#he's known the truth since Luke took a dagger to his eye

[childotkw]

Ahhh! I'm absolutely in love with your Lucemond fic snippets. The idea of Lucerys bonding with the Cannibal over their shared consumption of dragon flesh is just so *chef's kiss*. Also that line about Lucerys thinking about the way Arrax was still looking out for him even in death. My poor heart. I've seen a few people mention Lucerys surviving and bonding with him, but no one talked about how such a thing could come to pass when the dragon has a history of killing any who try to fly him.

A part of me can't help but think about the utterly dark and unhinged potential of their bond. Perhaps there is no real love and gentle affection between them, not like Lucerys' bond with Arrax, but they have a shared experience and an understanding of doing whatever it takes to survive. The Cannibal is always hungry for the flesh of his kin, and he can sense that same sort of hunger in his newly bonded. It resonates between them. It makes the ancient beast want to nuture that hunger, ensure that his feral little rider survives and grows stronger. The old dragon feeds Lucerys' need for revenge, and the human helps feed the beast's rage and cravings for battle and any spoils that he can claim. It creates a really beautiful and terrifying sort of symmetry.

And now for an utterly depraved idea...

Imagine the Cannibal swooping in and fighting an enemy dragon while Lucerys is involved in some skirmish on the ground and ripping off a chunk of flesh. The Blacks win the fight and the dragon lands and presents the lump to its rider like an offering.

Lucerys is quiet as he watches the great dragon lower its massive head and nudge the meat towards him. He can hear the whispers of onlookers calling his bonded a monster and how they should all fear for their lives. Through their bond he can feel Cannibal's quiet encouragement. Here. The flesh of your enemy. Eat. Be strong. With Cannibal's thoughts echoing in his head head, he opens his mouth and commands, "Dracarys."

The dragon's flames errupt forth, scorching the meat in a controlled burst of emerald fire. The gathered crowd watches on in shock and horror as the Prince draws out a knife and slices away a strip of seared meat. The Cannibal throws back his head with a proud roar as the boy accepts and his teeth sink into his gift.

(Tell me Aemond wouldn't go absolutely unhinged and feral over finding out Lucerys ended up eating Arrax in order to survive and may have just eaten a piece of one of the Green's dragons. It'd probably be worse if it was Vhagar that was injured too. Haha.)

I'm frothing at the mouth with this - it's like you're in my head.

When I thought up the whole symbolic cannibalism of Lucerys eating bits of Arrax to survive, I was so giddy. It happens rarely, but some of the things my brain comes up with honestly blow me away. I just immediately sat down and went yes YES this is what I need.

Poor boy is going to Go Through Some Things under my tender care. Just a dash more trauma and survivor guilt to make him extra spicy.

Lucerys will be walking a very fine line for most of this - and god am I excited to dive into his bond with Cannibal.

The unspoken understanding between them, that soul-deep connection, distorted reflections of each other…it'll be so good.

Lucerys' gradual shifts in personality, guided by Cannibal's own - it's like being caught in the tail of a comet. Cannibal is old, he has been around since the dawn of the Targaryen dynasty, and Lucerys is so young, too young to be able to keep himself grounded in the face of such a force of nature. Cannibal's hunger, that insatiable bloodlust - it'll start to bleed through, and Lucerys will be made into something new.

Especially in the beginning, when their bond is so fresh, Lucerys will feel the need to reinforce their connection. But once they've settled into their new dynamic, that will be when it becomes…routine for him. Normal. The disgust and shame mostly doused by the heady rush of power that comes from being a predator.

Once the war begins in earnest, and they are too valuable to leave wallowing on Dragonstone, Lucerys takes to eating his meals with Cannibal. He doesn't always partake in whatever prey Cannibal hauls in - sometimes it's enough for him to simply mime that act; but more often than not he'll return to camp with animal blood staining his mouth and hands.

The men are unnerved, Targaryens have always been…queer to outsiders, but who are they to question a dragon? Who are they to question Lucerys Velaryon, the rider of one of the largest dragons alive, and who is said to be unkillable?

No. They merely avert their eyes from the boy when he returns from visiting his beast, keeping their thoughts to themselves and praying that the day never comes when they are seen as prey.

(And as for Aemond? Well, when he hears the rumours surrounding Lucerys, when he hears how he drenches his pale skin in the blood of his kills, when he hears the way people speak of the boy with hushed fear instead of scorn…he can't help but laugh.

Because Lucerys had always been a violent, hungry little creature.

It's just now that everyone else sees the truth.)

[in-any-universe-ever]

Lucemond prompt - Kissing So Desperately That Their Whole Body Curves Into The Other Person’s 

Aemond spent the better part of the weeks following Storm's End wallowing in the mess he created. Lucerys was dead and the Blacks would plan their revenge, and this pathetic family squabble was an all out war because he didn't know how to keep his rage under control.

Part of his continuous self-loathing after the incident was in response to his punishment. There was real battle in the Riverlands, armies with swords and shields clashing against each other, and he was locked in his chambers alone, unable to participate due to his rash behavior. He'd thought more than once about sneaking out. Once he found Vhagar no one would be able to stop him, but he was guarded at all hours and at all exits, even the one he thought was a secret.

The truth of the matter was this: he did not try to escape and he did not seek forgiveness because Lucerys was dead. Lucerys, who had been a friend before the Incident. Lucerys, who had written him a long apology in High Valyrian when Aemond felt he was the one in the wrong. Lucerys, who walked into the hall of Borros Baratheon as an envoy, kept his head held high, and stayed firm to his promises when he knew it meant he would not sway Borros to his side. Lucerys, who held control of a young dragon when Aemond failed to control his. Lucerys, whose face and eyes haunted Aemond everywhere he looked.

Aemond did not know how to love a dead man, but when Vhagar snapped her jaws and broke Arrax into thirds, Aemond had known without a doubt that he loved Lucerys Velaryon.

So Aemond wallowed, and mourned, and loved a ghost until the day he received his breakfast with a letter sealed with a stamp he did not know. He studied it in the daylight - the wax was red and impressed upon it was a sun split into thirds by lightning strikes. The Karstarks' sigil was a sun, but it was whole. The Martells had a pierced sun, but it wasn't split into thirds.

He did not know it, so he opened the letter, and within seconds his heart was in his throat. He knew it at once, because it was in High Valyrian, although the penmanship had improved over the years:

I know you, Aemond. I forgive you your anger and your hurt and I beg you: see me. Let us speak the truth with no one but us to witness. If I am but a bastard and a traitor then so be it, but if I am to you what you have always been to me, find me at The Whispers.

It took no time at all to overpower the two guards blocking the path in the secret corridor. The length of his inactivity had left them complacent, so he hit both from behind, taking one sword and one dagger before he continued on his way.

Vhagar was asleep in the wood when he found her. She was pleased to see him, as he had not ridden her since his return from Storm's End. He chained himself in and ordered her to fly. No one realized his absence until he was seen in the sky.

It was not yet midday when he reached the Whispers, an ancient castle left in ruin. When he approached he saw no one, which was reassuring because this place was frequently full of looters and scoundrels in hiding. There was no such threat at the moment, and so he landed Vhagar a safe distance away. He did not want her to see Luke.

He wandered the ruins, unsure where his nephew waited, and kept his steps loud to warn Luke of his approach. He was beyond the collapsed towers, the broken statues, stone that was once kitchen or bedroom or banquet hall when he reached a cliffside.

He was there, looking at the water, the wind blowing through his fluffy hair and his intricate cloak. He looks whole and undamaged, but it could not be. That he lived at all was a miracle from the gods, and that he stood unaided was unbelievable.

Aemond stopped. Waited.

Luke turned his head over his shoulder, his brows knit with worry. Aemond had seen this look before. Luke continued to turn, and upon facing Aemond completely, Aemond could feel tears in his eyes. He shook his head in disbelief at the sight in front of him and whispered into the wind, "How?"

Luke shook his head in response, and his expression softened, the worry leaving his brow. "I do not know."

"I was certain you were dead."

Luke shrugged his shoulders and simply said, "I am not."

Perhaps Luke wished to say more, to talk through it all and understand how they went from friends to enemies to this, but Aemond could not bear it a moment longer. He closed the distance between them and pulled Luke in for a desperate kiss. Luke responded immediately, his entire body molding against Aemond's so they were practically one. Aemond kissed and pulled and kissed and pulled, their bodies as close as they could be and yet was still not enough.

"Do not leave me again," Aemond whispered to Luke. "I will not be able to live."

"Nor I," responded Luke, and they kissed again, hands in hair, arms around waists, legs entwined. Aemond could feel Luke's cloak whipping around him in the wind, and Luke could feel Aemond's hair as it kissed his skin as well. There was nothing on the cliffside but them. There was no feeling but each other. There was no sound but the whispers of this place, committing to memory the two who found each other again.

[azwriting]

The Last Jedi (Forget Me Please, Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader) - Chapter One

A/N: Okay so here is my mini “What if” series about Forget Me Not! Hope you guys enjoy ;)

Summary: What if the reader never forgot her past, what if instead of eleven years its only been seven, and what if Palpatine is on the rise.

Warning(s): Mild violence, me retconning the fuck out of TROS, unedited because it’s three in the morning and I just want to post this

Word Count: 2353

“Endor?” General Organa’s voice boomed through the cockpit of the Falcon. Rey sighed, nodding even though her Master could not see her. The young Jedi in training was still deeply buried underneath the debris of shock that had caved down on her only hours before. Her chest was still tightly wound as it had been in the hangar of the Star Destroyer, standing across the man who delivered a revelation. Her heart began to race just as it had then as her mind replayed his gentle words over again.

“I never lied, your parents were nobodies, but you’re not. Search your feelings, you know it’s true.” Rey shook her head in protest, tears gathering in her eyes as she was unwilling to admit the truth to herself. Her eyes drifted over to the stormtroopers that had gathered around them, weapons drawn and aimed at her. How had her life gotten here? She was once a simple Scavenger, lonely and lost, and now she stood before the Supreme Leader of the First Order, the only person who unfortunately seemed to understand her. Rey heard the gears of his mask unlock and involuntarily she winced, looking back to his face. The face of the long dead Ben Solo, the man she had hoped would turn. Yet, the pain that she could feel tearing him apart held onto him with a menacing grasp. She could feel the torment that wreaked havoc onto his soul over what he had done to his father and she could feel the most unbearable white hot pain that burned his heart over the unknown. It was too painful to pry into and he had buried it so deep, Rey could never see what had broken him.

“Think about it Rey, you were born the year I went off to train, the dark already manifesting inside me.” Rey turned away from his words taking a step back, she did not want to hear this. “The Force knew others would not be able to balance me and the only one who could…” He paused and the young woman could see him trembling, bottom lip quivering as he tried to hold it together. His eyes began to gleam and Rey involuntarily felt a surge of empathy over the unknown that was causing him to break down before her eyes. “... would die.” His jaw clenched and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed the thump in his throat. Rey felt his mourning as if it was a fresh wound, oozing fresh blood, never healing. Who had died, that had left such a gaping hole in him? Someone who was attuned to the Force? She knew better than to believe it was Luke, although Kylo did not hate the man, she knew he hated what happened.

Over the roaring wind coming from just behind her, Rey heard the familiar creaking of his leather gloved hand clenching into a tight fist. Whatever agonizing memories had surfaced were vanishing, leaving a cold and hostile Kylo Ren in its wake. “Admit it.” He snapped suddenly and Rey felt a tear slip down her cheek. 

“The Force created me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but Kylo nodded stiffly in response. The words felt foreign on her tongue: unfamiliar, wrong, but also true. 

“You and I are equals in the Force, join me and we can destroy Palpatine.” His gloved hand extended out towards her and Rey’s eyes drifted down, uncertainty clawing at her. “You know what to do.”

“That’s what the translation of the dagger said, the coordinates were for the moon Kef Bir.” Poe responded tying a strip of fabric over his injured arm. Rey broke away from her memory, eyes lifting back to the view of hyperspace in front of her. Over the past year she had accepted that her parents were no one, that she was a nobody, but she had learned that she had a rightful place in this story. But now, with the confirmation that she did, it was a little unsettling. The Force had created her to bring balance, balance that was in disarray from the fall of Ben Solo and the emergence of Emperor Palpatine. While pondering the balance of the Force, Rey’s thoughts drifted to who Kylo’s original balance was, the one who died. He had to have known them, for it to have such a heartbreaking impact on him. Rey thought of someone strong with the Force, strong enough to get underneath Kylo Ren’s skin, someone strong enough to balance him. What had happened to them? Rey sighed, there was no use in worrying about someone who could not help. She was now the balance and Kylo was right, she knew what to do.

“Before you go to Kef Bir, stop on the Forest moon. We have an ally there who could be of great help.” Leia’s voice instructed through the radio. Rey turned around to face Finn and Poe, the three sharing a look of surprise. An ally? Was another former General hidden away on Endor? Chewie gargled in return and the General’s laugh bounced around the Falcon. “No, it's not the Ewoks, this time, but our ally is hidden amongst them.” The young former Scavenger smiled to herself, imagining what it must have been like all those years ago… She could envision Han jumping into the not so beat up pilot chair and dictating a string of orders to Chewie. She could hear Luke running down the halls of the ship heading for the quad laser access tube, while Leia retaliated to something Han said with a quick whip of sass. All of them young and in their prime, together and hopeful.

The Falcon stuttered out of lightspeed as Rey questioned, “How do we find this ally?” Her voice was full of curiosity and confusion, wondering how exactly this ally could be of help. They were short on time, they could not risk wasting any of it. 

She could almost hear the smile that was no doubtedly on Leia’s face as she answered, “Oh don’t worry, they’ll find you.”

Exiting the Falcon, the group of Resistance fighters were greeted by towering thick trees and a refreshing brisk breeze, the perfect neutral after the blistering hot deserts of Pasana and the biting chill of the rough and rocky terrain of Kijimi. “Stay here and rest big guy, we’ll find the village ourselves.” Finn chuckled clamping a hand down onto Chewie’s upper arm. 

The Wookie protested mildly before finally relinquishing at Poe’s addition. “You have to watch the droids too, Threepio doesn’t remember anything and we don’t need to deal with that right now.”

As the trio trudged through the thick forest, Rey smiled up at the tree line, enjoying the shift in scenery. After years of scavenging on Jakku, she was always thrilled to see the different climates. The lush greenery that surrounded her made her regret leaving Jakku sooner, but she reminded herself to be content with the fact that she never had to set foot on a desert planet again. After all the hardships she faced on Jakku, fighting to survive everyday, why would she ever want to face that again?

With every step she took, Rey felt a great swell in the Force. She could feel the energy flow through each and every living thing with an intensity unlike anything she had felt before. She had not felt so consumed by the Force since Ahch-To, yet this was not a planet connected to the ancient Jedi. No, this was a planet from an old war, no tethers tying it to the Force Sensitive. Yet there was no denying what she felt. It was as if the Force had manifested itself onto this quiet deserted planet with great energy at the center of it, drawing her in. It was overpowering, almost blinding her senses in its wake. Rey glanced around at her surroundings searching for the allure, her eyes catching ahold of Finn’s. He stared back at her, looking just as perplexed as she felt. Her lips parted, mouth opening to question if he felt it too, but the sight ahead caused the words to die on the tip of her tongue.

Ahead of them hidden up in the dense branches of vibrant green leaves were small huts and a plethora of wooden bridges connecting the tiny civilization together. Rey and her fellow Resistance fighters all marveled at the view, unaware of the observant eyes.

With an almost silent thud, a figure flipped down off of a hovering bridge, and landed before them. It was a woman wearing various shades of brown, dark green, and white seemingly blending into their surroundings. A faded grey mask covered her face besides for the open visor where sharp eyes glared back at them. She crouched down, eyes locked onto the three of them as if they were her prey. Yet, it was not the most startling sight, oh no, it was the two lightsabers secured tightly in her hands. A vibrant blue in one hand and a violet purple in the other. Rey gulped lowly she had never seen a purple saber before, the Jedi texts only referring to the color as exceedingly rare. The masked ally, radiated pure Force energy, as attuned with the Force as Kylo and Master Skywalker. 

“Rey…” Finn whispered and the young woman focused back onto the mask in front of her. She could sense that any moment she would spring and in response she pushed Poe and Finn to the sides. They had no part in this.

The woman was quick, lunging forward with a ferocious attack. Rey ignited Luke’s saber in record time and lifted it up to deflect. The three sabers clashed together with an odd screech and Rey winced at the noise. The cold determined eyes peered down at her through the visor of the helmet, each eye reflecting the vivid hues of blue and purple. The sight made her want to cower in fear, deep down her insecurities rising. She had always felt strong willed when going against Kylo, but this was different. It was not a fight, it was a competition. Rey jabbed her shoulder into the masked woman and swung her saber forward, only being met by the quick flashes of the opposing blue and purple. The woman was obviously highly skilled in combat, in lightsaber fighting techniques, Rey noted as the woman swung her sabers forward, spinning into the assault. Rey could not help but find a sense familiarity in it. In the way she moved, it was almost feral, unhinged but strategic.

In her distracted daze, the woman’s sabers came crashing down onto her, this time locking her saber in place. The young Jedi tried to pull her saber free and attack, but it was secured tightly in between the two sabers. Before Rey could put an end to all this, tell this “ally” why they were here, a swift kick to her abdomen sent her to the ground. Luke’s saber was kicked to the side as the woman dropped down onto her with disturbing and mildly aggravating fluidity. The purple saber hovered a mere inch above her throat while the blue one was stretched backwards: a barrier for Poe and Finn, with their blasters already raised, not to step any closer.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep and modified through the mask, transfixing (Y/E/C) eyes glaring down at Rey. 

“We’re with the Resistance! General Organa sent us!” Rey spit out, eyes wide with a sense of fear she could not deny. She had not feared for her life since the throne room, where Kylo had saved her. Who would save her now? The woman blinked harshly, surprised by her words, yet Rey could easily sense that she was searching her face for any sort of lies. 

“Why?” The question was curt, voice lower than it had previously been. 

“We need your help, Leia said you’d help us.” Poe cut in, taking a cautious step forward, eyes gauging the proximity of the blue lightsaber. Rey watched as the woman seemed to slip away from the present, eyes clouding over as she disappeared deep into thought.

Suddenly the two sabers were turning off as the woman glided back up into a standing position. She tucked the lightsabers into her black belt and outstretched a hand for Rey to grab. Rey hesitantly accepted the offer standing back up as well. She quickly released her hand and went to brush off the dirt on her clothes, eyes watching the peculiar helmet. Who was behind the helmet? Who wielded the rare purple saber? Who had dominated her with such ease?

“Who are you?” Finn beat her to the question, the trio all gawking at the unknown and unanticipated ally. The woman ignored him, her hand outstretching as her eyes closed for a brief moment in concentration. Rey’s eyebrows narrowed in confusion, what was she doing? She could feel the Force swirling around them before something sped past her. Rey jumped, scanning the area for whatever flew by, eyes landing on the hands of the ally. Cradled in them was Luke’s lightsaber, the one Rey used until she completed building her own. The woman turned the black and silver hilt around in her hands, letting out a half amused hum. Rey looked up to the helmet in shock, lips parting at the glimmer of amusement in the focused eyes.  

“I’m no one.” She finally answered, handing Rey back the saber. In a state of utter confusion she accepted it and clipped back onto her belt.

“Come, let us discuss.” The masked woman turned swiftly on her heel and headed into the center of the treetop village, leaving the three Resistance fighters stunned. They all shared a look, more so the two men looking to Rey for answers as to what just happened. Rey could not give them an answer, deep down one they all knew already. Her eyes followed the camouflaged figure, admitting the painfully obvious truth to herself.

The woman before her was the last Jedi.

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[mira-gilastorm]

Fear Cuts Deeper: Ch 3

Read on ao3

Arya ran up the steps to one of the of the small common homes along the keep's wall. She could hear Clary's friend Simon inside practicing as she banged on the solid wooden door. He stopped abruptly, and scuffling followed before the door flew open.

Nymeria all but leaped on the musician, causing him to scramble back. "Nym, heel." her wolf pup pulled back to sit and she watched Simon tried to retain his dignity as he straightened himself.

He took her in, brown eyes widening, and bowed immediately in respect. "Lady Arya. I... Why... Forgive me, m'lady, but what are you doing here? And why alone? Where's Clary?"

Arya felt her rigid posture fall a little, and Nymeria reacted, baring fangs, startling the boy. So he didn't know where Clary had gone either. She pulled her shoulders back again, lifting her chin, a calming hand in her wolf's coat. Simon might be Clary's best friend, but she didn't know him and wasn't about to let him see she was panicking. "I actually came to ask you about the night of the feast. You and Clary were dining with Jon, correct?"

He nodded, eyeing Nym fearfully. "Yeah, but she kept staring at this empty table, as if she was watching someone or waiting for someone. It was weird. Even for Clary. Jon was being his usually brooding self and she just excused herself, marched up to Lord Bane, interrupting one of his stories, and he led her upstairs to the library. It was all so strange."

The wolf in Arya bristled at his failure to protect their mutual friend. "And you didn't think it strange enough to follow? To investigate?"

Simon at least had the decency to blush. He ran his hand through his messy dark hair. "To be honest, m'lady, at first, I thought it was because your brother was being rather rude, if you'll excuse me saying. Once she'd left in such a odd way, I had already been called upon to play by the king."

She let her guard down a bit, causing even Nymeria to sit back and calm. She did recall that bit of the evening. The king had been quite insistent that his new minstrel demonstrate his skills for them all. Simon couldn't have followed Clary if he'd wanted to. "Very well. One last thing, you said she seemed like she was waiting for someone. Did she mention running into anyone from the king's party? Even in passing?"

The musician shook his head. "Not to me, m'lady. But I haven't seen her since they all arrived that night and the feast." Arya watched as the realization and panic filled his eyes. "Wait, no one's seen her, have they? Otherwise you would have just asked Luke and known where she was." He paused, "M'lady."

Arya raised a brow at him and his failure at his courtesies. Sansa would have been appalled. "All anyone seems to know is she's on some kind of errand with Lord Bane and some of the king's party may or may not have gone with them."

He disappeared into his small quarters, quickly reappearing with his cloak and hunting horn. He knelt awkwardly, clearly not used to interacting with the nobles. Arya felt she might be able to like him after all. "Lady Arya, please let me accompany you to find Clarissa Rivers. I'm not a fighter or a tracker, but I know her better than anyone."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh get up. You look ridiculous." Even Nymeria was cocking her head at Simon kneeling awkwardly in his doorway to the scrawny lady. "If you're helping, we're meeting Jon in the library to see if there's anything there."

The two she-wolves turned to head back to the keep while the musician nearly tripped on his own cloak in a scramble to get to his feet and follow.

Daenerys braced herself for the cold as she got out of the steaming water. Aline never shirked away from making it as hot as she liked. The shadowhunter was there, in her black leathers, weapons on display, holding out the fine gown that Dany was to wear for her wedding.

"You are certain you want to do this? We can help you if you don't."

Dany stared up into the dark eyes of her guard and new friend. She gingerly lifted the dress. "Whatever is meant for me, it is in finding a home. I'm not going to find it here. I've been told my whole life that home is in Westeros, a place I haven't been since I was born and whisked away. You asked me what I want, and I told you the truth. I want to go home. I want to find where it is. I want to find a place that is home."

Aline nodded and began helping her into the pale dress, clasping the cuffs onto her upper arms. "I will be beside you until you find your Idris, princess."

Daenerys smirked at her. "After today, it won't be princess. It will be khaleesi."

The shadowhunter breathed out a laugh as she worked through her hair, pulling back bits into small braids. "Of course, khaleesi."

Her hair done, dress donned, Dany turned to the mirror. Her brother would say 'it would have to do,' but she knew the dress was finer than any she'd ever worn, and her hair looked lovely. "You know, nephilim, I do believe a bit of your boldness is having an effect on me." Aline only glanced at her, brow raised. "So, in return for this bride gift you have given me, I will give you this advice. Your traditional gear will not be so out of place among the Dothraki. Just lose the sleeves. All they wear is leather. Yours is just black and smoothed out."

Aline smiled and nodded as they both turned to the group of footfalls they heard approaching. The sun would rise soon and the ceremony would begin. I am the blood of the dragon. A dragon is not afraid.

The door opened and Illyrio and her brother, followed by a group of attendants and sycophants awaited her debut. She allowed the pale gown to trail behind her, the ribbons of material attached to the cuffs on her arms, giving her the feeling of almost having wings. I am the blood of the dragon. A dragon is not afraid.

She was escorted outside the city where the entire khalasar had gathered. Illyrio leaned over to her in the carriage. "He has forty thousand riders, nearly ten thousand of which are screamers."

Viserys grinned viciously. "Can you imagine what I could do to the usurper's forces with ten thousand Dothraki screamers?"

Daenerys saw the cruelty in his eyes. "Win back our home, and the hearts of our people, of course." She stated it as innocently and stupidly as she could, despite seeing the rage and madness in him that everyone accused their father of. I am the blood of the dragon. A dragon is not afraid.

She was led to a high seat next to the Khal, with the sun rising behind her, the bay behind her, and an entire khalasar spread out before her, dotting the hills nearly as far as she could see. Her brother moved to sit next to her, but was guided to a dais just below her, next to Illyrio and a Westerosi knight. Aline had taken her advice, she was in a leather vest, with leather trousers, and her weapons belt hanging for all to see. Her marks were on full display, up her arms and neck, even on her chest. A few Dothraki glanced at her curiously, but several said khaleesi, and the subject must have been dropped.

Her new husband clapped his hands and everything was put into motion at once. There was chaotic music, women dancing, food being brought before them - very little of which Dany found herself able to eat. The wedding itself was a blur of women dancing, men mounting them, fighting over them to the death, and mounting new ones.

It was all far more gruesome than she had been prepared for. She'd been told there should be at least three deaths. She didn't expect full disembowelments right in front of her. Her plan had been to try and make conversation with her new husband, based on what she'd been studying in all of Illyrio's books. But she found herself struck dumb by the violence the morning brought.

Noon brought the gifts. Drogo's bloodriders gifted her with the traditional weapons and she spoke the traditional refusals, giving them, instead, to her husband. The strange Westerosi knight swore his fealty to her brother and to her, and offered her a collection of books, as he had learned of her love to read and study. She thanked him and accepted his oath. Even found it in herself to accept the three girls her brother presented as a gift. I am the blood of the dragon. A dragon is not afraid.

Illyrio, as grandiose as ever, brought forth three large chests, one filled with silks and fabrics, one with books she hadn't seen in his library, and the last with three large stones. She stepped forward, drawn to them. He smiled knowingly at her. "They're dragons' eggs, princess, turned to stone through the years."

Dany lifted one, gentle with it as if it were a babe, surprised at how warm it was. She eyed the warlock. "You could count those years, too, couldn't you, old man?" He sputtered some kind of reply but she was entirely focused on the black scaled stone in her hands, laced with red veins. She ran her hand over the other two, one cream and gold, the other green and bronze, soaking in their warmth as she replaced the third.

Her eyes met the wide ones of Illyrio who looked as though he'd been caught in some great scheme. She smiled. "I thank you for your remarkable gifts. And I hope you will stay in contact through my attendant, Aline, while I travel to Vaes Dothrak." He bowed and retreated to his seat next to her brother.

The Khal did not speak to her as he stood, gesturing for her gift from him to be brought forward. A beautiful filly, with an ice-white mane and pale grey hair that appeared almost silver, trotted up to the dais. She was the most beautiful horse Daenerys had ever laid eyes on. Drogo lifted her onto the bare back, clearly expecting her to prove she could ride. Her eyes flicked to Aline and the shadowhunter tapped her inner thighs with the dagger she had in her hands, looking like she'd been in some kind of brief skirmish with one of the bloodriders to her side. Dany understood though. She squeezed with her thighs and the silver moved forward. It was exhilarating. Rushing out into the khalasar to whoops and hollers, she allowed the filly to break into a full gallop, feeling like she could be flying, feeling free. I am the blood of the dragon. I can thrive here among these people.

She guided her silver back up to the wedding party, leaping over the great fire to settle before the khal. Her thrill must have shown in her face. He smiled at her.

She blushed. "Yeri zhorre azho anna jin chaf." He smiled again, perhaps at her use of his native tongue, or at her compliment, either way, she was far less nervous about what was to happen now that the sun was setting and his own mount was being brought.

Dany searched for Aline to give her some reassurance, since this would be one place her guardian could not follow, but the shadowhunter was nowhere to be seen. All the better, she would not be worrying about Dany and her wedding night.

Drogo set off at a fast pace and Dany and her silver were actually pleased to follow. I am the blood of the dragon and I am not afraid.

"How many bloody places can there be for a dwarf to hide in a keep?" Jon swore he'd searched every crevice of Winterfell. Lord Tyrion Lannister was no where to be found. In fact, none of the Lannisters were around. The king had taken much of the guards and other men out for a hunt in the wolfswood, but Jaime Lannister had declined. It was all the serving girls were talking about - mooning over his golden head and whether or not they might run into him at some point.

Finally, he made his way down to the kitchens, ready to ask one of Arya's friends - a boy who worked with the baker, when he saw the dwarf sitting at a small table in the corner meant for staff, happily drinking as all the serving staff ignored him nervously.

He caught sight of Jon and waved him over to the small table, obviously drunk. "Ah! Jon, come join me! Did you know, your father does not let a single whore into this entire keep? None! In all of Winterfell! I'd have to go to one of the towns outside the keep to find a girl."

Jon blanched at the subject. "How terrible it must be for you, my lord. Now if you wouldn't mind. I'd like to ask you about the three you saw my friend Clary leave with the other night."

"Oh, you mean the lovely red head. A little young for my liking, but she's certainly beautiful." Tyrion hiccuped. "The other one, though. Dark hair, dark eyes, all those tattoos, dressed like she was ready for battle. Now she was a sight."

That sounded like the kind of woman Jon would remember, drunk or not. "But not too young for you, huh?" He tried to make his tone sound teasing, not prying.

"Certainly still young, but a woman for certain. I might have even been so bold to talk to her if her brother hadn't been there, watching Lord Bane like he was ready to murder. Or that golden boy. That one looked like he and Jaime could be long lost brothers." Tyrion spit the last bit out with venom.

Jon had their descriptions. But not why no one else saw them. "Tyrion, why did no one else see them?"

Lannister just shrugged, slurring his words. "That's the way things have always been. I can see things I'm not supposed to. Ever since I was a child. Everyone just said I was playing pretend, then I learned to just not say anything at all. Except that woman. She rode in the carriage with Myrcella. So she's not always invisible to everyone. I don't know. Lightwood, I think was the name. Yeah. That's the name Cercei kept spitting over and over. Something about 'how dare Lady Maryse presume to use her influence in such a way' or some other self-righteous tantrum."

He was starting to piece things together. Slowly, maybe. Some of Old Nan's stories talked about warriors of the old gods who marked themselves to gain power of the gods, who were more than human, but the First Men were gifted by the Children of the Forest with the ability to see them. It was called the Sight. Maybe some legends were true.

"So these Lightwoods, can be visible when they want to, you have the Sight - so you can see them either way, and they used their influence to join your group north, to speak to Lord Bane, somehow Clary is involved, and now they've all disappeared." Jon pressed his palms to his forehead. Deduction was not his area of expertise.

Tyrion suddenly spoke clearly. "See I'd gotten that far on my own, thank you. In fact, I'd realized Clary had nothing to do with the Lightwood siblings until they got here, purely based on her father's reaction to the name. But he certainly knows something about the family. His eyes glowed green at the mere mention of it."

Jon's head shot up. "What? I didn't see that!"

"I have the Sight, you don't."

"Well it hardly matters right now, anyway. We can't ask Luke anything while he's out hunting with Lord Stark and the king." Jon rested his head back on his palms, elbows propped on the table.

Tyrion took another long drink of his wine, setting the empty cup down loudly. "Doesn't matter. They weren't here for your pretty little redhead. They were here for Bane. What's so special about your failed maester-turned-apothecary? Other than he weaves better tales than even I do, of course."

Lord Bane was eccentric, for sure, but Jon had never noticed anything out of the ordinary for someone who experimented in science and medicine. "Nothing that I can tell. He's been here as long as any of us can remember, is extravagant in his tastes, and expensive in his practice."

"How long has he been here?" Tyrion frowned.

"Since Robert's Rebellion, I think. He moved north about the same time Clary's family did."

Tyrion shook his head. "That man doesn't look old enough to have been around since Robert's Rebellion."

Now that he mentioned it, Bane did appear young, perhaps only one-and-twenty. "Maybe it's some of the medicines and potions he's using?"

Lannister stood, his legs appearing stiff as Jon watched him wince. "I suppose the only way to know is to check his library and see what sort of strange things he keeps there."

Jon ran a hand through his hair. "How convenient, I'm meeting Arya there to search shortly."

The dwarf of Lannister grinned up at him. "Good. Bring your wolf."

Helen was pacing. The Volantis Institute, with its solid walls and few windows, was ill-suited to her fae nature. Quaithe watched as the girl took out her agitation on the path she was wearing into the floor. They could leave anytime they wanted, of course, and the Shadowhunters knew it, but they needed answers, and Jia seemed to know where the new dragon was.

"We could always occupy ourselves. Cause a little havoc, get their attention?" Quaithe's smooth voice halted Helen's trek around the room for the thousandth time.

She grinned a true fae grin. "What did you have in mind?"

"Oh nothing too devastating, just some simple training like we used to when you were younger. I'll attack with my destructive magic, you negate it with your natural magic. Should be fun, considering how much you've grown in your skills." Quaithe tilted her head, lacquered veil shifting with her, revealing only her bright silver eyes.

Helen plucked one of the flowers from her hair, allowing it to grow and weave its way around her arm, twisting into a bracer. Quaithe stood, shifting the table and chairs out of their way with a wave of her hand. She flicked her hand toward the fae girl, black flames surrounding her, low and smoldering.

A cool breeze blew in, like fresh snow, and the flames exploded into the air bringing a bright snowfall with them.

"Now you're just showing off. It would have taken half the energy to created rain, even less a rain of blossoms or something similar. Or even better - you could have just drown it in ash."

The blonde stared up into her snowfall, flakes dotting her hair. "But I thought we were having fun? Snow is more fun. Rain would ruin my hair."

Greens and blues flickered through the black of her hair as she shook her head at the girl. "You will learn the value of conserving your energy, child. Even mine, with pure blood of Old Valyria, is not limitless."

"Fine. A new game then. Who can outmatch the other using the least energy. " Mischief flickered in Helen's blue-green eyes. The same eyes that the Blackthorn man wore with such sorrow.

The Valyrian removed her mask, allowing it to evaporate in silver wisps. "Very well. But I have dealt with your kinds' games before. Do not think you can best me with simple fairy tricks, girl."

Helen smiled sweetly. "I would never dream of such a thing, Mistress Quaithe." The flowering vine wrapped around her wrist loosened, dropping two metal objects to the floor. The girl bent gracefully to grab them, the larger in her left and the smaller in her right.

Quaithe cursed in Valyrian. Helen was holding a stele and a seraph blade, smirking at her master's obvious surprise.

"Stealing should have been made off limits."

The doors opened, admitting Jia and Andrew, who paused to take in the scene. Jia stared at the weapons Helen was holding. "I must say, I agree. The Clave does frown upon stealing, although it is nice to see another Blackthorn wielding a blade."

Andrew just looked concerned. "Is everything alright here?"

Quiathe turned her back to Helen, facing the two shadowhunters. "We're just training. Something to pass the time." She heard the girl move before their eyes even caught the movement. She flicked her wrist and a barrier prevented Helen from passing to complete her attack. Quaithe turned to poke at the barrier right above where Helen was glaring, trapped on the other side of the room. "I told you, minimal energy. You tried to lure me into hand-to-hand combat with weapons that you know can injure me. So I used your angel blood against you. I can walk through this barrier, but nothing angelic can pass."

Jia stepped up to the barrier, curious. "Strange. It takes warlocks immense preparation and energy to conjure this kind of ward."

Andrew put his hand on the barrier, as solid for him as it was for his daughter. "That's because blood magic isn't natural for warlocks. Their magic is demonic in nature. Lady Quaithe is draconian. Her magic is of nature - fire and blood. That's where the saying comes from, isn't it?"

She lowered her hand and the barrier evaporated into flakes of silver, drifting to the floor like Helen's snowfall had before. "You are mostly correct. It runs deeper than that, but that's an easy way to understand it."

Jia turned to face the rest of the room. "It's the Targaryen girl. A warlock contacted me about her and begged me to give her protection. I couldn't take it to the Clave because I had no way to say what she was, but it was clear she wasn't mundane - immune to heat, had the Sight, never been sick. She has no warlock mark, no magic that we can see, and she's in the care of her mad brother who wants to trade her for an army. I did what I could - I sent a shadowhunter to be her guard. But she's not what you are."

Quaithe shook her head. "None of the Targaryens ever were. Some of my kind were born as dragons, some as I am, some with the ability to shift between. But our blood runs in that girl's veins, the blood of dragons. A single shadowhunter can only protect her so long as no one knows what she is."

Blackthorn paled. "What would happen if someone knew what she was and sought to use her blood for some kind of magic?"

Silver eyes flashed. She knew what he was asking. "With the right dragon's blood and the right spell, someone could become as powerful as I am, infused with the magic of blood and fire, able to bring about the next Doom. If Valentine had successfully gotten to Rhaegar he would have brought about the end of all of us with non-angelic blood."

She could feel Helen's anger radiating, forcing her to motion. "You and your Clave only ever cared about containing your Uprising. You did nothing to stop the genocide he committed against the last of their line. An entire race - decimated! The dragons - gone! What would we do if Rhaegar really was the last? Allow that magic to slip away from the world? Do you have any idea what is-"

Quaithe shushed her. The Clave didn't need to know what the flames saw. They weren't ready. "You said she had a shadowhunter with her. I assume that means you're receiving fire messages."

Jia nodded, pulling the folded, singed paper from a pocket in her leathers. Quaithe ran her hand along the edge, gathering the burned remains on her fingers. The ash whispered of grass and wind and open air. Some deep, primal part of her ached to fly.

Jia shuffled her feet, almost nervously. "The shadowhunter with the princess is my daughter, Aline. She will not trust you and will view you as a threat, even if you take her," she nodded toward Helen, "with you. Tell her to ask you the question, to which you will answer 'Only a pen.' It's a bit of a joke. But she will know I sent you."

Quaithe nodded as she made her way up the steps, still rubbing the ash between her fingers, her mind picturing the exact place she was about to portal to. She could hear Helen saying an awkward farewell to her father, promising to visit the Institute in Dorne soon, and that she would send a fire message as soon as she was able.

As soon as the fae girl was by her side, the Valyrian blew the ash into the air, letting it shimmer as she moved her hands around it until the heat in the air was so intense, the air itself seemed to solidify into black glass, streaked with green and purple veins.

Helen holstered her stolen seraph blade and drew a few runes before tucking the stele away too. It wouldn't do to greet a suspicious shadowhunter and not look like a fellow nephilim. They walked through together, hearing the shattering of the thin glass behind them as they did.

The sun was high on the plains of the Great Grass Sea, and the cacophony of a khalasar was enough to drive anyone with mundane senses mad, much less Quaithe's Valyrian senses. Instinctively, her mask was back over her face, her hair and eyes glamoured, using much of her ability to maintain and suppress her magic.

Helen glanced around them, taking in the revelries they'd stepped out into. "It would appear you've portaled us straight into a Dothraki wedding, Mistress." Their entrance appeared to have gone unnoticed, as they were behind what seemed to be an outcropping of rock, hidden from the high dais, where it would appear the newly married couple sat.

Quaithe took one look at the girl, silver hair flowing and violet eyes hiding a strength no one around seemed to see, and her own blood seemed to boil. "That's her. I can sense her fire from here."

"That's great. How about we deal with this first, not that I'm complaining or anything."

She turned to see Helen with a glowing seraph blade at her throat, a young shadowhunter who could only be Aline, immobilizing her.

The Valyrian removed her glamour and veil, almost in exasperation. "Ask your question, Penhallow."

Aline stiffened, the blade twitching at Helen's throat. "What will always defeat the blade?"

Quaithe laughed. Jia was right, it was a bit of a joke. She flicked an unglamoured, taloned hand toward the two nephilim, taking Helen's stele from where it was tucked into her loose robes. She held up the adamas item so Aline could see it clearly. "Only a pen."

Clary was beyond a loss for what was happening in front of her. The gigantic man who had claimed to be a wolf, or skinchanger, or whatever, was staring down at Lord Bane, almost with hesitation. Magnus held out his hand and the big wildling grasped his forearm, widening his stance as if prepared for pain.

She watched the man she only knew as a librarian and minor healer wave his hands, creating an aura of power around the two of them. Her attention was torn from the scene when Isabelle hissed in pain, grabbing at her own forearm. A knowing look passed between the two Lightwood boys and Alec went to Izzy immediately, speaking too quiet for Clary to hear.

Jace stepped near to her, pulling that pen-brand thing out again and waving it loosely in his hands. "Bane activated our own memory runes so that we'll be able to see what he sees. I can give you the rune if you want, but I don't plan on marking you any more than you're prepared to handle. Earlier, I really just didn't plan to let you freeze." He shrugged and gave her a cocky smile, but it came off a bit more like a grimace.

She lifted her sleeve to reveal the heat rune, determination in the way she shoved her wrist at him. "I told you, if it affects the safety of the family I serve, I have a right to know."

He seemed to evaluate her for a moment, looking her over with his mismatched eyes that somehow only made him more attractive. Or would, if he ever stopped acting so bloody arrogant. He took another step closer to her, holding her forearm firmly as if he expected her to jerk away. "This is going to hurt, but we don't want to give away what the warlock is doing, so don't cry out."

Clary shot him an annoyed glare. She watched after direwolves, reigned in wild ladies, and trained for an unknown battle in secret with her mother. She wasn't some soft girl who fainted at the sight of blood. "Get on with it or we might miss something important."

His golden hair reflected the fire in the tent as he shook his head, chuckling. "Alec and Izzy have that covered," he gestured over his shoulder where the two had taken a seat, appearing to watch the process intently. "We're just joining the party a bit late. Okay, brace yourself."

She stared past him at Magnus and the big man - Tormund. This whole thing was something that she'd just accidentally wandered into and now part of it was searing into her skin, marking her as its own. Looks like you're one of us, Isabelle had said. Jace was right, this hurt worse than the other one. She focused on the memory of running into the group on the stairway, Nymeria nearly bowling Jace over, and the dumbfounded look on his face when he realized she could see him. She could see this world, could take the marks of these Shadowhunters, and maybe even share in the memories of this warlock and skinchanger. Just yesterday her biggest secret had been that she was as good a swordsman as Jon.

"Done."

She glanced down at her arm, at the strange shape of the rune that could be an letter of some kind, but maybe a design of some kind? She wasn't sure, but she could feel the power it brought, feel the draw of the warlock's power. Somehow, she new what Magnus' magic felt like. "That wasn't nearly as bad as you made it seem."

He held out an arm, leading her to sit next to his siblings. "Yes, well, you appear to be much tougher than the average mundane."

"I thought I'd made that rather clear. The strength of your skepticism is the true surprise here, Jace Wayland." Clary sat gracefully, as she'd learned in the lessons with Arya and the Septa, not allowing him a chance to respond.

He huffed in annoyance as he sat next to her, leaning across her to touch the metal pen to the rune he'd just marked, causing it to glow with a golden light and her mind to rush with images that were flooding from Magnus' mind as it was linked to the skinchanger's.

A whole group of wildlings are huddled in this space, nuzzling close together, not lighting a fire, not wanting to draw attention to their family. No, family is the wrong word - Pack. They are pack. Some are in their mundane form, some are wolf, some are in-between with claws and fur on their face, eyes glowing when they open them. Their scent is all over this hut. It is time to go before something tracks them. He tells them to move. No one is happy, least of all his girls. They liked having a place to just spend with the pack. They liked to be able to stay wolf. Out in the woods, it's not safe. He keeps his pack as mundanes.

There's a village, but no smoke, no smell of mundanes, no sound of heartbeats. Just a sense of death. The girls don't like it, they want to go around, or double back and go back to the hut. But he wants to find safety, find some kind of alliance - another pack, another clan - anything, to keep the pack safe and together. He should have listened to the girls. They always did have better sense than him. They whimpered as they followed into the village. Everything was wrong. There were bodies but none of the wolves could smell blood. It all just smelled of ice and cold. It didn't smell like death, just felt like it. His pack spread out, searching for answers, for survivors. A bite could save an injured ally, it was their way. No survivors, just the bodies, strewn in a spiral. To wolves, the spiral means revenge. Gods only know what it means to these ice demons.

As we were divided, they stood, not a sound. Not even he, as the alpha, could hear their movements. But he could hear the screams of his pack - of his girls - as they were torn apart. He found them with throats ripped out, arms and legs torn off, and was attacked by the blue-eyed dead. His change to a great red wolf was seamless and he tossed them about like rag dolls. Until their master arrived - some great creature made of nothing but ice and bone. It screeched and he turned and saw his girls get up, still bloody and torn, eyes glowing blue instead of green, and move to attack him - their father and alpha.

He roared in rage, but it was to deaf ears. They weren't his wolves anymore. The grief and pain, the agony of the loss and trauma kept him a wolf. He stalked the woods, turning a new pack, more vicious and ready to fight than the other. Until he saw the full army of the dead. He and his new pack were far north, in the everwinter, piled in a safe cave, when it all passed by underneath them. Thousands of the creatures, all ranging in size - some beyond recognition of what they once were, others in various states of decay. All led by those ice demons who spoke only in screeches. North wasn't safe. He had to get his pack south, away from these things, as far south as they could get. He wouldn't lose anymore wolves to these bastards.

He wouldn't be caught in a war where his daughters were mindless pawns in the hands of demons. It was time to find a way out.

[celebritylive]

It’s the last week before hometown dates, and Hannah Brown just made some tough decisions.

On Monday night’s episode of The Bachelorette, Hannah went on three one-on-one dates and one group date in order to figure out how she felt about the remaining seven men.

“I’m falling for multiple people in totally different ways,” she said at the start of the episode.

Date one consisted of exploring Amsterdam with Jed, for whom Hannah, 24, confessed her love.

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“I’m falling in love with you and I’m shaking inside because I think I’ve known it for a little while but I haven’t said it at all,” Hannah told the singer-songwriter, who allegedly had a girlfriend back home while filming the reality show. “And I don’t know, it feels really good, but it feels also really scary because I don’t know what the end of this is for me. I don’t know what the end is. But I know that right now, it feels really good.”

Jed, 25, agreed, and the former pageant queen gave him a rose, which came with an invite to next week’s hometowns. (Of course, he’s become controversial off-screen after an ex alleged they were still in a relationship when he left for the reality show.)

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Hanna’s second one-on-one date, Tyler C., also received a rose for opening up about how his parents’ marriage fell apart after they were affected by the recession.

Two Tough Farewells

When Mike received the third and final one-on-one date of the week, Connor felt disappointed.

“Even though I do have strong feelings for her, I’ve never really brought someone home, and it’s hard to see myself feeling fully comfortable after another group date,” he told Peter.

So the investment analyst, 24, went to visit Hannah in her hotel room, where she was journaling.

“When they read the date card tonight and my name wasn’t on it, it’s disappointing,” Connor told Hannah. “I think I’ve said to you for a while our one-on-one time was amazing. Truly. Why I wanted to come up here, I wanted to spend one-on-one time with you and just talk about some stuff.”

Hannah told Connor, “You’ve kind of faded in the group dates.” And because of that, she didn’t see a future for them.

“I don’t know, there’s nothing bad about our time together, it’s always good,” she said. “I feel like there are other relationships that I have stronger feelings with and I guess what I’m looking at the end of this thing and having to make these really hard decisions, and I don’t know if I can see it.”

Connor left, and Hannah proceeded with her date with Mike. They biked around the Netherlands and went to an art studio where they drew each other and then were drawn together by the artist in residence. Though Mike felt he could see himself getting down on one knee in a few weeks, Hannah didn’t share his sentiment. When they convened for the dinner portion of the date, she met Mike in tears.

“You’re looking for your fourth lady,” she said, referring to when Mike said he wanted to add to the three loving women in his family. “And I know that I’m not that fourth lady.”

The portfolio manager, 31, handled the breakup with grace. “I cannot say that I’m happy,” he said. “I don’t know what to say except, thank you for being honest.”

In the car, to the cameras, Mike admitted he felt “crushed.”

“It’s like her putting a dagger in my heart and tearing it out and stepping on it,” he said. “I know that I’m ready for love. I know that I was opening my heart up to Hannah. And I know that she crushed me.”

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The Luke P. Drama Is Bologna

The three remaining contestants — Peter, Luke P. and Garrett — went on a group date with Hannah that did not consist of any activity aside from sitting and talking in a large building in the Netherlands.

When Hannah spoke with Luke, he brought up his tense relationship with Garrett, and she questioned why so many of the men still don’t like the import/export manager.

“I’ve done nothing,” Luke, 24, declared.

“You don’t feel like you’ve done anything?” Hannah asked.

Luke insisted his concern was on Hannah’s behalf, and concluded that the other guys didn’t like him because of how much time he gets to spend with the Alabama native.

“I am exhausted from the drama with Luke,” Hannah said in an on-camera interview. Then she spoke to Garrett, 27, about the drama with Luke.

After they finished their conversation, Garrett sparred with Luke, calling him “a snake,” “psychopath” and “a weasel.” Though Luke said, “Your words are meaningless,” he stood up and got in Garrett’s face.

“I’ve been nothing but truthful with Hannah, and you are not going to mess it up, okay?” Luke said angrily to Garrett, who remained seated. “I don’t care what you said to her, but I am tired of it. You know what this is right here? This is a pile of bologna. Look at that. That’s what you’ve been saying to me and I’m tired of it, I am tired of it okay?”

Luke threw the bologna on the pro golfer’s lap. “Be real with that woman she’s looking for a husband. Be real with her, okay? I’m not going to let you screw this up for me.”

After staying out of the room where the Garrett-Luke face-off took place, Peter got his time with Hannah. “He is just a nice break away from the mess and the drama,” Hannah said of Peter, to whom she gave the group date rose.

Garnett and Luke fought for that final rose over dinner. Garrett played the “I love you” card, proclaiming his love for Hannah before possibly leaving.

Luke, however, told Hannah the story of how he encountered God in the shower.

“There was a streak of me when I was chasing sex,” he began. “This is hard for me to talk about. It’s not easy for me to talk about because I hated chasing those selfish, fleshly desires, right? And all this unfulfillment, like nothing satisfied me. And I started hating me. And here’s where the story gets good: I’m getting in the shower, I just remember feeling this heavy weight on me and I just remember balling my eyes out. I remember hearing a voice telling me, ‘Luke, let go.’ I remember looking at the ceiling and I remember I could see a glimpse of like, heaven. I remember thinking to myself, like this is what I need to look forward to. Since then I’ve been completely on fire.”

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Hannah believed his account and felt it brought the two closer together. “It was really cool to hear him share his testimony,” Hannah said to the cameras. “I like that he is open about his faith and I’m connected to him.”

So connected, in fact, that she gave Luke the last rose — and a ticket to hometowns.

“I have to go with my gut and what my heart is drawing me to,” Hannah said as she gave Luke the rose. He gladly accepted, looking satisfied with himself and laughing as Garrett departed.

The Bachelorette airs Mondays (8 p.m. ET) on ABC.

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