#i remember the colours being brighter and the air being salty

[nickyelsh]

wild child

on the road in my car

windows rolled down sunroof open

warm summer air flowing in

cut up watermelon in his hand

red hot delicious

he ate it in the messiest way possible

all hands sticky and wet

juice running down his chin

wild free and open

hot summer air

his mother’s favourite songs on the stereo

the up and down of the twisting roads

it was too much

he couldnt finish it

threw the rest out in the forest

from the moving car

a wild child on a wild ride

eating what he must

giving back what he doesn’t

wild hot and free

red damp and delicious

a wild child sits on the car seat

the wild child is me

[lu-undy]

Chapter 37 - SBT

Here it is!

"If it isn't the Sun King of singing, Lulu!"

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy before turning to the man who called him. 

"I am glad you and your friend came." 

Through the vampire costume and make-up, there was no doubt possible. It was Arthur Duchemin. 

"Ah, good evening, Monsieur Duchemin." Lucien extended his hand. "Please meet my dear friend…"

"Mike." Mundy answered. "Name's Mike."

"Ooh, a local at that, hm? I see you haven't lost your time, Lulu! But it is to be expected from such a successful singer as you are…" Duchemin chuckled. "Come on, you can call me Arthur." He shook hands with Lucien and Mundy. The Aussie gagged behind his mask. Thank God he was wearing the white gloves…  "Oh and I see your glasses are empty. What would you prefer, champagne? Wine?" Duchemin went on.

"Wine, please." Lucien answered. 

"For Mike too?" 

Mundy was gobsmacked. Here he was. That brute, that bastard, that heartless piece of filth, and dressed as a vampire at that! Well, we'll see who will bleed dry at the end of all that, eh. 

"Mike, what will you take, dear?" Lucien asked.

"Uh, y-yeah, yeah wine's fine." 

Duchemin made a gesture and a waiter made haste.

"Please, pardon my friend." Lucien tried to cover it up despite knowing exactly what had gone through Mundy's head. "Him and I were just marvelling at this place, Arthur, really, this is a wonderful palace you have." Lucien looked up and around at the immensity of the venue.

"Oh, it isn't much. I used to have even better than that back in France." Duchemin answered, sipping on his champagne. 

"Really? What made you leave?" Lucien continued the conversation as the waiter came back with two glasses of red wine. 

"Ah, thanks." Mundy took one and handed it to Lucien. 

"Well, I didn't like it there. And people started noticing me a bit too much. I prefer a much more reserved way of life." Duchemin answered. 

"And yet you enjoy this kind of party?" Lucien asked, sipping on his wine. "Hm, not bad… Is this a Bordeaux by any chance?" 

"It is!" Duchemin answered. "I didn't know you were quite the connaisseur, Lulu." 

"Well, I do come from that region after all." The spy answered with a smile. 

"Ah, oui, indeed, I remember you telling me so." Duchemin nodded. "By the way, you should go outside and have a stroll in the parks, you will see, they will remind you of your own Jardins de Versailles." The criminal raised his glass. 

"Oh, will they? Then Mike and I will surely have a look. Many thanks, Arthur." 

"My pleasure, and please, enjoy yourselves." 

"We will." Lucien answered. "Although, I do have a question if you don't mind." 

"Yes?" 

"What are you celebrating with this party?" Lucien asked. 

"Well I have sealed a very fruitful deal with some collaborators and wanted to celebrate this success with them and other friends."

"Ah, my congratulations, then." Lucien shook his hand again. 

"Thank you. Now, I'm afraid I must go and greet other guests."

"But of course." 

"I will see you later, no doubt." Duchemin said. 

"Surely." Lucien said and the criminal left. "Meanwhile, Mike, dear, let us enjoy the parks, shall we?" 

Mundy nodded and both left the ballroom to get some fresh air in the gardens. Indeed, they were very similar to those at the Palace of Versailles in their style. They were a vast French garden. Hedges and bushes geometrically cut to form shapes and motifs that looked like they were traced with a ruler and set square, if one could see it all from the sky. It was all very green and punctuated by the white of the jasmine, the red of the roses, and the multiple spectrum of colours of the tulips and other flowers.

A few people were scattered here and there on top of security agents in uniform. The sky was as dark as blue could get, sprinkled with stars, but the gardens were nonetheless well lit with lanterns, candles and the like. 

Lucien and Mundy strolled along sufficiently to be quite isolated from the rest of the guests. The Frenchman went to a bush with flowers. 

"Hm, roses." He smelt a flower and cut it from the branch to put it on his waistcoat. 

"Roses? Roses?!" Mundy finally broke his long silence. 

"Oui, those are roses. They are my favourite type of flowers. What is wrong with them?" 

"Mate…!" Mundy walked a few metres away and Lucien stared at him. 

"What?" 

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Mundy burst out.

"With me?" Lucien repeated. 

"Yeah, with you! One minute you're so mad about the bloke you could have broken your teeth cause you were clenching your jaw so hard; the next, you're havin' small bloody talk with him like you've been his friend forever?!" 

"I told you, Bushman. Not everyone has it in them to be able to do what I do and I warned you. This will be a hard night for your nerves." 

"What the hell are you?! How on Earth can you be like that?! Are you an actor or something?" 

Lucien rolled his eyes. 

"It doesn't matter what I am. What matters now is do you think you can pull this off with me or shall I call a taxi for you and you go back to your den of a van?" Lucien asked, irritated.

"And what will you tell Duchemin when he'll see that you're now alone?" 

"I'll tell him that my dear Mike, because apparently that is your name, how unoriginal, was inconvenienced and would rather get a bit of rest!" 

Mundy's hands flew faster than his thoughts and he grabbed Lucien by his collar. 

"You shut your mouth about that name." He growled, furious, his fists pulling on the Frenchman's attire.

"Why? Ah yes, I understand it is the first and forever gift that your parents gave to you, but still - argh - Bushman, I am warning you, if you do not let go of me, I will have to call not a taxi, but an ambulance, and it won't be for me." 

Mundy had Lucien's collar in his white gloved fists and was clenching hard around the Frenchman's neck. 

"Mike isn't my name, you mongrel." 

Lucien raised a curious eyebrow and Mundy let go of him. The spy dusted himself off. 

"It was my dad's name. His name was Michael. Everyone called him Mike."

"Why give Duchemin your father's name?" 

"I don't know. But when I heard that piece of filth say his name, I just…" Mundy lowered his head. "I don't know."

Lucien came closer to Mundy and looked up at him.

"I understand."

"How d'you do it? How d'you stay so calm?"

"This is my profession, M. I was trained and I excelled at it." 

"What kind of job is that?" Mundy stared at the light blue eyes through the holes on the mask. He could see the lights of the candles dancing on the icy irises.

"A very delicate one." Lucien simply answered. "Anyway, are you alright? Do you think you will manage? There is no shame in thinking it is too hard. But please, if you do wish to stay, be extremely careful and don't let incidents like these happen again. It could cost us the success of this whole operation and more importantly, our lives." Lucien's voice had been soothing, calm.

Mundy nodded.

"Yeah, it won't happen again. I'm sorry." 

"It is fine. He still doesn't suspect a thing." Lucien tapped his shoulder. "Come on now, I imagine you are getting hungry. Let us get something from the buffet back inside." 

The Frenchman turned on his heels but felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"What?" He turned to face Mundy again. 

"Just… Thanks."

Lucien softened. 

"What for? Avoiding us getting spotted? Consider it a professional courtesy, and a payback."

"Payback for what?"

"That day you saved me." Lucien smiled and Mundy couldn't see his lips purse up. Yet he did see his eyes shine brighter and grin too, in their own way, between the long dark eyelashes.

"Yeah…" 

Both of them walked back through the park and reached the palace again. They walked up the marble white stairs and got inside. 

"Ah, there's the food." Mundy pointed in front of them. 

They went to the tables and helped themselves to a variety of what the Aussie would describe as fancy, overpriced  and ridiculously tiny sandwiches and nibbles. They filled their white and golden cardboard plates and went to a small table with stools.

"Are you seriously gonna keep the mask on to eat?" Mundy asked. 

"Oui." Lucien answered as he put his gloves in his pocket and started eating. "Hm, quite good." 

Mundy rolled his eyes and smiled. He removed his mask and shook the locks of hair that fell in front of his face away before digging in. 

"So, if your name is not Mike, does it at least start with an M at all?" Lucien asked. 

"Yeah, it does." 

"Marcel?" 

"Ew, sounds posh." 

"It is a French name."

"That's why then. But no, that's not my name." 

"Hm. Mathieu?" 

"You mean Matthew? Nah… Hm, those little sausages are good, go on, try them, Spook - uh -" Mundy looked left and right, in fear that someone heard him. "I mean… Luv'." Mundy blushed and lowered his head to his plate, hiding his face behind his hand. 

He saw two fingers creep up to his plate and steal one of the sausages. He followed them up to Lucien's mask, under which they disappeared. 

"Hm, you are right, they are quite tasty without being too salty. You have a good sense of taste, dear." 

Mundy blushed. And he forgot he wasn't wearing the mask so Lucien saw it all. 

"Have a go at those canapés. The salmon is exquisite." Lucien said. 

"Alright… Thanks, eh." 

The Frenchman chuckled as Mundy ate the little toast with smoked salmon. 

"What? Hm, by the way, yeah, that's good. The sauce thingy under the salmon's very fresh."

"Seeing such a tall man as you blush is entertaining. And yes, the garlic paste gives it an extra punch."

"I'm not blushing. It's just hot under this bloody costume…" 

"Of course." Lucien chuckled. 

"It's true!" 

"As true as Michael is your name, oui." 

"Spoo- uh… Anyway…"

"I see you are not a fan of vegetables, hm?" Lucien asked, looking at Mundy's plate. 

"Depends." 

"Please try these carrots. They are fresh and the dressing sauce isn't too oily."

Mundy raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. 

"Hm, yeah, the sauce is good, a bit on the acidic side, but good."

Lucien smiled. 

"Quite the palate you have." 

"Hm? Well, can't you feel it? And it's not vinegar. I think it's lemon juice, I prefer it."

"Such a gift for tasting and you did not become a sommelier…"

"A sum of what?"

"A sommelier, an expert with wines." Lucien explained. 

"Yeah, well, I didn't really think it was an option. And being arrogant about food isn't the national sport here, Spoo- uh, luv'." Mundy got chills. He couldn't see it but behind the mask, Lucien had the sweetest of smiles.

"I understand. Tell me, you mentioned that your parents owned a farm. Was it their profession?" 

"Yeah, they had chickens and geese, rabbits too when I was a kid. But as I grew up and they grew older, they just did chickens and geese. They had a bit of fruits and veggies too but the surplus wasn't enough to sell at the market, so they just gave it to Maurice and his people. Mum would make jams and all kinds of stuff with what we had in the garden."

"What kinds of jam?" 

"Strawberry, pear, apricot. Apricot's my favourite but she was the only one who knew how to make it right." 

Lucien smiled. 

"And you, what about your parents?" Mundy asked. 

"Ah, well. My father was a successful lawyer and my mother used to work as a dressmaker. One day my father took a suit to be adjusted and that's how they met. After they got married, my father was enrolled in the Great War and he died there, leaving my mother with a baby."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that." 

"Thank you. I grew up and wanted to become a sin-... An artist. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer or a doctor. I refused. We fought endlessly about this even after my mother married another man. He tried to force me to choose one of those professions."

"What did you do?" 

"I ran away." Lucien answered. 

"Wow… I'm…" Mundy was taken aback. "So you weren't born rich?"

"Yes, I was. But when I disappeared, I started from scratch again, as you say in English. I had no money, no friends or acquaintances." 

"D'you still have news about your mum?" Mundy asked.

"She died a long time ago now."

"Oh… Sorry." 

"Hm." 

Lucien's eyes had fallen on his plate. Mundy wanted to cheer him up and looked left and right to see what he could do. His eyes fell on his plate and saw the last sausages. In Lucien's plate, a few carrots remained. 

"Oh?" Lucien got surprised when he saw Mundy swap their plates. He raised his eyes to the Aussie who started eating the carrots. 

"What? Go on then, you liked the sausages." 

Lucien smiled sweetly under the mask. 

"Thank you but here, you liked them too." The Frenchman pushed the plate in the middle and they both finished the carrots and the sausages together.

"What did you do after that?" Mundy asked, as he put his mask on again. "D'you mind helpin' me again with this thing?" 

"Of course…" 

Mundy came off his stool and went to his friend. He gave his back to him and the Frenchman tied the mask behind his head, making sure it would be safely secured and wouldn't push the ponytail. 

"Thanks, mate. So…?"

Lucien raised his eyes to the lagoon blue ones riveted on him. He did not want to answer that question. Non. Not only was he not proud of what he was, but it would put Mundy in danger. Non, he wouldn't tell him the truth on his job either. 

"Lulu!" 

Both men turned their heads to the vampire coming to their table. This time he was accompanied by half a dozen other people in costume. 

"You see, my friends, this is the prodigy I have been talking about!" Duchemin said to his cohort, pointing at Lucien. He turned to him and Mundy. "I hope I am not disturbing your dinner."

"Not at all, we were just finished." 

"Ah, may I have your expert opinion on something, Lulu?" 

"But of course. How may I help?" 

"It's the orchestra I hired. Follow me, I'll show you." 

Lucien and Mundy followed the criminal through the busy crowd until they arrived close to the band playing some jazz tunes. 

"You see, they were warmly recommended to me but I find that they're lacking something, you know…" Duchemin said, with his hands on his hips. 

"I find that they are good for such an event." Lucien answered. "You have to consider that almost no one is paying attention to their music anyway. The point for them is to cover the noise of people's chatter, provide some background of their own. They are not to produce a concert that will be closely listened to." 

"Ah, I guess you are right. But don't you think it lacks the emotion, the punch?" Duchemin asked. 

"Oui, it certainly does, but it makes sense for the occasion." Lucien answered.

"You know what? Why don't you give me and my friends here a taste of what a real professional can do, hm?" 

Mundy's blood froze. Duchemin was really convinced that L was Lulu and that he could sing. But there was no way on Earth that posh snob could! 

"Oh," Lucien chuckled. "I am not warmed up at all and I haven't prepared anything I'm afraid." 

"Who needs all that faff anyway when you're the great Lulu, hm? Come on, I guess you will need the piano, won't you? Hey, you there!" Duchemin hopped on stage and started to talk to the orchestra.

Lucien started to breathe heavily. Merde. He hadn't seen that one coming. He wasn't very anxious about singing or playing in itself. Non, something else, something much heavier and much more serious might happen… 

"Hey." 

Lucien got startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

"I-I'll try and help." Mundy said, before raising his head to Duchemin. "Hey, Arthur?"

The vampire who was addressing the jazz band turned to him. 

"Yes?" 

"I can play the sax instead of Lulu singin'. See, the man's a perfectionist. He, uh, he doesn't like singing without proper warming up and all… He won't feel right if he doesn't ace it, see?"

Lucien's jaw dropped behind his mask. He knew Mundy was too shy to pull off something like that. The jazz band had stopped and all the eyes were turned to the stage now, where Duchemin, his friends and Mundy and Lucien were standing. Non, Lucien could even see Mundy's fingers shaking in apprehension. He would screw it up without a doubt. 

"Leave it to me, Mike." He answered as he walked to the piano and put a hand on Mundy's shoulder. "Just pass me a microphone, we will adjust it in front of the keyboard and I will sing something." 

"You sure?" Mundy's voice was all but confident. 

"Absolutely." Lucien however, sounded as sure as he could ever be. 

Mundy gulped down hard but obeyed. He took a microphone and helped Lucien while Duchemin took another one and started introducing him to the crowd. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to introduce an immensely talented singer to you tonight. Please, a round of applause for the great Lulu!" 

Mundy came close to Lucien's ear as they both fixed the microphone. 

"Look, you gotta make your jaw loose, relax your cheeks and let the sound come out as best as you can, ok?" Mundy tried to reassure his friend.

"M?"

Mundy and Lucien's eyes locked as the microphone was now standing correctly. 

"Yeah?" 

"Please, forgive me." The Frenchman said. 

"Forgive you for what? You'll be fine. I'm here and it's gonna pass, just do your best, mate, you got this." Mundy squeezed Lucien's shoulders one last time before leaving him.

"The floor is yours, Lulu! Take it away!" Duchemin said in the microphone.

Lucien's distraught eyes made a strong impression on the Aussie. He went in the crowd and stayed right in front of the now almost empty stage. 

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lucien started. "Thank you very much for your warm welcome. I must say that I did not really prepare anything for the occasion, but I will do my best for you." 

He cleared his throat and bit his lip behind his mask. That was it. It was time for his show to go. 

Lucien took a deep breath and his fingers started gliding on the keyboard. Mundy opened wide eyes. The bastard knew how to play, eh? But did he only know how to sing?

[maaaddiexo]

Chapter Three | Peter Pevensie

[Red Series Book Two: Ribbons]

Rosemary returned to England to find things just how she left them - her father and brother missing and her mother drinking in her bedroom. But Rosemary wasn't going to give up this time. She took charge of her family as the Pevensies took charge of a country.

But it's been a year since all five of them returned to England, and when they are called back by Susan's magic horn, they return to a completely different Narnia. Magic has been dormant for centuries and men now rule Narnia but with brute force and terror.

The Pevensies know why they've been called back to Narnia but Rosemary is once again left in the dark. And with Aslan making himself sparse, the five kids are left to their own devices to answer their own questions.

Do they trust the exiled prince? Can they save Narnia again, and this time without Aslan swooping in to save them? And in Rosemary's case, why was she called back?

[Chapter Four] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

When Rosemary first heard her name, she thought it was Daniel and she was already being called back to England. Maybe Narnia had made a mistake and didn't actually need her. But it wasn't Daniel or James' voice - it was Peter's.

"Peter? Peter!" Rosemary dropped the blueberries she'd been picking and raced in the direction of his voice. She hadn't heard his voice in a year and yet she remembered it perfectly.

"Rosemary!"

Rosemary desperately looked around, searching for movement in the woods. "Peter, where are you?" She continued running, jumping over fallen logs and dodging low-hanging branches. She stopped again, looking around. Something white moved in her peripheral vision and she spun around, hoping desperately it would move again. It reappeared to the left of a thick tree and Rosemary could make out a white dress shirt and dirty blonde hair.

She almost didn't recognize Peter. He'd sent a picture from his family Christmas dinner to her in a letter, but it didn't seem to capture just how different Peter appeared. He was taller and broader. He held his head high and walked confidently. There was no self-doubt in his posture.

"Peter!"

She watched him whip around upon hearing his name being called but she was already running toward him. Much like she had when she saw Aslan, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around Peter's shoulders. Yeah, he was definitely more muscular.

"Rosemary," Peter breathed, tightening his arms around Rosemary's waist. They pulled apart and she beamed up at him, her green eyes sparkling in the sunlight. They were the same colour as the fields he used to gallop through on his stallion, Talon. "Please tell me this is real."

Rosemary smiled again. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and brushed Peter's hair out of his eyes, dragging her fingertips across his cheek. He's so handsome. "I told you to call me Rose."

Peter laughed loudly. Definitely real. He snatched Rosemary up by the waist, spinning her around and smiling at the squealed laugh she let out. Peter positioned her over his shoulder and began walking in the direction of his siblings. "I found her!"

"Peter!" Rosemary shrieked. "I can walk, you know."

"Oh, I'm perfectly aware. But you see, Miss Bennett, I am not letting you walk away from me again." Rosemary was so happy that Peter couldn't see her face because it was bright red at the moment. "Ed! Look who I found lost in the woods."

"I wasn't lost," Rosemary argues. "And put me down. I want to hug my favourite Pevensie boy."

Peter scoffed at Rosemary's comment but let her down anyway. She spun in place, flicked her hair behind her head, and then pulled Edmund into a hug. He laughed and wrapped his arms around Rosemary, closing his eyes. He'd spent the least amount of time with the blonde girl, but he missed her just as much.

"Rosemary!"

Lucy and Susan raced towards the small group and she hugged both of them. Lucy had gotten so much taller in a year, her hair brushing her collarbones instead of her shoulders. Susan's eyes seemed less guarded but were still so curious. Some things never changed, it seemed.

"I know it's only been a year for you, but it's been so much longer for us," Susan said, bringing Rosemary in for another hug. "I really missed you, Rosemary."

The group of five turned back towards Cair Paravel and walked slowly. Rosemary was between Susan and Peter, but she stuck closer to the latter, brushing her hand against his. "I missed you all too. But it's just been so busy and with my father's death..."

"It's okay, Rosemary," Edmund said. "We haven't had the best year either." Like Rosemary, their father had been killed in the war and all four children and their mother were struggling to pick up the pieces.

They re-entered the clearing where Cair Paravel once stood and Rosemary took in a deep breath of salty air. Edmund walked ahead, looking around curiously. There were large rocks placed randomly around the ruins and he frowned, bending down.

"Catapults," he whispered.

"What?"

Edmund looked up at Peter. "This didn't just happen. Cair Paravel was attacked."

"That's what Aslan said," Rosemary murmured. "I was hoping he was wrong."

"You've seen Aslan?" Lucy gasped.

"Briefly. He's in hiding like the rest of Narnia. This isn't a free country anymore."

Peter nudged Edmund and looked towards the arched nook. Wordlessly, they walked to the wall began and pushing it to the side.

"A secret door?"

Susan smirked at Rosemary. "Cair Paravel had a lot of secret passages that we discovered over the years. This secret room was made just for us."

Behind the grand stone wall was a rusty and brittle wooden door that Peter broke down with ease. A mouth of darkness stared back at them.

Peter grunted as he cut part of his shirt off and wrapped it around a fallen branch. "Don't suppose you have any matches, do you?"

"No, but," Edmund opened his bag, rummaging around for a moment before pulling a brand new flashlight out. His eyes were teasing. "Would this help?"

Peter threw his makeshift torch over his shoulder. "You might have mentioned that a bit sooner."

The three girls giggled as Edmund smirked and turned the flashlight on and began descending into the secret room. It was musty and dark, and Rosemary kept both hands on the walls to help guide her.

The main room was brighter, the high ceiling broken and allowing sunlight down into it.

Rosemary gasped at what she saw. There were four chests, each in their own alcove, with immaculate stone statues behind them. No detail was spared anywhere in the room. Every inch was beautiful.

"I can't believe it. It's all still here," Peter gasped, walking over to his statue. It stood untouched and he sighed sadly at the sight of the beard. He missed being able to grow a beard. He lifted the lid of his chest and smiled at the sight of his sword and shield right where he had left them hundreds of years ago.

From across the room, Rosemary watched as Peter unsheathed the sword. The same look of reverence and awe was on his face now as it was when he first received the sword from Santa Claus.

"I was so tall," Lucy remarked, holding a purple dress up to her body.

"Well, you were older then," Susan replied.

"As opposed to hundreds of years later...when you're younger."

Rosemary giggled at Edmund's words before bursting into laughter at the sight of him. He was wearing a helmet far too big for him. When he turned his head, it turned too, and suddenly, it was on backward.

Lucy stopped looking through her belongings when she saw Susan with an armful of things. "What is it?"

"My horn. I must have left it in my saddle the day we went back."

"This place is incredible," Rosemary said, running her fingers over a pure gold chandelier that was sitting on the ground. There was a thick layer of dust and dirt on it and took a bit of scrubbing before she could see the shiny metal.

"Do you want to know a secret?" Lucy smiled, placing a dress back down in her chest. "This wasn't just made for us."

Rosemary cocked her head in confusion. Lucy giggled and walked over to Rosemary. She turned her around to face a fifth alcove. Instead of a statue of a person, an image had been carved into the wall. A rose.

"You didn't."

"We did," Peter came to stand beside Rosemary. "We were hoping you would return while we were still here, so we had one made for you. There are clothes in there, your bow, and some other random things we thought you might enjoy."

Rosemary felt the familiar sting at the back of her eyes and let the tears spill over onto her cheeks. Slowly, she walked to the chest - her chest - and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, her bow and a quiver full of arrows rested on top of clothes and books.

Rosemary was at a loss for words. "I don't know what to say."

"How about 'thank you'. It was Peter's idea."

The High Kung flushed and briefly had the courage to make eye contact with Rosemary. Her eyes were glossy, her cheeks were wet, and her lower lip wobbled. She stepped forward and Peter let her into his arms, rubbing her back soothingly. He knew the tears soaking his sweater vest were happy tears but he still didn't want her crying. He wanted to see her smile instead. Her smile was beautiful.

"Hey, hey. You know, had you stayed you would have been right up there with the rest of us. You're one of us."

"I don't regret going back but I also regret not staying here. Had I stayed, my life would be so different. I wouldn't have lost fifteen years with you and I will always miss the time I never had with you."

Peter smiled sadly, wiping her cheeks. "We're all here now, Rosemary. That's all that matters."

•

Back in the clearing, Rosemary ran her fingers over a tombstone sadly.

"You made them."

Rosemary nodded but didn't look back at Susan. "I wish I could have spent more time with them."

"After you left, we all still talked about you. Sometimes I would catch Peter and Lucy talking to the stars like you were up there. We all missed you. Not a day went by that we didn't think about you. I'm sure that they continued to miss and talk about you after we all went back to England."

Rosemary smiled gratefully up at Susan. She hated to admit it but one of her fears was that they forgot about her after she left. Not a day went by that she didn't think about the Pevensies and her friends back in Narnia. She didn't have a lot of friends in England whereas the Pevensies had each other and a kingdom full of people.

Rosemary stood up and wiped the dirt on her new forest green dress, pushing her blonde locks behind her shoulders. Lucy was collecting apples from a nearby tree and the boys were getting changed down in the secret room.

She adjusted her bow and quiver on her back as the boys appeared back on ground level. They stood in a circle in silence for a moment, appreciating the presence of everyone. Finally, Peter put his hand out in the middle and everyone piled their hands on top.

"I think it's time we found out what was going on."

[Chapter Four] [Series Masterlist] [Masterlist]

[scribeofmorpheus]

The Rebel Queen (ii)

Chapter Two: Scramble

Pairing: Poe Dameron x (OFC) Princess Calista Ordell

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | A03

Words: 7k | Warnings: More ramblings of a delusional fanfic writer…

A/N: The murderess who started this entire pandemonium of unrest is front and centre in this chapter. We have more Poe and fun-loving Paige Tico as well! And we get to see my two problematic favs get into some trouble (Ton-Ton and Watts).

Taglist is open

Epilogue | About Thesmora

 Karas, Thesmora...

Red on black. The taste of charred timber burning on the underside of her mouth. That was all that bled through as Maligma's polished boots traipsed over the razed courtyard. The once splendid land had been terraformed into a landscape worthy of a sonnet of death. All the bodies had been moved, leaving behind mounds of ash and the smell of fumes from the clouds of smoke that diffused upwards into the sky, polluting it, darkening it as far as the eye could see.

The Duchess nursed a look of stoic resignation, taking in the destruction she had caused through umber coloured eyes. Her feet crunching into the ground as though it were snow at her feet and not the remnants of a once lush and green landscape.

Ping!

Unexpectedly, her boot was obstructed by something hard. Reaching down she noticed the familiar silver and gold weaving of the delicate crown. She’d recognise it anywhere. It belonged to Calista.

Like a grieving widow, Maligma reminisced about the day she had helped her niece pick out that exact crown. Lenora had been away from the capital on that particular day and was unable to share in the experience of choosing ones first crown with her daughter. It had been a kind memory. One she had once thought would turn sweeter with the turning of time. Now it was but a reminder of what she lost… what she had destroyed.

A bitter aftertaste soured her mouth as she realised her sister would never again share any more experiences with her daughter. For once, Maligma was grateful she was without children of her own.

Heaving a weary sigh, she dusted off the blood muddied dirt from the crown, digging out the soot embedded in between the small cracks with her long fingernails. She knew Calista was out there, somewhere amongst the stars, hiding in the endless darkness of space.

"Where are you, little one?" Maligma sought to the sky for answers, her pupils expanding to take in more light. From here Thesmora’s two moons were still visible, even at noon. The shattered rock of the third moon resembling a dandelion gradually blowing away, scattering further and further in the wind.

She hovered close to the burnt-out funeral pyre, placing the crown to rest with the remaining bones of the late queen. Her fist closed around a mound of ash. "It didn't have to be this way..."

Wind blew the tears pooling in the corner of her eyes away in a level stream, a salty droplet falling into her ear, the liquid matter eliciting a shiver from her stiff body.

"Duchess?" the encroaching voice of Hazo O'Raka disturbed her from her solidarity –depriving her a moment of reticent bereavement.

Maligma steeled her nerves before addressing him with the new authority afforded to her, "Commander."

Despite his youth and unhinging beauty, Hazo was the embodiment of discipline; a perpetually straightened posture, an unwavering blank expression and hardened eyes the colour of swamp water branded him as one of the planet’s most revered warriors. His demeanour and gait resembled that of Mokk-Toh's, a comparison that always reminded Maligma to stay vigilant while in his presence.

The Commander handed over a data-pad displaying images of the Somnambulist –the ship Calista had escaped on– taken from the space station on Yotai. Her eye twitched ever so slightly when she read the report.

"We don't know where they're going?" Maligma asked, displeased by what she read.

Hazo shook his head, "We were unable to plant a transponder on their ship and it seems our scanners stopped picking up their signal once they jumped to hyperspeed. They have successfully managed to elude us." He sounded almost impressed.

"Careful, Commander," Maligma eyed him. "A tone like that and I might be inclined to assume you're actually relieved they got away."

No muscle or line on his face moved. He was an impregnable statue. His most inner thoughts would forever remain elusive, even from the most trained eye. "You need not worry, Duchess. My loyalties lie with Thesmora. Who sits on its throne is arbitrary so long as they have the people’s best interest."

Maligma's lips curled upwards, "Always the loyal soldier… Mokk-Toh trained you well. Though, I do wonder if he trained you a little too well."

He said nothing, too smart for Maligma's probing it would seem.

She eyed him through the corner of her eye while she absentmindedly scrolled through pages upon pages of data, "And what of the bounty hunter?"

He shook his head once more, it was the most distinguishable form of emotive language she had witnessed from him thus far. "He went radio silent. We believe he's somewhere in the Western Reaches, but have been unable to locate his ship. Should I send a tight-beam to our spies within that sector to keep an eye out for the Admiral in case the bounty hunter was unsuccessful in his mission?"

"Former admiral," Maligma corrected with a dark ring to her voice. She let out a huff in thought. "And no. Versengen is tenacious and vindictive, being a ghost is in his nature. If there's anyone I would bet on to see this bounty through, it would be him."

She handed the data-pad back to Hazo, feet kicking up dirt as she made her way from the courtyard. Her blood-red coat-tails dragging behind her.

"There is another thing," He informed her as she strode back to the palace. After she didn't reciprocate with any words, Hazo went forward and explained: "The Somnambulist was first spotted leaving the Shallow Pits."

Maligma sucked the air in through her gap teeth in annoyance, she knew instantly what that meant. "Murray, that two-faced bastard." Her words, though insulting, held a form of esteem.

"My soldiers believe that is where the princess and Koa initially secured passage off-world. We took him in for questioning earlier. He is currently under lock and key at the barracks."

She noticed the slight shift in Hazo's tone at the mention of Koa, and even though she was intrigued by his slip up, it didn’t warrant any further investigating given the circumstances. However, she did make a mental note to remember it for later.

"Good work Commander… Keep this up and you'll be on the fast track to admiral soon," she doused her words in honey, Hazo, on the other hand, remained unfazed.

"Promotions are of no consequence to me. Once we've secured Thesmora's safety, then we will let the people decide whom they wish to lead the Royal Guard... If there will be one left after your undertaking." Hazo bowed before taking a diverging path to the barracks, hand on his swords hilt the entire time.

She kept her eyes trained on him until his outline dissipated into nothing more than a shadow. "You trained him well..." Her words were lost in the wind, meant for ears that could not hear her.

 The cell door opened with a hiss as cold air washed over Maligma's body. Hot and cold clashed from the still radiating heat of the sun on her skin.

Banden was draped over the clinically white bunk placed in the corner of the equally clinically white room. He had on a bored as he twisted his wrists against the arm restraints in an effort to pass the time. When his eyes lifted to meet Maligma's a look of familiarity shone through them. The green of his eyes turning brighter from the imposing light once he shifted out from under the shade of the bunks canopy.

"Maligma, what a present surprise," his suave attitude rolling out in waves. "Gotta admit, I thought about how things would play out when you came traipsing back into my life…" He scoured the room and then looked to Maligma's furious glare, holding it until she made a move before he glanced back at his restraints. "And I have to admit, you got most of the details right. Except for the location."

She scoffed in disgust, "Keep your lascivious thoughts to yourself, Murray. No one wants to hear them."

"You used to sing a different tune once," Ever the audacious mobster, Banden smirked his famous bone-chilling smirk as if he were talking to one of his mercenary thugs.

Maligma's cheeks hollowed inwards as she stared him down with a scornful look, but there was a hidden lick of heat traded between them, it filled the air with tension, whether sexual or antagonistic was anyone’s guess.

"You know you committed treason by aiding my darling niece's escape?"

Banden shrugged like an aloof idiot, "All you Thessi look alike to an outsider like me. I couldn't tell you for certain if I aided the princess’s escape or not. I handle a lot of business deals at any time of day, it would be all too easy for anyone to fall through the cracks."

Maligma scoffed, flipping her rust coloured hair to the side. "Even a fugitive?"

"You forget my line of work."

She glowered, voice turning sharp, "I could have you executed for less."

Banden's smirk grew wider, "Yes, you could, but we both know you won't. Not if you want things to keep running smoothly. Imagine if all the mines dried up, who would feed all those soldiers keeping the people in order?"

Maligma's eyes narrowed at him, "You dare threaten me?"

"Threaten the Master of Spies? I'd be a fool..." He was leering at her now, his entire body bustling with exultant energy from the thrill of trading verbal blows.

She folded her arms, her eyes looking out through the open door, head bobbing to the side to call someone forth.

Hazo appeared from a blind spot with the keys to Banden's shackles. Begrudgingly, he kneeled close to free the mobster's hands with a snarl curling at his nostrils.

Banden searched Hazo's face, his smug disposition fading away instantly like he’d seen a phantom. Maligma careened her head at his unexpected reaction.

When they were alone again, Maligma patronized, "Acquaintance?"

Banden rubbed the skin on his wrists as he looked up, his brows drawn together like heavy drapes. "Only by reputation," he said through a set jaw.

“Since when were you one to care for reputation?” Maligma's eyebrow arched before setting her eyes on his tattoo written across his chest.

He stood from the bunk, stalking close to her until he towered over her, voice threatening, “I don’t.”

 D'Qar...

Poe had managed to get cleaned up, packed up and saddled up in record time. He had traded in his pilot jumpsuit and mechanic overalls for his trusty brown jacket, a tan shirt and a pair of red utility pants –holstering his blaster rifle to his thigh. After grabbing a pair of dog tags that hung off the side of his mirror, he picked up his duffle bag and turned off the lights to his sleeping quarters –giving it one last look before heading for the ship parked outside the base.

BB-8 rolled over to Poe’s side, concerned beeps sounding out as he bumped into his leg to get his attention. Poe crouched down, hand on the little droids round surface. "Sorry pal, not this time." The droid rolled to the side and back, bumping into his leg harder.

Poe couldn't help but laugh at his droids enthusiasm, "I need you to stay here, look after Finn for me while I'm away. Keep the General safe." He patted the round ball. BB-8 whistled and chimed but its tone was more downcast, almost disheartened. "I'll be back in no time," Poe reassured the droid, watching him roll away with a proud smile.

The hot-shot pilot got off his knee and walked out of the shade. Heat permeated off the dry, cracked ground in a mesmer. Burned by the brightness, he cupped his hand over his forehead in an effort to shield his eyes from the sun. Rays of light hitting his parent’s dog tags at a sharp angle, reflecting outward.

A woman standing in front of the banged-up star-ship blinked furiously as he walked closer. "By the stars, Poe, you trying to blind a girl?" Paige protested as she blocked the refracted rays with her arm.

Poe slipped his tags under his shirt's collar and patted Paige firmly on the shoulder, "Now that would be a disaster. It's a bit last minute for me to find a replacement co-pilot."

"Co-pilot?” Her bug eyes sparkled with excitement as she punched his chest playful, “You aren't messing with me?"

Poe handed his duffle to one of the men loading up the ship, "You gotta start somewhere right? Can't just jump straight into an X-Wing without chipping a little paint." His knuckles knocked on the ship's side and ironically, peeling sheets of paint fell off.

Paige giggled with excitement as she looked up at the old piece of junk. Regarding it with newfound enthusiasm as if it had turned into a fancy race pod, "Rose is gonna flip when she hears about this."

"Easy there, hotshot," Poe huffed to keep from laughing. "You have to get us to Takodana in one piece first."

"Done and done!" She said confidently. The smile on her face was full of promise.

Poe admired her spirit. She reminded him of how he used to be in his younger days, before all the politics and red tape caught up to him. Sometimes he wished he could simply be a pilot and only a pilot. Take to the stars. Feel the rush of soaring against the winds. Feel the pull of gravity growing and growing until it was cast aside all together whenever he broke through a planet’s atmosphere. He wanted to return to a time when he'd proudly, and solely, declare that flying was all he knew. But the resistance had many pilots, what they didn’t have in abundance were new heroes. And as Leia had told him: ‘As fighters, we have all to accept that people will always expect more of us if we keep rising to the occasion. You have to learn to rise up to the pedestal all these men and women have put you on. We all had to go through the growing pains of transitioning from rebel to hero.’

Silly him, he had kept rising to the occasion, no matter how perilous or impossible a situation got. Which also meant, he was no longer just a pilot, but a hero that others looked to for guidance. And the Force help him, he had no intentions of ever becoming an authority figure in this war.

"Come on," Poe started towards the ship's doors. "Let's get this bird up and running."

Paige jogged after him, her entire aura buzzing with excitement.

"So what's our mission?" Paige asked, already strapped into the co-pilot seat, headset fixed over her grey woolly hat. The blacks of her eyes reflecting back all the lights of the dials on the dash.

Poe rubbed at his chin, the prickly feeling of newly forming scruff scraping against his calloused fingertips, "No clue."

Paige looked at him in surprise, "So we're heading to Takodana with no intel? Talk about flying blind."

"Our orders are to reach Takodana and get in contact with Maz, the rest is all a coin’s toss."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, if the General chose you to oversee this mission it must be important," she reassured him with a big smile. "She's General Leia for crying out loud. There must be a good reason for our mission even if we can't see it yet."

Poe took Paige's words to heart, feeling slightly more at ease.

"We're all fuelled up and ready, Commander," one of his flight crew informed him.

"Ground control, we clear for take-off?" He spoke into his headset.

Through the windshield, a member of the landing party flagged him on with their glowing orange wands, "That's a copy. It’s all clear skies and open runway. You've got the green light."

"Mission Control, we've got green light. Fuelled up and ready for take-off," Poe spoke into the headset at a different frequency.

"That's a copy Black Leader. Mission Control requests a call sign for the log before you take off," Lieutenant Connix's voice spoke out through the headset.

He turned to Paige whose bewildered expression informed him she was still taking everything in, "Well, Number Two? How about it?"

Paige looked like she were about to suffer a stroke, her hand blocking off the mouthpiece so she could whisper to him conspiratorially, "You want me to name the ship?"

Poe chuckled with a friendly nod. She shook the startled look from her face, her hand closing around her pendant. Then, all of a sudden, that look of confidence returned and she punched in the new name into the transponder.

"That's a copy, Rose One. You are clear for take-off," Connix relayed as she spoke out the ships new name for the first time. "May the force be with you."

“And with you, Mission Control,” Poe turned to Paige. "Alright, Ensign Tico, take us away!"

Paige hit the thrusters, retracted the landing legs and turning the ship stern-side until they faced open land. With a deep breath and a kiss to her pendant, Paige set their course for Takodana. Poe helped her climb through the atmosphere like it was a piece of cake with his excellent piloting skills.

"Whoo-Hoo!" Paige cheered as the Rose One broke through several clouds and glided out of the ozone layer.

 Space-port Hanoi, 200 Million KM from Hoth...

Odhen sat at a booth in the back of the cantina next to a window just wide enough to see the tiny white planet of Hoth from this distance. His haul: the princess of Thesmora and her trusty, yet frighteningly serious bodyguard, were over by the bar, blending in with the riffraff as best they could.

Ton-Ton had remained with the Somnambulist to oversee its repairs. Docking at the port had been a last-minute decision after Odhen convinced the two Thessi women that a working hyperdrive was more valuable than a ship without a working hyperdrive.

He sipped from his cup, his attention drawn to the commotion at the bar where Koa held a man face down against the counter with a clenched jaw. Calista tapped on her arm and like a reflex, Koa instantly relaxed her grip and straightened her face, a duplicitous look of calm taking over her as the thug fanned his jacket as he made his way to the exit.

Odhen had never seen two people so attuned to the other that they rarely needed words to convey a thought. They worked like a pendulum. When one swung over to the edge the other would veer them back on course.

"Stirrin’ up trouble your first day here," he chugged the rest of his drink when the women returned to the booth, an impressed shrug pulling at his shoulders. "You blend right in. Ever thought of changin’ professions?" He joked.

Koa didn't find his jab amusing, deciding instead to fix her eyes on the pins stuck to his jacket. "Were you some sort of hero?"

Odhen shifted in his seat, "Is there any such thing these days?"

“Did you steal them then? Some twisted form of souvenir?”She arched a brow at him and he simply looked out the window, ignoring her questioning. "A deserter then?"

That got his attention.

The tired pilot chewed at the skin in his mouth. "That don’t say much, aren't you both deserters?"

"Perhaps, logically. But such things don’t matter if you still have your honour." She squared her jaw, nails tapping languidly on the table. “Or is that a foreign concept to you as well?”

He knew something about him rubbed Koa the wrong way, he figured it was her disdain for anyone who lived outside the comforts of lawful structures or orderly hierarchies. She struck him as someone who took her ideologies too seriously. From the prickly way she regarded everyone in this establishment, he could tell she was having a hard time reconciling the fact that she was now just like everyone else in this cantina: an outsider. A fugitive. Someone of little honour.

No matter her disposition, Odhen wasn't planning on pulling any punches. It wasn’t his style. "Honour’s just a fancy word for havin’ a code. And a code is just a set of rules we make to ensure we don't cross those lines we’re uncomfortable with. It’s a barrier we put up to try and distinguish between what goes for civilised and what goes for savage. It’s a delusional safety net, nothin’ more."

“Is that why you live like this? Taking odd jobs for scraps? Because you’re above it all. Above the need to distinguish between the two?”

Odhen pointed his finger to the table, tapping between each sentence to emphasise his point, “Your commission wasn’ for scraps. The two of you were quite the lucrative deal, in fact. And in my line of work, it is all about the credits. So stop tryin’ to analyse me as though there’s more to my story than what you see. If you can promise that, I’ll promise not to raise your expectations of me.”

Koa’s mouth opened, a rumble in her throat signifying she was about to rebuke his words when Calista interjected.

"I've always wanted to travel to Hoth," She said softly, shifting their attention to the small round dot in the distance. "It doesn't snow on Thesmora. Not unless you live among the mountain tribes –but even then it's not the same. In the academy during our history lessons, I'd spend hours staring at its hologram, imagining what it would feel like to be knee-deep in snow. Toes going numb and skin turning blue.” A smile danced over her face at the memory, the tension that had begun to climb between Odhen and Koa diffusing away. “To see nothing but pure white stretching on and on forever. This is the closest I've ever come to seeing it with my own eyes. It may be the closest I’ll ever get to it."

Odhen watched Calista's face change from impassive to cheerful and back again –a glimmer of passion slipping between the cracks every now and then. He saw that the same fire that Koa wore proudly, like a suit of armour, Calista kept hidden, like a concealed weapon. In some small way, she reminded him of his late wife. They both held a stubborn vibrancy, kept hidden behind soft smiles and poised etiquette.

"Who knows, maybe you'll get to do more than just see it one day," Odhen muttered as he stared at the white orb in the distance. Calista hummed into her drink while Koa looked out at the white orb.

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of his holo-terminal beeping around his wrist. He connected the call once he read the transmission signature. A second later, a miniature hologram of Ton-Ton stood on top of a ring of moisture left behind by his cup. The Jawa was shouting and waving his arms as usual, but his tone was slightly more alarmed.

Odhen frowned, repeating what he heard with a hint of disbelief to his pitch, "They grounded our ship? Why?"

The Jawa explained how one of the smugglers who transported refugees off Thesmora recognised their ship and informed the security personnel expecting a reward. Watts had intercepted a tight-beam transmission sent to the base on Yotai. It became instantly apparent that they didn't have long before a group of Elites would mobilise to their position.

Odhen swore under his breath, ending the transmission with a heavy finger, the two women catching none of what Ton-Ton had just said. "You may need to secure another ride. The Somnambulist just got tagged," he swallowed the remainder of his drink and with a loud clink of his glass, he walked away.

 "You can't just leave us high and dry after you promised to get us to Takodana," Koa marched after him with a stern scowl on her face and just as stern of a tone. Calista hung back, the pendulum deprived its opposing force.

Odhen sped up his strides, but the young Thessi woman had no problems keeping up with him, her legs almost as long as his. "First of all, I didn't promise anythin’. We made a transaction, I took a job and now that jobs screwed. End of story."

She clicked her tongue, "Of course someone like you only cares about looking out for themselves."

He rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, "Listen, kid, I'm a smuggler, I take cargo no one wants to be caught dead with and deliver it to where it's supposed to go. I get paid and then I move on. Sometimes things don’t go as planned. Sometimes the cargo gets compromised, sometimes I have to stash it, other times I have to space it. This time I'm giving it a heads up before cuttin’ it loose! Caring has nothing to do with it."

"Congratulations," she clapped sarcastically. "You just lived up my expectations." Koa marched off, going to stand beside Ton-Ton who was currently lost in a heated argument with the port authorities.

When Odhen thought he had the room to breathe, Calista finally walked up behind him, but she stayed silent. Simply using her presence to strong-arm a response out of him.

He pinched his nose with an airy snort filling the awkward silence, "Look, I can ask around the port, see if I can find someone I know. Maybe they can get yo--"

"Time isn't on my side and what little time I do have is too precious to waste on the possibility of finding an alternative,” she stated frankly. "I'll double the pay."

He ran a hand over his beard roughly, feeling slightly insulted, "This ain’t a matter of credits."

"From everything you said to Koa in the cantina, your own words would seem to indicate it has everything to do with credits. Unless you don’t believe any of what you said before."

“Look, I have nothin’, nothin’, to prove to you or your friend over there.”

“I never thought you did,” her tone was cold, detached.

Odhen was seeing a different side to her, a darker side –an entitled side. She didn't look at him while she spoke, instead, she kept her chin high and her face unreadable. She spoke at him rather than to him. She made him feel as though he were no different than a low-life willing to do anything for a scrap of credits.

Isn't that what you want everyone to believe? He laughed ironically. Isn't that what you've become?

“Double?” He asked looking for confirmation.

“Double.” She nodded.

"I'll speak to Ton-Ton, see what we can do," he grumbled as he walked away from her, away from the sickening feeling of being regarded as the very thing he had told them he was.

 "She's willin’ to double the pay," Odhen whispered to his number two while they conversed in a dark section of the hangar bay.

Ton-Ton spoke energetically, his feet bobbing at the prospect of an even larger payday.

"I agree, that's a lot of credits, but that doesn't mean it'll be easy."

The Jawa kicked his shin in annoyance as he muttered something else.

"By the stars!" Odhen rubbed at his leg. "Fine, but we'll need a distraction too so the port authorities don't send security after us while we disembark. Someone will also need to override the clamp controls in the station's main offices."

Ton-Ton's arms came together and then rapidly flew apart in a circular pattern as he sounded out an imitation of an explosion.

Odhen’s eyes went wide, "You want to set off an explosion in the port? Are you insane? You could rip a hole through the entire station and kill everyone, us included!" He whisper-shouted as he nervously rubbed at his neck. "Always the pyromaniac. Are you forgettin’ what happened the last time you dabbled in controlled explosives? I was deaf in one ear for a week!"

Ton-Ton brushed Odhen's annoyed complaints away with a whack of his wrench, clipping the large pilot in his shin this time.

"Oof! You measly dwarf, I oughta..." he swore under his breath, side-stepping away from the violent prone Jawa with a height complex.

Ton-Ton explained his reasoning’s for being eager to help the two stranded Thessi women and Odhen huffed, a tweak working at his cheek jowls.

"You like the mean one, eh?" his gaze fell on the two women standing by the Somnambulist. He clicked his tongue as he took a deep breath. "Well, I guess we're turnin’ out to be a pair of suckers after all… Grab your mouthy droid and get to work."

Ton-Ton waddled back to his droid while Odhen strutted towards Calista and Koa, hands picking at his scruffy beard, more silvering hairs falling out. "Once an old fool..."

Calista propped her elbow over her forearm, fingers drumming on her lips as she studied the body language of their pilot and his second mate arguing in a dark corner.

Koa twirled a sharp implement between agile fingers, her line of sight drawn up towards the sparks hailing from a construction site overhead. "Do you think they'll reconsider?"

"They're desperate, and so are we. Whether we want to admit it or not, we need each other," she hypothesized.

"What did you say to him? He was pretty adamant about not wanting to help us earlier," Koa shifted her eyes to look at something else.

"I said what I had to," Calista ran her tongue over her teeth in distaste of her previous actions. She didn’t like manipulating others, but Odhen wore his wounds more openly than he thought. Everything had become clear once he snapped at Koa’s questioning his honour.

From what she had deduced of Odhen’s character during their short time together, she could tell his weakness was somehow linked to all those neglected medals pinned to that ridiculously small jacket he never took off. Something from his past haunted him, so much so that he had to constantly keep on the run from whatever it was that he didn’t want to face. From his past.

Koa narrowed her eyes at her friend's nonchalant countenance, "I know it's been a trying time, but are you certain you're alright?" she motioned to place a comforting hand on Calista's shoulder but the princess narrowly avoided the contact by shifting her weight onto her other foot.

"I'm fine. Let's just focus on getting to Takodana."

Ton-Ton and Odhen made their way back to the Somnambulist at a slower pace than Calista would have liked, her legs and arms were on fire with riled up energy that needed an outlet.

"Well?" she asked the pilot while the Jawa waddled towards his droid, placing several pieces of junk equipment into the trolley before he wheeled Watts towards the scaffolding that held up the construction equipment a few yards away.

"That little daredevil over there seems to think your cause is worth aidin’, which doesn' mean much considerin’ he has the worst self-preservation instincts in all the galaxy," Odhen glanced at his second mate getting into an argument with a construction worker allowing Watts to discretely stash something under a support beam. "You know he set himself on fire one time just so he could--" 

"Odhen..." Calista brought him back on topic.

He fisted his hand and brought it to his mouth so he could clear his throat before continuing, "Right, we can help, but we'll need more than two hands if we expect to get off this station without being shot to stardust."

Koa expertly threw the sharp implement at an unsuspecting stranger’s crate, the sharp end lodging itself at the centre of a letter printed on its side. Her swift action had gone unnoticed as she straightened off the part of the ship she had been leaning against.

"What do you need?" she asked, hands itching for some action.

He kicked at the air with his weathered boots, hands on his hips as he rehashed the plan, "We'll need someone to get to the control deck and hijack the controls that are keepin’ the ship docked. You can also access the defence turrets from there too. Giving them a hard reboot will take them offline long enough for us to make our getaway. Ton-Ton will set off a distraction that will draw the security personnel away from their patrol stations allowin’ you two to access the service elevator." He pointed to a guarded elevator that led up to a glass structure in the distance.

Calista frowned, "How do we get back onto the ship once we're up in the control room."

"There's an aerial access panel responsible for sending long-distance tight-beam transmissions, it's accessible through a maintenance hatch. The station is one of the largest in this sector, the dome-like structure will allow 'ol girl over here to fit her fat ass up there with enough wiggle room for you to climb aboard before we leave."

Koa judged the distance between the antenna’s platform and open space wide enough for the ship to fit through, "That's no small jump..."

"We'll make it," Calista said confidently as she held out her blaster rifle for Koa –who in turn tilted her head to the side. "No blades, we just need to scare them."

Odhen unholstered his much larger rifle, "Here, somethin’ tells me you'll feel better handling this." he offered his weapon to Koa and she accepted it with a whistle of approval.

Calista tucked her blaster back in her holster and gave him a nod of gratitude.

Koa checked the weapons specs with a smile. "This bad boy can do some damage," she complimented. "It's still got nothing on trusty Mohara though."

"Mohara?" Odhen cocked his head.

"Her sword," Calista informed him.

"Oh," was all he said.

 Hunkered under the darkness of a shadow cast off a larger star-ship, Calista and Koa stayed vigilant, waiting for Ton-Ton to set off the signal so the guards blocking their pathway would move. The silence was so all-consuming that she could hear the grinding of her ribs when her chest rose and fell with each controlled breath. It was akin to the sound of sugar being ground in a mortar and pestle. Jarring and very distracting. She kept the time by counting her heartbeat, she was somewhere close to 300 now.

Koa had pulled up the sagging layer of material of her cloak’s collar up over the sharp point of her nose so it clung to her cheeks and hid everything but her eyes. In the dark, they almost seemed to glow the same shade as her blade. She hadn't moved by even a fraction.

What first appeared as a trick of the light, grew into a bright orange flame and then finally a magnificent show of pyrotechnic colour splashes culminating in an explosion that toppled half a section of the scaffolding absent of workers.

Calista's mouth was pried open by the wondrous beauty of the hazardous flames and all they’re eye-catching flamboyance. Koa smirked as she tapped on her shoulder. "That's our signal."

Ton-Ton had outdone himself. Though something told Calista that this wouldn't be last show of needless extravagance she'd witness at his hands. The guards scurried towards the demolition site, as did several workers and crew docked nearby. Eyes wide and voices filled with panic birthed a pandemonium rife with discord and panic.

"So it is," Calista replied as they snuck passed the unguarded post and high-jacked the express elevator with the scrambler, another one of Ton-Ton’s inventions.

"Don't ever tell him I said this, but that odd little Jawa is a genius," Koa admitted as the elevator doors hissed open.

"And rambunctious, don't forget that."

 The second time the elevator doors hissed open, Calista and Koa burst out with their weapons drawn at the engineers and technicians working in the control room.

"Don't move!" Koa shouted as she held the hefty rifle in a menacing manner with both hands.

Frightened faces filled the cramped space maintained by a skeleton crew. Calista quickly made her way to the docking clamp operator and pressed the barrel of her blaster onto the spaces between his spinal discs. "I need you to unlock all the docking clamps in the east bay."

The operator held up his hands, trembles travelling from his skittish body through to her rifle, "I- It's against policy." He stammered.

Koa pulled her trigger, a spark-filled tiny explosion devouring the soundboard in a show of forcefulness. The operator jumped in his seat.

"How about now?" Calista asked.

He flipped several switches and turned several more dials as he pleaded, "O-okay, just… please, don't hurt us."

The mechanical whirr of clamps unhooking and retracting throughout the eastern bay made the entire station sound like an ancient behemoth moving rusting joints for the first time.

Plasma rounds hailed around Koa originating from an adjacent hallway, she fired her rifle at a door panel to seal it shut and hinder their attacker's advances.

The commotion had startled Calista, drawing her attention away from a comms worker who tried to knock the blaster from her hand. Luckily, her training kicked in as soon as she felt foreign hands grip at her wrists. She flicked them upwards and elbowed the comms worker so hard his head knocked into an electrical panel rendering him unconscious. She exhaled and then turned back to the bulging eyes staring at her, "Where are the controls for the exterior defence turrets?"

Her audience all pointed towards a scrawny looking woman manning a large station. "How do I reboot the cannon's targeting system?" she asked her, gun pointing down.

The technician slunk into her neck, both hands raised in the air, "I- I don't know. We've never needed to reboot them before." Her voice trembled.

"Move," Calista tossed her head to the side and the technician pushed her chair away from the control panel, gliding without resistance on the scratched up floor. She aimed her blaster at the panel and fired at it several times until all the lights turned off and the wiring sparked.

The technician took a shaky breath, closing her eyes in relief that it wasn't her that was sporting blaster holes. All of a sudden, the previously sealed door was blown open and Koa was kicked back by the force into a terminal, her body pressing down on several buttons causing unplanned chaos to ensue in the docking bay as mechanical arms, shutters and levers started malfunctioning. A rain of bright plasma shots filled the room with a red glow and everyone hunkered down for cover.

Calista spotted the maintenance hatch and shouted over her shoulder, "Koa, I've found the hatch."

"Can you get to it?" her companion shouted back between a spray of gatling plasma rounds.

Her nails dug into her palm as she looked between her corner of cover and the very exposed hatch, "I can try!"

"Go! I'll lay down suppressing fire!"

"I won't leave without you!" She said stubbornly.

"You won't be, I'll be right behind you. And look, there's our ride, right on queue!"

Calista turned to look at the brightly coloured ship manoeuvring its way around tight spots in order to get to the aerial maintenance tower. Its bulky sides scraping against metal structures.

She cursed before bracing herself as she made a run for the hatch while Koa let out another spray of plasma rounds. The hatch refused to budge at first, its hinges unlubricated and stiff, then, without warning, it popped open with a terrifying screech. Calista climbed down the ladder shoot and balanced her footing on the very narrow walkway. The Somnambulist spinning round and blowing wind as the cargo bay door opened with a hydraulic whir.

Ton-Ton waved her over, his body anchored to the ship using a cable tie while Watt's -sporting some singes and new scrapes- was kept in place by a giant magnet pinning him to a wall. Calista gulped as she jumped the distance and landed with her hands bracing at a depression in the floors panelling. Ton-Ton placed his tiny hands around her arm and heaved until she was safely aboard.

She stared at the walkway with bated breath, waiting for Koa to follow suit. Ton-Ton yanked at her sleeve as he made a motion to pull her further inside.

"Wait," she barked out, chin starting to subtly quiver.

Security personnel started firing on the Somnambulist causing it to sway in the open trying to dodge the attacks.

"This bird's got a fat ass, I can't shake em all. We need to get gone and soon!" Odhen's words rippled out over Ton-Ton's headset. The Jawa spoke a reply of his own as he increased his efforts to drag Calista backwards.

"One more minute!" She begged, eyes rapidly scanning the space for any sign of Koa.

Another explosion broke through the glass of the control room, black smoke curdling outwards. Some seconds later, Koa jumped onto the walkway and discarded the large rifle over the side. She steadied herself before breaking out into a balanced sprint.

Just as Koa made her jump, a rocket hit into the side of the ship causing it to move slightly further. In a panic and fuelled by a rush of adrenaline, Calista grabbed onto the meshed tarp that held the ship’s cargo down and leaned over the edge, arm extended to catch her. Koa's fingers grabbed down on her arm, the weight of her swinging body causing something to pop in Calista’s elbow as she helped her up.

Ton-Ton shouted into his headpiece as he made for the cockpit, the cargo bay doors closing shut, sealing them off from the dizzying cacophony playing outside the walls of the ship.

Calista sighed as she rolled onto her back, her arms splayed out limply. She smiled, feeling like she could breathe again.

"Gahh," Koa groaned, a scorch mark burned into the side of her trousers. "Let's never do that again."

Suddenly both of them were laughing, the ship becoming a womb of safety as they caught their breaths and allowed themselves a respite from all the stresses they had faced.

Takodana…

Lush, bright, mossy greens rolled out forever. A panorama of flora and fauna growing wild and free, a green sea untouched by the poisons of war and strife. The smell of earth and pine and clean made its way into her lungs, clearing her mind and body, separating Calista from her worries. It reminded her of home. Of before.

"Welcome to Takodana," Odhen said, thumb hooked on his belt loop. A sense of discomfort resonating through him as he looked to the large structure suffering from recent damage. Flags of all colours blowing in the wind, contrasting with the green of the land. "I kept my end of the bargain… I expect you'll do the same."

Ton-Ton struggled to wheel Watts through the muddy terrain. Odhen, noticing this, pulled the lever away from the Jawa and into his own hands, his gait less confident than usual. “Oh, and uh… I expect to be reimbursed for that blaster you never returned.” He spoke over his shoulder.

The Jawa hitched a ride by sitting in the trolley while Odhen pulled it with him towards the structure. Faint music travelling with the winds.

Calista took a moment to just stand there and take everything in. To revel in the silence and lack of smoke or fire or ash.

"Bargain?" Koa asked.

"I promised him double."

"Can we afford it?"

"No," Calista's jaw muscle twitched. "But there's always Felix."

Koa took a limping step forward, eyes cast down, stray hairs running with the changing directions of the winds. "Do you think he knows?"

Calista sighed, palm pressed to her mouth as her eyes jumped from leaf to branch to tree and back again. Finally, after a stagnant pause, she spoke, "Lenora is his mother too… Was his mother. No matter how much he claimed to despise her, she was family. We still are."

Her answer wasn't a definitive yes or no, if anything it sounded more like an 'I hope so' than a 'maybe'.

To be continued...

Tags: @carolinamalo53 @everything-intertwined

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees

[ihaveastorminme]

how ruthless are the gentle - i -

i. rare sight

I am troubled and harsh and hopeless. Though I have love inside me. But I don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it scratches like barbs.

—     Clarice Lispector

i.

Just as he reached the top of the hill, he saw the picnic tents set up close to the shore of the bay, gleaming white under the warm spring sun. Nestled into the long grass of the field, a dozen ladies were wrapped in their games and dances, their servants buzzing around them or clapping along to the tune of the music. From this distance he could not make out any of their faces, but the bright waterfall of Danny’s hair shone under the sun, catching and reflecting its light as brightly as the water of the bay.  She was a beacon even in the day.

“A sight for sore eyes,” Grenn said and Jon couldn’t help but agree. But instead of urging his horse forward, he held the reigns tighter, watched some more.

Some of the women were dancing, hair loose, the wide sleeves of their spring dresses pulled by the sea breeze, like wispy colourful clouds[1]. Their laughter did not carry, but Jon could imagine it was sweet as chiming bells.

“Are we not to join them?” Pypar asked then, when Jon did not urge his horse forward.

Jon hummed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Ghost did not like being inside any city and he liked King’s Landing far less than any other. But he did like water just fine and the salty taste of the air close to the sea had always held interest. The bloom of spring was sweet in his nose as he ran, the earth soft and wet beneath his paws.

Close now, very close. He could smell them already.

“Your grace!”

Jon opened his eyes.

The Sword of the Morning did not often take a chastising tone with him, not anymore. It had been from uncle Benjen that he’d expected a chastisement, but his uncle was silent, though he wore a mighty frown.

“Oh come on, Jon don’t scare them with that bloody beast.” Grenn complained. “They won’t even look at us after.”

“You never know.” Jon said slowly, looking back down on the clearing. “We could be the heroes, saving them.”

Ghost was visible to them now, and yes - as predicted - some of the ladies down there shrieked at the sight of him. But some did not.

His uncle huffed. “Want to make yourself look good do you? The whole seven kingdom know that direwolf belongs to you.”

Jon shrugged. “Yes, they do.”

Their eyes met and Jon knew his uncle understood him, even though he did not like it.

He always managed to see more of people when he saw them through Ghosts eyes. Uncle Benjen knew this. And he knew enough of Jon to know it wasn’t in him to enjoy people's fear. At least not those who had no reason to fear him. Perhaps that was the only reason he said nothing more on it. Benjen’s faith in him was only one of the reasons Jon loved him best out of all his family.  

So he waited and watched while Ghost padded his way in Sansa Stark’s direction. He recognised her as easily as he’d recognised Dany, even without seeing her through Ghost’s eyes. The sea breeze pulled at her blue veil and beneath it, her copper curls shone of an even brighter red-and-gold than he remembered.

She stood still as stone as Ghost approached her. The curly haired woman next to her however was not so frozen: she lunged for a knife on the small table perched a few feet from her just as another girl, with hair just as dark as the first and straight as an arrow down her back, tried to move in front of Lady Stark.

Sansa Stark stopped them both, and their guards as well, with one motion of her hand.  “It’s alright Jeyne. Shae, put the knife down.”

Her curly friend looked belligerent. “Lady-”

“There’s nothing to fear.” Sansa Stark said as stepped forward, putting her own body between Ghost and her friends.

“Are you blind?” The curly one asked, her fear making her lilting accent more pronounced. She wasn’t looking away from Ghost and Jon knew that if he took another step towards them, that woman would try to carve him with that cheese knife in her hand if it was the last thing she did. She was afraid yes, but that wouldn’t stop her.

Sansa Stark’s ladies were brave women, Jon concluded, and they loved her. If he knew nothing else about her, that would be enough[2].

“I can see perfectly.” Sansa Stark said as she looked Ghost in the eyes. She was calm as still water and looked very much like her mother, though there was something about her eyes that reminded him of his uncle.

Danny walked towards the three of them and touched the curly haired woman’s elbow as she passed. “He won’t do us any harm, no matter how scary he looks. Will you, Ghost?”

Ghost could have sat down. He could have wiggled his tail at the sight of her and lowered his ears to make himself less threatening, but he did none of those things. Instead, he edged closer to Sansa Stark, who did not flinch.

She was not as pale as he remembered, though still fair. There was a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks, and her eyes were uncommonly blue. And she looked at him with an unblinking stare, as if she understood that there was something more behind the red eyes of the beast in front of her. Jon and Ghost inhaled again, deep, taking in her scent, both familiar and not. From the lavender and citrusy scent of her hair to the warm headiness of her cunt, she smelled delicious. Delicious and sweet enough to make his mouth water.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Danny’s calm voice was soothing. She was by Sansa’s side now, and smiling as she reassured her, though Jon knew she needn’t have bothered. There was not a single drop of fear in Sansa Stark as she stared at a direwolf that was almost as big as a small horse.

“I’m not.” Sansa said softly.

To prove it, she extended her ungloved had towards Ghost, as delicately as if she was offering it to any lord for a kiss. So Ghost did. Both he and Jon nudged her fingers with the tip of their nose and then licked her hand, tasting the juice of the peaches she had been eating.

She laughed.

“If he’s here, Jon must not be far.” Danny said, but then-

“Jon.”

His uncle’s voice brought him back. The look on Benjen’s face was deadly.

“She doesn’t fear him.” Jon explained, knowing what his uncle objected to.  

Benjen did not hesitate. “Not the point, boy.”

Jon knew this, of course. Benjen was fine with him honing his wolf’s instincts and trusting them. But it’s rude to spy, his uncle’s furious eyes told him. Especially on your cousin, who does not yet know you.

Jon looked away, finally urging his horse forward. Uncle Benjen grumbled something that might have been a curse, or ‘little shit’, but said nothing more on it, at least for now. Jon knew he would be paying for this in the training ring tomorrow, and maybe even for days after, but it had been worth it.

ii

When Jon dismounted, Danny did not fly into his arms the way she used to. Instead she stood there with her hands folded together in front of her, the picture of demure grace. Her ladies, taking their cue from her, filed around her, waiting. So Jon walked forward and bowed his head, not extending a hand to her, not opening his arms for a hug.

If she wanted to keep things formal, he could do so.

“Aunt, it is good to see you again. You grow more beautiful with each new moon.”

Danny just rolled her eyes at him. So not entirely formal, are we. But she knew his distaste for courtly language, so hearing it from his lips was nothing short of farce.

“Nephew. I might have believed your regard for me more, had you not set your wolf upon us and then dropped in our midst smelling of horses.”

Jon tilted his head a bit to the right. “Is it that bad?”

“Ghost smells better than you do.”

Jon laughed. “I have offended your delicate sensibilities, princess?”

“You have.”

Whatever sensibilities Dany had were not delicate in the least and they both knew it, even though she was still looking down her nose at him. She must not be so very angry with him, Jon thought, if she was willing to play this old game of theirs even now.  

Jon chanced a look at Sansa Stark then, where she was standing behind Dany waiting to be introduced. She was not smiling but her eyes were warm. She wasn’t looking at him however, but somewhere over his right shoulder.

“My apologies. And Ghost frightened you?”

Dany tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He did.”

“Then it would be the first time he’s managed to do so in years. But I believe you, since he seems to have startled the manners right out of you.” He looked at Sansa Stark pointedly. “Will you not introduce me?”

Danny was openly grinning now and he knew by the fierce look on her face that had he stood closer, she would have slapped him for his cheek, and then maybe she might have kissed him too.

Gods, he’d missed her.

“Why should I? You’ve already met and I have no wish to keep you here.”

“You were the one who stood there observing decorum as if your septa was watching. I am merely obliging your silent request, since I have no intention of leaving whatsoever.”

Dany laughed. “Now that you're here Jon, I’m realizing I had not missed you half as much as I thought I did.”

“Still twice as much as I deserve, I’m sure.”

She walked to him then and Jon opened his arms to receive her. Once she was into his arms, he lifted her off her feet and spun her around once, to her great delight. At the sight, Dany’s ladies scattered like butterflies, free finally to speak and laugh, and ask the others of Jon’s party to join them in the shade of their tents.

“I missed you, Dany.” Jon said softly once she was on her feet in front of him.

Her lilac eyes were sombre as she regarded him. “So where were you?”

Jon sighed. “Settling some trouble in Higharden. Lord Hightower required some persuasion.”

She frowned a little. “Is it true you took all 300 hundred of your men with you as part of your household?”

He had. And they had all settled as guests of the Hightowers, for months on end.

“I did. After all they are my men.”

She laughed. “Oh you must have thoroughly gotten on his nerves.”

Yes, Jon thought. Hilariously so.

“He… did not appreciate his royal guests, no. By the time I proposed the treaty he signed it just to get my off his back.”

Dany chuckled at him and then turned to look around. Jon did the same and precisely as he had thought, found Sansa Stark speaking with their uncle and Ser Arthur, her two dark haired friends by her side. She must have sensed him staring because she turned, settled her skirts about her and graced them with a perfect courtesy.

“Your grace.”

Jon extended his hand and she put her right hand in his. He kissed her gloved fingers, and looked up at her through his lashes as he straightened. “Cousin. It’s good to see you again after so many years.”

“Likewise, your grace.”

She had a soft voice and a polite smile that seemed practiced and which did not seem to touch her sharp eyes and the way they were fixed on his own.

Jon knew what she was seeing.

“May I present my friends, Jeyne Poole of Shae Magyr[3].” Sansa Stark said and both young women stepped forward at the same time and curtsied to him. Jeyne Poole had warm brown eyes, Jon noted, but the curly one was sharper, as was her appraising look. Of the two, she would be the first to be suspicious of him and the last to shake off those suspicions.

“Ladies. A pleasure to meet you” He said. “Miss Poole, I have a gift from your father.”

Sansa Stark barely showed her surprise, but Jeyne Poole startled visibly at his words. Jon walked back to his horse, rummaging in his saddlebags for a moment. Once he found what he was looking for, he went to the girl and handed her a small box he’d been given.

“From your parents, with their affection.” He said and took in her radiant smile.

“Thank you, your grace.”

He then turned to Sansa Stark and deliberately chose to stand perhaps a hairsbreadth closer to his cousin than was proper, to offer her the gift her family had send her through him.

“And for you, cousin.” He said, extending what he knew were letters wrapped in aged paper. A year’s worth of unsent correspondence that the Starks had amassed.

“It has been almost eight months since my man was in White Harbour, but Robb and Bran met him there and gave him this to deliver to you. He said you were to receive it from my own hand, to make sure that it reached you safely.”

She reached for the package and Jon made sure she could not retrieve it without brushing her fingers against his. The names of her brothers and the physical proof in his hands that they thought of her, seemed to discompose Sansa Stark just enough to dislodge that lukewarm smile off her face, if only for a moment.

“Thank you, your grace.”

“Please call me Jon. After all, we are family.”

She looked up from package in her hands - the wrapping paper had suffered a little, though Jon had tried to be careful handling it - and looked at him as if she wanted to look inside his skull and rummage around there for the answer to some unspoken question.

She was a suspicious woman.

“So we are.” She said and smiled at him with a little more heart than before.

“Good. And now that we’re done with the introductions-”  Jon took a few steps away from the group and  started to undo his doublet, to the delighted gasps and tittering of the ladies about them.

“Jon, what on earth are you doing?” Dany asked, as she laughed.

He threw the garment on the grass and smirked at Danny’s shocked face.

“Taking the advice of a princess, of course.” He said as he removed his tunic and this time threw it at Danny’s head. She sputtered in indignation. “I’m going for a swim.”

Sansa Stark only watched him, no longer smiling but not frowning either. Jon could not tell by the look on her face if she was surprised or amused at his antics, or both. He saw her eyes glace at his naked chest, the markings there and on his arms, and then up again, but there was no visible sign of appreciation in them, even as her cheeks were stained pink. Sansa Stark was a careful woman also, it seemed. And one who hid more often than she did not.

Jon started walking through the tall grass along the shore, toward the beach, Danny’s laughter and those of her ladies following him. He turned to look at them as he undid the laces of his britches and saw them whispering together and laughing, but not Sansa Stark. She had eyes only for the letters her family had send her. She was seated down under one of the tents with her dark haired friend, already reading, one hand around her pale throat as her eyes skimmed the words. He knew he had done the right thing then, handing her those letters himself.

He was convinced of it again when, once he was in fresh clothes, curls still wet from the sea, she came to him and thanked him, this time more genuinely than before.

“You’re welcome, cousin.” He said as Ghost padded over to them and saddled up to her side, gentle as you like. Sansa paid him no mind at all, only raised her hand to scratch behind one of his ears as he drew close, as if they’d been companions always.

“He recognises you.”  

“Does he?” She turned more towards Ghost and petted his chest. She sounded flattered that his direwolf knew her and allowed her attentions. And she should be - Ghost was quiet, but he was by no means gentle.

“He must. Had anyone else reached for him this way, he would have taken their arm off.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Sansa Stark did not look she would appreciate this kind of talk. However, if his frankness disturbed her, she did not show it. She had not taken her eyes off the red ones of his wolf the whole time.

“Yes. They were meant to protect us, weren’t they.”

She said the words almost to herself, Jon knew, because she spoke them so softly, but then she turned those clear blue eyes to him and this time they were neither distant nor opaque, but as warm as the sun beating down his back.

“I’m glad he remembered me. I would have known him anywhere of course. As I would have known you.” She added.

Jon’s smile was a little crooked. “Everyone always tells me i have the look of the north.”

She grinned. “Everyone always tells me i do not.”

There was a joke in there and they both knew it, and smiled in recognition of each other, even as the words remained unspoken.

She kept looking at his face - his eyes, his mouth - not in hunger like some did, but as if she’d missed him, as if she was looking for something on his face. Jon did not think she realized she was doing it. And of course he knew it wasn’t him she was really seeing, but nevertheless, Jon kept still and let her look.  

“You used to remind me of Arya when we were younger, but now you look so like my father…” She whispered and then smiled, shaking her head as if to shake her thoughts from her. “It would have been impossible to mistake you for anyone else.”

Jon wanted to touch her then, something simple and small, maybe hold her hand a little. Something she would allow. For a moment he even thought she meant to take his hand, but then she let it fall into the plaids of her skirt again and smiled at him instead.  

“At least how I remember him looking. It’s been a long time. Has Arya changed any?”

Jon cleared his throat. “How do you remember her?”

“A child who used to run around in mud spattered skints, hair like a nest, wanting to learn how to fight with a sword.”

“Then she has changed very little.”

Her eyes softened. “I suppose she wouldn't.”

“She still runs around and avoids her septa, but now she wears britches whenever Lady Catlyn allows her to get away with it. And she did learn how to use a sword.”

Sansa’s eyes went round with surprise, and she took one small step closer to him, absorbed. “She did?”

“Yes. I taught her myself at first and then she pestered Ser Arthur to teach her until he finally gave in and did so.”

“Oh, Bran would have been so jealous. It was his dream, to squire for the Sword of the Morning. He used to talk about it all the time.”

Jon chuckled and offered her one of the cups he had just filled with the wine he found laying on the low table.

“He was. Eventually Ser Arthur was sparring with all your siblings, even Rickon wanted a turn. I think he rather enjoyed himself actually.”

She laughed and looked up, blinking several times. In that moment Jon felt the scarcity of his knowledge of her acutely.  

“Do you miss your family, cousin?”

Sansa looked surprised at his question. The openness that their previous levity had afforded seemed to flutter away as composed herself. She did not pull the curtains closed completely, but he could tell he had just said the wrong thing.

“No more than they miss me, I’m sure.” She said as she sipped at the wine before putting the cup down.

“They do.” Jon told her. “I could not describe to you your mother’s disappointment when she asked after you, years ago when i first visited, and I was unable to tell her anything, because we had barely spent any time together.”

She looked down and Jon wished she had not. The only part of her that seemed to give anything of her thoughts away was her eyes.  

“Thank you, cousin. That means more to me than you know.”

Does it? he wanted to ask. Did you think they did not miss you? Having seen how much her family wanted her home and safe made the thought strange. Ned Stark would probably go to his grave regretting having been cornered into paying for northern lives with his daughter’s future.

Did she not know?

“Is it true you always wear black?”

Her question startled him, and only then did he realize he had been staring.  

“I do.” Jon answered and spread his arms as if in showing her the tunic he was wearing then and there, he was showing her his entire wardrobe. He wanted to charm her, divert her. Seduce her. “What do you think? Too on the nose?”

She snorted softly, a sound so unlike her very self-possessed appearance.

“Yes.” She said with a shrug. “And a bit inconvenient for the summer here, I would say.”

Jon opened his mouth to say something in return, something witty that might have made her laugh perhaps, but the words died in his mouth, when Sansa Stark stepped towards him. She reached for him with both hands and straightened the collar of his shirt, smoothed down the fabric on his shoulders, the look on her face so affectionate it made something in him crack open right there, under the sun, leaving him stunned and breathless.

Strange that something so small could cut into him like this, and that she should smile at him after as she stepped back and linked her hands together in front of her again, unaware of any of it. Even stranger that so small a thing could make him want her with a rush so fierce it went straight to his head. The warmth unfurled from his belly and all the way to the tips of his toes.

He might have been one of her true friends, in that moment, for how she was looking at him. As close to her heart as her black-haired ladies were. He might have been the cousin he insisted he was; someone she’d gown up with, someone she cared for. And Jon knew with the certainty he knew his own face in the mirror that she would have loved him, as Arya and Rickon had loved him in the short time they’d known him, in a way that bordered on fierce. Or maybe she had Bran’s irresistible openness. Robb’s steadiness… Perhaps if they’d stayed in King’s Landing together, neither of them would ever have felt so lonely as they had for half their lives.

“It suits you, I think.” She said, bringing him out of his dizziness. It took a moment for Jon to puzzle out what she meant.

“Black was always my colour.” He heard himself say, just because that was what he’d always said. In this moment, the words meant nothing at all to him.  

“How do you know? Have you tried any of the others?”

Jon felt slow, as if after too much wine. He just gave her the truth. “Not really. Not since I was a boy and my clothes were chosen for me.”

“Then I’ll make you something in the colours of my house. Perhaps you’ll like it.”

Her smile was brilliant, even so small as it was. Or perhaps because it was so faint and honest.

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Sansa.”

When this time her smile reached her eyes, they were so kind they shamed him. The back of his neck felt hot in that way that told him that colour was rising in his cheeks, but he couldn’t help it. He felt small in the face of her open generosity that so reminded him of her father. Ashamed for the way he had approached her, using their shared family against her with calculated coldness. And angry at himself for having been so stupid as to ignore her all these years, just because she’d been thirteen when they first met and he hadn’t cared about the things she’d cared about, and hadn’t had the patience to pretend.

And half in love with her already, recklessly, dangerously and without any regret, because she was sweet and because her first instinct had been to touch him to help him, as if he’d been her brother.

It must have been hard indeed for someone like her in King’s Landing. Yet here she was, still able to be kind. The part of Jon that had snapped shut years ago, hurt a little now, in the face of such resilience and for the first time he wondered if he was doing the right thing. If he shouldn’t just tell her outright, what he planned, and why. He knew it in his heart, that she would not say no. That she was as unhappy here as he had ever been and that she would want to leave this cesspit and never return.

But what if she did not believe him? What if she mistrusted him? There was no shortage of terrible things he’d done throughout his life - his reputation was earned, if a little overblown, and Sansa Stark hardly knew him at all. If there was anything he’d learned about the Stark was that they would respect you if you earned it, trust you if you earned it and love you if you earned it. And that once they did love you, it went deep and forever, unmovable as mountains.  

No, he had to wait, Jon decided as he offered Sansa his arm and they moved towards one of the tents. Wait and make Sansa Stark like him. Show himself to her and let her see him for who he was. Earn some of her affection.

It was a dangerous plan and a selfish one. It could easily backfire, but… Jon did not want Sansa Stark to see him with contempt, he realized. If her unflinching eyes and careful hands were anything to go by, she knew how to spot a liar, and he didn’t want to be that to her. He wanted to be her family.

Jon sat down and watched Sansa as she spoke to uncle Benjen and charmed his men, managing to make even Ser Arthur smile. He joked with Dany, spoke kindly to Jayne Poole and politely to Shae Maegyr, letting them see him as he watched their lady. Because he knew now that seducing Sansa Stark would not mean engaging in that old dance that ended with him whispering filthy things at the delicate crook of her neck while he kissed his way down, though he wanted to do that too. No, seducing Sansa Stark would be like seducing the rest of her family had been: he would love her, and let the rest follow.

-

[1] I imagined the fashion of the targaryen court to be something like that of Renaissance Italy - super elaborate, with the veils and then velvets, with similar but less elaborate, versions around the kingdom. The Kimono-style dresses cersei wears i thought were  typical of the Westerlands, and in the north, dresses are more fitted around the waist, with narrow sleeves and the day to day ones are even simpler , with front lacing for practicality. All of which is info I didn’t need to share but did so anyway lol - it doesnt really make a lot of sense, i know i’ve taken fashions from many eras,  it’s just what i see in my head.

[2] From “A knight’s tale”.

[3] I KNOW i know, but we never had Shae’s surname and I just sort of… borrowed it.

[sunriseyg]

kairos

so, i already put this on my ao3, but i thought i'd post some stuff on here too. 

pairing: yoonseok word count: 5103 genre: fluff, mild angst?

summary: The sunsets are beautiful, not quite like sunrises, although they have their own appeal. But sunsets are way more soothing, and to Yoongi they look even better when Hoseok’s warmth is accompanying them.

 KAIROS:   

Ancient greek – (n.) The perfect, delicate, crucial moment, the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words or movement.

The sun is still brightening up the sky, slowly getting closer to the horizon. Dusk isn’t there yet, but the air is filled with longing and Yoongi finds himself waiting, expectation prickling at the back of his thoughts. Sitting on the little hill, surrounded by daisies and dandelions, Yoongi watches as the grass spreads in front of him, all around him, until he cannot distinguish the flowers from the ground anymore. When the other boy sits next to him, Yoongi fails to see where he has come from and, even if he were to find out, he wouldn’t know what to do with the information. The field around them is too big for him to attempt walking it, miles behind them just a small forest that Yoongi is always too scared to look at, let alone go through. “Where do you think you will be in five years?” The boy asks and Yoongi doesn’t dare to look at him, but he can feel his presence is positive, reassuring. 

Just like every time, Yoongi doesn’t feel like he’s in danger, he doesn’t feel scared, but he does feel some kind of distance between them, despite sitting right next to each other. Yoongi shakes his head, dark hair covering his smiling eyes, and a chuckle escapes him as he thinks of an answer. “I don’t know. Probably I’ll be here still, waiting for the sunset. Maybe I will have a dog, I've always wanted one.” Yoongi finally turns to him and he is not sure he stopped looking at the sun at all. The boy’s smile is bright as he meets his eyes, blinding even, and it somehow matches the warm feeling in Yoongi’s chest. “You should, dogs are great.” His voice reminds Yoongi of salted caramel, the perfect mix of sweet and salty creating a unique flavour. Yoongi likes mild things and the boy’s voice is mild in every aspect, yet never boring. If Yoongi had to assign him a season he would choose spring, when flowers seem to be keen on growing everywhere, brightening up the day, and everything is calm, right, balanced, but also colourful, different, unexpected. Their eyes eventually go back to the horizon, the sun still playing games with the few clouds, although now a slightly darker hue of blue is painting the sky; time always seems to go faster when they meet. “What about you? Where do you see yourself in five years?” Yoongi’s question is faint, a whisper in the vast field that could easily mix with the light wind blowing through their hair. Seconds pass – maybe minutes, Yoongi isn’t sure, it feels like an eternity regardless – but eventually, the boy parts his lips and the smile that Yoongi admires so much accompanies his reply. “I don’t like thinking too far ahead. Yes, one could say five years isn’t a long time, but it’s still…five years.” He seems to choose his words carefully and Yoongi tries hard to catch every single one of them, almost scared that if he doesn’t pay attention the other boy is going to stop sharing the thoughts that Yoongi is so interested in. A sigh precedes the rest of boy’s answer and Yoongi’s eyes focus on the purplish tint of the sky. “You could do so much in five years. You could turn your life around, really. So- this might sound cliché, but… I don’t focus too much on what the future holds. I’d rather see what I can do with my present. And right now this, whatever this is, it feels like I could be here for a while.” Despite his words, the boy doesn’t stay for long and Yoongi is almost disappointed. But he leaves with the promise of coming back and walks away right as Yoongi nods him goodbye, his silhouette standing out against the grass that’s now a darker colour, just like the sky.Yoongi doesn’t look at his back for more than five seconds and fights the urge of running after him, instead, he keeps on looking at the sunset until the stars are visible and the half moon is the only thing that keeps him company. 

.

.

.

A dandelion is blown away by the wind, stronger than usual but still pleasant. It forms patterns on the grass that Yoongi would try to decipher if he didn’t feel so tired, although he can’t remember doing anything that effort worthy before going to the hill. He feels like he’s been there forever, really. Once again, Yoongi is sitting and waiting for something, the anticipation in his chest extends to his fingers as he strips a few strands of grass from the ground to twirl them in his hands. When one of them breaks, Yoongi lets the whole bunch go, only to repeat the action shortly after.

It’s not time for the sunset to arrive yet and Yoongi wonders if maybe the right hour is the key to their encounters. But he then remembers all the times they met at night, or at dawn, or in the middle of the morning, and his theories are gone just as quick as he formulated them. Yoongi lets a sigh out, gaze falling on another dandelion next to him, still unscathed by the breeze.

Just as he’s about to grab the delicate flower, a shadow covers the sun and Yoongi looks up, meeting the eyes of the usual visitor that he’s come to like so much.

“Hope you haven’t been waiting for long!” He is beaming and Yoongi can’t help but compare him to the big star lighting up the sky once more. “What makes you think I was waiting?” Yoongi’s reply is met with a sweet laugh and, as the boy sits next to him, Yoongi widens his eyes as a revelation hits him. They don’t know each other’s names. They have been meeting like this for so long, but they never introduced themselves.

“What’s your name?” Yoongi questions suddenly, eyes full of hope and curiosity.

“Huh? Don’t you remember?” The boy replies with a surprised tone, yet seeming somewhat amused.

“I…don't. I’m sorry.” Yoongi is sure he has never asked the boy for his name, but maybe he is wrong. Embarrassment fills him as he realises that maybe he just made a fool of himself, maybe he did tell him his name once and he just forgot. He doesn’t understand how because Yoongi is sure he would remember the name of someone so beautiful. How long has it been since they know each other anyway? The sunset arrives and they’re quiet, Yoongi doesn’t dare speak again in fear of making things worse, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind. .

.

.

Sand.

It’s everywhere, it covers his feet as he slowly uses them to dig holes in the golden specks. This time they’re meeting on a beach and the sea’s waves create one of the most calming noises Yoongi has ever heard. There’s no one else around him and the sun is almost gone behind the horizon, drawing a landscape in the blue sky that amazes Yoongi each and every time. No matter how many sunsets he looks at, every single one of them is different and he likes to admire them all.

The boy sits down next to him, but Yoongi wouldn’t have noticed hadn’t it been for his words.

“So, did you remember?”

He always greets him with a question these days, Yoongi notices, leaving him baffled and prompting him to look for words when he’s less prepared for it. Yoongi turns to him and his breath gets caught in his throat as he just looks more handsome than always. He’s wearing a dark blue plaid shirt over a white t-shirt that seem to fit incredibly well with the colour scheme of the scenery. And just like that, Yoongi remembers.

Hoseok.

He is sure that’s his name and, as Yoongi says it out loud, he realises that he had known it all along. It sounds like toffee in his mouth, like candy that pleasantly melts at the touch with the tongue, and Hoseok’s smile is brighter than ever while he nods vehemently. “Yeah! Well done, Yoongi.” They just smile at each other for a while and Yoongi thinks his heart is going to fall right out of his chest if he doesn’t stop getting so happy over these small gestures. Remembering his name just now is something that, in Yoongi’s opinion, Hoseok should be at least a bit upset about, but there’s no trace of sadness in his eyes, he seems just plain… happy. Yoongi can feel blood creeping up his neck and filling his cheeks, so he turns away, hoping that the sound of the water crashing on the shore will calm him down. It doesn’t help much. .

.

.

Every time they meet it’s like the first and the last in just one encounter. Yoongi doesn’t expect Hoseok to show up, and he doesn’t know if he will be back when he leaves. But he does, every single time he comes back, and Yoongi feels his lungs hug his heart a little bit tighter, just a little bit more, as if to stop it from getting too big and spilling from his mouth.

He thought he loved the colours of the sky, he thought he loved the light of the stars, but there is nothing he loves more than sitting there and sharing all that with Hoseok, because there is nothing he likes more than seeing him smile.

“Someday we could travel,” Yoongi says after they’ve been silent for a long time, the light wind being almost as quiet as them. “We could see the world, maybe live together. That way we wouldn’t have to meet like this.” His head is close to Hoseok’s as they lay on the grass, as they observe the starry sky above them, specks of light flickering in their eyes and forming constellations of their own.

Hoseok turns his head to look at Yoongi’s profile, but the other boy doesn’t turn around, not until he can sense something is not right in the way Hoseok is looking at him. Then, he does, and what he sees almost destroys him. He was expecting Hoseok to smile, brightly as ever, and to tell him that yes, they could, hell, he wanted him to say that they should have done that right now, left town for good, never to be seen again.

But Hoseok’s frown is far from a smile. Mouth agape, like words should be coming out of it, but got lost somewhere along the way, Hoseok stares at Yoongi with empty eyes and the other boy just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why Hoseok looks so… sad. Crestfallen. Like a person who’s about to tell a very expectant kid that Santa doesn’t exist. Like someone who’s thinking of all the lies in the world, while knowing he has no choice but to tell the truth. Like, as much as Hoseok wants to agree with Yoongi, he just can’t do that.

“Yoongi…” Hoseok starts, and Yoongi knows that he doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to, he wants him to shut up already, he wants to grab his hand and run away into the forest, no matter how scary it looks. With Hoseok he feels like he can do anything, but not if he keeps on talking, not if he says those words Yoongi is sure he is going to hate. But he’s petrified under Hoseok’s stare, and all he can do is hope that his perception is wrong and maybe he will say yes. Maybe they will run away together.

Hoseok’s phrase stops there, though, and Yoongi stares at his lips as the other boy closes them in a faint, small, smile. Hoseok nods, but his eyes are still sad. Yoongi ignores that, he ignores the feeling in his gut yelling at him that they can’t run away anytime soon, that his hopes are impossible, even though he doesn’t really understand why they are so. He ignores all that, and ignores the fluttering in his stomach, the pounding in his heart, as he grabs Hoseok’s hand and holds it tight.

He can feel Hoseok’s surprised look on him, but Yoongi’s eyes are back on the stars, trying to ignore the blush he is sure is appearing on his cheeks too. .

.

.

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? It might as well be years because Yoongi can’t tell the difference between a second and a day now, he only knows it’s been too long. Too long since he’s been waiting for Hoseok, too long since the sun has set and the night has taken over. He glances at the stars and he realises how much he got used to Hoseok’s presence next to his, how much he feels like leaving that empty space on his side is just not right. Yoongi sighs for the umpteenth time as he grabs some grass strands and fiddles with them, thoughts of Hoseok’s smile filling his mind.

Over time they have bonded quite a lot, but Yoongi feels like he doesn’t really know who Hoseok is, despite the sensation in his gut telling him that they’ve been knowing each other for a very long time. They kept on meeting, asking each other questions that varied from their opinions on life, passing for opinions on sunsets, and even on what kind of music would bees like. Yoongi catches himself thinking about the one time he had asked Hoseok about his family and he had animatedly talked about his younger sister for a very long time, yet Yoongi didn’t mind at all and just enjoyed the fond smile on Hoseok’s face.

Maybe he’d gone too far. Maybe he should have shut up. Maybe, Hoseok had finally gotten tired of him and left him for good. The grass strands break in Yoongi’s hands and an angry grunt escapes him. .

.

.

Sunlight hits his face almost like a flashlight pointed directly into his eyes, and Yoongi shields himself with a hand as the cloud that was obscuring the sun just a second before moves away and makes space for the rays to come through. Yoongi feels exactly like the sky above him today, a bit cloudy, looking tense and uncertain.

His hands find the rocks underneath him, and he grabs a few, looking for the right one. A lake spreads in front of him and its water looks like an even and neatly polished piece of glass, still and calm like few things Yoongi has seen in his life. Then, a rock skips on the water, breaking that perfect surface, and then another, and another, and another. Yoongi throws rocks and some skip like he wants them to, some don’t, until he’s run out of rocks that work and he just tosses them, listening to them flop and sink in one brief moment.

“Havin’ fun?” He almost jumps at the voice, but he doesn’t really get the chance to react because Hoseok is sitting next to him and smiling so widely and oh god, the sun is shining again.

“I–” Yoongi only manages to trail out, rock in his hand as his arm slowly lowers back to the ground. His eyes are stuck on Hoseok, as the other boy grabs his hand and opens it, taking the rock in his own palm. Then, he puts the rock back on the ground and interlocks fingers with Yoongi, smile yet to fade from his face. Yoongi is baffled, he’s dumbfounded, he’s every synonym in the world that express how fucking shocked he is to see the other boy there. But he’s also in love, oh, so much, and he’s realised that just now, right in this moment, as Hoseok looks at him with the same glint in his eyes, the same fondness Yoongi thought another human being never could have had for him.

“I’m sorry. I should have come back earlier. I just got scared– and things came up–“

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” Yoongi smiles and squeezes his hand tighter; there’s no way he’s letting go anytime soon.

When they kiss it’s sweet, and long due, and everything Yoongi was waiting for. Doubt is still trying to make space at the back of his mind, but he pushes it away and enjoys Hoseok’s embrace. His heart is a peaceful lake and Hoseok is skipping rocks on its surface, creating beautiful patterns Yoongi will never get tired of. .

.

.

The meetings start again, and Hoseok is always bright, always calm, always what Yoongi needs, when he needs him. One day he brings him flowers, and Yoongi doesn’t know what to say except why?

“They reminded me of you. Freesias are so pretty and delicate.” Hoseok explains, like he doesn’t understand how Yoongi couldn’t come to such a simple conclusion.

“Thank you.” The words are almost stuck in his throat, but they fight to come out and they seem to make Hoseok grin wider as Yoongi grabs the bouquet and smells the flowers.

Freesias are really pretty. .

.

.

They’re back on their hill, a little bit closer to the forest this time, and Yoongi feels anxious about it. He doesn’t know why, but no matter how calming Hoseok’s presence is, that forest creeps him out. The other boy seems to notice as Yoongi frantically turns back to check that the forest is there, unmoving and silent.

“What’s wrong?” Hoseok asks, worry painting a picture on his features that makes Yoongi’s insides squirm. He doesn’t like to see him frown.

“Nothing.” Yoongi looks again towards the horizon and scoots a little closer, until Hoseok’s arm wraps around him and he can lean his head on the younger boy’s shoulder. “I just feel like something might come out of there and grab us.” He explains, realising how Hoseok’s thumb is slowly caressing circles on his upper arm.

“Don’t worry, that forest only has trees and maybe some birds and insects in it. Nothing will harm you.” Hoseok presses a kiss to his temple, and Yoongi has never been much for prolonged skinship, but he feels like he could stay like that forever. .

.

.

The sunsets are beautiful, not quite like sunrises, although they have their own appeal. But sunsets are way more soothing, and to Yoongi they look even better when Hoseok’s warmth is accompanying them.

“I thought that maybe you’re right. Maybe we can leave here.” Hoseok says all of a sudden, and Yoongi did not expect that at all. He thinks that maybe Hoseok likes to surprise him more than he likes to be surprised, but he can’t help a smile as he tilts his head to the side in a curious stare.

“Soon. I feel like soon we’ll both be ready to leave and live our life like we always wanted.” The other boy continues, once more like there’s only one easy solution to every question Yoongi has. And Yoongi doesn’t ask more, that’s all he needs for him to believe again that yes, they can make it out of there. .

.

.

 The forest starts scaring him less. He still likes sitting away from it more. .

.

.

Nothing cheers Yoongi up more than hearing Hoseok’s laugh, and it cheers him up even more when he’s the one to make it happen. Every time they meet it’s like time freezes over and speeds up at the same time, because thousands of sunsets could go by, and even more sunrises could fly past them, and Yoongi would want to spend every single one of them with Hoseok without ever getting bored of it. He is sure of it like he’s sure that the moon is going to shine, he’s sure of it like he’s sure of his love for Jung Hoseok. So he tells him.

“Yoongi, I…” Hoseok’s smile could obliterate the stars and Yoongi feels like he might get at least a first-degree burn from the blush on his own cheeks, so he fiddles with the grass strands – it’s a habit now –because Hoseok’s eyes on him suddenly became too much to handle. “… I love you too. I- I’ve known it for a long time, actually.”

The other boy’s hand finds Yoongi’s easily and it untangles his fingers just like the kiss they share melts the knots in Yoongi’s stomach. Once again, Yoongi can’t believe this is really happening to him, he can’t believe he’s really living this moment because it’s too perfect, too right, too everything. And yet, Yoongi feels like nothing could ruin it. .

.

. It happens one day when Hoseok is just a little late and Yoongi doesn’t really mind– he trusts him now; he knows he will be there soon. He’s sitting on the grass, the hill is peaceful, and he’s mindlessly counting down the minutes until Hoseok shows up.

Except a dog shows up instead.

It almost scares the lungs out of Yoongi, because he is absorbed in picking the grass around him as he usually does when waiting for Hoseok, and then he feels something nuzzling at his neck. He jumps up and almost falls over right after, but the dog is sitting there, looking up at him with big eyes and dangling tongue. It’s big, and white, and fluffy, and Yoongi would be cooing if it wasn’t for the minor heart attack he’s trying to recover from.

It barks softly at Yoongi after he has stared at him for maybe too long, and it starts nuzzling at the boy’s legs. Yoongi assumes he’s demanding pets, so he reaches out a hand and slowly pats the dog on its head, at first carefully, then the dog seems to get more excited as a chuckle escapes Yoongi, who crouches down and starts petting the dog with more confidence.

Then the dog gets up and barks at Yoongi again, still with the same energy, that demanding way that dogs have when they want attention. Yoongi doesn’t understand, he has been petting him for the longest time, and yet the dog doesn’t seem satisfied with that anymore. It’s looking at Yoongi like it has a secret that it wants to reveal and when Yoongi realises that he’s following the dog into the forest it’s too late. He’s right in front of it now, he could reach out a hand and caress the bark of the first tree, but the feeling in his stomach stops him. The dog is next to him, it barks once more, waking Yoongi from his thoughts.

“I can’t go in there, it’s too scary,” Yoongi tells the dog, feeling somehow it can understand his words despite the species barrier. “Hoseok will be here soon too, I can’t leave.”

The dog just nudges Yoongi’s leg again at that, and Yoongi throws it a worried look. When the dog nudges him and whimpers, Yoongi crouches down to caress a hand into its soft fur.

“I understand that you want me to go, but why?” Yoongi looks the dog in the eyes and really feels like it could speak back to him at any moment. “This is the closest I’ve ever gotten to it.” He murmurs, eyes trailing back to the deep coat of leaves. He can see between the trees, he can see the ground covered in leaves and rocks and bushes inside. He can see how the sunlight gets filtered through the branches and he can see the patterns that get formed by the shadows. He is in awe and he is terrified and he is doubting all of his fears and he feels them simmering inside him. Nothing will harm you. Hoseok’s words echo through his mind as he looks back to the patch of grass he was sitting on before. Maybe he can do it. Maybe he can take a few steps in and go back right away. Then Hoseok will be happy to know he managed to get close.

The dog barks again and this time it comes from in front of him. Yoongi eyes its white paws walking on the leafed path between the first trees and he’s suddenly scared for it. But the dog walks a bit further inside and then stops to look at Yoongi, expectant glint in its eyes.

The sun is setting and Hoseok isn’t there yet, but something is pulling Yoongi inside the forest now.

Just a few steps. He’ll take a stride until he reaches the dog and then he will walk back.

One last look behind his shoulder and then Yoongi takes a breath. Clenches his fists. The dog is still there, patiently observing his every movement.

And then, he’s walking past the first tree. Yoongi doesn’t return to the grass patch.

Every time Hoseok leaves the hospital there’s a part of him that stays there, his mind travelling back to how cold Yoongi’s hand seems, and how his heart accelerates when he sees him laying there, eyes closed and only a beeping monitor indicating that he’s still alive. He hates it and loves it, that beeping, that constant sound. It’s repetitive and static and Hoseok knows it’s the only thing guaranteeing him that Yoongi is there, he is right there. Yet, he wishes he could get some other response when he talks to him and not the cold, distant, beeping of the machine.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Hoseok tells him, squeezing his hand and kissing him on the forehead, like he always does when he leaves that cold room, the only thing to brighten it up are the flowers that he had brought him. Freesias wer– are his favourites.

Hoseok knows there might not be a tomorrow.

So he kisses his lips too this time, chastely, while holding back tears because he can’t let Yoongi see him cry, he won’t allow it.

Yoongi has been in a coma for two years and for two years Hoseok has been yearning for him, waiting for him to wake up, to reply to his calls, to open his eyes and hug him and tell him that it’s okay. It’s okay, they’re together, it’s okay. That they don’t have to hide anymore, Hoseok doesn’t have to pretend to be “his best friend” anymore, they can just leave and love each other and be who they want to be. Hoseok had a dream once, where all of that happened, and they were in a field and it was beautiful and perfect because there was no one but them, looking at the sunset like it was the most precious thing in the world after the embrace that they were sharing.

Hoseok knows that’s not happening anytime soon, because Yoongi’s parents told him they’ve been considering putting and end to it, and there’s nothing Hoseok can do to argue.

“He wouldn’t want to live like this.” Is the only reasoning they gave him. Hoseok wanted to yell, to argue that he would want them to believe in him, to believe that he can live at all, he would want so many things and he wouldn’t want them to give up. But he didn’t. He swallowed his tears like he learned to since he was a kid, and nodded.

“We know you care about him, and we appreciate all you’ve been doing so far. But we’re letting go and so should you.” Yoongi’s father had put a hand on his shoulder, a gentle look in his eyes, almost as if he knew. Yoongi’s parents have always been more understanding than Hoseok’s, they know and they accept their son for who he is, but Hoseok wishes they also understood how wrong wanting to make that decision is.

He cries when he gets home, and then cries some more, until his lungs feel sore, just like his heart has been feeling since Yoongi got rushed to the hospital. He curses, and yells, and he lets it all out until it’s the middle of the night and he realises he hasn’t had a proper meal yet. Hoseok doesn’t care, he’s not hungry.

He’s losing all hope, he’s losing everything, and he feels like he’s about to lose his mind too because he suddenly can’t believe his ears and eyes. His phone is ringing, and it’s Yoongi’s mother, and he’s scared.

“Y-yes? H-hello?” The words come out dragged, like he really doesn’t want to say them and instead there’s a small thread forcing them out from his throat until they fall out. “Is everything o-okay?”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi’s mother's voice seems just as tired as his, but he can’t decipher it, he can’t figure out if she’s about to say something incredibly beautiful or incredibly horrible.

“He’s- He is-“ She chokes up on her words and he still doesn’t understand. He is what? Awake? Alive? Or… no, Hoseok doesn’t want to think about it.

“Just get here.” This time is Yoongi’s father talking, and that’s all he needs. There’s hope in him again, he doesn’t know what has happened, but maybe it’s not bad news. The call is over before he can ask, and in his heart there’s fear and longing and anticipation and worry. But he runs, he runs out of the house, he runs to get a taxi, he runs to the hospital. He doesn’t care about what it is that the nurses are telling him, he doesn’t care about getting his name signed down, he doesn’t even care about his scarf getting lost somewhere along the way because all he cares about right now is Min Yoongi and whether he’s alive or not, whether he can hug him again or not, whether he can see him smile and hear him laugh and talk or not. It’s the middle of the night and Jung Hoseok can feel his heart thumping louder than his own thoughts, but when he reaches the door to Yoongi’s room, he needs to stop and catch his breath.

Every moment he’s ever spent with the other boy comes back to his mind. The first time they held hands, the first time they kissed, the first time they realised they were each other’s everything. Hoseok treasures every second he’s passed with Yoongi, even the bad ones, even the ones where they thought they hated each other and especially the ones where they were proved wrong. He can feel tears coming at the back of his throat, but he swallows them down.

Finally, Hoseok holds his breath and pushes the door open.