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darkdevasofdestruction · 1 year

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The White Rose of Jerusalem ~ King Baldwin IV x Reader

Summary: As a young girl, Y/N had the honour of marrying the King of Jerusalem, just before the healers found out of his fatal diagnosis. Though she had the choice of backing down from a fruitless marriage, she remained faithful to the young boy-King who captured her heart.

Note: I know the chance of people knowing this movie are very slim, but I was long fascinated by King Baldwin IV and re-watching this movie for the N-th time only reinforced that notion; And I’m too hyperfixated to study for exams, so I gotta do this.

Note 2: I have two endings in mind, one with a happy ending, which will be the default one, and another, with an angsty, sad one, which I will be writing under a line and a warning. :) Hope you’ll like it!

Note 3: The lyrics from the Angsty Ending come from the song ‘Luthien’s Lament’ by Eurielle, with some words alternated, to fit the story. Hope you like it, and that you will be compelled to check out her fantastic work! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4F3X5CrPn8I

She was just a little girl, not even a decade old, when she was chosen as the most fitting candidate at being the future wife of young lord Baldwin IV, the future King of Jerusalem. A beautiful lad with long locks of gold like a field of wheat shining in the summer sun, and eyes as blue as the celestial azure sky, fair skin, flawless and angelic like that of the most beloved seraphim, and a voice so soft and tender that would put anyone to ease.

Princess Y/N was so nervous - How could she possibly compare to... How could she possibly become good enough to stay around the future King of Jerusalem? Her worries were plaguing her mind so much, that she simply stared at him, with the eyes of a scared fawn, completely forgetting that she was supposed to do a pretty courtesy and speak.

But the boy could see your pretty face as pink as a lovely flower in bloom, from something as silly as nervousness around him; He chivalrously offered his hand for her to take, and he guided her away from the wave of adults they were surrounded by, and outside, to the lush gardens of Jerusalem where there was nobody to bother them. He hummed idly and scanned the place, before abruptly stopping in from of a bush, and cut a single white rose, which he de-thorned and put in her hair. “There, a beautiful flower, for a beautiful lady.” she couldn’t help but cast her eyes down, unable to meet his. “You see, out of all the flowers in the world, I think a white rose fits you best.” he smiled down at her. “Do you know their meaning, My Lady?” Y/N began biting on her bottom lip, whilst her fingers were anxiously fidgeting and picking at one another. “Forgive me for my rudeness, Your Majesty. I did not mean to disrespect you with my silence and awful behaviour.” The young lad tilted his head to the side in confusion, before reaching out to her hands, holding them dearly. “You have not offended me, My Lady. Still, I would like to request you not to harm such beautiful hands. I have never felt anything as delicate as them, not even flower petals.” her timidness was adorable, he noted. “You need naught feel uncomfortable around me, nor abide to such formalities. I would like for you to speak freely - You are soon to be my lovely wife, and I wish for you to become my confidante.” Baldwin could feel her hands tightening their grip slightly on his own. “I am asking again, whether or not you know the symbolism of white roses -- May I call you by your name? I wish for you to do the same in return.” “Y-Yes, of course, Your Majesty, you may call me as you wish.” the boy’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. “Baldwin. My name is Baldwin. Do call me that.” the alarmed look in those gorgeous eyes of hers, that resembled the most precious gems, only made him realise the overly strict upbringing that she had, so afraid to step the wrong way, or do any kind of misdeed, in fear of being punished, or quite possibly, bringing about Armageddon. “I-I could never show such disrespect to the future King of Jerusalem!” the boy let out an amused exhale, before gently raising her chin up to have her look at him. “Y/N. We are going to be married. For you, I will not be the King. I will be your Husband. If the two of us do not trust each other whole-heartedly, then who else can we trust?” Baldwin finally felt a little satisfaction once she finally dared meet his sight, only for her to bow to him deeply, which once again, confused him. “I wish I will one day end up being a person that you can rely on... Baldwin.” the childish smile of glee that the boy held made her heart leap. “I do not know much, but I wish to learn everything. I was limited in everything I was taught, in detriment of becoming the perfect wife and mother, fit for the King of Jerusalem, so much so that I forgot that I am allowed to live for myself.” “Then I will teach you how to live.”

Though she continued to be as shy as ever, barely capable of speaking up, especially to adults, Baldwin was graced with the most dazzling smiles from the young beauty, whom he’d teasingly call ‘My Wife’ with every chance he got. They were so adorable together, and so very in love with each other, that his elder sister, Sibylla, although jealous of their happiness, would often declare them as ultimate soulmates. They were glued to each other.

It was Baldwin who encouraged her to approach the horses and tend for them, and it was his instructors who taught her how to ride, so that they could ride together whenever they wanted to have some fun, by themselves; The young Price could see the remarkable bond she had made with all of the horses she took care of - Only the most gentle person could create such a connection with a sensitive animal like that.

They would write and recite love poems for each other, though the boy was much bolder than her, and would have to read her love confessions himself. In spite of that, she was content with singing for him, which would, in turn, urge him to ask her for a dance, outside, in the gentle moonlight.

Though he wasn’t one for painting, he loved all of the flowers that Y/N would paint for him - She only ever liked drawing flowers of all kinds, and pretty landscapes; And he would hang around all of her most precious masterpieces in his own bedroom.

They were doing everything together, to the point that Sibylla felt a little lonely, but Baldwin became even more enamoured with Y/N during one evening, when he was pondering over a chess puzzle made by one of his instructors; And there she came in, like Virgin Mary herself, brightening up his dimly lit room. She towered for a few seconds over the chess board, and moved a single piece before flicking over the enemy King piece. Baldwin looked up at her, then back at the board, and up again in complete disbelief - Such an easy solution, yet he kept overcomplicating a thousand useless and difficult ideas, only to end up with no outcome except for his own ultimate failure.

The boy shot up to his feet and engulfed his lady in his arms with so much love, kissing both of her cheeks. “You are a fantastic strategist, my rose! You are going to be my most treasured advisor!” “Oh, I could never - I just moved a piece, nothing that great!” but the boy shook his head vigorously. “Nonsense! I’ve been losing nights over this, and I couldn’t figure it out! If it weren’t for your insight, I would have continued to agonise over it.” he explained tenderly. “Even the wisest of kings need new opinions and views.” “Then, I hope I will continue inspiring you in the future also, and that you will see me as worthy of staying by your side.” the boy could see small tears gleaming in her eyes, though she held the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. “I wish for nothing more than to see you succeed and be known in history as the best King that Jerusalem ever had.” with a burst of boldness, she embraced her fiance tightly, nuzzling her face in the crook of his neck. “I love you.” “Generations forward will be hearing of the wisest and most supportive Queen of Jerusalem, the one who equally reigned alongside her King; the one so kind and caring that all our people will look up to her.” he smiled tenderly, his hand caressing her soft locks. “Just like the purest white rose, so innocent and beautiful, wise, enlightening, intelligent, inspiring of hope, compassion, peace, humility, understanding, tranquility.” cupping her face, he tilted her head so that he could touch his forehead to her own. “And representing of an eternal love, genuine and unbreakable.” his voice was so soft, so loving. “I love you.”

But this love was soon going to be put to test on one day, when the young prince was outside, playing around with other noble boys, while Y/N was making flower crowns and embroidering with the girls. The boys would pinch each other, and rough each other up, scratch and slap their arms; They made so much noise, crying out, whining, whimpering and yelling from paint, but it was Baldwin alone who uttered no sound, and remained as quiet as the lake.

“My love, you are bleeding!” Y/N rushed to his side, stopping his friends from continuing to play around. “Oh, is that so? I have not noticed.” he looked down at his arm, examining all the marks left on his skin, and although they looked painful, he could barely feel anything more than a simple pressure. He could barely even feel her touch. “Have not noticed?! Your whole arm is in awful shape!” the girl shook her head in worry before turning around to look for any of his mentors. “Lord Godfrey! Lord Godfrey, please do come over!” once the man stepped in front of them, Y/N explained what happened - From the concerned look that the adult tried to conceal from them, the girl realised he suspected something with a grim epilogue.

The young prince was treated by the royal physicians the whole day, while Y/N remained alone in his room, pacing around aimlessly and agonising over the truth being concealed from her, yet after many hours, when the Moon took over the skies, and the stars were twinkling the brightest, Baldwin was returned to his bedroom. As Y/N tried to run over and engulf him in her arms, she was stopped by Lord Godfrey. “Princess, I know that you cherish the Prince dearly, but I bare terrible news. His Majesty is being suspected of a disease called leprosy. It would be unwise for you to keep in direct close contact, as you would be at high risk of also getting this curse.” Y/N looked up at the adult with tears rapidly streaming down her face. “It’s alright, my dear rose. I value your health and life above all else. If being apart will ensure your safety, then I am content.” “Don’t you dare say such blasphemy!” it was the first time Y/N ever raised her voice above that sweet, comforting mutter of hers. “Am I not your wife? Your soulmate? Your confidante?” she asked in disbelief. “I have promised I will be staying by your side, until the end of times - The amount of years matters little - But there is no life worth living if you are not in it. I would much rather live a short life, and be able to support you for as long as God may keep you on this Earth, than live a long life, cursed with not being able to see you again.” Even a hardened Lord like Godfrey could feel his heart trembling with emotion at the loving confession from the young lady, who fell to the ground and hugged the boy’s legs. “Please, my love, do not drive me away from you, unless you grow to hate me, and should I ever be so awful that I may make you despise me so, then may God strike me down where I stand, for I could not bare to be torn apart from you.” “Y/N, my love, please, never kneel before me. Out of all the people that I may be reigning over, you alone, shall never kneel.” Baldwin had to gulp down his emotions, though he felt light-headed from such a bold and heart-wrenching confession, and he helped her get up. “I do not want to give you this wretched curse, but I would be a liar if I were to say I were not selfish, for I want to hold you in my arms forever, just as before.”

The realisation that half of his right arm and the hand were completely numb completely shattered his father’s heart, and he had the best physicians, maesters, priests and what not to treat him with oils, ointments, poultices and even charms, yet nothing worked. Though Baldwin had quickly gotten used to the idea, Y/N continued being in denial, and took over most of the physicians’ work, entirely, from then on. She was his wife, and she wanted to take care of him for as long as they had together; She simply loved him so much, and this disease was killing her, more than it did him. Such an intimate thing, touching his skin, cleaning it with herbs and oils every morning, lunch and night before sleep, and she would wash his feet and hands, just like Jesus did to all of his apostles in the Bible. Baldwin felt himself wanting to cry - The love of his life shouldn’t feel compelled to take care of him like that; That’s what servants and healers were for; Yet all the same, he felt so grateful for having someone who loves him so much...

But with so much love, comes the uncertainty of the future, and when he stops being the beautiful Prince that he is now, and becomes blind, disfigured, and loses feeling in all his limbs, will she remain by his side? His heart will never stop loving her, and although the selfless part of him hopes that she would run away and find someone better, some handsome knight or lord to take care of her, someone healthy and with many decades ahead of him... He was still human, and he was selfish. He wanted those few years he has ahead of him to have her by his side, until he does not open his eyes to see the daylight again.

Years passed and tragedy struck Baldwin and Sibylla, once their father died and the young boy of thirteen had to be crowned. A mere boy of thirteen, forced to become the ultimate leader of God’s Kingdom of Heaven, with Raymond, count of Tripoli’s help through his regency, and the unshakable support of his wife.

Baldwin and Y/N stood straight and tall, with the grace and elegance befitting the King and Queen of Jerusalem, though the pressure was weighting heavy on their shoulders, and the lives of so many people, and their Holy Land, were in their hands. The archbishop stepped behind Baldwin and did a cross-motion over his forehead and said a prayer, before putting the crown over his head. “Behold, your rightful King and heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Long live the King, in prosperity!” people chanted ‘Long live the King!’, though it felt more like mocking, given his condition - Granted, the people were unaware of his leprosy, save for the physicians and the closer advisors - They had to be kept in the dark, at least until his coronation... What will happen further, was a mystery. The crowned Baldwin took the other crown from the pillow and stepped next to his beautiful wife, dressed so formally, with such grace and etherealness, that she looked akin to an angel. “I, Baldwin IV, by the grace of the Holy Spirit, choose Y/N L/N, the woman to be my wife, and with the help of God, she will rule her people with the same love and kindness as always, and continue supporting me wisely. Long live the Queen, in prosperity!” as the King placed the crown over her head, the people chanted ‘Long live the Queen!’ again and again, awaiting for their King to sit on the throne and be given the scepter and globus cruciger, whilst the Queen was standing up next to him.

That evening, Baldwin and Y/N were finally allowed to formally spend the night in the same room, without earning scrutiny from the religious people around, who were bound to gossip senselessly. Wearing their sleeping clothes, the King was laying on his side on the bed, watching his Queen embroider a handkerchief, with his name written with golden thread. “Are you happy, Y/N?” the boy asked, suddenly. “I am happy that you have not forced me to abandon you. But I am not happy, knowing that your disease is disallowing you to live a normal life.” she answered with such ease, that it sent a shiver down his spine. “You are supposed to answer personally, not with tying your answer to someone else.” Y/N shifted her gaze upwards, a cheeky side-smile gracing her beautiful features. “And what if my happiness is tied to this certain ‘someone else’, as you like to call yourself?” she challenged him playfully. “Then, I would call you a fool in love.” he chuckled, smiling fondly at the girl. “And I would be guilty of the same charade.” “There is no room for guilt in love, my darling. Though duty is the death of love, I am allowed to make my own choices - This liberty, it was you who had given it to me, and for that, I will be eternally grateful.” she explained, placing the handkerchief on the table, before stepping by the bed and kneeling, leaning on the edge, their faces so close to one another. “You could have gone home with your parents, yet you chose to disobey them, and remained the wife of a leper, willingly. That was a silly choice. I am going to make you the youngest widow in history.” he spoke bitterly, and though his hand reached out to cradle her cheek, it ultimately fell down on the sheets, afraid to directly touch her skin, in fear of passing the illness. “And I will regret only not having met you sooner, and the cruelty of God, for taking his most beloved human so soon into his Eden.” Y/N took his hand and kissed his fingers, before placing his palm on her cheek. “But loving you, is something that I would do over and over again, if given the chance.” “I do not deserve you, my sweet rose.” he felt himself breathless, every time he heard her speak such tender words addressed to him. “Remember what you told me, so many years ago, to encourage me to live for myself?” he only wished he could feel her soft touch playing with his fingers so dearly. “Howsoever you are played, or by whom, your soul is in your keeping alone.” she cited him so perfectly, word by word, that is genuinely surprised him, after over 5 years, that she remembered his advice. “Even though those who presume to play you be Kings or men of power, when you stand before God, you cannot say - But I was told by others to do thus - Or that virtue - Was not convenient at the time -. This will not suffice.” “To think that so many years would come to pass, and you still continue to surprise me.” though he wanted to chuckle, this body froze entirely once Y/N climbed in bed next to him. “Y/N -- If you contract this curse because of me, I would never forgive myself.” “The Saracens say this disease is God’s vengeance against the vanity of our Kingdom. As wretched as lepers are, the Arabs believe that the chastisement that awaits you all is going to be far more severe and lasting, once you are thrown in hell. If that is true, I call it unfair, and that God is nothing but a farce, and life, a cruel joke.” she snorted unceremoniously, before laying down and cradling his body flush against her own, his head resting comfortably on her chest, and she was soothingly playing with his hair, lulling him to sleep. “To hell with anyone who can consider you anything less than an angel, for you are the kindest man I have ever met, and Jerusalem is lucky to be under your rule. The way I see it, God must have thought you so worthy of joining the highest angelic ranks, that he was unaware of a faster way of taking you to his side. It is, after all, the prettiest of flowers that we are quick to pick first and show-off to others, before they wilt in our hands, and we throw them away.” “I am truly honoured to have someone like you hold such sincere feelings for me, and speak only superlative words regarding me. I feel better, knowing that you do not think me lesser, or unworthy, in spite of this misfortune.” though his limbs were gradually getting numb, he could feel ever part of her body touching his own. “Y/N.” he called out her name, cuddling into her, like a cute kitten seeking comfort and warmth. “I am happy.” he was deathly afraid that he could somehow transfer the disease to her, but in that second, his senses were drowning in her love. “You make me happy.”

But the boy at three and ten winters, barely crowned and orphaned, had not expected to grow into the respectable young King that he became by the time he reached sixteen years of age, though by now, the entirety of Jerusalem was calling him the Leper King - They found out the inevitable truth of his condition, and despite the wretched ostracizing that all of those commonfolk cursed with this skin disease, he was able to show that a noble, wise, kind and strategic King and deserved all the respect of the world.

The young King had all of his advisors around him, telling him of all the risks, the cons and pros of going to war against the powerful leader Salah al-Din; They were greatly outnumbered, but if they weren’t going to war, the odd were high that Jerusalem would fall to the Muslims. Sitting on the throne, Baldwin felt himself unconsciously raising his hand to his forehead, feeling a migraine creeping, from the overwhelming amount of shouting and unnecessary bickering and arguing between each notable knight, commander and representative of each army under the command of the King of Jerusalem. He wasn’t one to raise his voice, nor did he bother - At the end of the day, men were going to continue being men, and they will continue trying to dominate and overpower each other. At some point during that abysmal meeting, he noticed the frown on his Queen’s face, clearly irritated that the adults were creating more problems than offering good advice for him, and she could barely keep herself under control not to jolt up to her feet at yell at them to stop behaving like petulant children. Alas, neither of their Royal Majesties were known to raise their voice or even get angry at their subjects; After all, it would be beneath them to stoop so low, when virtue was everything they were supposed to embody.

By the time they returned to their shared chamber, Y/N sighed dramatically, complaining about the unbecomingness of those nasty advisors, whilst Baldwin couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction. His sweet rose truly was adorable in everything she did. Instead of laying on the bed, the young lad sat in front of his chess board and stared intently at the pieces laid in wait to begin a game. Suddenly, a brilliant idea knocked him into a new sense of giddiness. “My sweetling, would you be willing to brighten my day by engaging in a game of chess with me? I cannot think of anything better that could relax me after such unnecessary stress.” His wife smiled at him with that loving tenderness, as she sat opposite of him and urged him to begin the game by moving his piece first. Baldwin carefully moved each of his pieces so that he would create the ultimate strategy, not only for his own side, but manipulate the girl’s pieces into well thought-out spots. In the end, it was Y/N who won the game, but it was him who started cheerfully laughing in triumph. “Never once have I seen a man so happy to lose a game.” Y/N smiled lightly. “What have you concocted, you little weasel?” “The game we just played, my love, contained my strategy for the upcoming war with Salah al-Din, with my side being the Muslims, and yours, Jerusalem.” he exclaimed with glee, getting up from the table. “Jerusalem will prevail once again!” “How cunning of you! Never once during this game have I thought you would be manipulating me into playing my pieces the way you wanted me to. You are wise and intelligent beyond your years, my love.” she praised him, stepping in front of him, and gently placing her hands over his face. She could see the way his disease was rapidly and heavily affecting him, and that once angelic face of his was now scarred and ulcerated beyond anything that the physicians resoluted or predicted. He had to learn how to guide his horse with his knees, instead of the tugging of the reins, as he lost feeling in his right arm completely, and the disease was quickly afflicting the skin of his other limbs also. “And neither will the Muslims, my sweet rose. They will be unable to retaliate, and will have to retreat back to Cairo.” despite all of the scars, and the way his golden hair was beginning to fall out and lessen, that adorable, boyish smile of his remained as charming as ever, and his crystal eyes were just as bewitching. “Will you please allow me to follow you in this crusade?” Baldwin was tempted, as her enchanting fawn eyes were his biggest weakness; His ration and wish to protect her was above even that, however. “I dearly wish to never be apart from you, but my love, you are the Queen of Jerusalem, and with me gone, there will be no one that I trust to rule the Kingdom. I need you here to rule over our people and keep them safe.” Y/N simply sighed and rested her head on his chest, her arms gently around his body. “As always, you are right, of course - If only that you weren’t! How many sleepless nights of worry will I endure, and nightmares shall plague me, until I receive good news from a dove, and am allowed to rejoice your victorious arrival?” the King chuckled softly, resting his chin on the top of her head, reciprocating her embrace. “How dramatic, yet poetic - I am honoured that you worry so much about me, but you needn’t, that is my oath to you. With your aid, my strategy will prevail, and with God’s providence, I have the courage to mount my horse and lead our people to victory.”

And true to his affirmation, the young King rode valiantly into battle, at Montgisard, and just as the strategy dictated, they gave the Muslims a run for their money, returning to Cairo very much defeated, and barely with a tenth of the initial army. Christianity had prevailed once again, and God had not turned his back on them yet.

“You should have seen me, my love, with the Holy Cross shining brightly with the light of Heaven, leading our army to victory! It was such a fantastic win, that I felt powerful as never before! I felt truly blessed and empowered - Like I will be walking the sacred lands for a whole century, and fighting for our faith!” the young King was laying his head in her lap, as she played with his golden locks; Whenever hair would freely fall off in her grasp, she would quickly throw it away, so that her husband wouldn’t have to see the way his beauty was being forcefully taken away from him by the cruel claws of Death. “If all the most beloved Kings were to live for centuries, our world would be a better place. You, especially, deserve to live for many, many hundreds of years, a prodigy above all else, and loved like no other before you.” his grin couldn’t be wiped from that pretty face of his. “Ah, if only that were true, my darling!” he exclaimed. “Now, I only wish to settle my sister with a new husband, deserving of her. With the death of William de Montferrat, and the birth of my little nephew... Sibylla is all alone, and named the heir to the throne once I am no longer.” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have to take her with me on public affairs, so that the people would get used to her being the next ruler - But she is so against everything I try to do for her.” “Sibylla is still young and very beautiful, my darling, there is no need to worry over her future husband. I know time might not be on our side, but it is on hers. She will be fine, I assure you.” she leaned down to place a small kiss on his forehead. “I only pray that you are right, my dear. I love my sister dearly, and I only wish her the best.”

That wish, however, was never going to become reality, as come 1180, an adventurer under the name of Guy de Lusignan found his way in the Holy Land, and seduced Sibylla into marrying him. Baldwin was angry as never before, and even threatened to hang him for daring to debauch the Princess of Jerusalem, yet the tears of his sister and mother were enough to break his resolve and agree to this marriage out of love. That was the first mistake he did, and one that could never be rectified. Guy was a man that earned the scrutiny of the whole realm faster than any man before, and became the most despised being in the country, by all, except for his wife.

By this time, the King was turning twenty years of age, yet he knew he wouldn’t reach to see his age change its prefix again. His condition had gotten so severe that he completely lost feeling in his limbs, and he wasn’t allowed to travel. Not only that, but the skin ulcerations were so drastic, and his face was so disfigured, that he had the blacksmith forge a silver mask for him to wear at all times, and his body was bandaged in its entirety, and robed in white, covering himself whole. It was only his wife, Queen Y/N, that was allowed to gaze upon him, as she continued the ritual of bathing his sores and treating them.

Every day of his life, King Baldwin was happy that he hadn’t given his most darling white rose this accursed disease; Likewise, every day of her life, Y/N continued to pray to God that he may spare her beloved husband and cure that curse that afflicted his body and health - He was a worthy King, and most capable; one the likes that Jerusalem had never witnessed before - Surely, he deserved a blessing!

God, however, did not discriminate when it came to life-taking and misfortune. Be it King or peasant, Lord or fisherman, all had the chance to get sick and die before their time, no matter their worth, faith or the amount of good deeds done whilst roaming the earth.

The stress and all the incompetent people that advised him were none the wiser, and they only dug him an early grave, with all their arguing. Not only that, but Sibylla continued to deny her brother’s wish of divorcing that good for nothing scoundrel - The whole Jerusalem was against him and his lack of sense - Were he to become King, he would destroy the Kingdom of Heaven in a day. She was a fool in a love, but not like himself and Y/N. The Queen was right - Duty is the death of love, but the reverse was also available. Were Sibylla a simple woman, a merchant, or simply a living being without any responsibilities on her shoulder, her devotion would have been most applaudable - But she was the heir to the throne, and she had duties to the realm, she couldn’t afford to be so foolish and cling onto a man that would lead not only to her destruction, but to the whole realm falling into ruin!

By the time King Baldwin turned a most exhausting age of merely three and twenty springs, he was beginning to turn blind, as his eyes were incapable of shutting, and his corneas were burning and stinging him so excruciatingly painful, yet there was nothing he could do in that regard. Despite barely being able to walk around anymore, he had to deal with the consequences of that single mistake of allowing Sibylla to marry that incompetent Guy, who not only broke the pact that Jerusalem had with the Muslim by attacking one of their caravan and killing all of the people there, but he also dared massacre Salah al-Din’s own sister. How can his sister not see that this man was only going to bring ruination to their home? How can she continue devoting her life and affections to such a monster of a man, good for nothing and hated by all, whose head is set only on carnage and bloodshed, under the pretext of spreading the Faith and Word of God over the heathens that tried to obliterate them and convert them?

Thus, King Baldwin stood slumped in his throne glued next to the Queen’s; She gently held his hand, their fingers intertwined; He loved the visual of their hands being so intimately together, before all to bare witness at their pure and sincere love that transcended even leprosy and scrutiny, yet at the same time, he hated how he could not feel her hand, and that his own was bandaged over like a mummy.

“Guy de Lusignan and Reynald de Chatillon, with the Templars, have attacked a Saracen caravan.” just as always, the crowd of knights began fighting each other like a bunch of babbling baboons, until some person of authority yelled at them to keep silent. “It was no caravan. It was an army headed for Bethlehem to desecrate our Lord’s birthplace.” Guy justified his immoral actions under the guise of protecting the Faith. “Reynald, with the Templars, have broken the King’s pledge of peace. Salah al-Din will come into this kingdom -- “ the Count of Tripoli was promptly cut off by the daring fool. Oh, how Baldwin wanted to let go of his reign and live the remaining days of his life in peace, alone with his wife - Yet knowing the Kingdom would fall into this monster’s hands, he could not, in good faith, abandon his people, nor could he see his Holy Land destroyed before his very eyes. “Tiberias knows more than a Christian about Salah al-Din’s intentions.” Guy got up to his feet, walking to the count, towering over him in an attempt to intimidate the old and seasoned Lord. “That I would rather live with men, than kill them... Is certainly why you are alive.” the knight sneered discreetly at him. “That sort of Christianity has its uses, I suppose.” the King and Queen shared a look of annoyance. “We must NOT go to war with Salah al-Din!” Tiberias exclaimed. “We do NOT want it, and we may not win it.” he was the single voice of reason left in that sea of idiots who cried out ‘Blasphemy!’ like a flock of sheep. “An army of Jesus Christ which bears his Holy Cross cannot be beaten!” some Templar spoke with unbacked confidence. “Does Tiberias suggest it could be?” the scarred man remained silent, looking with disgust at the rest of the knights. “There MUST be war! God wills it!” those idiots were using God’s name as a means to bloodshed. The Queen could stand this complete disarray no longer, and though she missed the moment a servant brought the King a message to read, she shot up to her feet, and shouted at them the people for the first time in her life - Great was everyone’s surprise, especially Baldwin’s, to bare witness of something different than her otherwise honeyed and soft voice that soothed one’s worries. “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.” she recited a line from the Exodus 20:7. “Are you suggesting we are using the name of God with unclean intentions?” Guy looked up with defiance at the woman, whose elegant and royal aura turned cold and stern, like a strict ruler. “I am your Queen, and you will address me as such.” she harshly snapped at him. “You, who are worth less than a worm, and held in no one’s graces, dare create such disorder in the presence of the King of Jerusalem. The disrespect you have shown is punishable by death.” she stepped towards him, head held high, dignified. “To think that all of you will be listening to the poisoned tongue of this viper; That you would summon God’s name, to commit bloodshed - Have you forgotten the Ten Commandments? Thou shalt not kill, it was written on the stone tablet given to Moses - Yet all of you are thirsty for war - Not out of Faith, but out of boredom. You listen to this warmonger who knows naught of diplomacy, of tactics and strategy - Lest of all, of the good of the people of the Holy Lands.” the crowd of knights could feel their blood freezing in their veins from such a scolding. “All of this, in front of the King! Such rudeness should be the cause of you yelling out Blasphemy! Not evident caution and refusal to go to war against an army that is outnumbering our own greatly!” “You talk much, but say very little... My Queen.” Guy taunted the Queen with blatant disrespect. “What would a woman know of war, when all she knows is to was to sored feet of a man that may not seen the world outside of these Holy walls in so long? You call me lesser, yet when the King is no more, neither will your title remain. We are the same - Lucky to have been chosen, yet worthy all the same.” “How wrong you are - For at the end of the day, marriage or not, I will continue being a Princess, yet you will be nothing more than the fourth son, good for nothing, landless and with no title - And most of all, a sinner.” the Queen drew the sword from Tiberias’s scabbard, pointing it at Guy. “Kneel before your Queen.” his eyes widened in shock at such an order. “Are you going to ignore a direct order from your Queen?” Guy’s head snapped towards the King, who waved his hand at the man, as to follow the order. “The Queen’s command is absolute.” Baldwin nodded his head briefly at the buffoon who dared disrespect his wife, not only in front of him, but in front of the whole court. He was glad that someone was putting that idiot to respect, however, he hated that his wife had to step over her kindness and get angry, for his sake. Begrudgingly, Guy knelt down, though he glared at the Queen with those scorned, dark eyes. In a swift move, the woman swung the heavy sword with such ease, ready to behead the man - Only to stop, right as she touched his neck, careful not to injure him. Sibylla was quick to shout at her to have mercy and spare him - That she loves him, and what not. She was ignored. “Do not mistake my past kindness and mercy, for weakness. I may be benevolent, but I do not tolerate disrespect addressed to me, to God, and especially to the King.” she returned the sword to Tiberias, who nodded at her in acknowledgement and approval. “That your head is not rolling to the ground for children to play is my final act of mercy and acceptance towards you. You disrespect the King, your disrespect Jerusalem. Trust me when I say it, Guy - I always mean what I say.” she returned to her seat next to the King, who handed her the message to read. The look on her face said it all - She was both concerned and terrified, not for her life, but for his own. “Salah al-Din has crossed the Jordan with 200,000 men.” the King spoke out once ultimate silence reigned over them all. “He’ll make for Kerak and Reynald de Chatillon. My Lord...” TIberias was the first to speak, walking over to Baldwin in an attempt to help him stand up. The King gestured him to stop, and subtly shook his head, as a way to show he was still capable of at least getting up from the throne. “We must meet him before he reaches Kerak.” the King whispered in his advisor’s ear. “I will lead the army.” “My Lord... If you travel, you’ll die.” the Count of Tripoli voiced the Queen’s concerns. “Send word to Balian to protect the Queen and the villagers.” the King addressed the crowd then. “Assemble the army.” came his resolute order that earned a chant of happy cheers from the knights.

The King did not wait to consult with the Queen - Instead, he went into his room to rest, for on the morrow, he would be marching towards Kerak to create some kind of temporary peace treaty with the Muslim leader. Y/N shared a look with Tiberias. Fear was welling deep into her eyes - She was terrified. The nightmares that kept plaguing her every night were coming to fruition much faster than anticipated. Her husband was going to die. “Tiberias... I know you care for the King as much as I do. Though we both know his mind will not be swayed... Please, do try to keep him away from this journey.” her voice became a weakened whisper. “I cannot bare the thought of losing him so soon.”

Tiberias could feel his heart impaled, yet he was unable to utter a single word. He placed his hand on her shoulder, as if to show they share a similar kind of pain, and he hung his head. Y/N went to their shared room, and seeing her husband sitting on the chair, by the chess board, she fell to the ground, hugging his feet and placing her head on his lap as she wept. “Please change your mind, my love! Do not go to your death, not so soon! You are so young, still so strong -- I cannot... I cannot imagine living without you.” Baldwin sighed, his eyes stinging, yet feeling a little relief from the forming tears that were wetting his dry eyes, and his bandaged hand was placed numbly over her cascading hair, petting it. “Forgive me, my sweet rose.” he spoke with a shaky voice. “I did say I was going to turn you into the youngest widow, yet I did not imagine my condition would hinder me from even reaching thirty years of age.” even his body was softly trembling, in tune with her pitiful sobs. “Forgive me for breaking your loving heart. I was not the husband that you deserved. I was unable to bring you happiness, nor pleasure, nor was I capable of creating a family with you. God had forbidden me from even touching your body, in fear of transferring this curse upon you... He had denied me the feeling of your delicate skin, and a normal life span spent by your side.” “Do not say that!” she exclaimed, raising her head. “You have been more than I ever deserved. You have been more than I could ever dream of, even. I never desired for anything in life, except to see you alive, every time I woke up, and to feel you heart lul me to sleep, as you held me so dearly in your arms. For as long as I could hear your tender voice... Just knowing you were alive... It was all that I ever needed.” she reached her hands up to his face, taking off his mask and revealing the horrific, disfigured visage of the one seraphic boy. “If I could, I would trade all of my tomorrows, just to spend another night with you. I would trade all of my days, so that you could keep on living on, for as long as I would have. I would take the disease upon me, just to rid you of this curse. I would accept even being purged by the divine fires of retribution, if it gave you your health back.” her sight was blurred with the amount of tears hindering her and rivering down her face. “But to hell with God, and with the Faith, and with everything there is! Why must a good man endure misfortune after misfortune, and die young, whilst incompetent, evil bastards like Guy keep on living and thriving so frivolously?! I prayed day in and day out, and I have devoted all of my being to God, but instead of returning your health, he is taking you away from me even faster!” she wailed so pitifully, that Baldwin felt his entire being shattering before her anguish. “What kind of sin have I committed, that I cursed the love of my life as such a tender age, just a little after I have met him?” “You couldn’t possibly think to blame yourself for my disease.” he scolded her in complete disbelief. “Y/N, my love, never think that way.” he placed his hands on her elbows, urging her to raise, only to guide her to sit on his lap. Her slight panic was quickly shushed with a reassurance. “I am ill, not made of glass. If anything, this proximity could only serve to energize me.” Y/N gently held his hands and took off the bandages, revealing the severe ulcerations, the leathery skin and the open sores, red and painful, were it not for the numbness. She kissed his fingers lovingly, before placing his palms over her face. “Were I a mighty Phoenix, I would be able to heal all of your wounds, with the amount of tears I have shed. I would be able to fly into battle by your side and spit fire over our enemies, but also thrill a song of bravery and victory to embolden our army.” she took a ragged breath, stammering over her words. “But I am just a woman, powerless, and foolishly in love with one man, who is dying before her very eyes, and can do nothing but live in fear that he may take his last breath when she is not around him.” “You always did leave me speechless with your love confessions - And that is no easy feat, my sweet white rose. To say that I love you, is an overstatement... Yet God may strike me when I say... I do not love even He, the way that I love you. My only regret is that I was not able to even kiss you, when I was still young and handsome, fitting of a young King. I wish only to make you the happiest... If only life was not so cruel with us.” Y/N leaned down slowly, placing her lips over his own, completely uncaring of her malformed mouth, or the possibility of catching the disease herself. She wasn’t planning on living longer, if he wasn’t going to be alive and hold her hand any longer. “A silly woman, foolishly in love with a silly man, just as foolishly in love with her.” he muttered, gazing at how beautiful she was, even with eyes puffy and sparkling with tears, and skin twinkling wet.

The King guided his Queen to the bed and cradled her into his arms to cry as much as hear dear heart needed, all whilst playing with her hair, as much as his useless fingers allowed him to, and whispered a string of endless sweet nothings, though he was aware, no word of love was going to sooth or mend her shattered heart, and the fact that his lack of days were the cause of it was a bittersweet knowledge.

On the morrow, the King nodded at Tiberias, placing his hand gently over his horse’s snout to urge it to kneel so that he could mount it and ride towards Kerak, where he would face Salah al-Din and propose a truce. The journey was long and arduous, lasting a whole week on horseback, yet he rose tirelessly, and slept like a baby in the tent, every night. There were no physicians by his side, nor his Queen, to wash and treat his skin damage - But it was fine, he wasn’t going to live long anyway, so it mattered little.

After seven long days, they reached Kerak, the stronghold of Reynald the Idiot, and with the King of Jerusalem in front and the shining-white Holy Cross that brightened up the battleground, the King, dressed the part, rode and faced the leader of the Muslims.

The two king met, face to face, horse to horse - One, the Splendor of Christianity, dressed in full white, yet with a silver mask and the light-blue tabard of Jerusalem, and his horse was the same, white and pure, as was his virtue and soul. The other was dressed in black, and his horse was black also, to represent his own faith and leadership to his people, but also, his humbleness. The two stared each other in the eyes, siesing each other but, yet it was Salah al-Din who spoke first. “I pray you pull back your cavalry and leave this matter to me.” “I pray you retire unharmed to Damascus.” the King replied, his eyes seemingly unblinking behind his silver mask, adorned with crosses and swirls, to represent his Faith and Love of God. “Reynald de Chatillon will be punished. I swear it.” the man vowed, speaking in a soft, yet firm tone. “Withdraw, or we will all die here.” the two’s silence, as they stared each other up, was this time interrupted by the Christian King. “Do we have terms?” The Muslim leader only had one fear, and that was of the Leper King, who so easily bested him at merely 16 years of age, and heavily outnumbered; Now, older, yet with a frailer constitution, even the ghost of him could send a shiver down his spine; A rival worthy of his respect. “We have terms.” he nodded at him. “I will send you my physicians.” he humbly offered, wishing his rival to remain alive and healthy, for as long as he may. “As-salamu alaykum.” he King of Jerusalem tilted his head down and bowed his hand as a sign of respect, wishing him and his people peace. “Wa alaykumu s-salam.” Salah al-Din rose his hand and replied with the same respect, wishing him the same.

The two leaders of their faith turned their horses around, and Sibylla watched from the safe fortress, as her brother was victorious in avoiding an all-right war, and rode towards the stronghold of Reynald, who quickly ran, disheveled, to greet the King, who gracefully rode before him, and commanded his horse to kneel, so that he may dismount. Reynald offered a courtesy, as the King stumbled in front of him, whipping out a wand from his waist. “On your knees.” he ordered, with such disgust as no one has ever heard him before. Reynald did as instructed without hesitance. “Lower.” he had to be deeply punished for all of his thoughtless actions that served to ruin everything he worked so hard to build for his people. In an exhausted breath, yet still as kingly, he spoke “I am Jerusalem.” with another swift move, he took off the glove of his left arm, and the bandages, revealing a thoroughly maimed hand, along with a golden ring with a large ruby. “And you - Will give me the kiss of peace.” he extended his seeping, untreated, dirty hand towards Reynald, who started slobbering and kissing his fingers without hesitation.

From disgust and anger, the King used the scepter to strike his face - One, twice, and a few more times, until the idiot was on the ground, cradling his injured face. Though the physical exhaustion took over His Highness, and as he turned around, he stumbled to the ground, and into the sand. It was Tiberias who rushed to support him to stand, along with two guards, that helped him lay on a comfortable couch, as the Count of Tripoli commanded the arrest of the idiot. With a nod at the man, the King was risen with the bed, and carried out, so that he may return to Jerusalem, with the much needed aid, before he may return by himself, on horseback.

Once returned, however, the guards that greeted them started yelling ‘Imposter!’ and claiming the King that led them to Kerak, the King that settled peace with Salah al-Din, their most feared enemy, the King that punished Reynald - He was an imposter, and the real King Baldwin IV was in his study; The Imposter was quickly immobilised, struck down and roughly brought over before the real King, whilst the Imposter was thrown to the ground to kneel, despite Tiberias and the other knights’ protests and attempts to stop such blasphemy.

Before their eyes, however, the knights witnessed two Kings - One a little taller than the other, and dressed in his normal robes, sitting on the throne and reading; The other, on the ground, just smaller, and with the War outfit on. The King of Jerusalem rose on his feet, startled at the sudden disturbance, and the peculiar sight before his eyes; It would have been almost hilarious, were he not enraged at the guards having been so rough with the Imposter, when he did not ordered them so. “You may release that one.” though the guards looked in shock at the orders, they complied. “Of course, there is no one who knows me better, than yourself. I was foolish to believe you would just remain quiet, at home, where I asked you to be. You fool.” his scolding was light-hearted and tender. “Tiberias, tell me, how did the affairs go?” “Your Majesty... Ergh... Salah al-Din agreed to a truce, and Reynald de Chatillon was severely punished... By... You.” the Count of Tripoli found it difficult to voice out the ambiguous message. He was upset that he did not realise the truth sooner; He had let himself be tricked, and so well. “All of you - You may leave.” the King ordered with a dismissive yet respectful wave of his hand. “But -- My King -- The Imposter --” one of the knights stammered over his words. “There is no Imposter, but a loving Queen who was ready to accept anything may come, to save her husband from a life-ending journey.” the King stepped in front of the Imposter, and taking the silver mask off, revealed the beautiful face of the Queen; The revealed earned an ocean of protests and gasps - How was a woman capable of not only fooling everyone, but of mimicking the King so flawlessly. “Perhaps it is not that you know me best, but that you know me better than even I know myself. Truly, I am honoured, and my heart soothed with honeyed mead, to know that you have gone through such trials, for my sake. Foolish indeed, yet with such positive outcome that I am incapable of feeling anything but happiness.” with some difficulty, he knelt besides her, so that he may pick her hands and get her up. “As I told you so many times, my love, you do not bow to me, for it not I alone, but the both of us, that are Jerusalem.” “My sweet King, I bare good news, for once!” Y/N spoke for the first time since she’s arrived; Though her voice was weak from dehydration, not only was she happy that her quest was a success, and that her darling Baldwin was not upset with her tricking him, but she was also smiling so brightly, so much so that it surprised the young man, as he hasn’t seen her so genuinely blissful since they were children. “Salah al-Din sent over his physicians, and they offered a gift - It is called Chaulmoogra oil, and they said people in India and China use it to treat leprosy - The statistics show great improvement, unlike any other treatment before. That man truly respects and cherishes you as a rival, and a leader, my love.” Baldwin froze on the spot, seeing the woman reveal a rather large carafe that she kept hidden underneath the robes, hanging from the sash. Were it not too hasty to have hope again? A miracle treatment, so suddenly, for him? And even if he does get treated, his face will never recover, and he doubts his limbs are going to feel again. Still, he was unable to refuse her, seeing as it was the only thing that put such a genuine smile on her face, after so long. “Alright, my sweet flower - For you, I shall try any treatment, no matter how revolutionary or eccentric.”

He could barely keep himself standing up, as Y/N, in a fit of euphoria, threw her arms around his neck and swayed him. The treatment made him nauseated more often than not, and he vomited at some points, yet after good weeks of continuous intake of this oil, added with the herbal cleaning and ointments for his skin, and regular walking, his body was beginning to feel a little stronger than previously - It almost felt that he was getting younger. It was a scary feeling, for it was so good and hopeful, that he feared losing it, and in turn, Y/N’s happiness.

As Baldwin began regaining his strength, and to some degree, even the feeling in his arms and legs, and he was properly capable of holding a sword again, he was emboldened to think of a future of his own. First, he asked Sibylla whether he agrees to divorce Guy, especially now that she knows how awful of a man he was - But once again, he was denied - Thus, he was forced to exile this idiot, and with him, his sister also followed. With the timely death of his nephew, Baldwin V, at the mere age of 10, the King realised he had no direct Heir to ascend the throne once he dies, whenever that may be, and as he was incapable of creating an heir himself, and with Sibylla refusing to step up as a Queen, if Guy does not ascend with her; Once again, it fell on poor Tiberias to help out with this matter. He trusted Balian to become a good King, but of course, he wanted to live a peaceful life, as a blacksmith, not restrained by the burdens of a King.

Next, he had to get rid of both Guy and Reynald, permanently, so that there would be no risk of enticing the Muslim Leader to wage war on Jerusalem; Especially as he has him to thank for his unexpected recovery, and for as long as he may live, he will remain eternally grateful for his kindness.

Baldwin fortified the walls of Jerusalem and strengthened the bonds with the armies under him, and kept the Kingdom of Heaven safe. It was a true wonder, being able to stand on the balcony, with his wife’s arms around his body, and watch the starry night illuminating the city to beautifully, and the song of the crickets and toads resounding soothingly through the place.

Though he was still uncomfortable with letting go of the mask, knowing well enough that people will keep being horrified of his disfigured face, he felt at ease, dancing with his lovely white rose around their room, hearing her sweet giggles, and seeing that beautiful, dazzling smile of hers that captured his heart, from the very first time that he laid his eyes on her.

Baldwin was a fool, so deeply in love with Y/N, that he prayed to God every day not to make him up from this reverie, for he is eternally grateful for keeping his Faith in times of need, and that He replied to him with the greatest gift there was - Not just the treatment, but his Queen’s happiness restored. The glee of a fool in love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------- ANGST ENDING -------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though the quest that Y/N embarked on was a success, once she returned to Jerusalem, she was met with the reality of her husband’s health, which was degrading at such a swift pace, even without the journey made. It was ridiculous, thinking that she went through all of that, yet it aided Baldwin with nothing, save for two weeks of worry over her well-being. What a disaster, she thought to herself, as she returned to her room, her head hung, and discarding the Kingly outfit with annoyance and disgust, as though she was a little brat throwing a temper tantrum.

“I do not have the power to say how worried I was over you, for I cannot help but be so proud of my Queen, and infinitely happy beyond the horizon, to feel your heart soulbound to mine own. I missed you more than the deserts miss the rain.” though he tried to reassure Y/N, he knew he wouldn’t be seeing the change of the seasons.

And his prediction was correct; Soon, he was unable to move whatsoever, and his white outfit was changed with a royal black and golden one; Even his silver mask was replaced with a golden one, and he could only lay on the bed, his eyes mostly closed, and awaiting the sweet release of death.

Unexpectedly, Y/N was came over, smiling, but also crying, holding a goblet filled with honeyed red wine; She sat comfortably over his waist, looking down at him - She looked like a child, with her eyes glazed, and expression slightly dazed - And she took another gulp of the wine. “Oh. Hello, my sweet white rose.” it was difficult for him to speak, and though he wanted to address her unexpected drunkness, he couldn’t. He knew his time was ending, and perhaps selfish, he wished to see her smile as the last thing he’d witness in this world. “What were you dreaming of, my love?” she slurred cutely, dropping the now empty goblet to the ground, her hands placed on his chest, and slowly roaming up to his chest. “How great it would have been, if we were not separated by a curse.” she hummed, allowing herself to fall over on the bed next to him, smiling widely. “We are in the earthly Kingdom of Heaven. Once we reach the Celestial Heavens, there will be no afflictions or diseases hindering our love any longer, and for the rest of eternity, in the afterlife, our love shall continue onwards, transcending this unseen barrier between us.” she nuzzled into his side; Baldwin wasn’t sure whether she was giggling, or sobbing - Yet he was pretty sure she was doing both. “We will be ruling over nothing except our love, and we will have no responsibility, except to ourselves. We will finally be free to live, and to love... And to be happy.” “My love... What was in that wine?” with a lethargic move, Y/N pulled him into her body, his head resting onto her chest. “What were you dreaming of, my love?” she asked again - The excruciating revelation dawned on him - Y/N had poisoned herself. She could not bare seeing him die before her eyes, she couldn’t bare him dying before her, and her having to endure all the agony of a lonely life, with a shattered heart, never to be mended again. She cared little whether people would find out she killed herself, and she would get beheaded. Her only wish, written, was to be buried with him - Wish that she also voiced to him. “I was back in that summer, when I defeated Salah al-Din.” if he could cry, he would, not only for himself, but for Y/N feeling so heartbroken that she felt compelled to end it all. “Do you remember it? We were only 16.” “Of course I remember. I was so worried for you, out there, without anyone to care for you. I was praying to God every hour I was awake, to keep you safe, and have you return to me. I remember I jumped on you from happiness, as soon as you dismounted your horse. I toppled you to the ground. The Archbishop yelled at me for not behaving like a Queen, but Tiberias pushed him away, so he wouldn’t bother us.” he could only offer a weak, breathy chuckle as a reply. “You are as beautiful as the white rose that I put in your hair, that day, when we met. I am truly honoured that I had the fortune of being your husband. No man ever felt love, as much as I did, thanks to you.” he stole one last good look at her, before settling comfortably in her embrace. “My sweet white rose.” he called out. “Will you sing for me?” “Yes, my love. Allow me to sing you to sleep.”

I seek a man named Baldwin Whom I bid await me here I pledged that I would see him Before he leaves this sphere

This man of whom I speak He gave his heart to me But thence my soul grew weak And at last it too broke free

So borne upon an urgent breeze I travelled to his place Where only one thing could appease The torment I now face

Oh tell me I am not too late To see my love once more For that would be too cruel a fate I beg him be restored

That we may take a little time To bid our last farewell And remember all we shared erstwhile Such joy no one could quell

For never was a greater love Than that within our hearts Once born, forever binding us Through not e’en death we part

Who was the first to ascend to heavens, not even God knew, for they both appeared before him, holding each other so tenderly, looking like the most beautiful youth, foolishly in love with each other.

As in Eden, so on Earth, the two were found cradling each other, though the heart beat that once lulled the other to sleep, was no longer present; Yet a smile adorned both of their faces. Just as left on the note, Y/N was buried together with King Baldwin IV - The King and Queen who loved each other more than any before, and certainly, any in the future also - The two lovers who could never be torn apart, in life, death, or anything in between.

Up there, however, they were no a pair of King and Queen, but just a man and a woman, fated to eternally love each other. They were just themselves - Y/N and Baldwin - Two fools, so foolishly in love with each other.

#kingdom of heaven #kingdom of heaven x reader #kingdom of heaven imagine #king baldwin #king baldwin x reader #king baldwin imagine #king baldwin iv #king baldwin iv x reader #king baldwin iv imagine

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angstywaifu · 1 month

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Not Meant To Care - Xaden Riorson x Reader

Prompt - “Since when did you ever care about me?!” “Since fucking forever!” from anonymous. A/N: I definitely didn't forget to schedule this weeks posts. Not at all.... Anyway, enjoy some Xaden! Masterlist

Every part of my body screamed at me as I hobbled down the stairs from the flight field. The pain reminding me of the first few times I flew on my dragon last year. It had been a while since I had felt like this. Today an opposing squad from another wing had been paired with ours for the class. And it had gone bad fast.

The other squad were on us in seconds despite it being a class to learn new manoeuvres. I had fallen victim to two other riders sandwiching me and my dragon between theirs. With them having larger dragons they had easily manoeuvred us into a flip, and I hadn’t had a chance to grip onto my dragon properly before I was thrown from their back. Luckily another squad member had seen it and flew over to catch me. But the impact had shook my entire body. Everything now aching and hurting because of it. Each step causing another ripple of pain to shoot you my body. The pain getting worse with every step. I had been dumb enough to brush off my squad mates when we got back and was now alone for my decent back to the quadrant. It was going to be a long and painful hobble over to the healers.

After what feels like hours I finally descend into the rotunda. A few people turn and whisper as I hobble in and start to make my way towards the healers. I hear rushed footsteps and look up to see Bodhi and Imogen rushing over to me.

“What the hell happened to you?” Bodhi asks urgently as he wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his side, taking the brunt of my weight.

I wince in pain, but without bearing all of my weight I can’t help the sigh of relief as I lean into Bodhi.

“Just a little mishap in flight training.” I get out between gritted teeth.

“A little mishap that’s left your hobbling across the court yard like you’re in your ninety’s?” Imogen questions as she falls into step as Bodhi slowly walks me towards the healers quadrant.

I wince in pain as Bodhi walks us up some stairs, causing them both to share a concerned look.

“It’s fine. Nothing a healer can’t fix.” I tell them sternly.

“Y/N, you are the best flier in your year and probably one of the best in the quadrant right now. This isn’t little.” Bodhi’s voice pleading me to tell them what had happened.

As we turn the corner to the healers quadrant I wince in pain, my eyes screwing shut. I don’t even register the sound of Imogen’s rushed footsteps leading away from us as Bodhi hurries me towards the healers quadrant.

Bodhi barges through the door, fully taking my weight as he is guided towards the back area of the room where the menders reside. I groan in pain as he lowers me on the bed. I barely register the nurse and Bodhi talking as I focus on my breathing. Clearly the impact of the fall had caused more damage than I had thought.

Something cold on my head startles me and I look up to see Bodhi pressing a damp cloth to my head. I sigh in relief, the coolness taking the edge off the pain. He offers a small smile as I feel something wash over me. I look over to see a mender grasping my hand in theirs. I feel my body slowly release the pain. As if they are drawing it into themselves through our connected hands. My body sags in relief as the tension is released. My eyes start to flutter close. A side effect of mending was the toll it took on the mended and the patient. As I fall into a peaceful slumber I vaguely hear a loud gruff voice yelling my name in the distance.

When I open my eyes I immediately know I’m not in the healers quadrant. Instead I lie in a much softer bed, tucked into a blanket. As I breathe, I note the smells of mint, leather and something that reminds me of a flower or citrus. I’d smelt it before, but where? My answer quickly comes to me as the sound of a chair creaking draws my eyes over to the last person I expected to see. Xaden. I was in Xaden’s room. Xaden who I’d always had a stupid crush on, despite how much we despised each other. We had never gotten along. Always bickering and pestering each other. Pushing each others buttons whenever we could. And yet here I was. In his bed as he watched over me. His Onyx eyes scan over me, assessing me for any pain. As I stretch and sit up I am relieved to feel none of the pain I had felt earlier. Even in the lower light of the room I note Xaden’s shoulders sag in relief, as if relieved to see I am no longer in pain. But the expression on his face remains almost neutral, except for the twitch of his jaw.

”Care to explain?” He asks, anger evident in his tone.

”I don’t need to explain anything.” I snap at him as I shove the blanket off me and stand.

I go to shove past him but his hands grasps my wrist tightly, turning me back to him.

”Yes you do. Now how the hell did you go from being perfectly fine after lunch, to being in excruciating pain to the point Bodhi had to drag you to the healers.” He demands, his onyx eyes piercing into mine.

I nearly cave under his gaze. Tell him what he wants. But I do what I always do. Push his buttons and push him away. Just like the stupid feelings I have for him.

”Like I said. I don't need to explain anything to you. Just a flight manoeuvre that went wrong.” I snap again as I pull my wrist from his hand. “Why are you acting like you care? Since when did you ever care about me?”

”Since fucking forever!” He snaps, his words echoing around his room as silence falls over us.

Xaden’s eyes go wide as he realises what he’s said. The panic clearly evident in them as he looks into mine. As if his emotions had taken over and he hadn’t meant to reveal what he had.

“Y-you hate me. You don’t care about me.” I say, my voice shaking slightly as I slightly shake my head at him.

No, there’s no way Xaden feels the same way I do. No way does he have the same feelings I shouldn’t have for him. The feelings I try to dampen every single day. He can’t.

”But I do. I do fucking care as much as I might not show it. I fucking care about you.” He takes a step towards me, my neck craning back to look up at him as his body becomes flush with mine. He’s so close I swear he could hear how loudly my heart is beating. “And I know you do to. As much as we might try to prove we hate each other every day. We haven’t for a while.”

I shake my head. ”No, we haven’t” I admit.

As my words leave my mouth, the smirk I tried to convince myself I hated on a daily basis but secretly loved graced his lips. The lips I had wanted on mine since we came to this god damn death college. As if we share the same thoughts, Xaden grasps my face between his hands and pulls me into a kiss, before guiding us over to the bed.

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #xaden riorson #xaden x reader #xaden riorson x reader #xaden riorson fanfic #the fourth wing

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kydrogendragon · 5 months

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Dreamling fic idea I'll probably never get around to:

Dream is the highest ranking cleric in the city. His gifts are sought after by all and the cost of his services reflect it. He has treated and healed everything from Kings to Demi-Gods. But he is tired of his position. Those he cares for and treats are grateful, yes, but his services are almost expected. And the one time he fails because the bishop was too far gone, even for Dream's skills, he was berated for his failure. Whispers echoed through the kingdom that the High Cleric Dream was losing his touch, that the gods that favored him so are losing interest.

Dream begins to think that maybe they are right. Then he meets Hob - a necromancer that works out in the battlefields, mostly. Someone who he would normally never cross paths with until he does. His sister had advised him that a change of scenery could be good for him and his soul. To recharge and rest a moment and reconnect with his divine gifts.

Hob is helping carry in the wounded and sick from the most recent skirmish in the outerlands. Dream hovers, watching as this captivating handsome man, covered head to toe in grime and blood and dirt, gently guides his fellow soldiers towards the healers bay. And then he walks towards the bodies of those that had not made it.

Hob kneels by the dead, and Dream watches with curiosity. Necromancy was not viewed highly. Most necromancer positions were ones of war, raising the dead so that they might keep fighting. Dream wonders what possible reason this one might have for raising them here in the city. He freezes, thinking perhaps Hob was a traitor or spy and is planning to unleash an attack.

But no. No, as the young man's body beside him jolts to life, a wheezing, gasping noise releases from the cold dead lips. And Hob just smiles. He grabs the corpse's hands, giving it a gentle pat, and says, "Easy there. It's okay. The pain is gone, yeah?"

The corpse just nods.

"Good. Good," the Necromancer says. "You asked me, said if you died on the field-"

"That you'd bring me back, I remember." The corpse speaks, his voice rough. The sight is unsettling to Dream.

"That's right," the Necromancer says, smiling still. His voice is warm and low. Dream strains to hear it from his hiding spot. "What did you want me to say and to who?"

Dream furrows his brows in confusion. What odd game is this man playing at?

"Tell my parents... that I loved them. That I'm glad I got to serve my kingdom as I had. I... I did, right? I did good?" Dream's heart clenched at the quivering in the young soldier's voice. They remembered. They preserved their memories and thoughts and feelings. But...

Dream shook his head. No, corpses brought to life by necromancy are just reanimated. There should be no soul left within them. That is what every teaching has said before. The only exception being a corpse that is reanimated within mere minutes if dying. But this soldier died on the battlefield. He died days ago, at the least. So how?

"You fought so well," the Necromancer says. Dream sees tears fall from those warm brown eyes. "You saved many lives out there. You served king and country well."

"Good," the soldier says with a sad laugh. "Good... then. Then tell them that as well, please? And... and if you can find my brother, his name is Calrose, tell him I'm sorry for all the shit I gave him when we were young. And tell him that he was right about the ale. He'll know what I mean."

Dream feels he ought to turn away from such a seemingly private moment but he finds he cannot. He's transfixed on the sight.

"And tell my girl, sweet Alice, tell her I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise after all. Tell her I tried and that I-" And the young corpse bursts into tears. Or sounds like it, at least. There are no tears to be shed but the pained wail that is drawn forth from his throat couldn't be mistaken for anything else. The Necromancer leans toward and holds the young boy in his arms, ignorant of the rotting flesh and stale blood.

"I'll tell her. I'll tell them all. Don't you worry," the Necromancer whispers against the man's skull. There is a large gap in his head, Dream realizes now. His skull looks to have been smashed by something strong and heavy. It is most likely how he died. "You can rest easy now, lad. Be at peace. You've earned it."

And as the Necromancer lays the young man back down, Dream watches as the boy takes a final, shuttering breath in and sees the light in his eyes fade as the air is released. He is still once more but with the barest of smiles on his lips.

Dream is dumbfounded by this. By all of this. Everything he feels he knows has been turned upside down by a single man. So he follows him. He watches his movements through the city and witnesses many times his strange version of necromancy. He also witnesses the joy and sadness that it brings to the loved ones he tells each corpses last words to.

It's in a tavern, down by the ports, that Dream officially approaches the Necromancer. Hob, of course, picked up on his newest shadow that first day. It wasn't until just recently that he realized who it was that had been tailing him. And he's petrified. Hob well knows that necromancy within the walls of the kingdom is forbidden unless authorized. He thinks Dream is there to arrest him.

But no. Dream just wants to talk. And he doesn't ever mention his position as High Cleric either. And guessing by the black hooded cloak he wears, Hob is guessing Dream doesn't think he knows who he is either.

So they meet more often. Hob tells Dream of his life, of his experiences. He tells him of his experiences with Necromancy, specifically, and how he's found that more clings to a corpse than you might think. Especially if they had things they still wished to say.

Then one day the kingdom is attacked. The forces manage to breach the outer walls. Dream is darting all around, healing as best as he can, trying to help bolster their offenses. He sees Hob in the chaos of it all, rising corpses to help the fight. It is the first time he has seen this type of magic used in battle. It is the first time he sees Hob wield his skills for a fight.

Then Hob is shot at, an arrow sticks out of his chest and blood is running down his chin as it floods his lungs. The corpses he commanded fall to the ground as his focus breaks. Dream runs to him, ignorant of the continued onslaught. He holds Hob's hand as he calls forth every ounce of his drained power to breathe life back into damaged cells. But the arrow was poisoned. Death magic clings to the arrowhead and infects Hob's body from the inside out. He removes the arrow and allows his magic to flow inside, coating Hob is a warm, white light. He is healing, but it is slow. And with Dream drained as he is, he cannot overwhelm the opposing magic as he might normally. Still, he continues. And he is winning, slowly.

And then more arrows strike the pair. Dream covers Hob's body with his own but the thick cloak he wears only protects him so much. The garb he wears marks him as a Cleric and he has heard enough stories and read enough tales to know that picking off the healers early on is a prime battle stategy.

Hob tries to push him off, to cover him instead, but Dream holds him down, even as the venom embued in each strike weighs him down, Dream continues. Hob begs him to stop. That he'll kill himself if he keeps this up. And Dream knows that he is correct. He will die. But, he finds, as he summons forth the last reserve of his strength, he does not mind dying if it means Hob gets to live.

Besides, there are still words he would say to Hob. He will see him one last time before he goes for good after all.

He pushes all that is left of him into Hob and the death magic fades away. There is only light and love left in his cells. No more poison. Hob is safe.

Dream collapses. Hob scrambles up and drags them both out of the line of fire. Most of the enemy soldiers have left, continuing up through the kingdom. There is a clashing of steel and iron and the sound of magic being flung in the distance. But all Hob can see is Dream. His face lax in his lap. It makes him want to laugh and cry all at the same time because the first time Hob gets to see that beautiful face this calm is when he's dead...

Hob pulls the arrows from his body, discarding them in a pile and pulls the man's body close to his chest. He wishes, not for the first time in his life, that his gifts were of healing instead. Hob bows his head and kisses the soft skin of Dream's forehead and he whispers the words he has heard Dream speak before. Healing words. Hob feels a strange tingle within him. It responds differently than the magic he is used to. And then it is gone.

Hob frowns. And, going off of instinct, he speaks the words that he knows like breathing. His normal powers flood through him but they are also different. It twirls within him, mixing with some sort of foreign piece. But he continues, calling forth for Dream's spirit in the Ether and guides it back to his body. A soul cannot be reattached once the link between is broken. But it can reside there for a time. This is what Hob has learned over his years of study.

And today he is proven wrong. He watches as the chain that links them heals. It glows in a brilliant white light as Dream's soul is guided by golden hands that he knows are his own magic.

Hob looks down.

Dream's eyes open. And he smiles.

The best they can figure, once the kingdom is secured and the people and healed and tended to, is that Dream's own magic stuck with Hob and allowed him to perform both Cleric and Necromatic Magic simultaneously, effectively bringing Dream back from the dead.

It is something that needs further research and is happily agreed and funded by the Crown. Hob is promoted and works side by side with Dream now as they continue their research. They still go down to the healing bays on the weekend. Dream assists with the wounded and Hob still gathers the dead's last words. Life is good. Better than is has been. And Dream finally feels like he's rediscovered his sense of purpose. And Hob? Well, Hob's finally found what he thought he's never get: Love.

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #the sandman #ky writes #cleric!Dream #necromancer!Hob #au idea

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snazzi-strawberri-artz · 3 months

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YEAHHH OC DESIGNS BABEY!!!!! OK SO LIKE THESE PPL ARE LIKE THE MAGIC COUNCIL AND ITS THEIR JOB TO GUIDE AND PROTECT THEIR PEOPLE YAYAY!!!!

(NOTE: I DID NOT MAKE KAZEMIS PATTERN I FOUND IT HERE)

Character lore and ramblings below!!

ARKENAS MY BELOVED!!! Hes Filipino because i said so JKSDHDS

Hes wearing a zoot suit which is a suit originated from african americans and would become popular with italians, filipinos, mexicans etc AND LIKE ITS PERFFECT FOR ARKENAS Because this type of suits were typically worn by performers due to how its easy to move around in AND HE himself is a performer as hes a very well known magician and illusionist!

Hes more of a sillay guy always looking to entertain people, but his magical performances got so good that people were struggling discerning what was real or not, enough that he was was given the title of master!

He always tries to befriend Magnus but always kinda fails at it JKHDHSD

Magnus!!! He wasnt always so serious and brooding, in fact, he was a slick playboy back in the days. But because of uhhh many plotlines and backstory that will take too long to explain hes always feels sad and empty despite not knowing why...😲

IMOGEN MY BELOVED!!! She comes from Ireland!!

Shes known for her experimental ways of doing Alchemy, for not sticking to rules and regulations and doing whatever she wants, and in that way she had become the embodiment of alchemy in a way it is all about risky experimentation and she goes through with it because she likes the thrill!!

Because of this she had done many contributions to the field of Alchemy, despite being deemed "unproffesional" by others

She also likes to do flirty teasing with Valentina because she thinks its cute how she reacts and crumbles HEHE

VALENTINA!!!!! ONE OF MY FAV DESIGNS IVE EVER MADE🥺 Im so happy with the way she looks!! She was initially gonna be the master of ALL the elements, but because her design turned out too look more Earthy and Firey, i only made her master of that!

She has like rich posh aristocracy vibes and owns various fashion businesses while also doing her duties as a magicia master! 🙏 SLAY

As for her design i really wanted to give of posh businesswoman whos also fashionable!

Lowkey has a crush on Imogen but is in denial <3 Valentina is also besties with Kazemi and they like to gossip all the drama over tea <3

KAZEMI MY WIFE MY EVERYTHING I LOVE YOUUUUU AUGH Shes also one of my fav designs along with Valentina!! Shes also from Japan >:]

Ive actually done quite abit of research on her name AND KAZEMI IS LITERALLLY THE MOST PERFECT NAME BECAUSE IT MEANS WATER OR WIND WHICH IS WHERE SHES MASTER AT...,, AND TOMIKAWA MEANS RICHES AND ALSO RIVER OR STREAM AND LIKE IT RELATES TO HER BECAUSE SHES WORKED SO HARD TO GET TO HER POSITION AS SHE ALWAYS KNEW SHE WAS DESTINED FOR PROSPERITY AND WEALTH RAAAA but if anyone like actually knows more abt japanese names and thinks that the name could be improved PLEASE DONT HESITATE TO DM 🙏

But yes due to how she more on the polite and demure side and her magic being water and wind, shes more underestimated and seen as more 'weak' than the others. But just how the seas can be gentle and also be a terrifying, great force, she can be too 🥺

Shes trying to court Samara btw 🥺 she relates to Samara in a way where their magic is underestimated due to how it looks "harmless", but both actually having the ability to do great harm if you know how to do it. Shes seen that Samara can do harm and damage if she wanted to, and she was like 'i want her" JKSDHJSHD

SAMARA!!! 🥺 Shes more of the precise, rational, proffesional type! Always wanting everything to be clean and pristine, thats why she mainly wears white. Shes also Arabic :D

Shes known as one of the greatest healers in the world, known for her quickness and precision, basically knows every body part and muscle and veins and how to heal it as well as how to damage it!! ^-^

As for her veil type i used a niqab! Well a half niqab specifically, as it doesnt cover the entire half of the body. Their design is influenced by Arabic fashion as well as like nurse doctor outfits in the 1900s :D

Figuring out her name was a bit tricky because im not familiar with Arabic names and i also didnt want to go to babynames.com for it because i know its a bit more complicated but i managed to get help from friends who are more qualified n knowledgable about arabic names😭 THANK YOU @lastcookieontheplate MY DEAR FRIEND

AND AND she doesnt want to admit it but she gets flustered and blushy whenever Kazemi does her courting attempts <3 HEEHEE

ANYWAYS THATS ALL OF EM!!!!! Say "BERRI IS SO PRETTY AND COOL" If youve reached this far!

#star chronicles art #BOOM #IM SO PROUD OF THESE RARARARARARA #I think i pushed myself out a bit of my usual design comforts!!#By like really using shapes as well as using patterns and textures #as well as how the shapes tell the personality of the character #By the way this is all set in around 1920s america!#you must be asking berri if this is set in murica why r they all not white-SHHH ITD BE BORING AS FUKKCCKK #And also lots of immigrants came around late 1800s onwards which included but not limited to people from ireland japan philippines etc #i also have done so much research in terms of 1920s clothing and styles for each of them #SObbing crying i mean research is fun and also a bit hectic BUT ALSO FUN #im not grammar checking tihs btw. its 3am

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honestsycrets · 11 months

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Neglection [Ivar x Healer!Reader, Past!Hvitserk x Reader]

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, past!hvitserk x reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | touched with eir's healing powers, it's your custom to care for the great heathen army. ivar doesn't appreciate the order you care for others in.

❛ tags | NSFW, non-graphic mention of ivar's wound, healer!reader, blind!reader, religious references, past!hvitserk x reader, heavily jealous!ivar, jealousy.

❛ sy’s notes | forgive the looseness of this piece, i'm attempting to complete random freewrites to get into producing more works.

Stubborn, that was how you would define Ivar. Even if he was one of the commanders of the Great Heathen Army, he was also as stubborn as a mule. Pain, he claimed, was one of his deepest allies. He was surrounded by it from birth.

“Ivar,” you trilled, coming into the great church where Ivar set up his base. “Ivar-- are you here?”

You tiptoed past sleeping comrades holding the bottom of your skirts, prancing over a viking’s sleeping body, egged on by the nagging urge to chase your injured commander. His rich scent filled your nostrils: blood and breaks, smoke and honey. His slight huffs of pain, slight as they were, led you to this room.

“Commander?”

“Hush,” came the snapping reply. “My brothers are sleeping.”

Your foot bumped against cold stone steps. “Where are you?”

“You’re close.”

The night was always a trying time for finding the right man. Ivar’s thick candle, flickering in the moonlight, casted little light by which you could guide yourself through the large room. You climbed over the heavy steps by sliding your feet slowly over the stone floor. Then, bumped into another body.

“Ivar?”

There was no answer. You bend at the knees and casted your fingers over the crumpled body on the floor. It wasn’t right-- no, his sides were too narrow. His hair in long braids. And when he moaned, your ears were full with a gruff but inviting voice. “Prince Hvitserk,” you mumbled.

“Yes, Prince Hvitserk,” Ivar chided. “You always loved Hvitserk.”

You left his side with the assumption that Ubbe would be sleeping close by. Wherever Hvitserk was, Ubbe was. You knew that. Bjorn wouldn’t be in this room-- he was keeping watch tonight. “I don’t choose who to heal first, Ivar. The goddesses do.”

“You can lie better than that.”

“Please don’t mock me, Ivar. I just want you to be safe--”

“Safe?” He hummed. “I’m not interested in being ‘safe’, my sweet.”

Sweet, you flushed. You hoped that the bright light wouldn’t illuminate your cheeks, flush with embarrassment. Then again, you would never know. “You’re blushing, hm, do you like that?”

“That’s enough. Just come to me.”

“Why should I? If memory is escaping you,” he bit out. His voice clear, filling your ears with dizzying certainty. He really was close. “I was shot in the thigh. Find me yourself.”

Seconds later, your knees collided with a great wooden chair. Then betrayed you. You fell forward and caught yourself by slamming your hand down on a firm, but fleshy surface “Gods!” he shouted.

“By Eir!” you snapped back, hands flailing to find the proper wooden surface. “My Ivar, I’m--”

“Sorry, yes, I know. Congratulations, you’ve found me. Now get on with it.”

“On-- on with it?”

“Did you not come here to heal it?” he asked. In the hazy field of your vision, you knew he was scrutinizing you. You ran your hand over your long skirt, smoothing it down. Whatever he was staring at, be it your thick braid over your shoulder or the dry blood caked over your hands from a long day of work, you weren’t sure. “Or are those magical hands only for Hvitserk?”

“Why do you insist on Hvitserk?”

His head, angled toward his brother, snapped to you. “Given how much time you spend with him--”

His body tensed. Your fingers ghosted the scratchy fabric of his pants, still splattered with blood, and you realized he too hadn’t washed down. You hovered over the wound, the place where his scent originated from.

“I do not.”

“You only serve him breakfast and dinner,” he spat to the side again, stiffening as you moved up to loosen his belt. His hand snapped to your wrist, grip crushing the bone. You lifted your head to him, coming close enough that you could make something out of the face you once knew.

“Don’t do that.”

“I need a clear working area. It isn’t as if I can see your…” you snaked your hand away from his grip to try and loosen his pants again. He snapped his head one way, then another, watching as you kneeled between his legs. He remained silent as you slid his pants down his thin legs to his ankles.

“You’ve seen Hvitserk’s,” he huffed under his breath.

“How many times do I need to tell you? I’ve not been with him. For years,” you searched through your bag for the right essentials. Yes, another healer had cleaned the area on your request-- but it wasn’t done to your liking. The cloth was loose, the area unpurified. “I don’t even remember what he felt like.” You mumbled.

Ivar’s lips parted with a slight smack. He was wordless for an instant, his head shifting to face his brother. “He was that… immemorable?”

The air was thick. He, curious. You, exhausted. Ivar’s large arms turned one over another. He twitched his thick muscular thighs as if to urge a response from you. Your hand came over his firm muscles to keep him in place.

“We were so young. Ubbe was training him,” you said, cleaning the area with a soaked cloth. When you bumped into him, the wound oozed. Your lips pursed and you would blow soft air over his thigh which caused his muscles to tighten. “Besides, I don’t remember much from before Eir took my sight, Ivar. Only the small memories we shared.”

“But not the dick,” he laughed. Your fingertips swatted the side of his thigh.

In your mortar, you mixed a mixture of herbs that he only recognized from his mother’s witchery cabinet to soothe his aches. Your lips moved in the strangest of prayers, sanctifying the blend to aid in his healing and pain. Then you slathered it on his thigh, tingles ripping through his thigh to his spine. He wasn’t sure if the mixture or your lips healed the soreness, sweeping over his thigh with a soft kiss. He trembled.

“You have nothing to be anxious about.”

“Hm?”

You lifted his thigh, drawing the bandage in sturdy loops around his thigh. Then, securing it in place, removed his musty pants and boots. It took a moment to locate his other pants. Ivar took them and drew them on, clicking his tongue against the roof of his tongue to urge you on. “I don’t want to be his.”

“Then whose?”

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you were aware of what he was about to say. Though you couldn’t see, you could feel. Feel the intensity of Ivar’s presence, his eyes following you around camp, his endless neediness. His hand shot out and snatched the cords of your dress. You knew you shouldn’t have worn his dress to deal with Ivar. There was no way to unpeel his strong grip from your cords by will alone.

“Be mine.”

There were certain things that you knew the gods wanted. Healing of their finest warriors, the mitigation of pain, and hard workers. Your eyes, glazed as they were, served only to be a liability. To a man like Ivar-- your hands connected with his naked shoulders. His muscles enticed you-- far-- far too well. It had been years since you last had a man. Perhaps, in part, due to Ivar’s consistent scowls and glares.

“I can’t, I-- I swore to Eir,” you murmured. Though the words came of your lips, they did not convince you. You traveled his sturdy shoulders to his neck, then his jaw-- peppered with stubble. God, he knew what the sensation did to you with waves of excitement dancing over your skin. You weren’t convincing anyone.

“What does she care? Does she demand some silly Christian oath?”

“No, but I--” He grasped your backside, pulling up the skirts over your knees. Then, jerked you onto the throne with legs on either side of his own. His voice softened into a soft honey-like hum, rivaling the soft slick that gathered between your legs. “Let me convince you otherwise, hm?”

“Hvitserk is here.”

“Forget him.” Ivar coursed his hand underneath your skirts. It was frustrating how often he could not listen. You could tell Ivar that the sky was blue and he’d debate you! With his calloused fingers guiding there way to the junction of your legs and pelvis, you knew there was nothing that you could tell him. No, nothing that you wanted to tell him, that would change this. Even with your complaining, you longed for the attention. It had been years.

Ivar inhaled air as he brushed your vulva, dancing his thumb across your neglected lips. He slid between the slit, parting your lips with ginger care. It was nearly embarrassing how easy it was for Ivar, running the pad of his thumb up and down. “See? You want me.”

You wracked your mind for the last time this had happened. The last time a man had his eye on you-- oh, but you remembered, the night you lost your vision. Hvitserk-- whose kind heart soothed your grief-- warmed your body to comfort you. As you traced the memory, the ache of his absence panged strangely in your heart. Oh, how easy a man’s heart was to sway.

“Focus on me,” Ivar sank his fingers into your warm cunt. Your hips shifted in response, flush against his chest, breasts in his face. Your body tensed around his fingers to keep him in place. Ivar wasn’t the sort of man to be held back. Not by a pathetic cry, no. He was guided by the things he was passionate about. “Good--”

“Please, Ivar, I’ve not--” he curled his fingers, massaging your walls as you hadn’t in years. It was warm, wonderful. His other hand came to your front, massaging a soft spot that only one other had. He rolled in the softest of rhythms, circling purposefully slow. Then quick. The pleasure bloomed-- the ugliest of flowers that you told yourself you wouldn’t have again. That you would devote yourself to Eir, swear off all thoughts of lust and love. All at once, Ivar stopped. He drew his fingers back from massaging your soaked walls and flicked your clit with a soft laugh.

“So?”

“No,” you lowered your hips, yipping as you settled against the bulge between Ivar’s legs. “I should-- I should go.”

“Then go.”

You didn’t move. No, your hands were knit to Ivar’s shoulders like thread and cloth.

"That is what I thought." You felt frozen in place even as he pulled himself free of his pants and fondled his shaft. The tip of his cock eased along your lips: forward, backward, and forward again.

“If you stay,” Ivar breathed, slapping his cock against your mound. His breath was warm against your chest, urging you to slide your chest against his. Oh, you knew you were doomed. The memory of sex was all too enticing. Your body clenched, aching at the memory of how it felt. “I won’t let you go.”

And though he said that, you reached between your legs and lined the warm head of his cock with your aching hole. He snapped your hips down an instant later, his wide grin widening with every bit of his cock that filled your core. Your fingers cringed on his shoulders as he seated himself comfortably in your cunt. Your lips parted, shaking loose noises that you knew would wake up his brothers.

“Hush,” he leaned in, rocking his hips despite the pain wracking up his thigh. Your hips shifted, rolling down along his cock alone. He didn’t even have to move, no, you were too happy to do this on your own. His thumb found your nub again, spazzing along the little button as you rode him. You missed how it felt: how his warm words filled your soul with bliss, and his dick filled the places you didn’t know needed to be filled. It was what Ivar did-- with his voice, as desirable and silky as honey.

It ruptured a hole straight through you. Blossoming low in your belly, the pleasure ripped through your cunt. Your body clamped on his, working his orgasm free. He seized your chin, aiming it toward him. And though your unseeing eyes could only see the shadows of his face, your mind was scarred by the memory of his haughty eyes and the bob and weave of his head. You didn't need to see to know what he was about to say next. “You’re mine.”

You were wrong for this. But it was too late to take it back.

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings imagine #viking imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader

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talonabraxas · 1 month

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“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Aura colours and their meaning.

The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day. It can be affected by external factors as well as the general disposition and character of the individual.

There are no hard and fast rules as to what these visual variances ‘mean’, as, with all psychic practices, it depends on the intuition and knowledge of the reader. But there are certainly common themes. For instance, those who practice yoga tend to have a ‘still’ aura or people with serious illness have a fainter aura than someone vital. Moreover, auras tend to have a ‘texture’ to them. They may be sparkly, treacly, in lines, waves or arcs.

Below, I have given a rough guide to how you might interpret auric colours only, but it is no mean a fixed manual:

The Aura Colors Meaning Chart:

Red ~ Pertains to circulation, the heart and the physical body. In its higher aspect, it is an indicator of a healthy ego, stability and being strong-willed. In its lowest aspect, red energy can give way to anger, unforgiving, anxiety or nervousness.

Orange ~ points to the reproductive organs and feelings. It is the colour of vigour, vitality and enthusiasm. In its higher aspect, orange energy shows creativity, confidence and gregariousness. In its lowest aspect, it can give way to stress and addictions.

Yellow ~ represents life energy – qi or prana. The colour of optimism, awakening, inspiration and intelligence. It has no lower aspects.

Green ~ connects to the heart centre and lungs. It is the comfortable and healthy colour of nature, representing growth, balance, healing, and depicting a love for all sentient beings and Mother Earth.

Blue ~ Pertains to the throat and the thyroid and is therefore indicative of communicators. Writers, public speakers and linguists will often have a lot of blue in their auric field. It is also a cool, calm and collected energy.

Indigo ~ Pertains to the third eye and therefore is a colour of deep feelings, intuition and sensitivity.

Violet/Lavender ~ Relating to the crown, pineal gland and the nervous systems. It is the most sensitive colour in the aura. People with a lot of violet in their auras are usually highly artistic, psychic, intuitive, visionary and magical.

“The aura is an extension of a person’s personality and emotional, mental and physical landscape, so it will change from day to day.”

Other Aura Colours:

Turquoise ~ is associated with the immune system and usually found in the auras of healers and therapists. It is a sensitive, compassionate colour.

Silver ~ pertains to spiritual and physical abundance. A lot of bright silver in an aura may indicate a spiritual awakening or financial gain.

Gold ~ typical of divine protection and enlightenment. This colour points towards strong spiritual and universal guidance, intuition, wisdom and inner peace.

Black ~ points towards pulling, capturing and transforming energy. It can indicate unreleased anger, grief or health problems. It also shows an unforgiving nature (to themselves and others) and possible past-life issues that remain unresolved.

White ~ linked to protection and deflecting other energies. Flashes of white within the auric field often signal that angels are nearby. As with most associations with white, it symbolizes purity, truth and a healthy individual.

Earth Tones/Brown ~ Colours of soil, wood, minerals and plants highlights very grounded energy and someone who works with the earth, such as a gardener or farmer. However, a more brownish hue can point to greediness, self-absorption or ignorance in its lowest aspect.

Rainbow ~ auras with stripes of colour emanating as beams of light from the hands, heart, or head indicate someone who is a healer.

Solar Aura Peter Solarz

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clangenrising · 13 days

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Month 15 - Newleaf

“You’re sure about this?” asked Branchbark.

“Yep.”

Goldenstar nodded and tried to convince herself that she was entirely certain. Over the last week, she had met with the other leaders to organize a plan for the upcoming battle. They’d found a good spot in EarthClan’s territory for the meeting to occur. They’d plotted out hiding spots for all of their warriors and planned to accommodate whichever way the wind was blowing. Finally, the only thing left to do was to extend an invitation to Razor.

It had been a difficult decision as to who she would bring with her. Obviously, she had to go personally. She had nine lives. If anyone was going to put themself in danger, it was going to be her. But going alone was ill advised. Sagetooth had returned from the most recent healers’ meeting with the guidance that she needed to take two cats with her if she wanted to succeed. She had been struggling to think of who it would be for a while now.

Scorch and Aldertail were immediately disqualified from going back to the city. Bringing a healer wasn’t a good idea either given their lack of combat experience and she wasn’t willing to bring any of the apprentices either. Russetfrond was out too. If she disappeared the Clan needed a clear leader. So that had left her with Yarrowshade, Pantherhaze, Ospreymask, and Branchbark. Eventually, she had eliminated Ospreymask since the battle of the snowstorm had put a target on her back and she had decided against Pantherhaze to make sure Slatepaw didn’t lose another cat close to her.

She still wasn’t sure this was the right move. She wished that StarClan had been clearer about their instructions. She wished Scorchplume could come with her and give her advice. Still, this wasn’t the time to be indecisive. She straightened her posture and focused on the cats who were going to accompany her.

“I need to bring two cats and it’s got to be you two,” she said.

“Alright,” Branchbark said, sounding unconvinced but willing to take her choice on faith.

“Thanks, Goldie,” Yarrowshade said. “It means a lot.”

“Now remember what we discussed,” said Scorchplume, perched nearby. “Don’t show weakness but don’t be aggressive. Never let them corner you. When all else fails, fall back on superstition as your excuse.”

“I know,” Goldenstar said with a smile. “I’ll be careful and come right back.”

“You’d better,” Scorch snapped. “If you don't, I'm leaving Fogpaw without a mentor.” Goldenstar heard the worry under her playful threat and leaned in to rub her cheek against Scorch’s.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “This will be over before you know it.”

After a beat of hesitation, Scorch returned the gesture, purring softly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Goldenstar frowned ever so slightly but Scorch didn’t elaborate. Sighing, she turned her mind to business. The small group said their goodbyes and the Clan wished them good luck and they set off towards the city. They traveled mostly in silence which left Goldenstar with way too much time to think about how things could go wrong.

What if they arrived and the city cats just didn’t let her leave? What if they were attacked on sight? What if Razor didn’t agree to a meeting? Scorch had of course guided her on how to avoid most of those problems. They weren’t going too close, staying where they could easily make a break for the territories. They were going to approach slowly and with friendly posture to avoid any unnecessary hostility. She was going to stress that she wanted to meet with Razor one on one to try and find peace. Things were planned out. So why was she so worried?

They crossed the thunderpath as the sun neared its peak in the sky, the acrid stone blistering hot under their paws, and continued until a twoleg nest drew close in the field. Following Scorchplume’s instructions, they gave the nest a wide berth and settled into a path on the other side of a long thunderpath made of gravel. They padded along it until they started to smell cats on the wind.

“Getting close,” Yarrowshade mumbled, mouth open to the scent.

“Alright,” Goldenstar nodded, confirming the smell for herself. “Remember, I’ll do the talking, just stand behind me and look strong but not aggressive, alright?”

“Easier said than done,” Branchbark swallowed.

“It’ll be alright,” Goldenstar said. “StarClan is with us.” She hoped they were, at least.

After a bit more walking, they spotted a pair of cats strolling towards them on the other side of the thunderpath. Goldenstar raised her tail and started across after quickly checking to make sure there weren’t any monsters bearing down on them. The pair of cats stopped in their tracks and started whispering to each other while watching the Clan cats approach.

“Hello there!” Goldenstar called in a way she hoped was regal. “I am Goldenstar, leader of the wild Clans. I’m looking to speak with a member of the Exalted.” She stopped a fox length away from them, Yarrowshade and Branchbark close behind her. She had to force herself not to look back at them to make sure they were sufficiently imposing.

The cats before her were a pair of toms, both of them wearing collars with little charms on them. One was a ginger tabby with green eyes and a dark scowl on his face. He almost reminded her of Russetfrond except for the genuine malice in his eyes. The other was a brown tabby with a mask around his green-yellow eyes and a slim face. If Goldenstar didn’t know better, she would have thought he had been born a she-cat.

The ginger tabby said, “Well, you’ve found some.” Yarrowshade bristled next to her.

The brown tabby cleared his throat and said, “Forgive my companion’s rudeness. It is an honor to speak with the illustrious Goldenstar face to face. How can we help you?”

“I’ve come to deliver a message for Razor,” Goldenstar said.

“Is that so?” the ginger tom shifted his posture by way of a threat. He opened his mouth to drink in their scents, looking down his muzzle at them.

“Yes,” Goldenstar said, holding firm despite the nervous wriggling of her stomach. “I wish to discuss peace with him. In four days, at dawn, I will meet him in our woods in a place that is sacred to our people so that we can negotiate with the full support of our ancestors. He may bring a second but otherwise come alone. I will do the same.” The ginger tabby was glaring at her with eyes shrunken to slits. The brown tabby was barely restraining the look of elation on his face.

“What a gracious invitation,” he purred. “I will go and convey the message to Razor at once. Uh, when the time comes, how will he know the spot to meet you?”

“Cross the thunderpath where the pine tree's roots disturb the stones and head straight north from there,” she said, just like they had decided. “I’ll have my second wait on the edge of the forest to escort him.”

“The thunderpath,” the little tom mused. “That’s the big stone path dividing our two lands, yes?”

“Correct,” Goldenstar smiled. “I believe you call it a road?”

“We do indeed,” said the tom. “I will tell Razor at once. He will be most eager to meet you in four days time.”

“Good,” purred Goldenstar, letting out a sigh of relief. “I look forward to it.” With that, she turned around and walked back across the gravel pathway, trying to convey confidence with every stride. She resisted the urge to look back but it seemed the others were not so strong.

“They’re heading back to the city,” said Branchbark.

“Good,” Goldenstar said again. “I think they took the bait.”

“I don’t like that tom,” Yarrowshade growled. “Something about him just… isn’t right.” Goldenstar twitched one ear in agreement.

“Do you think StarClan told us to bring three cats so they would be outnumbered?” Branchbark asked aloud. “Would they have attacked us if there were only two?”

Goldenstar looked over at him in surprise. “Maybe? I hadn’t even thought about that.” They had been so polite. It was baffling to think that one cat had made the difference.

“I wouldn’t put it past them,” Yarrowshade growled darkly. “Foxhearts, the lot of them.”

Goldenstar shook her fur to dislodge the creeping unease settling into it. “Well, thank StarClan that’s done. Now we just have to win the battle.”

“We will,” Branchbark said with surety. Goldenstar smiled and wished desperately that she had that unshakeable faith within her.

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warriors #warrior cats oc #warriors oc #clangen oc #clan gen oc #clangenrising #Goldenstar #Yarrowshade #Scorchplume #Branchbark #Sardine #Tiger #Newleaf

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astrolovecosmos · 9 months

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Virgo is refinement, purity, judgment, discernment, criticism, perfectionism, efficiency, hard work, usefulness, needed, helpful, supportive, prude/promiscuous, corruption, sickness, health, a healer, a sage, studious, skillful, crafty, clever, student, teacher, editor, writer, patient, disciplined, flexible, particular, fussy, nervous energy or high strung, detail-oriented, has a great memory, is observant, routine, mundane, intellectual, logical, analytical, earthy, humble, grateful, underrated, associated with fields, farms, gardens, harvest, prey animals, farm animals, busy bees or ants, is reliable, shy, reserved, cautious, thoughtful, fastidious, blunt or honest, harsh, associated with "common sense", is realistic, may have practical creativity, may become the master of a skill, the expert, guide, the paradigm.

#virgo #zodiac #astrology #virgo season

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tennessoui · 1 year

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au where jedi healers take a vow not unlike jedi temple guards, but instead of wearing a mask and becoming anonymous, they give up their sight and wear blindfolds to allow the Force to guide their every action. it’s also supposed to blind them to their patients’ differences, which used to be symbolic but since the war between the jedi and the sith broke out, has become much less so

because jedi healers are supposed to heal regardless of if their patient is a jedi or a sith, when they’re deployed on battlefields after the fighting is over, they use the Force to heal every injured person they come upon.

anakin skywalker, who was chosen from the creche and agreed to follow the Healing path at the age of 9, thinks it’s sort of stupid that they have to wait until after the fighting is over to begin to help because he can feel people dying in the Force, he can feel their pain--

young general kenobi, who remembers his old creche-mate anakin skywalker and how blue his eyes once were, thinks it’s beyond foolhardy that this healer is stealing out across an active battlefield, blindfold over his eyes and bending down to heal karking darth maul and single-handedly diverting all of obi-wan’s attention away from the droids and sith legion because now he has to make sure he’s ok he can’t just leave him to the whims of the Force, he’s unprotected and he’s going to get himself killed----

it’s a headache and a half for everyone involved because general kenobi keeps abandoning his battle strategy and sometimes even position to ensure healer skywalker’s safety and healer skywalker keeps dropping everything and everyone the moment he feels obi-wan kenobi get hurt in the Force to rush to his side, Force Vow of Healing Equality be damned.

but......the Council keeps deploying them to the same battlefield because healer skywalker is never more effective as when he knows he must heal fifty mortal wounds before he can rid general kenobi of a headache, and general kenobi is never as ruthless as when skywalker is on the field close to him, in potential harm’s way

despite how much they insist they hate each other

#kit's silly lil aus #obikin #healer anakin au #writing this out i thought of like five thousand scenes i'd want for this #a scene where obi-wan is pissed at anakin because he keeps fucking fixing one of the sith #so he's not letting anakin heal him and refusing to see one of the clone medics #so they're in his tent and he's just holding a compress to his head wound and bitching at anakin who is bitching back at him #and obi-wan is like 'at least you don't heal DROIDS' very scathing #and anakin goes quiet and is like 'i used to want to be an engineer did you know that?'#and obi-wan is like 'force when we were kids i knew everything about you. crush the size of a senator's ego'#oh and another scene where a sith (lbr maul) attacks anakin and obi-wan gets in the way #and takes the blade for him and anakin kills him rather violently #because i dont like healer anakin aus that take the violence and teeth out of anakin skywalker #so he snaps and breaks his vows to kill maul and eliminate the threat so he can heal obi-wan #and probably the council had encouraged him to become a healer because they could see his capacity for violence and fear and hate #but they couldn't see his attachment to obi-wan #but then not even obi-wan could see that #and a scene after that where obi-wan wakes up in his tent and the first thing he sees is anakin's blue eyes #because anakin broke all his vows to protect and obi-wan and killed many many people to keep them away (in a very feral way)#so what's one more #and obi-wan's first thought is that he missed those eyes #everything else and their consequences can wait #oh also mostly in it for the blindfold sex before this #absolutely here for the blindfold sex #same age aus also my beloved

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girls-alias · 3 months

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Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester P9

Title: Have A Little Faith - Dean Winchester Part 9

Words: 998

Relations: Dean Winchester X Reader

TW: SPOILERS S1E12

Taglist: @deans-baby-momma, @qinnroki, @moldyorangees, @creative-writing92, @lokischickadee, @take-it-on-the-run, @daisy-the-quake, @ilikw, @selfdestructionandrhum

Part 8

We pulled up to a tent in the middle of a muddy field. Dean instantly groaned in annoyance. I smirked to stop myself from laughing. Sam climbed out of the car and rushed to Dean's side to help. Sam helped him out of the car as I climbed out the other side.

"I've got it," Dean protested not wanting his help. Dean thought this was as ridiculous as I did. I walked around to be with Dean, he smiled at me weakly but rolled his eyes at Sam. "Man, you're a lying bastard. I thought you said we were going to see a doctor." Dean groaned as he slammed the car door.

"I believe I said a 'specialist'. Look, Dean, this guy is supposed to be the real deal," Sam argued but Dean sighed wrapping his arm over my shoulder and letting me help him walk.

"Man, I can't believe you brought me to see some guy who heals people out of a tent," Dean groaned as he walked, most of his weight resting on my shoulders.

"Reverend le Grange is a great man." Some old woman commented as she walked past. I raised an eyebrow stopping myself from laughing.

"Yeah, that's nice," Dean's tone showed how enlightening her comment was. I chuckle, earning a smile from Dean. Sam watched as someone argued with a police officer. "What do you say we leave Sam here," Dean whispered in my ear making me giggle as I shook my head continuing to lead him to the tent.

"Look, when people see something they can't explain, there's controversy," Sam commented not noticing that Dean and I were talking about something else.

"Yeah but come on, Sam. A faith healer?" Dean questioned.

"Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean," Sam commented but Dean scoffed. Dean seemed to think for a second before he spoke.

"You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's going on." Dean seemed to burst so I stopped to look at him. He seemed surprised that I stopped so pulled away to look at me confused.

"If you know evil is out there how can't you believe good's out there too?" Sam asked but Dean's eyes were on me. Searching my face to find the answer as to why I stopped.

"You asked to keep me if you survived," I reminded and he placed a hand on my cheek, clearly noticing my eyes filling at the thought of Dean not even willing to try anything to be cured. He stepped towards me. "I just thought you'd be willing to fight. We've all seen what evil does to good people from hunting and we're always the ones fighting to save them. We're the good in the world, we save them when no God does but to save you we need help, Sam and I are fighting for you like he always does on hunts but this time praying to some idea of hope is better than doing nothing at all," I ranted and Dean smiled as he sighed. He licked his lips and nodded. I smiled, searching his face.

"I'd like to kiss you right now," He commented staring at me deeply, his eyes searching for the tiniest bit of evidence that I didn't want him to. I glanced at Sam seeing him smiling and turning to look the other way. I grinned before grabbing the back of Dean's neck and guiding myself to him. He smiled as he leaned down to kiss me. It was slow but full of meaning. I pulled away to smile up at him, and he seemed to just smile at me for a moment, it was plain to see that he was happy.

"Aw, what a beautiful newlywed couple," An old woman commented as she passed us. I rolled my eyes, God I hate religion buffs. Dean chuckled as he watched me.

"Let's just get this over with so we can leave," I sighed making Dean chuckle as he put his arm over my shoulder again we were about to walk in when a woman stepped in front of us.

"God works in mysterious ways," The skinny blonde with a fake smile beamed at Dean. Is this bitch blind? Is that why she's here she clearly mustn't see me standing here.

"Maybe he does," I replied mocking her voice slightly. She didn't even look at me she just kept smiling at Dean. My Dean! My focus was on the woman but I could see Sam trying not to laugh. "You've convinced him, maybe you should move out the way so we can get in and you can put your umbrella away," I don't why I was saying it, she just looked stupid. The high-maintenance type cries if her hair gets wet.

"I'm Dean, this is Sam-" Dean started introducing and I questioned if he even remembered I was there. This boy is trying to be killed. "And this is my beautiful girlfriend, Y/N," He finished and I smiled to myself realising I was so annoyed at this bitch flirting with Dean in front of me that I thought too soon.

"I'm Layla," She added shaking Dean's hand and no one else's. I ran my tongue across my teeth. I will hit her, I will make out with Dean right now to mark my territory. Maybe Dean's too attractive. She went to speak so I coughed loudly and walked through Dean and Layla's eye contact as I marched into the tent. Dumb blonde thinking she can have Dean if she makes googly eyes at him. I took a seat saving space for Sam and Dean but right now I didn't care if someone took the seats.

Dean's too attractive! I rolled my eyes as I crossed my arms. I sunk into my chair huffing and puffing as I waited for the service to start. Who am I kidding? Dean is too hot. Everyone is going to fall in love with him.

Masterlist

Working On

Taglist

Part 10

#fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfic #spn

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ravewing · 4 months

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Could you talk about your infection au? I'm invested in it and I've been thinking about it all day

YES HULLO !! i dont want to spoil anything too much and im also working on a field guide sort of thing for the different stages of infection so im gonna try not to talk about those rite neow BUT im so glad that people r enjoying it! so id been seeing these scary mlp infection things ALLL over my tik tok feed for weeks and i was like .. yanno .. itd be really silly if i made this wof .. so i spent like 3 days mulling over what i could make the infection actually BE and i almost made it like the icewing plague but like it went scary but i didnt really know how to keep going with that so then i came up with a super smart idea which turned into this😋i dont wanna say where it started yet cuz ermm lore stuff but i will say that liek in the story the infection doesnt officially have a name yet so everyones just calling it like. the sickness at jade mountain. most of the infected originated IN jade mountain with the first symptoms being noticed in moon and turtle respectively, and then with the icewing students. i cant tell you guys how they got sick bc again . lore ..... but i think that its like kinda possible to find out. but i dunno. vulture and fierceteeth are also sick. there is ONE singular factor that unites these 4 + icewings, which miight b the reason WHY they got sick.kinkajou technically SHOULD be sick but she isnt for another reason that i cant say but if you really look into wof lore then i think u can figure it out idk. the infections transmitted via saliva/blood transmission, so mainly bites. tail barbs of infected sandwings are capable of spreading the sickness. there are 4 stages (5 if you count death) and it takes around 3 to 3.5 weeks for all stages to finish,, by ep3 the sickness has been around for ~2.5 weeks. the only KNOWN cure is amputation of wherever the infected area is,, so MUCH easier in early stages, unfortunate if its on an inconvenient spot, and impossible after hives start spreading. obvi flame had to be important bc i heart flame and i was like .. wait .. hes a healer in canon ...... so that worked out perfectly !! ik that in canon liana is like one of glorys MANY bodyguards but idc shes a healer here bc ermm i said so . also liana and mango r dating but i dont think that its relevant to the plot theyre just girlfriends in my head . as of right now kinkajou and peril are the only known immune dragons, with kinkajou for reasons currently unknown and peril bc . yknow . shes on fire . glory is in close contact with ruby and both kingdoms have taken measures to notify their kingdoms; the rainforest is under a sort of lockdown with rainwings on constant patrol/lookout for outsiders entering, they accept anyone who isnt infected to stay there for refuge while the skywing kingdom is in basically total lockdown other than ruby's messengers. ruby and glory also exchange their respective kingdoms medical knowledge, with the skywings having very good technology and rainwings having an expansive knowledge on medical herbs. nobody has heard from coral- the last thing she did was call for anemone's return back to the kingdom, and once she arrived, they all went underwater and have since then cut all outside contact. the mudwings are aware of the sickness but have so far done nothing about it; moorhen has warned her subjects but thats really it. i havent really decided what the sandwings or the icewings are up to but let me tell you guys its looking really rough for the icewings . so far it looks as though royal icewings are more resilient- tundras currently sick, but the sickness seems to be progressing much slower. this was initially believed to be because of the cold, but then other icewings started getting sick, and so its believed to just be a royal thing- likely something in their genetics. icicle is also sick but shes in stage 4 .. pray for my girl guys. lynx is helping snowfall out the best she can, but with the population getting increasingly sick seemingly spontaneously, its extremely difficult and stressful. the talons have quarantined sanctuary too. ok im outta characters but ya ty 4 the support!!

#wof #wings of fire #wof au #infection au #infection #fragariapathosis #yap session #idk if any of this makes sense its 2am and i did NOT proofread #fragariapathosis explained

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oathkeeper-of-tarth · 1 month

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Isobel, Before

On something of a whim I decided to compile, in chronological order, the flashback segments from Isobel's POV that are woven throughout Moon-chosen, Moon-guided. I was curious how they'd read, and it turns out I quite like how they do - so here they are posted as a standalone little prequelish thing, a series of windows into a developing relationship and some family drama. This includes the segment I wrote for the upcoming third chapter, so consider it a sneak peek of an update that will take me a little while longer because it decided to develop a plot or some such nonsense, you know how it is. The years are my own very rough guesses, trying to somehow work around the Spellplague while keeping it all approximately a century before the main plot of the game, so don't take them too seriously.

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters: Dame Aylin/Isobel Thorm, Ketheric Thorm Length: ~8000 words Rating: M, for canon-typical violence (including temporary character death) and sexual content

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1381 DR

It is an unusually warm and bright summer day for Reithwin, the relentless sun urging you to rush your errands around town and make your way home to the merciful shade. And it is upon your return there that you find the glorious Dame Aylin laying waste to an army of training dummies in the otherwise empty practice field beneath Moonrise Towers.

You steal a moment to watch and appreciate the spectacle that is her entire being in perfectly orchestrated motion, uncharacteristically free of her ever-polished armour, sleeves rolled up - a vision of ferocity, even if it is against such laughably unworthy foes.

It calls to your mind, amusingly, the poor announcer in your father's audience chamber a little over a month ago, so very unusually formal and far too visibly nervous, struggling to rattle off one too many titles.

The Valiant Dame Aylin Silverblood, Undefeated Sword of the Moonmaiden, Paladin and Daughter of Selûne. Arriving as formal Emissary of Our Lady of Silver, speaking in Her name.

She turns when she hears you clearing your throat to announce your presence, an indulgent while after your arrival. Ever so slightly out of breath, with a subtle sheen of sweat on her radiant brow, she inclines her head with respect. "Ah! Lady Isobel. I was just thinking of sending to fetch you. A request, if you please."

"Of course, Dame Aylin." Anything for the resplendent emissary, you want to add, only half-teasingly. It is frustratingly difficult not to act a smitten fool around her, and sarcasm has proved a feeble defence from her charms.

Her request, however, is nowhere near anything you might have anticipated.

"I would have you meet me in the sparring ring, if you are willing."

You blink. "I-- pardon?"

"You are no mere lord's daughter, nor are you simply the demure local healer. I can tell by your bearing you have training. Not the typical mace of the clergy, no," she hums, as if in thought, looking you up and down quite brazenly, appraisingly. "The rapier, perhaps, along with a dagger for the offhand? No, rather, the quarterstaff--"

"The spear," you cut her off. And the lofty, approving tilt of her chin is so fetching as to be insufferable. "I can protect myself, you're right. My father is an accomplished general, after all," and stiflingly overprotective to boot, but that part you bite back and keep to yourself. "It is only fitting. Besides, any devotee of Our Lady knows how important it is to be able to fend for oneself."

"Show me, then, general's daughter," she gestures to the packed-dirt training ring with a grin. "I grow quite bored of this straw-filled wicker regiment I have been pitted against."

She's got a good head and a half of height on you. Her reach outclasses yours quite overwhelmingly. She is visibly broad and strong and unshakeable as a mighty fortress. And though you do indeed have training, the martial arts were hardly your main focus - very much unlike her.

A challenge, truly, but one you cannot help but suddenly crave.

"Fine, then, I accept." A giddiness washes over you as you speak, and your head feels oddly light. The heat and humidity of the day, surely. Treading dangerous ground, Isobel.

Aylin immediately goes over to the training weapon racks to put away the blunt sword she has been using, and you follow her.

"I have trained in arms of all sorts, but I find I most favour the greatsword," she muses as she rummages, retrieving two wooden staves with padded ends, testing their weight. "The spear I must confess I have neglected somewhat, in recent times."

You smirk as she hands you a staff that has evidently passed inspection. "There is no need for excuses, Dame Aylin. When I trounce you, I assure you it will have been fair and square and well deserved."

You expect the hearty bellow of her laugh, some lively banter in return, an exclamation, Ho! Instead, she inclines her head in a respectful gesture, and does so with a surprisingly soft smile and oddly inscrutable gaze in your direction. "I would expect no less of you, my lady."

You look away hastily, wipe the sweat from your hands and put on the leather gloves from your belt. The day has been far too hot for them and the afternoon sun is still beating down fiercely, but you are not about to embarrass yourself and risk losing on the technicality of a splinter.

Then, you face each other.

Her stance and the way she holds the wooden training weapon speak of years, decades… centuries of experience, perhaps. It is hard to truly imagine, and you find you do not really know. Immortal, yes, but… well, since when? Does she have a universe of deeds and escapades on you, a hundred lives lived to the fullest, or merely the knowledge that they lie ahead of her?

When could it possibly be polite to ask such a thing?

You shake away the distraction of your thoughts, just in time to block a quick, testing blow aimed at your own weapon. A tease, really, hoping for a reaction you know well enough not to provide.

She continues with the probing attacks, none of them with any real force behind them, and you think how under normal circumstances it might be a good strategy to let your opponent waste her strength and tire herself out like this - but you know better. You have discreetly observed enough of her training sessions to know that if she is anything at all she is tireless.

But she is leaving it up to you to attempt anything other than these light provocations. So you do - you would hate to disappoint, after all.

You strike out high at her head, once, twice, then at her front leg, swift as a viper, and when she moves her weapon down to parry, you jab at her shoulder and step back in time to avoid the afterblow.

"Oh-ho! An excellent feint, perfectly executed!" The joy that lights her face even as she rolls the struck shoulder is so infectious, you can't help but laugh breathlessly, warmed by this small triumph. "I was indeed correct in my assumption - the most noble Lady Isobel is not to be underestimated. Her skills and merit extend far beyond even the lofty requirements of her duties - be they of the court or of the faith."

The next strike you attempt, flushed with both the heat of the day and the effusive praise, is met with far more resistance, and soon you are exchanging blows with vigour. She repays your shoulder blow with a tap to your hip, then tries to strike the staff from your hands in a disarm you just barely avoid with a well-timed tilt.

Your next attempt at a feint is parried at the very last moment, but you do not retreat, and so you end in a bind. She is much stronger than you, yes, but your angle is superior, and you can see her straining to stay in position, close to that ever-important centreline, and keep her balance. A bead of sweat trails down her neck to her collarbone, and it takes you a moment to realise you are following it, rapt. It takes you another moment to register she is staring at you just as raptly, even as you feel your hair sticking to your temples and realise the paint around your eyes is likely a smudged mess.

Distraction. An opening if you've ever seen one.

"Do you know, when I heard an emissary of Selûne was coming to our town, I did not expect her to have a bard's silver tongue on her." Instead of moving to disengage and putting distance between you, you draw even closer to her, until your mouth is almost at her ear. "In more ways than one, perhaps?"

Her eyes are wide and her cheeks are flushed silver, shining. It is the oddest and most captivating blush you have ever seen, made only more so by the closeness of your study.

And of course, the moment of distraction proves sufficient for that slight shift you needed. The great oak topples with so little effort - leverage, always, the key. Her reaction is faster than you anticipated, however, and so with the force of her riposte you go down right after her. Foolish of you, really - the thought has time to rush through your mind as your sense of balance disappears - to underestimate an accomplished paladin so.

In any case, within moments, Aylin is on the ground, and you land atop her. You have enough presence of mind, somehow, despite the proximity and the warmth and the, well-- to reach for where your weapon started to roll away and press the end of it lightly against her neck. "Yield?"

She raises her hands, palms up in surrender, and nods, struck speechless for once.

You scramble rather gracelessly to your feet in all your triumph, and offer her a hand up. She accepts, then somewhat disappointingly lets go to dust herself off before you've had a chance to fully appreciate the feel of her hand in yours.

"Well!" Aylin turns the bright glint of her full attention on you, charmingly tousled still. "I see no point in struggling to prolong a losing battle. A challenge, skillfully won." She steps closer to you and inclines her head in a slight bow. "Besides, I can tell my yielding on the field of battle pleases you, and I am not one to deny a lady her pleasure."

All of it spoken with a smile, and a shockingly honest, unmasked, open, and entirely unabashed look in her eyes. Damn her.

You do your best, feebly, to catch your breath and return to something resembling calm propriety. And you fail to squash a niggling doubt. "Thank you for the bout, Dame Aylin. But… honestly now, were you holding back?"

"Only as much as is appropriate for the training ring, of course. One is never to exert one's full might in these circumstances, as you well know." She shakes her head, a small frown furrowing her brow, and you can't help but feel this is a recitation she has been made to repeat until it stuck, something she had to deliberately become aware of after getting carried away one too many times. A thought to file away for later, perhaps. "But not in the sense you doubtlessly meant, no. I would not pretend and deceive after asking a fair duel of you. Such things are beneath Dame Aylin."

The heat floods your cheeks again. Damn her phrasing.

"Ah," she clears her throat. "The day has grown too hot for martial pursuits, I fear - let us retire."

She offers you her arm, ever gallant. You allow yourself the bold indiscretion of taking it only after you have peeled off your gloves and tucked them back in your belt. You've not known Dame Aylin for a very long time, but you are well aware she is possibly the least subtle creature in all of Faerûn. The ill-concealed catch in her breath and stiffening in her shoulders as your skin meets hers is a treasured token you stow away for further contemplation.

It is a regrettably short walk to the pleasantly shaded entrance hall of Moonrise.

1382 DR

Sharran forces dare attack even here, in the shadow of your father's moonlit fortress, in the very heart of a famously devoted Selûnite region. Perhaps they heard, or tortured out of some poor soul, that their hated Moonwitch had sent an emissary.

But the emissary does not seem to be quite what they expected or prepared for.

You've heard of Dame Aylin's exploits, of some of the many glorious deeds to her name - well, to be quite honest, you've deliberately asked around for them and chased down all the tales, however ridiculous they seemed, with somewhat concerning single-mindedness. But none of them, not even the most outrageous exaggerations with all the force of poetic licence behind them, can compare to actually seeing her in the heat of battle.

It is certainly dangerous to be so distracted in the midst of a clearly planned and organised assault on your home, and it is especially egregious to keep looking up, chasing a vision as it flies somewhere high above all of you, soaring over the head of your father's statue gracing the centre of the embattled town square. But she is so utterly glorious and radiant and filled with unquestionable purpose in all that she does, and you are utterly beyond help.

"Selûne, Moonmother, in Your name!" The clear voice suddenly rings out from somewhere close by, drowning out the din of battle in your ears. You turn just in time to see a flash of silver light engulf one of the masked attackers, burnished black disks brazenly displayed on their armour, and, well, you are not the only one smitten.

But then - disaster. Three of Moonrise's most recently recruited silver-bedecked guards find themselves stumbling into a group of enemies that close a circle around them. You see one of them fall, gripped by inky-purple strands, before you can even start to intone a spell; another one loses his footing and opens himself up for a deadly blow.

Quick as lightning, Aylin rushes down and forward, pushing the stumbling guard fully out of the way. Instead of him, the cultist's scimitar finds purchase in her gut, sliding through a gap between armour-plates like butter, and another's obsidian-black axe bites into her shoulder.

The sound it makes, that Aylin makes, draws a shout from you. A bolt of moonlight dispatches the first cultist, rage and terror somehow making your aim uncanny, and you step forward to bathe the rest of his nearby comrades in deadly, burning radiance before he has even hit the ground.

After this, the battle is over as quickly as it had begun. The last of the attackers falls on her own blade rather than be captured and questioned, crying out some pitiful, ill-conceived mantra about secrets.

You find you do not care: your world, for the moment, has sunk down to the breadth of one woman lying on the trampled ground in a distressingly rapidly growing pool of silver, the guards she saved hovering around her in a mix of awe and alarm.

They let you through without hesitation - you are a cleric, after all. A healer. But as you drop to your knees at her side and attempt to assess the damage, you can tell you are too late.

Your hands fly in well-practised movements all the same.

"Do not worry, fearsome, fair Isobel," Aylin manages, breathily, barely audible, around a mouthful of blood. Her hand makes a very weak attempt at a dismissive wave, or grabbing your wrist to stop your ministrations, you cannot quite tell. Her helmet and her wings are both already gone, and the silver burning in her gaze just moments ago is a weak flicker. "I--"

Her eyes flutter closed and she falls limp beneath your hands and you--

--do not have time to even begin to comprehend what has happened before she is gasping awake again, coughing and groaning, spitting up a clot, trying to sit up.

You gape for a moment, then help her in her efforts, lean her against your chest. The weight of the armour feels like it might crush you, but moving away feels unthinkable.

"No tears, no," she mumbles, half-coherently, as you strain to understand, as a gauntleted hand reaches up to brush against your cheek clumsily. "So mundane a blow cannot… truly fell… Dame Aylin."

It is one thing to be aware of it in theory. Another thing entirely to witness it. Immortal.

There is a crowd gathered around you by now, you register faintly. People crying out prayers of praise and thanks to the Moonmaiden, for Her infinite wisdom and Her endless gifts and the indomitable daughter-champion She has blessed you all with. You feel a tug in your chest, like you should be joining in; like you would be the one leading the prayer in ordinary circumstances.

But you feel terribly far away from it all even as Aylin's breath grows more steady as she leans against you. You see her smile, still bloody, and understand only the most general sense of the reassuring platitudes she is whispering at you.

You bring her to the House of Healing with the other wounded of the battle and insist rather possessively on treating her yourself. Only afterwards do you tear yourself away from her bedside to take full stock of damage and casualties while she sleeps it off.

Your father rushes to embrace you tightly as soon as he catches sight of you from the House's grand entrance, and you let yourself cling to him for a moment. You do your best to assuage his worries, claim - lie - that you were in no real danger, insist on continuing to help here where you are most needed as he returns to his gubernatorial duties. And somehow, miraculously, he lets you go.

As you help the dutiful sisters with the worst of it, you finally manage to focus on murmuring your own prayer of thanks. It helps clear the long-clinging fog from your mind. And it helps, truly, that you count no deaths among Reithwin's faithful - the only fallen today are Shar's to claim if she deigns to do so.

Well - and then there's Aylin.

You go to check on her in the morning, after you've managed - been forced into, rather - a very brief nap.

The glorious and apparently unconquerable Dame Aylin is awake, reclining against the headboard of the only occupied bed in that wing. You don't recall requesting she receive any special treatment, and she doesn't look too pleased with being singled out as if in a place of honour - in fact, she mostly looks bored. She is frowning down at herself, plucking at loose threads hanging off of the bandages that cover most of her shoulder, chest, and abdomen - your own handiwork.

You step into the room and set down the basin of fresh water and an assortment of healing supplies with a deliberately loud clatter, jarring her out of her reverie. The moment she sees you, an expression of blatant joy dawns on her face. You try very hard not to read too much into it.

Instead, you make very standard proper-bedside-manner-dictated small talk as you peel away the gauze. The wounds are mostly healed, as you would expect from your application of any and all magic you had remaining that night, but there is a small line of gold running down towards her left side, where the blade bit in and through, and another one cupping across her shoulder. Oddly beautiful for what is presumably a scar - and highlighting the marvellous build of a finely muscled torso, pipes up a segment of your mind that has no place around a sickbed.

You wrench yourself back into professionalism and lightly press down with your fingers, following the shining gold, the freshly knit-together skin, still reddened and bruised in places. "Do you feel any pain when I do this?"

"None at all," Aylin answers resolutely, entirely back to her old self. But then- "Ah," she winces as you find a particularly sore spot, expression wry, "it would appear I spoke too soon."

You trace back up, murmuring incantations, letting the cool, healing relief flow from your fingertips.

The way she is unphased by all of this seems… uncanny. In fact, she shows more concern for you, completely untouched by the battle, than for herself. It is oddly and slightly frighteningly flattering, in retrospect, that she used her dying breath - well, this particular dying breath - to reassure you.

And it all makes much more sense now, as things slot into place. The recklessness of her fighting style, of her whole manner. The way she shrugged off blows and rushed ever forward, where the battle was thickest and fiercest.

But now you've seen she is immortal, yes, but not invulnerable, however much she might like to act like she is both. And if she pulls herself out from literal death, no matter the scope of the wounds, she does not seem to magically heal much past that - the evidence is before you now. You can already picture her merely patching herself up with her own healing magic in the middle of the fray, as if in passing, just enough to enable her to storm on. All while her enemies gape and turn tail when they realise the futility of standing against her.

"I only hope you did not worry overmuch, Lady Isobel. It is in my nature, inextricable from my being. I cannot fall, not truly. But I keep the reminders, sometimes - wrought in gold."

Then she very cordially points out a few more, as if to indulge you. Some bigger, some smaller, some thin lines, barely there, some wide and jagged. But all of them bright gold seams, seamlessly integrated into her skin.

"Why not silver?" You blurt out, then feel your face burn with embarrassment. And then a mild but growing horror as you think back to the silver staining your hands and robes as you knelt on the damp cobblestones. This is in turn chased away by an odd warmth as you recall how she murmured your name and reached for your face.

Aylin, however, guffaws joyfully, stopped short only by a sudden wince as she pulls something still tender.

"Would you believe - I do not know? It is simply how I am, how I have always been. Perhaps I shall ask my Mother to elucidate, when next we commune." Then she beams at you. "What a joy and pleasure you have proven to be, Lady Isobel. To make me consider things about myself I have never had cause nor inclination to before. A rare treasure."

You blame your lack of sleep on the ease with which she is managing to fluster you without even seeming to consciously try, so you do your best to keep your response polite and nothing more. "The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, Dame Aylin. All of Reithwin treasures your presence and is grateful for it, especially after tonight."

She looks up at you and you meet her gaze, pausing in your ministrations. She looks disappointed, if anything, and the disappointment is shared - those are not the words you truly wish to say to her. And you cannot quite explain to yourself why you feel like a sudden distance has sprung up between you, after months of a beautifully built-up rapport, laid on the foundations of those first few shared star-struck gazes. Why this one out of all the many reminders of her divine nature has shaken you so.

As you continue reapplying bandages and keep distractedly checking in with her about the tightness, she catches your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. "My wounds are a distant memory, for they are being tended by fair Isobel--"

There is a naked determination writ all over her face now. It brings to mind her battlefield bearing, more than anything else, but her eyes are wide and soft and almost pleading.

"Truly, I am in the best of hands." A kiss again, and she lets the hand go. It is a perfectly polite and courteous gesture. Nothing… scandalous. But there is a clear ardour to it you did not acknowledge before. Calling attention to a line you have not yet crossed, but that you have both, perhaps, been toeing for a while.

Then she moves to sit up fully, even through visible winces, and shrugs off the steadying hand you place on her shoulder.

"You are the worst patient I have ever had," you state dramatically, laughing. She merely cocks her head in response, so very winning and charming even when still covered in blood, dirt, and partially unravelled bandages. "I will go get some more fresh water so you can clean up - though we've already ruined these sheets, I fear."

But you do not move, despite your words. Your eyes have not left hers in what seems like hours, but can't have been more than a minute. There is a blatant yearning there that you know is reflected in your gaze, that you have both become utterly incapable of hiding.

"I would ask, greedily, another boon of my most gracious healer," she murmurs.

"Oh?" You lean closer, ostensibly to hear her quiet words better. "Why, Dame Aylin, after your valiant performance tonight, I might just grant it."

You are almost nose to nose when Aylin speaks up again, her throat visibly working, her entire impressive self working up the courage to leap the distance - and you find you very much want her to.

"A kiss, then. To drink but once from the lips of the incomparable Lady Isobel Thorm would soothe all that ails me, seal all my wounds."

You watched this woman take an axe to the shoulder and a sword through the belly, and only now does she sound hesitant. Nervous. Afraid, even. The smallest of trembles in that rich, regal voice.

"If… if I have misread, if I have misinterpreted your intentions, I beg your forgiveness with all possible contrition…"

Your reply is wordless as you surge forward, boon happily granted. The first of many to come.

1383 DR

The dinner is only slightly awkward, as far as these affairs have gone in the past. The most notable thing about it is that your father, it seems, has learned from last time.

Oh, Lady Arianella Bormul was lovely - the very picture of elegance and rather breathtaking grace. A crown of curls you felt a stab of envy over, a perfectly cut gown that accentuated every curve of her and every dark blush shade of her skin. Carrying herself like a queen in the dining room, but perfectly polite and amicable in the conversations you two were inevitably forced into afterwards, with intriguing flashes of a cutting wit. But you shared so very little. And she was beautiful like a work of art whose objective qualities everyone agreed upon, you included, but that just were not to your personal taste.

Now you wonder just how obvious you'd made it.

As your father shoots you pointed glances from across the table and over a strategically placed carafe of wine, you allow yourself, briefly, an entire slew of unkind thoughts. About how maybe things would be different if your mother were still here. About how much easier it would be if you had siblings, so that the entire future of Reithwin and the Thorm family and your father's heart didn't rest on your shoulders. About how selfish you truly would like to be.

Then you shove it all back down and smile at the guests around the table, and offer your opinion about the most excellent skills of your local mason's guild and their potential for expansion.

The young Lady Jana Whitburn is strategically sat right across from you, as her father and yours conduct the important conversations on venison and marble and slate trade that this visit was ostensibly arranged for. She is tall and broad and clad in a marvellously fetching brocade suit of dark green. Her mother, rather obviously focused on you since their arrival in what is clearly a tactical division of duties agreed upon in advance, talks about Jana's successes in the tournament arenas across the Coast and her pending performance in Waterdeep's Field of Triumph. She herself, in a pleasantly deep yet melodic voice, mentions being interested in jousting, as a means of keeping her riding skills sharp while she is not out and about keeping her family's lands safe. Tilts her head at you with a winning smile at the conclusion of one adventurous story or other, the sharp cut of her chiselled jaw accentuated in perfect candlelight. You smile back, and poke half-heartedly at your tasteless dessert.

Later, you take her for a walk in Reithwin's small but well-kept gardens. She very gallantly offers you her arm, and you take it. Your father and her parents beam, and you contain your sigh. But when you look up at your companion, you are slightly surprised to notice that there is something brewing behind her eyes as well.

As soon as you are out of eyesight and earshot, you stop, take your hand off her arm and turn to face her.

"My apologies, Lady Whitburn…"

She almost winces when you address her, and shakes her head as if she is trying to physically shake off the formality and the trailing remnants of the dinner atmosphere. "Jana, please, Lady Thorm."

"Jana, then," you smile your most agreeable smile, "and so I must be Isobel, no?"

"Of course, Isobel," she smiles back, but it is clearly strained, and you feel nothing so much as pity.

"Listen, Jana, I…" you hesitate, struggling to put your words into polite, inoffensive shape.

All this does is highlight the lack of Aylin, the lack of the connection and utterly natural understanding between the two of you. The ease. Even when there was supposed to be some fundamental and unbridgeable rift between you, according to your father.

"I'm afraid my father has misled you and your family - not out of any desire to harm, nor with ill intent. But, you see, I… I already have a lovely woman courting me. Well, rather further along than mere courting, I would say…"

To your surprise, Jana bursts into laughter, light and clear, and you are spared the embarrassment of elaborating further.

"Isobel, you cannot believe what a relief that is for me to hear."

You pause, a bit taken aback by the enthusiasm of her response. "Oh?"

"I'm afraid I count myself taken as well. Now, make no mistake, you are perfectly charming, and a delight in conversation. But," she waves a dismissive hand, "the heart wants what it wants and all that."

"That it does," you agree, and this time your smile is genuine. A tension you had gotten so used to seems to melt away from your shoulders, and the two of you resume your stroll among the gardener's latest offerings. "My father, well… he's a shrewd man. You and my Aylin would get along splendidly, I think."

"As would you and my Iona. She is training to be a cleric too, an acolyte of Ilmater. I swear, the realms have never seen a more patient and kind creature. Whenever I visit her at the temple I take a moment to observe her finishing her rounds - the way she all but glows with compassion is-" Jana halts both her words and her steps, slightly embarrassed, as if she has only now caught herself in her charmingly lovestruck enthusing. "Ah, but I've gone off on a tangent, haven't I?"

You cannot help but smile at the sight of someone so utterly, beautifully enamoured. It is, after all, a feeling you happily know all too well.

"Please," you gesture at a bench behind some conveniently tall rose bushes - one of your favourite spots. "Don't stop on my account. Though, of course, now I can't help but wonder… what is your family's objection to the match? If you don't mind me asking."

Jana gives a wry smile as she takes a seat. "My parents would prefer someone of much higher birth for me."

"I think mine would prefer I set my sights lower," you chuckle ruefully.

Jana's interest seems to be piqued. "Is that so? I've heard some… rumours, since our arrival. I've been wondering about, well, what kernel of truth spawned them."

"Have you, now?" You arch an eyebrow, allow a bit of bite into your tone. "You've barely been here a day - I wouldn't have taken you for a gossipmonger."

"You'll have to forgive my natural curiosity," her grin is as easily charming as it was during the dinner, but now, in the unexpectedly pleasant atmosphere of friendly understanding, you allow yourself to fully appreciate it, and to grin back. "But you must admit it's a bit unusual, Isobel. A celestial paramour… I suppose your father wants you to look lower than the very moon in the sky?"

Her dramatic gesture in the general direction of said moon earns her a giggle, which she seems to take as encouragement.

"Is it true she single-handedly took on a score of Nightcloaks and won?"

You think back over the many rousing tales of victory Aylin has shared with you, and when nothing rings a bell you realise she must be talking about the raid last spring.

"You mean here, when the Sharrans dared to attack Reithwin?" It's hard to contain your amusement at her eager nod. "Well, it wasn't exactly single-handed and there were no Nightcloaks among the Sharran forces, but I can confirm she was certainly impressive."

You decide to leave out the part about Aylin dying and coming back right before your eyes. It is something you've yet to discuss with her, more than a full year later. Something you've no idea how to bring up, and something that inspires in you feelings you cannot quite define.

Something you know you will have to confront, one day.

For now, you sit on a secluded bench and shirk familial duties with a fellow highborn daughter. The two of you trade stories for the rest of the evening, and by the end of it you feel like you've known both Jana Whitburn and Iona Bluewater for years, and find yourself rather invested in the future of their relationship. In turn, you hope to have painted a picture of an Isobel who is more than just General Thorm's daughter, and of an Aylin who is something besides her divine silver bloodline.

You part amicably when the time comes, even promise to write to one another. Later on, the leave-takings complete, both of you having played your respective parts well enough to buy yourselves some very brief reprieve, you go to retreat to your room. Every stair you climb still seems to drop your heart that much deeper into a listless moroseness.

The air in your room is heavy and stale after the garden's freshness, so you decide to take your brooding out to your balcony. You may have won a friend today, but your father will be in a dour mood when he finds out his attempt has once again fallen through. And then how long until he plans another? Or turns to something else? No, this was simply untenable--

A gleaming Aylin alights on the balcony and pulls you into an embrace in a single, elegant movement, and it is like a moon rising to dispel the dark of a cloudy night.

The first thing you notice as you are subjected to one kiss after another is that your beloved seems to be of a rather amorous disposition. You still wear your jewels and your finest silver-blue gown, the picture-perfect lady. But with the way Aylin's hands are wandering you sense this might not be the case for very long.

You place a hand on her chest, the metal pleasantly cool against your palm, and she stops, looking at you both questioningly and with blatant yearning.

Which should be ridiculous. You were barely apart for a day! You've gone longer without seeing each other whenever Aylin flew away on some divinely ordained quest. But the feelings you read on her face are a perfect reflection of your own, and you are sick of the very thought of denying them. Instead, you throw your arms around her and draw her close once more.

"I missed you," you murmur the truth into her neck, just above the edge of her gorget, into that bit of unearthly pale skin that is always so conveniently available for you to kiss.

"I have dutifully stayed away, exactly as you bade me to," Aylin doesn't sound too disgruntled, and for that you find yourself both grateful and relieved. "But your guests are gone at long last, and so I consider my duty done."

You suppress a scowl at the bitterness that rises in you - because yes, you did pull Aylin aside and request, against the palpable wishes of every fibre of your being, that she not show herself around Moonrise today. All in the ultimately futile pursuit of appeasing your father, in a way so shallow and childish and stupidly, obviously temporary that you feel a flare of anger - disgust, even - at yourself for not standing your ground. For going along with it all in the first place. But the slight yet audible disdain Aylin puts on the word guests is too conspicuous, too intriguing, and so your curiosity trumps your rising guilt.

"Do you have something against the Whitburn family?" Surely, if there was something objectionable about them, your father wouldn't have invited them the way he did. Aylin would have warned you of anything sinister. But then, suddenly, a different, more darkly amusing flavour of thought arises. "Or do you merely not like Lady Jana Whitburn?"

Aylin huffs, tilts her head with an unconvincing nonchalance. "She seems a fine woman. A knight with several deeds to her name - in particular some courageous outings against a local Cyricist offshoot, very recently. I hear she conducted herself with utmost skill and bravery."

"You've looked into her, I see?" You ask teasingly. Aylin's frown is an entire hundred-page novel. "Aylin. Are you jealous?"

The tinge of possessiveness in the way she holds you against her chest is clear to you now. You also find you have no complaint to give.

"I cannot help but feel this latest attempted match is… rather shrewdly targeted. Do you not find it so? Why, I would near take it as a slight."

With some reluctance, you pull away the slightest bit in order to face her properly.

"Aylin, look at me," you tilt her chin up, make her meet your eyes, reaching over to smooth the thundercloud frown away from her brow. "Forget about it, about them. I would have none but you - you know this by now, I hope. Only you."

Forever, you dearly wish you could say, sometimes. Your fingers trace down her cheek and to her lips as you watch her ire pour back into fervour.

"Isobel, I swear, from the moment our eyes first met, I--"

You interrupt her with a kiss - she is too striking and too beautiful and too achingly, passionately devoted not to.

The entire situation is a problem to solve, and a mounting one. You can tell by your own rising annoyance and resentment each time the subject comes up that you cannot entertain your father's attempts at denying your relationship for much longer. But you can sense in both your and Aylin's current moods that any discussion will be anything but productive.

You break apart, but stay close enough for you to whisper against her mouth. "Why don't we stop wasting time, and instead of wallowing in misery, you take me to bed."

A different frown creases her brow now as she inclines her head towards the door you left ajar behind you. "Your bed? Here?"

You glance back as well, almost drawn in and through the imposing towers of Moonrise and all they represent.

"Yes," you reply with little hesitation. You decide then and there to be done with this farce. No more flying away to stay at Last Light, or utterly unsubtle attempts at sneaking off, slinking back before dawn only to present yourself downstairs come morning, unacknowledged but fooling nobody. There are other methods in your arsenal besides pointless subterfuge. "And tomorrow - if you wish to join us, of course - I would like to invite you to breakfast. Where you will sit at my side."

Where you belong, you swallow back, keeping your mock-proclamation formal. Where the world should and will acknowledge you belong.

Aylin's smirk reassures you she understands fully how you intend to play this. "How could I decline my lady's invitation?"

You tilt your chin up, the picture of a lady issuing a decree, even as your lips curl into a smile. "Despite any slights, intended or not, and protests from my family, it is an honour to have you here. I will see that it is better demonstrated, as it should have been from the start."

Or perhaps it would be better to say how it was at the start, before Ketheric Thorm's welcome for Selûne's emissary cooled down to an icy, formal tolerance - of course, exactly as your and Aylin's relationship blossomed, decidedly informal, regardless.

Aylin's mouth is hot on your neck as she effortlessly lifts you up and carries you inside. You feel her grin through her kisses. "I think, Isobel, you'll find the honour is all mine. And so is having you. Here or anywhere else."

You cannot help but laugh, taking her face between both your hands and peppering it with kisses in return, always delighted by her utter lack of both subtlety and hesitation.

Once Aylin plants you on the bed and herself between your thighs, she refuses to stop until your legs are jelly, your head is void of all thought, and your heels have pressed shimmery bruises into her back. Her face both glows and glistens when she rests her cheek against your stomach at long last, alight with some private amusement and sheer pride. You thread your hands through her hair and catch your breath, and bask in her presence.

So magnificent in her devotion, your angel.

You spend the night curled around each other in a too-small bed, both of you choosing to be utterly brazen.

1385 DR

You were very young when your mother died. The searing, half-understood pain of her departure had time to dull into an ache, then into a sense of absence you have grown up with, that will always be yet another part of you. You keep her final letter, and reread it less and less as the years and then decades go by. You can hear and feel her words just as well in the soft, warm moonlight that blankets Reithwin on blessed nights. It makes you feel like you can firmly grasp and hold and understand all that she tried to leave you with.

There is a distinct sense that she is proud of you. That she will see you again one day and tell you so herself. So you smile up at the Moon, the ever-changing treasured constant in your life, and bask in the pale, gentle love you receive in return.

When you lost a mother, Reithwin lost its head cleric. In the years since, it has had only interim duty-bearers. And you understood, years ago, even as you settled into a promising role in the House of Healing, that you were being looked to as the replacement.

And true - this has ever been your calling. You feel you were born for this service, sometimes, so easily does it come to you - the deeply felt devotion, the lightness of moonlight always ready at your fingertips, the sheer awareness of Her presence, of all She gives and provides and strives for. A cause so good and just and right you would barely deign to call it a choice - though a choice it is, always, freely made by you, again and again and again.

So when you reject the notion of taking up office at Reithwin - at least for the foreseeable future - and announce your plan for undertaking several pilgrimages of increasing length and complexity, it causes a stir among the clergy and a dark thundercloud to settle upon your father's brow.

The further away the locations you list as you stand before him in his study, oddly formal, the deeper his frown becomes. By the time you mention leaving Waterdeep and the House of the Moon and the settlements on the way to Neverwinter, he raises a hand to cut you off.

"I do not think this is wise, Isobel. There is need of you here. The roads are perilous--"

"I can take care of myself. You know I can, papa - you've seen to that. I have trained and prepared for this all my life." Then you smile, hopeful, and make your biggest misstep. "Besides, Aylin will be there to protect me, should the need arise--"

"Of course she will," you catch the mutter under his breath and your mouth slams shut.

You take a deep, steadying breath, and reach across the desk to lay a gentle, reassuring hand on your father's, meeting and holding his heavy gaze. "Reithwin is my home. No matter where the road takes me, no matter how far, I'll always come back. And to you as well, papa."

Reithwin, ancestral seat of your family, safe and idyllic, surely does not need you as much as the wide world; the vast, colourful, challenging variety of the realms. There is so much you can do, and offer. What good are gifts if you are not going to use them? Hoarding them, hiding away, sheltered - no, you refuse to be a waste.

"I need you here, Isobel."

There is an edge of desperation to your father's voice that makes your breath catch and your eyes burn. A pain that calls to mind, oddly, the sting of the black ink being slowly applied around your lids, a needle shaping the curl of the holy symbol down towards your cheekbones.

And there it is, perhaps - the real root of the struggle at hand.

"I can't be your little girl forever," you exhale, frustration mounting, somewhat undercut when you see the naked hurt on his face. "I can't be just that," you amend. "I have an entire life to live. My own life."

"With Aylin," he suggests darkly. Disapprovingly. "And when she carelessly discards you, a mayfly in her eyes--"

"Is that what this is truly about, again? Father," not quite papa at the moment, no, as you try so very hard to keep your calm in the face of your own rising irritation, "must we?"

"How can I not, Isobel? When she has clearly been feeding you this - this drivel."

"It has nothing to do with her!"

The doubt is writ plainly all over his face, and you bristle. Fine. If he is not ready to relinquish his chokehold over Isobel Thorm, cherished daughter, then he will have to reckon with Isobel, accomplished cleric of Selûne, and prospective Silver Lady initiate. You let go of his hand and step back, square your shoulders demonstratively, stand up ramrod straight.

"Our Lady champions and rewards self-sufficiency, agency, travel, and discovery - of ourselves, the world around us, and all in it who might need guidance or help in any way. It is mine to freely give, and I intend to do so, wherever I am needed. In Her name."

You turn and leave without waiting for your father to scrounge up a response.

It is the last conversation you have with him for a century.

It happens so very quickly, for something that would rewrite the fate of your home and all you ever loved for the next hundred years. Like a carelessly tossed pebble turning into a rockslide.

An ominous chill that barely has the time to register fully; a bark-whine from Squire, cut short; a searing pain in-- through-- your side and your chest, fading into numbness within moments, so fast that you barely choke out a desperate blood-drowned breath as blackness swarms the edges of your vision; a frantic cry of Isobel! ringing out from somewhere above or below; and then--

nothing

and nothing, and nothing, and nothing.

#baldur's gate 3 #isobel thorm #dame aylin #aylin x isobel #bg3 #fanfiction #my fic #oathkeeper writes things #comments welcome thoughts welcome honestly i just want to rotate these two in my head forever #i want to yell about isobel thorm constantly

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