#mmm yes a shadow lurking

[delightful-hatter]

Waking up at sunrise

[tavyliasin]

Speak of the Devil and You Might Come - Haarlep x Gender Neutral Tav Short

A quick short piece, 643 words of an idea~

Image - the little Haarlep in my head, demanding silly smut at 2am...3am...whatever time it isn't. (Silly doodle by me~) Full short piece below the cut~ --- ---

Tav felt it, several times through the day. Not a lot, a flutter of sensation, a teasing of arousal. They might have put it down to a quirk of the body’s natural rhythm…but they knew better than that. Haarlep hadn’t taken a lover in their form, they hadn’t felt that level of connection, sensation… The incubus was toying with them and it had left a deep frustration that had itched at their body for hours. By the time Tav found a space to be alone for an hour, some weak excuse about checking a lead in a tavern for some trinket or another. Nobody believed them, but at this point they didn’t care. The room was cheap, but most of all it was private. Tav dropped their bag and lay down on the bed, hands already drifting below the waistband of their clothes. They were pent up, and even the first hint of their own touch was a relief. 

Their mind kept drifting, faces, *bodies*, lovers both past and present…but nothing felt satisfying. Tav couldn’t focus, every time they drew close to their release it slipped away from their busy fingers. One other face came to mind, one name creeping to their lips. “Haarlep…please-”

“Well, if you do beg so beautifully, how could I deny you?” 

Tav hadn’t noticed the swirl of magic, nor the scent of sulphur, cherry and cinnamon that lingered in the wake of the portal from Avernus and the body that stepped through it. Haarlep leaned down over them with a smirk, the chains from their harness dangling tantalisingly close. “Speak of the devil…” “I could leave, if you prefer~” Haarlep’s gaze followed the line of Tav’s arm to where their hand had not stopped moving. “Or I could help you, with your little issue.” 

Tav bit their lip, a battle in their head, the two beasts inside them fighting over how to have Haarlep inside instead. “Don’t act like you didn’t plan this, toying with me all damned day.” 

The incubus laughed, infernal fire swirling around their body until it had changed form, Tav’s own body leaning over them, yet dressed still in Haarlep’s leathers. “And don’t you try to pretend you don’t want this~” It was almost akin to a mirror, the way Haarlep copied their motions, doubling the sensation of every touch and yet denying the satisfaction of direct contact. Part of it felt strange, to see their own face blushing back at them, biting their lip, the hint of a moan in their own voice-

“Mmm not bad~ The flavour of your sin…your lust...” The weave swirled around their fingers in threads of shadow, the spell robbing Tav of their sight just a moment later. “But we can do better than that, can’t we, Little Thief?” “Calling me a thief while stealing my visi-” Tav’s complaints were cut short by heated lips upon their own, a kiss of passion and need, yet devoid of what most would consider to be affection. They melted into it all the same, drinking in the lies of love with the hot edge of cinnamon dancing across their tongue. “Fuck-” 

“That would be the idea, yes~” Haarlep chuckled softly, beginning to kiss down Tav’s neck, to their shoulder, continuing toward their elbow even as their hand continued to chase their pleasure in the dark. “Don’t stop, now.” 

The sensations built, multiplying with anticipation as the incubus moved lower, climbing on to the small bed, pinning Tav’s legs easily between their own. “Haarlep-” 

“Shh, Little Thief, save my name for when you mean it, for when your mind and body give themselves over more fully to the pleasures you’ve been longing for~” The incubus stopped talking then, busying their lips with Tav’s fingers, tasting the arousal from each one before descending directly to the source with a pleased little moan. 

--- ---

ENDING NOTES

Just a fun short from an idea that kept lurking in my mind~ enjoy!

[ruiniel]

The night

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Trevor Belmont x f!Reader

Summary: a short smut snippet written fastly for this ask.

CW: 18+, explicit language, emotional intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), teasing, praising, it's soft what can I say (unlike Trevor wink wink)

Rating: Explicit 🔞

All characters depicted are 18+

You stretch your weary muscles, lying back, sighing and staring at the wooden beams set across the ceiling. You turn on your side and watch Trevor near, plopping down at the edge of the bed, shirtless, hands lifeless in his lap.

"What a day, huh?" he sighs, and it sounds less like a complaint and more like an afterthought.

Cold, muddy, bloody — a short quest getting rid of the usual supernatural pests lurking about the nearest town left you both spent, but it's also your main source of coin since you began traveling together, and there's no shortage of work though the pickings are slim. 

What a day indeed.

"It's over now, though," you rise and wrap yourself around him, arms circling his torso, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Trevor says, eyes closing as you place a light kiss to his cheek. He smiles faintly so you do it again, lips to his temple, his ear as his hand reaches behind to feel up your bare leg. "... what is it?" he asks, knowingly, turning his head to meet your seeking mouth.

Your hands cup his face, drifting to the starkly defined lines of his jaw, and you run the tip of your tongue along his lower lip; he opens for you, deepening the kiss as he slowly turns to face you and you lie on your back, dragging him after.

He’s silent as he tends to get in these moments, hiding his face against your neck; you lie in silence, breathing together, your body attuned to the pleasant heaviness of him — not to mention, to an actual bed, in an actual inn, for a change. You have no home as such, no place to call your own, haven't for a while now and Trevor raises his head, looking at you as he sometimes does, like he can't believe you’ve joined him, like he can't believe he deserves this. He buries it beneath all those layers of sarcasm and cynicism, but you learned he simply has difficulty believing he's worthy of all and everything good in the world. Despite this, there's something he realized long before you did: you're each other's home.

Slowly he rises on his arms and stares down at you, a shift to his hard hips, smiling when you bite your lip and lift your lower body to press up against him. "Oh... so that’s how it’s gonna be?"

You nod, eyes narrowed, smile shadowed by the shivering light of the candle set on the windowsill. 

Trevor takes the cue, perceptive as only one forced to always improvise can be, one hand drifting up your middle, taking with the material of your nightdress, slowly, slowly until cool air meets your skin, and his large palm slides over one breast, feels the already-hard nub. "Mmm…" his expression morphs into that familiar, shiteating grin. "For me?" he asks, staring at the evidence of your eagerness, head tilting so his messy hair brushes your collarbone, nosing at one nipple, his thumb circling the other. The roughness of his fingers feels soothing like this, the weight of him grounding in ways you never knew.

"For you," you swallow at the look in his eyes but grin up at him, lashes fluttering and bringing him close to kiss his crooked smile again. Irresistible, this side of him. Yes, Trevor is rough, he's had to be, life demanded it of him. Yes he has that rebellious streak which enabled his survival and still fights against self-destructive urges coming with years of buried trauma, but underneath it all, he's the most caring person you’ve known and as generous with his affections as he is with his courage; he’s only human, and he’s yours.

Your thought is severed as his soft tongue grazes your skin, lips pinching and nipping at each hardened nub before tracing a wet line between your breasts, down, down, pausing to press a kiss here, a suckle there. His scarred hand slowly follows up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh; you gasp, mind turning useless when his thumb presses between your legs, over the spot that sends an instant flare up your spine and heat rushing through your veins. 

"Looks like I'm in the right place," he says, and you watch him, head between your legs, those cutting, glittering blue eyes soft on you, breath warm and feathery on your skin.

"I… agree," you murmur and sigh as he presses his face into you, breathes you in.

"Fuck... you smell so good," Trevor groans, palms running up and down your sides with slow, lingering heaviness; the kind that tells you he wants this, wants it desperately.

You knead at his shoulders, feeling the physical reminders, the years of struggle marked in flesh; he's all heavy breaths and tensing muscles as your touch drifts to his hair, your nails gentle along his scalp until he shudders against you. You find that perfect jaw again, your back arching suddenly when he buries his face into you with a light, tender kiss to your slit.

"Trevor—" and that's all you can get out as a fleeting sensation of utter bliss has you trembling, his tongue lapping at you once, slow and silky and so warm.

"Yes, love?" He watches you closely, and you giggle when he raises his head to nuzzle your  thigh, his stubble rough on your skin. 

Your hands drift to seek his, weaving fingers together and squeezing tightly. 

His pupils are blown wide in the candlelight, that look on his face you know by now, the hunger he found so difficult to express, now coming so naturally between you. "I'm listening," he says, still looking at you but doesn't wait for a reply, instead drawing close again, breathing soft, warm air onto your clit.

Your head falls back, a sigh of pleasure leaves your chest. "...nevermind,"  you smile, hips rolling lazily, releasing one of his hands in favor of running it through his hair.

"You sure?" he asks, teases, tongue tracing your clit with the barest flicks, so soft and slow you can’t hold down a helpless whimper.

"Trevor please, just…" you don’t finish as he suddenly presses his mouth to you, kissing and suckling and lapping at you again and again until you buck up against him and soon finds the right angle as he holds your hips down with both hands, setting a rhythm that has you shaking and sighing and panting.

Your hand is still caught in his hair, pulling until he hisses but he doesn’t stop until you break, until your nerves flare and pleasure coils low in your body ready to drown you and so it does, suddenly you shatter beneath him as tide after tide of flickering sensations crash over you; still pulsing against his mouth you sigh, watching him as he rises, cock thick and hard against his abdomen, the head slippery, beaded with slim pearls of precum. 

He kneels between your legs, fingers digging into your hip bones, dragging you closer until your cunt is pressed to his cock. He arches an eyebrow and grins, rubbing himself against you slowly, taking his time and watching you, shaking with need and anticipation. "I like it when you beg for it," he says, sheepish but smiling like a bastard, and there you are, eyes narrowing at him but too gone to think straight, and all you want is him; inside you. Now.

You reach up, dragging your nails along his arms, hips raised to meet his slicking, maddening movement, the flare of his cock rubbing at your sensitive clit with every mimicked thrust as you squirm, still held down, still enjoying it, the way he so tries to control himself though the nervous quiver to his parted lips and the tightening of his grip tells you all you need to know.

 "...please, Trevor," you sigh, giving up, smiling shiftily as he holds himself above you, corded and panting and ready. "I… I need you… so much…"

His smile falls with the sweetest, softest moan when your hips tilt upward suddenly, grinding with more pressure. Leaning forward, kissing you deeply, he obeys.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Okay. Breath!!! Lolz I had to race my ass over as soon as I saw the prompt list update!

20 with Bishop 😌

Please and thank you!

Ooooh yeah! :D Here we go!

Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

While the party is in full swing, he takes you off, leading you through to the sacred space of templo, the room dark, only illuminated from the light that partially shines in from outside, Bishop kissing you greedily as his hands snake up your thighs, yanking up your tight, black dress to lay hard spanks upon your bare ass cheeks.

"No undies, huh?" he gravels, his voice dripping in honey and sin.

"Why bother?" you quip, nibbling his throat. "You like fucking me at any given moment, so they're pretty much pointless."

He smirks, hands yanking your dress down, exposing your tits to his hungry mouth. "And fuck you is exactly what I'm gonna do, baby. Until you can't fucking walk straight."

"I can handle you," you assure him.

“Oh, I know you can handle me, baby, but can you take him on, too?” Immediately, your eyes widen, hearing footsteps behind you, someone who had previously been lurking in the shadows stepping forward. Before you can turn, you feel a thick, tall body at your back, Bishop's mouth sliding down over your skin, lifting your leg to rest on the table as he crouches, tongue pushing in a long, rolling lick against your apex as two hands slither around to cup your breasts. From the tattoo on one of those hands, you know who your companion is before he even utters a word.

"I think she can, Bish," Angel chuckles, moving your hair to kiss your neck, the fact that his presence has been met by absolutely no resistance by you going straight to his cock, standing erect at your back, the heat of it scintillating even through his jeans.

"Oh, for sure." you purr, turning your head and being met by his lips upon yours. You've always secretly lusted after Angel, but obviously being Bishop's girl, never had it enter your head to make a play for him. He obviously noticed, setting this up so you'd get to enjoy him guilt-free. And for that, you're elated, Angel's hands kneading your tits as you share sinfully dirty kisses with him, Bishop's tongue flicking all over your clit making you gape and drip with longing to be filled with a cock.

"Mmmm, get on the table, baby," you demand, pulling your man up to his feet. "I wanna choke on your cock while your friend here fucks me." They both move quickly to facilitate your desire, Angel pulling your dress over your head, his hands touring your nakedness, his eyes following appreciatively before he bends you over, pulling his cock free and sliding it straight into the chasm of your wet heat.

You cry out immediately, your eyes widening. "Oh my god!"

"Mmm, that big enough for you, querida?" Big enough? The dude is hung like a beast.

"Fuck yes!" you wail as he pulls back, arrowing into your plush again with a sharp thrust. "Oh my god, you're so big!"

"Yup," he confirms. "And imma fucking enjoy the shit out of watching you take every last god damned inch of it." Your mouth falls open as he begins cutting through your soaking walls determindely, your head lowering to Bishop's lap, taking his cock and enveloping it, having him touch your throat, his fingers knotting in your hair as Angel grips your shoulder, forcing you to take the full brunt as he daggers your pussy rapidly, and so hard, your eyes water.

This night? It shan't be forgotten in a hurry, that's for sure.

[suffcring]

"I know what it's like to be abandoned - how you think you're worthless and unlovable, and your heart hardens to the person who did it to you." Nilza & Copia

"Mmm."

Their interactions, thus far, have been about her past and her vulnerabilities; Copia has opened up so little, outside of his own experience with the Ministry, with Satan, with his position as Papa. That she pushes, ever so gently, when he exposes a crack is something he can appreciate, perhaps even admire; she has a way with people that reminds him, in ways, of Terzo.

A way he has always struggled with, and which prompted a fierce and sudden wave of hatred for his late older half-brother. Though that knowledge had come too late for it to matter at all.

And Nilza tries to relate to him in this moment, empathize. Lays out her injuries next to his and compares them, paints out their similarities; like matching scars. She gets it mostly right, too; how painfully a younger Copia had wanted to belong, to be loved. If not by a mother, than by his peers, and then his flock.

When he looks down upon them now, more than there had even been with Terzo, it does not soothe his past pains. Instead, he wonders; would they love him still if he did not perform? Would they love Terzo more, now, and would his followers be even greater than Copia's number if his Papacy had not been... cut... short.

(Copia cannot help but smirk at the double joke he has made in his own thoughts. -- Eheh because Terzo was short and also because his head was cut off, yes? He cannot explain to Nilza why he laughs, though, and swallows any further sounds of amusement)

Still, it is Sister Imperator herself who had left him, even if only temporarily. Even if not really. She had always been there, hadn't she? Lurking in the shadows, stirring her hand into his education from a distance, steering him while pretending it was not a maternal instinct but that of a mentor guiding a promising young man in the church.

"I could not hate her, no."

Suddenly, Copia jerks his gaze up to Nilza, concerned he has said the wrong thing, that he has maybe made her feel as if he has cast a judgement upon her.

"Though, ah, I could understand why others would. In...in my position."

[gentlemancrow]

idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol

Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!

Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.

But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.

He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.

The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.

Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.

Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.

“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.

Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.

“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.

“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.

“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.

Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.

“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”

Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.

“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”

“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.

“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.

“What other word is there?”

“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to…"

Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.

“Is that what you see?”

The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.

“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“

“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”

Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.

“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”

“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”

Shaking his head, Martin frowned.

“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”

“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”

The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.

“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”

“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”

“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”

Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.

“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”

Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.

“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”

“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.

Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.

“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.

Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

3 Oct. Suptober: Rainbows

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

s15 au; deancas

In hindsight, Cas was preoccupied, not only by the task at hand but by the person he was undertaking it on behalf of, which was likely why he didn't realize he had company in the bunker kitchen until Sam said, "Hey, Cas," and Cas almost fumbled the glass into the sink. 

"Oof, sorry," Sam rushed to say next. 

His expression was a variety of things, none of which Cas clocked as fundamentally apologetic while he refilled the glass. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Whatcha doing?"

Cas squinted at him. Maybe Sam was drunk, or ill. "Just getting a drink of water." He left the statement there; Sam had seen him consume water before.

Sam fidgeted with the hem of his t-shirt and did not look at Cas. "Sure. You." He made some kind of gesture with his hands that did not seem relevant to anything. "You seen Dean lately?"

"He's asleep," Cas offered, since he knew it to be correct.

"In his room?" Sam's voice cracked on the second word.

Cas drew out the word 'yes' into something of a question. What was Sam looking at on the ceiling anyway?

"His room. Which. You just left?" Sam bounced on the balls of his feet for a second.

Cas looked around for intruders, hex bags, strange fogs, spooky auras, blood stains, a bucket of empty beer cans -- something that might explain why Sam was speaking like someone who'd just learned English. 

"Yes, Dean's room." 

Cas suppressed a smile that wanted to surface as his thoughts quickly flitted to Dean -- Dean curled boneless beneath a body-warmed blanket, his eyelashes fanned dark against the tops of his freckled cheeks -- and back again. He sat the glass in the sink and stepped toward Sam carefully.

"Uh huh. Okay." Sam took a step backwards. His line of sight popped back up to the light fixture. "Wearing. ...What it is you're wearing?

Cas glanced down past his bare chest to the flannel covering his legs. "Pajamas?"

Sam nodded a series of tight little nods, like an invisible puppeteer controlling him was getting restless. "Okay. Okay. And Dean is." He didn't trail off as much as seem to run out of ideas for the rest of the sentence.

"Asleep," Cas reminded him. 

Another Sam nod. "Right." 

"He tends to fall asleep for a while within thirty or so minutes after we--"

"Dude," Sam said. 

Understanding clicked into place. "Ah. I apologize, Sam," Cas said, with a small sinking sensation in his stomach. "I did assume Dean had told you." 

He was leaving out some words, and he didn't mean to play coy; it just seemed like perhaps Sam would prefer fewer details over more with regards to -- how to say diplomatically? -- recent developments.

"Dean tell me? Really?" Sam stared at him directly for the first time the whole encounter. His pupils were big black dots reminiscent of the ones he'd had when they were all cartoons for a while.

"No." Cas paused. "But I did think maybe you just knew." 

An honest confession, since Sam, a skilled hunter with decades of experience beneath his proverbial belt, was often quite good at discerning patterns beneath the surface of verbal communication. Cas had not always been as certain of his own feelings as he was in the present. Indeed, it had taken years for what he felt for Dean -- unfamiliar, prismatic impulses occasionally strong enough to almost bring Cas to his knees -- to coagulate into something fierce and unshakeable that could in part be described in words, much less translatable to more tangible actions. Just because Cas had been slow to realize the depths of his own emotions didn't mean Sam had been.

Except.

Sam's eyebrows jumped into his hairline like worms fleeing chicken beaks. 

"What," he choked out. "Why. No. How would I have known about--" He was flinging his hands around again. "--This?" The hands flew toward Cas like Sam was casting a spell at him. "You are like my brother."

"Um," Cas said.

"And Dean is my brother."

"Uh--"

"And I have literally heard him refer to you as our brother."

"Right.”

"Like, we're all brothers here." Sam gave a helpless chuff of laughter.

"Okay."

"So you understand," Sam continued, "why I might be concerned that my two brothers are apparently sleeping together." The volume of his voice went lower in direct counter to its pitch by the end of the sentence.

Cas chose not to comment on this, nor on the shadow that lurked in the doorway and then dissipated. He said instead, "I don't really sleep all that much, but I take your point."

Sam buried his face in the palms of his hands. 

"I'm." Cas swallowed. He stood a bit taller, the way a soldier might when either respectfully yielding to an enemy or accepting that opponent's surrender -- not that Sam was a villain here. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Sam."

"It's." Sam took a deep breath, then coughed once. "You don't have to apologize."

"Sam, could you... There is nothing on the ceiling that could be that interesting."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Sam spoke like he meant it, or at least wanted to mean it.

Cas let out an inward sigh of relief. "All right."

"The stress," Sam said. "What we do. Monsters. Apocalypses, plural. It's-- I know it's a lot." Now he had slipped into hunter wrangler mode, all rallying the troops and leftover law school pragmatism. "And I can see how the two of you might, you know, need to blow off some steam. Sometimes."

"Sam--"

"Dean always does get a little antsy when he goes a while without." Sam shook his head like he'd realized this was absolutely not a topic he wanted to think about. "You know."

"Sam," Cas said sharply.

"I'll stop talking now."

"I'm in love with your brother, Sam." Those truest words were spoken so easily that once upon a time it might have bothered Cas; in the present, it assuredly did not. He let Sam gape for a moment and then softened the statement with, "It's not just a casual, friends with insurance sort of thing for me. For the record. If that helps."

Sam looked like the human equivalent of the little tri-colored beachball that would spin and spin onscreen when one of his computer tablets got overwhelmed. Finally, his eyes cleared. "All right." His mouth quirked. "The phrase is 'friends with benefits.'" 

Cas blinked. "Insurance is often a benefit extended to citizens in the United States, isn't it?"

"Less often than's helpful," Sam said.

Cas nodded. The two of them stood there by the sink, not really looking at each other. A thought came to Cas.

"I love you too--"

"Dude," Sam said.

Cas held up a hand. "--But I'm not in love with you." This distinction was one that had taken him a long time to understand; it seemed worth sharing.

The ceiling had recaptured Sam's fascination, but he was smiling when he said, "I know." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "I love you too."

Cas returned the smile. "You, and Dean, and Jack -- you are all my family."

"Yeah." Sam ducked his head, as if pleased. "Yeah, I know."

Cas picked the glass of water up out of the sink. He raised it to Sam in a small toast. "Okay. I'm going to go back to Dean's room now."

"'Night, Cas."

Cas padded back down the hallway, opened Dean's squeaky door, and crept inside the room. The bedside lamp had been turned on. He watched the blanketed lump in the middle of the mattress for movement before asking quietly, "How much of that did you hear?"

"Most of it." Dean sat up and yawned. He scratched at the side of his head where his hair was sticking out. The blanket puddled below his pelvis. Cas glanced away like he hadn't personally and enthusiastically pressed those hipbones into the mattress less than an hour before.

When Cas walked around and put a knee on the bed, Dean said, "I also wanted water."

Cas bumped his arm with the glass. "This is for you."

"Oh," Dean said, taking it from him. "Thanks."

"Because I don't drink all that much water."

"Right."

"Because I don't sweat as much as you do."

"Hmm. You sweat some," Dean said, a hint of slyness in his tone. He leaned away to leave the water glass on the bedside table.

Cas sat on the edge of the mattress and let Dean scoot up to him. "Are you bragging about making me sweat?"

"Mmm," Dean said, splaying his hand over Cas's clavicle. 

"You should probably talk to Sam in the morning."

"This is the morning."

"Later, then."

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist like he owned the span of it. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Maybe you could just--

"Nooo." 

A sharpness tapped underneath Cas's ribcage, an angel blade's point pressed with deliberate aim. It took a minute before he could speak. He gathered his courage. "If you want to stop--"

"No." The word fell from Dean like Cas had knocked it out with his fist. His eyes were fever bright and anguished, and another, better ache flooded Cas's chest at the sight. "No."

"I am very much in love with you." Cas took a breath. "Sam's reaction, I know, wasn't entirely out of nowhere." 

Dean tipped his forehead to Cas's. "I don't think he was objecting so much as he was surprised--"

"I'm only saying, I have thought of you both as my brothers, at various times in the past." Cas studied, not for the first time, a collection of freckles on Dean's shoulder. "I still think of Sam as a brother, in a way. He may not be incorrect that the situation, as it has evolved, is something a bit… Atypical." He considered a further implication. "And each of us is one of Jack's dads."

Dean huffed, a bluff since his fingertips were memorizing Cas's vertebrae like he planned to sketch them later. "Well. We can't all be the goddamn Waltons, or whoever."

Cas agreed, "We definitely do not live on a farm." He let himself sway toward the ardent way Dean was looking at him. "It might be nice to live on a farm, with cows and ducks, maybe some sheep--"

"And I am very much in love with you too," Dean said softly. He pressed his lips to Cas's cheek.

"Yeah?" Cas's eyes felt hot.

"Yep."

Cas thought to say, "You know, Sam is exactly who you raised him to be: a good man."

At that, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "New rule," he said hoarsely after several seconds. He wiped his eyes and shook his head. "We cannot talk about Sam, like. When we're not even dressed."

Cas stretched out his right leg and wiggled his foot. "I have on these pajamas pants. Can no-one else see them? They're covered in so many things."

This was an understatement. Technically, the pattern contained no less than the following items: rainbows, unicorns, blue whales, yellow stars, shield-wielding pugs, and anti-whale flags, whatever and why-ever those were. Put simply, the pajama pattern was like an indecipherable code of images that seemed to illustrate the illicit drug use of the manufacturer's designer.

With his finger, Dean traced the outline of one of the rainbows arced on Cas's knee. "Is it weird that rainbows remind me of you?"

Cas thumbed a spot on Dean's throat, his mouth going dry with the desire to taste the pulse fluttering there. "In my celestial wavelength form, I suppose I would be more closely related to a visually-deducible electromagnetic wave than I would be a pug riding a whale into glorious battle."

"These pajamas are a work of art," Dean contended, kissing Cas's temple. "Hmm."

"What?"

"I guess that story about God -- Chuck -- using a rainbow to seal a promise about never again destroying earth with a flood is just apocrypha, huh?"

Cas thought about it. "Yes. Unfortunately." He tried not to sigh. "Sometimes I have to remind myself Chuck created some beautiful wonders despite...being who he is."

"Yeah. Going out after a hard rain and seeing a rainbow's colors arching through the clouds -- still seems hopeful." Dean started pulling Cas down beside him on the mattress. "Maybe that's what reminds me of you."

Unable to speak, Cas tucked his face into Dean's throat. 

Dean's fingers were slipping beneath the waistband of the pajamas, ever so slowly. "Anyway, these are mine." Cas hummed an affirmative. "I would like them back," Dean said.

"Now?" Cas heard himself gasp.

Dean pressed him onto his back to nose his way down the line of Cas's breastbone, his warm breath teasing over cooled skin and coaxing out a shiver Cas felt splintering through his whole body. 

"I would settle for you just not having them on at the moment," Dean said, using both hands to reclaim his property, and before raising up to kiss anything Cas might have wanted to say in response entirely out of his mouth.

[acourtofbookishdreams]

Azriel ~ Different

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You have been having nightmares frequently and Azriel always is there to help you. This time, though, you finally open up about your nightmares and the things you experienced Under the Mountain.

Warning: Mentions of r*pe and sex*al assault. Please be wary.

Word Count: 1785

Azriel POV

Her screams had woken me again.

"Azriel! Azriel, no!"

This was becoming a recurrent, nightly tradition. A tradition I wished would would just simply not be anymore.

I did what I always did, bursting into her room, Truthteller at the ready to fend off whatever ailed her but we both knew it was mostly for show. Still, I would never not rush to her side, never leave Truthteller behind for the sake of the fact that the one time I didn't would inevitably be the one time something was truly, physically wrong with her and I would kick myself for treating it as any other night - especially since the fear was certainly not all that unfounded.

But it was just a nightmare. Another nightmare.

'YOUR' POV

My screams had woken him again.

He had done the chivalrous thing of course, bursting into my room with Truthteller, prepared to fight the evil lurking in the shadows he couldn't predict or trust but we both knew nothing was there to fight, it was all in my head.

Another nightmare.

One like all the rest but this time...it was worse.

"Y/N" Azriel breathes, lowering the blade

"I'm okay" I shake my head, offering a weak smile, "Routine procedure at this point, right?"

I bite my lip, trying to hold the tears back and averting my gaze. It was usually at this point that Azriel would ask if I wanted him to stay but for some reason tonight was different. He closed the door, left Truthteller on the bedside table and climbed into bed with me immediately after, no questions, no waiting for an invitation.

Of course, I knew if I told him to leave he would do so. It was always my choice. But tonight it appeared maybe he needed this contact as much as I.

"You're safe" Azriel murmurs, gathering me into his arms.

I choke on a sob, curling into his side and resting my head on his bare chest. Usually, when he was shirtless it was an effort to keep focused but at the moment it was just further proof he was here, alive and free. It was proof he was safe.

"It's not my safety that scares me" I breathe. Once again, we were breaking from normal pattern. Previous nights, it had always been my screaming waking him, he would run in, ask if I wanted him to stay, I would agree and then he'd hold me until I fell asleep.

I never talked about the nightmares I had, never. Not even the first time...

"No!" she screamed, thrashing violently in the bedsheets, almost tearing them apart, "No, don't take-NO!"

"Y/N!" Azriel yells, bursting in through the door at the same time she awakens, clutching the sheets to her chest, sweat slick hair plastered to her forehead, tears streaming down in uncontrolled rivers of fear and pain, "Y/N, what is it?!"

"Nothing, Az, I'm sorry for waking you" she sighed, running a hand through her hair, "It was just a nightmare, I've had them for a while."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Azriel frowned, Truthteller lowering to his side.

"It wasn't necessary. I've been dealing with these since-before I got back."

"Would you..." Azriel trailed off, "Do you want me to stay?"

"No, I..." she began to reject the proposal but suddenly changed her mind, "Actually, yes, please."

Azriel nods, placing Truthteller on the bedside table before moving to open up the covers, having since nervously been put in some semblance of order as they had spoken but he stops mid-way noting that her resolve had shaken - that she was now shaking, violent sobs wracking her body.

"Y/N" Azriel said and the one word was enough to break her.

"Azriel" she sobbed, tears flowing freely again, face screwed up into an expression of unfiltered pain.

"Y/N" Azriel whispers, sitting on the bed and pulling her onto his lap. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, securing herself to him as she sobbed into his neck until the sun rose.

She had fallen asleep that way, her legs and arms secured around him in a tight embrace, tears dried and leaving her skin slightly sticky with the moisture.

He had placed her down in the bed after he had fixed the sheets with one hand, the other supporting her body, becoming limp each second sleep overtook her.

He had intended to leave but she had subconsciously clung to him with a grip so strong it had surprised him and rather than risk waking you or, worse, upsetting you, he had climbed into bed beside her, tucking her into his chest so her face rested right where his heart was.

He had found it a very fitting place for her to rest.

Azriel had done it every night since, every time a nightmare came around unless you wished otherwise, which had never happened as of yet. Even if you didn't scream out, his shadows were so attuned to you, he would sense it and come in anyhow - where you would be sitting cross legged on the bed, hugging yourself or crying or just staring at the ceiling with a dead expression on your face.

Having him with you, holding you in his arms, stroking your hair, legs intertwined and breathing synchronised. It was the best remedy for your fear.

A cure.

"Then what does scare you?" Azriel asks, his voice hesitant to bring up a memory that causes you pain.

"You do" I breathe, "My nightmares are always about you."

Azriel breathes in deeply, "I scare you?"

"No, no!" I rebuke, "No, not you personally! My nightmares always involve you...they..."

"You don't have to tell me" Azriel whispers

"I think I need to" I admit, "These dreams, they're obviously not getting better. Maybe telling someone...maybe telling someone will help."

Azriel waits patiently. Content to listen or to completely disregard everything you said if that was what you wished, the way he'd always been.

"Most nights, A-Amarantha comes back" I explain, stumbling over the name, "And this time she takes you instead of Rhys and other nights...other nights it had always been you that was taken."

"And she took you because she knew he was hiding something" Azriel confirmed, it was the little knowledge he did have of Amarantha and her motives, "So to punish him further, she took you, his only living relative, and..."

"And that's all you know" I nod, "But what you don't know is that...she didn't just punish Rhys. She punished me too."

Azriel stiffens in my arms, his hand momentarily freezing in it's soothing stroking up and down my spine.

"If any of it gets to be too much, I can stop" I say

"No" Azriel shakes his head, "You lived it. I can at least stand to hear about it, especially if it helps you."

"She used to...make me watch." I spat in disgust, "While she...basically raped Rhys I had to watch. Everything she did to him, the malice in her eyes while she did what she did, the enjoyment in knowing he was doing this not for her but to protect what he loved...Worse, we both had to pretend it was normal. That we enjoyed it. If we didn't, our facade as the Court of Nightmares would fall apart and we couldn't let that happen."

Peering up at Azriel, I stopped for a moment to assess his reaction. His eyes were hard as flint, like chips of hazel ice. He nodded softly, encouraging me to continue.

"On the odd occasion she would also...bring me into the scene. It wasn't often, she didn't like it all that much herself it was mainly just to put us on edge. Thankfully, she never made us do anything...to each other. I never touched Rhys once nor he me and I'll always thank the Mother for that but she would still...it was still..."

"You don't need to say what it was" Azriel cuts in, "I know."

Traumatising.

It was traumatising.

"So, when the nightmares come about. It's not Rhys under Am-under her. It's you. I see her with you. Some nights you're faking it like we had to, others you're genuinely enjoying it, and sometimes you're...screaming and-and begging her to stop-" My tears choke off the words and I sob loudly.

He pulls me ever closer in response, hushing me as his hands stroke my hair, "That's not me. It was never me."

"What if it could be?" I cry, "What if another one of her comes around one day and they take you. I couldn't bear it-"

"You could. I had to" Azriel admits. Both comforting and upfront. He would never lie to you and to say it would never happen again could be a lie, "When you were taken, I...Cauldron, I would always try to leave Velaris, damn the consequences. It was always Amren and sometimes Mor and Cass who would pull me off the ledge. I couldn't stand it, thinking about what she could be doing to Rhys but, to you...it was worse. Infinitely worse."

"If it ever does happen, I need you to be strong" Azriel continues, "I will do everything in my power to keep it from happening but if the Mother decides that's how things play out...I will need you to be strong, to protect yourself because the idea of you ever being hurt for the sake of me...it's not right."

"It would be" I sniffle, "To keep you safe, I would do anything. I did. Rhys did."

"You'll never have to again" Azriel resolves, kissing the top of my head, "Never again."

I exhale loudly, making a sudden decision that could change everything.

"Azriel?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too" His response was automatic. I mean, we had said it a dozen times but this...was different.

"I don't mean it like that" I admit, peering up at him sheepishly, "I'm in love with you. I have been for a...a very long time."

Azriel's silence spurs me on to speak more, explain myself.

"I understand if you don't feel the same and I'm sorry I never told you earlier but at first it was a crush and then...then I got taken and I was stuck without you for so long. After that, I knew it was love and not a crush on my part but I couldn't say anything. I just...I couldn't. But then you came in every night to help with my nightmares and that was-"

My words are cut off as Azriel takes my chin in his hand, dipping his head and kisses me. Soft, tentative, comforting. It wasn't the kind of kiss that made your toes curl or butterflies erupt, it was the kind of kiss that admitted everything words could never express.

He pulls back only slightly, leaving you nose to nose.

"I have always loved you" Azriel breathes, "From the moment I saw you barrelling into the Illyrian camps, bright smile and unruly attitude."

"I love you" I smile, tears sliding down my face, - happy tears, "So much"

"And I you."

After that, neither of you slept alone ever again.

Masterlist

[edenmemes]

the witcher 3: wild hunt starters

including quotes from the dlcs hearts of stone & blood and wine

❝  you were always an unruly child. i adored that about you.  ❞ ❝  mmm. yes. of course. the excuse you resort to when you’d rather not talk about something.  ❞ ❝  how many have you killed? how many more might you still?  ❞ ❝  you know who i am. and why i’m here.  ❞ ❝  you're a madman and always have been. a cruel, cold-blooded killer.  ❞ ❝  a man should frame his wishes carefully. it forestalls disappointment.  ❞ ❝  no argument. you knew what you were signing up for.  ❞ ❝  maybe once, in a different time...i’d have helped.  ❞ ❝  don’t train alone, it only embeds your errors.  ❞ ❝  wanna get drunk off my ass. and it’s gotta be on cheap wine.  ❞ ❝  you’re a heartless bastard.  ❞ ❝  try to trick me anyway, anyhow, you won’t go anywhere, you know that. ‘cause i’ll take your head off right where it meets your neck.  ❞ ❝  sorry. i don’t want to talk about it. not now, at least.  ❞ ❝  we are more like a family.   we support each other and help each other survive tough moments.  ❞ ❝  so how’s it feel to be the village witch?  ❞ ❝  realize, please, that you were made for great things.  ❞ ❝  folks say a curse has fallen on that place, a dark power brought down by the bestiality of the murders it beheld.  ❞ ❝  so, now you’ve threatened me and all...are you in or are you not?  ❞ ❝  i know it must sound foolish, but in the dream - well, it was all too real...  ❞ ❝  we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim.  ❞ ❝  it’s always been about you. only you.  ❞ ❝  i remember finding your sense of humor both groan-worthy...and somehow endearing.  ❞ ❝  kings die, realms fall, but magic endures.  ❞ ❝  i detest banquets. vacuous conversation, food portions fit for a mouse, drinks that taste like piss...  ❞ ❝  despite what you’ve heard, i don’t lunge at every monster i see, sword in hand.  ❞ ❝  each day’s more dangerous than the last.  ❞ ❝  it’s folks like you that restore my faith in humankind.  ❞ ❝  my power lies in possessing knowledge, not sharing it.  ❞ ❝  the rotten smell brings back childhood memories.  ❞ ❝  awfully noble of you, showing so much concern for the needy.  ❞ ❝  no need to thank me. always glad to save your ass. you’re welcome.  ❞ ❝  i may be inhumanely beautiful, but i don’t have super human senses.  ❞ ❝  anyone can be made to talk, even a corpse. one must simply know how.  ❞ ❝  we’ve done the hardest part. only got the pleasant bits now.  ❞ ❝  there are few causes worth saving. even fewer men.  ❞ ❝  don’t treat me like a child.  ❞ ❝  there’s strange men lurking outside the house. watching me.  ❞ ❝  you must be careful what you wish for lest your wish be granted.    for there are consequences.  ❞ ❝  shall i be free of the suffering? the sadness?  ❞ ❝  i wish to gaze into those eyes, eyes the devil would be proud to have.  ❞ ❝  you were born with a great gift. and only you can decide how to use it.  ❞ ❝  any other words of wisdom? or can we go?  ❞ ❝  what i need is an ally. and something tells me i shall find none better than you.  ❞ ❝  i can see no row can occur here without your participation.  ❞ ❝  i and what concerns me have not been a concern of yours for some time now.  ❞ ❝  if you’d not arrived in time, things might have ended considerably worse.  ❞ ❝  if they can bleed, they can die.  ❞ ❝  a man must display some madness from time to time --- it helps him feel alive.  ❞ ❝  i was deeply troubled. you’ve no idea.  ❞ ❝  done that so many times, but...it felt like our first kiss to me.  ❞ ❝  don’t need to play tough on me.  ❞ ❝  i've lost too many mates already. i won’t risk it, i can't.  ❞ ❝  there’s just not enough of us. it’ll be a hard fight.  ❞ ❝  in lonely woods, screams carry long.  ❞ ❝  things used to be simpler.    monsters were bad, humans good.   now, everything’s all confused.  ❞ ❝  as for your missteps --- i don't rightly see why i shouldn't laugh if they're amusing..  ❞ ❝  i’ve no gold to offer you in reward...but i shall be ever so grateful.  ❞ ❝  if you’re scared, turn back. i’m gonna go on.  ❞ ❝  if anything happens, i’ll defend you.  ❞ ❝  once you say "i love you," a kiss has to taste differently.  ❞ ❝  maybe we should sit? you look a bit dazed...  ❞ ❝  drink it off, sleep it off, whatever it takes...just get yourself together and think things        through.  ❞ ❝  i shall join later, if it’s no trouble. i don’t yet feel strong enough to venture out.  ❞ ❝  awake at last. you writhed like a squirrel caught in a snare.  ❞ ❝  again you plan without even asking what i think!  ❞ ❝  come to see how i’m feelin'? thanks, not bad.  ❞ ❝  i remember that day quite well...there was a light drizzle, yet the cold tore right through you.  ❞ ❝  you gotta keep your eyes peeled wide open. someone’s taken an interest in your work.  ❞ ❝  oof...for a minute, i actually thought we were doomed.  ❞ ❝  you shouldn’t worry yourself --- it tarnishes your beauty.  ❞ ❝  i’d even embrace you...were you not covered in blood.  ❞ ❝  guess i could’ve been someone worse...just a shame i had no choice.  ❞ ❝  facts interest me. not fairytales.  ❞ ❝  hm, odd smell. blend of alcohol, blood and monster stench.  ❞ ❝  i’m old and i am wealthy. i may say what i please.  ❞ ❝  now, be so kind and leave me to my thoughts.  ❞ ❝  in your shoes i’d pack it up and go hide somewhere far away.  ❞ ❝  forgive me, but that's the blatherin' of someone who clearly can't snap out of it after a tragic loss.  ❞ ❝  that all you gotta say? i saved your life.  ❞ ❝  i swear on all that is holy: we shall be together forever.  ❞ ❝  think of me as part of the decor.  ❞ ❝  anyone who’s bold enough to fight is already a hero.  ❞ ❝  if this is a trap of some sort...  ❞ ❝  you can count on me, you know? always.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know how much it means...to have someone you can rely on in this fucking city.  ❞ ❝  i know you. you have no heart.  ❞ ❝  no room for friendship in this business.  ❞ ❝  evil is evil. lesser, greater, middling, makes no difference. the degree is arbitrary, the definitions blurred.  ❞ ❝  hands off, or i'll cut them off.  ❞ ❝  i’ll need to clear my head first. after those deranged dreams, i feel it’s full of cobwebs.  ❞ ❝  on your way? or will you stay longer? it’s far safer with you around...  ❞ ❝  really sad story, but something’s not right. got a feeling you’re not telling me everything.  ❞ ❝  gotta admit, there’s something about you. you’re...different.  ❞ ❝  with each arrow i shoot, i think of my dad. he’d be proud, i think.  ❞ ❝  i merely know when to indulge my pride, and when to swallow it.  ❞ ❝  you were born to greatness.  ❞ ❝  these’re dark, grim times. no room for knights pure of heart or happily-ever-afters.  ❞ ❝  a life without liquor’s like loving without licking.  ❞ ❝  my certainty i walk the right path grows strong as iron, firm as steel.  ❞ ❝  few make me feel awkward, but in your presence, i feel anxiety, discomfort.  ❞ ❝  some men have got good reason to fear their own shadows.  ❞ ❝  some men cannot admit defeat. some keep fighting from beyond the grave.  ❞ ❝  stare into their eyes, feast on their terror. then go in for the kill.  ❞ ❝  forget not that you are a person right and honorable, devoted to doing good.  ❞ ❝  ash shall fertilize the soil. by spring, the valley shall bloom once more.  ❞ ❝  there’s lots of wraiths here. i hear them whispering every night.  ❞ ❝  no one has the courage to face this threat! yet we must kill them, or sooner or later we will all die.  ❞ ❝  you are a step away from losing your head. speak the truth and you might yet keep it.  ❞ ❝  you carry within you the weight of a terrible tragedy. you are a good person, but lost. which is why you come across as grim.  ❞ ❝  if i understand you correctly, you would rather help a monster than kill it?  ❞ ❝  discouraged after a mere eight attempts?  ❞ ❝  easier to pat someone on the back and hope things will work out than it is to face the truth.  ❞ ❝  know that they can’t teach an old dog new tricks?  ❞ ❝  my, you’ve grown beautiful.  ❞ ❝  my swords a promise --- if i reach for it, heads will roll.  ❞ ❝  one condition: no one dies. that clear?  ❞ ❝  patience happens to be my weakness. so dispense with the dramatic pauses and talk.  ❞ ❝  you proved today you can take care of yourself.  ❞ ❝  you under the delusion you’ll complete your tasks, live happily ever after?  ❞ ❝  i will not sit and twiddle my thumbs. i'm sick of waiting, sick of hiding!  ❞ ❝  glad you know who i am. haven’t introduced yourself, though.  ❞ ❝  i’ve seen a great deal --- cruelty, cynicism, greed.  ❞ ❝  you tempt fate, because at heart you are unhappy.  ❞ ❝  we had our chance, but...let it go.  ❞ ❝  come now, you didn’t expect it to be that easy, did you?  ❞ ❝  promise me one thing --- you’ll stop risking your life for others.  ❞ ❝  instead of dwelling on the future, i’d rather live in the moment.  ❞ ❝  i adore love stories. especially the ones that end happily ever after.  ❞ ❝  we are drops of rain that together make a ferocious storm.  ❞ ❝  the path to freedom is paved in blood, not ink.  ❞ ❝  we’ll get our happy ending. one day.  ❞ ❝  i’ll never forget what you did for me...and what we had together.  ❞ ❝  don’t meddle in other people’s lives.  ❞ ❝  i don’t get attached to places. just people.  ❞ ❝  it’s dangerous, there are risks involved. understand that, don’t you?  ❞ ❝  and here i hoped someone would finally take pity on me.  ❞ ❝  seen a lot of dead in my time, but that must’ve been hard.  ❞ ❝  air is strange...like dropping into a deep cellar on a hot day...  ❞ ❝  wouldn’t carry a sword if i didn’t know how to use it.  ❞ ❝  take it you didn't summon me to reminisce about the good old days, so...  ❞ ❝  i was attacked --- had to defend myself.  ❞ ❝  guards have never stopped me, you know that.  ❞ ❝  treating the ill and wounded...it’s my calling.  ❞ ❝  you think it’s enchanted?  ❞ ❝  there are times when a woman should simply not explain her decision.  ❞ ❝  won’t find too many comforts, but try to feel at home.  ❞ ❝  i was looking for you...sometimes i thought you were just a step away. other times, i felt like i was going around in circles.  ❞ ❝  i’ll remember you. always with a smile.  ❞ ❝  i’d rather you not make anymore trouble --- for yourself, or us both.  ❞ ❝  got the stench of corpes on you.  ❞ ❝  you stood to gain --- that is why you saved me.  ❞ ❝  sages invariably have hidden agendas. altruism is simply not part of their constitution.  ❞ ❝  the gods have abandoned us. the mighty of this earth care not for our fate.  ❞ ❝  is that admiration i hear in your voice?  ❞ ❝  i started off heading in the opposite direction, but then turned around.  ❞ ❝  i’m fed up. i won’t have others deciding for me behind my back.  ❞ ❝  where’d you get this idea? what’s gotten into you?  ❞ ❝  i don't expect you to commit now. think it over, what you've heard, what you feel.  ❞ ❝  head torn clear off...takes incredible strength.  ❞ ❝  desperate fathers have been known to do a lot to find their daughters.  ❞ ❝  you cannot kill me. you know this...  ❞ ❝  "i give you my heart”? what kind of spell is that?  ❞ ❝  i’d go anywhere with you.  ❞ ❝  why? because i am a woman? in a frock, rather than plate? i can take care of myself, i assure you.  ❞ ❝  everything we discussed here, hope you’ll keep it to yourself. counting on it, in fact.  ❞ ❝  trusted you once. won’t make that mistake again.  ❞ ❝  shut up. i’ve heard enough of your bullshit. draw your weapon, let’s get this over with.  ❞ ❝  exaggerating for effect, right?  ❞ ❝  well, well...when cornered, you can bite.  ❞ ❝  you cannot win...even if you kill me.  ❞ ❝  you know i’m good at accomplishing the impossible.  ❞ ❝  it’s nothing, really. you’d have done the same for me.  ❞ ❝  you are not ready. you do not control your powers.  ❞ ❝  you’re a tool in their hands, even if you don’t see it.  ❞ ❝  i’d do anything for you, i would. you know that well.  ❞ ❝  this is a land where the fantastic is normal, and the impossible occurs daily...  ❞ ❝  know when a legend becomes a prophecy? when it gain believers.  ❞ ❝  i thought you’d become a stranger to me. that i’d look at you and not feel a thing. but it’s not like that at all. nothing’s changed.  ❞ ❝  to be honest, i just wanted to go on a walk with you.  ❞ ❝  what i really want is to be with you, to...to be together and...  ❞ ❝  this is not the kind of offer one refuses.  ❞ ❝  despair devours you like maggots devour a corpse.  ❞ ❝  before long every soul will kneel before you.  ❞ ❝  i run into dilemmas all the time. situations where it's hard to judge, hard to know what's right, make a decision. this is not one of them. you disgust me. and deserve to die.  ❞ ❝  you know me. i’m rare to praise, but when i do, it’s sincere.  ❞ ❝  i'm not a thug for hire.  ❞ ❝  i like being on adventures, sleeping under the stars, waking up with dew on my face.  ❞ ❝  the dream's within reach now. i’m not about to let it go.  ❞ ❝  unlike you, killing gives me no pleasure.  ❞ ❝  can't speak for the world you inhabit, but in mine, nothing is ever black and white.  ❞ ❝  you cannot possibly imagine how much i detest this place.  ❞ ❝  stones you’ve got. but i didn’t think you’d have the stomach for a massacre.  ❞ ❝  the dead man --- looked like a monster attacked him recently.  ❞ ❝  finish all your business before you die. bid loved ones farewell. write your will. apologize to those you’ve wronged. otherwise, you’ll never truly leave this world.  ❞ ❝  i've had nothing but nightmares lately. pretty horrible.  ❞ ❝  i was wandering through the forest, breathing deep the air, and then i heard a strange sound, unsettling.  ❞ ❝  had a few nice dreams. for example, in one we sat around a fire, drinking good wine, and all around people danced and laughed.  ❞ ❝  they’re all dead! mountains of corpses. yet here i stand alone. all alone.  ❞ ❝  this isn’t a game. men have died.  ❞ ❝  if you wanna listen, listen, if not --- i'd rather you spared me your wit and throw me out now.  ❞ ❝  you fed me, cared for me, had my wounds looked after. we're even now.  ❞ ❝  you’ll return, you shall. our fates are bound.  ❞ ❝  i’ve nothing left. not a fucking thing.  ❞ ❝  i don’t question your abilities. i simply don’t trust you.  ❞ ❝  what foolish things men sometimes do.  ❞ ❝  dare harm me, and against you will rise all the powers of nature.  ❞ ❝  did you destroy the evil powers? have you brought peace to my domain?  ❞ ❝  well, perhaps i shall tell you about it one day. one day, but not today..  ❞ ❝  times like these, you never know what tomorrow will bring.  ❞ ❝  you worry too much. what will be, will be.  ❞ ❝  have you gone completely mad? we must leave here at once!  ❞ ❝  time eats away at memories, distorts them. sometimes we only remember the good... sometimes only the bad.  ❞ ❝  you don’t need magic to strip men of their humanity. i’ve seen plenty of examples.  ❞ ❝  if i’m to choose between one evil and another, i’d rather not choose at all.  ❞ ❝  see what i’ve got on my back? wolves fear it. kings do, too.  ❞ ❝  i missed those awkward compliments of yours.  ❞ ❝  sometimes i think it’s all too lovely to be true…that something’s bound to happen, another war or some other horror.  ❞ ❝  took you a while. did you run into trouble?  ❞ ❝  i just travel a lot. and i don't always happen upon such good and civil company.  ❞ ❝  what can you know about saving the world, silly?  ❞ ❝  done my share of fighting. wouldn't carry a sword if i didn't know to use it.  ❞ ❝  all right, perhaps i wasn’t completely honest.  ❞ ❝  ever thought this day would come? me and you...peace and quiet...bees buzzing, birds chirping.  ❞ ❝  i detect a shadow of impatience in your face.  ❞ ❝  took me a long time to find you. wasn't an easy road to travel.  ❞ ❝  wipe that frown off your face, or i might think you don’t like me anymore.  ❞ ❝  always believed attack was the best defense.  ❞ ❝  once it’s all over, if we survive ... i wish to leave, go far away.   and i’d like you to come with me.  ❞ ❝  naturally, you suspect me of the worst. i don’t deserve that.  ❞ ❝  we can fight another time, in another place, where the walls have no ears.  ❞ ❝  once i was free...i shall be free once more.  ❞ ❝  believe me...a tavern, mulled wine, our boots drying by the fire --- i’d like nothing better.  ❞ ❝  prove it. kiss me.  ❞ ❝  the prophecies do not lie...you cannot survive this struggle.  ❞ ❝  i know you better than you think.  ❞ ❝  you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules.  ❞ ❝  what’s happened? it’s so quiet, all of a sudden.  ❞ ❝  thank you, for coming with me.  ❞ ❝  i cannot do everything for you. use your head.  ❞ ❝  i'm angry and tired. had to kill a lot of people along the way.  ❞ ❝  we’ve come a long way, and i’d be damned if we’ve come to fail.  ❞ ❝  i sense your pain. i see your fear.  ❞ ❝  how’s this for an answer: kiss my ass.  ❞ ❝  how many have you already killed? how many more might you still?  ❞ ❝  i'm quite alive and extraordinarily well. better than i've ever been in this rotten life of mine.  ❞ ❝  i like it when you smile. come here. everything will be all right.  ❞ ❝  ugh. don’t fall in love with me.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like you. in fact, i feel like slapping you.  ❞ ❝  i'm too old to play the blushing bride...unless you ask nicely.  ❞ ❝  that bit of my life --- forgotten it already.  ❞ ❝  the world doesn’t need a hero. it needs a professional.  ❞ ❝  next time you wonder why i’m so bitter...well, there's your answer.  ❞ ❝  nothing wrong with having a drink in good company.  ❞ ❝  i want you behind those rocks. and keep your mouth shut.  ❞ ❝  nice of you to worry...but i've made my decision, and i won't change it.  ❞ ❝  this is my story, not yours. you must let me finish telling it.  ❞ ❝  after all that toil, i believe we deserve a bit of a rest.  ❞ ❝  i was afraid you were dead.  ❞ ❝  we’ve all some stain on our conscience.  ❞ ❝  leaving the castle walls means certain death.  ❞ ❝  right good jest. had us a laugh. now fuck off.  ❞ ❝  i’ve heard about you. you bring trouble, or thus far have, always.  ❞ ❝  ah, you’ve struck a raw nerve.    memories of a time long past to which i’d rather not return now.  ❞ ❝  we meet again. and it seems you need my help. again.  ❞ ❝  got a relative i can talk to? someone - how do i say this - a smidgen less irritating?  ❞ ❝  miss the target, you owe me fifty push-ups. hit it, you owe me twenty.  ❞ ❝  oh. serious talk coming.  ❞ ❝  i feel like one more lie'd be the last bitter drop in a chalice full of sorrow.  ❞ ❝  romantic? thought we came here as friends.  ❞ ❝  you’re hiding something. and that’s one thing i can’t stand.  ❞ ❝  tell me, how do you do it? always manage to pull yourself together, focus, no matter what’s happening?  ❞ ❝  i go wherever i please, whenever i please.  ❞ ❝  uh oh. i know that look.  ❞ ❝  sounds tempting. so tempting i don’t think i can refuse.  ❞ ❝  so, what do you say to a moonlight ride on horseback...and dinner?  ❞ ❝  perhaps...perhaps you’d stay just a bit longer?  ❞ ❝  how are you feeling? sleep well?  ❞ ❝  such a gloomy subject to broach...  simply shouldn’t have.  ❞

❝  such a gloomy subject to broach...i simply shouldn’t have --- not during our romantic dinner.  ❞ ❝  got it. a bit of blackmail --- just your style.  ❞ ❝  it’s the crack of dawn. where do you wanna go?  ❞ ❝  shut up before you wake someone. last thing we need is a crowd.  ❞ ❝  watch what you say. the trees have ears.  ❞ ❝  no bow at hand, no spear. my sword was all i had.  ❞ ❝  never expected you’d take such an interest in my private life.  ❞ ❝  i’m special. always was the rare beauty.  ❞ ❝  damn. been ages since we last saw each other.  ❞ ❝  some charming orchards nearby. in bloom, even, so you almost can't smell the corpses.  ❞ ❝  you know me. nothing i like more than breaking rules.  ❞ ❝  man spends his whole life learning.  ❞ ❝  if only i was as skilled with my words as i am with my blade.  ❞ ❝  i wished to know what was going on in that head of yours. i thought perhaps i could help.  ❞ ❝  i can tell something’s bothering you.  ❞ ❝  dangerous times. each thinks five times before sticking their neck out.   and i can’t blame them.  ❞ ❝  now i care not in the slightest how you think or feel.  ❞ ❝  i no longer know if i still hate you.  ❞ ❝  i see how you look at me, and i see you wither.  ❞ ❝  one last bit of advice --- find a new tavern. everyone here knows you.  ❞ ❝  you won. no point bothering with ‘what ifs’.  ❞ ❝  it’s time i took fate into my own hands. lived life anew...and truly, this time.  ❞ ❝  ahh, 'cause you thought you'd killed me that time. surprise, sur-fucking-prise.  ❞ ❝  who...who’s that? gods, i’m hallucinating.  ❞ ❝  it’s no exaggeration to say i’ve never met a warrior like you in my life. you’re lithe as an eel and strong as a bear.  ❞ ❝  i’ve a heart again, yet all it feels is grief, sadness and defeat. my life is a ruin.  ❞ ❝  sought only to protect myself. in doing so, i put you in harm’s way. forgive me.  ❞ ❝  there’s a charming grove nearby where  kisses  taste  sweeter than anywhere else in the world.  ❞ ❝  you’ve handled tougher situations. you’ll figure this one out.  ❞ ❝  who you are and why you’ve come matter little. for you’ll not leave this place alive.  ❞ ❝  i’m not panicking. just trying to be realistic.  ❞ ❝  hahahahaha...i can’t believe you fell for that!  ❞ ❝  i was actually going to recite an anthem praising your glory, but if you’re not in the mood...  ❞ ❝  lying didn’t always come so easily to you.  ❞ ❝  everyone wants to rule. i can do that better than any monarch.  ❞ ❝  tell me what you want already, and make it quick.  ❞ ❝  what a mess we made of it all...if i’d only known then how it would end...  ❞ ❝  seems a faded dream now, but there were a time where i was happy.  ❞ ❝  why’d you leave me? you claimed you loved me.  ❞ ❝  never liked boats. not one bit.  ❞ ❝  you must be mad. i’ve no intention to make things easier for you.  ❞ ❝  i don’t wish to look at your face any longer than i must.  ❞ ❝  please, no. i can’t stand spells.  ❞ ❝  we agreed not to keep any secrets from one another. we promised.  ❞ ❝  that i like! a man who boldly dares, damn the risks!  ❞ ❝  i thought you bowed before no man.  ❞ ❝  smile a bit wider. ...you were meant to smile, not bare your teeth.  ❞ ❝  is that blood? have you hurt yourself?  ❞ ❝  no reason to trouble the guards. i’ll go willingly.  ❞ ❝  look at me. promise you’ll stay out of it.  ❞ ❝  the minute we’re in trouble, you make me responsible for getting us out.  ❞ ❝  they say they don’t fear the wrath of the gods. and you, do you fear it?  ❞ ❝  i’ll let that pass. i know grief eats at your heart.  ❞ ❝  we all lie sometimes. but lying to yourself is running away, whereas there’s really nowhere to run.  ❞ ❝  don’t need your sympathy, just your help.  ❞ ❝  your loss -- it must hurt, bad. but there wasn't anything we could do.  ❞ ❝  i wish to leave, go far away. and i’d like you to come with me.  ❞ ❝  i trust you have an explanation for this. a very good one.  ❞ ❝  lot of bitterness in you.  ❞ ❝  i assure you, you’re excellent at covering your tracks --- though not terribly subtle. but i’m even better at uncovering them.  ❞ ❝  glad to see you happy...but i don’t think what we did was right.  ❞ ❝  i look at you, and...and feel like i am exactly where i am supposed to be. at long last.  ❞ ❝  i’m no coward. i'll not run this time.  ❞ ❝  yes, i know you’ve trained with swords. but you’re still shit with them.  ❞ ❝  how many innocents have you cut down?  ❞ ❝  problem is, you’re not ordinary. you were born to greatness.  ❞ ❝  not too late to surrender.  ❞ ❝  men turn honest when they feel a blade at their throat.  ❞ ❝  i'm not gonna drink. why dull my senses when i’m in such pleasant company?  ❞ ❝  it’s bound to come in handy, and each time it does, you’ll think of me.  ❞ ❝  lie still or you will bleed to death.  ❞ ❝  your life is yours, exclusively. you choose who you are.  ❞ ❝  for a minute there, was almost sure you’d leave me to die.  ❞ ❝  there is never a second opportunity to make a first impression.  ❞ ❝  it’s all because of that secretiveness of yours.  ❞ ❝  plead the gods spare us, for without their favor we shall most certainly perish.  ❞ ❝  i must say -- seen a lot, but nothing like this, never.  ❞ ❝  you don’t look like you can get home on your own. i’ll walk you.  ❞ ❝  all’s in the past, never to be restored.  ❞ ❝  you know full well i never hold a grudge. i forgive you.  ❞ ❝  the good gods sent you to me.  ❞ ❝  and the guilt, the responsibility of all this, lies with me.  ❞ ❝  you’ve only been here five minutes, and you’ve already managed to offend me twice.  ❞ ❝  you will certainly fetch me a higher bounty alive.  ❞ ❝  what's wrong with my beard? always thought it added to my dignity.  ❞ ❝  if i’m to die today, i wish to look smashing for the occasion.  ❞ ❝  i was stupid. stupidity costs a lot.  ❞ ❝  even your humblest requests seem like threats.  ❞ ❝  your motives do not interest me. only results.  ❞ ❝  and you laughed, oh, how sweetly, how brightly you laughed!  ❞ ❝  you don’t know how it is. to see someone you love die. because of you, for you.  ❞ ❝  to have a scapegoat --- that’s the key.  ❞ ❝  no need to fear me.  ❞ ❝  sorry, but -- your life story? just not interested.  ❞ ❝  with you...it was love at first sight.  ❞ ❝  gotta understand. you don’t betray people like me.  ❞ ❝  i struggled long to find a place where i’d feel safe, needed. until i finally arrived here.  ❞ ❝  just don’t faint on me.  ❞ ❝  could never be there for you everyday. but i’m happy to see you always. and today, i’m all yours.  ❞ ❝  what others think...your image...that’s all you care about.  ❞ ❝  in these foul times one must be wary, even of their friends.  ❞ ❝  come on, don’t get angry - it’s not good for you..  ❞ ❝  so, apart from the sword play, you know potions and all that?  ❞ ❝  i actually envy your sense of wonder --- common in children, and morons.  ❞ ❝  a lot of misfortune for a small village.  ❞ ❝  who are you? do you seek to hurt me as well?  ❞ ❝  the hand that feeds can also strike its wayward wards.  ❞ ❝  shh. eat now. we’ll speak once you’ve rested.  ❞ ❝  brother has turned against brother, the land is soaked in blood. evil reigns stronger than ever before.  ❞ ❝  good looking and clever. where’ve you been hiding?  ❞ ❝  doesn’t bother you, having monsters for neighbours?  ❞ ❝  stay here --- no matter what happens.  ❞ ❝  i never told you this, but i’ve always felt it: i love you.  ❞ ❝  listen to me this once -- don't take matters into your own hands.  ❞ ❝  love these moments. the air before a battle -- nothing smells as sweet.  ❞ ❝  they tried to get in through the main gate. i’m afraid they could succeed next time.  ❞ ❝  too many claim you’re evil.  ❞ ❝  why are you so eager to help strangers? sit your ass down or there’ll be misfortune.  ❞ ❝  you'd never have managed without me, would you? come, now, admit it.  ❞ ❝  for those who remain, death should never take precedence over life.  ❞ ❝  thanks for coming. thanks for risking your life for me.  ❞ ❝  don’t force me to speak of it. no more, please.  ❞ ❝  when doubt plagues your mind, follow your instincts. should they steer you wrong and land you in muck, you'll land at peace with yourself. and that's most important.  ❞ ❝   just know that i know you're here. one misstep, one error...you'll make a mistake, it's inevitable...i'll be the first to learn it.  ❞ ❝  i do not know you. i’ve done you no harm.  ❞ ❝  try not to panic...just doesn’t suit you.  ❞ ❝  we’ve come a long way, and i’ll be damned if we’ve come to fail.  ❞ ❝  had i known what would happen here, i'd never have come.  ❞ ❝  i can say i’ve seen it all now.  ❞ ❝  these scars have long yearned for your tender caress.  ❞ ❝  i don’t fall victim to curses. i cast them.  ❞ ❝  come outside. we can hold hands and stare at the sky.  ❞ ❝  we’ll work well together --- i can see that already.  ❞ ❝  from the first moment i set eyes upon you that fateful evening, my heart has only beaten for you.  ❞ ❝  i trust you as much as you trust me --- not at all.  ❞ ❝  you’ve gone all red in the face just for talking about it.  ❞ ❝  wake up. it’s just a dream. wake up!  ❞ ❝  i still don’t believe everything that happened.  ❞ ❝  i never miss twice.  ❞ ❝  bit too old to believe in bedtime stories, aren’t you?  ❞ ❝  you humans have...unusual tastes.  ❞ ❝  didn’t think it worthwhile to tell me, warn me of your plans?  ❞ ❝  i think you will not attack one unarmed.  ❞ ❝  the deeper i get into this, the more i gotta wonder...why’re you even helping me?  ❞ ❝  to live in peace, we first must kill.  ❞ ❝  at times fate muddles our path, and life turns toilsome, hard to bear.  ❞ ❝  i fight for whoever’s paying the best. or whoever’s easier to rob.  ❞ ❝  do not let my beauty distract your aim.  ❞ ❝  i’ve seen what is to come, i know destruction approaches.  ❞ ❝  the war awoke an ancient power. an evil one that feeds on bloodshed.  ❞ ❝  guess you’re no stranger to fury, either.  ❞ ❝  think i’m gonna fall for that? no chance, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  gotta admit --- you do pretty well with a sword.  ❞ ❝  you dare tell me to calm down?! you?!  ❞ ❝  let's say i go about my business, and when there's coin to be earned, i don't readily turn it down.  ❞ ❝  i wish to know the truth...be it sweet, be it painful, i wish to know.  ❞ ❝  men, the polite ones at least, would call me a monster.  ❞ ❝  even i grow ill at the sight of you.  ❞ ❝  i’m going on a walk. or is that not allowed either? because i could break my leg?  ❞ ❝  plan’s crazier than it is sane...but there’s an irrestistible charm to it.  ❞ ❝  unbelievable! you said something romantic! you!  ❞ ❝  we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim.  ❞ ❝  if anything should happen to you...  ❞ ❝  there’s not been a dark cloud yet that didn’t have a silver lining.  ❞ ❝  those are some fresh lookin’ scars you’ve got there.  ❞ ❝  no. no more about the battle. just hold me. and say something nice.  ❞ ❝  stay. this is the only home we’ve ever had.  ❞ ❝  you’re so charming when you try to be funny.  ❞ ❝  not proud of it...yet i considered all the options and found none better.  ❞ ❝  i look far different from when you last saw me.  ❞ ❝  i admire your optimism. wish i shared it.  ❞ ❝  and...try not to draw any attention to yourself.  ❞ ❝  nightmares haunt our nights and days. folk sleepwalk from their homes, never to return.  ❞ ❝  forgive me. it couldn’t be avoided. i truly am sorry.  ❞ ❝  well i’ve departed, escaped, been forced to flee so many times…yet i always returned. you ought to be used to it by now.  ❞ ❝  the human mind is as wild and unexplored a place as any land far beyond the sea.  ❞ ❝  you think you’ve won. you are wrong. i can’t die.  ❞ ❝  you’re something more. something more.  ❞ ❝  barely nicked me, i’ll be fine.  ❞ ❝  it’s just that i felt...stifled, in your shadow. i’d have suffocated had i stayed.  ❞ ❝  come, don’t just stand there. i want a hug.  ❞ ❝  it’s lovely here! i could stay forever.  ❞ ❝  do what you will, but leave me out of this.  ❞ ❝  we should end this discussion -- before i say something i'll regret.  ❞ ❝  you all right? you’re as pale as death.  ❞ ❝  let’s get back to the hut. i’ll protect you along the way.  ❞ ❝  not to keen on talking about it, are you?  ❞ ❝  it’s better to die than to live in the knowledge that you’ve done something that needs forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  i was afraid you were dead.  ❞ ❝  at times one must use reason, rather than blades.  ❞ ❝  need some peace. gotta prepare.  ❞ ❝  i suspected it might not be the best idea, but i was desperate, had no choice.  ❞ ❝  so tell me how it happened. step by step.  ❞ ❝  it was a bit of a lark, a jest. i meant to bring it all back, i swear.  ❞ ❝  if i wanted to kill you, you'd be long dead by now.  ❞ ❝  that is precisely one of the reasons why i abhor your world.    your senseless brutality.  ❞ ❝  i won’t let them take you, you know that?  ❞ ❝  magic...childish hocus-pocus. it’s just not interesting. what i find fascinating are true tales of true human lives.  ❞ ❝  save your praise for others. i couldn’t give a shit.  ❞ ❝  well, well, i am impressed. doubted you still had it in you, frankly.  ❞ ❝  i like you. don’t make me hurt you.  ❞ ❝  you know very little can hurt you being immortal, so you take wild risks, chase extreme sensations. there comes a point you’ve done it all, and all seems boring and monotonous.  ❞ ❝  with you i finally feel...harmony. a calm. feel like things are the way they're supposed to be.  ❞ ❝  i'm afraid the dishwater’s as good as it gets in this establishment.  ❞ ❝  sorry to take so long, but i had to deal with the guards.  ❞ ❝  i’d never miss a chance to spend a pleasant evening with you.  ❞ ❝  you know too much. yet one more reason why you must die.  ❞ ❝  or perhaps you seek to trick me.  ❞ ❝  if you acknowledge any gods...start praying, now.  ❞ ❝  it’s very simple. you either deceived me...or not.  ❞ ❝  i am known neither for my sense of humor nor for my patience.  ❞ ❝  naturally, it would be easier with your help, but...you irritate me.  ❞ ❝  love questions like that. am i holding up? what, my dick?  ❞ ❝  we never hunt in these woods. not even if it means the whole village starves.  ❞ ❝  we’re only ever the ones to know the truth about ourselves.  ❞ ❝  you’re insolent because you believe i cannot afford to hurt you. and you’re right.  ❞ ❝  i detest graveyards, especially wandering them alone.  ❞ ❝  you know too much. you impede me too often. and i find your arrogance an annoyance.  ❞ ❝  i know it’s wartime, but try not to be a hero, all right?  ❞ ❝  i don’t know that i’ll make for engaging company. in truth, i rarely talk to men.  ❞ ❝  you know...had a dream about you recently.  ❞ ❝  i thought i could at least count on you to treat me seriously.  ❞ ❝  don’t ask questions you know the answers to. it makes you look stupid.  ❞ ❝  you’re nosy. starting to piss me off, you know?  ❞ ❝  what did i do to deserve this? have i given you cause to doubt my intentions?  ❞ ❝  don’t fret about me. i always get by somehow, right?  ❞ ❝  i wanted to go with you --- that was my idea.  ❞ ❝  i shan’t stray a step from your side.  ❞ ❝  if that’s what it takes to save the world, it’s better to let that world die.  ❞ ❝  what’s that supposed to mean? that a threat?  ❞ ❝  i’m offering a great and true adventure, an experience like no other, the fate of only the chosen few.  ❞ ❝  that’s like choosing between pestilence and the plague.  ❞ ❝  what’s it matter? i only ever thought of you.  ❞ ❝  did you know you’ve gained twenty-seven new scars since we’ve last saw each other?  ❞ ❝  i need to know the details if you want me to get my hands dirty.  ❞ ❝  don’t know you. go away.  ❞ ❝  ever vigilant, even in your sleep. quite vampire-like, in fact.  ❞ ❝  gotten used to people treating me like a freak, an outcast.  ❞ ❝  we share a cause, then. just like the old days.  ❞ ❝  ever considered becoming a burglar? skill like that’d come in awful handy.  ❞ ❝  there’s never been a frown that couldn’t be turned upside down.  ❞ ❝  honesty's an attribute of the truly brave --- and thus the privilege of the very few.  ❞ ❝  you do not have a monopoly in altruism, my friend.  ❞ ❝  great love demands great sacrifices.  ❞ ❝  i believe it wise at times to share one’s secrets, unburden oneself to those one can trust.  ❞ ❝  it would be nice from time to time if you could sit back and enjoy life, instead of going around solving everyone’s problems.  ❞ ❝  we shall dance until the break of dawn!  ❞ ❝  a man could lose his head for a lass like you.  ❞ ❝  don’t have to come if you don’t want. wait here.  ❞ ❝  never seen this side of you.  ❞ ❝  i’m to kiss the ground you walk on, is that it? but you just did your duty.  ❞ ❝  the day you give me a smile...that moment, that’s what i’m waiting for.  ❞ ❝  i need a soul intelligent and clever, an individual who fears no dare. someone like you.  ❞ ❝  if i was you i’d catch some shut-eye, not go on flapping my tongue.  ❞ ❝  the plan is simple...which does not mean it will be easy to execute.  ❞ ❝  sometimes you really get on my nerves, you know.  ❞ ❝  you shall not turn on me, use what i say against me? you shall not tell anyone?  ❞ ❝  gave you a chance. should’ve taken it.  ❞ ❝  always better to do a bit more and even gain nothing by it,    than to do too little and face regret.  ❞ ❝  it’s lovely out here. the birds singing, the bees buzzing...blissful, really.  ❞ ❝  what a lovely dress. the color suits you exquisitely.  ❞ ❝  pretty fantastic tale. hard as hell to believe.  ❞ ❝  it’s time you discovered my romantic side.  ❞ ❝  you gotta understand the whole world doesn’t revolve around you.  ❞ ❝  can you not see i am out of my mind with worry?  ❞ ❝  every rose has its thorn, and there are no happy endings.  ❞ ❝  pretty quick to reject help. why is that?  ❞ ❝  don’t need to like each other. just gotta do our jobs.  ❞ ❝  frankly, if i can do something for you, i'll do it, willingly.  ❞ ❝  you were hired you kill me, were you not?  ❞ ❝  what’s it like, going toe to toe with a monster? knowing you’ve only two options --- to kill or be killed?  ❞ ❝  this place --- there’s evil here. death hangs in the air.  ❞ ❝  intellect counts as much as strength.  ❞ ❝  i run back inside, hasp the doors, and then i hear it --- someone whispering my name.  ❞ ❝  you know i like you. unlike the rest of this lot, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.  ❞ ❝  if you love somebody, set them free.  ❞ ❝  if you hate me so deeply, why don’t you tell me to my face?  ❞ ❝  i’m afraid you’d not realize which way the wind was blowing if you pissed straight into it.  ❞ ❝  that was courageous. i'd never expect it from you.  ❞ ❝  i am not easily impressed, but i must admit you have succeeded, my dear.  ❞ ❝  kill me if you must. i’ve nothing to live for anyway.  ❞ ❝  aren’t you an extraordinary beauty.  ❞ ❝  never suspected you believed such things.  ❞ ❝  wait...you want to go with me? out of the question.  ❞ ❝  used to it. not the first time i’ve been hunted.  ❞ ❝  enough of this hesitation, this fretting, these feelings of guilt!  ❞ ❝  strange working with you. strange, but great.  ❞ ❝  give me a moment. i must don something more appropiate and concealing.  ❞ ❝  killing comes as naturally to me as blowing my nose.  ❞ ❝  ......   another tale of a life compromised and ultimately claimed by greed and ambition.  ❞ ❝  in the future, though, remember this --- i can look after myself  ❞ ❝  you'd really worry about me if i went on alone?  ❞ ❝  you have many merits. you merely hide them from the world very diligently.  ❞ ❝  is it true virtue always trumps villainy?  ❞ ❝  watch my movements. i’m spry as a cat and sly as a fox.  ❞ ❝  ah, if only this could last forever.  ❞ ❝  few i can rely on like i can on you. kinda hoping you think the same of me.  ❞ ❝  you are angry at the whole world. you feel inferior, feel pain, though you mask this with confidence, arrogance, even.  ❞ ❝  there exist worries for which there quite simply is no other medicine.  ❞ ❝  your bones look thin, your breathing’s wheezy. afraid one punch might kill you.  ❞ ❝  to love is to build a house of cards, or play a game of chess, but one word or ill-thought move and you must start it all afresh.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i ever wanted to do, being who i wanted to be. i believe that’s one definition of happiness.  ❞ ❝  you’ve not an ounce of refinement in you, have you?  ❞ ❝  pain rules the body, but fear is born in the heart.  ❞ ❝  either i get burned, or i’ll burn all else down. no other options.  ❞ ❝  should you decide your sword is the sole solution, i shall not stand in your way.  ❞ ❝  c’mon, come closer.  ❞ ❝  would you prefer i treated you like the lying manipulater you are?  ❞ ❝  i regret nothing. one lives but once.  ❞ ❝  i just hope this tale has a happy ending. for me, for you. for everyone.  ❞ ❝  just gonna go our seperate ways? no parting words?  ❞ ❝  you still stand to be quite useful to me.  ❞ ❝  i suppose you wanted to frighten me...alas, you didn’t in the least. after all, i’m a monster too, am i not?  ❞ ❝  i trust no one. learned that long ago.  ❞ ❝  it cannot be! you actually have a sense of humor.  ❞ ❝  didn’t ask for a lecture on probability. need a simple answer --- yes or no.  ❞ ❝  another word, and i shall spill even more blood. yours.  ❞ ❝  you feel resentment, i understand, but we shall work through all the unfortunate matters of the past.  ❞ ❝  stop playing dumb. i know everything...your plan.  ❞ ❝  honestly can’t see what all those dames see in you --- you’re a stick in the mud.  ❞ ❝  not showy, lovely location...perfect for romantic getaways.  ❞ ❝  i hope you’re not upset i came like this, without warning...  ❞ ❝  i’m still a long way from mastering anything. but i am trying.  ❞ ❝  now i know how you do it. just annoy your opponents to death.  ❞ ❝  word on the street is there’s a hefty bounty on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a few days now i’ve been having dizzy spells.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always had a way with ostensibly dangerous types.  ❞ ❝  wound doesn’t look good.    patch that up quick if i were you, before it starts festering.  ❞ ❝  always seemed to me you were a very complicated creature, by nature. not one to resort to such simple methods like drinking your worries away.  ❞ ❝  may i be honest? yes, i’m nervous. i really would prefer to just run off.  ❞ ❝  father always said a wise man learns from others’ mistakes, so here i am, learning from his.  ❞ ❝  ever since that horrid night...everything has changed.  ❞ ❝  what’s wrong? afraid? gut feeling queasy?  ❞ ❝  used to bother me, all your secrets...now i know if you have something to tell me, you’ll tell me.  ❞ ❝  i so don’t feel like going anywhere. sit here a while longer?  ❞ ❝  there’s something i’d like to know...how can you be so damned calm?  ❞ ❝  my knees quake like a carnival rattle.  ❞ ❝  honestly didn’t think this’d work. doubted anything would happen.  ❞

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

tapestry 👑 III

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The reader speaks up.

Note: Here’s part 3. I’m still going while I can. Fair warning that I work every day given the holiday season and so I’ll do my best to keep up but so far I’m having fun and you all are too. I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

It was a week before your father returned. A gruelling week.

You weren’t surprised to hear of his arrival from another. Nor disappointed that he didn’t call for you immediately. That was your father’s way. He doted on Alice and shunned you. She brought him esteem with her marriage to a duke and you brought him disgrace with your failure to garner even a betrothal. The convent lurked on your horizon.

When he did send for you, the dread sank deep in your chest. The thought of your inevitable meeting hung over you all day and to face him was an obstacle in itself. Even as a small girl, you’d managed to stoke his ire. You were too quiet, and when you were not quiet enough, you were flowery and irritating. Not like Alice; refined and endearing.

Your father’s servant led you to his chambers. As a lower lord, he had no receiving chamber, merely a screen between his bed and his desk. You entered with your head dipped. A quill scratched noisily on parchment as the servant informed your father of your presence and retired to his vigil beside the door.

Your father didn’t look up. A candle sat on his desk as he wrote and the lanterns did little to add to the hazy glow of the amber fire. His grey hair was combed back as it always was; thick despite his age. His lips moved along with the words he spilled from his nib.

“Father,” You greeted. He didn’t even nod. You waited, hands clasped before you. “Is Alice well?”

He lifted his quill and dabbed dry its end. He sat back and looked at you with a tilt of his head. He placed the pen on his desk and sighed. “Daughter.” His eyes were dull, unimpressed. Disinterested even though it was he who prompted the visit. “Yes, she is well. As is the child. A grandson.”

“And mother? She has remained with Alice?” You asked. You were hopeful she would’ve returned to court and offered you an ounce of companionship. 

“For the time being. Until they are ready to return to court. Though the duke should return within the month.” 

Your father spoke grimly. His tone rarely wavered; rarely rose above a monotone. Only with the king or some higher lord did he show a trace of humanness.

“So all is in order.”

“Is it?” Your father wondered as he leaned on the arm of his chair. 

You blanched. You hoped it was. The king had not bothered you since that night after the banquet, the queen remained ever gracious, though Rose was as thorny as the flower. But all seemed to be as it was and just in time for your father’s return. You’d thought your prayers answered; the rumours swept away before he could hear of them.

“Of course, father.” You assured him. You felt so small before him. 

“Mmm,” He considered you. His lips curled in a sinister smirk. “You danced with the king?”

“At his request,” You replied. “But you know I haven’t a quick step, father.”

“You needn’t remind me of your shortcomings, daughter,” He quipped. “But it surely must have been adequate for as I hear it, he called for you the next night.”

“An invitation which I refused.” You said plainly. “As a proper lady would.”

“A foolish lady.” He gripped the arm of the chair as his lips turned downward. “So it is true?”

“Would you rather I accept and tarnish my reputation? Our family’s name?” 

“I’d rather you seek the rare favour you can find in this world.” He spat. “You are as daft a woman as you were a child.”

“Forgive me, father, but I only did as I thought you’d wish me to.” You pleaded. “You wouldn’t want me to resign myself to a life as the wife of a second son.”

“As it is, I’d prefer you the wife of any.” He huffed. “And if you cannot achieve that, a king’s mistress is a fine consolation.”

You frowned. How could he not be proud of your resolve? Of your restraint? He always lectured you on propriety and now he sneered at it.

“I would rather the convent.” You hissed.

“You must realize, girl, that this is not about your whims, but the king’s. Should he will you on your back, you will lay before him as he pleases.” He snarled. “So if he should come to you again, you will not deny him.”

“He has not in the week since.” You assured him.

“And I doubt he will now.” Your father grumbled. “As always, you’ve ruined it all.”

“I’ve only done as you taught me to.”

“Enough of your insolence.” 

“My insolence? I will not be used by the king--”

“This is not about the king. It is about me, your father, and your family.” He stood and planted his hands on his desk. “You could do more as the king’s whore than the wife of some lowly baron of the marshes. If you were not so heedless, you might even raise our name. The Marquess of Lofton was but an earl before the king thought to take his daughter to bed.”

“I will not trade my virtue for your advancement.” You gritted.

“For what other purpose is a daughter good for?” He hurled viciously. “You shall lift your skirts for my fortune one way or the other. Better it be a king, than a pauper.”

“I will not.” 

“You will,” He pushed himself straight and stormed around the desk. He rushed towards you and glared down as he slid to a stop. “If the king has not already found another fancy, you will do as he wishes. Should he return to you, you will welcome him fondly.”

“No.” You growled as you set your shoulders. “I will not.”

“You will,” He struck you so hard you stumbled back. You touched your cheek softly as it burned. “Because you are my daughter. My property.”

You held your tongue. You gulped as you dropped your hand and stood straight. You blinked.

“Father.” You said evenly.

“Understood?” He sneered.

“I understand you.” You twined your fingers together tightly. You might understand his wishes but you would not obey him. Let him rage and send you off to the nunnery when he realized. 

“Good. Now be off. I’ve more important business than my impetuous daughter.” He turned back and rounded his desk. “I swear, you’ve always been intent on ruining me.”

You muttered a farewell as he sat. As you turned, the servant avoided your gaze and you swept past him through the door. In the hall, the air was cool against your hot cheek. You took a deep breath to steady yourself. You hoped it was already too late and your spurning of your father’s ambitions was already complete. 

👑

When you returned to your chamber, the other ladies were on their beds. They read or sewed, and were oddly quiet. You didn’t realize at first why. You were drained from your meeting with your father and just wanted to forget about it. Foremost, you wanted to forget about court and its spectacles. 

Then you saw it. The small box on your pillow. It sat on a folded note and you held your breath. In dread, anxiety, and fear. You looked around the shared room. You caught Sybil watching you as Joan and Marion tried to hide their eyes behind their books. You lowered your chin and sighed quietly.

You neared the top of the bed and reached for the box. You unfolded the note with nervous fingers and the scrawl within seemed to move around. You could barely focus as you thought of your father and his anger. At last, the letters stood still and you read with bated breath.

My lady,

I have counted the ways I might apologize. For my assumptions, my insinuations, and gross misstep. My intent was never to demean, never to offend, and so I cower in my remorse. In my regret for how crudely I treated you.

I am of loose impulse. I act often without truly thinking. I let myself be led by my emotions and my thought is left to wither. As I did with you. I was selfish. I did not foresee the implication of my invitation. I did not think of you or your status. For that I apologize, deeply.

But I cannot apologize for how I feel. For the sudden and fervent desire that has arose in me. The want to know you, to know more of you, to know everything of you. I will not apologize for that would stain you; your beauty, your wit, your very person. 

I should like to atone for my indiscretion. To bring you pleasure rather than displeasure. So I include, with this most heartfelt and since apology, a gift and I beg your forgiveness. I beg of you mercy. I beg of you only...you.

Your king.

You slowly lowered the parchment and looked to the box. You bit your lip and glanced around at the girls. They weren’t being so subtle anymore. You folded the paper up and set it with the box as you went to your chest. You pulled out your own square of paper and went to the desk you shared with the others.

You sharpened a nib and took a pen. You dipped it in the ink and a shadow passed over you as Sybil neared.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you going to open the gift?” She asked.

“No, I mean to return it.” You began to write your message. Concise enough you hopped your point was taken.

Your Highness,

While I appreciate your apology, it is entirely unnecessary. I’ve already accepted your amends and as I stated, bear to you no animosity. While a gift is most flattering, it is improper and undue. I am thence, with the utmost respect, required to return to you your kindness though your forethought is recognized.

Your loyal subject.

You folded up the small slip and stood. Sybil was aghast and Joan watched with a smug smirk. 

“As you should return it,” Joan sang, “We all know it is an empty gesture. A scheme to irk Rose. The king is loathe of her triteness though he loves her wholly. You...well, he only wants a puppet.”

“Oh, Joan, what do you know?” Marion chirped. “You’re only jealous that you’re neither of them and you’ll be left to marry that chubby Earl from Priskam.”

“I have seen the letters the king writes to Rose, I have seen the love in his eyes,” Joan insisted. “And I have seen this little mouse in her hole and she is pathetic.”

“Then you should know what lies within this letter,” You said as you went to your bed to fetch the box and the king’s letter. “And know that they are the same words he has written to a dozen women before myself. Before Rose.”

“Rose was right. You are despicable.”

“I am honest. And I see this place for what it is.” You pressed your letter to the box as you turned to the door. “I know that words are never meant as they are said. There is an edge to each syllable.” You opened the door and looked back. “Sybil, may I request a favour? Or Marion?”

“You may,” Marion spoke first.

“I should not go unaccompanied to return this. I don’t think it would be decent. Will you walk with me?” You asked.

“I will,” Marion rose and closed her book. “I should like to stretch my legs before we retire for the night.”

“Thank you.”

“Not at all,” She nodded to the door. “Let us to our task before curfew should deem us unseemly.”

You gave a small smile and led her into the corridor. She pulled shut the door and turned to walk beside you. She was quiet at first; you were nervous as you fidgeted with the small box.

“Are you not at all curious?” She asked at last.

“Naturally,” You confirmed. “But I don’t dare to look lest I be tempted to keep it.”

“Ah,” She raised her pale brows. “You shouldn’t mind Joan, she’s jealous. And she’s far too enamoured with Rose.”

“I don’t mind her.” You said. 

“Do you think the king will be upset?”

“Perhaps, but he has no reason to be. I suppose, however, that a man of his stature finds much to be displeased with and none to tell him he shouldn’t be.” You reflected. “I have made an enemy of Rose already, I do not need the queen a foe as well.”

“The queen knows the king strays.” Marion said.

“Her knowledge does not make it right. Her acceptance is not of her own will. What can she do?” You stopped as you reached the corridor along which the king resided. “As women, we are all given to circumstance we do not desire.”

Marion considered you. Her warm eyes bore into hers and she nodded. “There is much more going on in your head than I supposed.” She remarked. “Thoughts I’d never think to have myself.”

You looked at the box. Your father’s voice echoed in your head. If he was here, he’d slap you again. You raised your head and set your shoulders.

“Let this be the end of it.” You declared as you marched forward.

You’d never been down this way. Never thought you would. How did one knock on a king’s door. Well, was it necessary with the guards without? The men in mail watched your approach as Marion trailed behind. There helmets bobbed as they observed you with amused grins. How many women had they greeted in the evening hours?

“Sirs,” You nodded at one guard and then the other. “I would request the king, only if he should be available, of course.”

“The king?” The guard on the left looked over your shoulder at Marion. “You, her, or the both of you?”

“I come here on my own charge but she accompanies for decorum,” You explained. “If the king is engaged, I shall leave a letter for you to pass to him.”

“The king is alone. He may receive you,” The right guard assured you. “He’s not one to turn away a lady.”

“I would prefer he emerge,” You asserted. “It would be untoward to enter his chamber.”

“A receiving chamber is meant for that purpose, lady,” The guard returned.

“Even so, if he cannot be drawn from his privacy, I shall leave this with you.” You held up the box and letter folded atop its lid.

“Ah, don’t need to be so impatient.” The guard knocked on the door with his elbow. The sound barrelled down the hallway.

The door opened and the king’s footman, Hugh, scowled at the guard. His eyes blinked at the mailed men then turned on you. His forehead wrinkled in recognition and he spoke at last. “What is the bother?”

“This lady is here to see the king.”

“Very well, then send her in,” Hugh said sharply.

“She will not enter.” The left guard intoned.

“Says it’s indecent.” The other added. 

Hugh sighed and looked to you again. He squinted and shook his head before disappearing within. You could hear his voice and then the king’s. Both were slightly muffled and followed by a stir. You waited and glanced over your shoulder at Marion. She looked as anxious as you felt.

Footsteps and then another shadow in the door. This one broader, taller. You bowed as the king appeared. His lips parted as he saw you and he let out a deep breath.

“My lady?” He greeted. 

“Your highness,” You returned. Did your voice tremble? You could not tell. “My apologies for the disturbance but it was pertinent that I seek an audience.”

He nodded and stared at the box in your hands. “Did you like my gift?” He asked.

You swallowed. “I did not open the gift, though I did read your letter,” You felt it hard to breath. His eyes never left you. It was as if you were alone, as if there were no guards, as if Marion didn’t linger behind you. “I appreciate the gesture but I am unable to accept it.”

“My lady, do you reject my apology?”

“I...It is in my letter, your highness, but there is no apology required.” You held out the box and stepped tremulously toward him. “You must take it back.”

“I will not.” He insisted. “It is for you.”

“There is no reason for it and I cannot accept a present from a married man.” The box shook and you stilled your hands. “You may refuse to rescind it but I will not take it. I shall leave it upon the floor if I must.”

His blue eyes focused on you. They were stern but not angry. In them, a glimmer of confusion, a spark of provocation. He pressed his lips together before he spoke. “You refuse upon the grounds of my marriage?”

“I refuse on the grounds that it is improper.” You said. “On the grounds that I’ve accepted your apologies once and shall not do so again. On the grounds that I am a lady with a reputation to uphold should I have any hope of a betrothal.” Your voice had risen and you were embarrassed at the realization. “I wish that you take it back.”

“If you wish, I should happily appease you,” He stepped forward and reached out to take the box. His fingers grazed yours and his lips twitched. “For whatever you wish, I would give you, my lady. Whatever you will, you shall have. By my hand, by my order.”

His tone made you shiver. You rescinded your arm and clapped one hand over the other to uphold your composure. “Thank you, your highness.” You said. “It is late and I must return to my chamber.”

“So it is,” He accepted as he cradled the box in his hands. “And so you must.” He bowed his head and you curtsied to him. “Good night, my lady.”

“Good night, your highness.” You said as you began to back away. 

The king watched, his gaze unwavering as you retreated. There was a promise in his eye, a nonchalance in the way he held the box, how he only looked away to open it and peek inside. He turned as he snapped it shut and his guards stared ahead stiffly. His broad back disappeared behind his door and Marion gasped as she finally let out her breath.

“My lord,” Marion swore. “I thought I would pass out.”

“Me, too.” You said as you grabbed your skirts. You spun around and didn’t dare look back. “Let us be away. Quickly.”

[sevenstarsinning]

Kinktober

Day 13: Pegging Cucking

Night time was home to many things. The moon, the stars shining in all of their glory, and sleep if you’re lucky enough to get it. But there was also something sinister that crept around in the dark.

The first time Em saw him standing at the foot of her bed, she thought it was Goku from the silhouette. That hair was unmistakable. However, when Goku showed up the following morning with zero knowledge of having visited her, she knew something was off.

The next night he came back and again, Goku said he wasn’t there. She thought the solution was simple, ask Goku to move in with her. She’d wanted to ask him for a while anyway, what better time than when he apparently had a doppelganger lurking in her bedroom.

With Goku out cold and snoring softly next to her, she thought whatever the hallucination was would go away. There were two problems with that. One, Goku was a heavy ass sleeper. And two, she severely underestimated the being that eventually revealed himself as Goku Black.

“Goku…” Em shook him but he didn’t budge, “wake up…” she tried again but still no luck.

“It’s no use, poor saiyan’s exhausted.” Black grinned slyly, his face shadowed by the moonlight that streamed through the window.

“Why do you keep coming back?” She asked, scooting back towards Goku.

“I have several reasons for that but I’m not sure you deserve to know just yet. But don’t worry, little saiyan, they’ll all come out eventually.” He grinned and remained still, not the least bit worried about her waking Goku up.

“When he wakes up-”

“What? He’ll tear me in two? Rip my beating heart from my chest? Dear saiyan, we both know he’s far too docile to do anything.”

Em knew Goku wouldn’t immediately jump up to fight, but at least having him awake if Black tried anything would’ve been nice. She nudged Goku again but all he did was roll over and fall back asleep.

“If you manage to wake him up, I’m still going to do exactly what I came here to do. And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he whispered, leaning across the bed towards Em, “you’ll want it and he’ll sit back and watch it happen.”

Her heart leapt into her throat and her breath hitched, “and what did you come here to do?" 

Black slid his hand up the bed between her legs over the blanket, "I came here to take what I want, little saiyan.”

“Goku, wake the fuck up,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You’re already accepting your inevitable submission to me. You haven’t told me no yet and I don’t think you can,” he teased, pressing his hand against the blanket to her soaked panties.

“Oh, feels like you really don’t want to fight this.” He pressed his fingers down harder, making her buck her hips and moan slightly.

“Em?” Goku stirred, saying her name still half asleep.

“Go ahead, tell me to stop,” Black smirked, keeping his attention solely on her.

Goku turned towards Em and slowly opened his eyes.

Black brought his hand up to Em’s face and moved his thumb over her bottom lip, tugging before releasing it. “It’s a very simple word, little saiyan.”

Her eyes met Goku’s in the brief moment before she spoke.

Em opened her mouth, “don’t stop." 

The words came out before she could fully comprehend what she was asking for and Black smiled with the most mischievous grin.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, "tell Goku you want him to watch.”

Em’s eyes widened. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Goku in any way and she wasn’t sure how he would take that request.

“Em? What’s going on?” Goku asked, still disoriented from waking up.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he yawned and shifted next to her.

“Goku, I-” she spoke, her voice was small.

“Say it. Tell him you want me and not him.” Black urged her on.

“Goku, I want him.” The words left her conflicted and as much as she wanted to take them back, she couldn’t. Not with Black so close and offering exactly what she had dreamt about for weeks.

“What do you mean?” Goku asked, finally shaking off the haze.

“Who is that- is… is that me?” His eyes adjusted to the dark as he looked at the strange man touching her.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m nothing like you, filthy saiyan.” Black sneered.

Goku sat up and stared back at the man that looked just like him.

“Then… who are you?”

“His name is Goku Black. He’s the one I mistook for you at first,” Em said, watching Black’s hand dip under the blanket

“But I’m right here? Why did you say you wanted him?” Goku stared blankly, noticing his hand.

“Because you can’t provide her with what I can.” Black answered before she could.

His hand skimmed over the waistband of her panties, slipping down into the front of them and letting his fingers skate along her slick cunt.

“Em? Is.. is that true?” Goku asked. He was so close to giving her that sad face she couldn’t handle.

“Not-yes but,” she paused, struggling to find the right words while Black’s fingers teased her pussy.

“Be honest, little saiyan,” he warned.

“You know how… fuck, you know how I’ve asked you to be rough with me and not worry about my safety because I can handle it?” Em said in a rush.

“Yeah,” Goku said, still confused by what was happening.

“That’s what he can give me so you don’t have to worry about losing control.” She explained quickly as his fingers continued to tease and toy with her.

“But I thought you only wanted that with me?” He cocked his head to the side, smelling her arousal in the air.

“Goku, he looks just like you, can you really blame me for wanting him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching his head in confusion.

Black rubbed her clit just enough to elicit a breathy moan that caught Goku’s attention.

Goku moved closer and Black stopped everything, “any closer and I’ll stop completely." 

Em looked at Black and then to Goku, "please, Goku?" 

Goku was utterly confused as he sat back. Black returned to his task of rubbing her clit until she squeezed her thighs together around his hand and moaned loudly.

Each moan he drew out made Goku try to get closer and every time he was forced to move back.

Black slid two of his long fingers into her cunt.

Goku looked down at the bulge pressed against his pants.

He palmed over his bulge, just hearing her moans and smelling her arousal was making him hard. 

Black halted his movements again, "I didn’t give you permission for that." 

Em whined, "Goku, do what he says, please." 

She was struggling, clenching around his fingers and trying to get the release she desperately wanted.

Goku pouted but moved his hand away from his cock anyway.

Black thrust his fingers hard into Em and paused again.

"Don’t stop… please don’t stop,” she pleaded, bucking her hips against his hand.

“Look at you, already a pathetic little mess,” Black chided.

Em gripped his forearm, trying to get him to move his fingers, “please,?”

He eased his fingers out and slammed them back into her, leaving her breathless and gasping.

“Does your cunt get this wet for the fool?” He asked.

Em knew what he wanted her to say but she didn’t want to hurt Goku.

Black didn’t move his fingers while he waited for an answer and desperation got the better of her.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, you get really wet for me.” Goku whined.

“Clearly not as much.” Black pulled his fingers from Em completely, holding them up into the stream of moonlight.

Her wetness glistened on his hand and fingers, dripping as he held them up.

He reached out and Goku didn’t hesitate to move closer, drawn in by her scent like a moth to a flame.

“Foolish saiyan,” he chided, pulling his hand away before Goku could taste, “if you can’t stay back, you don’t get to watch me give her everything you wish you could.”

“I just wanna taste.” Goku whined and leaned back.

Black brought his fingers up to his mouth and flicked his tongue over the digits, “mmm, I can see why you’re so eager to taste her.”

Goku whimpered next to Em but kept his distance while Black brought his fingers to her mouth.

Em sucked and licked them clean while Goku watched, fighting the urge to touch himself to relieve some of the frustration.

“Good, little saiyan.” Black praised Em.

She felt bad for Goku, but Black said and did the things that she’d been wanting for so long.

Goku squirmed, “please let me touch myself?” He asked permission.

“If you stay quiet for 5 minutes, you can touch yourself,” Black said with a heavy sigh.

“I can do that!” Goku exclaimed.

“Apparently you can’t. The 5 minutes started when I finished speaking.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Goku protested, annoying Black even more.

“Still struggling with the simplest instructions. No wonder you’re so unsatisfied.” Black sighed.

Goku looked as confused as ever but stayed silent.

Black grabbed the blanket and pulled it off of Em, “undress. Now.”

She quickly pulled off her shirt and panties and tossed them towards the floor but Black snatched them in midair.

He grabbed the panties and gave them back to Em. “Stuff those in his mouth.”

Em turned to Goku who already had his mouth opened. She stuffed her panties into his mouth and could tell he was trying to lick her wetness from them.

“Spread your legs for me.” Black ordered.

She did as she was told without hesitation, fully exposing herself to him.

“Tell me how deprived you’ve been,” he said, sliding his fingers up and down her cunt.

She glanced at Goku, seeing his wide eyes as he waited for her answer.

“Tell me.” Black lifted his hand and smacked her inner thigh.

“Really deprived.” She whined, bucking her hips.

“It must be frustrating having a mate that doesn’t know how to properly satisfy you,” Black mused, rubbing her thigh with the back of his hand. He was so close to touching her where she wanted it the most.

“Just so desperate for a decent fuck.” Black said with complete condescension.

Goku mumbled something but her panties muffled anything that came from his mouth.

“Does the little saiyan want what I can offer?” He asked, letting his fingers trail up and down her inner thigh.

“Yes, please?” She all but whined.

“Oh, I’ll need more than that. If you really, really, want what I can give you, then I think you can beg a little better than that.” He continued his torturous touch, but avoided her cunt.

“Please, I need what you can give me,” Em begged.

He moved his fingers a little closer but still didn’t touch. “Be more specific.”

“Fuck…I need what only you can give me,” she pleaded with him.

Black smirked and leaned down, his face hovering over her pussy, “good girl.” He let a single string of spit drip down onto her cunt, making her almost lose it at the slight contact she’d been deprived of.

Goku whined as he watched Em squirm for Black, having no way of touching her or himself.

“So perfectly wet for me, ready for my… fingers? Tongue? Or is it my cock you’re craving?” He glanced up at Em.

“Tongue and cock,” she answered quickly.

“Greedy little saiyan. I’m afraid you have to choose. I’m not promising both until I’m sure you’re worth it and he can stay quiet.”

“T-Tongue.” Em peered over to Goku who was just as hard as before if not more.

“I must admit I’ve been eager to taste you again and of course, show the imbecile how to actually devour such a perfect little cunt.” Black grinned.

He leaned close to her soaked pussy, his breath hot against her. It was taking everything she had not to beg and plead for him to fuck her, but she knew he’d only make her wait longer. 

Goku watched, his eyes flitting from Em to Black, his thighs squeezing together to get some kind of friction where he needed it desperately.

“Stop that or neither of you will get what your pathetic mortal bodies crave.” Black shot a warning glance at Goku.

His hands spread across her thighs, pushing her further open for him as he leaned down and flicked his tongue over her clit. She moaned immediately at the feeling, her need even more apparent now.

Black was torturous with his movements, keeping the pressure just light enough to have Em whimpering in no time along with her mate, who could only sit and watch.

Em looked over at Goku, seeing him struggling and needing some kind of relief. She glanced at Black who was focused solely on her clit, his tongue moving faster with each swipe. She reached towards Goku and slid her hand up his thigh to feel the head of his cock straining against his pants.

He let out the softest muffled whimper at the touch of her fingertips.

Black’s head shot up immediately, looking at the two of them. He grabbed Em’s arms and pinned them above her head harshly.

“Seems you’re both even more pathetic than I thought.” He sneered.

A sly grin spread across his face as he released Em’s arms and sat back, “if you want his cock so badly, then fuck him." 

Em hesitated, looking back and forth between Black and Goku. She scooted up in the bed with Black still sitting between her legs.

"But, if you touch him, even a fingertip, you won’t get that sweet release you’ve been dying for from me.” He warned.

Em knew Goku could fuck her, hell, with the way he was pent up right now he could probably fuck her through the mattress. But there was still something about Black, something she still craved and wanted more than anything.

When she didn’t immediately go to Goku, he sighed a little, her panties soaked by the mixture of her come and his saliva. He was helpless, only able to watch Black toy with his mate.

Black grabbed Em by the back of her hair and jerked her forward, his lips almost touching hers.

“Tell him you don’t want his cock, tell him how bad your pussy is aching for mine.” He said through gritted teeth, his hand pulling roughly on her hair.

“I- I…” she hesitated, glancing over at Goku.

Black yanked her hair harder to get her attention, “tell him and I’ll finally let you feel my cock sliding in and out of your messy little cunt.”

“I want-”

“Ah, look at him.” Black forced her to turn her head.

“I want his cock.” She muttered.

Black used his free hand to tap the side of her cheek, “better. More pathetic, like I know you can be.”

“G-Goku, I want his cock. I want to feel him stretching me out only the way he can and to show you how to use me.” Em felt her cheeks blush as she stared at Goku.

“Good little saiyan.” Black released her hair.

Before Em could mouth an apology to Goku, Black had her pulled off of the bed and bent over the edge, facing Goku.

His hand splayed across her lower back as he pulled his hard cock free, “you’re going to scream for me like a good pet and maybe, maybe, I’ll let the imbecile touch himself.”

Black pressed the tip of his cock to Em’s cunt and eased into her. Em gasped and let out a soft moan as he filled her, stretching her pussy just right.

He didn’t hold back once every inch of his cock was deep within her. He pulled back and slammed into her hard enough to make the mattress jerk forward.

“I want you to keep your eyes on him so he can see just how much you’re enjoying this,” Black growled as he drove into her harder and harder.

She tried to hide her face but Black grabbed the back of her hair and jerked her head back, forcing her to look up at Goku. Black continued to slam into her hard, each thrust making her breath hitch in her throat.

“Look at her, Goku, see how much she’s enjoying a decent fuck?” Black taunted him.

Goku shifted again, trying to keep still while Black fucked his mate the way she wanted. 

“Since you’ve managed to stay quiet for the most part, I’ll allow you to remove the panties and stroke your cock.” Black addressed Goku while stilling deep inside of Em.

Goku immediately pulled her panties from his mouth and shoved his hand down the front of his pants.

“Let her see.” Black ordered.

Goku complied quickly and pulled his thick cock free, his hand pumping up and down it as if he couldn’t get the relief fast enough.

Black kept a handful of her hair and forced her to watch Goku chase his release. 

“See how pathetic he is? Stroking his cock while his mate gets fucked properly by another.” Black continued to taunt Goku, and it was only making Em wetter by the second.

Seeing Em get fucked by what appeared to be an evil version of himself brought Goku to the edge of coming faster than ever before.  The look of complete ecstasy on her face was enough to drive him insane with need.

“Neither of you are allowed to come without my permission,” Black informed them.

“What? But that’s not fair.” Goku whined, his eyes going wide as he slowed his movements.

“Did I say I was going to be fair? What about this arrangement gives you that inclination?” Black laughed and slammed into Em harder.

She was all sensation and small squeaks between harsh thrusts. She was barely able to form a coherent thought as his cock drove deeper within her.

“But I wanna watch her come. It’ll help me come,” Goku whimpered and stroked his cock a little faster.

“Keep pestering me about it and neither of you will come. Would that make you happy, pesky saiyan?” Black shot back.

“No.” Goku looked almost too sad while stroking his cock.

“Please… let me… come.” She pleaded finally.

“Have words returned to your feeble little mind?” He teased as he jerked her head back towards him.

“Please?” Em begged again.

“Since Goku keeps interrupting, you have to wait,” he said, pulling her back far enough to arch her back, “and you won’t like what happens if you disobey me.”

Em knew not to push him any further, but she was quickly losing the grasp she had on controlling her orgasm. Goku looked just as desperate as he stroked his cock.

Black’s hips snapped against Em roughly as he moved his hand down to her throat, keeping her back arched while he choked her. She whimpered and panted for more with each torturous thrust.

Black was relentless and rough, harshly fucking Em just the way she wanted and forcing Goku to watch was a perk. She loved him but he just didn’t let go like she needed him to. 

“I can feel how close you are.” Black growled in her ear.

“Black… please… I can’t…” Em whined.

Goku’s hand moved faster as he watched Em mewl and whimper for Black.

A harsh smack landed on Em’s thigh, “you will or you’ll regret it." 

Goku reached for Em, softly caressing her cheek in an attempt to soothe her. She leaned into his touch and let out her moans and gasps into the palm of his hand.

Black squeezed Em’s throat, "tongue out." 

She complied and slipped her tongue out between her lips, still panting and writhing against him.

"Come on her tongue.” He ordered Goku as he continued to fuck Em relentlessly. 

Goku shuffled closer on his knees, still stroking his cock as he slid the tip of it over her tongue.

Em flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock and strained to try and slip the tip into her mouth.

Black popped the side of her cheek sharply, “did I say you could suck his cock?" 

"No.” Em whimpered and stared up at Goku.

“Follow directions or you won’t know what an orgasm feels like for the next week.” He growled.

Em opened her mouth and returned to just letting her tongue graze the tip of Goku’s cock while Black slammed into her.

Goku’s hand pumped up and down his thick length until he was muttering soft grunts and groans as he neared his release. As if by instinct, he glanced up at Black for permission, which was given in the form of a nod. 

Goku leaned closer as he finally let go, his cum coating Em’s tongue and the inside of her mouth.

“Don’t swallow it. Hold it.” Black commanded and stilled within Em.

“Have you bred her?” He asked Goku.

Goku barely registered his words as he was still panting, “not yet.” He admitted.

A devious grin spread across his face, “this really was the perfect opportunity for me to show up." 

He eased out of Em slowly and thrust back into her hard, making her gasp and some of Goku’s cum drip down her chin.

Black wasted no time in building his release again, making it harder for Em to keep her mouth closed between harsh thrusts. He finally let go, filling her with his cum with his hips snapping against hers harder than before. 

"Come for me.” He growled as he pushed his cum deeper inside of her.

Em whimpered and tried to hold her mouth closed, but it was too much. She was too sensitive and overwhelmed to hold back and let out a loud moan of Black’s name.

She collapsed on the bed with barely any of Goku’s cum remaining in her mouth as her legs trembled and shook from the intense waves of her orgasm still rolling through her body.

Black kept his cock buried inside of her as he released her neck, his hand trailing down her spine.

“Are you okay?” Goku asked, tilting her chin up towards him.

“Y-Yeah.” She managed to mutter, her body exhausted and worn out.

“I must say, for mortals, you kept up fairly well. I’ll have to really test your limits next time.” He finally pulled out of Em and stuffed his cock back into his pants.

“Next time?” Goku looked up at him.

“Oh, you didn’t think this was just a one time thing, did you?” Black said with a faint smirk.

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Melee

Part 3 of the Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

Zuko has been living in Pohuai Stronghold for two months, and would very much like winter to be over now, please.

It had snowed a few weeks ago, just enough to cover the top of one's foot when one stepped in it, and Zuko had hated it at first sight. There was just something unnatural about how Koh-damned cold it was, forcing his inner flame to burn hotter in his chest to compensate. Most of the snow is gone now, only little piles of dirty slush left in the corners of the yards where the weak winter sun doesn't quite reach, but it is now somehow colder than it had been when the snow had first arrived. None of the other Archers are firebenders, and Zuko honestly has no idea how they cope—Kai actually seems to like it, but Kai is also mildly insane and not to be trusted.

Zuko is now triply glad that he took the Commander's deal. He gets three meals a day (plus access to all the snacks he could ever want—all he has to do is blink and people shove food at him), he'll be learning from the most badass soldiers in the entire world (although he has yet to actually start training—Dr. Atsuko says he needs to gain more weight before she'll let him even touch a bow, and Dr. Atsuko is really scary so he doesn't want to cross her), and he gets Agni-blessed warm clothes (Zuko will bite anyone who touches his koala-sheep wool cloak—Zheng and the twins make fun of him for his attachment to it, but Zuko ignores them with the ease of someone who literally couldn’t care less). And all Zuko has to do is figure out new and interesting ways of getting past the Stronghold’s security, like the voyage through the ventilation system he’d taken last week that had allowed him to access the single most secure prisoner holding cell in the entire complex without even Captain Katsuro, leader of Banli Squad and the oldest and most experienced member of the Troop, knowing where he was.

Considering that two months ago he’d been staring starvation in the face, Zuko feels that maybe the luck that he’d used up just by being born is starting to come back.

Now if only winter would end.

Zuko is sitting with Kai and Jiyoti at breakfast in the mess, watching with increasing skepticism as Kai discourses the merits of arrows made out of ice, of all things. He’s neglecting his bao, and Zuko waits until Jiyoti distracts him with a salient point—how would one make ice arrows without waterbenders?—before swiping one. Mmm, sweet bean paste.

Kai pouts at him when he realizes what has happened, but Zuko is distracted by Commander Toshiaki coming their way.

Privates, Zuko, good morning, he greets them.

Good morning, Commander, they sign in unison.

Zuko, you need to report to Dr. Atsuko in the medical wing when you finish breakfast, the Commander informs him.

Zuko nods. Yes, sir.

Commander Toshiaki nods, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his stern expression, and Zuko feels like a million gold pieces. The Commander had been impressed with his breaking into the secure cell, and Zuko can’t wait to impress him again on his next “mission” to test the Stronghold’s security. He can only hope that nobody’s too disappointed when he inevitably proves how much of a failure he is at archery and non-bending hand-to-hand. He’s already resigned himself to never completing his firebending training, since the Yuyan are all non-benders. He’ll just have to hope that he never gets into a situation where firebending is his only weapon. He wonders if the Commander will let him continue learning the dao, since it’s a non-bending form of combat.

He still needs to be cleared by Dr. Atsuko though, so after Commander Toshiaki signs for them to carry on, and he steals Kai’s other bao (and ducks the listless protesting swipe the older boy aims at his head), Zuko heads over to the medical wing.

For once, the CMO seems pleased to see him, and within moments Zuko is stripped to his underwear and standing on a scale. He tucks his hands in his armpits and shivers in the chilly air of the medical wing.

“Good news, you’re just on the right side of healthy weight for a boy your age and height,” Dr. Atsuko declares briskly. She allows him to step down and get dressed while she scribbles on the scroll that contains his medical information.

Does that mean I can start training? He asks, smiling hopefully.

Dr. Atsuko rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you can start training, put that look away, you brat,” she grouses. “But don’t overdo it, understand? If I see you in here because you did something stupid, I’ll have Toshiaki triple the time you spend on the bench for recovery.”

Zuko nods rapidly as Dr. Atsuko scribbles on a small square of paper and rolls it up. “Take this to Toshiaki,” she orders, handing the note to him. “And tell the Commander that I’ll have his hide if he breaks you in ways I can’t fix.”

Zuko has absolutely no intention of telling the Commander that; he’s not a complete idiot, no matter how stupid Father and Azula and his tutors and combat instructors thought he was. He knows perfectly well that he’s exactly one screw-up away from being tossed out of the Stronghold on his ass, Zheng and the twins never let him forget it. Better to keep his mouth shut and his hands still unless spoken to directly—he’ll likely have fewer bruises for doing so when they do finally get sick of him and kick him out.

The sentiment is appreciated, though. Dr. Atsuko is scary (not quite as scary as Azula—it’s doubtful that anyone’s as scary as Azula except maybe Father—but Dr. Atsuko is close), but she cares in her own way. Zuko forms the Flame and bows, she scoffs and waves him off, and he departs.

His grin hurts his face, especially where the muscle of his cheek wrinkles the stiffened scar tissue of his burn. He doesn’t care, though—he can finally start training with the Troop, instead of watching from the side like someone’s useless kid brother! He can’t wait to tell Kai!

But first he has to find Commander Toshiaki. At this time of the morning, the Troop is usually on the target range, working on speed drills.

Commander Toshiaki is exactly where Zuko thought he would be, along with the rest of the Troop. He presents the scroll to the Commander, who favors him with a quietly pleased expression.

This is excellent news, he declares. He then assigns Zuko to Chihese Squad for PT and weapons training. Zuko and Kai exchange grins, and Zuko ignores the ferocious glare Zheng sends him.

Captain Hiroki, Chihese Squad’s leader, looks Zuko up and down. Ever touch a weapon before, kid? He asks, and Zuko can see the sarcasm in the way his hip is cocked, his half-lidded eyes, and the smirk lurking just below the surface of his stoically flat mouth.

Something about him reminds Zuko of Azula when she was fishing for something to torment him with, and his spine snaps straight. I studied the dual dao for three years with Master Piandao before my father demanded I stop, he answers, keeping his hands and expression tightly under control. Father forbidding him from continuing his studies with the Master is a memory almost as painful as that of the Agni Kai, but he powers through it, refusing to let this potential Azula-replacement have any kind of ammunition against him. My Uncle helped me continue learning, as well as helping me learn other blade techniques. Such as this.

As fast as thought, Zuko draws his pearl dagger, flips it to grasp by the tip of the blade, and throws it handle-first at the closest archery target. It hits a fraction of an inch off of dead center, buried to the hilt. The target is at least twenty feet away.

Kai looks like Summer Solstice has come early. Mika and Jiyoti are smirking. Zheng is audibly grinding his teeth, dark eyes narrow and furious. Captain Hiroki looks… impressed.

The Captain walks over to the target, pulls out the dagger, and examines it as he walks back. Zuko watches like an eagle-hawk, but all Captain Hiroki does is look it over, shine the blade on the sleeve of his tunic, and hand it back to Zuko, who immediately tucks it into the sheath in his belt.

Very nicely done, he signs, all traces of sarcasm gone from his face and body. And quick, that’ll serve you well with a good set of real throwing knives. Why did your father make you stop learning from Piandao? I thought he was supposed to be the best swordmaster in the Fire Nation.

My father didn't like Piandao, and believed that weapons were beneath a firebender's dignity, Zuko replies, and doesn't miss the sneer that crosses Zheng's face. Annoyance churns in his gut, but Zuko's been ignoring Zheng's sneers and jibes since he was able to understand the Yuyan hand-language, and he's not about to break that streak.

A firebender, Captain Hiroki signs, almost absentmindedly, hairless eyebrows furrowed in thought.

I'm not very good, Zuko shrugs.

It seems as though Zheng can no longer hold his peace. You can't possibly be going through with this, Cap! He signs, fury in every line of his body, his hands flying so fast that Zuko can just barely keep up. He's a thief! He should be shipped back to the Home Islands in chains, not be trained in our ways like he's actually one of us!

Shut up, Zheng! Kai's hands snap out. Don't pretend you're not just jealous that Zuko's better at shadow walking at fourteen than you are at twenty!

Why would I be jealous of a spirits-damned street rat? Zheng replies, sneering. He's obviously lying about studying under Piandao, wanting the Captain to fawn over him the way the Commander does, while all he's doing is using his ridiculous street rat tricks to make it seem like he's actually useful and not planning on selling us all out to the closest dirt-eater forces––

Zuko can't take it anymore. He's many things: a failure, a soft-hearted weakling, a useless embarrassment to his father and family. But he is here now in this new life because he believed, and still believes, that it is wrong to sacrifice loyal subjects of the Fire Nation as battle fodder. The idea that he could be a traitor to his people burns even worse than Father's fire-whips, or the handful of flames he'd held to Zuko's face.

He breathes, and exhales fire. The force of his rage produces a plume of reddish gold flame that roars toward Zheng like a stampeding komodo-rhino, causing everyone to jump back to avoid being burned.  

Zheng is white under his Yuyan tan. Kai once again looks like the Summer Solstice has come early, with his birthday next. Mika's eyes are wide, and Jiyoti is practically hiding behind the older woman. Captain Hiroki looks thunderous, but before he can even move his hands, Zuko is already signing.

You don't know a damn thing about me, you giant piece of shit. His entire body is trembling, he’s so angry he feels like he’ll actually burst into flames. He doesn't even care that he might get kicked out for this. Zheng's been a boarcupine quill in his side since Commander Toshiaki and Chihese Squad had pinned him to the storeroom wall, and Zuko is done. I stole so that I wouldn't starve, because I was dumped in the middle of Koh-damned nowhere with the clothes on my back and a single useless knife, and I didn't even make it out of the Stronghold before I got caught anyway. I was going to die. I was supposed to die, but the Commander decided to let me live because he thought I would be useful. And I will never be able to repay him for that, for giving me a home and a new life, so I will stay here and learn everything I can and be as useful as I can possibly be, and you can shut up and stay the fuck out of my way!

He can feel the force of his glare in the pressure on his temples and the ache in his scar where his left eyebrow used to be, and the expression must be something because even Captain Hiroki seems reluctant to get close to him.

A hand lands gently on his shoulder, and Zuko flinches hard before whirling around to face the new threat, which is—

Kai, with an easy smile on his face, though his dark eyes are pained. Come on, he signs, let’s go to Master Arata and get you kitted out. Cap can deal with Zheng.

Kai leads him away, and Zuko glances back to see Captain Hiroki turning on a still white-faced Zheng.

Master Arata, the bowmaker for the Yuyan Archers, takes one look at Zuko and gives him the one bow with the single lightest draw weight in the entire Stronghold. Kai laughs himself sick as Zuko tries and fails to draw the bowstring back to his chin.

The Commander finds them in one of the training areas used by the regular Army companies that are stationed at the Stronghold. Kai is showing Zuko the strengthening and conditioning exercises the Yuyan use as part of their archery training, and Zuko recognizes many of them from both firebending and sword training, so they're in the middle of a planking contest when boots appear in Zuko's vision. He falls flat on his face when he realizes just who those boots belong to.

He and Kai both snap to attention, but Zuko can't look anywhere but at the ground, shaking as he awaits the Commander's punishment for firebending at Zheng. His shoulders ache with tension. He wishes the Commander would just hit him and get it over with.

Boots reappear in his vision, and Zuko squeezes his eyes shut and braces for the impact.

And nothing happens. Slowly, the fuzzy buzz of panic enveloping Zuko like a suffocating blanket falls away, and after a few moments he gathers every scrap of courage he possesses and opens his eyes.

The Commander is crouching in front of him, his head level with Zuko's chest, looking up at him with calm dark gray eyes. In this position, Zuko is head and shoulders taller, instead of the Commander looming over him, and he can't understand why the Commander would do this because it has to be absolutely demeaning for the leader of one of the world's best strike forces to take such a position before a useless idiot child like him––

Peace, Cadet Zuko, Commander Toshiaki signs slowly, expression serene.

Oh. Duh. As if Zuko needed another reminder that he's an idiot.

Captain Hiroki has informed me of your altercation with Private Zheng, the Commander continues. As the instigator of the incident, Private Zheng has been reprimanded and assigned a punishment detail. He has also been transferred to Banli Squad, per recommendation from Captain Hiroki and Sergeant Mika. However, firebending at someone outside of training scenarios or active combat is forbidden here in the Stronghold, by order of Colonel Shinu, and I'm afraid that means that I need to give you a punishment detail as well.

I understand, sir, Zuko signs haltingly.

You are to report to the komodo-rhino barn half an hour after dawn for the next two weeks, where you will perform tasks assigned by Stablemaster Guo until the mess opens for breakfast, the Commander declares.

Zuko blinks. He can't have understood that correctly. The Commander wants him to help take care of the komodo-rhinos… as a punishment?

But he has definitely learned to hold his tongue in front of superiors, and has probably pushed his luck enough for the next year, so he simply signs Understood, sir, and bows with the Flame.

I have also spoken to the Stronghold's firebending master, and he is happy to take you on as a student, Commander Toshiaki adds. You will report to him at dawn every day after your punishment detail is complete. He wished me to inform you that he understands if you have gotten lax in your meditations in the recent past, but he expects you to resume them immediately, so that you are well in the habit once your training resumes.

For the second time in as many moments, Zuko is shocked. He honestly hadn't expected to be allowed to continue his firebending training, and he could admit that a small part of himself had been just a tiny bit relieved. Before, even with Uncle's intervention, firebending training had not been a pleasant activity. No one had dared to physically harm the Fire Prince, but Zuko knew full well how the palace masters compared him to Father, to Uncle Iroh, to Azula, and never really seemed to care if he hurt himself in the process of trying to prove himself worthy of them.

But now, there's no one to compare himself to other than the soldiers who bend, and the master who oversees them. Anyone to whom he might try to prove himself wouldn't care about his firebending, because they don't bend themselves. Zuko isn't the Fire Prince, the Crown Prince, anymore, he doesn't have anyone's boots to fill but his own.

And that is a very exciting prospect.

So he grins widely at the Commander and signs Yes sir!

Previous | Next

[notapaladin]

took the words right out of my mouth

Acatl decides to teach Teomitl how to row. Teomitl does indeed learn something new.

Also on AO3!

-

They were curled together lazily in the shade of Acatl’s courtyard like two lizards, arms around each other despite the heat, when Teomitl had what was in retrospect one of his better ideas.

It started out as a half-drowsy murmur as he nestled further against Acatl’s chest. It was really too hot for a position like that to be comfortable, but he was perfectly willing to bear discomfort if it meant feeling as well as hearing Acatl’s heartbeat in his ear. I might never have had this, he thought, but what actually came out of his mouth before he could sink too deep into introspection was, “You were the best teacher I could ever have had, you know.”

Acatl made a small noise; belatedly, Teomitl wondered if he might have been falling asleep. “Oh?” Then his words must have penetrated the haze, because the arm around Teomitl’s waist tightened as he nuzzled at his hair. “Mm. You give me undue credit.”

Well, now, that couldn’t be borne. “I do not,” he huffed, and twisted around—the angle was awkward and his neck wasn’t happy with him, but if Acatl was going to go about doubting his own obvious excellence in all things, then Teomitl had to kiss him until he saw sense. They’d only been together for a scant matter of days, and sometimes he caught Acatl flushed and staring at him as though it hadn’t sunk in yet. I love you, ridiculous man. Let me show you.

Acatl, it turned out, was very willing to be shown. He slid a hand up into Teomitl’s hair as they kissed, pulling him closer, and hummed in pleasure when Teomitl ventured to coax his mouth open. Pressed together as they were, he thrilled to the feeling of Acatl’s heart beating faster under his fingertips. “Mmm...” It was a barely audible hum, but it was enough to drive Teomitl a little wild; he writhed in Acatl’s arms until he could worm his way onto his lap, tangle his fingers in the rippling fall of his hair, and kiss him until they both had to pull away panting for breath.

His lover was beautiful at all times, but none moreso than now—face flushed, lips red, eyes with that hazy look in them that said he was very much enjoying himself. Teomitl had to suck in a breath before he could manage words, fighting the urge to wriggle pointedly in Acatl’s lap. No matter how much he wanted him, things between them were still so new. Acatl, he suspected, would have to be lured like a skittish deer. “The best of teachers,” he whispered. “The best of men.”

And now Acatl was blushing. It was adorable. “Teomitl,” he murmured, and ducked his head.

“It’s true.” It was. Only the very best of men would have saved the world so many times and accepted no recognition; only the very best of men would have met his eyes on that day and told him there was no need for an apology when Teomitl had been prepared to lay his bleeding heart at his feet.

The memory case a shadow through his mind that must have shown on his face, because Acatl smoothed gentle fingers along his cheekbone and smiled softly at him. “Hm. I wouldn’t say the best of teachers.”

“Why not?” But he thought he knew what Acatl was going to say; there was still that gap in Teomitl’s education they’d never been able to rectify, and he could admit it nagged at him.

Sure enough, he wasn’t disappointed. Acatl’s smile turned teasing as he continued, “I never could teach you to row.”

And that was when it occurred to him, even as he flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not too late.”

Acatl sat back, tilting his head as he considered this. “You want to learn?”

He was the Master of the House of Darts, one day to be Revered Speaker. She of the Jade Skirt was his patron. If he felt like it, he could have a legion of slaves or a herd of ahuitzotls to take him anywhere on the water he wished to go. But in his mind’s eye he saw Acatl rowing, the steady ripple of strong muscles as he propelled a boat through muddy water with ease. It was something any man in Tenochtitlan ought to know how to do, and he’d always been awful at it. But no matter how terrible at it he was, he knew Acatl would never mock his failures. He never had.

Besides, even if he wound up learning nothing at all, it would be pleasant to be out on the water where it was cooler. And where he probably wouldn’t spend all his time pondering the myriad temptations of Acatl’s home, particularly the parts involving a closed entrance curtain and a convenient mat. Or floor. Or wall.

“Yes,” he said, and slid off Acatl’s lap before he could get distracted again.

Of course, they couldn’t simply set out. A boat had to be found and a secluded place to practice had to be arranged; the latter was more difficult than the former, but if Teomitl was going to flail around with an oar he wasn’t going to do it with an audience if he could help it. Fortunately, there were plenty of secluded little spots around the edges of the Floating Gardens if you knew where to look—and with Jade Skirt’s magic, he would always know where to look.

Acatl took them out there, letting him relax for the moment and ensuring they wouldn’t crash the boat before he’d even had a chance at the oar. It really was better on the lake, with a breeze stirring their hair and the spray from the water cooling their skin. Not to mention that Acatl had shed his cloak in deference to the sun’s heat, leaving Teomitl with an excellent view of bare shoulders and a lean, strong back. Acatl was no warrior—his muscles were on the wiry side where they showed at all, unlike Neutemoc who was built like a tree—but that didn’t make him weak. Teomitl allowed himself to imagine standing up, sliding his hands over those shoulders and down his arms, telling Acatl that really, they’d gone far enough—

Then he shook his head, grimacing at himself. No matter how much I want him—no matter how much he loves me—I have better self-control than that. I don’t want to lure him into something he might regret. They’d been together a week. He’d courted Mihmatini for a year. He could wait. At the very least, when he got Acatl onto his mat he wanted there to be a mat.

“Will this suit?”

Teomitl gave a start; he’d stopped paying as close attention to his surroundings, but when he lifted his head he saw they’d reached a place where calm water lapped at the edges of a small island. The water was too clear for tlilcoatls to lurk, and the mud of the bottom wasn’t deep enough for the oar to get stuck too badly if he dropped it. Most importantly, it was utterly deserted. “It should.”

“Good.”

Then Acatl turned, holding out the oar, and flashed Teomitl one of those thin, soft smiles that transformed his face from merely decently attractive into something that took Teomitl’s breath away. “Shall we?”

Here was his first test: standing up in the boat without falling over. He grabbed the edge of the boat and braced himself, ignoring Acatl’s outstretched hand; he could at least manage this unassisted, even if the rocking of the craft under him made his stomach clench until he was steady on his feet again. “Let’s.”

Shortly after they switched positions and he took up the oar—still warm from Acatl’s hands, gods—he realized he’d miscalculated. Badly.

He hadn’t realized Acatl teaching him to row would involve so much of Acatl touching him. Of course, it made sense—he had to ensure he was holding the oar properly, after all—and he wasn’t doing anything forward, but that didn’t seem to matter at all to his libido. Now that he was no longer halfway to melting in the sun, it turned out his body had very strong opinions on the quick, sure way Acatl’s hands brushed along his shoulders or forearms or wrists. He tried to think of unappealing things. The main autopsy rooms of Acatl’s temple. Quenami’s fucking smirk. Tizoc.

It didn’t work. Acatl stood behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat from his skin, and when long fingers came to rest on the backs of his hands he had to bite back a sound that wanted to be a whine. “Nnh.”

“Here, you’re still not holding it right—” The worst part was that Acatl didn’t appear to even notice; he bit his lip lightly in concentration as he adjusted Teomitl’s hold on the oar, but that was all the expression he showed.

Teomitl exhaled. Right. He’s always taken lessons seriously. I’d be a poor student if I couldn’t do the same. Focusing on the smooth wood under his palms and not his lover’s scarred fingers, he shifted his grip and found himself automatically adjusting his stance to keep his balance. “Like this?”

“Mm. Now try pushing off.”

He did. The boat lurched, weaving from side to side like a drunkard, and they both swayed on their feet. Acatl was steadier; the arm he put around Teomitl’s waist to keep him upright didn’t so much as shiver. Teomitl turned automatically to look at him, acutely aware of how they were touching—Acatl’s hand just grazing his stomach, his side against Acatl’s chest. They were nearly close enough to kiss. He saw the way Acatl’s gaze flicked down to his lips and thought, just for a moment, that they might.

Then Acatl released him and stepped back, all business again. “You’re too abrupt. Here—like this.” Hands over his own again, he poled the boat forward. Teomitl tried not to think about how easy it was to let himself relax into that touch. “It’s more important to have your movements smooth. You can worry about speed later.”

Smooth, he thought. He took in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of the lake. On the edge of his hearing, he could almost catch a faint snatch of chattering song from his ahuitzotls. That’s right. I have Chalchiuhtlicue’s protection. I can do this. Remembering the way Acatl had moved him, he did it again. Their boat hadn’t quite come to a halt yet, but as it drifted forward he felt the water part at the stroke of his oar. He exhaled. “Ah.”

“See?” A smile tugged at the corners of Acatl’s lips. Teomitl wanted to kiss it. “You’re doing well, love.”

His face burned, and he had to drop his gaze to the water. You’re doing well. His heart gave a lurch in his chest. Every time Acatl praised him, whether it was for his magic or his quick thinking or something as simple as rowing a boat, it set a swarm of butterflies rioting through his insides and a pulse of heat through his veins.  It was far too easy to imagine that low voice saying the same things against his hair, or with his lips moving against the pulse in his throat—to imagine it rough with need and growling Good boy, Teomitl, you’re so good for me—and gods, for Acatl he’d be perfect. He swallowed hard. “...Praise me when I’ve managed to get this thing moving.”

Acatl’s expression said he’d expected a reaction like that. “Go on, then.” Then he sat down, elbows on his bent knees, to watch how Teomitl did on his own. The pose reminded Teomitl so sharply of his lessons in magic that the morning’s devotional scabs on his earlobes started to itch. “Slow and steady, like I showed you.”

He rolled his shoulders, took in another deep lake-scented breath, and started to row. It was easier now than it had been; the boat still lurched and he knew trying to turn too fast would send him over the side, but he was starting to understand why Acatl had told him to move slowly. Mud and water didn’t care if you were in a hurry; it would drag you down all the same. Careful, he thought. Shoulders like this, back like this—no, I’m doing the thing with my hands again, that’s better...

He wouldn’t be winning any races, but the boat was moving forward more or less in a straight line. Eventually he’d have to figure out how to turn without crashing the boat, but he was sure Acatl would be happy to show him that, too. For now, this was...

Well, it was exhilarating, honestly. He was rowing a boat and it was actually obeying him! He wouldn’t need to summon slaves or ahuitzotls to carry him over the water anymore! Elated, he turned back to his lover. “How am I doing, Acatl-tzin?” He hadn’t called Acatl tzin in a while, but the honorific slipped out anyway; something about it seemed instinctual when the man was teaching him something new.

Acatl seemed to have been preoccupied; he twitched when Teomitl addressed him, head coming up to meet his gaze like a startled hound. There was a faint flush across his cheeks that Teomitl was sure he couldn’t blame on the sun. “Ngh.” He swallowed visibly. “You—you’re doing very well. But your feet should be—space them a bit wider apart—“

He nodded, shifting his stance. “Like—”

Oh, no.

There was a split second of vertigo, a terrible awareness that he’d leaned over too far, and then he hit the water and the lake was rushing in his ears. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move; it took a heartstopping moment for him to remember how to work his limbs and right himself, realizing that he’d gone to his knees in the muck. When he opened his eyes, the world he saw was made of dark jade. His ears were filled with that foggy not-silence of the water, but the song of the ahuitzotls rang clearer than it ever had.

In Tlalocan...

The water wasn’t so deep here, maybe to his chest if he was standing. His lungs burned. If he stood up, he’d be able to breathe. But he was on his knees and he couldn’t—

It felt like forever, but it had to have only been a few seconds. Even muffled by the water, he could hear Acatl’s cry. “Teo—!”

Then there was a surge of water that could only come from quite a large boat suddenly tipping over, followed by a second, louder splash and a flurry of very energetic cursing. It seemed to unfreeze whatever had taken hold of his muscles, and he shot to his feet with a surge of panic.

Air was a relief. He shook water and his own wet hair out of his eyes, looking around for Acatl through the droplets still clinging to his eyelashes.“Acatl-tzin!”

“Ack—ugh. I’m alright!” Acatl was an arms’ length away from him in water up to the middle of his chest, spitting out wet strands of hair with a grimace, but most importantly, he didn’t look hurt. Teomitl could breathe a little easier.

Not, admittedly, much easier. The last time he’d seen Acatl like this—soaking wet, with the coils of his dark hair plastered to his skin and streaming off into the water like ink—had been when Tlaloc had sent His agent into the Fifth World. Then he’d been freshly filled with Jade Skirt’s power and they’d been fighting for their lives, and there hadn’t been time to admire the view. Now that there was, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Acatl’s skin gleamed, water sluicing down the curve of his shoulders and clinging along the ragged lines of old scars. Sunlight turned the sparkling droplets to fire, and Teomitl wanted to catch every one of them on his tongue. When Acatl threw his head back and raked his hair away from his face, he swallowed a whimper. Fuck. Fuck me.

It took real effort for him to remember how words worked. “You’re sure?” He waded closer for a better look. They were close enough to touch now, if he dared.

Acatl huffed, shaking his head. “Never mind me, what about the boat?”

Right. The boat. The boat which was now floating perfectly upside-down on the water a few feet away from them. He eyed it, frowning. Acatl’s strength was in his magic, not in his muscles; he was stronger, but not enough to get their craft flipped upright with only the traction provided by slippery lake mud under his feet. There was only one other option. “...I can call the ahuitzotls to help us right it?”

“...In a moment.” Acatl’s distaste for that idea was clear; Teomitl honestly couldn’t blame him. They were pretty creepy. But then their eyes met, and Acatl’s expression shifted to concern. “What was all that about?”

He swallowed. Acatl’s gaze didn’t seem to know where to settle—it slid from his face down to his collarbone and back up to rest somewhere around his mouth. He was suddenly very, very aware of the way Acatl was looking at his mouth. Without really meaning to, he took a few steps forward. The water between them was suddenly too much. “...You were...” Heat rose in his face. “...Distracting,” he finished lamely.

Acatl made a soft noise, and his hands flexed as though he’d like to reach for him; Teomitl wasn’t expecting him to, and so calloused fingers cupping his cheek made him gasp. A faint smile curved Acatl’s lips at his reaction. “Oh?”

He’d thought he would have to coax Acatl onto his mat like a hunter luring a deer. He’d thought Acatl would be shy. But the way his lover was looking at him now, all heat and hope, made him think again. Emboldened by the light in Acatl’s eyes, Teomitl reached for his waist and pulled him in. Even in the cool water, his lover’s skin was deliciously warm under his hands. “Mmm. Let me show you.”

Their mouths met, hot and wet and perfect. Again Teomitl realized how wrong he’d been; it was impossible to imagine how he could have thought Acatl shy when there was a hand in his hair and another sliding down his back, pressing them together; he stumbled a little in the mud, but Acatl only held him tighter. They broke apart only to kiss again, and when he dug his nails into the meat of Acatl’s back he was rewarded with a hum of pleasure. “Mmm...”

“Acatl,” he panted. He wanted to fix their boat. He wanted to get to that island, wanted to peel off their sodden loincloths and—but he couldn’t say any of that, because when he’d broken the kiss Acatl had moved his attention to his throat, and the feeling of his mouth there drove all the words from his mind except one. “Fuck.” Acatl hummed—gods, he could feel the vibrations of that sound—and did it again, tugging his head back, and Teomitl clawed at his back with a shuddering groan.

And Acatl didn’t stop. He kept going, mouthing a trail up Teomitl’s throat, and when he got to his ear he breathed, “Enjoying yourself?”

He’d never liked rhetorical questions. In lieu of an answer, he pressed closer, stomach to stomach; the heat of Acatl’s skin against his own was intoxicating. There was no room in his head anymore for thoughts of care or circumspection; he rolled his hips in a rough and inexpert grind, and the answering press of very hard flesh against his own made him gasp. “Oh.”

Acatl’s hands slid down to his hips, all but anchoring him in place. His voice was as rough as Teomitl had dreamed as he murmured, “You aren’t the only one who’s been distracted. You don’t know what it’s like, watching you move.”

He licked his lips. “Acatl-tzin.” That got a reaction too; Acatl’s head lifted, eyes locked on his own, and though his lover’s face was flushed all the way to his ears it was so clearly not a blush of shame that it gave him the ability to breathe, “I want...” But he wanted so many things they all clamored to leave his mouth first, and so he was temporarily struck dumb.

“What?” Acatl’s self-control had always been impressive; now, though he didn’t move, his fingers tightened on Teomitl’s hips.

Teomitl’s heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. Desperate for something more to hold onto, he sank them into the wet, heavy fall of Acatl’s hair and watched him tremble at the contact. “You.” Just you. In any way you want, any way we can dream of. Their loincloths were entirely too much fabric.

Acatl sucked in a harsh breath. “Let’s set the boat to rights, and then you can have me.” His hips rocked lightly, giving Teomitl absolutely no doubt as to what he had in mind.

“Ngh.” He’d never been harder in his life. He didn’t think he’d even wanted the crown this badly. But his lover had been chaste and devoted only to his god for years, and so something made him pause and mutter, “Acatl-tzin. I thought—”

The way his gaze fell must have told Acatl more than his words could, because he found himself quite effectively shut up by a brief, sizzling kiss. “You’ve been driving me mad for months. Did you think I didn’t want you?”

Months, he says. Months. He breathed in, tasting the lake and the shadow of Acatl’s mouth on his own. “...I thought it was something you’d want to consider first.”

Acatl’s eyes gleamed; the spark in them made him look as young and vibrant as he really was in those moments when the burden of his office fell away, and Teomitl somehow fell even more in love. “I have.” His voice lowered to a near growl. “In great detail.”

Teomitl wasted no time summoning his ahuitzotls after that, only barely remembering to haul up the boat when they reached dry land.

It was, after all, a very secluded little island.

[tricksters-pride]

Busted (Morgan Reid Hotchner kinktober Caught)

"God Derek we can't be doing this not in the breakroom we're going to get caught." Spencer moaned as Derek was nibbling his ear.

"Mmm come on babyboy that's the point. It's the excitement of it all not to mention your pretty face prettyboy." Derek said as he took Spencer's shirt off and placed little kisses along his chest and neck area.

"That's all fine in theory. But you and I both know we will both be really embarrassed if we were caught. Not to mention Aaron might fire us." He said with a loud moan as he felt Derek sucking and nibbling on his left nipple.

"Wonderboy I don't think he would fire us. No no one knows that were actually dating but I think a few people suspect it. Besides you know Aaron loves you just as much as we love each other." Derek said as he let his hand slip down Spencer's pants and into his underwear gently rubbing Spencer's balls.

"Fuck Derek! Mm do you really think so? Because I love the both of you with all my heart." Spencer said with a little bit of a moan as he started to get hard.

"Hey babyboy looks like you're soldier's standing at attention." Morgan said with a chuckle and a smirk as he started to stroke Spencer while nibbling on his neck and letting his free hand Wonder up and down his flat stomach.

Little did they know lurking in the shadows Aaron was already watching them. He was intrigued by their conversation.

He stayed over by the water cooler out of sight. He honestly couldn't believe Spencer loved him too.

Morgan was about ready to pull Spencer's pants completely off of him when Aaron decided it was finally time to speak up.

"Guys I love the both of you to death. And I don't mean I love you as a family but for the love of God guys. You two will not fuck in my brake room you've been busted!" Aaron shouted out with a smile on his face

"Boss man? What do you mean you love the both of us? I know you love Wonder boy but I didn't know you love me." Derek said tilting his head a little bit.

Derek gave Spencer a few more strokes but that's all he needed. Spencer let out a big moan as he shot a load all over the inside of his pants underwear and Derek's hand. Derek smirked and licked the cum off his hand right in front of Aaron.

"Yes Derek I love you and you're lucky I love you or else I think I would fired your ass" Aaron said with a chuckle.

"Hotchner do you really mean it? Sir do you really love us? As in love us love us like romantically love us?" Spencer asked with a big smile on his face.

Aaron didn't say a word he just walked over to Spencer dipped him back and kissed him romantically giving him a little tongue. He pulled back with a smirk on his face.

"Now go take a shower pretty boy then get back to work. But after work we can all have a little fun." Aaron said with a big smile on his face as he watched Spencer disappear into the locker room.

Spencer stripped down and took a shower. He was actually glad that him and Derek got caught. Because if they didn't get caught they may have never known that Aaron loved them as much as they loved him.

The end..........

__________________

@criminalgubler @aaronhotchnerr @davidrossi-ismydad @aaron-hotchner187 @whump-town @eideticprettyboyspencer @blakes-dictionxry @crackheadcastdirector @askrosemarymckneal @whoreforhotch @misteria247 @archangelhuntress @catherine-adams

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (2/4)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 20,005

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Notes: I swear this was supposed to be a horror story and not a comedy

--

The sun was beginning to set in earnest. It slanted through the vasty boughs of Gol Inath. Everything was cast in a fading lavender hue, which slowly slipped to something darker. The runes carved into the archway seemed to come alive in the gathering shadows. Overhead, a few ravens wheeled in circles, while others still perched in watchful silence. The eyes of nocturnal animals lurked through the underbrush along the outskirts of the clearing, and though she and the High Thornspeaker were the only two people present, Sylvanas could not help but feel that they were not alone. 

“You’re Jaina Proudmoore?” Sylvanas could not keep the disbelief from her tone. 

Rather than be muffled by the skull, the sound of Jaina's voice seemed to reverberate from within a cave of hollow bone. “I don’t recall telling you my family name. That and the fact you thought I was Ulfar means I’m obviously the one you’re looking for. Why?”

Sylvanas let her gaze rove across Jaina. She had been expecting a slip of a girl. Maybe twenty years old. But while Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s face, her hair was mostly white, streaked with gold, and pulled into a braid over one shoulder. “You’re older than I thought you’d be.” 

“An intruder and a flatterer. Will wonders never cease?” There was a surprising flair of dry humour in Jaina’s words. “Now, I am even more puzzled. Did I kill you?”

At that, Sylvanas let loose a snort of laughter. “No.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise this would be awkward. Or -- well -- more awkward, anyway,” said Jaina. When she shifted her weight, Sylvanas glanced down. It was then she realised that Jaina’s bare feet, like her hands, seemed to be carved from the same wood as her staff. “Were you hoping I could reverse your…” she waved a clawed and wood-gnarled hand towards Sylvanas. “...unique condition?” 

It was so reminiscent of Katherine -- the movements, the phrasing, the timbre of her voice, the overall mannerisms -- that Sylvanas no longer harboured any doubts that this was, in fact, Jaina Proudmoore. Or at least someone very closely related to the Lord Admiral. Good enough. 

Shaking her head, Sylvanas said again, “No.”  

“That's a relief. Because it would be nearly impossible.”

Sylvanas stared at her. “Nearly?” she repeated, incredulous.  

“There are some rare exceptions to the rule. I can’t recommend it, to be honest.” Jaina made a dismissive little gesture, as if she couldn’t be troubled with complex explanations of death magic. “If I didn’t kill you, and you don’t want me to fix your Undeath, then why are you looking for me?”

It was tempting to drag the conversation back towards those ‘rare exceptions’ spoken of, but Sylvanas resisted the curiosity gnawing at the base of her neck. She realised she was biting the inside of her cheek with a thoughtful narrowing of her eyes, and put a stop to it. Lifting her chin, she nodded towards Jaina. “Everyone thinks you died.”

“Who’s saying they’re wrong?”

Sylvanas scowled. Not for the first time, she wanted Jaina to remove that damnable skull so she could see her face. “You look very alive to me.”

The curved end of the staff tilted towards Sylvanas in an all encompassing gesture. “I could say the same of you. Appearances can be deceiving, as we both know.” The skull lifted slightly, drawing closer as though Jaina were sniffing the air. “When did you die? Four years ago? Five?”

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas said, “Over a decade ago.”

“Well, that can’t be right. The grave smells more recent on you.” 

“I think I would remember my own death,” Sylvanas said dryly. Then she added with a sneer, “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

Shrugging, Jaina lowered her grip upon the staff so that her stance appeared more relaxed. “I have as much a right to ask you a few personal questions, as you do to barge into my home with drawn weapons.”

Sylvanas pointed to the tree and their surroundings. “Your forest is a nightmare. I was simply prepared for the worst. And besides,” she shrugged at the bow over her shoulder. “I did not shoot you.”

“Your restraint is admirable.”

Sylvanas nodded. “Mmm. Yes. I thought so, too.”

“And after I’ve been so rude to a guest, as well,” Jaina drawled. “However shall I repay you?”

“A formal introduction might be a good start.” 

“It seems you don’t need one. You already know my name. I’m the only one here still in the dark.”

Lifting her open hand, Sylvanas placed it over her own heart. It was an elvish military salute, and something she had never been able to rid herself of no matter how many years had passed. “Sylvanas Windrunner.” 

Jaina did not return the gesture in any regard. "So, Sylvanas Windrunner. You’ve found me. Now, what do you want?”

“Your mother sent me.” 

The lie came easily to Sylvanas’ lips. Jaina’s head jerked as though she had been struck. Her grip upon the staff tightened once more, and Sylvanas swore she saw a glint of eyes through the skull’s sockets, like the glimmer of cold and distant starlight.

“An intruder. A flatterer. And now a liar, too.” The darkness of Gol Inath’s hollow seemed to gather at Jaina’s back, like a protective shroud or a display of something else. Impatience, perhaps. Or a growing ire. “I am seriously beginning to reconsider my decision to not kill you. For good, this time.” 

In response, Sylvanas lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then I count myself fortunate to have such a merciful hostess.” 

Slowly, Jaina moved forward, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The shadows clung to her as she moved. She was tall without the antlers, but with them she seemed that much more imposing. Her face remained hidden behind the mask, but the skull followed Sylvanas with an unblinking stare. And then Jaina had stepped past her. She looked out at the waterfalls plunging over the roots of Gol Inath. "Even if you weren't lying -- which you clearly are -- why would my mother send an undead elf runt to find me?"

Sylvanas bristled, but refused to rise to the bait. Still, she moved forward to stand at Jaina’s side. "The Lord Admiral’s political rivals circle over her. Civil war is coming to Kul Tiras."

"That doesn't sound like my problem."

"I should think civil war affects all Kul Tiran citizens. That includes the Drust."

Jaina continued to face the water, refusing to acknowledge that Sylvanas had moved at all, as though utterly unconcerned with her guest's presence. "A key prerequisite of being a Kul Tiran citizen is having the ability to own land. The Drust haven't been allowed to own land for nearly three hundred years."

"You would let Drustvar fall into the hands of a rival House on a technicality?"

"I have no intention of letting Drustvar fall into anyone's hands but my own."

This was not how the conversation was supposed to go. Jaina was supposed to be young, naive, optimistic, easy to manipulate. She was not supposed to be...whatever this woman was. Calm. Confident. Bored. 

That last one in particular stung. Sylvanas was used to people finding her many things, but boring was not one of them. 

Sylvanas crossed her arms and glowered out at the waterfalls sending up the thick preternatural mist that slunk through the Crimson Forest. "Last I checked, the region was ruled by Lucille Waycrest. Not you."

"What was that about technicalities again?" Now, Jaina just sounded amused. "Lucille and I have an understanding. She may live in Waycrest Manor with her Tides-given titles, but we all know who really controls Drustvar."

"You think Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane care about your little arrangement? All they see is a target." Sylvanas pointed to the skull, drawing a circle in the air with her finger as though painting a bull’s eye. Jaina did not move in the slightest despite this intrusion. "Your position is weak. Lucille will be toppled, and your 'understanding' will be in shreds within a few years."

"Let them come."

This air of calm self-assurance was starting to grow tiresome. Mostly because Sylvanas half-believed what Jaina said to be true. Almost. That was by far the most irritating thing. 

She launched her next words like a barb. "Your mother is dying."

Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t for Jaina to nod solemnly. "Yes. I imagine she is,” she mused, looking out over the water. “Everybody dies. I didn't think I would need to lecture a corpse about that."

Sylvanas had to stop herself from grinding her teeth. She could feel the muscles in her jaw bunch together regardless. "She needs you. Kul Tiras needs you."

Jaina snorted and shook her head in a rustle of bone and leaves. "My mother sent me away when I was twelve years old. My father refused to speak my name after I’d left until the day he died. And Kul Tiras would never accept me given my background. I am too much like the thing they fear, now. They do not want me."

"I never said Kul Tiras wanted you. I said they needed you. They need an Heir to House Proudmoore."

"Then they should have thought of that before they let my father send my brother to the gallows in Unity Square. Tandred was the last Heir to House Proudmoore. Not me."

"Do you really want the Navy to be commanded by the likes of Lady Ashvane? Or Lord Stormsong?" Sylvanas snapped.

"Hang the Navy."

It was the first time a hint of a growl entered Jaina’s words. The sound was low and rumbling and far too animalistic to have been made by the human voice. Sylvanas’ ears pricked up slightly. She straightened her shoulders, her eyes coal-bright and curious. Finally. An opening. Something she could use. 

“Ah, yes. I’d heard about your brother.” Sylvanas tapped at her chin. “Something about helping the Horde, wasn’t it? Such a shame that your father did not look kindly upon acts of philanthropy to those in need.”

At last, Jaina turned her head to look at her, and it felt like a victory just to have her attention. “Are you in need of my ‘philanthropy’?” she sounded incredulous. 

It was Sylvanas’ turn to pretend to be aloof. “No. But as the Warchief of the Horde, I am always seeking alliances that will make us stronger.”

Jaina twitched in surprise, and the skull tilted to one side as though she were studying Sylvanas with far more interest. "You're no orc."

"I see Kul Tiras really has been living under a rock for the last decade,” said Sylvanas with a huff of wry laughter. “The Horde is far more than a gaggle of mindless orcs these days."

Now, Jaina had turned fully towards her. More progress. "And yet you died over a decade ago, you said? Which implies you are a product of the Scourge.” 

The empty space within the crook of her sickle staff burned with a bluish light, and the air suddenly reeked with the smell of arcane magics. Sylvanas tensed. Her hand made an abortive jerk towards her bow, but then the brief crackle of energy died away.

Jaina hummed a thoughtful note. “I don't sense anything demonic about you."

Still tense -- wary and ready to act upon a moment’s notice -- Sylvanas lowered her arm. "I make a point of not sharing my head with anyone. Especially where demons or liches are concerned."

"Finally, something we can agree on." Gesturing between the two of them, Jaina asked, "And what exactly would you get out of this proposed alliance?"

Sylvanas flashed a grin. "A friend."

At that, Jaina grunted. Silence descended as she chewed over the idea. "You're charming…"

Sylvanas' grin widened slightly.

"...but not that charming." Jaina straightened to her full height, which was fiendishly tall. Far too tall for Sylvanas’ tastes. Humans had no right being able to loom like that. "What do you really get out of this? And don't give me that bullshit about friendship."

The grin slipped from Sylvanas’ face, replaced instead by an expression that was more exasperated than anything else. "You really are your mother's daughter, aren’t you?” When Jaina’s only reply was to quietly glare at her, Sylvanas relented. "I want Kul Tiras to open its borders to the Horde."

“And is that all?” Jaina pressed.

“Would I lie to you?”

“You already have. Several times, I might add.” Jaina tapped her thumb against her staff. The motion rattled a cluster of crows’ skulls at her waist. “How do I know you're not working with Ashvane and Stormsong already?"

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas said, "Because if I were, I wouldn't have approached your sacred tree alone. I would have come with an army to burn it to the ground."

“You really do have a way of endearing people, don’t you?” Jaina said, not the least bit impressed. “No wonder my mother threw you out on your ass. That is what happened when you approached her with this proposition, I assume?”

Sylvanas glowered, but said nothing. It was answer enough.

“Of course, it is.” Jaina’s laugh was a low chuckle of amusement. “Why would I help you?”

“The goodness of your heart,” said Sylvanas, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. 

Jaina scoffed. “You’re not a shipwrecked orc in need of hull repairs. You’re a war profiteer.”  

“I had hoped you would be swayed by some manner of loyalty to your dying mother,” said Sylvanas, but the low blow did very little it seemed.  

“Don’t pretend to care about my mother, Warchief Windrunner.”

“Pretend?” Sylvanas repeated, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, she invited me to the Keep for a cup of tea. If she were in better health, we could have reached an understanding.”

“If she were in better health, she would have shot you,” Jaina said dully.  

“Whatever helps the negotiation process,” Sylvanas drawled with a wave of her hand. Then she leaned a little closer, trying to peer past the impenetrable shadows of the skull’s eye sockets, searching for any hint of Jaina’s face. “Haven’t you thought about what you could do as the Lord Admiral?”

Most people would have leaned away or taken a step back upon being in such close proximity with a walking corpse. Jaina on the other hand remained perfectly still. “I am happy where I am now.”

“Are you?” Sylvanas stepped forward. They were close enough to touch, but Sylvanas stopped just before that point. The skull tilted slightly, as though Jaina were having to lower her chin to continue looking at her. “If you became the Lord Admiral, you could change the laws of Kul Tiras. No more raids. No more witch burnings. No more unfair press into the Navy’s service. You could give back lands to the Drust that were confiscated when your very own ancestors arrived here in the first place. Think of it as -” she shrugged, “- reparations. Making amends. Setting things right once and for all.” 

There. A pause. A hesitation. The smallest gap in Jaina’s proverbial armour. If Sylvanas did not have such acute hearing, she would have missed the slight hitched breath beneath that mask. 

“Hmm,” said Jaina. This close, Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s exhalation brush against the plate of bone in front of her face. It was barely audible over the rush of water and the slough of a breeze through the surrounding foliage. “I still don’t trust you.”

Placing her open hand back over her chest, Sylvanas tried for an air of sincerity without appearing mocking. “Then allow me to prove my good intentions, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina made a noise as though she had just bitten into something sour or rotten. “Don’t call me that. I’m not that old.”

“High Thornspeaker is a bit of a mouthful.”

“They have the same number of syllables,” Jaina pointed out, but she sighed nonetheless. “Jaina, then. If you must.” 

“Very well, Jaina,” Sylvanas let the name linger on her tongue. “Give me a small temporary outpost in Drustvar, and I promise to be nothing but the most humble and respectful of guests. At any time, you may call upon me as needed, or send me away. Whichever you prefer.”

For a long while, Jaina said nothing. As their conversation had progressed, the air around them had grown dark. The moon was a sliver of liquid gold upon the horizon, peeking over the wild canopy. The ground here was littered with small bioluminescent flowers, which gathered closest around the great tree, glowing softly in time with the runes over the arch and those carved into the mask’s antlers, as though they were all connected by a single woven thread. When Jaina took a step back and turned away, the ground lit up at her feet. The small bioluminescent petals clustered within her footsteps so that she seemed to leave a trail of pale fire that faded in her wake. 

She did not go very far, only striding a few paces off to sit upon one of the stones half-buried in the ground at the base of the tree. The moment she touched the stone, the marks etched into its surface lit up like a lantern. Jaina paid them no heed. She sat. She rested her staff on the ground beside her. She crossed her legs and idly bounced her foot up and down as though deep in thought. 

One of the ravens swooped down from its branch to land on Jaina’s shoulder, and she waved it away. “Not now, Adalyn,” she admonished under her breath.

The raven cawed a loud complaint, but it flapped away again. Except this time it landed on a lower branch nearer Jaina, and fixed a beady black eye upon Sylvanas. 

Finally, Jaina turned her attention back on Sylvanas. “No hunting,” she said, holding up her hand to tick items off on her wooden fingers. “No fishing. No mining. No forestry. You will have a minimal presence. All civilian. No military. And you will stock no arms or ammunition either on shore or within twenty leagues of it.” 

“Agreed,” Sylvanas said without any hesitation.

“I will speak with Lucille. You’ll have your outpost within the fortnight. Though,” Jaina added, “you might consider keeping your head down. If my mother gets wind that you’ve established a presence here behind her back, there will be hell to pay.”

“I will be meek as a field mouse,” Sylvanas swore. 

Though Sylvanas could not see it, she had no doubt Jaina just rolled her eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” Her foot continued to bob as she spoke. "Arthur will escort you back to Arom's Stand. It will be quicker with him showing you the way."

Sylvanas looked around the empty clearing. "Who?"

As if in answer, one of the smaller ravens wheeled down from the branches of Gol Inath. It landed on the ground a few paces away from Sylvanas. And then it shuffled its feathers, and began to grow. There followed a series of unpleasant snaps and groans, as though a tree were being felled, and then a deer was standing in the raven's place. Except it was like no deer Sylvanas had ever seen before. It appeared to be made partly of plant, and partly of bone and flesh. Its legs were clawed twisted trunks, and the collar of fur around its neck was a ruff of leaves. Sylvanas could see glimpses of pale ribs through its sunken skin, and glowing glyphs were tattooed into its flank. 

"Hi!" the deer said. "It's me. I'm Arthur. Nice to meet you."

The voice was most definitely coming from the deer, though its mouth did not move in any way. Its eyes were filmed over with the pale blue of death, but the deer flicked its tufted tail in a very lively manner. 

Slowly, Sylvanas looked up at the trees, at the numerous ravens eyeing her from their perches. Even at the gazes of nocturnal creatures that blinked owlishly at her through the underbrush. She tried counting them all, but soon lost track. Suddenly, Jaina's earlier threats about putting Sylvanas in the ground for good did not seem so empty. 

"I wasn't aware we had an audience." Sylvanas nodded to the trees. "You might have told me."

"To be honest, you came right in the middle of a lesson. One which I'm keen to get back to. You have very bad timing." Jaina shooed her away. "I will check in on you in a few months. And if you don't keep up your end of the bargain: I'll know."

"What if I want to speak with you sooner?"

"You still have my token. It will guide you safely through the forest just as it did before."

With a sour grunt, Sylvanas' hand drifted to the pouch where she kept the scrimshaw fang. She thought on wicker men and bad dreams. Perhaps instead, next time she would just go to the forest's edge and talk to the ravens until they fetched Jaina for her. 

Plastering on a false smile, Sylvanas bowed low at the waist. "The hospitality of the Drust is as infamous as they say. Thank you, High Thornspeaker. This meeting has been enlightening."

"Next time, let me know you’re coming, and I'll be sure to put on a pot of tea," Jaina said dryly. 

The raven from before, the one called Adalyn, had hopped down to a branch closer to Jaina, glaring over the High Thornspeaker's shoulder like a dour little body guard. Sylvanas was sure she had seen the same expression on Nathanos' face. 

Syvlanas turned towards Arthur. The deer was pawing at the ground with one clawed and cloven hoof. 

"Hop on up," Arthur's voice said. 

Sylvanas' brows furrowed. His back looked very spiny and not at all comfortable. "I don't suppose I can get a saddle?"

"I mean -?" Arthur started to say, glancing over at Jaina.

"Don't demean yourself Arthur," Jaina said. 

Arthur stamped his back hoof, and said to Sylvanas. "Sorry. No can do."

Muttering under her breath, Sylvanas hoisted herself easily onto his back. She shifted atop him, but couldn't find a good seat no matter what she did. 

"Ready?" he asked.

Before she could answer he started off on a bouncing trot away from Gol Inath. Behind them, Sylvanas could have sworn she heard laughter chasing after her, but perhaps that was simply the cry of the ravens. 

As Arthur picked up the pace, he said, "You might want to hold on."

"To what?" Sylvanas growled. 

He tossed his head, and she grabbed onto a tine of his antlers. Soon, his steps turned into leaps and bounds. He was sure-footed and swift, easily traversing the forest. Even so, Sylvanas was forced to hunker down low on his back to save herself from getting whipped by the passing branches. 

She missed her skeletal horses. They may not have been as fast, but at least they had saddles and didn't talk. And Arthur talked. Arthur talked a lot. 

"This is so exciting," he said as they raced along. "We haven't had outsiders at Gol Inath in -- well -- forever! And now all this talk about the Admiralty and invasion? Do you think we're going to have a big fight?"

A branch sailed right for Sylvanas' face. She ducked. "That depends," she said through grit teeth. 

"I've never been in a battle before.” He sounded excited at the idea, proving just how young he really was. “Killing constructs and undead at Gol Koval doesn't count."

His accent lacked the burr that other Drustvar inhabitants had. Sylvanas tightened her grip upon his antlers. "You don't sound like you're from Drustvar. How long have you been training as a druid?"

"Oh, I'm from a fishing village in southern Tiragarde Sound," he replied. "I joined the Drust a few years ago. My parents found me in the garden one winter. We didn't have enough food, so I'd made the squash patch grow right through the snow. For people like me, options are limited. You can go to the Monastery or join the Navy. Except Tidesages don't really do nature magic like that, you know? And life at sea isn't really for me. So, here I am."

Sylvanas mused over that for a moment. The silence did not last long however. Soon, Arthur was yammering away again. Some incessant drivel about how much he liked being with the Drust. How the change in his life had been dramatic but ultimately fruitful. 

Sylvanas made non-committal noises as he talked. Then, she interrupted, "How long has Jaina been High Thornspeaker?" 

"Four years, I think? Three? By the time I came around, she was already Ulfar's star pupil."

"And he chose her as his successor?"

"Oh, no. Not really. It just sort of happened during the fight with Gorak Tul. They went to Thros and -" Abruptly, Arthur cut himself off. His bounding gait slowed to a canter. "I'm not really supposed to talk about that."

"You can tell me,” she crooned sweetly. “We're allies now, aren't we?"

"I don’t know,” Arthur said, his tone uncertain. “Jaina would be mad at me."

"Does she get mad at you often?"

"Oh, no. She's very patient with me. Way more patient than my parents, or that recruiting Lieutenant from Boralus. I hated that guy.” Arthur slowed to a stop. “Hey, can you do me a favour?”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. "What kind of favour?"

When Arthur tossed his head, she was forced to let go of his antlers. "There's this -" He twisted his head around, his ears flicking back. "- really itchy spot on my neck."

Glowering, she hissed, "I am not your scratching post."

"Oh, come on. Please?" 

"I don't know why Jaina bothers with talk of demeaning yourself. Look at you."

He had twisted around, head lowered, so that he could scratch at his neck with one of his back hooves, like a dog trying to scratch behind its ear. Sylvanas had to cling to his back to keep from falling off and onto the ground. Briefly, she wondered how mad Jaina would be if she killed him, and then decided that it wasn't worth the trouble. 

"I will walk the rest of the way," she grumbled, but before she could slide from his back, he sighed.

"Okay. Got it." He straightened, and then shook his head with a huff of irritation. "Thanks for nothing. Geesh." 

Sylvanas' gaze burned scarlet as she glared at him. However, Arthur was either immune to the sense of immediate danger, or he really was that oblivious, for he continued on his way, chatting happily. This time, Sylvanas did not offer any noises to indicate that she was listening. She seethed in silence. 

The forest around them looked exactly the same as it had when she had first entered it. Thankfully, they did not pass the burnt ash tree and the wicker man, though Sylvanas watched for it, as though fully expecting to be dropped back into the nightmare loop that had been her life for the last three days. Arthur probably would have answered any other questions she posed, but she did not want to encourage him. Not that he needed it. 

Finally, after the longest few hours of her undeath, they reached the edge of the Crimson Forest. Dawn was a sliver cresting over the hills, painting the sky a pale pink. The moon still hung like a pendant at the throat of the world over the sea to the south west. Sylvanas lifted her head to peer up the cliffs directly ahead of them to the east. From here, she could just see a glimmer of lantern light from Arom's Stand high on the saddle of the mountain pass. 

Arthur slowed his pace, but continued trotting onto the road, clearly intending to carry her all the way back up to Arom's Stand as per his instructions. But Sylvanas leapt nimbly from his back. Her boots squelched in the mud of the road. 

Prancing around her, Arthur said, "Something wrong? If you needed to stretch your legs, you could've just said something."

Sylvanas bit back the urge to say something scathing. Instead, she began to stride along the road. "I will make my way from here. Thank you, Mr...?"

"Tradewind," he replied.

"Thank you, Mr. Tradewind."

"Don’t worry about it. You can call me Arthur.” He stopped in front of her, blocking her path. “And are you sure? I don't mind, and that hill is steep."

Teeth clenched, Sylvanas walked around him. She waved him away. "I am fine."

“Suit yourself.” 

She did not hear him bound away. There was a rustle behind her, the strident cawing of a raven, and he was gone in a flap of wings. 

It did not take long to climb the slope to Arom's Stand. The snows had melted slightly in her absence, though the further up the mountains she went, the deeper it became. The sun rose in time with her own movements up the hill. Soon she was bathed in the golden glow of daylight. The sun was a mixed blessing. The season was warming, but with it came the sludge of snowmelt mingling with the mud of the road. 

A falcon wheeled overhead. She paid it no heed, until it started circling her position. Then, she frowned up at it. When it circled lower until it was just a few meters above her head, Sylvanas sighed.

"You didn't have to send anyone else after me," she said to the sky. "I've left your damned forest."

"Are you talking to a bird?"

Sylvanas blinked. She turned to find Nathanos striding towards her from off the road. Of course. There were few people who could sneak up on her. Nathanos and her dark rangers were among them. 

As he approached, Nathanos put away his bow. "I am glad to see you unharmed. I shall have to tell Anya her coup is a no go."

"Very funny," Sylvanas growled. 

No sooner had he spoken Anya's name, than she and Velonara appeared on the nearby crest of the hill. They were followed by Notley from the Order of Embers. A furrow creased Sylvanas' brows when she saw that they flanked Notley as though he were a prisoner.

"Trouble?" she asked Nathanos. 

Nathanos seemed unrepentant. "We were worried for your safety, my Queen. Notley is a falconer, and we merely -" he trailed off for a moment, then shrugged, "- requested his immediate services."

Tilting her head back, Sylvanas looked incredulously between him and the falcon. The falcon itself was swooping back towards its master, who lifted his arm clad in a thick leather glove up to the elbow. Anya and Velonara were lengthening their strides now, leaving Notley behind so they could reach their Dark Lady's side. 

"I was only gone three days, Nathanos," Sylvanas admonished, as Anya and Velonara drew close enough to hear. "You panicked like a bunch of old hens."

"Three?" Velonara repeated.

"You were gone nine days," said Anya. 

Staring at them, Sylvanas shifted her gaze to Nathanos. He nodded. "When you did not arrive at the tavern in Arom's Stand on the seventh day, we tried to go into the forest after you."

"And how did that go for you?" Sylvanas asked.

"Not well," said Anya with a tone as dark as her expression. 

Trudging towards their little group, falcon on his arm, Notley said, "I told them not to. But they refused to listen. Said they were going to gut me like a fish if I got in their way."

Neither of the rangers nor Nathanos gave any indication that this was true. Then again, they did not deny it either. 

Sylvanas tsked in faux admonishment. “That’s no way to treat our newest allies.”

Of the four, the one who looked most surprised at this declaration was Notley. “You -?” he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the forest below would eavesdrop. “You found the High Thornspeaker?” 

A silent meaningful glance was shared between Sylvanas and Nathanos. She smiled, baring a hint of fangs. “I did.’

--

True to her word, Jaina had arranged an outpost for the Horde within two weeks. During that time, Sylvanas and her rangers stayed in Corlain rather than suffer the indignity of the tavern at Arom's Stand for a moment longer. 

Not that Corlain was much better. It was the kind of town where the sad grey market every weekend was considered the height of culture by the locals. Sylvanas had seen less grim affairs in the sewers of the Undercity. The people of Drustvar were as accommodating as those in Boralus, which was to say: reticent to outsiders. Still, they did not chase the undead away with torches and pitchforks, which was an improvement on some of the places Sylvanas had visited in her lifetime. 

After thirteen days however, Sylvanas was stirred from her chair at the local inn by a rapping on the rain-lashed glass. When she went to open up the window, a filmy-eyed raven hopped inside the windowsill. 

"Finally," Arthur said, fluffing up all of his feathers so that he resembled a black hand duster. He shook his tail out. "Do you know it's pouring out there? I should have transformed into a duck instead, but Jaina keeps telling me it's not 'dignified.'"

"When will she learn that you're a lost cause?" Sylvanas drawled.

"Right?"

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas said, "Well?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah." Arthur made a sound as though he were clearing his throat, and he perched a little straighter. "Lady Waycrest has agreed to give you the Eastern Cliffs. It's an abandoned settlement near the lighthouse of Falconhurst."

Sylvanas sighed. "Wonderful. More impassable cliffs."

While this entire conversation was going on, Anya and Velonara had stopped their game of whist at the table. They had somehow managed to procure a deck of cards only a few hours after their arrival in Corlain, and picked up the game with a cunning and alacrity that had many of the locals cry foul. Which, in the locals' defense, Sylvanas reckoned was probably true. Velonara's hand was frozen mid-play, a card held between her fingers. They were both staring at the sudden conversation between their despot and a bird. 

For his part, Arthur's head cocked, and he hopped a little closer towards their table. "Hey! This lady's cheating! She's got some spare cards up her sleeve!"

Anya's deathly pale cheeks went faintly blotchy. She glared daggers at the raven. "Permission to shoot the bird, Mistress?"

"Permission denied," said Sylvanas. 

Throwing down her own hand, Velonara snatched Anya's wrist and wrenched the cards that had been stashed up Anya's bracers. 

Sylvanas ignored the ensuing squabble in rapid-tongued Elvish behind her, like the hissing of angry snakes. She turned to Arthur. "Is there anything else?"

"Do you have a towel? Can you give me a quick rub down?"

"That was a rhetorical question, Arthur."

"Yeah, well, mine wasn't. I had to fly for hours to get here, and I'm soaked."

Rather than dignify this with a response, Sylvanas shooed him back towards the windowsill and shut the window. He squawked at her indignantly from the other side of the glass, before he was ultimately driven off by the rain. 

It took another two weeks to bring in hand-picked members of the Horde to fill the outpost. Sylvanas had already sent word back to Orgrimmar of her plans, and a list of suitable candidates had been drawn up at her request. The small ship -- something harmless enough to slip past the Kul Tiran Navy patrols by pretending to be a neutral fishing vessel -- landed at Falconhurst on an auspiciously sunny day. The sun was a wan yellowish circle behind a thin layer of clouds. It felt like the first time Sylvanas had seen sunlight in years, even though it had been only been a few weeks of incessant rain. 

A handful of Forsaken and Tauren stepped off the ship and onto shore. The local fishermen on the docks did not give them more than a passing glance. As per Sylvanas' orders, the Tauren -- all of whom were druids -- arrived in various animal forms. Neither they nor the undead were considered an odd sight in Drustvar. Indeed, the most difficult part about keeping a low profile was trying to encourage her more zealous Forsaken followers that they needn't erect banners with her symbol upon them. This slight to her glory seemed to cause a few of them physical pain, and more than once she had to order Nathanos to go around at night to tear down a few tabards from the walls of their encampment. 

Less than a week had passed before Velonara was clearing her throat to get Sylvanas' attention. 

"What is it?" Sylvanas did not look up from where she was fletching a series of arrows. She had been forced to purchase the feathers from a hawker Falconhurst, who had been curious as to why she did not simply hunt for pheasant herself. He quickly nodded in understanding when she explained she would not hunt anywhere near the Crimson Forest, however. There was even a small discount offered for her supposed piety. 

"There are two women watching us from the tops of the cliffs," Velonara explained. 

Sylvanas tied off a section of gut around the fletching. "And you haven't scared them away yet? You're losing your touch."

"One of them claims to be the Lady Lucille Waycrest. She is demanding an audience."

Now, that did get Sylvanas' attention. She glanced up from her work. "Demanding? Is she, now?" Finishing off the arrow, she set it down and then rose to her feet. "We shouldn't keep one of our hosts waiting, then."

It was a quick walk up the switchback road leading over the saddle of the cliffs. Waves thundered against the shore below. Their outpost was placed on a small outcropping that was sheltered by a man-made shoal with a lighthouse erected at its very end. At night it almost appeared as though the lighthouse were floating above the tides. Now, the wind-battered lighthouse was peering out at the dusk-washed sea like a lantern. 

Most of the locals from Falconhurst avoided the Eastern Cliffs apart from a few fishermen, who favoured the docks. And yet, two dark shapes were standing near the cliff's edge. They were peering down at the outpost below. Over the whipping of the wind, Syvlanas could barely hear their murmured conversation. 

Sylvanas announced her presence by allowing her foot to kick loose a stone on the path. Both of the figures turned. One was carrying a lantern. She lifted it into the air, peering through the impending gloom of twilight at those who approached. 

"Lady Waycrest, I presume." Sylvanas stopped a few paces away, and tucked her arms behind her back in a comfortably militant pose. "I understand you wished to speak with me."

"Yes," said the woman holding the lantern. Her hair was dark, and her clothing fine. She studied Sylvanas with pursed lips. "I wish you'd approached me before approaching the Drust."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow. "Oh? I was under the impression I was welcome here."

Lucille's mouth thinned even more. "You are. For now. But it is bloody inconvenient, you know, having you lot strolling about under Jaina's wing, while I'm kept in the dark."

With a nonchalant shrug, Sylvanas said, "Your arrangement with the High Thornspeaker is your own. How you go about your business is none of my concern. So, unless you're telling us to leave, we have very little to discuss."

"That's not what I'm here for." Drawing herself up -- she was short for a Kul Tiran, which meant she was only slightly taller than Sylvanas and Velonara -- Lucille gestured to the woman beside her. "I've been told you already know Mace?"

Sylvanas' eyes cut through the darkening air. Mace was fidgeting with the daggers sheathed at her waist. Her palms moved restlessly over the pommels until the metal was burnished smooth and bright. Her red hair was unmistakable. When Lucille gestured towards her, Mace inclined her head, her movements jerky, as though she had to remind herself to be deferential. 

"I do," Sylvanas said slowly. 

"Good. I'm assigning her as an escort to your outpost," said Lucille. She turned to Mace. "No starting fights. And report back to me every fortnight."

Meanwhile, Sylvanas's shoulders went rigid. "I beg your pardon?" she growled. "You will do no such thing."

Lucille frowned in her direction. "It's only fair," she said. "Jaina is having you watched."

"She isn't," Sylvanas insisted flatly.  

"Then what is that?" Lucille pointed over Sylvanas' shoulder.

Sylvanas turned to follow where Lucille was indicating, and spied a large raven shuffling along the branch of a nearby tree. The bird seemed to notice their attention upon it, for it went very still all of a sudden.

Eyes narrowing to crimson slits, Sylvanas raised her voice. "Is that you, Arthur?"

"What?" said Arthur. "No! No, I'm just a normal raven."

"Normal ravens don't talk, Arthur."

"Oh. Right. I mean -! Caw! Caw!"

Sylvanas had to unclench her teeth before she could speak to Lucille again. Her clawed gauntlets creaked, and she relaxed her hands. "A trade then. You leave Mace here, and take Velonara back to Waycrest Manor with you."

"What?" hissed Velonara at Sylvanas' elbow, too low for the humans to hear. Sylvanas slanted a dangerous glance in her direction, and Velonara fell silent. 

"Fine," agreed Lucille after a moment of thought. "Fair's fair. Just know that if she puts a knife between my ribs, Jaina will drown everyone at your little outpost."

"I'm well aware," Sylvanas drawled.

For some reason, that made Lucille relax. She even smiled. "Well, good. That's settled, then. Welcome to Drustvar, Warchief." Then, she nodded towards the ranger standing attentively at Sylvanas' side. "Velonara, was it? I have two horses stabled at the inn in Falconhurst. We can ride back towards the manor in the morning."

Velonara said nothing. Indeed, she gave no indication that she had even heard Lucille speak to her. She was too busy glaring awls into the back of Sylvanas' head. 

The tip of Sylvanas' ears twitched slightly in annoyance. "Are you going to answer Lady Waycrest?"

Velonara's expression remained implacable, but her voice was stiff when she inclined her head towards Lucille. "I will meet you there at daybreak."

Satisfied, Lucille strode off towards Falconhurst. Her step was unerring, if loud. The soles of her boots seemed to find every twig along the road. The moment she was out of earshot, Velonara rounded on Sylvanas. 

"I don't like this," she said in a low tone. "We are in hostile territory. You need a proper guard detail, and you were already under-protected when you decided to leave your Deathguards in Orgrimmar."

Sylvanas smiled as a pretense to bare a bit of fang. "I am more than capable of protecting myself. Besides," she gave a wry wave towards Mace, "I have a new bodyguard now."

As the conversation had continued, Mace had squatted down on the ground. She had procured a small block of wood from somewhere, and was now busy whittling away at it with one of her daggers. It took her a long moment to realise that both Sylvanas and Velonara were now watching her in silence. Her knife slowed against the woodgrain. She blinked up at them blankly. "Huh?"

"Yes, she seems very alert," Velonara muttered darkly. "I'm so relieved." 

"Don't forget me," said Arthur from his branch. "I'm still here."

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Sylvanas sighed. 

--

The next morning, Velonara left with Lucille back to Waycrest manor with strict instructions on sending back reports on the latest political and military movements every week. Nathanos and Anya took the news of the trade about as well as Velonara did, which meant that Sylvanas was forced to endure extra Forsaken guards around her quarters at the Eastern Cliffs at every hour of the day. 

Arthur also took the discovery of his presence to mean that he no longer needed to hide. He made a habit of roosting atop the first story eaves of the building that Sylvanas used as both personal quarters and a command centre. He would chatter away at her undead guardsmen, pestering them with questions and stories. 

Even worse, her guards cracked and eventually began to talk back to him. 

Sylvanas was pouring over a series of reports on the latest treaty update from Zandalar one evening, burning the midnight oil, when she first heard it. 

"So, wait -- you eat bodies? Why?" Arthur's chirpy voice was unmistakable over the sound of the waves against the nearby cliffs. 

There followed a rustle of chainmail rasping over a bony shouldered shrug. "It heals us. Makes us whole again."

"Woah. Really? Can you show me?"

A dry chuckle. "That's not the reaction we usually get, kid. But sure."

Tossing down the report onto the stack of paper on her desk, Sylvanas pushed back her chair, its legs scraping loudly against the wooden floorboards. She stormed over to the front door, and yanked it open. Immediately, her two guardsmen jerked to attention, their normally stooping backs ramrod straight.

Sylvanas glared at them and hissed. "You will refrain from developing a rapport with the bird. Understood?"

“Yes, Dark Lady,” one of them said.

“Of course, my Queen. Forgive us,” said the other. 

Sylvanas then aimed her glower upwards, where Arthur was poking his black-feathered head over the side of the thatched eaves. "Isn't it time for you to deliver your report to Jaina?"

Arthur's milky white eyes blinked at her. "Probably. How many days has it been?"

"Do you want me to write your reports, too?" she growled. 

"Would you? That would be really helpful."

"You are a terrible spy." She waved an irritable hand at him. "Go home. Before I let Anya shoot you."

"Someone's grouchy today,” he remarked, but took flight before Sylvanas could make good on her threats.

She glared after him, following his flight path until he was no more than a black speck disappearing over the hills. When she turned her attention back onto the guards, they gripped their polearms even more tightly. 

“Where is the other one?” she asked.

One of the guards lifted his hand and pointed with a flensed finger. Slamming the door shut behind her, Sylvanas stalked in that direction. It did not take her long to find Mace. As far as spies went, she and Arthur could not have been worse at their jobs if they tried. Mace spent her days throwing stones into the sea, or talking to the local fishermen, or hurling knives at a target dummy made out of a flour sack filled with straw. She never spoke with the undead more than necessary. Any time Anya or Nathanos reported her talking with members of the Horde was when she would question the Tauren about the Cenarion Circle and the Moonglade. 

Sylvanas found her sitting on a stump beneath the deep eaves of the command centre. Her back was turned to Sylvanas, and she gave no indication that she noticed her presence. Mace was hunched over something in her lap, and various trimmings heaped at her feet.

Standing behind her, Sylvanas watched as Mace’s hands bound three sticks together with twine into a roughly human frame. Next, she gathered dried leaves and twigs around the frame, tying them into place by circling the ball of twine in key sections. She worked methodically. Her restless disposition was well-suited to this kind of constant activity. 

When she was nearly finished, Sylvanas nodded towards the little wicker man. “What do they do?”

Without looking up, Mace shrugged. She was completely unsurprised by the sound of Sylvanas’ voice directly behind her. “Dunno. She likes them, though.”

“Who?”

“The High Thornspeaker.” 

The wicker man was beginning to take shape. Mace bulked it out with more leaves and twigs. It lacked any kind of head. Briefly, vividly, Sylvanas could remember the wicker man in the forest with its watchful skull. A skull which seemed, in retrospect, a near exact copy to the one Jaina wore. 

"What do you do with them when you've finished?" 

Mace grunted around a twig in her mouth, taking it and lashing it into place along one of the wicker man's legs. "Leave them at the edge of the forest, usually. They disappear in a few days. She takes 'em, see? Or, if you have to make camp, you stake one of these at your feet while you sleep. Protects you from ghosts and constructs and, y'know -" Mace waved a withered leaf at Sylvanas. "- banshees and the like."

"And you want to put one in my outpost as a housewarming gift," Sylvanas sneered. "Lovely. Thank you."

Unperturbed, Mace put the finishing touches on the wicker man. She bound the last bit of twine into place, and then weighed the wicker man between her hands for a final inspection. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I am sleeping here surrounded by you lot. I'll take what I can get."

Reaching down, Sylvanas snatched the wicker man from Mace's grasp. "This thing -" her voice was low and dangerous, "- will not save you from me. And I will not have it anywhere near my personal quarters."

Mace tongued the inside of her cheek. Then, she nodded towards the wicker effigy. "Don't like it much, do you?"

Sylvanas’ hand tightened around the wicker man until she heard the creaking of twigs and leaves. She straightened, forcing her fingers to unclench. Without the bear claws and a skull, this effigy was far less ferocious than its counterpart in the Crimson Forest. Still, it made her skin crawl to touch it. 

She looked between the wicker man and Mace. Her eyes narrowed to crimson slits. “Do you have any Drust in your family line?”

“My uncle Tavery,” Mace replied. She was shuffling around the supplies at her feet. Eventually she picked up a piece of wood, and began carving it with a knife. 

Sylvanas turned the wicker man over to study its construction. Mace had woven the twigs and leaves in such a way that they all interlinked over the effigy’s chest, as though framing its lack of a heart. A space to be filled by grim offerings. Sylvanas stroked her thumb over the area. “Tell me about Gol Inath.”

Shoulders tense, Mace hunched over her knife. She shot Sylvanas a wary glance over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t -- You shouldn’t say its name aloud so easily.”

“What is it?” Sylvanas repeated, impatiently enunciating every syllable. 

“The sacred tree. The entrance to Thros.”

“And what is Thros?”

Mace scowled at her. “Why are you asking me all these damn questions? If it’s information about the Drust you want, you should ask them. Not me.”

Gesturing with the wicker man, Sylvanas said, “Indulge me.”

For a moment Mace said nothing. She fiddled with the handle of the dagger, then turned back to whittling the small block of wood in her hands. It was beginning to take on the shape of a shaggy bear. “The Blighted Lands. A nightmarish place where nothing grows.” She gave the dagger a particularly vicious flick, tearing off a chunk of wood. “Hell, Warchief. Thros is Hell.” 

--

If there was one thing Sylvanas was very good at, it was being patient. She had waited to lure Arthas into a trap, pretending to be under the yoke of his will even when the Lich King’s powers had begun to wane. She had bided her time in joining the Horde, ensuring the alliances of both the Forsaken and sin’dorei. The living wanted everything urgently and immediately. On some days she could still feel that itch scratching just beneath her sternum, but today was not such a day.

She sat behind her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. Its surface was littered with papers and documents, bits of parchment with her notes scrawled across them in spidery lines. And though the watery sunlight of Kul Tiras washed through the windows of the building, the hearth was lit, more for light than for warmth. She had very little need of warmth these days. 

A map of Kul Tiras was spread out before her, its curling edges weighed down with various items -- an inkwell, a dog-eared book, a jar of sand for drying wet ink. Standing at the opposite side of the table, Nathanos leaned over and pointed to the map. “According to Velonara, Lady Waycrest has levied troops at Fletcher’s Hollow to fend off the Ashvane forces seeking to take the mines and foundry in that area. She has also sent troops to garrison Fallhaven, as it is the largest settlement in Drustvar that is accessible by sea. Drustvar has very few ships of their own, and certainly none that can rival the Great Fleet.”

Sylvanas’ elbow was propped on the chair of her arm. She curled her fingers into a fist and leaned her cheek upon it. “How many souls has she levied?”

He straightened and answered. “Fifteen thousand.”

Studying the map, Sylvanas hummed. “Not bad for a nation that traditionally doesn’t field an army.”

Nathanos gave a condescending little sniff. “It is nothing compared to what the Horde could muster at a moment’s notice.”

“Perhaps,” Sylvanas murmured. “But who needs an army when the only way to your land is by sea?” Reaching out, her hand drifted over the map towards Tiragarde Sound. She tapped her finger against Boralus. “And what about our beloved Lord Admiral? What has she been doing these last few weeks?”

“I have received news that she was visited by an Alliance envoy.”

Sylvanas glanced sharply up at him. “Anyone we know?”

“Genn Greymane.”

At the very sound of the name, Sylvanas’ lip curled. “And?”

“And Katherine sent him away as well.” Nathanos’ beard twitched in a smug smile. “She wanted nothing to do with the Alliance either.”

Sylvanas laughed, the sound sharp and short. She settled back in her chair, a smile still playing across her lips. “So, she sent the dog running with his tail between his legs. I knew I liked her.” 

Nathanos’ own smile faded. “Why haven’t we told her about finding her daughter alive? If it’s the Admiralty you want, we should be trying to curry their favour and uniting them.”

With a sniff, Sylvanas said, “You have no sense for the dramatic, Nathanos. You would be a very poor theatre performer.”

He offered a small bow in reply. “You flatter me.”

She let loose a gentle huff of laughter, turning her attention back to the map. “No, we wait. We let the Ashvanes tie their own noose. What will the people say? When the daughter of their beloved war hero, Daelin Proudmoore, returns from the grave to liberate the nation from a usurper House?” Sylvanas curled one loose corner of the map between thumb and forefinger. The parchment began to tear slightly, the rip aiming up between Drustvar and Tiragarde Sound. She studied it a moment, and then pulled her hand back. “Why, I think it might just be a cause for a celebration.”

“You mean: a coup,” Nathanos said.

“What’s a good party without a little bloodshed?” she said wryly. “Besides, I hear Kul Tirans are the brawling type. Think of it as a cultural experience. We are -” Sylvanas fluttered the fingers of one hand as though searching for the words. “-forging stronger ties with our future allies.”

“I am leaping for joy on the inside,” Nathanos replied in his flattest possible tone. “And if the Alliance should approach her daughter? What then?”

“They won’t.”

“You underestimate their cunning.”

“No, I predict their weakness.” Leaning back, she propped her feet atop a clear corner of the desk, crossing her legs at the heel. “The old wolf or SI:7 might approach Jaina, but their Little Lion wouldn’t allow them to go through with any plan they concocted between them. He could never stomach something so underhanded.”

“And this High Thornspeaker? What if she sought them out herself? Presuming she ever deigns to set foot outside of her forest.” He snorted, shaking his head. “I have my doubts.”

The way Nathanos said that gave Sylvanas pause. She shifted slightly in her seat to face him more fully. “About what, pray tell?”

For a moment, he hesitated. He seemed to mull over his words carefully before beginning. “Forgive me, my Queen, but no one else has seen her, or even heard her voice. I have sent scouts into the Forest -- every week for the last two months -- and always they return empty handed. Confused or scared witless. Some claim to have been hunted like a wild animal through the woods. Some rave about men made of bone and moss chasing them. Some say there is a tree strung with carcasses at the heart of the forest, and that its guardian is a bloodied stag crowned with stars.” He held his gloved hands palms up, showing that they were empty. “None of them have ever seen a woman as you described her.”

“Do you think I was as addled by the forest as your scouts?” she asked in a voice that was dangerously calm.

He inclined his head. It was not a nod, but a sign of subservience. “No. Of course not. That we have been given this outpost is proof enough that you encountered someone -- or something -- which swayed the Lady Waycrest.”

“But you don’t think it was her.”

Sweeping a hand over his heart, Nathanos said, “You do not have me by your side to be trusting of others, my Queen. And I think it is very convenient that we found her alive. Too convenient, in fact.” He kept his head bowed as he spoke, but his gaze held her own with unflinching conviction. “How do we know this isn’t some spectre or illusion? How do we know we aren’t being played for fools?”

The rear legs of the chair creaked slightly beneath Sylvanas as she shifted her weight. Her eyes strayed to the hearth, over which the wicker man had been hung. Its limbs were scorched. She had tried to burn it after speaking with Mace, flinging it into the fire as more fuel, but it had resisted her efforts. So far there had been no forced nightmares in its presence, but Sylvanas remained wary of it all the same.

She thought back on that meeting in the forest. Gol Inath. A congregation of ravens. Shadows and mist and a faceless woman whose tongue was as sharp as her mind. The memory should have seemed dream-like, but it wasn’t. Even dwelling upon the memory now, it were almost as though she were transported back to the entrance of that tree; the smell of it pervaded her senses like a familiar but long-forgotten scene. As though she had rummaged through her mother’s vanity as a child and happened upon a used vial of perfume. 

“Your suspicions are not misplaced,” Sylvanas assured him. “But she is real. I am sure of it.”

At the gentling of her tone, he lifted his head. “Then if she is real, how do we know she will be up to the challenge? Druids are dreamers. They make poor leaders. Always with their heads in the clouds or the trees.” He tapped the side of his own head for emphasis. 

“This one is different. She’s -” Sylvanas made a face. “- terribly practical, actually.”

He scrunched up his nose in a look of minor disgust. “I was not aware that was possible for a druid.”

She hummed wordlessly in agreement.

“Still,” Nathanos said. “I doubt the Navy will follow someone who never emerges from their life of seclusion and mysticism. Regardless of their name. If I don’t believe she is real, then the average Kul Tiran won’t either.”

Now, that was a problem. As far as Sylvanas could tell, Jaina seemed content to act behind the scenes, all while letting Lady Waycrest take the centre stage. 

“Then we must lure her out,” Sylvanas said. 

“With what bait?”

Again, her eyes strayed to the wicker man. Lowering her feet back to the ground, Sylvanas stood. She rounded the desk and crossed over to the fireplace. Her face was illuminated by orange flames as she reached out to pick up the wicker man. “Leave that to me.”

--

Sylvanas left the Eastern Cliffs without an escort, much to the annoyance of Nathanos and Anya. The sky was dark and boiled with clouds, and not even a hint of starlight could shine through. The promise of rain was heavy upon the air; Sylvanas could almost taste it. For all that it was a still night, a calm night, and -- most importantly -- a rainless night. 

When she arrived at the edge of the Crimson Forest, a raven soared overhead and landed in the lower branches of a nearby tree. 

"Do you want a ride?" Arthur asked.

Sylvanas' step did not falter. She pressed on, walking into the woods with the fang dangling from her outstretched hand as though it were a lantern clearing her path of shadows. "No," she said.

Arthur flew to another tree ahead of her. He shuffled his wings and watched her course. "Can I sit on your shoulder at least?"

"No," she said again, more emphatically this time. 

He cawed, which she took to mean he was annoyed by this imposition. She did her best to ignore him, but it was difficult to do so, when he continued flapping from branch to branch, hopping along after her and not bothering to keep himself hidden. 

"Did you follow me the last time as well?" Sylvanas asked.

"No," Arthur replied, his voice fading somewhat as he sailed over her. "Tavery wouldn't let me. Thought I'd give myself away immediately."

Well, they were right about that, at least. Sylvanas refused to engage in any further conversation with Arthur, despite his best efforts. He was far too curious for his own good, pestering her with questions about her station, her state of undeath, how she died, how the Forsaken lived -- for lack of a better term -- how they had overthrown the Lich King's iron will. 

Sylvanas kept her eyes fixed upon the fang. She followed its path unerringly.

Eventually, Arthur said, "You're going the wrong way."

Sucking in a deep breath to calm herself, Sylvanas stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "I was under the impression that this thing -" she shook the fang where it dangled from her hand. "- would always lead me to Gol Inath."

"Oh, it will. But you're looking for Jaina, right? She's not at Gol Inath right now."

"And you couldn't have told me this sooner?" Sylvanas growled. 

Arthur shook his tail feathers in an offended manner. "Hey, I offered to give you a ride. It's not my fault you didn't want my help earlier."

Stuffing the fang into her belt pouch, she glared up at him. "Show me."

Immediately, Arthur swooped down from his branch and landed on her shoulder. His claws scrambled for purchase against her pauldron, and he flared his wings to steady himself as he sought to get a good grip. Before he managed to do so, his feathers smacked Sylvanas on the side of the face a few times. She leaned her head to one side, fuming silently to herself.

"There! Phew! Okay." Arthur folded his wings against his back. "Jaina's with Athair and Athainne. Go west."

Sylvanas turned and started walking.

"No, your other west."

Gritting her teeth, Sylvanas continued on the other way. Arthur continued to chirp directions in her ear, happy and at home on her shoulder despite the incredibly ugly looks she would cast his way from time to time. 

At last, they came upon a clearing in the woods. It was nowhere near as vast or impressive as Gol Inath, but it had its own quiet majesty. The trees here thinned. Will o' the wisps danced around their trunks, their bluish light casting no shadows in an eerie array. More life than Sylvanas had seen anywhere else in the Crimson Forest abounded here. Rabbits and lambs gambolled. Jet-black foxes with white-tipped tails scampered from Sylvanas' path at the sight of her. A pack of wolves lifted their lazy heads to watch her pass by, but went back to sleeping beneath the outcropping of a den dug into the gentle hillside. Stationary owls turned their golden eyes upon her, and red-breasted nightingales dipped and darted a few paces above the ground. Predators and prey alike gathered here, and none seemed very concerned with one another. 

And at the centre of the clearing, Jaina was conversing with a stag and doe. Her voice was too soft to overhear, even with Sylvanas' keen ears straining to catch the slightest syllable. The stag was pale as moonlight. Its antlers gleamed. It stood larger than any deer Sylvanas had encountered before; she could lift her hands above her head and still not hope to touch its withers. The doe beside it had a coat of purest black, which seemed to drink up any surrounding light until it appeared to be a void in the shape of a deer. 

Both creatures turned to regard Sylvanas steadily when she drew too near. She stopped. Jaina glanced over as well, her skull mask omnipresent even now. Without preamble, Arthur took flight, winging through the air and landing on Jaina's shoulder. He leaned in close, whispering something in her ear, while she nodded and murmured a reply. Then, she took him from her shoulder and perched him atop the stag's antlers. The stag's tufted tail twitched, but it gave no other indication that it noticed Arthur's presence. 

Jaina walked over, leaving Arthur and the two Wild Gods behind her. Her every other step was punctuated by the end of her staff touching the earth, and sending up a spiral of greenery in her wake. 

Sylvanas nodded in greeting and asked, "Do you always wear that?"

Drawing to a halt a pace away, Jaina tilted her head. The skull mask was as impassive as ever. "Think of it as a symbol of office."

"Do you plan to ride out against the Ashvanes wearing a horrible deer skull?"

"I had, actually. Yes."

"And I thought I was bad at politics," Sylvanas drawled. 

Jaina's voice was impatient when she spoke. "What do you want, Warchief?"

"To talk."

For a long moment Jaina regarded her in silence. Then, she said, "Well? Talk."

There was the temptation to be just as short with Jaina as Jaina was with her, but Sylvanas held her tongue. "You're not like most druids I've encountered in the past."

"No, I imagine not."

When Jaina was not any more forthcoming, Sylvanas sighed and reached behind her. Jaina tensed, but Sylvanas only pulled the singed wicker man from where she had tethered it to her belt. Sylvanas waggled it back and forth, the way one might motion with a doll to scare children.

Jaina's shoulders relaxed, but she made a sound of wordless irritation. "Why have you brought me this?" 

"I heard you like them." Sylvanas held out the wicker man. "Personally, I don't see the appeal. But to each their own." 

In the short time they had known one another, this was the first time Sylvanas had seen Jaina hesitate. Slowly she reached out to take the wicker man, and Sylvanas noticed that her hands were no longer made out of wood. Instead, they were sheathed in pale, calloused, living skin. A glance downward proved that the same was of her bare feet. Their soles were scuffed with dirt, but otherwise unremarkable. 

Jaina's fingers traced over the scorch marks across the wicker man, as though she were inspecting a bruise upon a child's knee. "He looks a little worse for wear." 

"He lost a scuffle with the fireplace." 

Jaina snorted. She shook her head. "Do you even know what these are?" 

"No," Sylvanas answered truthfully. "A ward, I imagine." 

A thoughtful hum escaped Jaina at that. She touched the place where the wicker man's heart was supposed to be, the blank patch where all the twigs and leaves intersected. "Sometimes, yes. They can be guardian effigies. Sleep inducers. Dream totems. Soul cages, though very rarely. Sometimes they are just the centerpiece of a festival rite. But regardless of their use, they are always an instrument of worship.” Jaina tucked the wicker man away, and it vanished beneath her heavy cloak. “Thank you. I shall treasure him.”

Sylvanas could feel her ears pin back at the idea that this was some offer of worship. “I did not make it,” she said quickly.

Jaina shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. You were a participant nonetheless.”

“I was the one who tried to burn it,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Oh?” Jaina laughed softly at the admission, and Sylvanas had to stop her hands from curling into fists. “Funny you should think that removes you from the equation.”

Holding out her hand, Sylvanas took a step forward. “I wanted it away from me, but if it’s going to reveal anything to you, then I want it back.”

“Too late. It’s already gone.” Jaina flourished her cloak to prove just that. “Do you think it would show me what I haven’t already seen?”

Sylvanas froze. 

Now it was Jaina’s turn to move forward. She drew close, peering down at Sylvanas, who glowered steadfastly in return. The points of the skull’s antlers appeared dark and crusted with old blood, as though they had gored an animal to death. “Your dreams are very violent, Warchief," Jaina murmured. "How many times have you died? Twice?”

Baring her teeth, Sylvanas growled, her voice slipping to a dark two-toned rumble, “Stay out of my head.”

Something in the air shifted, and suddenly Jaina did not appear so looming. She shrugged, but did not step away. “Very well. I won’t pry any further.” Taking the staff in both hands, Jaina leaned her weight upon it, her pose relaxed. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

Sylvanas scowled. She could feel the shadows slithering beneath her skin, the venom of anger an acrid taste at the back of her mouth. Swallowing it down was a practised action, something she had done a thousand times. And always it was difficult to not let it take root. Her face became as blank and mask-like as Jaina’s before she spoke. “I could not help but notice that the Ashvanes have already made moves to the southeast. Based on my scout reports, you are going to need additional support.”

“Your concern is touching, but I am more than capable of defending Drustvar without the help of the Horde,” said Jaina.

“You and Lady Waycrest have levied quite the impressive little force. I’ll grant you that. But armies need more than promises and dreams.” Sylvanas rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, the tips of her gauntlet rasping against one another, metal against leather. 

With a snap of her fingers, Jaina caused a grasping vine to sprout from the ground at their feet. It twined around Sylvanas’ ankle, but did not hold her fast. “I can grow enough food to ensure the army is fed through even the most bitter winter.”

“I’m not talking about food. I’m talking about money.” Sylvanas kicked her foot free and ground the vine beneath her heel. “You think soldiers and sailors follow Lady Ashvane -- or your mother, for that matter -- because they want to be fed pork and biscuits three times a day for the remainder of their sad lives? Do you think they like freezing aboard a third rate on the northern run to Kalimdor?”

The skull cocked to one side, and Jaina sounded amused. “Are you hoping to bribe me?”

“Normally, yes. Though I know you aren’t the type to be swayed by the promise of coin.” Clasping her hands behind her back, Sylvanas lifted her chin. “No. In fact, I was hoping to buy something from you.”

Jaina tapped one finger against the staff, thinking quietly to herself before saying, “And what do you want to buy?”

“Another outpost. Think of this as paying rent.” Sylvanas dragged her toe along the dirt to smooth the vine out of the way, as though marking a line between them. “You give me land, you let me develop a minor presence elsewhere in Drustvar, and in return I help your war effort.” 

“Hmm.” Straightening, Jaina nodded. “Very well. But your presence is to remain strictly civilian. If I get wind that there are soldiers or munitions in your outposts -”

“You won’t,” Syvlanas interrupted before she could finish.

Jaina made a disbelieving noise. “That remains to be seen.” She lifted her hand, and Arthur flew over to land upon her forearm. “Take our guest to Swiftwind Post, that abandoned fane northwest of Fletcher’s Hollow.” 

Sylvanas thought back to the map on her desk at the Eastern Cliffs. “That’s very close to the foundry being invaded by the Ashvanes. Are you expecting me to send my people in blind?”

For some reason Jaina thought that was funny. “Perish the thought,” she said. Then she added, “It’s good defensible high ground. Difficult to assault. Your people will be safe. I’ll make sure of it.”

In a flap of wings, Arthur moved from Jaina’s arm to Sylvanas’ shoulder. This time at least he managed to get a good grip without making a complete nuisance of himself.

Jaina made an inquisitive noise before saying, “Arthur, why aren’t you giving her a lift?”

“She doesn’t like it,” Arthur explained. 

Jaina turned her attention to Sylvanas, waiting for an explanation. Sylvanas had to keep her expression carefully neutral, though the force of her scarlet gaze could strip paint from the hull of a ship. “Can you at least do me the courtesy of sending someone else to spy on me? Anyone else.”

“No. I trust him,” Jaina said simply. “And believe it or not, he is an excellent judge of character.”

Hearing those words, Arthur puffed up his feathers proudly.

“Fine,” Sylvanas snapped. “I’ll do this my own way.”

She held out her hand parallel to the ground, the fingers of her clawed gauntlets splaying wide. The last time she had summoned a skeletal mount in Drustvar had been at the very fringes of shoreline nearest Tiragarde Sound. The death magic had come easily, eagerly. Now, when Sylvanas’ magic reached into the ground, silence was her only reward.

Scowling, she tried again to no avail. 

Arthur shuffled a little closer to her ear and said in a too-loud whisper, “Is something supposed to be happening? I feel like something is supposed to be happening.”

“Shut. Up,” Sylvanas hissed at him through grit teeth. Shadows gathered at her outstretched palm, but the earth refused to budge. Eventually, after another futile effort, she dropped her hand with a wordless irate snarl.

“A good try, really,” said Jaina, who had watched the whole thing in silence. “But here in the heart of Drustvar, you’ll find that the dead answer only to me.”

Stymied and fuming, Sylvanas bit back a sharp retort. Instead, she turned heel and stalked away without another word, while Arthur gave her unwanted directions back towards the Eastern Cliffs. And as she strode off, she wondered if Nathanos hadn’t been right all along, if this place was even worth the trouble. The thought was met swiftly with the idea of the Alliance getting their hands on the Great Fleet of Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas lengthened her stride with purpose. 

Even if she was bound to lose eventually, she would be twice-damned before she let the Alliance win.

--

At least Swiftwind Post didn’t have the incessant sea spray rusting everything it touched. Instead, it had -- true to its namesake -- near constant gales. The native heath of Drustvar painted the surrounding countryside in stark browns and purples as far as the eye could see. Winds swept the plains, rippling across the tussock and bare weathered stones of the steep hills that dotted the area. Atop each hill, a series of large and ancient stones had been arrayed into circles. Whatever carvings they had once borne had long since been stripped away by the harshness of time and the elements. The ruins stood starkly against the pale grey backdrop of the sky, like a series of broken teeth, or the fingers of giants clawing their way from an untimely grave. 

The Horde flight masters could often be seen struggling to coax giant eagles into their wooden shelters. Sylvanas had been insistent that they use the native birds rather than give themselves away by importing foreign wyverns all the way from Kalimdor. More than once, several Tauren had to rush about after a goblin flight master dangling from the halter of an enormous eagle, which in turn was struggling to navigate the squalls that rolled over the top of the rocky crag. 

Anya complained about the wind nearly every day. Her claims were not unfounded. She would grumble about how her bow and arrow were near useless in this area, which of course resulted in the topic of Sylvanas needing more guards to protect her from potential threats on her life. The proximity of Fletcher’s Hollow and its skirmishes between House Waycrest and Ashvane made both Anya and Nathanos insufferable. They insisted on shadowing their Dark Lady’s every footstep, until she could hardly walk without stepping on one of them.

After weeks of enduring this, Sylvanas was just about ready to kill them. Again. 

“Please tell me Lady Waycrest has finally driven away those Ashvane raiders,” Sylvanas groaned, rubbing at her temples. “These people can’t be that incompetent, can they?”

She was seated at her desk in one of the hastily built, low-slung structures atop Swiftwind Point. A Tauren druid had stooped to enter the front door. With a bow, he handed her a parcel of letters and reports all bundled together with twine and oiled parchment. She murmured her thanks, and he departed without another word. Sighing, she began to unpick the string. 

At a nearby table, Anya had roped Nathanos into playing whist. He was scowling down at his hand of cards, deliberating over his next move. While his shoulders were hunched protectively over his hand, Anya was splayed out in her seat. She sat slumped, with one foot atop the chair beneath her, the other stretched out as far as it would go. One of her arms was flung over the back of her chair, and she dangled her fan of cards in her hand without a care in the world. 

“If there’s anything I’ve learned since being here,” Anya said, her arm lazily swaying back and forth. “It’s that Kul Tirans always find a way to surprise you.”

Sylvanas agreed with an annoyed grunt. Shuffling through the reports, she read labels and arranged them on the table before her in order of importance. She sought out a name in particular, and when she couldn’t find it her brow darkened. “Why don’t I have an update from the Zandalari treaty yet?”

Without looking up from his hand, Nathanos answered, “From what I understand they are squabbling over concessions.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down sharply. “Tell Lor’themar to stop wasting time, finish the drafting, and arrange for copies to be signed. I want those ships at our disposal before the end of the season.”

“I will see it done,” he said.

His dutiful response did nothing to improve her mood. Sylvanas aimed a glare in his direction and hissed, “Now, Nathanos.”

She could see how the dark note in her voice sent a shiver running down both his and Anya’s spines, and how readily they both responded. They sat bolt upright, their eyes burning bright and alert. Anya’s ears went rigid, and she dropped her hand. The cards scattered along the ground, revealing that there were far too many for a normal hand in whist. 

Rising to his feet, Nathanos flung down his own cards atop the table. “Anything to get me away from this game,” he muttered. As he stomped towards the door, he made sure to tread atop Anya’s cards. 

After he had gone, Anya began picking up all the cards and grumbled, “You couldn’t have waited until after I’d won?”

Sylvanas ignored her. Ever since her second trip to the Crimson Forest, her mood had remained vastly unimproved. 

Her hand strayed to the next report. She checked for proof that the folded letter had not been tampered with, and -- satisfied -- opened it. Her eyes scanned quickly across Velonara’s encoded Thalassian missive. As she read, she pulled over a detailed map of Kul Tiras already weighed down on one section of her desk.

Various notes had been scribbled here and there, predominantly around the various regions of Drustvar. She moved a few more red tokens -- indicating Ashvane forces -- to Fletcher’s Hollow, and a few more black tokens -- indicating Waycrest tokens -- to Barrowknoll. She kept one of the black tokens pinched between thumb and forefinger, using it to tap against the inlet of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas had already thought of how she would invade Drustvar. If she were in Ashvane’s over-polished shoes, she would sail her ships right up to the real prize of Drustvar’s west coast, strangle Fallhaven for a good year or two of besieging, and then mop up the rest of the west after winter passed. The mountains bisecting the region cleanly in two clearly marked Arom’s Stand importance, as it sat astride the only route over the mountains that an invading army could take. There were no good landing zones for troop barges on the eastern coast. Too many cliffs. And the inlet near Falconhurst was lousy with shoals. No ship larger than a sloop would risk navigating those waters.

Not to mention, the inlet near Falconhurst directly abutted the Crimson Forest. And gods help any army who dared launch an attack on that nightmarish place. 

“Fifteen thousand isn’t enough to fend off a two-pronged attack,” Sylvanas murmured to herself. She dropped the black token onto Fallhaven, and then moved a few more red tokens into Fletcher’s Hollow.

Shuffling the cards between her hands, Anya stood and made her way over to Sylvanas’ desk. She peered down at the map. “They should withdraw all their forces here -” she pointed to Fallhaven. “- and wait out the siege through the winter. The Kul Tirans are mad, but no one is mad enough to try to camp in eastern Drustvar through this weather.”

“I agree,” Sylvanas said without looking up. “But somehow I doubt they’re going to do that.”

“Maybe they have a morale problem?” Anya offered. She expertly shuffled the cards again, showing off by using far more flourishes than necessary. “Maybe if they give up Fletcher’s Hollow, their levied forces will lose heart. Give up. Go home.”

Pursing her lips together, Sylvanas sat back in her seat. She frowned at Barrowknoll. “Or maybe they know something about this place that we don’t. What did you see when you scouted the area?”

Anya shrugged. The deck of cards vanished between her hands, spirited off to gods only knew where. “A village. A town square. Farmers. Sailors. Soldiers. A cemetery. A Church to the Tides. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Hmm.” Pulling the last parcel towards herself, Sylvanas ordered “Have another look, and report back in two days.”

With a bow, Anya left. Drawing the silver hunting knife from her boot, Sylvanas slipped the tip of it beneath the oiled brown paper to carefully slice the packaging. She opened it, and pulled out a book. Its leather jacket was green and aged. The corners were frayed. The pages were yellowed. Its spine had been broken dozens of times throughout the course of its life. She turned it over, searching for a title, but the gilded lettering had long since been rubbed away. The only distinguishing mark still upon the book was a crude and unrecognisable rune pressed into the centre of the front cover. 

Tossing aside the packaging, Sylvanas opened the book. A note from Velonara slipped out, explaining that this was the only thing she had been able to find on the topic of ancient Drust history. Even the title page had been ripped free, and the author’s name in the forward effaced. A quick scan of the forward proved that the author had been one of the original Gilnean settlers, a gentleman by trade and a natural historian by hobby. 

When Sylvanas turned to the first chapter, she paused. The author had included very detailed sketches of what he had encountered during his explorations. One such sketch took up nearly the entire first page. It was of a wicker man, identical to the one Sylvanas had encountered in the Crimson Forest, down to the skull, the bear claws, and the heart staked against its chest. The chapter header read: ‘On the Subject of Iconography and Effigies’

Hastily, Sylvanas flipped further along. She skipped through most of the work until she found what she had been looking for. A chapter entitled: ‘A Catalogue of Kings: Gorak Tul and the Myth of the Witch-King of Thros.’

Sylvanas slowed her reading, carefully scanning each line for information about Gorak Tul, the Horned One, the King Undying, an ancient Drust sovereign prophesied to be defeated by a hero who thwarted death three times. If the author was to be believed, Gorak Tul was naught but a legend. A mythological archetype. A horror story used to scare naughty children. 

But if that were true, then why did Jaina not like Arthur talking about him?

Sylvanas turned the page, then swore softly in Thalassian. 

The rest of the chapter had been ripped out. 

--

This time when Sylvanas went back to the Crimson Forest, Jaina was on the outskirts of Gol Inath. The great tree loomed like the ruins of a stark and bleak cathedral. Though Sylvanas had made sure to arrive during the day, the shadows of this place seemed to cling to life beneath the boughs of the tree. 

Arthur was perched on Sylvanas’ shoulder as she arrived, guiding her faithfully onwards. This time, Sylvanas spied one or two humanoid figures around the base of Gol Inath, but none of them were Jaina. They stopped to stare at her as she passed, their expressions guarded. She ignored them, following Arthur’s cheerful directions even while she refused to respond to his usual chatter. 

She found Jaina in a flat clearing between two twisted roots of Gol Inath. Jaina was kneeling on the ground with her back turned, still wearing her skull mask despite not expecting company. Her staff was nowhere in sight. On the forest floor beside her, the enormous ink-black doe was sprawled on its side. For a moment, Sylvanas thought it was dead, but then its head lifted with a weary whine, its star-bright eyes squinting before it flopped back down.

“Shh.” Jaina placed her palm upon the Wild God’s flank, rubbing in a soothing manner. “It’ll be alright, Athainne. We’ll get you through this soon enough.”

“Hunters?” Sylvanas asked, drawing closer. Arthur pushed himself off her shoulder and flew off to a low branch, where he watched. “I didn’t think they’d be able to harm her.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina said, “Nothing so grim.” 

Sylvanas stopped when she was standing just beside her. From this distance, the round bulge of the doe’s stomach was clear. Frowning, Sylvanas asked, “She’s pregnant?”

Jaina hummed. “Breech birth. This is going to get messy.”

With a grimace at her own poor timing, Sylvanas said, “I should come back later.”

But Jaina only shrugged. “Do as you like. You can stay. So long as you can stomach a bit of bodily fluids. Otherwise, I recommend you go stand over there for a bit.” She pointed back towards the massive trunk of Gol Inath.

“I’m not the squeamish sort.”

“Oh, good. Then you won’t mind helping.”

Sylvanas’ ears shot up in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”

Jaina was already shuffling towards the doe’s rear legs. “And why not? I could use an extra pair of hands.”

“I am not putting my hands up there.”

“I meant with the pulling later.” Meanwhile Jaina was unwinding her own handwraps, and folding up the sleeves of her robes nearly to her shoulders.  

Nodding towards the mask, Sylvanas asked, “How can you even see through that?”

“Magic,” Jaina said simply, tossing her handwraps further away so they wouldn’t get soiled. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “That’s a lie.”

Laughing softly, Jaina said, “Only half of one.” And without a mote of hesitation, she stuck her hand into the doe until her elbow all but disappeared. The doe made a noise of complaint, which Jaina hushed. As she began rummaging around, she craned her neck to look at Sylvanas. “Now, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company this time?”

While not the most bizarre situation Sylvanas had ever found herself in, it ranked pretty highly among them. Which meant her first instinct was to default to putting her hands behind her back in an officious pose. “As I’m sure you already know, Lady Ashvane’s forces have begun their siege of Fallhaven.”

“If it’s the safety of Swiftwind Post you’re worried about, you could always pack up and leave.” Jaina had to turn her head back around, her hand feeling around blindly inside the doe. 

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you gave it to me? In the hopes it would act as a deterrent when the surrounding area was eventually overrun?”

“No.” Jaina grabbed something and pulled. Her arm emerged slippery and spotted with flecks of darker fluid. When only one little hoof came with her closed fist, she reached back in for the other. “Your presence there makes my forces seem larger than they are. It’s useful. Keeps the enemy second-guessing their reports. Plus it makes them wonder why I would put an outpost up on a brae in the middle of nowhere.”

Sylvanas’ posture relaxed somewhat. That wasn’t so far-fetched. If she hadn’t been so sure that her people could defend the position, she might have been angry. But Jaina had been right. Swiftwind Post was a craggy rock of highground on its own in the middle of heath fields that stretched all the way to the Sounds. It would take half an army to flush out even a small cohort entrenched there. 

“You should be drawing everything to Fallhaven to protect it,” Sylvanas said. “You can afford to lose Fletcher’s Hollow, but you can’t afford to lose Fallhaven. Why you’re even bothering to wait for a retreat north across Barrowknoll is beyond me.”

“Maybe I’m a tactical genius,” Jaina said dryly.

“Says the woman with her arm shoved halfway up a deer.” Sylvanas drawled. “Unless there’s something special about that place you’re not telling me about?”

Shifting her weight forward, Jaina braced her free hand against the ground and rearranged her other arm deeper inside the doe. “You mean you haven’t sent your scouts through the area multiple times?”

Sylvanas grit her teeth. “I have.”

“And?”

“And,” she admitted, “they found nothing.”

“Then there must be nothing special about it.”

Sylvanas had been around many people in her life who frequently entertained the notion that they were the cleverest person in the room. Most of them thrived off the idea, surrounding themselves with simpering sycophants who would tell them everything they desired to hear. Jaina should have fallen in the same category, but somehow she did not. She gave the impression not that she simply thought she was the smartest person in the room, but that she simply was that clever. When others did it, Sylvanas scoffed. When Jaina did it, that truth was unimpeachable. 

It was -- in short -- incredibly aggravating. 

“So, you’re here to convince me my plan is terrible and I desperately need your help. Is that it?” Jaina asked. She had finally managed to get the other hoof out, and was now straightening the fawn in the womb. 

“Only half of the plan.”

“Oh, good,” Jaina grunted, starting to pull on the fawn’s legs until the backs of its haunches were just visible. “Because I was beginning to think the stories I’ve learned about you since our first meeting were blown completely out of proportion.”

It shouldn’t have stroked Sylvanas’ ego as much as it did that she was storied enough to warrant whispers of her name even in a backwater like Kul Tiras. But it definitely did. 

Jaina jerked her head, the skull nodding towards the ground nearby. “Grab that rope for me, won’t you?”

When Sylvanas glanced down, there was indeed a soft hempen rope coiled among the leaves. She leaned down, picked it up, and handed it over as requested. Cocking her head to one side, she watched as Jaina tied the rope around the fawn’s legs, just above its hooves. It was a sailor’s knot, sturdy yet not so tight that it would damage the newborn. 

Keeping tension steady on the rope with one hand, Jaina stood. She used her free hand to dangle the end of the rope at Sylvanas. “Come on, then. Start being useful.”

Grudgingly and hardly believing what she was doing, Sylvanas moved to stand behind Jaina. She grabbed the last length of the rope and planted her feet firmly on the ground. When Jaina lowered her stance, Sylvanas followed suit so that they mirrored one another. 

“Don’t yank,” Jaina warned without looking around. “We want a nice steady pressure. And try to pull as low and horizontal as you can.”

There were worse ways to endear oneself to a potential ally than helping a Wild God give birth near a mythical entrance to the underworld. Though, truth be told, Sylvanas was struggling to think of one at the moment. 

The doe was larger than most horses, her night-dark flank heaving with every breath. Jaina’s hands were slick with blood and mucous; she had to pause to wrap the rope around her hands. Together, they pulled. It took a great deal more force than Sylvanas had initially thought would be necessary, but slowly the fawn began to emerge. At one point Jaina had to stop to ensure its tail was arranged properly before they were pulling again. And then, the fawn slipped to the ground in a rush.

It was completely still, its coat dark with fluids. Immediately Jaina dropped the rope and went down on her knees. Her movements were quick and practiced. She positioned the fawn just so, sticking her fingers into its mouth and nose until it coughed up more fluid and -- finally -- began to breathe. 

“There we go,” Jaina murmured, her voice soft. She began briskly rubbing the fawn down with a handful of dry leaves from the ground. When Athainne started shuffling as if to stand, Jaina pointed at her. “Oh, no you don’t. You stay right there.”

The Wild God huffed wearily at her, but did as it was told. 

Meanwhile, Sylvanas watched this entire interaction with a sense of bewilderment. “Since when do Wild Gods listen to the whims of mortals?”

“Since now,” said Jaina. She was letting the fawn attempt to stagger upright on its reedy legs, and she patted it on its flank in a congratulatory manner when it managed to succeed. 

Sylvanas coiled the rope neatly around her arm, tying it off and dropping it to the ground. “Why not just solve the problem magically? Why go through all this?”

“I would have, if necessary. But I didn’t need to. They’ll both be fine.” After she had wiped her own hands and arms down as much as she could, Jaina rose to her feet. “As for your military concerns: thank you, but no thank you.” Unrolling the sleeves of her robes, she began gathering up her handwraps and the length of rope. She said dismissively, “You can go, now.”

Sylvanas did not budge. “Sooner or later, they’re going to find out about you. The Drust aren’t a target now, but the moment anyone gets wind that you’re alive...” She trailed off, leaving the repercussions unspoken.

“Maybe. But they don’t know yet.” Suddenly, Jaina froze. She turned towards Sylvanas. “Do they?” she asked, and for a brief moment the dark eye sockets of the skull blazed with a fierce blue light. "Did you tell them? About me?"

"No."

The skull remained fixed and staring at her, deadly silent.

Sylvanas met her glower for glower. "If they know about you, they did not learn it from me."

Jaina remained quietly glaring. Then, she continued gathering up her things. Behind her, the fawn had ambled shakily over to its mother, and was now getting licked clean. 

Sylvanas thought of Katherine, of how her own sources in Boralus had gone quiet over the last few weeks. “Shouldn’t you be worried about what’s happened to your mother? If they are bold enough to attack Drustvar at all, then the power of the Admiralty is waning far more than just a few months ago.”

“My mother can take care of herself,” Jaina said, but her voice was too controlled, too even. 

“And what will happen to your House when she finally dies?” Sylvanas pressed, her arms crossed. “Will you do nothing? Will you let your family name fall into obscurity?”

Her calm finally broken, Jaina whirled about. “Why do you care? This isn’t your fight! You’re only here because you want something you can’t have!” She slashed through the air with her open hand, and the very earth seemed to hold its breath, the shadows of Gol Inath gathering at her feet. “Well, I won’t be the one to give it to you! I will not be the pawn in your game with the Alliance!”

The moment the darkness began to coalesce at the base of the roots, Athainne’s ears had pinned back. Suddenly, Sylvanas found herself pinned by the gazes of both an angry Archdruid and a threatened Wild God with a newborn foal. She gazed coolly back at them, refusing to give an inch. 

“Fine.” Without preamble, Sylvanas turned and began to stride away. “We shall do it your way. I will withdraw my people from Swiftwind Post and the Eastern Cliffs, as you so clearly desire.”

Jaina’s head jerked. The shadows faded. “What -?” 

Giving a little wave of her hand, Sylvanas continued on without turning around. “No, you’ve utterly convinced me, High Thornspeaker. This is not my fight.”

Behind her, Sylvanas could hear Jaina spluttering, “Now, hang on just a -! Sylvanas. Sylvanas!” 

But Sylvanas did not pause. She continued walking, and when Arthur tried to flutter down onto her shoulder, her hands flew to her bow. His wings flared and he veered off, landing instead in a nearby tree. Bow nocked and ready with a black-tipped arrow, Sylvanas left the Crimson Forest, and this time nobody followed.

--

Back at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas gave the order that they were to make it appear like the Horde was packing up their camps. More importantly, she gave the order that Arthur was no longer allowed near their encampments, and that her rangers had free reign to shoot any ravens they saw venturing too close. None of them did. The ravens all seemed far too clever for that, and stayed far away from the Horde outposts, which seemed to irk Anya to no end. She would watch the skies, finger stroking over her bowstring in cold anticipation.

On the other hand, Mace was permitted to stay, which only seemed to confuse both her and the rangers. To puzzle them even further, Sylvanas took to letting Mace into the command building atop Swiftwind Post. The one who seemed most confused by this turn of events was Mace herself, who would sit on a low stool near the front exit. Wood shavings would pile up at her feet as she would nervously carve her little figures, her dark eyes darting around the room whenever Sylvanas occupied it. Whenever Sylvanas spoke to her, Mace would start, as though afraid Sylvanas had changed her mind and decided that the game was up. 

It took longer than anticipated for the eventual result. But ultimately, Lucille Waycrest came knocking at Sylvanas’ door. 

"Did you know," she said, as an undead guardsman shut the door behind her, locking out the howling gale, "that it is very difficult to get up here?"

"I am aware," Sylvanas drawled. "But now that you're here, you can fill me in on your latest plans, and save Velonara the cost of paper and ink."

The windows faintly rattled in their frames as the wind whistled over the heather and hills. Running her fingers through her dark hair until it had regained some semblance of order, Lucille admitted, "Actually I was hoping you could tell me."

Sylvanas blinked. Her pen paused over the page. "Why would I know?"

Lucille spread her hands. "You think Jaina tells me anything? I'm as much in the dark as anyone. And you're the only non-Drust person I know who ventures so freely into the Crimson Forest, and comes out in one piece."

Careful not to blot ink upon the page, Sylvanas balanced the pen in its inkwell. She leaned back in her seat and studied Lucille over her steepled fingers. Lady Waycrest was young, but she had dark circles under her eyes. Her clothing, while fine, was rumpled. It could have just been courtesy of the wind, but somehow Sylvanas doubted that. The last month or two since their first encounter had put a strain upon her; she looked haggard. 

“You want my help,” Sylvanas said. “But I see no reason why I should give it to you.”

Lucille rocked back on her heels in shock. “Then -? Then why have you been keeping Mace around? Why have you been leaking information to me and not Jaina?”

“Why do you think?” Sylvanas asked.

“Is this some sort of trick question?”

Arching an eyebrow at her, Sylvanas remarked, “You’re not very bright, are you?”

“You -!” Lucille spluttered for words. Pointing out the window towards the encampment, she said incredulously, “You’re unbelievable! You’ve just spent the last few months getting footholds in my land! And now, you -!”

“It’s not really your land though, is it? Legally speaking, perhaps, but we both know how much weight that holds. About as much as this.” Sylvanas took one of the tiny black wooden tokens used to mark the map with troops, and tossed it at Lucille’s feet. “That’s what helping you gets me. So, why would I do it? What do you have to offer me that I would want? Think.”

Lucille’s mouth wrenched open, then shut very quickly again. She swallowed thickly. The brief flash of anger that washed across her features faded, and her expression crumpled. When she spoke her voice was tremulous, “I don’t know.” She had to clear a burr in her throat. “I don’t - I don’t know what I should do.”

Katherine had been right. Lucille Waycrest was a poor ally, indeed. Though not through any fault of her own. This was a girl whose parents had fallen prey to the Heartsbane Coven, witches who worshipped Gorak Tul and sought to retake Drustvar in his name. Her House had been dragged to the brink of destruction. She had barely managed to avoid the fall of her entire family, and even that was hardly from her efforts alone. And now that she was Lady Waycrest, Head of a Great House of Kul Tiras, she was without a mentor, surrounded by even more enemies, adrift in a sea of dangerous politics that she could not hope to navigate alone.

Once, Sylvanas might have taken pity on her -- she might have freely offered advice or guidance -- but not now. Now, Sylvanas did not even offer her a chair.

It was not the principle of the thing. It was the spectacle of it.

And besides, this might even be an educational experience. 

Sitting forward, Sylvanas picked up her pen and returned to drafting her document. “I told you before.” She scratched another line across the page. “Your business is your business. How you go about it is no concern of mine.”

Lucille rubbed at her brow and sighed, “Jaina won’t want to ask for help. She thinks she can win anything by herself. She’s too proud.”

Without looking up, Sylvanas tsked, a light tapping of her tongue against the backs of her teeth. “How very true to her namesake.” She signed the end of the document with a flourish. The last stroke of her name was artfully blotted with ink. “I see you are not as burdened by hubris.”

A muscle twitched at Lucille’s cheek. Still, she said, “No. I am not. I know when I am outmatched and outgunned.”

“That’s a good start, at least.” Sylvanas rubbed at a spot of ink that stained her fingertips. “You want my advice?” 

Lucille bit her bottom chapped lip, then nodded. “I’m listening.”

“The people of Drustvar are superstitious. They follow you not only for your name, but because you are a link to the High Thornspeaker, who defeated the coven of witches that had been terrorising the countryside for years under your family’s rule. Jaina is simultaneously your greatest weakness, and your greatest strength. Which is why I want you here today.” Sylvanas calmly folded her hands in her lap. “Convince Jaina to my terms, and I will consider giving you the support you need.”

A shadow of confusion crossed Lucille’s face. “What are your terms?”

“She already knows. And if she wants to talk, she knows where to find me.” Pointing towards the door, Sylvanas said, “Go. And take your little spy with you.”

For a moment Lucille did nothing. She made an abortive motion, as though she were going to take a step forward, only to turn heel and stride out, leaving Sylvanas alone in the command building. Sylvanas waited a minute or two, then stood and walked over to the door. 

When she pulled it open, she said to one of the guards, “Tell Anya and Nathanos that under no circumstances are they to follow Lady Waycrest. And have Velonara remain in Corlain until further notice.” 

The Forsaken guard bowed, and immediately trotted off to do her bidding. Sylvanas shut the door, returning to her desk. There was far more work to be done. 

--

Eventually, Sylvanas was roped into playing cards. Nathanos flat refused to play, and in turn Anya would not accept no as an answer. Or at least, she did, but she sulked about it, all while denying that she was definitely not sulking about it. 

Outside, rain pummeled the windows, and the sky was dark with early evening cloud. Lightning flashed intermittently, followed by the low long roll of thunder. Meanwhile, Sylvanas was losing her fourth game of whist in a row, even after she had ordered Anya to rid herself of any extra cards with which she might cheat. They sat in silence. Sylvanas had cleared one side of her usual work desk in front of the hearth to give them space to play. 

Sylvanas' red eyes burned over her hand, her gaze hotter than the flames that licked the stone hearth black and sooty. "You have always been a filthy little cheat. Where are you hiding them this time?"

Anya played a trump card, winning the round, and said calmly, "I don't know what you're talking about, my Queen."

"Do you like having a tongue? Or would you rather I unburden you from it?"

Anya stuck out said tongue in reply, then said, "And you always were a sore loser."

Sylvanas opened her mouth to retort, but her ears twitched towards the door. Shouts and the sounds of a commotion outside. Both their heads whipped around. They rose to their feet, cards forgotten. Anya had an arrow nocked and drawn in an instant. The moment the door burst open, she fired two shots in rapid succession, her arm a blur of motion. 

The arrows froze midair before they could reach their destination. They hung in the air as a massive shape shadowed the doorstep. The extra guards flanking the doorway were struggling against something. Their feet were just visible, flailing wildly as they were lifted from the ground and pinned against the outer walls, their weapons clattering to the earth. 

Jaina had to duck her head to step inside. Her shoulders stooped, then straightened to their full height once more. Water dripped onto the floor at her bare feet, pooling behind her with every step. With a bored wave of her hand, the arrows fell to the floor. 

The skull mask looked at Sylvanas, and then -- pointedly -- at Anya, who had a third arrow drawn and ready to loose. 

"Anya," said Sylvanas, not taking her eyes off Jaina, "Leave us."

Anya began to hiss a complaint, but Sylvanas made a sharp gesture, cutting her off. Grudgingly, Anya lowered her weapon. She left, stepping around Jaina, who refused to give way. When she was outside, she shut the door hard enough to let her displeasure be known. 

"You better not have killed any of my people," Sylvanas said once they were alone. "Otherwise, I will reconsider our little arrangement."

"They'll be fine." 

Jaina moved closer to the fire. The shadow she cast swallowed the opposite wall and half the floor. The shape of it did not seem to quite match her actual figure, flickering darkly against the panelled wood. It was the first time Sylvanas had ever seen her indoors. Somehow, Jaina made the room feel too small just by standing in it. From this angle, Sylvanas could just make out the hint of her jaw behind the mask. 

After a moment of tense silence, Jaina spoke, her tone curt. “I don’t appreciate being toyed with or manipulated.”

“Finally, something we can agree on,” said Sylvanas, repeating back to Jaina the very words she had spoken on their first meeting. “And I don’t appreciate you barging in here, unannounced, after having strangled my guards on your way in.”

“I figured I ought to repay you for the way you first visited me.” Jaina leaned her staff against the wall so that it rested on the edge of the mantlepiece. The action was nonchalant, as though she were hanging up her coat from the rain, not propping up an object that crackled with dark magics. “Going after Lucille was low. Even for you.”

“I thought I was rather gentle with her, actually.” 

The skull swung in Sylvanas’ direction, its stare incredulous.

Sylvanas shrugged. “Gentler than Ashvane would have been, anyway. Or even your mother, for that matter.”

A grunt of concession. Jaina turned back to the fire. It cast off sparks that sputtered at her feet, never quite reaching the ragged and muddy hems of her robes. “I’m surprised. When I’d heard she was coming here, I thought I’d lost a friend for good.”

With a snort, Sylvanas said, “Do you treat all your friends like pawns?”

“I am protecting her.” Jaina’s voice rasped. 

“I’m not interested in the lies the living tell themselves to sleep better at night.” Sylvanas leaned her hip upon the side of the table, and crossed her legs at the ankle. “And you didn’t come here to tell me off for being hard on your so-called ‘friend.’”

Sylvanas could hear the sharp intake of breath behind that mask. Jaina drew herself up, but her shoulders remained stiff. The firelight limned the edges of the skull in a sickly ochre glow. Eventually, she said, “Give me reserve troops and more coin, and I will consider your proposition.”

“I want more than empty promises.”

“Then what do you want?”

In answer, Sylvanas reached behind herself. She pulled a piece of parchment from a stack of documents on the desk. It was long, trailing nearly to her waist, and filled with neat lines so finely written upon the page, that it appeared more ink than anything else. At the bottom, Sylvanas’ waxen seal was already pressed and dried beneath her signature. 

She held the page out to Jaina, who stepped forward and took it cautiously. Jaina took her time reading over every line of fine print. When she got to the end, she glanced at Sylvanas over the document. “How long have you had this prepared for? Days? Weeks?”

Sylvanas fluttered her fingers in a vague gesture. “A while.”

Jaina’s hand clenched into a fist around the page, crumpling it. She took a deep breath and smoothed it out once more. Then, to Sylvanas’ surprise, she laughed. Sylvanas’ long ears tilted up, and her posture straightened. Jaina was laughing to herself softly, ruefully, shaking her head. The motion rustled the leaves and tokens of her cloak like the wind through the boughs of trees. 

“Predictable,” Jaina chuckled.

Immediately, Sylvanas’ ears slanted back. Her brow darkened. “Is that so?”

Jaina waved the paper at her dismissively. “Not you. I was talking about myself.” Her thumb traced over the blank space where her own signature was supposed to go, right beside Sylvanas’ name. “If I sign this, I will have your support?” 

“You will.”

Turning back to the document, Jaina scoured it from top to bottom again. And then once more. She drew up next to Sylvanas to reach the table, where she set the document down on a bit of clear space. She grabbed up a pen, dipped it into a spare inkwell, and began to cross out certain sections. 

Not moving from where she leaned against the desk, Sylvanas peered over Jaina’s shoulder. “Did your Drust education come with a healthy dose of law, as well?” she asked dryly. “Or is that due to another time in your upbringing?”

With a wordless grunt, Jaina slashed the pen across three of the clauses near the end. “If I am going to become the Lord Admiral and open the borders, then I will do so on my terms. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth turned down in annoyance. Still, she only hummed darkly in agreement. “And removing my exclusive rights to military bases?”

The skull tilted in her direction as Jaina glanced balefully over at her. “You may keep your civilian outposts, but there is no way I will allow a foreign military presence on Kul Tiran soil after this internal disagreement between the Houses has been settled.”

Jaina re-read the agreement for a final time, pen poised over the place where her name was to be signed. When the pen was just about to touch the parchment however, Sylvanas cleared her throat. Jaina straightened and turned to her in questioning silence.

“It needs to be witnessed,” Sylvanas explained.

“Bring your witness, then,” said Jaina impatiently. 

It took only a moment to get Nathanos inside. He had been lurking just outside the front door, alongside what seemed to be every member of the Horde in the camp. Most had their weapons drawn, ready for anything. Steel glinted wetly through the rain-darkened air. Sylvanas gave the assembled little crowd a cool look, then jerked her head for Nathanos to follow her.

She shut the door behind them. Nathanos hair was slicked back to his head, and his coat was soaked, but he paid no attention to the rain. The golden glow of his eyes glowered in silent disapproval first at Jaina -- for daring to endanger the Dark Lady -- and then at Sylvanas -- for daring to put herself in danger in the first place. 

Sylvanas strode past him, making her way back towards the desk. "You can be angry with me later, Nathanos. Right now, we need a witness."

"Very well," he murmured, and though his tone was light and cultured his expression was foreboding. 

Jaina waited for him to join them. Then she took up the pen once more.

Sylvanas cleared her throat again.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Jaina jerked upright, the pen clenched between her fingers in a white-knuckled grip. "What now?"

Sylvanas pointed at her. "Your mask. We need to be able to faithfully verify your identity."

For a moment Jaina did nothing. Then, muttering foul curses under her breath, she threw the pen down onto the desk. It sent a splatter of ink across some of Sylvanas' other documents, but left their agreement unscathed. She reached up, fingers curling around the base of the skull at her neck, and lifted the mask away. 

She was both younger and older than Sylvanas had expected. Her mouth was pinched in displeasure, her jaw bullishly set. A deep scar ran down the right side of her face, bisecting one of her eyes, so that it peered out, white and blind. Her other eye was the same icy blue as her mother’s. Indeed, they looked remarkably similar, but for Jaina’s tall, broad-shouldered build. Streaks of her original hair colour gleamed golden in the firelight, as though whatever weapon had slashed across her face had drained everything out of that side. 

She tucked the skull under one arm and glared challengingly at both of them. “I am Jaina Proudmoore, youngest child of Daelin Proudmoore and Katherine Proudmoore née Grey. Being of sound mind and body, I am willfully signing this agreement to a temporary alliance with the Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken, under the discretion of -” she waved towards Nathanos, “- whoever the fuck you are. Now, can we get on with it? Or are you going to continue to be a pain in the neck?”

Giving a mock bow, Sylvanas said, “By all means.”

Without another word, Jaina turned back to the document. She snatched up the pen, dipped it into the inkwell, and signed. Handing the pen to Nathanos, he signed between both their names. Then with a last baleful look in Sylvanas’ direction, Jaina crammed the skull back over her head, wrenching at its jaw to secure the mask more firmly in place. 

She was halfway to the exit, when Sylvanas called after her. “Be sure to give my compliments to Lady Waycrest for actually managing to change your mind.”

Jaina paused with her hand on the door. “She didn’t.”

A furrow marred Sylvanas’ brow. “Then who did?”

“Arthur.”

The door swung inwards, admitting a sheet of rain onto the floorboards, and Jaina strode out without a second glance. She did not bother shutting the door behind her. Picking up the document, Sylvanas watched Jaina’s retreat. The members of the Horde congregating outside parted before her like waves before a ship’s prow. And a familiar raven swooped down and landed on her shoulder. 

Then one of the Forsaken guardsmen reached in, and shut the door, shutting out the image and the rain. 

Tapping her finger against the edge of the parchment, Sylvanas asked, “Is that enough proof for you?”

At her side, Nathanos grunted sourly. “I am adequately convinced. Though your stage performance was rather lackluster, in my opinion.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe you as a patron of the arts, either.”

“Somehow I feel the theatrics aren’t over yet.”

Rather than answer, Sylvanas merely lifted one shoulder in a lofty shrug.

“Why are you baiting her? Why waste time?” Nathanos asked. “If we had given our support immediately, then Drustvar would have been in our debt. Our military presence would be too difficult to dislodge without taking more formal avenues. The outcome would have been the same.”

“Because now I have what I truly wanted in Kul Tiras.” Sylvanas lifted the document in her hands. Jaina’s signature was still wet; the ink gleamed in the firelight. She smiled. “An open invitation.”

[myclownjunction]

Some of Pennywise light NSFW and fluff.

Yes, of course, there’s no difference when you got your 50 cents)))

Some of Pennywise light NSFW and fluff. Can it be? UwU Requested by @luv4pennywisefandom​

Let me present to you light NSFW and smut under the cut!

Author note: Minors NOT ALLOWED. Every single one shall NOT  pass if you’re not 18+ my lass!

*Pennywise is an ancient beast that knew only fear and consumed the said so feel dipped into the flesh of humanity for decades ahead

*As Bob Gray he could manipulate and hypnotize any lady he was interested This time he met you and something in him snapped like a twig.

*Girls even if you run, even if you hide you won’t be able to outrun him, he feels you, he tastes you and all of this chases after you send him into frenzy heat that he ignored for so long

*You start to receive a lot of presents, each time they’re unique and beautiful, you wonder who it might be.Not recognizing the shadow that lurks int the darkness stalking you, watching you. CRAVING YOU! 

*His lust is not like the humans, he could last for hours and even days, he would break you and fill you so good with his little ones, Oh yes you’ll be the perfect mate

*Someone flirting with you, stalking you, harassing you. Boy, they had signed their death contract. GONE...POOF...MISSING.

*One day he appears, making you scream and try and hide away from him, who are you fooling my dear one, others maybe-yes. But not Pennywise himself. He loves this game it fuels his lust for you

*Once he has found you, touching, groping, his grave voice rumbling in your ear: “Mine! MINE...MINE!” he roars as he sinks his teeth in your shoulder, you scream and he laughs maniacally his eyes turning amber and burning like coals

*He throws you on the bed, crawling slowly to you, teasing you with your own helplessness. “Oh, little rabbit...oh little one! Do you know that teasing your daddy is bad, bad thing to do!” he rumbles, never breaking eye contact

*You’re sweating and looking at those eyes, who is he and how does he know about your secret, your dirty little secret, you train of thoughts is interrupted by his laughter  “What little baby-girl, I caught you red-handed, hmm?”Ah..ah...ah, you don’t have to shy away now! Let daddy take care of you!”

*He rolls out his tongue, it’s so long and with ridges that make you gasp and his smile, even more forked, his eyes roll a bit as he strat to tral his long tongue down your nightgown, raising his hand in slight motion your underwear and night-gown are gone!

*He enjoys your whimpers and moans, he loves to see you squirm beneath his massive body, he feels that his dick gets harder and it’s time to feast, to feast upon your body. It’s like the forbidden fruit that he’s desperate to try and he will

*He starts to suck on your breasts playing with one and then switching to other, he loves the softness and squishiness and the noises you make, boy he’ll wreck you. All of your boobs covered in salvia, he slithers lower and lower as he reaches to your sex taking a deep sniff

*He purrs and rumbles against your clit and boy you so love it, it’s so different from your sex toys, his eyes are fixated on you in the dimly lighted room his eyes glow, you can feel him smiling at you, making you blush and hide your face “Aww...shy little rabbit...so shy and so tasty” he snarls as he launches at you 

*He let his tongue explore and devour you, savoring each drop that he could get off your amazing juices that make him even harder, then in one moment he switches his tongue at your clit and slides two long fingers into your core. Clenching around him you moan so hard and arch into him, wanting more friction. “P-please” you whimper

* He rises an eyebrow at you “What was that kitten? Daddy can’t hear you!”...you curse under your breath and about to say as he tsk at you. “Mmm, what a naughty, naughty little girl, using suck language before your daddy! Well I guess I’ll have to wash your mouth a bit, shall I?!” you whimper as he stands and rips his pantaloons off

*He’s big and thick, the color is pretty much as his make up white from the base and changes into juicy red, making it look like a popsicle. You gulp as your mouth waters, waters from the 10-inch cock presented to you. You expect it to smell foul but it smells like...cotton candy?

*He doesn waste any time despite he’s proud of what he has he can change the sizes depends on his partner. Without a warning, he shoves his monster cock inside your mouth making you gag in the process, but you care less the precum tastes delicious as you’ve been pushed to take more of him making your throat  bulges as his thickness passes back and forth 

*You barely could breath, but you don’t care all you want is him now, he fucks your throat hard and deep purring and drooling, when he sees your eyes roll back, that’s what he needs. As he pulls out earning a moan from you he throws you on the bed, spreading your legs watching your pussy wet and dripping for him

*His cock covered in your own salvia and his precum twitched as he positions himself and in one swift motion he slams himself in making this time his eyes roll back, your belly has a bulge now from ho huge he is, it knocked the air from your lungs for a while, but he’s not done, not yet

*He bottoms out and slams back making you both moan as he buries with each thrust deeper and deeper into you, he wants to feel all of you, stretch you so you could take in all of his seed. His pace quickens so fast that you barely can breathe as he slams himself repeatedly into your core, you can’t hold back anymore and you scream as your juices cover him and your wall squeezing him

*That’s all he needs, he roars so strong that the glass on the windows shake from his power his eyes roll back his mouth is wide open and you’re met with the real him. The deadlights multiply as some of them enter your body erupting another orgasm from your limp body.

*This ancient ritual was long forgotten by any living being, you are so overwhelmed that you don’t feel your legs for a while as everything settles down your belly is filled by his thick seed that drips out , but he refuses to bottom out, he stays there, you realize then, he has knotted you.

* He whispers something in ancient language known only by him, as he looks at you changing before him, it’s still you but knows your eyes change from (e/c) to yellow glowing orbs, just like him, his beautiful and feral mate.Your hair changes in copper red, as you catch your breath watching him with adoration and love

*His heartbeats, beats for the first time to the new feeling, love. As his clawed hand slowly cradles the bump in your stomach, “My...Mine!” he chirps, nuzzling your stomach and your neck licking you and cleaning you, as you look him in his eyes

“Yours, forever” he mewls and nuzzles him, he softly rearranges your positions and lays behind your back as he’s still knotted you. You purr from pure pleasure, enjoying the new beginning of your new life. This time you have Penny next to you, he’ll be there for you as you and your little one for him.

*He nuzzles you and keeps you next to him, you are his everything, his deadlight, his goddess, his beautiful mate and no other human in the universe deserves to be his...HIS QUEEN. He whispers the worlds he thought he shall never let out, but you made his heart flutter and his being tremble, the words rolled past his lips like a waterfall in the silence of the house...”I love you!”

*This is your new life, your new family with Pennywise.

(Wipes away sweat and takes in breath woah that was intense! I hope it’s not that bad, I really do, shies away)