Master Einarth had gone to help Master Wulfgar with the delegations’ animals. “If you’ll please be seated on this side,” she said, indicating the left. To her ears, her voice was high away and cool, lost in the clouds her head was threatening to dive through. “Would you care for some mead?”

“Yes, if you please,” Ulfric said. He was watching her. He knew. He knew. He knew—

“For me as well.”

“Right,” Leara nodded. “I’ll be back.” She turned and left. 

But barely had she stepped into the hallway when a large hand slipped around her arm, encircling her small wrist. Panic seized Leara’s heart, squeezing harder and tighter than before. She whirled around, free hand freezing over with frost magic. 

. . . and then it dispersed just as quickly. 

“By Shor, you’re still as flighty as a pine thrush!”

“Ralof!” Leara scoffed and swatted his arm. But the relief that eased her heart and muscles was visible in the small smile she shot her friend. 

“I figured you might want some help,” Ralof shrugged. 

“Sure!” 

Her arm linked with Ralof’s, Leara guided him down the monastery corridors to the kitchen. High Hrothgar was ancient: From what Leara understood, the monastery once housed dozens of disciples and students to Jurgen Windcaller’s Way of the Voice, as well as masters of the Voice and clever arts (or whatever it was the Old Nords called their magic). It was an old building, very cold, but made of a sturdy dark stone that blurred the building’s silhouette from afar during snowfall. It was tranquil and distant, far apart from the world below and full of peace. Despite the turmoil twisting in her soul over her destiny, High Hrothgar held in its walls a centered grounding that reminded Leara of her youth at Cloud Ruler Temple. Reminiscent, but calmer and heavier, too. Heavier with the weight of the world. Leara couldn’t help but hope that the Imperial and Stormcloak delegations would feel some of that peace mingled with purpose when they met at the negotiator’s table. 

“How have you been?” she asked Ralof. 

“I can’t complain. No more near executions, so I’ve had that going for me,” he laughed. His golden hair and sunshine smile were a bright spot in the dim halls. “Can’t believe I’m actually here at High Hrothgar. But you’re used to it now, right?”

“Hardly,” Leara echoed his laughter. 

Ralof grinned, “It’s hard to believe that scrawny elfling from Helgen turned out to be the Dragonborn.” 

There’s a good-natured disbelief in his voice that reassured her. Ralof’s was a genuine and kind character. Without him, she’d have never made it out of Helgen. His company on the road to Riverwood and the invaluable aid his family gave her once they got into town were vital components to her journey into Skyrim, without which she would have been in dire straits. Leara smiled softly. She’d missed Ralof. “Yeah, it really is.”

Earlier, Master Einarth had set a pot of spiced mead on the hearth to warm. It was meant to be served when both parties were present, but Leara needed space from the anxiety of Ulfric and the Thalmor pressing into her lungs. A platter of goblets sat on the heavy wooden table that served as both a counter and dinner table. Passing these, Leara took up the ladle to gauge the mead’s temperature. 

“I don’t mean to pry—”

“You do a little bit.”

Ralof chuckled. “All right, perhaps I do. But what is this meeting about? How is peace going to stop the World-Eater?”

Her hands stalled their stirring. “Did Jarl Ulfric tell you it was Alduin at Helgen?”

“Aye, he did.”

“Ah.”

“Leara,” Ralof hesitated, “what are you planning?”

She pressed her lips together, hard. Was it only over an hour ago that she fired the answer off in Bishop’s face? Her throat tightened. She’d need to get a hold of herself before the meeting began.

“I need to go to Sovngarde,” she whispered to the hearth. 

“What?”

“I—” Am going to die. “Need to trap—” A dragon, a live dragon. “I need to use Dragonsreach. Peace is Jarl Balgruuf’s price.”

Large hands gently pried the ladle from her brittle fingers. Ralof hooked it on the pot’s handle. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, not unkindly. “I’d just like to know you’re taking care of yourself. You look tired.”

“Thanks,” she laughed, but it wasn’t as full as before. “I’m fine, really.” She wasn’t, but she would be. She had to.

Carrying the platter of goblets, Leara led Ralof back to the meeting hall. Entering, she found Ulfric already seated at the table, a frown creasing his face. It smoothed out when he looked up at her, a cloud passing from in front of the sun, but Leara could only offer a small smile in return. Galmar stood beside him, talking lowly, though, on Leara and Ralof’s entrance, he went silent. Akatosh, please let me make it to Sovngarde. If she was to die, it’d be far more beneficial for everyone if she did so while defeating Alduin rather than if Ulfric exacted revenge for her Thalmor past and her role in the war. 

“We’ve prepared spiced mead,” Leara explained, gesturing for Ralof to set the pot on the stone sideboard rather than the hearth. Best to keep it out from the middle of the potential battleground. Lips pursed, she cast a subtle warming rune on the bottom of the pot to keep the mead hot. She took a goblet from the platter and ladled it full of mead, then she faced the table. The guards were watching her, and Galmar, his arms crossed, was eyeing her, too. Was Skyrim much like High Rock? It was better to be safe than sorry. She brought the goblet to her mouth and swallowed a mouthful. Master Einarth’s spice blend was warm and comforting and left her chest warm for a blissful moment. 

Then she handed the goblet to Galmar, and the feeling was gone. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, gruff. 

“It’s not poisoned,” she replied. 

“Why would it be poisoned?” 

“Galmar, don’t torture the woman,” Ulfric said, sitting sideways in his chair so as to face his general. 

The grin that curved across Galmar’s face ruffled his mustache and crinkled his eyes. “I’m only putting her through her paces.”

Leara tried to muster a light smile, but she was sure it looked like a grimace. “Perhaps that’s best left for the peace talk.”

“Perhaps,” Ulfric said, accepting the goblet from Galmar. 

Perhaps. Leara nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to be ready to greet the other delegation.”

“Of course,” Ulfric lifted his goblet. 

Skirts brushing around her ankles, Leara forced herself to walk sedately from the room. Ralof shot her a quick, reassuring look, and some of the renewed tension in her chest eased. Once in the corridor, her shoulders dropped, and she heaved a sigh.

“Having fun playing hostess?”

“As much as I can, I suppose.”

Bishop pushed off from the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his face dark. “We need to talk about this circus of yours.”

“What’s there to talk about?” Aside from the litany of issues she needed to address this afternoon alone. 

He followed her down the hall. “You want to trap a dragon in a damn castle, and for what? So, you can fly off into the sunset and die?”

“That’s not why, and you know it.”

Bishop caught her wrist in his. His hands were harder than Ralof’s. “You know why I worry about you, woman. You know why—urgh!”

Resigned, Leara came to a halt. “Bishop, please. Whatever concerns you have, can we please discuss them after the meeting? I’m pressed for time now.”

“You sure as Hell weren’t pressed for time when you were avoiding me all morning,” Bishop grumbled. “All right, fine. Have it your way. But when they hang you out to dry because even your demands are too much for those egomaniacs, don’t come crying to me!”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

Pulling her wrist from Bishop’s grip, Leara continued down the hall. She wasn’t surprised when, a moment later, his footsteps echoed after her. 

“Where’s Karnwyr?” she asked.

“In your room, out of the way.”

Oh. That was probably meant to be considerate. Still, she missed the wolf’s comforting presence by her side. 

“I saw you getting friendly with that guard. What was that about? You taking in any man who bounds after you like a lost puppy, or do you just prefer blonds?”

“What, Ralof?” Her head twinged. Lovely, on top of the discomfort from sleeping outside, she was gearing up for a headache. “He was helping me with the mead. Which, by the way, I didn’t see you offer to do.”

Bishop barked a laugh. “Me? Serve mead to the Stormdrain himself? Listen, sweetness, you and the old windbags can play political nursemaids all you want, but I’m not getting involved.”

Not getting involved, her right hip! Bishop had done nothing but insert himself in her business since she met him! And, all right, she did allow him to after the entire Blackreach incident, but still. His definition of non-involvement was clearly from a different dictionary than hers. And it was wrong. 

She moved to tell him so, then paused. A familiar voice caught on her ear, and Leara spun, her eyes blown wide. “By Akatosh.”

“Now what is it?”

Ignoring Bishop’s question, Leara lifted her skirts and hurried down the corridor. She rounded the corner, only to freeze at the top of the stairs, a confused Bishop at her heels. There, in the foyer, were precisely who she didn’t want to see standing in the middle of the Greybeards’ home. 

Delphine and Esbern. 

The Thalmor were coming. The Blades were here. Ulfric Stormcloak was down the hall.

Nausea rolled in her stomach. She swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her attempts to keep the Blades and the Greybeards apart in the course of her destiny were in vain. Delphine would figure out how much she sympathized with the Greybeards’ philosophies over those of the Dragonguard that Delphine sought to restore, and Arngeir, Arngeir would learn of her red past as a Blade, and the Greybeards would banish her from High Hrothgar. The sanctuary at the top of the mountain would be lost. Paarthurnax’s guidance would be lost. She was going to be ill. She couldn’t afford to be. Akatosh.

Master Arngeir towered over Delphine, though he stood eye to eye with Esbern. For a peace-loving monk, he looked ready to toss the two Blades out on their rear ends—violently. “You were not invited here. You are not welcome here."

Delphine was dressed in Akaviri armor; prim and put together, she looked every inch the Knight-Sister. Conversely, Esbern was in warm wool, making no distinction toward his affiliation to the Blades. But his Thalmor dossier aside, his association with Delphine was enough. 

“We have every right to be here for this council,” Delphine said, glaring down her nose. Watching a small Breton glare down a venerable Nord was jarring enough to be funny if Leara weren’t agonizing over why they were here. “Actually,” she went on, “more so, since the Dragonborn is a member of the—”

Esbern, who was busy studying the architecture of the monastery, caught sight of Leara at the top of the stairs. “Ah, Elanor! There you are!”

It was like watching a train of merchant wagons piling up in the marketplace, unable to prevent the accident and unable to look away from the disaster. Master Arngeir’s frown turned to her, and Leara’s heart sank. 

She descended the stairs. “Good afternoon, Esbern, Delphine. How remarkable to find you here, seeing as I didn’t invite you.”

“An oversight on your part, right?” Delphine lifted an eyebrow, as pale and condescending as ever. “You look comfortable.”

Stopping short of standing by Master Arngeir, Leara was keenly aware of the room’s tension settling on her shoulders in a heavy shroud, all attention on her. “How are you here?”

“It’s no secret that you fought Alduin and lost,” Delphine sniffed. She cast a wary glance over Leara’s shoulder at Bishop, then, ignoring the darkening glare on Master Arngeir’s brow, she went on, “Just because we packed up and moved shop doesn’t mean I don’t still have my contacts. I’ve not been on the run this long making stupid decisions like completely cutting myself off.”

“Of course not,” Leara smiled, gritting her teeth. 

“I still have my contacts in Whiterun. You’re not as subtle as you think. I’ve known about this little council meeting for nearly a month.” Which meant as soon as Delphine found out, she was ready to make the trek to High Hrothgar. Wow. “We have just as much right as anyone else to be here, seeing as we’re the ones who helped you get this far in the first place, Elanor.”

Leara spluttered. Arngeir’s scowl deepened. “Is that so? The hubris of the Blades truly knows no bounds.”

“If it were up to you people, she would stay sitting here on your mountain all day with her head in the clouds!”

It was Bishop’s hand on Leara’s elbow that kept her from popping Delphine in the mouth. Absence, it seemed, made the heart grow fonder. Leara felt better about Delphine and the Blades’ contempt for the Greybeards when she wasn’t in the same Hold as her. 

“Delphine, please,” Esbern said, speaking for the first time. “We didn’t come here to debate the philosophies of Blade and Greybeard. Remember the issue at hand: Alduin must be reckoned with.” Then he turned to Master Arngeir, a tired look on his weathered face. “You called this council for that reason. You wouldn’t have done so otherwise. We have much information on Alduin and the crisis at hand.” There was a glimmer in his eyes. “You’ll need us here if you want the council to succeed.”

Despite this, Master Arngeir’s scowl did not relent. However, after a long moment, he bowed his head—shallow but acquiescence, nonetheless. “If this is how it must be, then so be it. You may attend the council.”

Esbern nodded his thanks, but Delphine only smirked. 

Leara wanted to scream, and they hadn’t even started the damn meeting yet. “If you’d please follow me—”

“Actually, Dragonborn, I would like a word,” Master Arngeir went on. He did not look at her. 

Oh. Her throat tight, Leara turned to Bishop, who, by some undeserved mercy from the Divines, had kept whatever snide comments he usually had to himself during the exchange with the Blades. “Escort Delphine and Esbern to the table.”

“Are you serious?” said Bishop. “Did we not just have the conversation about why I’m not getting involved with your little—”

“Bishop, please.”

He quieted. Then, casting her a shady look under pinched brows, jerked his head toward the stairs. “C’mon,” he told the Blades, “What her ladyship decrees.”

A harsh breath pushed through Leara’s nostrils as the Blades followed after a grumbling Bishop. As he passed, Esbern clasped her shoulder, but it did nothing to settle her nerves. Actually, Leara was feeling too much. She knew it. Too much was happening. She thought she could handle it, but . . .

No, she had to handle it. She would. It was fine. 

“When you told us that it was the Blades who showed you Dragonrend, I knew to worry about what other counsel you might take from them,” Master Arngeir said. He did not look at her; instead, his gaze was fixed on the tapestry above the entrance. Leara remained silent. “Their claim that they are responsible for you traveling the course of your destiny should be laughable.” Then he faced her, his eyes tired. “I have told you before how the Blades use the Dragonborn, but it seems you already know it.”

“Yes,” Leara said. She recalled the lessons, the stories. Watch for the Dragonborn. Protect the Dragonborn. Follow the Dragonborn.

“I did not fathom that the Dragonborn was a member of the Blades, and yet, all this time, that is who you are.”

Leara lifted her eyes, her shoulders set though they wanted to sag. “What do you want me to say, Master? That I should never have joined the Blades? That I regret the years of service I gave and the lessons I learned? That I renounce them?” And hadn’t she thought of it? If Delphine’s dismissal of Leara’s standing as a Knight-Sister wasn’t enough, the fact that she abandoned her post during the war was enough. She all but did renounce the Blades, for all her delusions on the contrary. 

Master Arngeir’s countenance was grim. “I would know that we can take you at your word, but now I see that we have reason to question, not only your means, then your intentions as well. We must take you for what you are, Dragonborn.”

“And what am I?”

“A charlatan.”

·•★•·

His thumb stilled on the goblet’s rim when she entered, followed by the Imperials.  

He stood at her entrance, Galmar following suit. His eyes met General Tullius’s over the Dragonborn, Leara’s shoulder, and his jaw tightened at the sight of the towering forms of the Thalmor ambassadors behind him. A smirk cut across Elenwen’s face, and Ulfric’s scowl deepened. So, they expected him to sit down and treat with the Thalmor today. 

They were wrong. 

In with Tullius and Elenwen came a host of others, a great number that drowned the small company Ulfric selected for his entourage. Ever present at the General’s side was Rikke, as fierce and hawkish as he remembered her. There was a storm in Rikke’s eyes that seemed determined to strike him across the room. After Rikke’s gale came the slight figure of Jarl Elisif, barricaded by her ever-present housecarl. The would-be queen was wide-eyed and still, almost as if being in High Hrothgar, in this room, drew her into her shell. Mousy, he thought. 

Two legionnaires trailed the group, a small blonde woman and a taller Nord with a dark mustache. They, like he and his men, were disarmed, their weapons likely in the antechamber with the Stormcloaks’. After them came two guards with the golden horse of Whiterun on their armor. Balgruuf came between them, apart from the Imperials, but clearly of their delegation. Even if he would not choose a side, Ulfric questioned whether Balgruuf could ever truly be persuaded from the safe path laid by the Empire. It was the type of safety that bore complacency from the familiar, refusing the call to action from conviction. Balgruuf knew what was right. Ulfric knew this. But Balgruuf would sooner turn to the familiar for the protection of his people rather than risk all for his convictions. This was the truth. 

And yet. And yet, for the sake of their old friendship, Ulfric hoped Balgruuf would find the courage to follow his convictions, to join the cause and free Skyrim from her bondage. That alone would carry more weight than any peace treaty that the Dragonborn thought she could orchestrate. 

After the delegation came Master Arngeir and the other Greybeards. Not for the first time, Ulfric wondered why they agreed to host the war leaders in their monastery. High Hrothgar, always remembered as a bastion of peace, was now the host to warriors and their opposing views. How Leara convinced the Greybeards to open their doors to this council, even to discuss the dragon threat, Ulfric didn’t know. But no, one glance at Master Arngeir’s face showed a lingering shadow in clear eyes. Arngeir, at least, was not happy about this turn of events. 

At once, Leara returned to the pot of spiced mead and prepared the tray. Ulfric only caught a glimpse of her pale eyes as she passed in a swirl of blue. 

“Take your seats, and we can begin,” said Master Arngeir, sitting himself at the head of the table. Off to the right, Delphine huffed. “Now that everyone is here, the Dragonborn will serve the mead. We offer this in goodwill, in the hope that everyone has come here in the spirit of—”

As he spoke, Elenwen sat down at the table. Ulfric, on the cusp of sitting back down himself, stiffened to his full height. 

“No, we will not sit at the same table as that woman!” he said, forceful. “You insult us by bringing her here as if you expect us to just accept the presence of your chief Talos hunter!”

Legate Rikke scoffed. “Here we go.”

Galmar growled, eliciting an eye roll from Balgruuf. Elisif sighed. 

“Now, Ulfric, I have every right to be here,” Elenwen said, poised like a serpent on the edge of her chair. “It is in the best interest of every party for a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion to ensure that the terms of the White-Gold Concordat are upheld. Particularly given the history of certain local governments in disregarding those terms as they see fit. Such a breach of treaty is a reason enough to be concerned, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Ormand?” 

The air stilled, cooling. “Yes, Mistr—Madame Ambassador, perhaps.”

Then the room warmed again, but a chill ran up his spine.

Her head bowed, Leara returned to his field of vision, her tray laden. In silence, she served the mead. 

“Look here, Ulfric,” Tullius said, pointing his hand. “You cannot dictate who I bring as part of my delegation. If you can’t accept that, then there’s no point in us going any further.”

Ulfric gritted his teeth. Beside Rikke, the Dragonborn stilled. Across the table, he saw her purse her lips. Elisif took a goblet, and Leara moved on.

“If we must negotiate the terms of the negotiations, then we will never get anywhere,” Arngeir said. There was a rumble in his voice. “Perhaps this is a matter best addressed by the Dragonborn.” 

Standing between Balgruuf and the Thalmor, Leara’s cold eyes flicked from Tullius to Ulfric and back. “I believe—”

The nerve of those Imperial bastards, Ulfric brooded.  

“As Ambassador Elenwen said, we are discussing matters that may encroach on the terms of the White-Gold Concordat. It is to the benefit of all that we respect the existing treaties so that we can work out an agreement that works for everyone.”

And here was the Dragonborn, with her half-answers and line-walking. The chill curled around his spine again, sharper. He did not expect this, not from her. But what does he really know of her? “Either she walks, or we do,” he declared. “If you think I will sit at the same table as that Thalmor bitch—"

Leara’s chin was defiant. “You misunderstand me, Jarl Ulfric. It is imperative that we observe the existing treaties, but I don’t think we need the Dominion to hold our hand to do so.” She turned to Elenwen, who was within arm’s reach of her. Behind Elenwen’s chair, another golden-haired Altmer woman stood, her statue’s face unable to conceal the heat as she stared down the Dragonborn. Leara merely smiled. “If you’ll pardon us, Madame Ambassador, your presence may do more harm than good here. Please, excuse us.”

Elenwen stood. She was taller and darker than the Dragonborn, Ulfric noticed. He had never used magic himself, but there was something in the air that left an electric film on the back of his throat. He wondered if anyone else could feel it. 

“Very well, Miss Ormand, you may conduct this meeting as you see fit.” Elenwen’s eyes cut to Ulfric. “Enjoy your petty victory, Ulfric, as long as your Dragonborn is here to win the battles for you. The Dominion will treat with whatever government rules Skyrim. We would not dream of interfering in your civil war.” Turning on her heel, she beckoned her lackey. “Come, Hindalia,”

Tearing her glare from Leara, the other Altmer followed her mistress. 

“Run away!” cried Galmar, slamming his fist on the table. His goblet wobbled. “We’re not as easily culled as your Imperial pets! Skyrim will never bow to the Thalmor!”

Rikke charged to her feet. “You’re lucky I respect the Greybeards’ council, Galmar, or I’d—"

“Legate!” Tullius’s hard snap cut her off. “We’re representatives of the Emperor here! Act like it!”

Her dark scowl carved a harsh line across her face, but Rikke obeyed like the good legate she was. “Sorry, sir.”

Leara placed a new goblet in front of him, removing the old one. She did the same for Galmar. 

Arngeir cleared his throat. Despite the Thalmors’ exit, the tension in the room was heavy. “Now that that is settled, may we proceed?” 

Ulfric cleared his throat. “I have something to say first.” 

“Are you serious?” muttered Rikke. 

“I agreed to attend this council to come to an agreement about this dragon menace. That is it. Beyond that, we have no interest in negotiating with the Empire over any terms.” After all, hadn’t the Empire denied them in the past? Turnabout was fair play. “I consider even talking to the Empire a generous gesture on our part. It’s only a matter of time before they’re driven out of Skyrim.”

“Are you done? Or did you want to continue dictating from your soap box?” Tullius asked, eyebrow raised.

Galmar bristled. He moved to speak, but Ulfric held up a hand. “Fine, let’s get on with it.” 

On the other side of Galmar, Leara sat in the empty chair. Intention lit up her face, but there was a shadow lurking there, under the blue. She watched them. 

Master Arngeir stood. “Good. General Tullius, Jarl Ulfric, this council is unprecedented in nature. Never before has High Hrothgar opened its doors to mediate a war, yet we stand here now at the Dragonborn’s request. I would ask that you respect the spirit of High Hrothgar and its history of peace and benevolence. Your being here brings the hope that we can find a lasting peace for the good of all Skyrim. Dragonborn?”

“Yes, thank you, Master Arngeir. Jarls, Generals, Legate,” she nodded to Rikke, “I have asked you here to discuss the present dragon crisis. The Greybeards have been generous enough to open their halls to us, allowing us a neutral meeting ground where we might discuss terms for a truce that would allow for a swift handling of the dragons’ threat.” Perched in her chair, Leara leaned forward as she spoke, straight-backed and still. “Jarl Balgruuf has agreed to allow me to use his palace Dragonsreach to capture a dragon, but it is imperative that we first reach an agreement that protects the people of Whiterun in such a delicate situation.”

Capturing a dragon! So, that was her plan. Ulfric wasn’t sure what to make of it. When he agreed to the council, he knew it was an opportunity to confront Tullius without a battle’s bloodshed, but even when the Dragonborn insisted this circus was necessary to defeat the World-Eater, Ulfric never expected her solution was to capture a live dragon! Did she hope to ensnare the World-Eater himself, or was this dragon a rung in the ladder as she ascended toward the top? What did she hope to gain from capturing a dragon, information, allies? Ulfric sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

Around the table, the other reactions varied. Balgruuf, knowing Leara’s plans from the start, simply stared ahead, determined. Galmar, however, and Rikke too, it seemed, were more affected: Galmar’s loud splutter over choked mead nearly drowned out the Legate’s heated swear. Her General, it seemed, didn’t quite catch the ramifications of such a declaration. This was to be expected. Ulfric didn’t imagine an Imperial like Tullius would realize the meaning behind holding a dragon in Dragonsreach, much less comprehending the threat of the World-Eater himself! But it was Elisif’s reaction that caught Ulfric’s attention. Her hands pressed to her mouth, the Jarl of Solitude was wide-eyed and speechless. 

Good, Ulfric thought. Perhaps with the legend of Olaf One-Eye brought into the modern age, she might learn a new respect for Nordic history and tradition. Somehow, though, he doubted it. 

Delphine’s near-silent “Damnit” against the whispering of the guardsmen pricked at the edge of his attention. When the Blade appeared in the doorway, clad in her Order’s armor and shadowed by the old man, Ulfric hadn’t known what to make of it. Hers was a face he’d never expected to see again, and yet here she was at the Dragonborn’s peace council. He half-wondered why she was here. 

After the initial reaction, Leara continued, “In light of this, I would ask that the members of the council look beyond things such as territory and resources in order to help ensure the dragons are dealt with swiftly. Thank you.”

“Yes,” Arngeir nodded. “Now, let us open the floor. Who would like to start the negotiations?”

The muscle worked in Ulfric’s jaw. Until now, he fully intended to open his position by demanding Markarth be handed into Stormcloak hands. Still—

Tullius held up his hand. “Our terms are simple: Riften must be returned to Imperial control. That is our price for agreeing to a truce.”

Elisif’s eyes darted to the General, wide, then, finding Ulfric’s gaze, they hardened. Her mouth thinned.  

“By Talos, he’s got stones!” gristled Galmar. “You’re in no position to dictate terms to us, Tullius! If you think we’ll turn Riften over just because you barked an order, then you overstep yourself!”

Crossing his arms, Ulfric leveled a look at the Imperials. “That is quite the opening demand. Tullius.” One he was loath to meet. 

Galmar’s scowl was fierce. “Ulfric! Don’t say you’re considering accepting this demand! It’s outrageous! We can hold Riften against these milkdrinkers, and Jarl Laila—”

He could see Rikke bristling. For all that he appreciated Galmar’s gumption and tenacity, it could easily lead them into trouble. Ulfric was no fool: He knew good and well that there was little stopping Tullius from making another attempt to capture him on the road from High Hrothgar. It was only the respect held by Skyrim’s people for the Greybeards that stayed the General’s hand. But respect could only be stretched so far before it snapped with tension. Ulfric’s men were outnumbered here. Their cards needed to be handled with care.

 Ulfric held out his hand. “Peace, Galmar. We’ll do whatever I find to be in the best interest of Skyrim, understood?”

Still glowering at the Imperials, Galmar nodded, “Yes, my lord.”

“Come on, Tullius, do you really expect us to simply hand over Riften? Just like that?” A wry smile tugged at Ulfric’s mouth. “Because your legion has failed to take it by force, do you think we’ll surrender our hold if you ask instead?”

“I’m sure that General Tullius does not expect something without discussing a price,” Arngeir said, voice hard and peaceable all at once. 

In the corner of his eye, Ulfric saw Leara cross her hands. Her face was closed. 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Galmar barreled on ahead. “What are you willing to pay for Riften, Tullius? Empty promises and more Imperial bluster?”

“That’s enough, Galmar.”

“Jarl Ulfric, in exchange for the Rift, what would you want in return?” asked Arngeir.

Now, since they were asking. “First, let me be clear: The sons of Skyrim have learned from bitter experience that talking to the Empire is a waste of time. Their promises are always punctuated with a sword and a shackle.” The memory of the betrayal at the Markarth gates still gnawed at him decades later. “However, I accepted the Dragonborn’s invitation to this council, and so, whatever the Empire does, I will negotiate in good faith.” Galmar nodded his agreement. 

Turning to the Dragonborn, Ulfric found himself met with a cold blue stare. Unlike a month ago in the Windhelm jail, when she would no longer look him in the eye, she met him head-on. But there was an edge to the ice that he hadn’t seen before in their previous encounters. If he weren’t so preoccupied, he might have wondered if it had anything to do with that fleabag, Bitchup, or whatever his name was. He would have wondered if the man was still hounding Leara. He may even have spared half a thought toward the woman’s dog. But they were fleeting curiosities. This truce and its potential ramifications dominated his attention, and he couldn’t spare much more from that. 

“Well, Dragonborn, this is your peace council, right? Tell us, what do you think the Rift is worth?” he asked.

Tilting her head, Leara regarded him from the end of the table. “The Rift has its own advantages that would be hard to match from another Hold,” she said. “If you were to trade Riften for, say, the Reach, that would split the holdings and scatter both sides across the map. No matter how you cut up the map, problems rise up.”

“This whole Civil War is a problem, Leara, or have you forgotten?” Tullius asked. 

Leara’s lips thinned. “I am keenly aware of what’s at stake here, General, but I don’t consider tossing Holds back and forth like some kind of game to be a productive use of our time here. The Stormcloaks cannot surrender the Rift.”

“You’ve disappointed me,” Tullius grumbled, brows drawn low. “I agreed to attend this council based on your good name, but it seems you’re determined to favor Ulfric at every turn!”

“You’re mistaken, I do not—”

“Markarth is our price,” Ulfric stated, coming to a decision. He did not want to give up the Rift. That would put the Empire right on his southern flank. But if he could gain the Reach from it, the silver mines and its proximity to Solitude would soften the blow. And who’s to say they couldn’t retake Riften in the coming months? His soldiers knew Riften and its advantages better than Tullius could ever hope to! The sons of Skyrim would shatter the Imperials in a siege. Of this, Ulfric was certain. 

“Are you serious?” Elisif said, speaking up for the first time. “This, both of you—you disrespect the Greybeards and the Dragonborn by using this council as a means to advance your war engines! We are here to negotiate a truce, not draw new battlelines!”

“Jarl Elisif!” barked Tullius. “Let me handle this!”

“But General!” the woman persisted. “These demands are outrageous! Did none of you hear what the Dragonborn said?” 

“Jarl Elisif—”

“I can’t believe this,” Balgruuf said, half-rising from his chair. “This is how the Empire repays us for our loyalty? By trading us like playing cards?” Ulfric moved to speak, but Balgruuf jabbed a ringed finger at him. “And don’t you start on how your cause is any better! That’s a load of sheep’s dung! You came here intending to barter for Markarth, consequences be damned!”

Ulfric ground his jaw.

“General Tullius!” cried Elisif, refusing to back down. Over her shoulder, her housecarl lurked in threat. “You don’t intend to go through with this! You can’t trade Markarth for Riften! Not to that, that traitor!” Well, the girl had guts, Ulfric could give her that. If only she’d found them before. 

“Enough!” Tullius snapped, rubbing his temples. “That’s enough!”

“What’ll it be, Tullius?” demanded Ulfric. “Markarth for Riften? Or is that too steep a price for your vanity?”

Galmar huffed.

“Don’t try me, Ulfric! The day is coming when I’ll have you back under the headsman’s axe, and there will be no dragons there to save you!”

With a shout, Galmar shot to his feet. “I’d like to see you try, leech!” 

“That’s IT!” Rikke was out of her seat. “Keep your tongue, Galmar Stone-Fist, or I will take it from you!” 

Noise sprang up around the room. Ulfric was on his feet. The cries of his men and the legionnaires joined in a maelstrom of sound, drowning Galmar’s shouts and Rikke’s threats. Balgruuf was on his feet, but Ulfric couldn’t understand what he was saying, though the red in his cheeks hinted at his explosive anger. Elisif’s housecarl had a hand on the back of her chair; his Jarl pressed backward as Tullius leaped up beside her. 

“Never trust an Imperial!”

“Have you heard nothing—?”

“—will not stand by while you—"

“Damn faithless—"

“Oh, I should’ve expected this!”

“—nothing left to say to—”

“We will WALK!”

“This is a farce!”

“How dare you—”

“By Talos!” Delphine swore, “Can you hear yourselves?” She was drowned out. 

“This is no negotiation at all!” yelled Tullius, voice loud above the din. 

“You’re losing the war, and you know it!” Ulfric retaliated. His fingers itched for his sword. 

“How many lives must be spent before you see the cost of this war?” Elisif cried out, rising to her feet. Her housecarl hovered nearby like a mother hen.

Galmar’s snarls filled Ulfric’s ear.

“You always were a fool, Ulfric!” Rikke’s voice went shrill.

“The Empire’s pretty words are worthless!” 

“Says the speechmaker!”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!”

“QUIET!”

A thrill of chilled air curled through the chamber, dowsing the storm of voices in cold silence. Ulfric turned, words caught in his throat, to see Leara at the foot of the table. He was alarmed to see frost creeping along the tabletop from where she’d braced her palms against the stone. A lock of hair curled from the braided bun at the base of her neck, as frozen still as the rigid set to her thin shoulders. He caught her eye, then, as she stared down everyone at the table. The guards behind him shifted in discomfort, and Ulfric couldn’t say he wasn’t unsettled himself. It was like looking into the Sea of Ghosts in the dead of winter: Desolately cold and inhospitable. The caress of frost from her glare was as bitter as the icy mists of the northern waters. 

“Be quiet,” she said again, tone level. Power hummed in her voice, even at a lowered volume. “Please. You’re acting like children.”

Arngeir let out a weary sigh, his hand over his eyes. Guilt and embarrassment niggled at Ulfric at the sight. Despite his leaving the Way of the Voice and his future as a Greybeard to fight in the Great War, he still held the utmost respect for Master Arngeir. It was not lost on Ulfric that he’d spent more time with the elder Greybeard than he had with his own father during his childhood. 

Clinching his fist, he held his tongue, but he stood his ground.

“Is this what passes for diplomacy in Skyrim?” Leara sniffed. “I expected better.”

Ulfric rounded on her because, Ysmir’s beard, she wasn’t helping, despite Tullius’s assertions, but then the old man beside Delphine stood. There was a shift in Leara’s posture then, almost imperceptible as she drew back from the table. Her hands fell to her sides, drawing the frost away with them. Ulfric turned away. 

The man tugged at his wool scarf, sorrow written in the lines of his face. “You are all so consumed by your hubris that you are blinded to the real and present danger! What do wars and territories matter when the doom of creation hangs by a thread? Nothing!” 

“Is he with you, Delphine?” Ulfric asked, crossing his arms. “If so, I’d advise you to tell him to watch his tongue.”

Short though she was, Delphine forced forward an imposing figure in her armor. “He is with me, and I would advise all of you to shut up and listen to what he has to say before this gets any more out of hand.”

Across the table, Tullius rolled his eyes. 

Squaring his shoulders, Delphine’s friend stepped closer to the table. He was tall. Ulfric imagined he’d been taller before age set into his bones, but there was a spark of wit about him that pushed back the years. Long ago, Ulfric recalled learning that the Blades Order consisted of more than just knights and warriors. Throughout their vast network were spies, scholars, and scouts, among other things. Although the Empire dismantled the Blades after the war, leaving them to be picked off by the Dominion’s hunters, the infamous Order’s operatives were no strangers to hiding. Or so the stories told. But looking at Delphine and her companion, Ulfric wondered how many Blades really evaded the Thalmor. He hoped more were as successful as Delphine and the old man seemed to be. 

“Don’t you understand why the Dragonborn must capture a dragon? Don’t you understand the reason why the dragons are such a threat to us?” the old Blade said. “Alduin the World-Eater has returned! He is here, now, at this hour, and he devours the souls of the dead, of your fallen comrades! Every life lost in this pointless conflict only adds to Alduin’s power. If it goes on, his strength may become unmatched.” The Blade’s focus centered beyond Ulfric, and he knew the man was watching the Dragonborn. The woman who had offered hope. “Can you not, just for a moment, set aside your anger and hatred in the face of this mortal danger?” 

Isn’t that what the Dragonborn asked when she met with him in his war room? And he agreed to come, didn’t he? He knew what the dragon threat meant—Leara told him then, and since Ulfric found himself dwelling on it when his mind should be on the movements of his troops and the planned attack on Fort Snowhawk. Yet field reports and casualty lists struggled to hold his attention when contending with the World-Eater’s shadow. Every soul in Sovngarde fed the World-Eater’s strength; whether it came from an Imperial or a Stormcloak, every child of Skyrim whose spirit sought the solace of Shor’s Halls was lost to the black dragon’s maw. 

It was sickening. 

“I don’t know about the end of the world,” Tullius began slowly. He rubbed his chin in thought. “But these dragons are getting to be more than the Legion can handle. If this truce can help the Dragonborn eradicate this menace, then we all benefit.” Lifting his gaze, Tullius sent Ulfric a hard glare. “It would do you well to remember that, Ulfric.”

“If he’s right about Alduin,” and Ulfric was sure the old Blade was, “we each have just as much to lose as the other. Remember that, Tullius. Now,” his hand on the back of his chair, Ulfric sat back down. “Back to the matter at hand—”

“I would like to call a recess.”

Almost as one, Ulfric and Tullius turned toward the Dragonborn. Leara was sitting back in her seat, prim yet for her drawn face and the still-frozen curl. Her gaze glossed by his to meet Master Arngeir’s. 

“I think a break might benefit us all,” she continued, straightening. 

Master Arngeir nodded, slow and tired. Ulfric could see the exhaustion creeping across the elder’s face. This council was wearing on him. Part of Ulfric regretted that. Another part wished to have things over with so that he could return to the Palace of the Kings and plot his next course of action during the intermittent peace. “We will adjourn,” Master Arngeir said. “The council will reconvene in an hour’s time. When we do, may cooler heads prevail.”

This time, the scraping of chairs was loud against the silence. Properly chastised, the council members stood. No doubt, each would go off into their corner to discuss new terms and unravel the reasoning of the Blades and the Greybeards. 

And the Dragonborn, Ulfric thought, watching her disappear through the doors in a swirl of blue skirts.

Ulfric didn’t understand her at all.

·•★•·

The echoes of the fight rang through her head as she darted down the hall, away from the meeting hall and the crowd gathered there. She needed a minute. She needed water. She needed sleep. She needed, she needed to breathe. 

Bursting out one of the side doors, she entered the courtyard. The sun glittered off the surrounding snowbanks, lighting the area a brilliant white. It was perhaps a little warmer than it had been during the night, but Leara didn’t pay any attention.  She fled toward the overlook near the edge of High Hrothgar’s mountain shelf to a half-moon of stone benches facing out toward the Whiterun Plains below. She collapsed on the middle bench, half laying, half reclining on the cold stone. With a shaking breath, she pressed her forehead into her arms.

Elenwen, Elenwen was here. And so were Delphine and Esbern. 

And the peace talks!

Arngeir thought she was a liar. 

Leara’s chest constricted. She forced icy air into her lungs. Her hip ached where it dug into the bench. 

What in Akatosh’s holy name were they doing? What just happened? As soon as she gave either man the floor, Tullius and Ulfric made grabs for the other’s land. What they could not take by force in battle seemed like fair game at the negotiating table. But didn’t she tell them this wasn’t that kind of negotiation? They were here for the good of all Skyrim—all Tamriel, and yet they used their compliance as a shield to guard their true purpose: They both sought power over the other. 

That’s the way of war, Leara reminded herself. Just or unjust, to show weakness to the other side was a risk most didn’t recover from. Was leaving Whiterun alone a weakness? She didn’t think so. She knew Balgruuf agreed with her. Whiterun’s safety when Leara captured the dragon was his utmost concern. But how far would Balgruuf go to ensure Whiterun’s safety and neutrality? Further than she would, Leara mused darkly. She wasn’t willing to appease egos just for her own benefit. Balgruuf, loath as he might be to surrender to either side, would make concessions if it was for the wellbeing of his people. But Leara couldn’t choose the people of Whiterun over the rest of Skyrim. She didn’t have that luxury. She needed an agreement that took care of everyone, or if not that, at least one that didn’t put them into a worse position than they were already in. Trading Markarth for the Rift was not the answer.

Hard nails bit into her palms as she squeezed her fingers into fists. No, she and Balgruuf might have a similar goal, but even he wasn’t on her side. He didn’t owe it to her to be. Neither did Tullius. Certainly Ulfric didn’t. 

We must take you for what you are.

A charlatan.

A dry sob seized her ribs in a vice. After today, she wouldn’t have the Greybeards either. Despite everything she’d done to follow their teachings, her past as a Blade won out. Arngeir no longer trusted her. Oh, he put on a good show for the negotiations, but there was a weary shadow over his shoulders. She knew what he wasn’t saying. She was a monster—

Not even Delphine and Esbern could be counted to side with her. Delphine never made her distrust of Leara a secret, and Esbern’s proximity to the other Knight-Sister cast his friendship in doubt. She missed Cloud Ruler Temple. She couldn’t trust the Blades. 

There was no one’s side for her to be on, because no one was on her side.

“Akatosh, don’t let me be alone,” the sob broke from her throat, rocking her body in its wake. “Don’t let me be alone!”

“Oh, but my pet, you are alone.”

Leara stilled, her muscles tensing. She didn’t dare raise her head from the nest of her arms.

The whisper of boots on stone was her only warning before a familiar hand trailed long fingers through her hair to the coiled bun. The nails dug into the back of Leara’s skull, drawing out a gentle pain. Leara inhaled, breath catching in her throat. The hand left her skull for her neck, trailing lightning to her shoulder. Her nerves burned. 

“What do you want, Elenwen?” whispered Leara, holding herself still. She could not defend herself. She couldn’t even move from the fear freezing her blood. 

But she could still hear the smirk in Elenwen’s voice. “Is it too much to believe I might wish to speak to a very old friend?” 

Her fists tightened. “We are not friends.”

“Oh, but weren’t we?” Then Leara was wrenched into a sitting position, Elenwen’s thin arms disguising the strength in her hold. Leara was pulled up to face her and found herself powerless to stop it. But that’s how it always was. 

When Elenwen and her newest protégé had swept into the foyer behind General Tullius and Jarl Balgruuf, effectively ending Leara and Arngeir’s conversation, an iron corset had laced itself over Leara’s lungs, pulling her inward and stealing her breath. The haunted memory of the Aldmere’Loren weaving its darkling shroud over the ballroom at the Blue Palace asserted itself, drawing with it the sight of hundreds of devastated faces, each wrecked with emotion too deep for mortal hearts to comprehend. The image shadowed Leara’s gaze as she greeted the Imperial delegation, spine stiff, face frozen. Night terrors full of cooing whispers and crackling electricity threatened to take her in the light of day as she led the group to the meeting hall. The entire time, Leara could feel the pinprick of lightning on her skin, a shadow and a threat, ever real, never sleeping. Elenwen knew, and what was more, the Ambassador had told her companion. One needed only to meet the younger Altmer’s burning glare to know this. 

Yes, Mistress.

Where Leara found the strength to deny Elenwen’s attendance to the council, she wasn’t sure. But if she took nothing else from him, she could thank Ulfric’s adamance that the Thalmor be denied presence. And he had every right to do so. How could any of them fathom what Elenwen had done to him during the war?

What Leara did to him.

She shuddered. 

The golden iron of Elenwen’s grip held Leara’s wrist in a snare. “Considering all the years we spent together, I had hoped you would think differently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but don’t you, Vilya?”

Leara twisted back, tugging at her wrist, but Elenwen’s grip remained firm. The other hand came to catch her chin. Again, Leara threw herself back, but Elenwen was firm. Then her thumb and forefinger cradled Leara’s chin as the other fingers, long and biting, splayed across the side of Leara’s neck. She could feel her pulse drum against the steal hold. 

“Don’t be a brat, Vilya. You know how I hate your childishness.” 

The fingers tightened, pressing into her windpipe. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl.” The hand did not relent. No, instead, Elenwen leaned closer still, lips so close to Leara’s ear that she could feel the cool breath brush her skin. A shiver ran down her neck and into her chest. The corset tightened. “This is how it is going to be. Your little charade is over. This defiant streak you’ve fostered will be pruned. Perhaps you believe you’ve been clever in your evasion of the Aldmeri Dominion, but no one can run forever, not the Blades, and certainly not you, my pet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Elenwen regarded her with green-gold eyes, as bright and acidic as any ripening citrus fruit. Unbidden, a memory of someone in her class comparing Elenwen’s eyes to Lady Finduilas’s citrus orchard rose up. Their glower was just as sour. “The only reason you will walk out of here alive,” Elenwen said softly, poisonous, “is because intelligence reports you are the only one capable of ending this little dragon crisis. Certainly, those fools you’ve invited to this mockery of diplomacy seem to think so. Once it is resolved, expect to be visited by a Justiciar force. Resistance is futile.”

Leara tried to swallow, only to gag against the collar of flesh around her neck. 

“I don’t know how a half-breed such as you managed to infiltrate the ranks of the Thalmor and ascend to such a high position,” Elenwen continued, low in Leara’s ear, “but believe me, we will find out. When we take you, you will beg for death before the end. We will unmake you, and when at last you die, you will not know your own name, Vilya, or any other.”

The mechanical “Yes, Mistress” clawed its way up Leara’s throat, but she fought it down. She fought Alduin—and lost—but she survived the first encounter. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t let Elenwen leave here believing she had the upper hand. Again. Leara tricked the Ambassador for years, back when she was not nearly as important as she was now, and hadn’t Leara done it again just months ago at the Embassy party? She was a Blade first, and hiding was in her nature. 

You are the one who revealed yourself to the Dominion, you bloody bimbo.

Wasn’t she? The pieces didn’t all fit within her mind, but then, Elenwen’s intelligence network was more than Leara could keep up with amid the dragon crisis. The Thalmor had agents hunting her for months. Every move she made was chronicled by their eagle-eyed spies. And she’d made some bad moves, her encounter with the wizard Ancano, for one, and the performance in Solitude, for another. And then she answered to Vilya. Yes, Leara passed the point of deniability long ago. It seemed Elenwen anticipated that, or else she wouldn’t have touched her. She knew Leara for what she was. 

Hopefully, hopefully, Leara could pull the wool back over her eyes when she came for her. Or, if not, daze the Thalmor enough so that Leara could once again escape their grasp. 

The defiance strangled the old compliance. “Surely you realize I will go to someone and tell them what you’ve said. You’ve promised me death. I don’t think the Nords will take kindly to their Dragonborn being threatened by the Thalmor.”

But Elenwen only smiled, flashing pearly teeth in a predatory gleam. “Who would you run to? After all, you said it yourself: You’re alone. Tullius is mine, and Ulfric won’t help you once he realizes what you are. Sooner or later, the Jarl of Whiterun will ow to one of them, and you’ll have nowhere to turn. Not even the old men want you here.” Her thumb stroked along Leara’s jaw. “I do hope you’re not counting on that little ranger of yours. He will soon flee than fight for you.”

Tears bit at the corners of Leara’s eyes, icy as they wound down the side of her face. Cooing, Elenwen released her wrist and brushed them away. “Now, now, my pet, don’t cry. You knew this was inevitable the moment you crossed the Dominion. Perhaps if you hadn’t left, I’d have kept your secret. After all, you always were my most promising instrument.” 

Then Elenwen drew Leara forward and placed a kiss on her forehead. It was dry and hard, just as it always was. Her thumb brushed the lingering tears on Leara’s still face, and then she stood. The sudden cold was a relief from the intensity of Elenwen’s proximity, but still, Leara couldn’t breathe. She would relearn to breathe soon, but for now, she was still choking on the doom in her chest. The bands of iron did not release her lungs. 

“Compose yourself quickly, my pet,” Elenwen sang, saccharine. “Didn’t I teach you not to fall apart outside closed doors?” Her laughter was light and high. “Don’t fret. I will see you again before we leave High Hrothgar. And after that,” her eyes softened, but not truly. It was a false gentleness. Infantilizing and demeaning. “It won’t be long until I have you again.”

Like that, Elenwen was gone, leaving Leara in a huddle of gooseflesh covered by too-thin clothes. Her hair was a mess, but she couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. The iron corset encasing her lungs was freezing over, binding hard around her. Was this what others felt when she cast the Frozen Façade over them? Her fingers jerked, painful as they unwound from the tight fists, but nothing happened. Not even her magic could banish the feeling. Feim. Zii. 

Pressing both palms over her heart, Leara pushed against them, panting. Air trickled into her lungs, painful against the force Elenwen exerted on her throat. Just enough not to leave a bruise but enough that Leara wouldn’t forget the touch too quickly. She kept panting, and soon, her lungs were working against the fear strangling her. Feim. Zii. 

Once she felt she could breathe, Leara wavered to her feet. Her mind reeled at what Elenwen had said. The Thalmor weren’t just coming for her. They were going to kill her, and now there was no doubt. And there was no one to help her. No one.

She was alone. 

But hadn’t she always been? It was foolish for her to ever think otherwise. 

Yet that never stopped her from surviving, did it? She had until she faced Alduin to decide how best to evade Elenwen’s agents. But such a decision hinged on Leara’s surviving the battle in Sovngarde in the first place. More and more, she was starting to think that it may be best for her to die facing Alduin, so long as she took him down with her. Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of surviving indefinitely but surviving until she faced Alduin for the final time. 

Because that was her destiny, wasn’t it? She was Dragonborn. By the grace of Akatosh, she was born to face the World-Eater in this twilight hour. Everything before that a stepping stone needed to reach that point. 

Dashing the remnants of half-frozen tears from her face, Leara turned back toward High Hrothgar. And then, the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled as if there were eyes still on her. Eyes that never left her. Lifting her skirts, she hurried back toward one of the side doors, the closest to her bedroom. 

But even in the shadow of the monastery, the eyes never left her. 

[final-girl96]

Broken World: Chapter Five

The Quarry

We slowly drove up the winding dirt road that led back to the quarry. In the distance, you could see a crystal clear blue lake. It was so beautiful and looked so peaceful. It was almost like the world wasn't falling apart, the dead pouring from its seams, ripping and tearing to get out so they could grab any living thing with their decaying hands and rip their rotting teeth into its flesh.

Shortly after, as we grew closer and closer to the camp that sat just up on the hill from the lake, an RV came into view. An umbrella sat over a folding chair, and that chair sat the speck of a person, who slowly started to stand. The closer we got, the more I could see. There were a few cars parked behind the RV, tents scattered around in a little tent city. A couple of places had fire pits, one for cooking, one for the group to sit around. A separate firepit sat separate from the others a little ways.

People started to gather as Glenn came to a stop. An older man with a white beard and a bucket hat stood in the front with two blonde women off to the side. On his other side stood a man with dark hair wearing a gray tee shirt with some kind of symbol on the left breast. A dark-haired woman with a small boy standing behind her stood not far from him. "They're all nice people. You'll fit in just fine," Glenn said before getting out of the car. The hair haired man and the man with the white beard walked over to him.

I sighed, looking down at my lap. My badge hung from a chain around my neck. The only time I ever took it off was when I would clean up and go to sleep. It was somewhat of a security blanket for me, I suppose. It was something that told me I was going to be okay and I could survive this mess. But it was also a reminder of the reason I didn't have the one person I wished was by my side. I had to remind myself that I worked hard to get this badge and Daryl Dixon could go fuck himself.

I looked back up to see the dark haired man pointing at me. Glenn turned around and gave me a small smile, nodding his head to come over and meet everyone. I took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the Georgia heat. I walked over beside Glenn and looked at the dark-haired man in front of me. He looked down at my badge and then back up at me. "You're a cop?" He asked. I looked at the symbol on his shirt. It was for a police department in Kings County.

"I was a detective," I said. He nodded his head. "I'm Officer Shane Walsh," he held out his hand and I shook it. "YN Stone. I hope you don't mind Glenn bringing me back with him. I did bring some guns and ammo, along with some food and water." The man with the white beard came to stand in front of me and shook my hand. "I'm Dale. You're more than welcome." His soft smile helped put me a ease. He seemed like he was the reason of the group. The person who gave purpose and hope to everyone.

Dale introduced me to everyone, Andrea and Amy, who were sisters. The Morales family, Sophia and Carol, and Carol's husband Ed, whom I got a bad vibe from. Jim, Jacquie, and T-Dog. A few others in the camp and then finally Lori and her son Carl. I learned Lori's husband and Shane's best friend were also a cop. He had been shot a few weeks before everything happened and was in a comma went shit went down. Shane tried to go back for him, but there was nothing he could do with all the machines he was hooked to, and then the hospital was bombed.

They had an extra tent available for me to use, which I was grateful for. I looked around while I helped unpack the supplie Glenn and I brought back. I noticed a truck that looked oddly familiar, but I just shook my head and put it out of my mind. There were apparently two other people, but they were out hunting for the group. That night, we sat around the fire and exchanged stories, and I was asked a lot of questions.

"So you were a detective?" Andrea asked. I learned that she was a civil rights lawyer before the outbreak. I nodded my head, "Yes. I was a homicide detective," I said. "You're kind of young, aren't you?" She asked. I chuckled and looked down at my lap. "Um…yeah, I'm only twenty-six. I had to work really hard to get where I was. But it was a dream of mine, and I wasn't going to stop until I made it happen." After a while, everyone went to bed, and Shane climbed on top of the rv to keep watch.

I lay on the cot in my tent, staring up at the canvas ceiling. It's been a while since I had any kind of interaction with people. It felt nice not to be alone. I was so grateful that Glenn showed up. Everyone here seemed super nice. Well, apart from Ed, Carol's husband. Carol is a sweet woman but very timid. One look at Ed told me he wasn't a good man. I could also sense secrets in the group. Especially between Shane and Lori.

I shook my head to clear my mind. My fingers curled around my badge, and I closed my eyes. I don't know how long I laid there like that, but eventually, I fell asleep. It wasn't a deep sleep, I've never been one to sleep too deeply. I was a light sleeper and woke up at any nose I heard. It was going to take some time getting used to sleeping in a tent outside so close to the woods.

I know they said that walkers don't come up this way, but one day, they'll run out of food in the city and start looking for more elsewhere. I tossed and turned on my cot for a couple hours, trying to get some kind of sleep, and when I failed, I sat up and left the tent. The air was a lot cooler now that it was dark. But by the time the sun came up, it would be warm again and only get warmer as the day went on.

I looked over at the RV to now see Dale sitting in the chair on top of it. I slowly walked over and climbed the ladder on the back of the rv, climbing to the top. "Mind if I join you? I couldn't sleep," I whispered, not wanting to wake anyone sleeping inside. He gave me a soft, kind smile and nodded his head. I walked over and sat near him. I dangled my legs over the side of the rv and looked out over the lake. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I hummed in response. "It really is. I don't think I've ever seen such blue water before," I said. We sat in a comfortable silence until the sun started to come up.

[imshii-kin]

Child of Bone

Platonic rotg x child reader

Prologue # Welcome Young Soul

Prolonge

Oh, man in the moon, send an evening star to wink at my dreary eyes, and I shall make a wish for a peaceful world that spins with no more lies.

- Richelle E. Goodrich

Reader will be referred to as Yu instead of Y/n. If there's any objections with that tell me I have no objections if you don't like it.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Light.

That's the first thing they remembered seeing.

A short man wandered around a bright corridor, a sad smile on his face as he made his way to the bright, glowing soul in the center of the room.

The man had the strangest look about him. He was short and wore a white suit with a red bow. His hair looked like a single strand of silken silver, standing upright and folding into a swirl at the end.

Tsar Lunar XII was his name, though he had several names: Manny, Manfred, and Man in Moon.

He was the bringer of wishes, the light that kept darkness at bay, and once a prince of a fallen kingdom. But right now, he was the guide tasked with awakening the next guardian.

Tsar approached the soul, gently taking the orb into his hands. His smile grew sadder, such a young soul, and tasked with such a large burden.

If it were up to him, he wouldn't have chosen this young soul, but sadly, some things are not up to him to decide.

"Hello young soul," He spoke softly, his hands glowed as he embedded some of his magic into the young soul attempting to awaken it, "it's time to awaken from your slumber."

The soul seemed to react to this, slowly lifting into the air, and growing brighter until in one bright flash the orb expanded.

Colors unknown to mortal eyes danced across the room, weaving a tapestry of shimmering blues, majestic purples, and radiant golds. Each hue seemed to tell a story of the soul's life.

Brilliance engulfed everything forcing Tsar to close his eyes as the light cast all shadows into oblivion. For a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to stand still, light shifted all around, like a star that had just been born, before it all condensed inwards.

Tsar opened his eyes, surprise and wonder in his gaze as he was not expecting such a spectacular spectacle, his gaze soon fell onto the child that now stood in the center of the room.

The child stared at Tsar with as much surprise and wonder as Tsar's. The child was adorned in white silks that almost seemed to glow, their eyes, they were the most beautiful shade of (e/c), and their hair were of similar color to Tsar himself, most likely a result of his magic.

The child tore their gaze away from Tsar, slowly taking in their surroundings. The room was bright, but it didn't hurt their eyes. Confusion filled them yet they did not panic, somehow they knew they were safe.

Tsar stepped closer, catching the child's attention. "Hello young soul," he began, "I am Tsar, but you may refer to me as Manfred." Tsar gave the child a warm yet sad smile as he gifted her a cloak and a lantern "And you are Yu."

Tsar softly patted the child's head his smile never leaving his face, yet he looked anything but happy, he looked terribly sad.

"I am so terribly sorry to gift such a young soul like you with this burden." He apologized to Yu sorrowfully. "While you fill this role you will never age, not psychically mentally, or emotionally. You are forever stuck as a child." He bowed his head, as if in shame.

Tsar gently sighed, "I can not do much for you once you are on earth, so I gift you this amulet."

Nestled within the embrace of intricate filigree silver lay a small, unassuming white stone. Smooth to the touch, its surface glows softly with an otherworldly luminescence, reminiscent of moonlight caught within earthly confines. The silver weaved intricate patterns, each delicate curve and swirl tells a story of craftsmanship. It was tethered to leather and placed around Yu's neck.

"This will shield you from harm, as well as disguise you. As long as you wear it, only those who are truly ready to pass on will see you for who you truly are."

Yu's form twisted as a magical veil fell over them, they grew taller as their (s/c) skin faded into pale bone.

Tsar reached into his jacket and soon pulled out a lantern, crafted from polished brass, its old body is a testament to time's gentle caress. "I also gift you this lantern, for wherever you may be, this lantern will guide you to where you need to go."

"You have been tasked with guiding souls to rest," Tsar told them. "From now on, you will be known as Yu Grim, guardian of souls long passed."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

☆ Thousands of years later. ☆

The air hung heavy with sorrow as the young boy watched from a distance, his heart aching as he observed his mother's tear-streaked face as she leaned over his body, softly begging him to wake up.

Amidst the somber atmosphere, a figure approached beside him. Time around them seemed to stop.  Turning his head, the boy spots a young child cloaked in black standing beside him. "You..." The boy couldn't explain it, but somehow he just knew who they were.

"Are you... are you here for me?" the boy whispered.

Yu gives the boy a solemn nod. "Yes. It is time for you to depart from this realm and journey to the afterlife."

The boy glanced back at his mother, his heart-wrenching at the sight of her anguish. "But... can't I stay? She needs me. She's all alone now."

Yu's gaze softened, "I understand your desire to comfort her, but your time in the mortal world has ended. It is a part of the cycle of life."

Tears welled up in the boy's eyes as he struggled to accept the truth. "I don't want to leave her. I don't want her to hurt anymore."

With a gentle touch, Yu placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, their touch surprisingly warm considering they were a spirit themselves. "She will carry your memory in her heart, and though the pain may never fully fade, she will find solace in the love you shared."

As the boy turned to look at his mother one last time, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, mingled with the bittersweet knowledge that he would never again feel her embrace or hear her laughter.

Yu takes the boy's hand, lifting their lantern watching as the flame within it points them to their destination.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I'm feeling sad, so you guys have to feel it too. This is a short chapter, but I promise much longer chapters in the future.

PS I'm purposely making the age vague, so Yu's real age is mostly on your perspective, just know that they died when they were young.

[honeycowinnit]

Hello I've been thinking Abt this:

Nature/Wisdom god tommy is imprisoned by his people for his powers. Since tommy is a child, he doesn't know any better.

Key in Wilbur, a traveler: who got visited by Tommy in his dreams, asking him to help him.

Idk u can change some stuff!!! I just thought Abt this on spot

"How am I to be of service to you?" Wilbur asks, overwhelmed, and the child tilts his head to the side. His bright blue eyes glow like the sun on the waves up north. "I am but a humble traveler."

"Do not tell me you genuinely believe that," the child says. He reaches forward and touches Wilbur's chest. He touches the pendant there, that is always there. "You are flame and light. You are my keeper. You will find me and you will save me, because I believe you can."

And then the dream vanishes, and Wilbur startles awake, breathing heavy, chest warm and tingling from where the child's fingers touched.

...

Wilbur finds the child from the dream two towns over in a rock statue covered in ivy.

He would not have even looked if he didn't need to stop to rest and eat, and he's glad he did, because this being in the middle of the town square must mean something. He leans forward to try and read the faded plaque.

Our wonderful lord, to whom we give all our gratitudes and well wishes.

Wait. Does that mean that the kid from his dream is a -

"Interested in our God, are you?" A voice says. Wilbur turns, and sees a short man blond hair and a forest green cloak.

"Uh, yeah," Wilbur says. "Just ... learning about the customs here. I am new to the area, so -"

"Yeah, I could tell." He squints. "I know everyone that comes through this town. You, my friend, do not belong here."

Wilbur stills. "There is no law telling me I cannot be here."

"Not yet." The man grins fiendishly. "But only because I have yet to write it." Then, he strikes.

...

Wilbur wakes up in a cold, damn cell with an aching head. His pack is gone, and all of his money. They took his guitar. He groans, then pushes himself to his feet. There are bars in front of him, and cold stone under him. He believes no one is here, but then he hears clinking metal in the darkness.

"Hello?" He calls, reaching out and curling his hands around the bars. "Is someone there?"

Quiet.

Wilbur curses himself. He's simply seeing things. And hearing them. There isn't anyone here. They're going to let him rot down here.

"Wilbur?" A voice calls.

Wilbur startles, then squints. Two blue eyes glow in the darkness. They shift closer, coming into the lantern light. It's the boy from his dream. Dirtier, paler, more roughed up looking. There are chains around his wrists, and he's wearing rags. When he reaches out to curl a hand around the metal bars of his cell, it's trembling.

"It's you," Wilbur breathes. "You're real." Then he remembers what the plaque on the statue said and drops to his knees. "My lord."

"Stop," he rasps. "Wil, don't you - do you not remember? It's me. It's Tommy."

Wilbur looks up hesitantly. The kid - Tommy- is pleading with him, reaching out through the bars. He's straining to touch, even though it's impossible. And that's when Wilbur sees it. The ring on his finger. Matching the pendant that Wilbur wears on his neck every single day. The one he was born with.

"They - they match." He says. And it wouldn't make sense to anyone else, but Tommy understands.

"They do. They do, because our father gave them to us." Tommy says desperately, but that would not make sense. Because Wilbur never knew his father. But more so because if him and Tommy shared a father, then that means - "Please," Tommy continues, sobbing now. "I haven't seen you in decades. Please do not make me go any longer without you, brother."

[gust-jar-simulator]

Somebody liked my post on evil Red so here’s a teaser for Penumbra, featuring Legend and Blue.

-🐇❄️🧊❄️🐇-

Legend… really didn’t know what to think of his new captors. He’d been expecting a cell, maybe some shackles. At worst, fucked up dark magic and torture devices. This room was certainly functioning as his cell, but there were rugs and little seating poufs and a slightly-better-than-shitty bed, all in alarming shades of pastel that clashed horribly with the bare stone and rune-enforced door.

If he thought about it too hard he felt like a pet, so he didn’t. No need to tempt the already sadistic gods.

He’d heard the three shadows bickering outside his door maybe an hour ago- the greenish one had been throwing his authoritative weight around, it sounded like, demanding an interrogation, but the other two had headed him off with mentions of “Vio” and the game and something about hospitality that had devolved into a shouting match. At this rate he was just sort of hoping they remembered Hylians needed to eat. Why invent future horrors when he could wait patiently and see them for himself?

He was busy considering the cracks in the walls when the door finally creaked open on heavy hinges, and the blue one hustled into the cell with a platter of something, collapsing back against the door with a harried sigh that echoed strangely.

“Fuck everything,” the ice-encrusted shadow hissed, “but fuck that guy in particular.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

The dark’s head snapped up, frozen eyes gleaming with a sick milky film. “Excuse you?”

“Oh, sorry,” the veteran drawled. “I meant to say the weather’s so nice today.” He leaned back on the bed, eyeing the windowless walls appreciatively. “Kind of monastery chic meets little girls’ tea party. Bold choice for a prison, I like your moxie.”

With an utterly disgusted noise, the dark stepped forward to drop the platter a little too roughly on a tea table- mostly fruits, nuts, and a few mushrooms, with an entire waterskin instead of a cup. He then straightened a chair, a doily, and gave a rug in the corner a particularly severe look like he was resisting the urge to completely pull it up, hands flexing a couple of times.

Legend watched with great interest as he hissed between his teeth again, icy vapor misting in the air. “This is stupid. We both know this game is fucking stupid.”

Well. He wasn’t expecting one of his captors to crack so soon. “I’m the guy in a box.”

“Yeah?” There was a crunching, grinding noise as the shadow turned to glare at him sightlessly, clear water dripping from a crack in his stony neck. “Well our guy in your box is a massive fucking problem, because I give it a week max before Red or Green or both can’t handle the fucking temptation of a good guy on our turf.”

He liked to consider himself a reasonable guy. Villains typically didn’t have much worthwhile to say but gloating or breakdowns of their own weaknesses, and this was decidedly the latter but far too soon. He frowned. “Uh. What about you? Gonna give in and eat me or something?”

“You wish I’d eat you.” Blue- that had to be his name- started pacing, rugs glittering with frost as he started wearing a trench in the floor. “If I had my way I’d drop you right back on the Goddess’s golden tits. Or a ditch. But the game’s been set, and there’s rules to this shit, so here you are and here I am and Vio is pulling a goddamned stunt that will get us all killed.”

Legend dragged over a pillow and propped it behind his back. “Do I get a reward if I pretend to be empathetic or something? Is this group therapy or just a you thing.”

Blue made a noise like a feral boar, and the temperature dropped so fast his ears popped.

Right. Unknown and unpredictable shadow monsters with possible elemental affinities. That. Legend swallowed, and licked his dry lips.

Dragging his compusure together, thread by tenuous thread, Blue took several deep breaths that fogged the air around him like the cloudy crown of a mountain. “I mean this in the most genuine way you’ll ever hear: watch your fucking mouth, you stupid piece of shit.” He marched closer, cold as rain and twice as unpleasant, to stand a respectable foot away from the bed and glare down at him. “I’m a lovely spring flower compared to the rest because I don’t want shit to do with you. Your only fucking use to me is collateral for my teammate’s health. Green thinks you might be useful. You don’t want to be useful.” He leaned down slightly, voice lowering like someone could hear. “Red wants to be friends, but if you get uppity you’ll wish he’d just killed you. And I won’t stop him, because I love him more than I care about your fucking well-being. Get me?”

“Gotten.” He was very, very uncomfortable having a possible ice elemental within spitting distance, but heroes thrive under pressure. He could work with this. He could sit put and be boring, or he could push his shitty luck. The man leaning over him was cracked like oracle bones. “What about Dark? Should I be expecting courting gifts?”

“Dark doesn’t know you’re here.”

What. Did they sneak him into the enemy’s base for fun?

They’d been calling it a game from the start.

Shit.

Shit.

[nyrasbloodyclover]

the great war (aemond targaryen x oc)

masterlist (read the warnings!!)

a/n: tw for this chapter!

3. the wedding

They were packed and ready to leave for Riverrun. Her father was waiting for her beside their carriage. She walked up to him and gave him a small smile— something to make him sure of her agreement.

The weather was foggy and cold. She could barely feel her fingers underneath the gloves, but the coat made up for it.

Just as she wanted to step into carriage, something brushed her dress. She looked down only to find her direwolf— Iris standing beside.

Reila kneeled to pet her and say her goodbyes, when her father said, "She's going with you don't worry."

That sparked a sense of happiness in her, and sort of relief. So she quickly went into carriage, along with her father and they were on their way.

•

The wedding ceremony would be held in a week. They were traveling for the last three days and she felt exhausted. 

Her father looked troubled but she didn't want to press. Reila knew that sooner or later most of the Westeros is going to be turned into battlefield.

"I'm proud of you, my child." Cregan broke the silence that spread around them.

"It's the least I can do for us," she took his hand and looked at the sky outside the carriage. The sun was setting fast which immediately made her feel tired. 

•

When Reila looked up she felt happy. It must be the same as being happy. But she was certain that she found a distraction from her mother's death that would help her cope.

The dresses, the cakes, all the small talk and endless hours of preperation exhausted her to the bone.

She was standing in front of a mirror, looking at her reflection. 

Her hair was partially up, decorated with small beads that matched with her white dress. It felt wrong to wear such color when she was grieving, but she had no other choice. It was embroidered with gold thread around the collar and skirt.

The maids helped her tie the corset and made her hair perfect for today. She was sad that she was leaving her family and home behind, but maybe change was good. Maybe it would help her overcome the loss.Final touch were the white gloves.

She was ready to go, but one of the maids reached for her hand.

"The necklace, my lady." she said, handing her the emerald stones.

Reila hesitated for a second. It was your mother's dying wish, she scorned herself. Uncertain, she reached for the jewels. She wanted to put it herself.

"Thank you. You can go now." She bowed and left Reila in her room. Technically it was her for now. 

Reila managed to clasp the necklace behind her neck then she looked at the final product. She was as beautiful as ever. The perfect bride. 

She realized that this meant accepting the Faith of the Seven. Tully's had the godswood but decided to accept the Seven as their religion.

She thought of their first day at Riverrun. It was calm. That's the best word she could use. Kermit smiled when he saw her and his father made sure we were settled comfortably.

They also foumd a place for Iris to stay which made Reila feel even more welcome.

Cregan Stark was waiting in front of her door with teary eyes that made Reila want to cry too. Tonight, everything is going to change. 

•

The Septon was an old man. Reila stood in front of her soon-to-be husband as she felt the gaze of every person in this room on her shoulders. Kermit Tully was much taller than her. His almost red hair matched the light of the candles that were practically everywhere. The Septon began speaking.

"You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Reila turned and felt hard fabric of the said cloak on her shoulders. When she turned, the Septon continued.

"We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife..."

She read of the Faith of the Seven during their trip. They were supposed to hold hands and the Septon would tie them together, representing their  union.

"Let it be know that Lady Reila of the House Stark and Lord Kermit of the House Tully are one heart, one flesh, one soul."

She was at peace right now, but she desperately wanted to see her mother in the crowd of these strangers. Reila wanted her final approval, which, of course wasn't going to come.

Now was the time for them to speak.

"Father, Smith, Warrior," Kermit and Reila began simultaneously, "Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger."

Kermit continued, "I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days."

Reila repeated the beautiful vows and they kissed. Rhaenyra better win this war.

•

The music, the food, sweets and meat and wine, loud chatter and the dance— all made her feel like she belonged here. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad. Reila knew her mother would be happy to see her happy, so she made a promise to herself that's going to be her goal tonight.

After hours of feasting and talking with the Tully's it was time for the final ceremony which made Reila a bit uncomfortable. The bedding.

She barely spoke to her mother about it, so her knowledge was minimal. She didn't know what to expect, but she was ready to perform her duty without question.

That was when Kermit came to her. "I have to speak with you. Privately."

She excused herself and went with him. She doubted that he was as nervous as she was.

They were in a abandoned hallway. She didn't know where it led and was curious to find out, but that had to wait.

"What did you want to speak about?" She asked him. Reila felt as if he was towering over her, but payed no attention to it.

"The bedding ceremony, my dear wife."

Her cheeks reddened. "What about it?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure you know how it's performed, the basics at least. But The Seven require that they watch us. To be certain the marriage is consumed properly."

Reila panicked. She wasn't sure she was okay with that. "Could we..avoid it somehow?"

"If you insist...I could show you a way."

She was completely clueless to what he was saying. Her mind wasn't working like it was supposed to.

"What way?" She asked but didn't even get to process the question herself before he started kissing her. It wasn't patient nor gentle. She hissed at one point, realizing he bit her. Reila felt unpleasant. He was practically attacking her mouth with his, wanting to slip his tongue inside, but she wouldn't let him. It was all so sudden.

"Could you stop?" She gasped between his kisses.

"I don't think so." Then he went lower and did the same with her neck. He wasn't biting this time, Reila noticed. She desperately wanted to get out of there and go find her father tell him about this, do anything to make this right, make him stop, but his grasp was hard.

He gripped her hands violently, so that she couldn't move, and began playing with her skirt. "Make a sound and I'll skin your wolf before you." She went rigid. Her eyes filled with panic, realizing this is serious and this is happening—to her.

He pushed them in one of the rooms and locked the doors. Could it be hers? She couldn't even see how it looked like because he turned her around and her face met the soft mattress. She felt him lifting her skirts and she choked back a sob that was threatening to unravel.

If she starts crying she wouldn't be able to stop, so she held back tears as long as she could. Then he buried himself in her and everything ached and burned. She wasn't able to move anymore. He was careful not to ruin her hair or rip apart her dress. She felt horrible pain between her legs that he had no intention of soothing. Over and over again he went in and out her at one pace that made her want to rip her throat with screams. But she couldn't.

Nobody would believe her. If she talked to Lord Tully he would probably dismiss her or not even pay attention. She could tell the maids but what was the point? They couldn't help her. And she had no intention of burdening her father with this. War is coming. He has bigger problems.

The night dissolved into nothingness. She didn't know how long passed, but the voices weren't there and neither was her husband. She was alone, finally and when she looked around she realized that she's in her room. He raped her on her own bed and just walked away.

She got up as fast as she could and moved from the bed looking at it like something filthy. Her legs ached and when she glanced back at the bed, stains of blood were covering it. 

Reila covered her mouth with her hands, careful not to cry too loud. Tears were dripping down her cheeks to her neck as she quickly stepped out of her gown, only to see dried blood in between her legs. 

She fell then crawled to the bathroom, and tried to get rid of the blood, to make herself feel human again. 

[dumdaradumdaradum]

8. Mera naam ishq

For prev parts :: Masterlist

Early mornings usually were the best, cooler than rest of the day and they gave an opportunity to witness the world waking up with the Sun.

As it was second of Monday of shravan, Y/n got up a little earlier than usual, hastily dusted and cleaned the house and took a bath. Ram too cut his yoga and meditation short by few minutes and rushed down.

Y/n quickly tried to assemble all the offerings.

"Where's my yellow kurta?"

Ram's voice traveled over the sweet rose itra in the air. Before she could answer, he called out again.

"Where's the towel?"

"Yellow one is soaked in soap and water, and towel is out here."

Wiping the sweat on his neck, he came out. "What do I wear then?"  Seeing him in nothing but a white dhoti, Y/n quickly looked down. His skin shone like gold, Y/n prayed for mercy.

She silently vowed to not let him distract her from the pious day.

"You have dozen others, wear anyone of them."

Blue and gold silk hugged her figure, he clenched a fist and breathed out through his nose. Her supple curls were wet and reached her waist.

She had adorned her hands with gold bangles, the bangles he had gifted her with. They looked good on her. His cheeks lifted in elation, eyes crinkled- he was thankful that she was too taken by her work to notice him.

So Ram tried to dampened his smile before she'd had a chance to look at him.

He felt peace envelop him. Beneath the jasmine incense and the sizzling ghee of the diya was her itra, soft and subtle.

"Why are you standing there? Go."

With widened eyes, he looked at her moving around the house. Embarrassed at how boy-ishly he acted around her, Ram quickly collected the towel and locked himself in the bathroom with buckets of cold water.

Y/n kept chanting under her breath. Her hands took some of the flowers and put them aside. The fragrance danced around the house.

The sky was starting to get lighter by second, she grinned wider. It looked like it would rain thankfully it wasn't brutally humid but rather cold.

"Chale?"

Ram folded his sleeves, walking towards her, "did you-?"

He gestured towards the small puja to her left. He really felt as though the ground beneath him moved as her lips stretched in the most intoxicating smile.

Bobbing her head in a yes, she got up. His hand brushed against her arm, "Chalo phir."

Peacocks screamed in distance.

"I guess it's gonna rain today as well."

He understood that her workload doubled whenever it rained. Ram couldn't help but laugh at her disappointed face.

As they walked through the street their neighbors joined. Together they all sang and laughed.

In his heart Ram hoped they won't encounter any officer. It was a festive and pious day, he did not wish to come in contact with reality.

They were indulging in a fantasy.

His heart did not wish to let go. His fingers found Y/n's and he held on.

Look, he heard whispers from behind him. Understanding that they were talking about him and Y/n, he sighed. It wasn't his fault that he found comfort in his wife.

He held on. Grasp on her hand might have tightened a bit.

Finally when they reached, he let go and bent to touch the ground and take blessings.

Red stone of the stairs was wet and slippery.

"Y/n you didn't forget anything na?" He pointed to the stalls selling everything that could be offered.

"Nhi," they kept walking but then she gasped and held his arm, "we need to get more flowers. For evening?"

He remembered, they were invited to the rudrabhishek that was being organized at the public hall few kilometers away from their house.

As they sauntered back they got the flowers.

Y/n dragged him to the sweet shop, "bhaiya!" She asked for one kilo of pede.

"Aur kuch?"

Ram stood behind her and took out his wallet. "Kuch ghar k liye lena?"

Not giving her a chance, he bent forward and pointed to the motichoor k laddu asked the vendor to pack one kilogram of those.

"No," both men stopped and looked at her.

"Kya hua?"

"That's too much. Half of laddu and half of kalakand," her eyes darted to the top of the shelf, "some curd too."

Exiting the shop, he spotted a fruits stacked in a cart. "Want something?"

She thought about it, they were already going to take sweets as prasad. "Ha, bananas."

By the time they reached home, Ram had bags in both of his hands. "I'm so happy half the market was closed or you would've bought everything home."

She rolled her eyes at the jab.

"It's not raining, go and get the wheat or after a few days the prices will go up."

Setting everything aside, he joined his hands, "Jaisa aap kahe devi ji."

"Eat something first," She ran back from  the kitchen to stop him,  seeing him shake his head Y/n made a face, "fine, I'm making tea. Drink that and go."

The kitchen wasn't a mess for once as they were both fasting. Small mercies of life.

As the water boiled they sat under the fan.

"What have you been reading these days?" Y/n had noticed a fat book on his desk had replaced his diary.

Combing his hair back, he smiled. Of course she noticed. Somehow the realization that she picked up on his stuff made his insides fuzzy.

"Taitriya upanishad."

She leaned in. Never having read for herself, she jutted her chin out, urging him to continue.

Keeping his hands on the table, he leaned in as well as if they were about to share secret. "It's a part of Krishna yajurveda. The om sahanavavatu comes from taitriya upanishad."

Y/n sat up and scrunched her face.

Ram leaned further, resting his head on his arms and looked at her antics. "Kya hua devi?"

"Chai!"

As if that explained everything, she clasped her fingers on his biceps and dragged him to the kitchen.

"Now I can listen to you and make tea properly."

She grated ginger after adding sugar and waited again. He leaned against the door frame, "it has three, you could say parts? Shiksha Valli with twelve anuvaka, Ananda valli with nine anuvaka and bhrigu Valli."

As they sat sipping on hot tea, Ram told her about the first anuvaka of shiksha Valli that he was in mid of. It was all about the initiation of a kid as a student.

He went on about the profound meanings and the reflection of the author.

Y/n understood most of it, it stirred a curiosity in her but it was Ram's enthusiasm that captivated her.

Unknowingly she caught his hands between her palms, "I want to learn more."

Tilak on his forehead creased as lines of joy formed, "every night before bed? We'll study together?"

The light in her eyes took away his breath. Dark shadows of clouds and glow of lamps, free long hair- she looked surreal.

Lighting cracked in the sky. A burst of wind blew her curls.

Just like that their small world snapped out of existence.

"Go.. it might rain anytime now," She followed him to the door, "hurry back home, okay?"

Y/n boiled potatoes for night and went up to get the clothes. She looked at the small vases in a corner on the roof. Rose was starting to grow now that monsoon was here. Jasmine flowered heavily as always and the rest looked healthy green.

As the clock struck two, she started gathering everything to take with them.

She wondered why her neighbors rented out the hall that was so far from their home but then she remembered how many people would gather and sighed.

They had asked for a decent daughter-in-law for their son, and now that he was married and had a kid on way, this was as good a time as any.

She changed into a green silk with blue borders. The gold bangles on her hands,  blue studded earrings and red bindi- she decided to tie her hair in a loose bun.

As she got done with putting on the mahavar, Y/n blew all the lamps and locked the home.

She fixed the dark blue blouse matching with the earrings.

The clouds loomed above them. She felt good.

The neighboring ladies called for her. Hastily she grabbed the prasad and the keys and left.

She had left a fresh pair of kurta on the bed for Ram.

"It's such a pleasant weather no? We're lucky."

She smiled and nodded along and got into one of the four rickshaw they had called. Kavita from two houses removed was with her, she had long luscious hair and most expressive eyes.

"Arey didi, I can hold those for you," Y/n took a bag from her kept it in her lap with her own bag. Kavita had a thing for taking too much with her wherever she went.

"Y/n, what are you gonna offer?"

"Pede and fruits."

She then listened to the woman go on and on about her day. Y/n smiled and nodded, enjoying wind in her ears. Every inch of her being danced in joy as they neared the venue.

The hall was down a muddy road, the grass was thick and water hung onto the blades like pearls.

Holding the bags in one hand, Y/n collected and lifted her saree to keep it from touching the ground. Once she stepped on the pavement, she let go and looked around.

The entire premise was covered in beautiful flowers.

Flowers.

She forgot them.

He bhagwaan.

Y/n prayed Ram would notice and bring them with him. Seeing a frown on her face Kavita shook her, "what happened?"

Her hand came up to hold her mangalsutra, and she prayed to God.

Shortly after they left their sandals under small shelter outside, Y/n was pulled into the kitchen. Prasad was being prepared in huge cauldrons.

Grateful that she had decided to put her hair up, Y/n stirred the kheer, she smiled. There was no cereal being used, only milk and dry fruits. In a corner milk was being thickened for various sweet dishes.

Another one of the three rooms had all the supplies required for the actual puja. Children ran in and out of the rooms, screaming and laughing.

Entire neighborhood was going to be here along with their relatives. Even a big hall and an extra room was starting to seem small to her.

Several ladies were in a corner, singing and playing dholak.

The family was busy in welcoming everyone and handing out everything the pandit asked for.

Women in the kitchen tittered.

"Kya hua didi?" Y/n asked.

The lady beside chopped the dried coconut leaned towards her, "Reshma is telling everyone of the marks on the daughter-in-law's neck."

Regretting that she even said something, Y/n rolled her eyes to mask her blush and turned back to the milk she was stirring for kheer.

"How much sugar was added?"

The elderly woman standing behind her stopped her from adding more. "More than I would have added."

As soon as she left, a woman in orange saree came about and grumbled about her miser nature and added more.

Y/n's arm was starting to hurt. "Didi can you take over for a bit?" Exchanging places she sat on the stool, relieved to be a bit away from the flame. She started grating coconut.

Manjire resounded under all the tandem.

A group of small girls ran in squealing and started playing around.

One of them stepped on a plate and fell, elbowing the nearest in the process, one almost ran in the wall and one stubbed her toe on a stone.

Within a second the room turned into a chaos' domain.

Women screamed at their kids, one of the girl cried, few ladies looked on in exasperation while other were in stitches.

Y/n looked around happy, with just two people in her house, she had forgot how it felt.

"Bahu!"

Kavita shook her and pointed at a lady standing at the doorstep. She beckoned Y/n.

"Ji?"

"Can you find me sugarcane syrup and honey?"

She got up, handing over her work to someone else and freed her pallu which was tucked in her waist.

Outside the kitchen, the hall was complete mess. Kids were fighting over the mats. There was mud all over as the pandit sculpted a shivling and the rest of the shiv parivar. Men were busy chatting away out in fresh air.

Her eyes searched for Ram. It shouldn't have taken this long.

Everything was starting, people were piling in the hall.

Every other second her eyes darted towards the entrance. Where was he?

Ram ran fingers through his hair, brushing back the damp locks. He hoped he wasn't too late.

"Arey Ram!"

A tall, lanky guy called stood ahead.

"Ha!" Together they went in.

He quickly found his wife sitting one person removed from the idols. He sat beside her.

"Where were you?"

"Sorry."

Y/n remarked a 'that's not what I asked' and looked ahead, smiling.

He looked sideways amused and noticed the dark curls that hung near her jhumke.

It was almost night and there was no electricity. Y/n few other women got up to get lamps.

Ram listened attentively to all the chants. He wasn't ready to Y/n come out with a plate full of diyas. The golden glow of flames on her skin looked ethereal. Divine.

A beauty from far away enchanted lands.

His eyes drank in the view. Amongst all the noise his ears heard the sweet sounds of her payal.

The silk around her waist shuffed as her hips swayed. Her timid walk was alluring.

He cursed. She had tied up her hair, the radiance accentuated her neck. There was nothing to take his eyes off, to distract him.

The golden mangalsutra. The sacred thread of his name.

It drew him in. He looked on unabashedly. She was wearing the token of their bond. Her eyes shone brighter than sun and moon.

His heart felt full.

If this was to be end of his time, he'd be content. The most beautiful woman was his wife and she was very close to being his purpose.

His eyes didn't stray for a second, not even when she sat beside him. He kept staring. No amount of prayers would ever express the gratitude he felt.

"You look stunning." His lips grazed her ear shell. His eyes caught how her breath hitched and her body stilled.

Aware of the surroundings again, he sat upright allowing a small smirk to grace his lips.

Everyone was focused on the holy fragrance in the air. Ram tried his best too.

He did.

Everytime he'd try to look ahead, he'd hear soft clincks of her bangles. Rose overpowered incense.

She'd occasionally repeat after the mantras, and his muscles would strain with sensations. Her breathy repetitions cast a charm.

His breaths sped up.

Since the hall was crowded they were sitting closely. Ram had shifted a bit back to avoid their knees from bumping, it was quickly proving itself as the mistake of the night.

She was directly in his line of sight and not even an inch away. How was he supposed resist touching her?

He didn't.

Soft, spilt second brush against her arm. Ram's eyes stayed fixed on the idols. He pressed his lips together.

He could see Y/n turned back a little but he was looking ahead so she turned back, saying nothing.

The next time it happened, she turned again and asked if he wanted something.

Ram widened his eyes and looked at her with the most innocence he could muster.

Once again she turned back. But then it happened again and again.

He almost laughed as she half faced him with a knowing look and hissed to stop.

"Stop what?"

Unhappy that he wasn't graced with an answer, he hunched his back. It gave him the advantage to be close as he could be to her without the questions from people.

Slightly tilting his head, he bumped her back.

Y/n bit her lip. This man.

Earlier she couldn't tell if he doing this on purpose, but now, oh he knew alright.

His breath hit her neck, goosebumps erupted all over. She suppressed a shiver. He couldn't find a better time or place to be... to be playful?

This time she glared at him.

It only tickled him further. He didn't know what had possessed him but he was having fun teasing her.

His eyes sweeped the room, once he was sure no one was looking. He leaned forward, purposefully brushing his lips in her hair, just behind her ear, "kya hua jaan? You look.. ahh frazzled."

Her heart began to palpitate, blood rushed to her cheeks. She knew she couldn't handle it.

In a sudden she stood up and went to the store room. Y/n thanked the dark, no one could see her red ears. As soon as she was in, she braced herself against the wall.

Slowly she breathed in and out, trying to calm her heart. Her knees felt weak.

She just needed a breather.

The pounding in her ears couldn't subside, her heart could calm down before it skipped again.

Her eyes opened in shock. Footsteps echoed in her ears. "I was looking for honey!" Pushing against the wall she took a step forward.

Haphazard thoughts bombarded her. She cursed the man behind her state. Despite herself she sighed in relief when she saw him.

"Ram what-"

He almost broke into a grin. Yellow light reflecting off her gold bangles made her look delicate like the rose scent she wore.

Adoration surged through him.

A lone diya in the corner illuminated his face enough for her to see the teasing glint in his eyes.

In a hushed tone she tried to berate him but was cut off when in just a couple of steps her back hit the wall.

"How are you this fine, holy evening, dear wife?"

She hated how his husky voice sent tingles through her, how she could barely form words. "Wha-" She had dreamed of stolen moments, clandestine meetings but all of those were just her fantasies.

"Have I told you how inviting your beautiful neck looks when there's nothing to take away the attention?"

He bent down and pressed a kiss just below her jaw. A sudden gasp left her.

He smiled stretching the contact before looking in her eyes.

Y/n was aware, she must have looked like a fool, gaping like a fish. The audacity shocked her. "What has gotten in you?"

She couldn't help but admire how his eyes twinkled.

His arms circled around her waist. He pushed her against the wall. She noticed how his gaze lingered at her neck. She really shouldn't have put up her hair.

"Ram, koi dekh lega.."

Her eyes closed, he leaned his forehead against hers. Her hands came up to his chest, "koi aa jayega-"

"Aane do."

Ram wasn't sure if she could feel his heart, he wasn't sure if she could tell what she did to him.

A crowd of almost a hundred people was right outside and he couldn't care any less. He didn't want to let go.

They breathed in the same air. The small, unsteady gasps from her lips tempted him to close the gap.

His knuckles brushed against her cheekbone before he ran his fingers through her hair, slowly undoing her hairdo.

Y/n tugged him closer instinctively and let out a shuddered breath. Her heart felt like it would leap out of her chest when he combed through and detangled a small strand.

"Kya kre ho.."

He didn't answer. Just kissed her hair and all the way to the crook of her neck.

His attention lingered on the gold chain resting prettily on her skin. Testimony of the union of their souls. The world began fading away for them.

Y/n could think of nothing but his touch. His knuckles mapped her face. His thumb traced the curve of her lips. His secure grip on her waist keeping her upright. His lips worshiping her. His proximity. His touch.

Him. Him. Just him.

He was consuming her and she wanted more.

She desperately  wanted more but anyone could walk in.

"Ram-"

Sighing, he listened to her and loosened his hold on her. As much fun teasing her was, he really just wanted to hold her and rest.

"Let's go, it's almost over."

Y/n felt cold air take place of his warmth. "I know.. just a bit more."

She gathered her hair to a side and raised her eyebrows almost mocking him.

"Go or people will question." He slowly backed away and smiling to himself.

Hearing Aarti start, Y/n joined them as well. Looking at the beautiful shivling, she prayed for him, his welfare, she prayed be content and happy with him.

After the prasad was distributed, several people got ready to go back in a group as it was night. Asking her to hurry, he went to stand with men from his neighborhood.

As things were wrapping up, they all chatted away about various texts, families and weather. Ram breathed in fresh air after being in a heavily fragrant room.

They all waited for their wives.

Tip. Tip. Tip. It started as a small drizzle but quickly turned into heavy rains. Everyone outside ran in.

Loud murmurs broke out in the hall. Kids screeched in a corner, happy with the rain. Ram massaged his head, he just wanted to sleep.

He just wanted to hold his wife close to him and let sleep take over.

It rained with heavy winds. Wet leaves, water falling to the ground, air through the every small nook created a harmony.

People arranged themselves in small pockets, talking or just listening as they waited.

"I don't think this is going to stop anytime soon."

Ram in his mind thanked the guy for saying what he felt.

Women had arranged for kids to eat and sleep in the room. Y/n came to stand near her husband, "here.." She extended a decent sized bowl with kheer.

He hadn't eaten anything for a day and now he won't sleep properly either. She felt concern cloud her when he refused. "Ram-"

"When we go home."  He smiled and shook his head.

Y/n tugged at his wrist, standing closer, "who knows for long it'll rain.. just eat this."

"No, I don't want to hear your excuses. You'll eat or do I have to feed you like a kid?" Y/n cut him off before he could say anything. She took his hands and put the bowl in them.

"Ram bhaiya, come sit with us."

He smiled at the men sitting near the large doorway and went to sit with them.

Almost everyone was half asleep. It had been a long day.

He felt cold wind with slight rain hit his back for a second. He closed his eyes, this must be how plants feel everytime it rains, he mused.

He took a support of the frame and leaned back.

The ladies were huddled at the other end of the hall. His tired eyes searched for her.

The hair he had opened now rested at the front tangled in a loose braid. Wishing he was home he closed his eyes again.

Memories from various nights resurfaced. In each one she was in his arms.

He felt a low vibration just below his skin.

It was ridiculous how used he had gotten to physical affection with her. When he said he yearned to hold her even when she was at an arm's distance, he wasn't lying.

If nothing Ram longed she'd atleast sit next to him.

Time passed by, they all sat patiently. The thunderstorm didn't relent but.

"There's no point in waiting now, let's all sleep here and we'll go tomorrow morning."

The arrangements changed once again. Several women went to their kids, others to their husband's and sat in loose groups.

He had moved to the mid, dragged by his neighbor who stretched his legs and half laid down.

"Ram? Thirsty?"

Y/n handed him a glass of water.

The silk was quite uncomfortable to spend the night in. She couldn't stretch her legs or even sit freely.

Ram opened her eyes and saw her shuffling every other second. At last she took an end of her heavily patterned pallu and enveloped it over her shoulder, creating a shield between herself and everyone else.

He let out a cold sigh. She was as uncomfortable as he was, perhaps even more.

"Y/n?"

He called and shifted near her.

"Ha?"

He tapped lightly asking her to lean on him.

"No, everyone is here." Y/n whispered back almost bemoaning.

Last of diya extinguished as if on cue, plunging the hall in complete dark. Nature provided them a small getaway, a window of momentary peace.

"Everyone's asleep. You haven't rested for a second the whole day."

Several men and women were crammed in one hall. After an exhausting day, as Y/n looked around and saw lolling heads. People sat supporting each other and almost everyone's eyes were closed.

She repositioned herself and tentatively leaned on his shoulder careful not to put all of her weight on him.

Content, that's how he felt. Sure she wasn't in his embrace but he wouldn't pass up on any of this. One of her hand was hooked with his.

Resting his head on her, Ram's eyes closed. His hand found hers which was on his thigh.

Slowly he traced circles on the back of her palm.

Neither of them realized when they drifted off.

Hii since tomorrow is Sunday.. I figured Saturday evening could be the best to provide you all fluff (?) I just hope this makes you smile Hehe. Baaki ka you know, if you want to be added to the taglist pls say.

Tags : @thewinchestergirl1208 @budugu @yehsahihai @vaijayantheee @chaanv @rishi-sita @ronnoxandlumoss @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @asarcasticcaffeinatedslytherin @mizutaama @jeonmahi1864 @bromance-minus-the-b @ronaldofandom @sabi5 @saanjh-sakhi @maraudersbitchesassemble @whyismynamecommon @nyotamalfoy @rambheemlove @lite-teesko @jjwolfesworld

[zeldaelmo]

The art (scroll down) for this chapter is from the crazy talented @tobythetrashyartist.

Believe, chapter 2

"Who are you?"

His question lingered and instead of answering right away, she closed the distance between them, taking his hand in hers. Heat spread from their interlaced fingers and Link shuddered against his will. 

"I'm the White Goddess Hylia. You called upon me earlier."

An unbelieving chuckle rose from Link's chest. "I— yeah. I guess I did." He fought with the urge to withdraw and his craving of her warmth. There was… a Goddess in his ice-cold mobile home that he didn't even pay rent for. But her warmth meant he wasn't hallucinating, right? 

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but you look… different. The statue is more, um, thick?" Oh, wow, did he just call a goddess fat? 

Her blue eyes twinkled. "Yes, the priestesses made the statues a bit more stylized so that the people don't pray for the wrong reasons."

Link's eyes traveled up and down the floating dress that hugged all the right spots on her body and he rubbed his shaved nape out of habit. "Uh, yeah, I can see that happening."

She laughed, and suddenly the idea of worshiping didn't sound so absurd anymore than it had just this afternoon. 

Her eyes followed his hand that dropped from his nape back to his side. A tiny crease appeared between her brows. He wanted to smooth it out, he wasn't worthy of her worry.

"Your hair," she began, hand hovering next to his head. "You don't usually wear it so short, right?"

Link's mouth fell agape. Did she figure that out from his stupid habit of ruffling the hair at his neck? Or was she… an all-knowing Goddess? He couldn't just ask that, could he?

"The hair… I was… I had to shave it."

"What happened?" Her tone was patient, just as attentive as her stone self had been.

His hand tightened around her fingers, but she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand and he relaxed again.

"Grew up on the wrong side of the city. Made some dumb decisions, too."

She waited, eyes locked with his. Pieces began to click inside him, pieces he hadn’t known to be detached in the first place. When had someone listened to him, really listened?

"Some… some old friends called in a favor and one of them lost his nerves. He has a kid, you know, what would become of them if he went to jail instead of me?"

A hum resonated on her lips, golden, like the glow radiating from her. Long, delicate fingers brushed over his shaved head and his skin tingled with warmth and something else he couldn’t identify. His eyelids wavered and he gave in, sinking into the humming sound. 

She laughed, taking his hand and pushing his fingers into full hair. His eyes shot open and he grabbed a handful, pulling and taking a big step back. And another.

"What—what did you do? What's this, sorcery?!? You can't just—"

"Oh, that's nothing. Regard it as a little gift for the new start you wished for."

Link took a handful of hair again and pulled, his legs feeling shaky but not from the nagging hunger. What had he done? He had only looked for a few warm hours, how on earth had he pulled the attention of a Goddess to him? White Goddess Hylia, who was that? He had never heard of someone like that. Ok, he wasn’t exactly well versed in any religion so chances were high he had missed something.

Her eyes still rested on him, open and friendly. She didn’t seem malicious, but wasn’t that how all these stories went? The protagonist got lured in by the beauty of the siren and faced his doom. Then again… his gaze traveled over the pitiful ‘home’ and his few scattered belongings. He was doomed without her, too, might as well have a good time until then.

He released his hair and took a step back in her direction. “Thank you. For the hair. I like it better like this. And, um, about the new start…”

“Oh, yes, about that. I can offer you shelter, food, and camaraderie. A purpose, if you want.”

“Just like that?”

She tilted her head, her long hair falling to the side like a waterfall of pureness in this place of stinky sins. He stared, blinked, but stared again anyway. 

“Everything in life comes with a price, doesn’t it? You should know that best, Link.” She waved her hand, a bundle of clothes appearing on his bed. Maybe she was a witch, not a Goddess. But honestly, he couldn’t tell the difference anyway.

“These clothes will offer you protection. It’s a dangerous place where we will go.”

“Great,” he mumbled more to himself. Of course, it was dangerous. He hadn’t really expected this gorgeous woman, Goddess, witch, or whatever she was, to offer him to start a life of domestic bliss together in the soft rain of the rolling hills of Scotland, did he?

He lifted the pieces of the bundle, one by one. A red scarf, a green tunic. A bit outdated, but at this point, this whole interaction felt like a Halloween movie parody anyway.

“Chain mail?” He fingered the metal.

“I told you it’ll be dangerous. Have you ever put chain mail on? I can help you with that.”

Link’s gaze dropped to his jeans jacket. Was she kidding him? But her smile shone and shone, directly into his empty heart.

“Uh, sure? What goes where?”

“You start with the linen so that the chains don’t harm your skin.”

He grumbled his affirmation, took off his worn clothes and shrugged into the white undershirt.

“Wait. Let me adjust it a bit so that it doesn’t rub, the chain mail is relatively heavy.” She stepped up behind him, tugged the shirt this way and that. Her ginger hands brushed the hair in his nape aside, closing a small button. He could feel her smile next to his ear, a wave of warmth enveloping his skin. Her hands rested on his shoulders and she whispered, “The longer hair really suits you so much better, Link.”

He made the mistake of turning his head. She was still there, still glowing faintly, lips still parted in invitation— Her hands traveled down his arms and the quivering breath that kept them apart seemed to shrink. Spirits, he had sunk so low that he had very impure thoughts about a Goddess. Surely, that was a sin. It must be. She wasn’t a waitress in a shabby diner, she was— whoa, wait, did she just clap his butt? 

Smirking, she added, “Come on, try the trousers.”

Oh, shit. The problem had just tripled. There wasn’t only a Goddess in his room. No, there was a Goddess in his room who flirted with him and who was also smoldering hot. 

He had never changed into clothes so fast.

She seemed to be pleased with what she saw, adjusted the chain mail, helped him into the green tunic and fastened belts and holsters. Her hands were all over him, but what was even worse that her eyes, were too. She looked at him as if she cared. As if he was something precious.

He raised the scarf she had put on his neck, looking at her through his lashes and chasing that feeling of being seen. “Good?”

She smiled, circled a green hat in her hands, and put it on his head, smoothing out his hair. “Perfect,” she whispered an inch away from his cheek. “Now come.”

Her hand waited for him and he took it, interlacing their fingers again. A portal opened right next to his bed, but he was beyond asking questions. Various shades of lush green glowed through it, promising an exit out of the gray that was a half-forgotten mobile home park in Castle Town.

He had expected the portal to be more… spectacular. Some upcoming wind, a whoosh, maybe some stretched limbs, and not simply stepping from cheap linoleum to soft grass.

The portal closed behind him with a wave of her hand but he didn't have time to worry if he made the right decision. Before him, trapped in a triangle-shaped stone pedestal glittered a sword.

Hylia let go of his hand, that encouraging smile still on her lips. He circled the sword, crouched, and ran his thumb over the blue pommel. It glowed at the contact, a little bit like her, but in a bright shade of blue and not white-gold.

"Why is it here? Who put it here?" Link asked, suppressing the childish urge to try to pull it from the stone. Even to him, it was clear that this must be a powerful, potentially religious object in her world.

"I put it there."

Oh. 

"Is… is it your job to guard it?" That was something Goddesses would do, right?

"No." She laughed. "She's guarding herself. Only someone with a pure heart can pull it from the pedestal."

Link flinched and pulled his hand from the pommel. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, no, you misunderstand, Link. I brought you here for a reason. But let me explain a few things first."

"Ok?"

"There's a war raging in my country. An evil force called Demise threatens to overtake it. Only the Blade of Evil's Bane can defeat Demise, but I can not do it alone."

Link scratched his neck. "That sure sucks."

There was a pause and only the leaves on the trees rustled. Did… he miss something?

"Link."

"Uh, yes?"

"I told you that I can offer you a purpose. I strongly believe that you are the one who can pull the sword. But that would mean you have to lead my forces into a war you didn't know about only seconds ago."

"Wait, hold on a minute." Link raised his hands, bringing distance between him and the sword. "That's ridiculous. I mean, you can't just come into my world and grab me by the collar and drag me into your war, that's not how it works!"

"You prayed to me." Her voice carried calmness and her hands were folded in front of her.

Link opened and closed his mouth. "Well, I did, kinda, but not like this! I mean, I'm completely unqualified, I'll trip and cut my own foot off, what do you think will happen?! I can't — you know what, we'll end this here and now. You said only someone worthy can pull it and we both know that's not— fuck."

The sword glittered in his hand, his fingers firmly wrapped around the handle, the blade brimming with energy. It had come out of the stone like out of freaking butter. Maybe the stone was fake, aye, no, it wasn't. He rubbed his toes against his calf, holding onto his dignity and the sword for dear life.

Hylia's smile had an amused tilt. 

"No." He said, feet firmly planted on the stone again, sword— yes, where was one supposed to put a freaking sword when glaring at someone? “I’m not, I mean that’s not how this is going. I will…” Frantically, he looked around on the small clearing, spotting a path between the trees. “Yes. I will simply go home. Ok, bye, it was nice to chat with you, Hylia.”

She still smiled that cursed smile, standing still like her counterpart of stone in the cathedral. She smiled as if she knew more than him. Well, she probably did, being a Goddess and all, but that was not his problem anymore. With an energetic huff, he turned and marched through the gap in the trees. No footsteps behind him, good, very good.  

This whole thing was ridiculous. A fever dream. Maybe he had finished that bottle of whiskey and now his mind thought this was funny. Haha. After a dozen steps, the rhythmic pattern of his own feet let his grip on the hilt of the sword loosen enough for his knuckles to return to their usual color. Link raised his gaze to the path ahead. Where was he? How on earth was he supposed to go ‘home’ from here? He inhaled the rich forest air, stopped and turned left and right. And did he really want to wake up in the lousy, unpaid mobile home without electricity? Would it be so bad if this was not a fever dream?

Hey, an apple tree! Finally something to eat and for free nonetheless! His outstretched hand hesitated for a split-second, something about a forbidden fruit crossing his mind, but the hunger was stronger. Juice trickled down his chin and the sweetness of the apple let him moan unrestricted. So, so good. He took another; he hadn’t eaten anything apart from give-away candies he had stolen from the promotion booth of a life insurer in days.

A shriek reflected from the trees surrounding him. A shriek, really? Maybe an animal? Not too unusual, this was a forest after all… Frowning, he turned towards the way he just came from, the tip of the sword still resting on his shoulder rattling through the low hanging branches of the apple tree.

Twigs snapped, metal screeched on metal — something was happening on the clearing. 

Link broke into a sprint. If this was just a wild animal breaking through the bushes he would simply turn around and— but if this was Hylia tricking him into coming back, if, if—

He halted abruptly, stumbling over his own feet, eyes widening at the sight in front of him. 

Oh spirits above, that was a joke.

[thiefbird]

For DADWC, bi and oblivious Alistair, Dirthail and [ NECKLACE ] : sender fastens a necklace around receiver’s neck, leaning in close to do so.

💖💖💖

@dadrunkwriting

This one got away from me in length!!

Dirthail ran his fingers over and over the faded, dried rose Alistair had given him, two nights before. It was beautiful, precious, but the meaning behind the gift was... breathtaking. It was immediately his most treasured possession, along with the rosewood ring Morrigan insisted was 'only practical'. He would need to find a way to preserve it; the dried petals were incredibly delicate, and he was constantly paranoid it would be crushed into dust in his pack. He had a few ideas, but they would all have to wait till they reached Orzammar in two days time. Until then, he'd just have to pack very carefully.

They reached Orzammar without any difficulties, luckily, and the moment he had a chance he left everyone in the Warden estate and headed for the Smith district, rose carefully cupped in his palms. He quickly found a silversmith who was confident in her ability to preserve the bloom. "Come back tomorrow, Warden. It shall be ready for you in the morning," she instructed, her pride in being entrusted with such a token by the Warden almost palpable.

He rushed back, hoping Alistair had not noticed his disappearance. Luckily, it appeared Leliana had tempted him into a game of cards, and he simply called him over with a shout.

"Still haven't learned to bluff, Ali?" Dirth teased, sitting down on the stone couch beside his fellow Warden. Alistair chuckled at the good-natured teasing. draping on arm affectionately around Dirthail's shoulders. Dirth leaned into the embrace, tucking his head against Alistair's collarbone.

Leliana giggled happily, the undying romantic in her enjoying Dirthail's hopelessness, no doubt. "Oh, you two are so sweet!" she cooed. Alistair looked bemused.

"You only say that because you're worried I might beat you with Dirth's assistance!" he complained. showing Dirthail his hand.

Liliana pouted, giving Dirth a concerned look. She, like the rest of their companions, knew of his obvious crush on Alistair, and regularly attempted to convince him to make his feelings known. Dirth shook his head subtly, and her pout intensified

"You two are no fun!" she complained, folding her cards and disappearing to her chamber.

The next morning, Dirth rose before his companions and rushed to his silversmith. "Warden! You will be pleased with what we created for you, I am certain," she said, waving him over eagerly, and pulled a delicate chain from her pocket.

"I took the liberty of putting it on a necklace for you. It seems like something you would wish to keep close." She held out the rose, now delicately coated in a layer of silver, carefully patterned on the edges. Dirthail gasped, gently cradling it between his fingers. It was gorgeous, and he told her as much.

"I am so glad that you like it, Warden!" she exclaimed. Looking around, she added, "If you could bring me more flowers, either like this or fresh, I believe I could sell them here in Orzammar. Your appearance has sparked an interest in surface things, anything elvhen. If you could bring me flowers, and perhaps wear it visibly to a Proving, I would waive the cost."

Dirthail grinned at the suggestion. "I can absolutely arrange that," he agreed. The smith grinned back, offering her hand for them to shake on it.

He nearly ran back to the Palace district, throwing himself into Alistair's room. "Ali, Ali, look!"

Alistair sat up, bleary-eyed with sleep. "Dirth, is everything alright?" he asked, throwing the blanket off and exposing his bare chest to the cool, damp air.

"Yes, yes, everything's fine!" Dithail reassured him, climbing onto the bed and sitting beside him. He hooked a calf over Alistair's thigh. "That rose you gave me? Look at this!" He held it out to Alistair, who stared in awe.

"You... kept it," he breathed, stunned. He traced the edge of a petal with a shaking finger.

"Of course I kept it... Put it on me?" Dirth asked softly, pressing the bloom into Alistair's hands and turning so he was half in the bigger man's lap, back to his chest.

"Alright," Alistair whispered, slipping the chain around Dirth's throat. He gently brushed Dirth's hair over one shoulder and fastened the clasp. Dirthail could feel Alistair's breath ghosting over his ear and shuddered. Soon. He would tell him soon.

[faytelumos]

Saying Goodbye

cw: terminal illness

Superhero fidgeted with the almost-hot casserole dish as they stood before the ostentatious double doors of Supervillain's equally ostentatious lair. Everything about Supervillain was over-the-top and highly dramatic, and that was part of why Superhero was still reeling from the somber call they had received this morning.

A lock clicked from behind the grand doors, drawing Superhero's attention as one of them opened. They stood straight as a dignified woman in smart attire appeared. Her prim expression didn't falter upon seeing Superhero, who lifted the dish in their hands slightly.

"I, uh, I didn't know if I should bring anything," they uttered, "but I made a casserole." The woman looked down at it, her sharp eyebrows lifting slightly. The sensation of unforgivable ridiculousness was starting to burn in Superhero's cheeks. "I, um, well, I know you prefer to cook, but it's your loss, too, so I figured..." The woman reached out with a tremble in her fingers, taking the dish gently.

"It's good to know your kindness is genuine," she uttered as she took the dish. Superhero swallowed, then looked down. Yes. For what they'd been asked to do, being unkind was the furthest thing from desirable. "Please come in," the woman said, stepping aside. "Supervillain isn't ready for visitors at the moment," she went on as Superhero stepped inside and the door was pushed closed. "Do you wish to speak to them privately before...?"

"Yes," Superhero said with a nod. There was a small knot forming in their throat. The woman remained composed and nodded in return.

"Please, follow me," she said more quietly, and walked up a nearby hall.

The lair had massively high, vaulted ceilings, expensive stones and woods making up every detail of the walls and floors and furniture. At the moment, these grand halls were empty. Superhero had expected to see people; Supervillain's resources were vast, and people were an integral part of that. But there was no sign of anyone else in this place until Superhero was taken into a dining hall. There were four tables; three truly massive beasts laying along the length of the hall, and a shorter, more ornate thing that sprawled across the far end of the hall. The officer's table, perhaps. The center table was made up with dry snacks, and there was a dusting of people spread across the massive hall. Superhero's eyes immediately found Lieutenant, his shoulders slumped as he stared forward blankly.

"We'd prefer you remain in this room for now," the caretaker said. Superhero turned and nodded to her, and she gave a curt nod of her own before taking her leave. Superhero made their way carefully along the tables. Several henchpeople looked to them with a mixture of fear and anger, but most simply watched them pass with sad acceptance in their eyes. Superhero tried not to pay too much attention. When at last they reached Lieutenant, they took up the seat diagonal from him. His eyes drifted blankly, but cleared up slightly as he focused on his visitor.

"You didn't wear your costume," Lieutenant observed. Superhero looked down to their modest formalwear, smoothing a wrinkle.

"It, um, didn't feel appropriate," Superhero whispered, looking up again. Lieutenant huffed a laugh.

"You're gonna break Supervillain's heart, not giving them one last look down that long-ass V-neck." The two shared a stumbling laugh.

"I thought it might be too much," Superhero uttered, glancing around the hall and seeing all of the suits and dresses. They looked back in time to see Lieutenant waving his hand dismissively.

"Did they tell you what they want done with the ashes?" he asked with a watery smile. Superhero shook their head, and Lieutenant sniffled, holding up his hands to illustrate. "Giant, giant urn," he said, his voice slightly unsteady even under his smile. "Like, forty feet tall." Superhero laughed, putting a hand over their eyes and shaking their head. "On either side, like..." he paused, pulling in a cooling breath, "fifty-foot flames." Superhero lowered their hand, hiding the disbelieving smile on their face as Lieutenant looked away, his eyes brimming. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but he still struggled to push out the words, and Superhero watched patiently, face falling empathetically. "And a big engraving," he managed to choke out, holding up his hands to demonstrate. A pair of tears fell to the wooden table as he pursed his lips, and when he spoke again, it was difficult to hear. "I flew over Icarus."

Superhero gasped softly in disbelief as Lieutenant wiped tear tracks off of his face. "You're joking," they breathed, knocking a bitter laugh out of Lieutenant.

"I'm gonna flip it off every day," he managed, and Superhero laughed breathlessly. Hopefully, Supervillain's followers would one day appreciate their sense of humor. Maybe Supervillain also wanted to be the first to make a joke too soon. Lieutenant put his elbows on the table and rested his face in his hands, sniffling hard. After a moment of hesitation, Superhero reached forward and put a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. He sniffled again, reaching over and holding their hand, squeezing back. "I'm glad it'll be you," he choked, looking up. He met Superhero's eyes, and they felt that knot in their throat again. "And not the fucking sickness." He sniffed deeply, reaching up with both hands to dry his cheeks and clearing his throat. Superhero didn't let go of him just yet, and he didn't fight their touch. "They talk about you a lot. But I had to convince them to make the call." Superhero's heart swelled just a little to hear that from him.

"Thank you," they whispered, and he put his hand over theirs and looked them in the eyes again.

"Thank you," he said. Superhero looked away after a moment, clearing their throat.

"How... how is Villain taking it?" they ventured. Lieutenant sighed.

"She's absolutely beside herself," he uttered. "I've been spending half of my days lately forcing her into the same room as them." He looked to the side with red eyes, keeping one hand over Superhero's and propping his head up on the other. "She hates me for it right now," he said softly. "But she'll regret not spending the time after they're gone." He blinked back new moisture in his eyes, and Superhero gently rubbed his arm with their thumb. He sniffed again, looking back to them with a brittle little grin. "I can see why they like you so much," he said. Superhero blushed slightly, wondering if they should take their hand away altogether or just stop using their powers.

"Sorry," they said, and he held their hand a little tighter. "Force of habit."

"It's okay," he said gently, looking away again, the smile fading. "I know you comfort people a lot. This has gotta feel pretty routine for you, huh?"

"Hardly," they said right away, causing both of them to flinch a little. Lieutenant watched them as they looked down at the table. "It's... unreal. Like, what am I gonna do now?" They knew they were already running headlong towards oversharing territory, and they bit down on the urge to spill their guts. "Supervillain has been a part of my life for so long, and I've killed people, sure, but-but not like this, not people I know like them." They put a hand on their face, trying to reign themselves in. They took a deep breath, and it trembled in their chest. "Am I supposed to be happy?" they said slowly. "Everyone's gonna tell me I did the right thing, good riddance, the world is better now." They squeezed their eyes shut for a moment. "I'm scared I'm gonna start to believe them." Lieutenant watched them for a moment, then reached over the table and ran a hand into their hair. They looked up, eyes reddening.

"Your relationship with Supervillain is something no one can take from you except you," he whispered. "If you're afraid it'll be tainted, then write down how you feel, and hide that somewhere only you can find it, okay?" Superhero nodded, reaching up to hold Lieutenant's hand. "When you start to doubt, just read it again." Superhero nodded again, swallowing around the lump in their throat.

"Thank you," they rasped. Lieutenant partially climbed onto the table to kiss their forehead.

"You're infuriatingly strong," Lieutenant said with a smirk. Superhero huffed a laugh. "You'll be okay." Superhero was glad when the caretaker came in again, looking as put-together and proper as before.

"Supervillain is ready to see you," she said primly. "I'll be gathering everyone while you two talk." Superhero nodded, the pain in their throat rearing its head. They flashed Lieutenant one last smile as they rose, and the two held each other's hands tightly for a moment before they left.

The caretaker brought Superhero to another set of grand doors, and opened them up silently. They thanked her softly before stepping into what looked like a ballroom. It was completely empty except for the small bed in the center, silk sheets and a thick blanket spilling over the edges. Superhero approached, taking in the bony, frail appearance of their typically flamboyant partner. Faded eyes turned to them, and a soft, weak smile touched Supervillain's thin lips.

"First time I've seen you in months," Supervillain breathed as Superhero stepped up to the bed, "and you're not even wearing my favorite outfit." Superhero laughed as if they were already crying.

"I didn't want everyone here to see my ass without paying admission," they managed. Supervillain smiled at that, letting out soft little chuckles.

"Not that you charge much," they uttered with a wink. Superhero pretended to balk and softly patted Supervillain's cheek in a delicate smack, eliciting another set of quiet chuckles. Superhero reached forward and slipped their hand into Supervillain's, using their powers to wipe away the pain. Supervillain sighed bone-deep, closing their eyes. "Thank you," they whispered. Superhero nodded, pursing their lips.

"I'm sorry," they uttered after a moment. They had been choking on this confession since they'd heard about Supervillain's illness, but it had never felt so terrifying as it did in their presence.

"For what?" Supervillain asked curiously, opening their eyes again. Superhero inhaled deeply, blinking hard before meeting Supervillain's gaze.

"I tricked you into wanting me," they whispered. Supervillain's brows furrowed, confused, and Superhero felt shame gnaw at their gut. "I, I just loved the way you moved, how you made everything such a performance, your confidence," they said. "I loved it, and I wanted it, so...." They closed their eyes for a moment before looking back down to continue: "So I started feeding you desire when we fought."

Supervillain grinned.

"Dumbass," they whispered. Superhero frowned, caught between insulted and confused. "You think I didn't notice?" they went on. "You think I didn't already want you by the time you got over your stupid hero complex and finally started trying to seduce me?" Superhero blinked, baffled. Supervillain rolled their eyes fondly, smiling wider now that they weren't in pain. "That skimpy costume and the way you always won, how could I not fall in love?" they purred. Superhero choked on their laugh, and Supervillain's brows pitched in amused focus. "Wait," they uttered, looking up again, "does that mean you thought you had me unfairly?" Superhero nodded, relief and grief misting their eyes and gathering in their throat. "All these years?" Supervillain asked, and again, Superhero nodded. Supervillain's expression melted, and they held up their arm weakly, and Superhero tenderly knelt down and put their head against Supervillain's chest. They hugged Superhero close, running knobby fingers into their hair as they tried not to cry. "Baby," Supervillain whispered, "I can't believe you've been carrying that. I loved you for a year before you finally started punching me with love letters." Superhero snorted an ugly laugh, then groaned in embarrassment. Supervillain laughed. "I think Lieutenant was sick of hearing about it by the time I came up with my next scheme."

"You're joking," Superhero groaned, trying hard not to think of a younger, more robust Supervillain talking Lieutenant's ear off about what was practically a first kiss. Supervillain just chuckled, petting Superhero's hair.

"I hope that wasn't all you came in here for," they mumbled. Superhero carefully shook their head, stroking Supervillain's fingers. They lifted their head enough to look into Supervillain's eyes, which were brighter now than they had been a moment ago. Supervillain had been weak for a long time, but Superhero hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected them to be skin and bones. Their skin was leathery, their hands hadn't stopped trembling, and Superhero could tell by how hard they had to push their powers just how much pain Supervillain was actually in. Supervillain was fading, and even if Lieutenant had had to push them to make the call, they wanted Superhero to end it.

Superhero reached up, carefully petting Supervillain's hair as tears welled up in their eyes. "You are so loved," they choked. "And-and I'm gonna miss you so much." Supervillain smiled, soft and sad, and wiped a tear off of Superhero's cheek. "I'm so...." Superhero looked down, trying to swallow the pain in their throat. They had to get the words out, dignity be damned. "I'm so glad I had you in my life," they breathed, looking up. Supervillain set both hands fragilely on Superhero's cheeks. "Nothing is gonna be the same without you...."

Supervillain hushed Superhero softly, letting them drop their head as the tears fell. After a moment, Supervillain softly lifted Superhero's head by the chin, meeting their gaze.

"Life goes on," Supervillain whispered. Superhero bit back a sob, gritting their teeth. "I know it's cliché to say, love, and of course I want you to mourn for me." Superhero nodded, flashing a brief smile. "But don't hold yourself back just because I'm gone." Superhero nodded, sniffling, and Supervillain pulled them closer. Superhero hugged them as tightly as they dared, feeding every bit of love and care they could muster into it. Supervillain made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. "You're gonna make me cry," they whispered. Superhero made a similarly ambiguous sound.

"Good," they muttered. "That's what you get for that fucking Icarus joke." Supervillain fell into chuckles at that, and Superhero couldn't help but laugh along. They pulled mostly away after another moment, still holding Supervillain's hand.

"For the love of God," Supervillain whispered, shaking their partner's hand for emphasis, "find love again." Superhero nodded, reaching up with their free hand to dry their face. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"I will."

"Okay."

They looked into each other's eyes another moment, the pain in Superhero's throat swelling. It was about time for everyone else to come in. It was about time for the end.

"I'm gonna let go now," Superhero whispered. Supervillain nodded, taking in a deep breath, bracing themselves. Superhero counted down softly before letting go, and Supervillain winced when the pain came back. "I'm gonna go get everyone," Superhero whispered. "I'll be right back."

"Hurry back, love," Supervillain whispered as Superhero jogged to the ballroom doors. When they opened them, the hall was full to bursting with henchpeople, the caregiver and Lieutenant and Villain standing closest. Superhero's eyes moved to the young villainess, her face red and wet and her eyes swollen. Superhero sighed softly, reaching out and taking her hand with a sad, reassuring smile. They did their best to feed her clarity, and she clung to them as everyone started to file in.

Sniffling and quiet sobbing filled the hall along with the scuffing of feet as Supervillain was surrounded by those that loved them. Superhero drifted silently into the air, letting Villain's hand slip from theirs and onto Supervillain as she began to sob. Lieutenant knelt down and rested his head against Supervillain's ear as others reached over him to touch their face and hair. The caregiver stood at their crown, her expression cracking as she smoothed their hair. Once everyone had shuffled in, found their places, and put their hands on Supervillain or on a shoulder in front of them, Supervillain looked straight up at Superhero.

"I have one last announcement," Supervillain said, and the sniffles and sobs were stifled to allow their soft voice to carry. "It is my dying wish," they uttered with a crack in their voice, "that Villain take my place as the supervillain." Villain covered her mouth and sobbed, and the hall fell into the quiet noise of sniffles again. Supervillain nodded up at Superhero, who kept on a brave face as they descended, tilting their body to be face-down. The sounds of crying grew as they got close, reaching down, putting a hand over Supervillain's heart, feeling the quick pulse beneath their fingers.

"Last words?" Superhero breathed, holding back tears as their face came close to Supervillain's for the last time. Supervillain sighed as the pain was finally and forever pulled from their tired bones.

"I've loved harder than I thought possible because of all of you," they said, closing their eyes. "I don't care what people think of me. Having this family was my best work." Superhero smiled, fragile though it was. Supervillain opened their eyes again and gave Superhero the slightest nod.

Superhero drifted closer, and they both closed their eyes as they came together in a kiss. Superhero pushed joy and love and passion and sorrow into it, making Supervillain dizzy with it as they searched for the seat of Supervillain's soul. Once they found that pulsing wisp of a sensation, they grabbed onto it and drew it up and into Supervillain's mouth. Superhero sobbed once into the kiss, pushing Supervillain's mouth open, kissing and pushing their emotions harder as they pulled Supervillain's soul past their teeth, past their lips, and into their own mouth. Supervillain's heart stuttered to a stop beneath their fingertips, and Supervillain stopped kissing back.

Superhero drifted up and away from Supervillain's body as the gathered fell into sobs. They turned their head up, letting go of the invisible little fire, confident it wasn't going to pull itself back into its body. They looked down again as heads bowed and hands pet Supervillain's body. The caretaker pulled the sheet over Supervillain's head, and Superhero watched on from above, unable to cry.

[thehumoredhost]

The Dream

Bill woke up, disturbed  [3] by the noise of the seagulls. 

He got up and stared out the window [3] next to his bed, staring at the noise that woke him up. The seagull, that flies over the waters as if it were an angel of the Lord, but emits shrill cries like a devil, the blackbird, with yellow beak, that talks like a human [7]

One of them, landed on to his windows sill, and looked at him.

Bill: I had a dream last night. The same dream I had when I first came here to visit.

The seagull tipped its head slightly to the side, still looking at him.

Bill: I was hunting a fox. It hadn’t done anything yet but just its presence was making me uncomfortable, I wanted to kill it.

The seagull moved its wings a bit.

Bill: It even slowly came close to me and looked up at me. Although it was looking up, it felt as if it was sorry for me. It was very uncomfortable. [2] I wanted to show it that it was at no position to pity me, I should feel pity for it [11]

The seagull moved a bit closer to bill

Bill: So I shot at it.The Fox stepped aside. [3] I missed.Upon observing himself pursued, the fox began to run at first gently [4] And as the fox ran, I shot an arrow beyond it. [5]

He stopped. [6] Slowly, in one piece, he turned around. [3] And looked at me, gritting its teeth. The kind look was long gone. I felt as if I had pressed the last nerve of a kind teacher. 

Before I even knew it, I was the one being chased. I fled from him and he found me again [2].

I hid myself in the tree being in sore terror and trembled; and, when the fox appeared and wandered about among the trees, I shot my arrows at him [2] Missed every time

He found me. This time leaving me no time to flee, he lunged at me and bit my neck.

And that was when I woke up

Bill got up to open the bedside table’s drawer 

Took out some bread and crumbled it up, put it next to the seagull

Thes seagull started to eat it as Bill carried on talking

Bill: I used to have such a dream every night. But the difference was that I would always be able to kill it. I have been having this dream every night for decades now. But something is different here, I could tell from the first time I slept here.

How so? 

asked the seagull. [2]

The Seagull: What was different when you were going to sleep that night ?

Bill: It wasn’t night.

The Seagull: No?

Bill: No, it was still daytime. I could hear the seagulls, the waves hitting the rocks. It was so soothing that I dosed off I guess.

The Seagull: So.. the location made the difference in this case

Bill: Maybe…That’s why I came back, To figure out what about this place gave the fox the upper hand. An animal I fight every night and defeat before the day starts defatted me for the first time.

The Seagull: What do you wish to gain now that you’re back here?

Bill: I wish to see what this place does to other beasts wearing a human suit. Which is why I purchased it. To turn it into a cenotaph for our human-suits and a home for our uncontrolled beast-selves. 

The Seagull: Is that what you refer to all animals as? Beasts? I’m not sure wether I should be offended or not…

Inhaling, Bill gathered the courage to look up and make eye contact [12]with the talking seagull.

Bill: Can you talk? [3]

The Seagull: Are you surprised I can talk?…Then why are you talking to me as you are? [3]

With that last question, it lunged at bill, attacking his face.

Bill opened his eyes, with cold sweat dripping from his forehead. He looked around him. It was the same room he slept in, but it looked slightly bigger. Tried to get up on two legs but couldn’t hold his balance and fell down on fours. Didn’t have the energy to try again. He heard stomping and shouting from downstairs and started climbing down the stone stairs of the maidens tower. 

Once he got outside, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. All kinds of wild animals stomping, rampaging, shouting attacking in all their wildness on the island. He felt small, afraid he went to the edge of the island, wanting to jump into the sea in hopes of escaping this chaos. He couldn’t, all he saw were floating human bodies, he couldn’t tell what these animals must have done to them. He knew then he couldn’t jump.  Looked down to find a stick or something to fight them in case of them attacking him. He couldn’t see anything useful. He couldn’t even see his legs, all he saw were two red paws.

To red paws?

Bill opened his eyes, with cold sweat dripping from his forehead. 

He looked around him. It was the same room he slept in

He heard stomping and shouting from downstairs and started climbing the stone stairs of the maidens tower. 

Once he got outside, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. People, acting like all kinds of wild animals. They had lost themselves. Everyone attacking each other. Jumping, screaming, stomping. There were no agreements or disagreements. There was nothing wrong or right. There was no need for it, these people were animals, true to one another [13] These animals, devoid of reason as they are, and accused by us of cruel ferocity, spare their own kind, and wild beasts themselves respect their own likeness: but the fury of tyrants does not even stop short at their own relations, and they treat friends and strangers alike, only becoming more violent the more they indulge their passions. [9]

Bill’s heart was racing in front of this view. This is true nature and true art.[10] He was so overwhelmed that he had tears in his eyes, he was trembling as he took a slight step forward and shouted on top of his lungs. Everybody went silent, turned and looked at him. With the pass of the first moment their eyes lit up with joy and they shouted back. He had a big smile on his face. He was no outsider to the chaos of this world anymore. He was a part of it. He was home now.

[slasher-male-wife]

Slashers reactions to you giving them a love poem part 2

I’m gonna be doing Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Brahms and Jason. Reader is gn. No warnings just pure fluff.

Billy Loomis

He’s not much for writing. He likes to keep a reputation that he’s a cool guy and he doesn’t wanna be very lovey in public. When he gets it he’s gonna tell you not to tell anyone about his reaction.

He’s gonna hug you and fall back on your bed, kissing your face all over. He’s gonna talk about how lovely it is and how much he wishes he could express his love for you like that

You two are sitting on your shared bed. Billy reading over what you wrote for him. A nervous smile is on your face. Billy is blunt, in a loving way. It’s honestly helpful sometimes. Like if you’re wearing a ridiculous outfit or if you planed on buying some ugly shoes. He’s read your writing before and gave great notes. You tried your hardest on this poem for him. He sets it down and looks at you. “Promise you won’t tell anyone what I do next?” You nod as you feel a cold sweat begin to form on your hands and neck. Billy opens his arms and wraps you up in a hug. You laugh and he falls back on the bed. “I loved it.” He says kissing the top of your head.

“You really like it?” You ask smiling.

“Of course sweetheart. It’s the perfect poem.”

Stu

He’s believes that it’s the best thing you’ve ever wrote. Talks about how you should write a book and he’ll swing you around.

He’ll be overjoyed that you wrote him something in the first place. He’s gonna go nuts.

Stu is wearing a stupid grin on his face as he reads your poem. He asks what you mean by something a few times but he reads it happily. He sets it down and grabs you in a hug. He pulls you into his lap and buries his face in your neck. “You should write a book babe. Just wow honey.” He says. You smile and hug him back.

“Stu it’s average poetry. I just wanted to show how much I love you.”

“Well you did Y/N. You’re the best partner ever.”

Brahms

Brahms grew up reading high quality books from the best authors from around the world. He’s had attachments to writing before but never like this. This is the most meaningful thing anyone did for him. Someone loved him enough to write a poem about him for him.

Our wall man would lift up his mask for this and kiss you so much. He’d kiss you before he’s even says a word. Needless to say he loves it.

Brahms had been reading this poem for awhile. You’re bouncing your leg biting your nails. He sets down the poem and stares at it for a bit. “Is it good Brahms?” You ask. He doesn’t reply he just takes off his mask. He only takes it off for serious events so this could go great or horrible. Brahms bends down and plants a big kiss on your lips. He pulls away and your face is beet red.

“I love it Y/N. The best poem I ever read .”

Jason

Jason is a man of no words. He learned to read when he was young and continued to read what he found in the woods. Magazines, news papers, books, whatever he could find.

Jason never knew much about poetry. He knew it should rhyme but you explained it’s not a rule. He had a hard time with the expressions used so you read it back to him and explained what you meant by it. But in the end he loved it.

You finish explaining what you meant by the last line to Jason. “And when I say ‘I thought I found a heart made of stone but really something priceless was inside’ I meant that when we first met you were aggressive and didn’t want much to do with me. But over time you grew to love me and you’re so valuable to me Jason. He nods and you set down the paper. The two of you are sitting on the couch in your cabin. He pats his lap and you go sit on it. He hugs you tight and you hug him right back.

“I love you Jason. I hope you know that.” He pulls away for a second and signs something

Mother would have loved you

You smile and hug him again. Kissing his masked forehead. The two of you sit there for awhile. In each others arms. Kept warm by your love.