#scout's guide : chapter four : questions and answers

[sailorscuttle]

5, 16, and 27 for the ask game!! 👀

ty for sending angel !! <3

5. favorite form of potato?

oooh either mashed potatoes or wedges (there's a specific restaurant that has the best wedges

16. thoughts on mint chocolate chip?

i love it sm i'm sorry to my moots who hate it lmao

27. what's your favorite go-to outfit?

honestly leggings and whatever t-shirt i'm hyperfixated on at the moment, or sweater

[iviarellereads]

Network Effect, Chapter 5

(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

In which Murderbot sets somebody straight.

Murderbot calls back a lot of its drones to scout ahead and cover behind, heading toward Medical. It knows some intruder is controlling the targetDrones and guiding the ship through the wormhole, so it designates it targetControlSystem (I will use TCS). MB hopes TCS is sentient enough to hurt when MB kills it. MB also sets its drones to logging movement, even if they can't detect the stealth drones.

Some Targets arrive at the crew meeting area, but Target Three used a manual override to seal it from inside, and they can't undo it. They also can't access Art's systems themselves. MB decides Art must be dead, but it has to take care of the humans before it can have an emotion about it.

MB asks the Barish-Estranza pair how many Targets they've seen. When Amena clarifies that it means the grey people, they answer, at least five. MB has already identified six, making their intel useless, as usual. From its scout drones, MB sees Targets Four, Five, and Six reconfigure their helmets to cover their faces. It's not like it has enough drones to waste killing them that way anyway, but it's miffed all the same. Even its risk assessment module thinks the odds are bad.(1)

When they reach the next section, MB lets the humans through, then activates a manual release, and uses its energy weapon to melt a few key components. Ras asks Amena what it's doing, so Amena asks MB. Internally, it says it's using Art's schematic to close off the crew living section of the ship tactically. Aloud, it says it's creating a safe zone.

It loses two more drones to targetDrones on the way to Medical, but clears the way, remembering its time here with Tapan. It tells the humans to stay in the medical suite while it closes off the other hatches. When it returns, it asks where Perihelion's crew is. When she realizes Ras and Eletra aren't Art's crew, Amena takes MB's side in the questioning. Ras makes another comment about MB obeying Amena, who interrupts to say it doesn't even like her. MB thinks that's unfair, Amena didn't like it first. Ras tries, with Eletra's backup, to encourage Amena to tell MB to take orders from them, as the adults here.

I see I have some operational parameters to establish. I crossed the room, grabbed Ras by the front of his uniform jacket and slammed him down on the med platform. I said, “Answer my question.” Behind me, Eletra had flinched and backed away. Amena said, “SecUnit! My mother will be angry if you hurt him!” Oh, we were going to try that tactic, were we. I said, “You obviously don’t know how your mother actually feels about Corporates.”

Eletra and Ras finally admit they don't know where the crew is, they've only seen the Targets since they were brought aboard. Amena tells MB to stop being mean. MB says it's trying to keep her alive. Amena asks if MB is alright, the drone hit it real hard, and it doesn't look good.

MB tells Amena to take care of her leg, but without activating MedSystem. For a heartbreaking second, MB realizes it forgot Art is dead, but it continues that MedSystem was controlled by the bot pilot, who must have been compromised or it would've killed the intruders. All three humans look worried. MB points them to the emergency kits, and says it's going to go clear the section. It leaves Amena some drones, and from her expression, MB realizes she doesn't want to split up.

On the feed, Amena makes a quip about always having wanted drones. MB almost wants to banter, but walking around Art's corpse, it feels wrong.(2)

While scouting, MB wonders why the Targets were pounding on the hatch like they were, and notices that their helmets have turned stealth, though not their suits. MB wonders if TCS shares its information with the Targets, or if they have no idea what happened to 1-3. More evidence that they don't have access to Art's systems, if they don't know that 2 is in the lounge.

Thinking of Art again, MB starts working on a hack for TCS. It has to seize the ship before they get to the other side of the wormhole.

MB watches the medical suite through the drones, as the B-E adults question Amena gently. MB feeds Amena answers to some questions, to make sure the B-Es get the impression it wants them to. Amena ends up having to explain non-corporate polities to them, as they have no concept of non-corporate life. Eventually they get to exchanging real information, and they say they were attacked on a supply transport and pulled aboard in their escape shuttle.

MB finally realizes it still has a drone in the bridge, and has it start scanning for active displays. Ras and Eletra were never told why they were taken, only given the barest of necessities of life. MB still has too many places to look where it might find the crew's bodies. It starts to find inconsistencies, including with the story Ras and Eletra are feeding Amena, when it finds the cabin it believes they were stored in. The cabin doesn't smell as bad as it expected, and the furniture's not in as bad of shape. The cabins the Targets were using don't smell of humans, but of growth medium from agriculture.

At long last, Amena asks what the B-E ship was doing, and the adults say they were attempting recovery on a lost settlement, though it's proprietary information, so they can't share much. Amena says she's a junior intern and not from the Corp Rim, she can't share much with anybody.

Ras, as the less reluctant one, says they wanted to recover a viable planet. Eletra gives in, and together they tell the rest of the story. The locations of a lot of older planets were lost before the wormholes were stabilized, but researchers can find them in old data troves, and corporations can file for ownership to establish a colony. Some corps went bankrupt from their endeavours, and their colonies were lost. Amena and MB recognize part of Preservation's past in the explanation, as their first colony failed and they were relocated just in time.

At any rate, the B-E ship was attacked en route to the colony they believed they'd found. Or, that's what Eletra says before Ras can answer.(3)

MB finds a cabin that holds some artifacts of Art's crew, uniforms and holographic prints. As it has an emotion about how much Art loved its crew, MB has a sudden 5% performance drop. As MB makes its way back, the humans start talking about it again, and the B-E pair tell Amena SecUnits aren't reliable, their human tissue makes them unpredictable, and they go rogue and attack their contract holders. Amena, suppressing an emotion MB can't identify,(4) says she wonders why they'd do that.

MB grabs a bag of rations from a supply locker, and taps Amena in the feed to say it's coming back. It wonders about all the supplies onboard. Ras and Eletra speak as though they're under the impression Amena and MB have been onboard for many days, and Amena must be confused about how much time has passed. MB wonders if Art and its crew did more than stare at space, really not paying attention to the feed from Medical.

So I only had a 1.4-second warning when I stepped through the hatch and Ras fired a weapon at me.(5) For a human, his aim was great.

=====

(1) Oof, even with my theory that the RAM accounts for competence Murderbot doesn't, that's rough. (2) Murderbot is grieving and my heart is weeping. (3) I just find her rushing to answer very suspicious. What's she trying to get him not to say? (4) My personal guess is a bit of amusement with a soupcon of horror. She trusts MB with her life, unquestioning, even if it hadn't had plenty of chances to kill her already if it wanted her dead. But, I think she's smart enough to see how people who believe SecUnits can't be trusted, would mistreat them so much as to ensure the SecUnits want freedom from human rule. (5) Whaaaaaat? Why would he do this? What do he and Eletra know?

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (13/17)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Every year, for a few weeks at a time, life had a tendency of stopping.

And it had been following that same pattern for the past few years.

For Levi, the first signs of the freeze came when the last few red leaves fell to the ground, revealing the branches underneath. The trees were bare, the wind chill was cruel and the sky was constantly grey.

But the freeze was only a prelude that accompanied something much more daunting.That period of time in particular manifested as some sort of a limbo. That painful limbo where every student was suddenly reminded that maybe taking five classes at once was a bad idea.That limbo were suddenly all students ever had to think about were those five classes they were taking. Yet for some reason, everyone still found a reason to be stressed.

No training. No club activities.

Just deadline after deadline. Group work after group work. Exam after exam.

Of course it would be stressful. Since for many people, those last few submissions leading up to the holidays were always the most decisive. Making that deadline, making something of quality in that deadline always spelled the difference between honors and mediocre, a C for a degree or a failing F. Especially since for the first few months of school anyway, the urgency never hit.

Levi never had been one of those students gunning for honors. The regular tournaments and the twice a day training and the human need for some rest afterwards always meant that Levi was only barely passing most classes while every now and then scoring a B in one.

He was one of those people who thought of the final few weeks of school as some sort of a messiah, some last chance to pull a D to a C or if he were lucky a B. And those periods in limbo blurred so easily into hazy memories of sleepless nights, irrationally strong hate over some particularly shitty groupmate and those few hour long exams where Levi could have sworn his heart hadn’t even been beating.

He hadn’t expected his senior year to be any different. But on the days leading up to finals week, he started to realize he had fewer exams, a little more papers than usual. A side effect of being a senior in a non science course.

It could have been the luck of the draw maybe but his teachers had been kind and had requested he just send everything over.

Two requirements and One thesis. And Levi could always do it from the comfort of the study hall in the dorm.

The study hall was a medium sized building, most frequented by dormers.

One of its most notable characteristics was the window wide enough that anyone studying would be almost incapable of ignoring the scenery just outside. And in winter, the grey sky, the bare trees and the glass of the window that would fog up at the lightest caress were the main constants of the scenery. And even if it was impossible to ignore for most students, Levi didn’t think too much of it that winter in particular. Since the days leading up to deadlines, Hange had been right next to him.

There were those few moments in between studying when he would allow himself some reprieve. Picking what to focus on had never been a challenge. The dreary early winter scenery felt chilly even from the comfort of the heated study hall yet without even trying and Hange emitted a warmth that had resonated more powerfully than any feelings and preconceived notions rooted in his four years in a bubble. Her hums, her thoughtless mutters even her unfocused brown eyes the few times she looked up to give herself a quick rest, without even trying, they had felt warm and welcoming.

Maybe because just those small actions had been more than enough for Levi to feel very much connected to someone. For the first winter in his college life, Levi wasn’t alone

Although with the long hours studying, they never went too far beyond exchanging some few words, engaging some small talk. When their brains were completely fried, there wasn’t much else they could discuss anyway.

But they didn’t need to talk. Levi already felt it --- as he allowed the scratching of pen and paper and the familiar clack of the keyboard to keep him company in the stark silence of the study hall--- she had done her part to make that early a winter warmer than it usually was. She had done her part as well to make that limbo, that harsh in-between classes and holidays, almost enjoyable, a significant improvement from that limbo he had always braced himself to power through, every single year.

As he became a little more aware of her constant company, sometimes he could imagine the limbo had never been there, and it had all been a faint memory, a faint illusion of his life before.

And all Hange had to do was be there. Even when she was silent, highlighting line after line, cross checking journals and study guides, Hange managed to find a way to still be present.

When it came to studies, Hange’s case was a stark contrast to his, more urgent and more demanding, almost admirable. She had a full load and although Levi never did memorize her schedule, he figured it out soon enough having spent the days leading up to the exams cooped up with her in the study hall.

Exam after exam after exam.

And Hange was never without her laptop, her printed out study guides and her ebook reader. And she had been that way, all the way until the last day of exams, when the lobby of the dorm had emptied out, the hallways to his room a lot less busy and when Levi was particularly less self conscious about the awkward way he pulled his injured self up the stairs to his dorm room every night.

Everyone had gone home for the holidays already. And soon enough, it wasn’t such an odd sight to see just her familiar shape alone in the study hall.

The first day she didn’t have study guides felt like a big change.

He picked her out so easily, especially when there was nobody else hunched over their own notes. And Levi who had sat with her every single day in the study hall couldn't help but celebrate such a tiny development. “You’re done with exams?” He asked as he settled on the chair in front of her.

“One final paper,” Hange said, not looking up from her laptop.

“And then winter break?”

“And then I can finally work on my thesis.”

“Any ideas?”

“Yeah, some.”

“So you’ll probably be working during the break huh?”

Hange sat back on the chair and crossed her arms. “You know, I’m lucky enough the department is still allowing me to make a thesis even without a proposal presentation."

"At least you get to graduate on time."

"I know. This is just a weird place to be when at the start of the year, I was gunning for some best thesis award. Now I’m the only student in my block who’s disqualified. And on top of that, I’m starting from scratch again.”

“You could have continued from the last one.”

Hange closed her laptop and rested her chin on her hand. “I didn’t pick that topic because I wanted to. I just felt it was the most practical option. And when I consulted my parents, they said that was the best option to save time.”

“And it was.”

“But it felt weird. I couldn't bring myself to ask you the right questions or check your knee everyday. You were constantly in pain, sad, for a while you might even have been depressed…” Hange trailed off. She looked outside at the scenery on the other side of the window.

Levi could almost see the grey reflected on her eyes.

Hange continued. “I thought back to how you fucked up your knee and I realized I was reckless. When you scraped your knee I was there, then I pushed you to jump for my thesis and when I fucked up your life… and you never felt it even a little weird or annoying that I would be getting something out of it?" She looked at him as if expecting him to say something.

"I made the decision to push myself. Not you."

“Levi, please be honest. did I pressure you?” That was the moment, Hange chose to meet his gaze. She had a pleading look in her eyes that only made it difficult for Levi to reach within him for him some sort of a response.

He had the answer and it was so easily within reach. Yes, she did pressure him. But was that something he would have wanted to admit?

And when he started to ask more questions, he soon started to ask another more important question, was it Hange who had pushed him to do it? Or was it this image of Hange he was projecting onto her?

“You didn’t pressure me,” Levi said.

“Then why were you working so hard? Why did you push yourself?”

“Because… I felt pressured.”

“If not me, then by what? What pressured you?”

“Myself?” And by extension, everything else maybe? Captain Levi? Commander Hange Zoe? He added to himself. But he wasn’t crazy enough to say it.

“But here’s the thing, I could have sworn you were much calmer than that during the competitions. Actual competitions. But then since we met, ever since you scraped your knee, you were pushing yourself more than usual, you were much more tense. What were you working so hard for?”

“I pressured myself.”

“For what?” Hange’s eyes were boring holes into him. “I’m not your coach. Hell, I’m not an arbiter. I’m not an Olympic team scout. All I needed was your data for a thesis nobody was probably going to read anyway.”

“Don’t you have a paper to finish?”

“The final deadline is next week and I’m more than halfway done already. I have more than enough time to talk,” Hange said. Her face morphed into something a little more desperate. “Levi, I wanna know, what did I do wrong?”

At that moment, Levi froze. His eyes were completely fixed on hers, and he could only watch the way she started to study him, as if searching for an answer in the way he sat, the way he leaned back on the chair, the way he gripped the corner of the table. At once, Levi had become aware of all of his nervous ticks.

The tension in the room was thick enough at least for Levi to tell, that he wasn’t the only one feeling the discomfort. He willed himself to lean back further, get a wider view of her and he noticed the subtle signs, her hands were shaking, her lips were letting out a hint of a tremble.

Hange seemed to be in a similar state, self conscious and nervous. Maybe even ready to repent for whatever she had believed she had done wrong. As if she almost wanted to hear insults, criticisms and she even seemed ready to take a punch in the face.

But Levi’s thoughts were far from that.

The day they met, she had introduced herself and had approached him like they were close friends already.

The night they met, she had hid in the dark, watching silently while he trained. That night, she had stitched up his knee.

And in that process, she made him remember things.

You made me remember things.

And those things were what had pushed him to ‘tense up,’ to ‘work hard’ and to impress her.

But really was it anything wrong?  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Levi said. “I told you, I made the decision to push myself on my own.”

“But what did I do to push you?”

“Do you have to be doing something to push me? What if I just met you? And I thought, I wanna help her write her thesis then things happened, then overtime I realized I’m enjoying this.”

Hange shrugged. “You pitied your biggest fan enough to give her a freebie huh?”

“I said ‘I’d gladly stay by your side.’” I don’t think people give promises like that as freebies.”

“But you just met me.”

“You haven’t even met me and you were already keeping pictures of me like some sort of stalker.”

Hange only smiled at such an accusation. Within the few months, they had gotten used to a little banter after all. “Are you just humoring me?”

“No. I’m not. I’m happy to have met you and I said it then, I’ll say it again. If you want me to, I’ll stay by your side.”

“It’s just weird, okay. You have a lot more fans than you think you do. And you get friendly with me, some frumpy nerdy fan who followed your tournaments like crazy….”

“What other explanation would you like for this? Soulmates? Fate?”

“I don’t believe in any of those,” Hange said. “I don’t wanna believe in it. I like to think that I just made the decision to reach out to you. And I just got lucky you decided to reciprocate.”

“Then I got lucky you reached out too, Hange. This goes both ways.”

“I guess it does.” Hange closed her laptop and looked up at the ceiling. “Sorry if this came out of nowhere. With my last exam over, this was the only time I got to think about it again. But you know, thanks for staying here with me even if I was ignoring you half the time.”

“I knew you had a lot to make up for and besides, I’m fine just quietly sitting by.”

Hange’s features softened into a warm smile. “Me too. I’ll make this up to you. If I get this paper written by Friday. I’ll submit then. After that, you wanna go somewhere? Just the two of us?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to work on your thesis?”

“Your birthday is on the 25th right? But I wanna do something for Christmas so I’m thinking... what if we have an early birthday celebration and we do something else for Christmas?

“You know that’s my birthday Hange, I get to decide how I wanna spend it.”

“But what if it’s my treat?”

“It’s still my birthday.”

Hange gave him a long look. “Okay, what about this? I’m hoping to use your stories for references to my thesis. And I wanna make it up to you… I’ll treat you out on Saturday for that then after, you decide what you wanna do on your birthday.”

“I never said we couldn’t do that for my birthday.”

“Well if you were just more direct with things we wouldn't have to bounce off ideas like this back and forth. Are we celebrating your birthday early or not?”

“And besides I never even said anything about you using my stories for your thesis.”

“Just answer the questions one at a time Levi,” Hange pressed. She checked her watch. “And...I’m meeting someone in a few minutes.”

“Before I answer, what’s your thesis about?”

Hange looked ready to pull her hair out in frustration. “I don’t know yet but I might use it. Anyway, if you’re not gonna answer me, then we treat this Saturday as my celebration for your birthday. Deal?”

“Yes to the thesis. Yes to the early birthday. Are you happy?”

Hange let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “There. Why did that take so long to get out of you?”

Levi ignored that question. “So when are you going to tell me what your new thesis is about?”

“Maybe during your actual birthday? If you bestow on me the privilege of celebrating such an important occasion with you?“ Hange suggested. She quickly gathered her things and dumped it into her canvas bag. Her movements were wilder, messier than usual. So messy Levi found himself cringing at such a sight. He was fairly certain Hange had done that on purpose.

He only confirmed it a second later, as Hange bolted towards the door and gave him the most smug face.

Levi was sure, if he wasn’t so injured, he probably would have bolted right after her. And he was certain he would have caught up to her.

***

“Nice hoodie. The color green really suits you,” Hange called in a way of greeting.

There were no hi’s or hello’s and she hadn’t given one in a while. Yet for some reason, such an unconventional greeting still had Levi raising eyebrows. “Is this your way of making up for a few days ago?”

Hange shrugged. “What if I just wanted to compliment your new hoodie?”

“For one, this is not a new hoodie,” Levi said. “Besides we didn’t separate on the best of terms last Wednesday and you didn’t even reply to my messages after.”

“Well, I finished my paper and I started my thesis… And hey... I did leave you some messages.”

Levi was sure he didn’t receive any messages. He did not receive any notifications for sure. On top of that, he had taken the liberty as well to check back to his inbox every hour or so. Just to make sure his notifications were actually working

But still just in case he was mistaken, he checked his phone under her confused yet watchful gaze only to find that in fact he was right, she didn’t send any messages. He opened up to their untouched chat box and showed it to her.

“Did you check your document?”

“My document?”

“The one with the soldier and titan stories.”

“Why the hell would you leave messages there?”

“I was catching up to it okay.” Hange’s lips curled up into a smile as she spoke. “And I really enjoyed it. A lot. I left so many comments there. I thought you’d reply.”

Levi looked away guiltily. He turned off the notifications on the document a few weeks back. He liked to blame finals week for the inactivity. Yet with all his final papers completed and submitted, he was still making a conscious effort to ignore that document.

But did he want to tell her that? For a while maybe he did consider telling her he had no intention of touching it again.

But Hange continued talking. “When Commander Hange told Captain Levi to live with him in the woods… Wow you know you described it pretty well, I could almost imagine what was happening. Actually, now that I think about it, I think I managed to dream up something like that. But why did you have to end like that?” Hange twisted her face into a little too serious of an expression. “Shoot or listen it’s up to you.” Hange repeated, an attempt at mimicking Captain Levi for sure, but it was too comical given the context of the tirade.

Shoot or listen it’s up to you.

What if Captain Levi got shot? Before Levi could speak up though, Hange pressed on.

“Now that exams are over… are you gonna write more?”

Levi didn’t reply. Or at least, he couldn’t bring himself to verbalize a reply. Maybe he had brought his head up then down, in the form of some small nod. Maybe it could have been just him looking up to see the crowds making their way to the train station.

The train station closest to their university was one of the busiest ones in town. Even a little past eight on a Saturday morning, there were still crowds large enough that navigating through them still required some effort.

And whether Hange had seen that nod, or whether she had been too distracted by the buying of tickets and the navigating of crowds, Levi never thought too much about it. He brushed the thought aside as soon as she herself abandoned that topic of conversation and the question she asked only a second ago.

And she didn’t push that topic of conversation any longer. Even after they arrived at the platform, even after they boarded the train.

Train rides were always quiet. No one really ever started conversation in trains, instead passing the times with their phones on silent mode, save for a few children who still weren’t completely familiar yet with that unwritten rule

At that moment though, Levi was thankful. Hange was silent. He was silent. And he had a little more mind space to decide how to navigate the topic of his story.

Just in case she did ask again.

***

“Question, so is that the type of green that you imagined for the survey corps cloak?” Hange asked, pinching the sleeve of his hoodie.

Levi looked down at his hoodie. The hoodie was of a dark green color, and he only had to take a glance to put two and two together. “Yes it is.”

“I thought it would be. You know this is the same green I’m imagining.”

Levi smiled. He met Hange’s gaze and even when Hange had looked away, making her way to the park entrance, he made an effort to follow her gaze.

“You thought this far huh?” Levi asked, as she stopped at the turnstile and inserted her ticket then his ticket in.

Hange grabbed a flyer on the way out and looked back at him. “It was a good read. I really felt like I was in the story. And you know, it might sound weird but I kinda really saw myself in her. You know that passion she felt, with the titans and all… I think I’ve felt something similar back when I was still winning competitions when I was younger. I did loads of research back in high school.”

Levi only had to look back at the long hours he had spent stalking her on article after article to confirm that she was telling the truth.

Hange’s rambles about her research in high school though soon faded into some good background noise. He remembered some points, he forgot some. Then, his main focus though had been the green scenery that welcomed him as soon as they exited the train station. The station exit had opened up to a park, a large park with no end in sight. Only flowers and shrubs that lead up to trees with the mountains and horizons at the back of it all.

“When I was reading your story, they talked about what lay beyond the walls… For some reason, I imagined this park. I saw it on a documentary a few years back, streams that seem like they stretch out for eternity, miles and miles of mountains and forests. They said, when you step out of the station, it would feel like another world. And when I thought about what to do for your birthday...” Hange trailed off as she stepped forward into the main path. “I thought… why not show you the scenery I imagined? Maybe I could contribute to your story, help inspire you to write. I hope this view didn’t disappoint.”

It doesn’t. It’s beautiful.

Thinking about it, of course there had been a little more people exiting the train at that station. Of course the station would be much larger and a little more exquisite than other stations.

The view proved to be very much worth the three hour travel and the struggle of changing trains.

They had taken a regional train, then had switched to a few local ones. And looking out the window of the train then, Levi had appreciated how the landscape quickly changed almost blending across one another, the bare trees which almost had a grey tint to them, had gradually shifted to dull bare rice fields. Somewhere in between, the evergreen trees made their entrance, slowly then all at once, in some strange sort of way that Levi was never able to pick out the exact moment that he was sure, the evergreen trees were there to stay for good.

The snow had yet to fall there, and with the evergreen trees and the moss and lichens that littered the paths, Levi could at least pretend it wasn’t winter yet.

Green after all, was a very warm color.

Hange opened her map and leaned a little closer towards Levi so he could get a good look. The map was all green, decorated with markers, mini mountains, rest houses, water refill areas, toilets and picnic sites. There were flower symbols, marked by season. And skirting the circumference of the map were three circles: a large green one, inside it a red one, inside it a yellow one, a very small circle that covered two picnic areas and one flower area occupied the center and next to it a bright red arrow marker ‘You are here.’

“So, I know you wouldn’t be able to handle too much of a walk yet, so we could stick to something short? Just skirt around this area…” She traced the smallest circle along the park and turned to him expectantly.

“What do you wanna see?” Levi asked.

“Anything really. I’m just happy to be able to visit a park like this.”

“No, really Hange. What do you wanna see?” Levi pressed. He planted his bum leg on the ground and stepped forward with it with a little more finesse as if to prove a point. I can walk at least. “If I wasn’t injured right now, where would you have pulled me to go?”

There was some progress at least. He was surprised to see that he could put some extra weight on his knee without so much as a wobble. The stiff brace was probably doing all the work then but Levi was confident he could get a good number of steps across before tiring out his body.

“I’m sure we both don’t want another hospital visit.,” Hange warned.

“I’m fine. I’ve had enough physical therapy lessons and I managed to put some weight on my knee already. Even without the brace..”

For a second, there was a glimmer of hope in Hange’s eyes. She blinked it back before Levi could be sure. “I’m fine with the shortest path,” she said. “This blue one.”

“Are you sure? All we’re gonna see if we follow this path are two picnic sites, a mini forest and one portapotty. You’ll be disappointed.”

“But Levi, what if you get injured again?”

“Didn’t you say this was my birthday treat?”

“We can always go again---”

“In the summer? After you finish your thesis?” Levi raised one eyebrow at her in accusation. “We endured a three hour train ride for this. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Then… which path do you wanna follow?” Hange asked.

Levi gently placed one finger on the green one and traced it. He had only gone half way before Hange pulled the map away.

“No way. That’s at least a five kilometer hike,” Hange said.

Levi pulled the map back gently and pointed at the markers. “Come on, the landscape here seems pretty flat and there’s a forest here and a river. And if we walk ahead here... I’m guessing you wanna see the mountain? They built an observatory there,” Levi said. “Didn’t you say you wanted to know how it feels like to fly?”

Hange’s face turned a little red, her eyes looking a little unfocused as she followed the map with her eyes and looked ahead at the scenery. When Levi squinted, he could tell the peak which stood out from the rest, the small lump that stuck out on one of the hills, a little higher than the rest.

“You didn’t get to do this a lot when you were a kid huh?” Levi asked. He didn’t intend it to be a provocation at first. But when Hange folded her map and took a deep breath, he was grateful for those last few words that popped into his head then.

“My parents didn’t really like taking vacations in the countryside,” Hange admitted.

“One round around there, maybe we’ll go all the way up to the observatory and back,” Levi said. “And if my knee starts hurting, I promise, I’ll tell you.”

Hange’s lips curled up into a playful smile. “If I need to, I’ll carry you back.” She walked ahead, gesturing for him to follow. Levi was almost tempted not to follow. That little playful of an offer and the uncertainty that came with Levi wondering a little too hard about whether she was kidding or nothing, had him entertaining the idea of turning his back on her for a second.

Just to mess with her.

The view had been much stronger then, the way the sun shone on Hange and reflected on her glasses had been too beautiful of a view. It had been a while since he’d seen that much green.

And it wouldn’t be that way for the next three months at least.

As he followed her to the path that followed that large green sign, Levi started to think, maybe that experience might just be worth the embarrassment of a piggy back ride on the way back.

***

Man down!

Hey! Are you alive?

“So the river must be pretty near here huh...” Hange said, not looking up from the map.

Levi had heard the sound of the rushing water stream before she had mentioned it. Whether it had been a river or a stream, he didn’t bother trifling with such detail. The trees that lined the main path, and the sound of rushing water had brought him somewhere else, to another time.

“Wanna see the river?” Hange grabbed his hand, and pulled him towards a smaller path that had been unnoticeable from his peripherals.

As Levi looked to the right, to the shrubs that opened up into an empty space, he noticed the remnants of a path almost completely concealed by shrubs.

“Why would you wanna see the river?”

Hange shrugged. “We don’t get to see this much nature often right? If we follow it…. Maybe we can see a waterfall at the end?”

Levi narrowed his eyes. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that much nature since he had gone home for a visit more than a few years ago. Maybe that was why the greens and the landscapes had been oddly fascinating.

And Hange. Hange was a lot more entranced than he was. He could have sworn he had lost her a few times to the trees that lined the path.

“We take a look,” Levi said. “Then we go back on the path. I don’t want us getting lost here.”

Hange was too engrossed in her surroundings and then, her eyes had looked a little too wild. But the moment Levi had mentioned that last part, Hange twisted her face into a pout, a pout of defeat at least. “You’re right. Let’s just check out the river here and go back the way we came.” She clutched his hand, gripping a little tighter than usual. “Your knee is still okay right?”

Levi nodded. There could have been some lie to the reaction but it was still too small of a lie for him to need to justify anything. His knee ached for sure. It was an ache dull enough though for Levi to clock it to the tightness of his brace.

To his relief, the river was only less than a two minute walk away. It had seemed farther due to the dense forest that lined the main path. But the density could have been an illusion as well. It opened up to a treeless plain, just a good few meters of grass and beyond that was a river that harbored such a violent flow of water.

Both violent and peaceful, Levi soon realized. As if it was the river’s business to just run hurriedly towards its destination while at the same time crashing towards the shore.

“The river I imagined was a lot like this,” Hange spoke up.

“What river?”

“The one in your story.” Hange answered matter-of-factly. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

Levi wondered if his face showed any sign of that little charade. He had recognized it after all, long before Hange had even mentioned it. It turned out, only the rushing sound of water was enough for him to recall it so vividly.

The view in front of him only added salt to the wounds he just recently realized he had.

Phantom wounds. Even the word phantom couldn’t really justify how it felt then. Back he had written it, he could empathize for sure. Then and there, the view in front of him, had him touching his right eye, just to make sure it was still there and soon after, he wiggled his two fingers just to make sure they were still attached.

“Commander Hange found him in a river like this right? Did you imagine this kind of river too?”

“Maybe,” Levi muttered. He didn’t think too far as to the width of the river or the shape of the blades of grass below. The rushing of the river, the tone of Hange’s voice were enough at least to make him realize that could have very much been the river banks she had found him on. “Commander Hange would now.” Levi added a second later.

Hange cleared her throat. “Well then, I’ll make you imagine it. Call me commander Hange Zoe,” Hange said. “So after the river, where did we go next, Captain Levi?”

“You read it right?”

“They jumped into the river together,” Hange said.

Levi’s eyes widened. “They did?” Levi had dreamt of splashes, the cold water slapping at his face and the numbness that followed. Of course that would have meant them jumping into the river. But why had it taken him so long to put two and two together? “Yeah you’re right. They did.”

Hange chuckled. “Weren’t you the one who wrote it?” She looked back at the dense foliage behind them and back at him. “Let’s go back?”

“Yeah… Sure…” Levi turned on his heel, making his way back to the path only stopping when Hange grabbed at his arm and put it around her shoulder.

“You’re walking much slower now you know,” she said. “Should we go back?”

Levi shook his head. “No, keep going.” His weight on her shoulders was a familiar sensation, almost nostalgic. And the green around him, the breeze and the peaceful rustle of leaves only helped to comfort him further.

There may have been some others along the trail, but Levi wasn’t looking at anyone else. Along the way on the path, the small support had evolved to a piggy back ride.

Surprisingly, Levi wasn’t at all self conscious.

“You’re much lighter than I thought you would be.”

“I honestly feel like I’ve lost weight since the injury. I probably had a lot more muscle back in the summer.” Levi let his head hang back as he stared up at the blue sky above him. The two stopped for a rest in one of the forest clearings a good few meters away from the path.

The ground beneath him was dirty for sure and he felt the leaves and stones through his thick joggers. For some reason though, he wasn’t at all in a hurry to get up.

Hange squeezed his leg. “I’d think physical therapy would have done something about that.”

“Hange, can anyone actually gain muscle learning how to walk again?”

“I’m pretty sure you do other stuff in therapy.”

“Yeah, but it’s far from the training I used to do for high jumps,” Levi said. “Even if my knee magically heals now, who knows if I’ll even be able to manage a two meter jump again.”

Hange closed her eyes and hummed, seeming deep in thought for a second. “Captain Levi was humanity’s strongest,” she said. “Then he got injured in some explosion and ended up half dead on the banks of the river.”

Levi could only watch silently as Hange pulled her legs a little closer to herself and pressed one finger to her left eye and before he knew it, Levi found himself mirroring that slight movement, the phantom pains returned for a split second.

“But I can’t imagine the story ended there. Humanity’s strongest soldier wouldn’t go out of commission over an injury like that. After that, he had to continue fighting right?” Hange continued.

Maybe we should just live here together. Right Levi?

If we keep running and hiding, what will that get us.

The rustle of the leaves, the clear sky above him and the way Hange had rested her elbow on her knees, touching her hand to her left eye. Those were more than enough crumbs for Levi to almost hear the conversation in the silence.

Shoot or Listen. It’s up to you.

“He continued fighting,” Levi said. He let out a cough. “No--- They continued fighting. Captain Levi and Commander Hange Zoe did.”

***

“Maybe I should have built a cart,” Hange said as she rested on the bench. She heaved a breath so strong Levi could have believed she had held her breath the whole way to the rest house.

“You didn’t have to support me here. I could have walked it.”

“Believe me Levi, this isn’t much. It’s like just another day in the gym,” Hange said.

“If we were doing this months ago I could have done five rounds of this trail with you on my back.”

Hange grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

“I said five months ago. Not now.”

Levi stretched his arms out, noting how heavy it was then, particularly when compared to months ago. Back then, it had been his arms carrying him over the bar, then and there stretched out in front of him, those same arms felt like dead weight. And the dead weight stretched out to all parts of his body, all the way until his legs, settling particularly on his braced knee.

And for a second, it hurt. Enough for Levi to instinctively put his hand on top of it, an attempt to pacify it before it got unbearable.

A second later, another propped her hand on top of his and Levi followed it all the way up until Hange.

Her face was hopeful, her eyes wide with what could have been curiosity and soon enough, maybe plans and ideas. “When your knee heals, let’s do this again,” she said.

The path wouldn’t change. It would pass by the same glades, the same rivers and through the halfway point that was the rest house.

The seasons would change the scenery for sure, each would bring its own flavor to the paths. But Levi was sure that wasn’t what Hange was thinking about then as she looked elsewhere, first scanning her surroundings then settling somewhere above.

Levi didn’t have to follow her gaze to know it. It had been the main attraction since they had gotten past the forest and into the clearing.

Of course, that was what Hange would have liked to see.

There was a reason the rest house had been placed so conveniently there at that halfway point. In front of the rest house, the mountain path broke into a fork, one with the green sign which would loop back to the entrance, the other snaked up the mountain, so steeply Levi was sure in his current state, he would only injure himself further if he attempted to climb to the top.

And what lay above there, was the observatory, the one lump he had remembered seeing from the entrance of the station.

We walked that far? Levi thought to himself then. He looked to Hange who was still very much focused on the view of the observatory from their place on the bench.

You’re still looking at it? “You really wanna check it out?” Levi asked.

“The what?” Hange looked back at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

“The observatory, on the peak, up there.”

“Maybe next time.” She shrugged, “Even if you insist, I’m not making you climb that.”

The trail was steep enough at least that Levi was sure they’d have to be on all fours for a good majority of that difficult hike.

“You wanna get something to eat?” Hange asked as she held a hand out to help him up.

“Sure.”

The resthouse only offered the bare minimum, rice balls and sandwiches as if they were doing their part to prevent anybody else from overeating mid hike. Those amenities, the indoor benches and the indoor heating was more than enough though for an already exhausted Levi.

It was as if his body realized that it was time to rest, and chose that moment to complain, putting emphasis in particular to the aches and pains on his knee. Even holding on to Hange who had supported him the rest of the way, had brought with it a few more unwelcome pains and even Levi’s shoulders that had not done much but tense up as he held on to Hange, were starting to hurt.

“You tired?” She asked in between bites of her riceball.

“I’m having fun.”

“That wasn’t the question,” Hange retorted.

“Aren’t you supposed to be tired, you were pretty much supporting me the whole time.”

Hange rolled her shoulders. “I still workout in between studies. Besides I told you, you’re light.” she said.

But Levi did notice in her flushed face and the way she had paused a few times in between sentences, she was tired. Tired but still very much enjoying it. Tired but still very much unsatisfied.

And he saw it in the way she would sneak glances out the window as if…

“You really wanna climb the hill, don’t you?”

Hange bit her lip, quickly crumpling the empty wrapper of the rice ball. As if that could have been enough to stave whatever conflicted feelings seemed to be boiling inside her.

“It’s fine, okay. You can leave me here first.”

“But… I wanna see that view with you.” Hange said. “We could wait until the summer, when your leg is fully healed. Maybe we could ask Erwin about it…”

“Summer is a long time from now and before that, you’re gonna have to finish your thesis, then you’re gonna have to defend it. Who knows how quickly things will change by then,”

Hange avoided his gaze, instead focusing on the crumpled plastic wrapper in front of her and she held it in her hands like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

“Hange, I can wait here you know.” Levi pressed. “I’ve flown more than enough times to be satisfied for a lifetime. You don’t have to wait for me. Just show me the way next summer.”

Hange required more prodding after that. But Levi had figured out the secret to it already. All he had to do was subtly lead her to the spot where the path quickly bent upwards, to the steep incline, so steep that Levi couldn’t completely get a view of what lay beyond, even with his head bent back it hurt.

Hange’s face though was a little more flushed and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She was almost there.

Levi just had to push her a little closer. “It might get cold up there.” He removed his hoodie and handed it to her. “I’ll be waiting inside the resthouse so I’ll keep warm there. Just come back there after you’re satisfied.”

Hange gave him a look of surprise which quickly softened into something that resembled more a puppy that was given their first treat. “Levi….” She quickly put the hoodie on and for a good few seconds, Levi was struggling to find the next words to say.

‘That shade of green… it looks good on you too,” Levi managed to say.

“This is the survey corps green after all right?” Hange said, giving him the most cheeky expression.

“Yes. And it looks good on you, Commander Hange Zoe.” It could have been instinct or it could have been something else. But maybe along the way, he had just gotten used to pushing and prodding at her, the way she had done to him many times before.

He found himself pressing his left fist into her heart, focusing then on the way the fingers on his left hand curled clumsily into a fist. He was right handed, yet it was his left hand that fought for ground on her chest.

“Climb to your heart’s content.”

Dedicate your heart.

As Hange looked up at the steep hill above her, the afternoon sun chose that moment to shine on her, and Levi made out the sweat in her brow.

“To your heart’s content? That’s a pretty cheesy line Levi.”

That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.

And before Levi could even say a last goodbye, beg her to come back, she turned her back to him.

He could have called out to her, he was sure of it. But then, as he watched her climb, he could only stand frozen.

At first, he wanted to attribute it to the chill. He was only wearing one thin sweater, one layer, in almost sub zero temperatures. But the biting cold was the last thing on his mind.

Why didn’t you run after her?

The phantom pains came back. And that time, they weren’t pale in comparison to the rest of the sensations. They took over, as if the view in front of him then had breathed new life into those wounds.

Why couldn’t I run after her?

His whole body ached. His legs were bruised, his stomach was eating him inside out. HIs fingers burned and his face stung of wounds.

And he forced himself to look above him as Hange continued to climb. The sun was streaming right into his face, and even as his eyes burned at such a sight, Levi couldn’t look away.

It was as if the afternoon sun was eating her up, every color in her, the shadows consumed her. And soon, the only thing he could see was a black silhouette, that only got smaller and smaller the longer he looked.

See you later, Hange.

“And then what happened?” Levi muttered to himself, as if saying it out loud would make the dreams and the memories come at him faster.

They weren’t feeling obedient at all that day though.

“What happened to Hange?” He pressed, his voice a little louder than a second ago.

Levi forced himself to look back up as if searching for some sort of an answer in the view in front of him then. The memories and dreams after all had a tendency of washing over him after he fixates on the subject a little longer than necessary.

It never came though and soon enough, her silhouette was small enough to be fully covered by his pinky finger as he reached his hand out and raised his hand over his face.

And he was starting to get a little more desperate. If he couldn’t call out to those memories, he could call out to her, right?

“Hange!” Can you hear me? The memories couldn’t have ended there.

The last view of her was a silhouette, a black silhouette, much farther and much smaller than the one in front of him then. But at that moment, she felt far, completely out of reach.

Levi’s throat burned, his vision blurred as if trying to get rid of even that remnant of view.

Around that time, time stopped. Everything started to dissolve into conglomerations of sights and sounds. He was starting to even have trouble processing the rustling of the leaves and even the voices in the background.

And as he tried to take control of his body then, with the smaller motions, Levi soon started to realize he wasn’t even in control of his fingers, his hands or his legs. He moved the goalposts, attempting to at least take control of breaths, the rhythm as he swallowed that lump in his throat.

His body though was a spiteful thing. As soon as he became aware of those small motions though, it deprived him of those comforts as well.

And Levi soon found himself struggling to breathe, struggling to swallow.

Soon, he was struggling to do anything to remind himself that his body was still his to control.

“Hey, sir are you okay?”

What…

“Hey Levi… Look at me?”

Hange… When did you get here?

Hange’s eyes were fixed on his. And she narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows as if deep in thought. And in her eyes he saw a glimmer of something else. Concern?

Soon enough, a shadow went over his right eye and before Levi could recoil, it was gone. But the shadow left the cool feeling of something wet under his eyes.

Wet...Tears?

Hange spoke up only confirming it. “Levi… Why are you crying?”

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 2.2k / 4.9k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: canon-typical violence

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Two: The Question

Din Djarin did not have a Match.

Din Djarin did not have a Match.

He couldn’t.

How, why didn’t matter…

He just couldn’t.

Right?

This Woman with a small dark spot high on her cheekbone and finely calloused hands and wearing his shirt couldn’t be his Match.

She just… couldn’t.

It was just coincidence that he was pulled into her orbit, like a comet desperately seeking gravitational equilibrium.

And it was coincidence that she apparently felt the same. Even foggy as she was.

She still had not said a word, did not reply or even react when addressed, but she always floated in Din’s direction when he stepped away.

Which wasn’t very often.

The urge, or ‘bond’ as the Armorer called it, was only satisfied if she was near.

The pair of them were something of a side-show in the covert for the evening.

Even through beskar and dark visors, gazes felt heavy on Din’s shoulders.

Outside the covert, curiosity – whether hostile or benign – was expected.

But here? Never before.

He thought about leaving. But as confused as she was, dragging her, barefoot, back through the streets of Nevarro, even just to the ship seemed unwise.

So Din found a spare room in the covert–The Woman following in his wake, fingers still threaded with his.

It was barely more than a door and two stone benches that could pass for beds if needed. But solitude was necessary for his kind.

He found himself hoping she’d speak once they were alone.

She didn’t.

But she did grow tired before too long. Not surprising given her recent clinic visit.

“You can sleep here,” he said, gesturing to one of the benches embedded in the wall.

She did not reply. Or move.

He was not used to being the verbose one.

“Here.” He offered her his cape, threadbare at the bottom but warm enough. She took it, thumbs brushing across the fabric.

Nodding once, he moved for the door.

She followed.

“You need to sleep. I’ll be outside.”

He stepped back and she stepped forward.

“No–” he huffed in minor annoyance. Turning her around by the shoulders, he guided her to one of the benches and sat her down. Gently by firmly. “Sleep. ...Please.”

He stepped back once. Twice. She didn’t move.

On the third step, she made to rise, but his hand outstretched stopped her.

He at least made it to the door before she stood back up.

He surrendered with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay here.” Sitting down on the opposite bench from her. “Satisfied?”

She apparently wasn’t as she drifted to sit on the bench, hand fitting into his as she curled up next to him.

A beskar pauldron couldn’t have been a comfortable pillow, but it might as well have been down-filled silk for as quickly as she dropped off.

He waited an hour, then two, just to be absolutely certain she was completely asleep, listening to her gentle breathing turn deeper and slower. Then he eased her off his shoulder to lie down, leaving his cape for her blanket.

She didn’t stir as he headed to leave the room, the door hissing open in front of him.

Stay.

A fist pressed to the front of his helmet for a minute in frustration.

Stay.

There’d be no peace if he resisted.

So he sat down in the furthest corner of the room from her, tipping his helmet back to rest in the crook of the walls.

Her sleeping form was the last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut.

But when they opened a few hours later, the bench was empty.

His head jerked up only to realize that The Woman had simply moved.

Her head now rested on his collarbone, his arm wrapped around her, her hand clasped in his, pressed tight to his cuirass.

Something high in his chest cracked, fissures reaching magma flow far below, and his next breath quaked.

Beskar cautiously pressed to the top of her hair was not perfect, not even ideal.

But the alternative was terrifying.

The next morning dawned and The Woman still had not spoken, still drifted in a haze where Din was her only heading.

“I don’t know what to do with her,” he said, in the early afternoon, back in the Armorer’s forge.

This time with The Woman at his side, hand in his as always.

“I have work to do.”

“Take her with you,” the Armorer replied.

“I can’t do that.” His work was dangerous enough without spacey tag-alongs who did not listen to reason.

“She won’t be happy to stay here. And neither will you.”

Silence seemed the better reply than admitting how correct she was.

“Can you keep her here while I get supplies?”

“Yes.”

Din was never a meandering purchaser, but it was perhaps the shortest supply run he’d ever made. And that was with the addition of finding clothes and shoes he hoped would fit her.

Karga even made mention that he ‘seemed awfully anxious to get going’. But he coughed up four new pucks after a solid minute of silence.

The Woman was waiting at the western entrance of the covert when he returned and followed along happily back to The Razor Crest, now dressed in nondescript pants and tunic that suited the weather.

He set her down in the co-pilot’s seat and started the engines. Cleared for take off. Coordinates plotted. But first––

Turning back to face her, she looked his way, eyes still distant. “If you want to be taken somewhere, just tell me.”

As if that diffused the uneasy energy of leaving a planet with her.

Again.

She seemed entranced by the pulsing blur of hyperspace, eyes wide and unmoving from the windows.

Seeing as there was just one bed aboard, it made sense to sleep in shifts.

Though every time, he woke to her sitting at the cabinet opening, holding his hand.

He really couldn’t bring himself to mind.

He’d never had many passengers aboard his ship before, at least ones not stored in carbonite. But when he had, they felt like an intrusion. Something to be stepped around and removed at the soonest possibility.

It made very little sense why The Woman didn’t fall into the same category.

The first quarry was on Felucia. Seemed a group of bandits had been making life difficult for the local villages, difficult enough to pay Guild rates to have the base cleared out and the leader brought back in carbonite, ideally to be left in there.

The Woman was sleeping when they arrived. He hoped she’d remain that way in the time it took him to finish the job, which he didn’t think would be long. There were two dozen bandits at most, ill equipped and even less trained.

He slung his rifle over his shoulder and paused to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Stay.

“I’ll be back,” he said in a low tone, before forcibly ignoring the bond and heading out.

Return.

Unfortunately, in his admittedly distracted scouting of the base, he missed the patrols they were doing of the surrounding forest.

Which is how his nest was stumbled on by some truly lucky trandoshans, who just happened to have back up already on the way, and Din was disarmed, cuffed, and taken into the yard behind the walls of the base.

Not ideal, but he’d been in worse setups.

Though the odds tilted out of his favor when the head of this bandit ring was revealed to be an ex-storm trooper sergeant. That had not been in the briefing.

No wonder there were forest patrols… and imperial grade handcuffs.

At least they let him keep his helmet for the time being.

However, they were unfortunately interested in how he’d gotten to them. A search party was immediately dispatched to find his ship.

They hadn’t been gone more than five minutes when suddenly,

Danger.

Oh no.

The Sergeant’s comm link activated. “Ship not yet located, but we did find something else, boss.”

“What?”

“Kursan is bringing her to the base.”

No. No. No.

“Well, well, well. This yours, Mando?” the Sergeant laughed as The Woman was brought into the yard at blaster point. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The Woman did not answer. She tried to step away from Kursan, but his grip on her arm stopped her, blaster pressing to her back.

“Let her go,” Din said. “She’s not part of this.”

“Oh, so, she’s up for grabs then?”

The Sergeant chuckled when Din did not reply. “‘Cause, ah… I know she’s not a local. And it’s not everyday beautiful women come wandering through the forests of Felucia.”

Danger!

He grinned. “This just got interesting. I know you Mandalorian types. Torture doesn’t bother you. Rip your lungs out and you still wouldn’t talk.” The Sergeant swaggered over to one of the weapons racks, picking up a bo staff. “You’re big on honor, loyalty. But more importantly, Protection.”

The Sergeant turned back to face The Woman, regarding her closely. “I wonder how pretty her face will be after I’m through,” he said quietly, steadily.

Rage breaking through control, Din pulled at his cuffs but they held strong.

“Leave her alone!” Din snapped.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

“Tell me where your ship is.”

Din gaze swept through the area, hopping from his restraints to his captors, seeking alternate routes. Desperate ploys. Anything.

The Sergeant did not wait, bo staff meeting The Woman’s ribs with a crack. She cried out and dropped to her knees, arms wrapped around her middle.

“Tell me where the ship is.”

With a swift inhale, the Sergeant lifted the bo staff for another swing–

“It’s on the ridge. A klick and a half due south.”

The Sergeant grinned again. “There. Now was that so difficult?”

He swung the bo staff down towards her–

“NO,” Din yelled–

The Woman’s hand caught the staff, mid-swing.

Her head snapped up. Snarl on her mouth.

She snagged the staff sideways, through the Sergeant’s grip, and gouged it into Kursan’s stomach.

His blaster fell to the ground. She grabbed it.

One shot, Kursan was down.

Second shot, hit the middle of the Sergeant’s cuirass, making him stumble back, and she got hold of the bo staff.

One quick swing knocked him to the ground.

Din used the cover of surprise to knock his blaster out of the hands of his guard.

Grabbing it, one shot to kill that guard and a second to kill the other.

The rest of the battlements finally caught on and opened fire into the yard.

The Woman ran for cover behind a parked imperial shuttle as Din tried to draw as much attention as possible away from her. Still cuffed, but at least he had the beskar.

A post under the battlements was as best cover as he could find. But it gave him a clear view of the opposite wall. Another shot, another guard fell.

A body dropped right in front of him, shot down by The Woman on the other side of the yard.

Who was she–no. Curiosity could be dealt with later, right now he was just kriffing grateful.

In tandem, they methodically took out the guards on the wall.

But Din lost sight of the Sergeant in the chaos.

He found him again when the Sergeant and The Woman came around the shuttle, bo staff and axe swinging furiously.

Din rolled out of cover, getting the last few guards she left behind above him.

The Sergeant blocked her high swing, but wasn’t ready as she brought the bottom up between his legs.

Then around to sweep his feet out from under him again.

Din turned and fired, hitting the gap between his cuirass and pauldron. The Sergeant collapsed.

The Woman turned on Din, gun back out and pointed his way.

One last guard, buried in cover, popped out and got off a single shot that pinged off Din’s armor.

Without looking away from Din, The Woman fired and the guard fell.

Oh.

Silence filled the yard as she turned her gun back on Din.

Her eyes were clear now, scorching in their fury. He was far more likely to die by her hand than any of the bandits.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and Din had never seen anyone more miraculous.

He dared a step closer, still cuffed, blaster in one hand but lowered.

Her grip tightened on her gun.

Probably best to stop moving so the conversation didn’t begin in gunfire.

Her grip flexed again, and her brows flickered together.

Help.

“It’s alright,” he said in a calm, low tone.

She didn’t care much for that, fury flaring brighter.

Frustration became palpable as her mouth opened but no words came out.

She was straining for something, tension pulling her muscles taught. The hand on her bo staff shook once, till finally–

“VAII,” she demanded, the single word wrenched from her mouth with a great deal of effort.

It’d been so long since he’d heard mando’a outside of the covert, it took a moment for the word to register.

“Vaii me’bana?” he asked when she didn’t clarify. Where-what?

“Vaii!?” she repeated, after a shorter struggle.

“Felucia.” He hoped that was what she was asking.

Frustration and fury simmered down into confusion. Mouth opening again but no words coming out for a moment.

“Tion?” How?

Somewhere inside the compound, an alarm sounded.

Next: Chapter Three: The Promise

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[notoriousjae]

Love is a Little Box (For Home to Lay Inside) || Edeleth Fanfic (1/?)

Chapter Title: A Heart

Pairing: Byleth Eisner (F)/ Edelgard von Hresvelg

Rating: M

Chapter Description:

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Chapter 1 (Current) | AO3 | Below:

It's a peaceful day in Garreg Mach.

The sun catches along the lightly swelling waves of a familiar pond, wrinkles in blue caused by the light winds dancing Sothis’ fingertips along its surface. It’s hard to know whether Sothis was a Goddess but it’s  easy  to imagine that contradictory carefully carefree  smile full of restraint and curiosity as small hands skimmed along the ripples of the pond in the heart of Garreg Mach, feeling moisture beneath palms--learning what water might feel like, again, for the both of them.

You need to experience things, Sothis would say and Byleth would experience them, because she had never known to experience them, before. 

Or maybe Sothis would just...hover behind Byleth’s shoulder as she watched a line bob for an hour before she yawned, disappearing into the cold of a tomb she’s made in a baby’s chest that became the casket nestled in a woman’s.

It’s easy, too, to understand why people think Sothis is  everywhere , because Byleth feels her, still. In the air...and the wind...and the water--

They were both familiar with the pond at Garreg Mach and a sense of... something--easy; warm; familiar?--stirs quietly in Byleth’s chest as she watches the pond and thinks of green eyes and hair and soft fingertips before she hears paper rustle a little behind her.

The feeling transforms a little like that tomb had.

“You know, Edelgard,” Byleth hums, chin dipping over her shoulder to watch her--a rare moment where  both of them happen to actually be in the same place without a need for something sharp and pointy (or a strategic exit). “Fishing is a tactician’s game.” 

Edelgard chuckles quietly to herself but looks up from her book all the same. Edelgard having time to read is probably rarer than them sharing time together, at all, and pulling her from it makes Byleth feel--

Hmm…

Her chin tips up in thought. It makes her... feel …

Edelgard interrupts.

“Is that so?” 

Byleth nods, serious, and watches the way red fabric shifts as Edelgard turns to listen to her--to watch her--with the same rapt attention she had as a student, and still keeps to date in the war council. 

“They say it’s chess, but that’s not the case.”

“They say that because chess is the tactical routing of an opponent. It’s meant to  mimic  a battlefield.” The Emperor practically quotes from the  tactician’s guide and Byleth watches the breeze skirt over the surface of the water and wonders if Sothis would have fondly chuckled, but the only sound she hears is the water and the idle, far-away chatting of a few soldiers.

How would Edelgard feel, knowing a Goddess was so fond of her?

Byleth shakes her head.

“How many battlefields have you been on, El?” 

“Countless.”

“How many battlefields resembled the neatly-drawn lines of a chessboard, where everyone took turns and you could predict your opponent’s attacks with statistics and  math?” 

“...none.” Edelgard looks pained to admit, begrudging, sighing as she tucks her book at her hip. 

“Chess is just…” Byleth’s head tips, “...the memorization of strategies. You’re not creating anything new. When you’re facing someone in chess, you’re...just applying the most appropriate thing you’ve memorized that you can think of for that moment for the situation in front of you and hoping it works.” 

“Alright.” And Edelgard stands, then, setting her book upon the bench, armored boots clicking as she walks along the stone towards the pond with that same studious look, hands settling on hips. Maybe one of these days they’ll both be comfortable enough fishing and reading and relaxing to do it without wearing armor. “Then what is  fishing ?”

“Fun.” At Byleth’s amused look, Edelgard tutts and steps closer, obviously not having appreciated being  baited over to the pier. She likely also wouldn't approve of the pun a little too similar to Alois' (and Petra's, lately) so Byleth keeps it to herself. A little more serious, “Are you sure you want to know? You don’t enjoy fishing. But I'm always okay teaching you.”

“You are currently the most renowned tactician Fódlan has ever seen. It could be argued you are a key point in elevating the war campaign into a rousing victory. If I have a chance to learn  how that wonderful mind of yours ticks, I’d be remiss not to take it for the betterment of the Empire.”

“...you could have just said yes.” Brows knit, head barely tipping to the side--no longer teasing--and Byleth cuts off Edelgard’s undoubtedly annoyed reply. She doesn’t have to divinely intimate it’s coming to see it on parted lips, “Not everything needs such a complicated reason, El. If you’d like to learn, let yourself learn. You don’t have to explain your motivations just because people have questioned them in the past. And you don’t always have to do things to make you  better , it’s fine to just fish. Although," A thoughtful look, "You’ll probably learn something in the process, anyways.”

Maybe Byleth has spent too much time answering the notes in the confessional.

“You’ll teach me to the end, won’t you?” It’s fonder--softer. Edelgard purses lips before letting the criticism settle, nodding. “Then...yes, Byleth.” Byleth smiles and Edelgard’s shoulders visibly lose the last of their tension when she quietly smiles back. “I...suppose I  would  like to learn. Especially since it’s something you take such an interest in.”

Edelgard slowly unhooks gauntlets about wrists, setting them to the side, white gloves underneath catching the sunlight like melted snow.

“Fishing,” Byleth nods before reeling in the line. “Is a  real  battlefield. It’s long moments of waiting followed by sharp, tense moments of excitement. Everything is planning. You find fish like you scout your battlefield--” Once the line is reeled, she hands the pole to Edelgard, whose nose wrinkles only a  little at the feeling of her gloves getting wet. 

Unlike most nobles, after all, Edelgard doesn’t mind dirt and muck and mud--she had been covered in them for years. Battlefields weren’t glamorous.

(Neither was fishing).

And so Byleth feels her chest swell with... something  as the other woman totes up the rod, ready to learn, like she had picked up a lance in lessons. Not proficient with it, but  willing . 

A challenge.

“So we scout our enemies--what do you see in front of you?” Byleth steps behind her and scans the horizon over her shoulder.

“A pond. I see a ripple in the corner--” A true general starts, “The wind is shifting the current  towards  me, so I’ll likely have to adjust how I throw my line in order to hit my target.” Her chin tips backwards and looks to her professor, who nods, encouraging. “The light is hitting the right side of the pond, and will fade across it in an hour, creating warmth for the fish, and they’ll likely follow it. They’ll stay below the surface because they’ll want to avoid predators. Or my professor’s  infamous rod and net, which catches anything under its shadow.” 

“You approach things like a soldier.” There’s a knowing praise on her lips and Edelgard straightens just a little beneath it, “And a leader of troops. You’ve noted some important things, Edelgard, which are good to trap the fish in this moment...but we need to think of the bigger picture. What else do you see? What do you hear? What do you smell?” 

Light brows knit as an Emperor once more takes in the blue, glistening pit that’s become her battlefield. 

Byleth leans forward to gently wrap fingers around her wrist, guiding the shorter woman backwards so that she can mimic her eyes with her own, listening to the faint gasp of breath that catches on lips before Edelgard seems to focus, determined, now. 

A professor settles her chin on Edelgard’s shoulder, far more familiar in touching this student in particular, these days. 

Rare, but...familiar.

And the way Edelgard eases just a little into her reminds Byleth that sometimes the rarest of things are welcome. 

“What matters to people on a battlefield?” 

“The same as what matters to people founding cities: food, shelter, water, and safety.” Edelgard immediately replies. 

“So what matters to fish? Your goal is to trap the enemy and reel them in--what might stand in your way of that?” 

“I see…” Realization floods that calm voice, Edelgard’s head moving about as she takes in the pond in a seemingly new light. “The monastery. It’s...four o’clock, coming into five, and that path on the left will be tread by the church service let out. They’ll be noisy and their footfalls will probably disturb the pond. The squires like to come here to throw rocks on Wednesdays, and the washing happens in the corner. They’ll be pushed into the middle of the pond, even though the light will be on the West end of it. And I smell…” Edelgard’s nose wrinkles. “...fish soup? How is that relevant? Are they scared of their fate?” 

It’s... nice to hear Edelgard joke.

“Rain.” Byleth offers knowingly. “You can taste the condensation on the air, if you can't smell it.”

“How could you smell that over the kitchens?” 

Byleth shrugs, stomach idly grumbling because she  does smell the kitchens. 

“Is this...how you look at everything?” Edelgard is looking over her shoulder, now, close enough that Byleth smells far more of her hair than the rain and it’s a welcome change. She could smell the clouds over the food, but Byleth isn’t sure anything but Edelgard could ever fill her lungs, in this moment. “Is this how you see battlefields?” 

“Yes.” Hands curve gently over the rod, raising fingers to paint a grid in the pond where Violet eyes can follow, “It’s  real  chess. You’re good with strategy when you’re expecting it. You can plan in advance and are great facing adversity on the battlefield as a soldier--you’re always quick to react--but a battlefield is never as clean as chess. We both know that.” 

She feels fingers flex beneath her own, gripping the rod not out of being corrected, but vigor.

“I see.” And Edelgard  has  always been good with critique--with that infinite urge to  strive further --and there’s that tightness in Byleth’s chest, again. Warm and soothing, pressing herself against the flat of Edelgard’s back. 

She hadn't thought holding someone could be so comfortable.

“You shouldn’t be...picking a strategy to go up against whatever opposing strategy you  think  you're seeing on the battlefield, hoping the one you picked is better." 

“I... should  be thinking of how they respond, and naturally taking in the world and their needs. You’re saying I shouldn’t just assume they’ll react tactically--but...naturally and true to themselves?” 

“Exactly. Everyone has a primal urge--it’s true there’s...math and statistics, and we can always take two strategies and see which path people will be most  likely  to take, because the truth is that  most people are just as skittish as these fish. If I toss a rock into the pond, they’ll flee to the other side, because we know they’re scared of it--it’s something they’ll avoid. But not everyone is as scared as a fish.”

“Many enemies are...noble. Are fighting because they believe in the opposition of your own wants and desires.” Edelgard quietly agrees and Byleth nods. 

“So if you  identify  your enemy’s needs and desires--what they think is important, whether the rain will make them move, whether the light will keep them warm, whether the noise will scare them--you’ll know which way they’ll go, and you’ll know what they do. And then you go fishing.” 

“I see.” Edelgard repeats, quieter, now, watching the pond for a moment before she asks, “Is that why you--” A rare pause and it sounds like she might think over the question before redirecting, or maybe rewording. It’s interesting enough for Byleth to lean back and watch her, fully. “...spared Flayn?” A moment passes before she continues, “We were surrounded by soldiers with the city on fire and I  trusted you, I never hesitated to accept your choice in sparing her, but I didn’t understand, then, that it might have been…” She shakes her head, and this is one of those moments where she wonders if there’s a question behind the words. Edelgard is full of layers, she’s found, and while Byleth has learned so many of them, she feels there’s so many more to be found. A woman of secrets, all tucked away in a hidden box Byleth has yet to fully find. “Was it a tactical decision?”

A bare hand comes up to rest on Edelgard’s shoulder in thought, still pressed against her back as she thinks--lets the question settle before nodding. 

“Yes. And no. Our enemies aren’t the only fish.” Byleth offers, “Flayn...didn’t have to die. Neither did Seteth. The best battles are the ones where you minimize casualties on both sides,” Her head dips to the side, remembering the heat on her shoulders. Her back. Remembering the way she had barely cupped Edelgard’s palm in curling fingers after the fighting in a rickety war tent on the outskirts of the battle, the puckered flesh of hands beneath gauntlets singed through and burnt along the metal of Aymr in the flames. The healing waves from Byleth’s fingertips had turned them into slivers of scars beneath red grieves--two more to match thousands that litter ivory skin. 

She remembers the way Flayn had coughed, the smoke settled in both their lungs, fingers curled and bloodied into the tuft of a Pegasus’ quaking wings, matted with soot and blood. Both of them panting wisps of heat. Weak.

We’re family , she had said once, but looked at Byleth with nothing short of sadness, then. Not betrayal, just...sadness.

Perhaps that’s what family filled in people: hope, sadness, and loss in equal measure. That’s how Byleth remembers Jeralt. It's how she remembers Sitri.

It's how she remembers Rhea.

Byleth mulls over the words--the odd...ache that the memory fills in her chest--the worried gratitude that had settled on Edelgard’s features, after the fight. A look she’d seen several times, over the years, when Byleth had chosen  Edelgard and life over a church’s firm thumb.

The Emperor of Fódlan, cloaked in red and black and on her knees in the soot, didn’t want the world to die (despite what some apparently claimed) and the moment Byleth offered someone might be spared, Edelgard always took the chance with equal parts relief and trepidation.

Just because war had been the only way didn't mean death truly was.

This thought, it-- feels--

“They needed an escape route. They needed to know that our battle was righteous, not  wicked,  I guess. To use...whatever words the Church probably used. If we took them, we took the battle, and we would demoralize the troops. But it isn’t always about killing. If we killed Flayn, Seteth would have been...inconsolable. He would have become a danger to fight, and he was already dangerous--we didn’t  need  to fight him. Some fires are better to...put out quickly, than let them burn and spread. Some fires are  supposed to burn, but...not that one.” 

Her brows knit and she’s surprised when Edelgard turns Byleth’s chin towards her own, something unreadable in her eyes. 

And Edelgard waits, simply holding her for this brief moment, like she knows there’s more, because there is.

“ And  I didn’t want her to die.” Byleth says simply, only to her--only in this safe quiet of a courtyard--and the woman who she intends to spend  all days like this with, who nods as fingertips curl beneath Byleth's chin. 

“How did you know they wouldn’t retaliate when you let them go? That they wouldn’t go back to Rhea?” Edelgard quietly presses. 

“I didn’t, I guess...but I know my fish.” Byleth looks back towards the pond. 

“Which is why we won.” Edelgard surmises. “Our initial strategy was outmatched when we arrived. And your responding strategy on the battlefield to split up and focus our forces around the fire--sparing key combatants... that’s  what won.” And she sounds almost  praising  when she says, a little in awe, “You didn’t just choose a strategy or response, you...went fishing.”

“A tactician’s game.” Byleth’s voice skirts along her ear and Edelgard eases backwards against her enough that she can wrap an arm fully around a slim waist, now.

This information seems to cement Edelgard's drive.

“What do we do next?”

“We take all of that into account and cast the line.” 

And so Byleth shows her the technical aspects of fishing--of how to throw and cast and reel in, despite the elements of noise and wind and heat. Shows her how to tactically assume where the fish might try to escape upon being caught on a line--how to pull it and unhook it without harming it and kill it the quickest way possible. She tells her about bait, and how to read shadows, and how to choose a fishing spot--

“So you just...stand here and  wait for it to bite?”

“Like waiting for a charge on a battlefield. See? The anticipation--” Byleth lightly tickles her stomach and Edelgard chuckles and bats away her hands and Edelgard listens to every word, until she stands on her own and reels in a smacking fish that flops against her knee with no guidance, a few hours later.

Ever the quick study. 

The warmth spreads through a chest still so unaccustomed to it and settles in her lungs and fills her so deeply that Byleth has to pull away to look at the happiness on Edelgard’s face. 

Proud. Edelgard looks proud.

This feeling is...startling.

“I’ve forgotten how marvelous you were at teaching, Professor. Unorthodox, as always, but still so phenomenally proficient.” Edelgard  hums , careful to unhook the fish exactly as shown, shaking away water and the scent from her fingertips before slipping back on gloves. And then turns her attention up to said professor. “You look yalms away.” It’s softer and Byleth slowly looks up from fingertips to familiar eyes, that warmth pressing against her chest...consuming. Distracting.

Her face contorts in confusion and she shakes her head.

Does she look far away?

“...I’m sorry--” 

“Are you alright?” It’s even gentler, barely heard over the wind and the soft sound of the rain starting to gently patter about their feet and the fish in its bucket full of water in deep plops, and the pond where the fish scatter from its cold intrusion. Edelgard steps closer and Byleth nods.

“I’m...fine.”

“What is it?” It’s an invitation and Byleth must visibly hesitate because Edelgard steps closer, still, careful--

“I…” A huff of breath through lips, feeling-- feeling  -- “I just...  felt something, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Edelgard is rare with her affection on the grounds but fingertips raise up to gently brush ragged bangs from Byleth’s eyes. This is the closest she’s felt all month, even a moment ago in her arms, and an ache churns in Byleth’s stomach. It’s a testament to how much a student changed over the years, because she asks instead of assuming she knows the best recourse: “Are you in any pain? Do you want me to call for Manue--”

“No. No, it’s nothing like that. I felt--” Brows still knit and, words failing her, Byleth gently takes Edelgard’s hand and lowers it to her heart, where its weak thud aches (and aches) up towards the warmth of familiarity. Presses a palm of white against the black-cloaked, hidden place that used to be so  still. It stirs like coal simmering beneath ashes, vibrating fingertips and her chest and her throat. It beats so steadily that Byleth might think it would scare those fish away. “I  felt something. New.”

“Oh.” The realization settles deep in widening violet.

“Maybe not  new , just...different. It all feels…”

Different.

Edelgard’s fingers splay over heart and Byleth’s breath catches, looking away.

“Do you know what it was?” 

“No. It felt...like--” A tongue darts over lips before she tries-- “I’m still--” It feels so odd to say--to  admit --out loud.

“You can tell me.” El promises, leaning closer so that it’s just them standing in the soft, gentle rain, neither of them minding. For the moment, at least, their voices barely heard over the sky’s gentle cry. Byleth hesitates. “My teacher…” El whispers in her ear, “They’re  our  problems, remember? You’ve taught  me  so much, the least I can do is help you untangle  this.” 

“I’m…” Byleth eases tense muscles beneath Edelgard’s fingertips, wordlessly lifting up her cloak to shield them from the rain, “I’m still learning what all of them mean. It’s like...waking up and trying to remember a dream. I’ve...I think I’ve  felt  these things before. I’ve just never felt them so...” Her head tilts to the side, “...  strongly.” 

“And what do you feel now?” 

It’s started to rain a bit more, gentle, graceful drops. The kind that makes the grass smell like dew and hides the scent of enemies in a battlefield, even if it helps make their tracks clearer due to the mud their boots will sink into after it's settled, trapped.

The kind that makes Edelgard’s hair stick to her chin, if they’re out in it long enough, framing the curving edges of her smile on the unlikely occasion it’s only them en route to a mission or a skirmish or a battlefield.

Or fishing by a pond in Garreg Mach.

Byleth pulls up her cloak enough to block out the rain from Edelgard's eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“Alright.” Edelgard pulls enough away to see her in the shadows of the black cloak surrounding them, looking thoughtful and determined for a moment before she tries, “Then what...did it feel  like ? What were you thinking? What did you want, in the moment?” 

“I don’t know.” Byleth admits, trying to sort it through, calm and methodical, “...it was... good .” A little more certain, mulling it over before she repeats, firmer: “It was good.”

“Good.” El sounds relieved in a way likely only Byleth and Hubert would be able to hear of it in her voice. 

“Warm. I was watching you fish and I was thinking of how much you’ve  grown as a person, and into who I knew you could be, and how...” Her head tips upwards, thinking of the way Edelgard had looked at her own catch, realizing: “...proud of you I am.”

El blinks, rain tickling down cheeks to Byleth’s chin before she quietly...smiles. Beautiful. And the warmth is there but  different  , again. Spreading.  Aching . 

“You felt  proud of me?”

“I...yes. I  feel  ,” Byleth settles on, a little more sure--a little more confident and sturdy--meeting Edelgard’s eyes with her second resolute nod, “  Proud of you.” 

Byleth has read about pride. It’s the emotion that precedes arrogance in novels--the emotion that can heat someone’s palms to war; It’s the emotion that swells up in a lover’s chest when they watch the eye of their heart succeed, or a mother when their child writes a song and defies them to sing it to a nation; it’s many people’s downfall. Heroes. Villains. People.

It’s Byleth’s success, as a teacher. And...the woman who feels for Edelgard as she does.

“Byleth…” El softens and beneath the thin weight of Byleth’s coat, which must seem like safety enough from prying eyes and the scattered fish, she leans up to kiss her cheek, near the edge of lips, and the breath rattles in an Emperor’s lungs before it pushes out between them, steady and warm. Her voice rumbles like quiet thunder in the distance, but Byleth's never seemed safer beneath it, “Who I am, today, is because of you, I think you have  reason to be proud.” 

“You’re giving me  too much credit.” Byleth murmurs, dismissing, and Edelgard kisses her again, near the other edge of barely curved lips, the sound of a fish flopping in the bucket next to them missed beneath the rain.

“My love,” Edelgard doesn’t laugh, but she does  smile in her wry amusement, and that warmth burns and burns and burns in Byleth’s cool chest, “You don’t give yourself enough.” 

Pride

Byleth knows this word, but didn’t understand its meaning. 

Not until Edelgard taught her.

“Next time you feel something new, you should tell me,” El offers, “We can sort it through, together. However confusing it might be, certainly it’s no rival for our combined wits.” Byleth thinks on it for a long moment before she nods and looks down towards Edelgard's first catch. “For now...why don't we cook tonight's dinner?" 

The cloak lowers as Byleth pauses, an almost shy smile tucking up the edges of lips before it smooths into something calm, "Sure. We'll cook it together." 

There's many things Edelgard rouses pride in her Professors' chest. Her passion and compassion--her intellect and deduction--her triumphs and the way she's learned humbled, and with dedication, from her failures--her fishing and, perhaps, most of all...her smile. 

Edelgard seems determined to add  her cooking to that list and while Byleth has a staunch feeling that today will not be that day, she finds herself...excited(? Hopeful? Pleased?) at all the days they can spend finding out.

(Even if she always makes sure the Head Cook sets aside a separate meal for them, just in case).

Byleth leans over to pick up a small little wooden box off the bench and later that evening, slides Edelgard's first hook inside.

----

In truth to their vows to each other in the Goddess Tower, they become a unified front. Although Byleth is unsurprised by the fact that this means not much  changes in their lives (outside of winning a war) because they were a unified front, before.

In strategy, battle, and tactics--in facing their enemies and their friends--but maybe... some things are different.

Like the nearly shy looks Edelgard sends Byleth’s way when no one is looking--or their moments, after the long days have set to night and the war counsel empties to two, that they sit and discuss what future might await them on the horizon, just out of reach but growing closer by the day. 

‘I’ve always wanted to go to Albinea’  ,  El’s wistful hum is lost in the quiet of the room, echoing around them as she leans up against the table they once had lessons on. Byleth’s arms cross as she leans next to her, their hips resting comfortably side-by-side as they have for the past two and a half years.

Byleth wouldn’t be surprised if El insisted the past   eight    years.

Time has passed, since the war, but she’s learned it doesn’t stop. Not anymore. Then again, it never   stopped    for Byleth--it only ever folded backwards in on itself like a rumpled shirt or sifted through her fingertips like sand she’d intended to throw into the eyes of an attacker, but lost to the ground, instead.

‘Me too.’ Byleth’s hand idly scratches nails along her chest and she lets out a small breath when she feels Edelgard’s fingers barely skim along the inside of her wrist, both of them hovering over her heart. ‘Maybe we can go there, when this is all over with.’

‘Let’s.’ And El smiles and that feeling...   blooms    and Byleth’s hand stills along her heart and Edelgard stills along with it. A curious look must have settled on Byleth’s face, because the next thing she knows--

‘...perhaps you’re feeling...hopeful.’ Edelgard boldly offers, shifting a little closer and Byleth’s eyes flick down to her lips. 

‘Is   that  what I feel?’ 

‘That’s up to you to say.’

‘Hopeful.’ She tastes before the summoning bell rings above them and they pull away.

Edelgard’s fingers linger in her own before they untwine, walking down the hall hip-by-hip towards the tower, their knuckles brushing with each step.

The moments are still rare, but they seek them out, now, the light from the sky catching along Edelgard’s ring before a glove is slid over fingertips.

Hope.

(Maybe not all futures must wait until after the shadows are scattered by light).

And hip-by-hip is how they tackle a professor’s removed, textbook examination of her own heart with Edelgard’s life experience (what she  has of it), slowly sorting out the feelings that have begun to stir in Byleth’s chest. 

They’ve both been removed from emotions for so long, maybe it’s nice for Edelgard to find them, too.

What is this feeling? Byleth learns to murmur in the air by Edelgard’s ear, and they’ll arrive at a conclusion, together. 

‘Contentment’ in the early morning as Byleth sets tea down on the soft, rustling white cloth in the gardens, watching the steam curve around Edelgard’s smile like hair caught around her cheek in the rain, their wrists creeping towards each other beneath the chipped porcelain that’s survived far more than a war--something soft and settling like fresh linens on a bed Byleth is still getting used to sleeping on; 

‘Disappointment’ in the moments their fingers touch and are pulled away by duty, the sound of their quiet laughter lingering throughout the stone halls similar to how the cathedral used to catch Dorothea’s voice as it rang throughout--aching and quiet as Byleth watches Edelgard’s smile fade into something serious and resolute; 

‘ Amusement ’ Edelgard wryly comments as Lindhardt successfully spars Caspar by continuously ruffling his hair with a sleepy grin and a yawning, batting hand--fluttering like a bird’s wings against her ribcage, bouncing about bars waiting to break free; 

‘ Sadness ?’ She asks Edelgard in a guess when the Emperor finds her in the courtyard overlooking a great chasm, her father’s and mother’s gravestones stalwart bastions against its empty void, as if they’re holding Garreg Mach’s penetrable walls of stone and lost faith from falling into the endless dark gravel below--muted and constant, a dull ache. It lessens, somehow, when Edelgard’s rare open touch skirts along her hip and rests along her stomach, guiding Byleth backwards against her chest.   

Soon, Byleth has experience to back the names of emotions she’s read about and dully felt and Edelgard, ever one to rise to a challenge, has stepped behind her professor without a second thought, trying to answer the questions of a quiz before her. 

“Joy?” Edelgard tries as Byleth’s fingertips run along the edge of a flower, blue hair spilling over shoulders and head tilted to the side in thought as she calmly regards El’s determination. 

Thinks it through.  No. It doesn’t sound right.

“I don’t think so.” She shakes her head, fingers curving beneath the edge of a flower, not wishing to disturb the small bird fluttering around the surface, lips barely pursing in thought.

She’s been in the Greenhouse for an hour, or so, watching this small little blue bird bat from leaf to leaf of a plant she’s been growing, fingers scratching thoughtlessly at her heart.

Byleth hadn’t asked what the emotion was, but Edelgard took it upon herself to find out, regardless.

“Contentment.” Edelgard tries again, brows furrowed in deep thought, herself, the leader of a ruthless strike force and a now-impervious Empire. It’s a tactical strategy--Edelgard had initially tried to talk it through with Byleth to see what she was feeling, what it reminded her of--

‘It’s a bird. I just see a   bird  , Edelgard.’

‘That’s not exactly helpful, Professor.’

--before talking through some of the more base aspects of what was stirring in Byleth’s chest.

‘ Well...is it positive?’  

‘It’s...good, I think.’

When nothing else followed, Edelgard had sighed.

And then did what any leader might do: try to find a solution regardless of adequate facts, because it simply had to be done.

Peaceful?  No.  Nostalgic?  No.  Analytical?  No.  Joy?  No  --

And finally,  contentment , which like the ones before it, is met with a shake of the head. 

Edelgard frowns, the crease of it barely indenting between brows as she lays a hand against Byleth’s back, easing forward to look at the bird, herself.

At a loss and not admitting it, probably. Now  that  makes Byleth feel  amused . That fluttery little bird in her chest, far warmer than it had been watching Caspar and Linhardt. 

Most things are far warmer when she’s with Edelgard.

A cat by the doorway meows with what might be agreement and fingertips thoughtlessly curl around the stone of the planter’s box.

El hesitates before almost guiltily suggesting:  “...hungry?” 

“Hunger isn’t an emotion.” Byleth pauses, chin tipping up to look for Edelgard’s counsel, “It’s a need, isn’t it?” 

“Hmm, I suppose it is. And I might be disturbed if you wanted to eat a swallow you found in the garden.” 

“Mercenaries don’t have many choices, so I probably could. But if I  had to eat anything here, I’d rather have that squirrel up the tree.” Byleth’s lips barely tip upwards and the leader of Fódlan looks up towards the tree as if taking in the squirrel for the first time with a barely wrinkling nose.

“And I’m  still  disturbed by your sense of  humor  , my teacher.” But Edelgard smiles all the same, a hint of her competitiveness ebbing in light of the softness of the air in the garden as Byleth turns from the bird to brush a strand of hair from violet eyes--it had been tickling Byleth’s shoulder, given their close quarters, and was a little  annoying, but she doesn’t want it blocking Edelgard’s vision, either--fallen from a curving braid, tucking it behind that attentive ear. 

“Maybe some emotions don’t have names.” Byleth’s head tips to the side, palm warmed by the soft blush along Edelgard’s cheek from the gentle touch of fingertips as she leans into a cupping hand like it is both thoughtless and a very conscious choice, all in one. 

Warmth spreads from a clenching stomach to beating chest to curling fingertips, resting against El, who gently circles Byleth entirely in her arms, a little bolder every day.

Warmth.

Is  this contentment? Maybe it is. 

“Well...do you feel differently, now? Or is it still the same?”

Byleth’s head tips to the side, thinking it through before she leans close enough to taste El’s breath, wanting to be  closer , somehow, which makes no sense since arms are wrapped around her and there’s no real way to get closer, is there? Or maybe there is.

Oh, she thinks there  is.

Bergamot. Edelgard’s lips smell like the tea Byleth had brewed for her in the early morning, fingers curling around the ivory of a cup as a humming Emperor inhaled it through nostrils before taking a long, slow sip. The same tea likely sipped even when it grew cold throughout the day for a reason Byleth’s not certain of, and still doesn't feel the need to ask, because there's a certainty to the knowledge. This fact. That Edelgard is more than capable of brewing her own tea, but always seems to favor Byleth’s pot long into the afternoon, even after it grows cold.

Bergamot. 

It’s not the first time Byleth’s had the urge to kiss Edelgard and it probably won’t be the last. Even though they’ve tackled everything together, they haven’t had much  time  like this, alone. Fleeting moments for  months--

“I think I feel…” Byleth smiles--a little wider, however small it might be in comparison--gently guiding Edelgard closer as that blush spreads. “...distracted.” 

And that quiet laugh tastes as nice as it sounds and it dances up into the air like the flutter of the bird's wings below them and it fills all of Byleth’s lungs with it until that  content breath spreads through her and between them. 

Edelgard's laugh is as beautiful as her smile.

Bergamot, she decides, is a good scent.

“Oh, are you, Professor? What by?” A light tease despite that flattering blush, gloved fingertips smoothing out the rumpled collar of a dark cloak; work that’s ruined the moment Byleth’s other hand raises up to gently settle in the small of El’s back, pressing her up closer, and those gloves fist in fabric until suddenly white is engulfed by the shadows spread over shoulders. 

“What...do  you feel right now, El?” It's a murmur--curious and soft, letting out the smallest flutter of a breath when one of those tangling hands falls down to her chest and rests a palm against the skipping beat of a heart. It’s...soothing, now, how Edelgard holds her. It's been so seamless, how hesitation has slowly morphed into...familiarity. How Byleth's body seems to expect it as much as her mind might, heart pattering like soft rain and shoulders easing like knots of a ship that have been unmoored into calm waters.

“Maybe...some emotions  don’t  have names,” It’s a breathless recall, leaning just a little further up into Byleth until their noses brush and the words sink onto parting lips like a welcome drink of water. “But...if this one did, I suppose it would be--”

“Lady Edelgard.” 

Both of them tense, twisting around to see Hubert’s impassive face and devilishly twinkling eyes, voice monotone as Edelgard huffs underneath her voice--

“ Annoyance  .” To Byleth’s quiet chuckle, before she says much louder, “  Yes , Hubert?”

Surprisingly, Edelgard doesn’t pull away, although she does give Byleth a far more apologetic smile as those white gloves once more smooth out the wrinkles they've caused in fabric before facing Hubert and leaning into the palm settled in the curve of her back for just a moment more--just a moment more--before Byleth’s hand dutifully falls, facing the familiar stoic vassal, as well. 

“There’s word on the Slither’s movements on the outskirts of Hyrm.” 

Both of them straighten their spines, then, tender could-have-beens once again tabled for another day. Another tomorrow, brighter than the day before. 

They both have higher priorities.

“They’re heading towards Morfis?” Edelgard surmises and at Hubert’s nod, the Emperor sighs up towards her tactical counsel, something far more serious taking root in features. “It appears you were right, Professor.”

Neither of them take pleasure in this fact.

Those Who Slither in the Dark were not just slithering in Fódlan. 

“But unfortunately there’s been even more...unnerving developments than just Morfis.”

The war room is full within the hour after Edelgard and Byleth have both been briefed, their heads bent and hushed whispers bouncing along the high stone walls.

The map sits stalwart upon the table, crisp and loose around the pins keeping it stapled to the large desk centered in the room, holes widened from half a decade plus of wandering hands shifting it about as eyes took in a war front.

In the center of the map still sits proud Garreg Mach, whose conversion these past six months following the Won War from a Monastery to a genuine officer's school has not changed its current occupancy of forces. It's true that many hearts' hatred eased with each and every day of Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg's steady, firm rule--more compassionate than they had been lead to believe through the mayhem and tragedy that consumed houses for neigh a near decade--but not everyone was pleased.

While The Great Beast (as she's come to be called within the troops, propaganda and pamphlets continuous and circulated, still) Rhea was felled and Dimitri, Deluded King (a term Byleth frowns at in its use every time), put to rest, there is still upset in much of Fódlan. Uprisings and spattered, enraged, frightened villages fighting back against who they view as an evil conquering force, taking away their land and religion, combined with the nobles who clutched desperately to their power and riches and crests, insistent that equality threatened their livelihoods.

“Perhaps if your excess of...livelihood cannot exist with equality--if you believe you require the lesser futures of the men and women you swore to protect and serve as their noble leader to maintain it--then you do not understand the worth of human life, at all, and are not fit to hold your position over them, von Gideon.”

Edelgard had been cemented in history as a fierce leader, but her rousing speech at a large estate set ablaze by righteousness in the North East of what was beneath the Lions Snare, where a noble had tried to fight the Black Eagles by using his peasants for fodder, would likely go down as a key quote to attest to it. There wasn't a scribe in sight as Emperor Hresvelg held a glowing axe to the last noble nephew of Gideon's neck underneath his mansion's towering stone pillars, the disgraced man scrambling backwards in the muck he'd fallen into from the gallop of his dismayed horse, cowering on his back with sniveling pleas as his flee from battle was thwarted...but the story has been told time and time again by every soldier and in every tavern Byleth's been to since. 

All with such a great dramatic flair and liberty to storytelling that she wouldn't be surprised if Alois wasn't the first one to tell it.

Edelgard's amused face as they sat on a carriage heading back towards Garreg Mach a month later after quelling another uprising was well worth the bumpy ride and sitting next to a skew-eyed pegasus. 

'--that's not how it happened at all! Edelgard beheaded him on the spot after he spat on an orphan boy that was working for him!'

'Oh, is that so? I had heard him jailed 'n Enbarr with the rest of the noble filth, waitin' judgment.'

'Oh, yeah--yeah--had a friend there, took his head clean off! He's not jailed, he's a yalm under!'

'You don't have friends, Jaspard.'

Normally, they ride proudly, but given the Slithers’ spies having eyes in   every    hill, it would be better not to be caught unawares by a trap. It was wiser to sneak into a caravan than to take the entire group across the border when Ferdinand would already need to head Northwest and Petra and Dorothea South. At least, that’s what Byleth suggested off-hand to Hubert’s   sighing    assent, all of them breaking off to go separate directions in common clothes. 

Which is why Hubert sets across from them looking   unnervingly    threatening towards a Pegasus that’s just licked his jaw in the back of a rickety, open-top caravan for the next three days. Byleth and Edelgard have settled next to each other far closer than they might have been were anyone else there.

This, for some reason, does not seem to improve Hubert's always dour mood.

‘I’ve never had roast Pegasus before. I wonder, is it a delicacy on the outskirts of the mountains?’ Hubert's smile is something reminiscent of the tales told of Byleth, herself, in the taverns:   devilish . 

Definitely not improvement. If this is how Hubert’s doing, Byleth can only imagine Ferdinand’s fear at riding in the back of a straw-filled cart.

Maybe he’ll think it’s an adventure. Caspar certainly looked excited.

'It seems this new Emperor wants the best for   all    people in Fódlan.' Edelgard pipes up underneath a particularly rough bump, a hint of red that might be indignation or amusement creeping up her neck and Byleth is just glad the farmers didn’t hear Hubert’s dry musing.

The men look back from their conversation and tilt their heads, appraising, and ultimately nod. 

'Y'know, lady...you might be right.'

Byleth's sword easily tips underneath her nails to dig out the dirt, casually shrugging with a serious nod, stilling it underneath the next bump. 'She usually is.'

The red was certainly not ire, now, spreading further upwards and that same, amused smile twisting up Edelgard’s lips as lips brush along the dirt-scuffed cheek resting upon a sword's hilt, paying little mind to the weapon...or to Hubert’s heavy   sigh    across from them, it seems.

Byleth offers a smile, shifting to hold Edelgard beneath the next jostling bump so that she might steady herself against it. Out of the corner of an eye she catches t he Pegasus nosing beneath Hubert's chin as if trying to lift his scowl.

It's not a surprise it doesn't work.

'Oh, Hubert, we're just traveling companions. Wouldn't you say, Jaspard?' Edelgard's voice is practically sing-song over her shoulder and Jaspard, once more paying them notice instead of squabbling with his own companion about just how many nobles Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg has beheaded, furrows brows thicker than the stray dog that wanders Garreg Mach's coat. 

'Uh...yeah, sure?'

The pegasus licks Hubert's cheek and Byleth's head tips to the side, calmly noting:

'I think it likes you.' A thoughtful hum, 'I think you would make a good Pegasus Knight, Hubert.'

Hubert's scowl...thins. And maybe it's a trick of the eye--maybe the trees above them filter out the sunlight until it blinks--but she swears, just for a moment, she might see the hint of a smile.

Or, at the very least, Hubert no longer threatens to cook the pegasus for the remainder of the ride to town.

And thus thanks to word of mouth, the uprisings caused by nobles have been easily dealt with, and few nobles could find villagers to bolster their claims of outrage, these days.

Edelgard was fighting  for them, not against them, and they were starting to understand that. 

The uprisings regarding religion were...trickier, and Edelgard’s interference usually led to  worse outcomes than if she hadn’t shown, at all, something she’d been reluctant to admit, but nodded after their last quelling of an insurrection led to every member of a church being toted away in chains.

Even now, Byleth is aware that had it been Rhea, the insurrectionists in the church likely would have been dead, instead of sitting in a jail, but the indignation of being locked up for ‘believing’ was gaining far too much traction to not be taken a serious threat.

‘It’s my job to lead--we’ve spilled enough blood, perhaps someone else might have a solution.’

‘I agree.’ Mercedes looks hesitant in the corner, but hardly meek. They all agree there’s been too much blood spilled. But Mercedes ultimately looks away before Byleth steps forward, eyes set on a girl she knows well.

‘...I think there’s a solution.’

All eyes expectantly look up save for Mercedes, who nervously watches Edelgard.

At Byleth's quiet insistence, these uprisings have been dealt with with the head of the New Church, Mercedes von Martritz, who has ended many  of them before they started, establishing several Churches underneath Edelgard's  cooperation  , not banner. An organization subsisting  within  the Empire--alongside, not  over.

So far, the most radical uprisings where Mercedes has not been successful in quieting them, Jeritza has settled them shortly after. 

They’re thankfully far less prominent. 

'I might hate this false Goddess and 'religion', but people still have a   right    to it, Byleth. Why would they think I would--everything I have done has been to protect them!' A rare frustration is as clear as a scowl upon lips, highlighted by the flickering candles that fortify the long spindles burning within a restored Cathedral. It paints Edelgard’s features in a soft, passionate glow, but also showcases the dark circles beneath sunken eyes. ‘They’re only prolonging their own suffering.’

'Maybe,' A shrug, gently stepping up behind tight shoulders to gently curl fingers around them. 'People are...protective over things that matter to them.' 

‘That   is  true, isn’t it?’ Edelgard murmurs, shoulders tensing before they relax beneath scarred palms. ‘I  suppose I am protective, as well. I am protective of everyone here--I’m protective of   all    of them. No one else has to die, if they would just--’ 

Byleth’s fingers skim along a cheek that clenches and eases just as shoulders had--dip down a neck that swallows and bobs--before wrapping around Edelgard's waist, guiding those sharp muscles and edges the rest of the way against Byleth's chest. A welcome embrace.

Edelgard sags against her like a sack of flour that’s been cut open, all the air in her lungs puffing upwards into the sky. 

Because here, it seems, just like her muscles, she can hold on only so tightly before letting go. It's a feeling Byleth...can understand, now.

‘All you can do is...lead people, El. You can’t make their choices for them.’ 

Fingers hesitate for only a breath before they smooth along Byleth’s wrists along hips, pulling the taller of them closer so that arms wrap fully around her, twisting to raise her own arms around a craning neck before El's own head falls to rest there. 

El fits so nicely here, like the proudest token nestled safely inside a box.

‘Then I’m glad I have you by my side. What are you protective over, I wonder--’ 

Edelgard’s chin tips backwards and Byleth holds her until a messenger comes shortly after with an updated report on Ferdinand’s slim hold in the Northwest.

It hasn’t gotten better, the two months since.

The war room is full of a tense silence after the news is shared, all eyes in the room focused upon the map of Garreg Mach, and the pins of their strongholds littering its aged surface. To the southwest, a few weeks’ journey away, lay a new pin.

A plague has started to take root in Hyrm, on the outskirts of Ordelia, much to Lysithea’s worry, similar to what had overtaken Remire but far worse. The stronghold borders what used to be the Leicester Alliance and the Empire’s hills--a key position against the annoyed nobles rebelling in the East looking to ride towards Enbarr.

The plagues’ spread is showcased by black pins trending a noted path upwards, adorned by the clean parchment quill of Ingrid’s handwriting.

Names.

“It’s spreading to the  nobles with crests who sided with the Empire.” Ingrid concludes, face pulled downward as if a string had tied to her chin. 

Sided with the Empire’s successful  insurrection , as many people in Leicester would still claim. 

“How could a plague attack someone with crests?” Caspar frowns, eyes flicking up towards the few empty chairs of their usual Black Eagle Squadron. Two notable absences with crests missing: Ferdinand, who has been dispatched to the Northwest of what used to be House Kleiman, whose strategic tactical position near the coast of the continent will be  invaluable if Byleth’s hypothesis of the Slithers’ outreach stretching to their neighboring continents held true. Leonie rides with him, crestless. And the other was Petra, who had returned to Brigid to mend relations between the Empire and her country while assuming rule. 

Dorothea, of course, was with her, but bore no crest, as well, and Byleth’s chin tips downward in thought, fingers tucking beneath a working jaw. 

“Technically a plague  infects, it doesn’t attack. But I suppose those who bear crests  do have unique blood.” Hanneman offers thoughtfully, carefully cleaning a monocle with a handkerchief he tucks back inside his pocket. “It is likely attacking the unique signature of the blood that makes crests so extraordinary.” 

“And if it’s attacking the  blood  , the options we currently have to treat it are, oh...  nonexistent  .” Manuela  pouts in the corner, clearly disturbed, knuckles resting beneath her own chin as she takes in the map. 

“Hmm...yes,” Linhardt perks upwards, either clearly deep in thought...or clearly deep in sleep, “Fascinating, really. It would have taken a good bit of experimentation on live blood samples of someone bearing a crest to create a strand of plague that could infect crest-bearers.” 

Byleth’s eyes skim over Lysithea’s pale features before settling to her left on Edelgard’s stoic ones. 

“Indeed.” Edelgard agrees, darker than any of them know. “Which can serve as a reminder of how dangerous they are--and always will be--until they’re wiped from existence. They’ve ruled by fear and oppression for so long that they don’t seem to know how to fight a war with any other tool. I fear this was likely their contingency plan from the start.” The discontent waters of violet flick up towards Byleth before once more settling on the board.

“So...if they’re going to worst case scenarios--” Sylvain rubs the back of his neck, scowling. 

“It means we’ve got ‘em on the ropes!” Caspar pumps his fist and Linhardt sighs at the mere insinuation of probably how much effort it all sounds like but it’s Ingrid who steps closer. 

“I think we should be cautious.” Ingrid sports furrowed brows and tense lines about lips but she’s grown so much since Byleth first met her.

They all have, judging by Bernadetta in the corner, quiet but present. 

“Agreed.” Hubert nods, “They’re cunning beasts who have not yet revealed themselves to Fódlan for a reason. I would advise against underestimating them.” 

“I concur, as well.” The Emperor herself agrees before leaning up from the board. “I believe you all know your roles. This changes nothing from our current effort to solidify our defenses in key strongholds. Cementing our hold over the continent and against opposing forces by sea is a high priority not for just putting out lingering opposition from the war, but from  defending all of Fódlan. We need to keep an eye on our future as well as our present, my friends. The True War is still upon us. Be that as it may, Hubert, I’ll need you to notify Petra and Ferdinand of this immediately. We do not need to cause panic, but they need to be aware of the situation at hand in case it escalates. I do not want to send anyone to Hyrm until we’re positive the plague cannot be contracted by someone without a crest.”

“As you wish, your Majesty,” Hubert, with his ever-deep bow, departs shortly after. 

“Manuela, Hanneman, Linhardt--”

“Fine, fine,” Linhardt  yawns  , “I suppose looking into this will at least be  interesting  . Let’s go ahead and  solve it so that I can go back to bed.” 

“Not everything has to be about a  bed with you two,” Hanneman huffs and Manuela scowls, hands settling on hips. Indignant.

“ Excuse me--”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant and you  know it, Manuela. I simply meant you were late to this meeting because you were--”

“Alllllright. Let’s stop shoving our feet in our mouth squabbling and go kick some butt!” Caspar, surprisingly, is the one to shoo them out, much to everyone else’s relief.

The meeting that lasts after is another few hours before the light that had graced the garden has fallen and started to rise, once more, faraway on the horizon but close enough somebody might be able to touch the ephemeral warmth of it if they became one with the shadows on the edge of its reach. 

Soon enough, it’s just Edelgard and Byleth left in the thick of those shadows, candelight flickering above the edge of a map that’s slowly been stained red by blood and determination and time. White gloves had been replaced by a lightly-armored counterpart given the generals and commanders sifting in and out of the room and Byleth walks behind her, now, watching the way the light touches the dips of them and disappears in the red bend of knuckles above the map before calmly shifting. 

Knowing fingers slowly undo the left gauntlet, its ply metal creaking loud enough to cover Edelgard’s surprised gasp for any ear but her Tactician's, who’s close enough to feel it warm the air. Fingers run over the scarred ridges of fingertips--and knuckles--and a wrist--before she does the same with the right, fingertips tracing a map she wishes she were far more familiar with than the one of Fódlan and the Empire below them. 

Edelgard’s nose dips down, head hanging as shoulders barely shake and with a rattling, heavy breath. She leans back into Byleth’s arms, sagging just enough for those undressing hands to skim up fingertips to hips to arms to the other woman’s heart, nose brushing along the high rise of an Emperor's cheek. 

She can feel an Emperor sift like that sand of time into a woman left behind in the steady beats of her heart, strong and certain below Byleth's palm. Rhythmic. Soothing. Like a war drum. Like the bob of a fishing line against water. Like the sound of footsteps walking alongside her in the hall.

Edelgard unwinds a little faster against her, these days.

And Byleth quietly kisses the ring on Edelgard’s finger and wishes it was Edelgard, herself.

“I realized what it was, looking at the bird.” Byleth quietly offers in her ear, knowing Edelgard has never been content with mysteries and secrets unless they’re woven by her own hand. “During the counsel.”

“And what was that?” Barely a murmur, the tension still pulling that smooth voice as taut as the string on Bernadetta’s bow, thin and  sharp  and deadly. But shoulders ease a little more as one of Byleth’s arms wrap around her stomach, gently twisting in a slow dance to press Edelgard’s hips against the table and hold her up within the certain strength of her own arms. 

Byleth isn’t Hubert--she has no intention of taking Edelgard’s burdens solely upon her own shoulders so that she won’t feel them. Assuming her future wife is not capable of bearing the weight of her own life seems... undermining , somehow, after all Edelgard has accomplished and faced. No, Byleth is well aware of the Emperor’s strength.

Which is why she lets them stand together, instead, hand on a heart raising up to cup a cheek, instead. 

“Protective.” Byleth offers, thoughtful and quiet. “I had seen a cat out in the garden--I’ve been feeding it, so it followed me. I’d forgotten about it, because I stayed with the bird for...an hour, before you came, and it didn’t feel like it mattered. But it did.” 

It’s funny, that way. The strangest things cause emotions.

“Oh,” Edelgard’s features soften and it’s now that she seems to hesitate before she gently tucks her head in the crook of Byleth’s cheek, resting on her shoulder fully, once more. “You’ve always been far more compassionate than anyone knows. You have a habit of protecting little birds, don’t you? Animals--children-- students --”

“I know the bird can fly on its own, and it’ll see the cat coming.” Byleth wraps her arms a little tighter around Edelgard, then, whose hands smooth up the front of her shoulders, but this time they sneak boldly underneath the black of a cloak, flattening over biceps until the fabric puddles around scarred wrists. “But I couldn’t help but…” Brows knit as she tastes the word that follows, “...worry . I guess even though I had fed the cat, and I  like the cat, and the cat is just...hunting. I understand the cat’s motivations--” Byleth closes eyes and feels Edelgard settle in her arms and--

And it’s...warm.

It spreads through her and settles and eases the tension she hadn’t known existed in her spine. 

“You’ll fight for the bird, even against the cat. That’s...not the first time you’ve felt that way, is it? It’s a little bit of a heavy-handed metaphor, my love.” Edelgard murmurs, pulling away enough to look at her. 

Byleth's read about protection: it's the desire to safe-keep something from harm; it's the emotion that wraps around shoulders like a hug, fierce. Loyal. It's a knight, like Jeralt used to be, if a person could be an emotion.

What emotion would Edelgard be?

“I know you can fight your own battles.” Byleth nods, determination settling in, “But I’d rather fight them with you.” 

“As would I, Byleth.” El’s voice is quiet and her eyelashes flutter against Byleth’s palm, leaning...closer. 

Until her scent once more fills Byleth's lungs and her warmth spreads through fingertips and palms and a clenching stomach and suddenly all she can feel is Edelgard.

“What’s...this emotion?” A breath, leaning down to rest their foreheads together, brows knitting as Edelgard’s fingers hesitantly raise to brush over her cheek--her neck--push up through her hair, as if she’s careful of it. 

It’s the first time someone’s ever been careful of touching Byleth, outside of Rhea. 

(Byleth has a feeling Edelgard wouldn’t appreciate the comparison). 

“Hmm…” A thoughtful note sounds in the back of her throat as Edelgard leans closer in the earliest hours of the rising sun, light starting to creep up their bare hands and scarred necks and El’s soft, loving smile. “Anticipation,” Teeth tuck lips, “I would think.”

“Anticipation.” Byleth tastes with a smile and feels the thud of Edelgard’s heart in her throat and the shifting air between them and the feeling of fingertips growing a little bolder in their curl about her own craning neck, before leaning down and kissing her.

Love--

El’s gasp parts locked gates against lips and Byleth’s heart and the beating bird within as her fingers tangle in her hair and mutter  ‘finally’ against her before they inelegantly clatter against the table and knock half of the scrolls off the top of it, the map tearing a little at one of the pins, both of them giggling and chuckling and--

Embarrassed and Happy and Giddy and Light--

--as they clean up the mess before Edelgard’s teeth tuck her lips and she blushes as she brings Byleth closer, once more. This time guiding her far away from the long table into the corner, sheltered from the kalleidoscope light of the stained glass windows in this shell of a building full of  used to be’s  and slowly heralding  will becomes. 

Neither one of them have had much practice at this, but love is something they can learn together, as well.

“Let’s try again.” 

--Love--

Byleth hums as she kisses El again and again and again underneath the warmth of the sun until both of them part with flushed cheeks and knowing smiles and fingers that link until they’re forced to go their separate ways, a little more disheveled than they had been an hour before. 

Love through tense weeks and months and half a year of a slowly spreading plague and continued fights. Love through stolen moments and kissed rings and emotions offered up into the air and caught by Edelgard’s lips.

“ Love ”--Edelgard vocalizes and offers, herself, as they lay in the grass by the gardens months and months later, tucked away in a corner where no one would think to look save for  Hubert (because anyone who  would look isn’t nearly as bold). Her finger gently, fondly tracing down the line of Byleth’s cheek like a painting, eyes bright and bashful as she leans above her.

“Is that what you feel?” Byleth asks, leaning into that fond finger and wrapping arms around her waist. It’s the first time Edelgard’s offered an emotion of her own instead of being asked--or implying it with an answer of Byleth’s. 

They’re parting ways in a few hours--Edelgard to Enbarr and Byleth to the outskirts of Kleiman to help Ferdinand secure the territory after a surprising uprising in the Southeast of the fortress, near the coast. 

A little  too  close to the coast, and a little  too close to the spread of the plague that they’ve been monitoring since word of it rose. It’s convenient in the worst of ways that they’ve both come to expect, and it’s the wisest decision to send a tactician over the Emperor, however Edelgard desires to be on the front lines.

It was smart to send Byleth, they all agreed.

It’s funny, how time can move so  quickly . She finds it hard to believe Ferdinand has been gone so long.

‘Let me go fishing’ , Byleth had murmured against the curve of Edelgard’s neck above mussed sheets and biting lips before everyone had arrived a week prior, hand curving over her hip and Edelgard’s fingers falling down to her chin and her neck and her heart as she hovered above her, hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight. It was the decision that made the most sense.

‘I hate this --’

‘...I'm sorry.’

‘I   hate    this, Byleth--’

A blink, coming back to the present. Do emotions always do this? Are they always so...heavily tied with memories and moments and the flutter of violet eyes like a blue bird’s wings?

“Yes.” Edelgard looks away--unusual, given she’s the type to tackle problems head-on--and Byleth shifts upwards on her elbows.

Byleth’s read thousands of books and nearly half of them mention love. People were  fascinated  with love and...Byleth was too, in a way. She’d never felt it, and never understood it, and could never quite grasp its importance. On a battlefield she had watched people kill for it and die for it and  live for it--

It’s something so complex to capture that it doesn’t have such a simple definition like the other emotions might--it’s like a...box. A wooden, rickety box tenderly made and nailed, full of emotions that are so cluttered and many that they all have to be contained so that they aren't spilled and lost and forgotten.

A box. Maybe this...cluttered thing made out of the wood of her chest filled with a dozen--a hundred--a  thousand  other emotions inside of it, carefully latched and closed and carried about in a rucksack from campsite to campsite, safely stowed. Hidden.

Yes, a box. This brittle wooden thing with  love  written on the outside of it.  Love...written in an elegant pen by a white-gloved hand. Signed like a letter--like a name--because Byleth would know that hand anywhere it pressed, branding wood and ink and life beneath its touch. A thousand keepsakes of  happiness  and  hope  and  anger and a million other things Byleth knows the definition to but has only recently fully understood tidied within its cramped confines. Love. Some people throw the word around so carelessly--

Manuela, who loves another person every week

--or have never quite found what was nearby them--

Dorothea, whose letters to her professor list Petra more than anything else

--or have never found its purpose--

Felix, who loves training, he claims, but loathes the taste of battle before sniping that Sylvain will waste away if he doesn’t join him

--and Byleth watches the way Edelgard says it as her chin dips. Certain and careful--like the word means more than she might know how to explain, herself, and Byleth thinks of the poems and the operas and the novels she’s read and imagines each of them on El’s lips before she leans up a little further, safely tucking the other woman against her chest. 

She watches the sun dance along her cheek as Edelgard looks up at her through long lashes, blush and nerves tucking up a thin smile.

When Byleth was as tall as his knees, her father crafted her a box, and she thinks Love might be like that.

“El…” Byleth reaches down to curling hand and untucks a glove where a ring has settled for nearly a year, now, hidden away safely out of sight like so many things are. “I asked you to spend your life with me.” She reminds, lips brushing over it in a quiet ceremony. “We’re engaged. You don’t need to be nervous.” 

The blush deepens and when Edelgard tries to turn away, Byleth catches her chin. 

"I--"

“Is it...so hard for you to imagine I love you, too?”

Edelgard is unusually silent for a long moment before her hand raises up to Byleth’s chest, resting over her heart. And she smiles. This broken, hopeful thing that reminds Byleth of the night she had returned from half a decade of sleeping, or something close to it, something she doesn't quite understand yet buried deep in those eyes.

“If you do, then it won’t be difficult for you to promise me you’ll do everything in your power to come back to Garreg Mach. Promptly. In a  month’s  time, not five years. No more  sleeping .”

“It’s not difficult for me to promise that.” Byleth immediately offers, voice calm, watching the way Edelgard’s features twist and contort beneath their own calm veneer like a fish beneath the pond's surface. “As long as you promise to keep up with your training in Enbarr. I would hate to have to come sooner to whip you into shape. No fighting is no reason for your axe work to get sloppy, Edelgard."

“ Professor  ,” Edelgard gripes, though there’s a hint of a smile in her eyes, “I’m being  serious  . You honestly joke at the  worst momen--”

Byleth kisses her, feeling tense shoulders ease beneath her touch as Edelgard’s fingers wind in her hair, pressing them both down into the red quilt they’d stolen from a student’s bed, its hue vibrant and harsh above the green grass that resembles a Goddess's eyes. 

“...I love you, too.” Byleth whispers when they pull away and sees Edelgard’s conflicting shock and contentment in equal measure--her happiness and  nerves-- but her smile seems to make the whole world feel...unimportant, just for a second. A moment. 

An instant and five years, all in one.

"Then I expect you to return to me...my Empress." Quiet so only Byleth might hear, Edelgard's knuckles skim down Byleth's cheek and the empress lets out a rattling, soft sigh.

All of those books had made love seem so  complicated, but it tasted right the moment Edelgard had offered it.

But Byleth doesn't have to ask what  this feeling is. They're both far too familiar with war.

An afternoon later, Edelgard’s fingers lingers in her own amongst the troops as their hands clasp to part--their eyes meeting and staying before they can't, anymore--and the Emperor sees her advisor off towards Kleiman, her own convoy heading the opposite way to Enbarr, a box tucked in her bag and a dagger on Byleth's hip. She leads the charge on a horse at the helm, never one to shy away from the front lines, Hubert’s look knowing and calm next to her. 

"Until we meet again, Professor." Hubert offers before turning about his own horse, both of them disappearing into the light cast off of the mountains as Byleth turns towards the darkness behind her, the beast she rides neighing appreciatively as she dips into the quiet shadows left by cascading trees into the sky.

“You look happier, Professor.” Ferdinand casually mentions offhand, the sound of their horses hooves sinking into mud accompanying them during the daylight. He had met her halfway towards Kleiman, their intent to set up another outpost on the outskirts hopefully not heard by anyone else in the Monastery.

There were shadows in every corner, after all. Or at least that's what Hubert liked to enigmatically drawl knowingly every time they talked about the Slithers having spies. 

“Do I?” Her head tilts to the side, remembering her father once saying the same, long ago. She hadn’t realized emotions could ease the knots of muscles until something softer could be seen underneath. Not until Jeralt had mentioned it. She’s getting a little more used to the idea. “And  your  hair is getting even longer. It suits you.” It's pointed out in kind and Ferdinand preens at the observation, offering a dazzling smile as he sits straighter on his horse. 

“Ah, yes. I had initially thought it was unbecoming of a noble to keep it unmaintained, but I find I like it far more.” His chin tips upwards towards the sun--command looks good on him, as well, their battalion following behind. Well-led and proud. “Edelgard, though my judgement would have been sound without her commentary, did  also  state that it complimented my eyes, a few years ago, and made me seem more approachable to commoners.” Byleth doubts those were Edelgard’s exact words, “It spoke great volumes that we both were of the same thought. There’s many things I never would have assumed I would have enjoyed outside of the nobility. Who knew hair could provide such a cautiously freeing sense of enjoyment? So I've let it grow longer.” 

“I’ll help you brush it once it reaches your hips.” Byleth helpfully offers and Ferdinand laughs, surprised and shaking it over shoulders. 

“That will not be necessary, Professor.”

“It can be very difficult to maintain.” Byleth seriously continues, pointing towards it off-handedly, “In a battle the last thing you need is a handle for someone to grapple you to the floor with, especially from your horse.” 

Ferdinand scratches at his chin in thought, humming.

“Ah, I had not seen that angle, Professor. Perhaps freedom does come with its costs.” He seems plagued by this for a moment before Byleth nods.

“Dorothea arrives next week, we’ll have her cut it for you. She’s cut mine, before.” After pouting that Byleth had let it turn into a mess, anyways. Which is strange because Byleth’s hair has  always been this way.

Was it messy?

‘Edie can’t run her fingers through a raven’s nest, Professor.’

‘I have no idea what that even means, Dorothea.’  

‘ Oh, hopefully you two aren’t too thick-headed to find out.’ Dorothea’s sigh could push mountains to the edge of Fódlan. 'No wonder why she never gives me any of the good stuff in her letters.'

'What?'

'Nothing~~'

"She can keep it long but still manageable. Then you have both freedom and functionality."

Ferdinand perks upwards. “She  does  seem to have a great amount of experience needing to cut her own hair and not having someone to do it for her.”

Byleth sighs. 

He’s making  progress , perhaps that’s the best they can ask of him.

Fondness --she can hear Edelgard murmur in her ear, a phantom’s touch as her smile might skirt along her cheek.

A smile, soft and quiet, graces Byleth's lips, in kind.

“It suits you, as well.” Ferdinand offers and Byleth tilts her head to the side to regard him, a little distracted in her thoughts as they continue on. “Happiness.”

Ferdinand just smiles and Byleth nods after a long moment, realization donning. 

She’s read about Happiness: it’s the thing people lose in war; the emotion that sparks up the edges of their lips into a smile, or fills them with contentment when faced with something they’ve done that’s  good ; it’s the emotion that everyone fights for and searches for as desperately as love, just as elusive and fickle, or so it seems in books and operas and plays.

Happiness is the word she thinks her father would have liked the most to hear she learned.

Happiness. It’s a word Byleth knew the definition to, but never quite understood. 

Not until Edelgard gave it to her.

Love suits me, El  --she can imagine humming along her shoulder, because for now the only emotion she can imagine settling in that sanded, shaped box labelled ‘love’ is the rattling, large one named  happiness.

[dragonoffantasyandreality]

Kamen Rider Thunderbirds chapter 3 (Bit 3)

(Prologue, Bit 1, Bit 2...)

Finally, this chapter is moving! XD

I should thank @myladykayo, @gumnut-logic and @willow-salix for cheerleading for me and helping me with the plot. You ladies are awesome! :D

(Also tagging @tsarinatorment​, for some lil Military bros moments ;)

-0-0-0-

"Thunderbird One to base. I can see the building fire! Looks pretty bad!" Scott reported as he steered his mighty 'Bird above the danger zone, “According to the firefighters and PD, they kept fighting the fire, but it kept on coming!”

“Alright. Be careful out there, for we do not know the cause.” noted Jeff through the comms.

The blue sashed commander maneuvered his sleek, silver Thunderbird. He searched the area, scanning everything. The building was still standing but the fire had consumed most of it. The intense heat melted the snow around it. This wasn't a good day before Christmas.

Luckily, most of the fellas inside had been evacuated. But a small group had been trapped within the basement. Nobody knows how long till the building will collapse above them. That's where International Rescue comes into the picture. And that's what made Scott a little wary… something's not right…

He didn't like the sound of it. From the information that he had processed from John and the firemen down below, he felt that the cause of the fire was intentional. It was said that the fire had started in one part of the basement, then another one in some other place, then another one… it felt like something, or someone had been setting fires all around the building… this is not okay...

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Two, when are you arriving?" Scott commanded.

"Arriving at the danger zone in about 3 minutes…" replied the voice of Virgil.

"Well be quick Virgil! We don’t have much time!" hastily said Scott as he landed Thunderbird One on the safe zone.

The green behemoth arrived shortly after, Scott was at the edge of his seat as he watched her land near his sleek grey bird. He didn’t have the time to instal mobile control, since the operation was needed in all hands. He began briefing the mission at hand. The field commander nearly raised his voice at the babbling terrible two, only to stop himself from doing so and kept his calm as possible. He finished briefing and got to work.

While Virgil went to prepare the Firefly, Gordon and Alan were donning their heat-protection suites as they waited for the next part of the operation. They were no longer chit-chatting, only worried. The young blond pointed out how Scott was heated as the fire of the building. The aquanaut agreed. Yeah, they did tease their elder brother for being a little grumpy. But now, they were beginning to see the problem. The terrible two can only hope this is the last rescue for their eldest, so Scott can have a long break…

Thunderbird 2 raised herself, her four copper legs raising her big green body to reveal her pod. The big door of the pod opened, falling down slowly as a yellow, bulldozer-like vehicle rolled over it as soon as it hit the floor. Firefly had been deployed!

Virgil guided the big anti-fire vehicle towards the rumble of flaming debris at the foot of the building. He struggled as he pushed them away. The heaviness and heat slowed the process, but it was better than nothing.

“Gee, this fire was a lot hotter than I thought! Even my heat-resistant suit won't cut it!” The mechanic noticed as he gritted his teeth, his grip to the wheel tight as he continually pushed the accelerator.

"Try using the fire-retardant on it!” Suggested Scott, a tone of urgency in his voice.

With a nod, Virgil reached out for the switch, "Here it goes…" he muttered, as he fired the retardant into the fiery ruble.

It exploded as the fire had been put out. But for a moment, the mechanic swore he heard an echo of a distant scream after that. It sent a chill down his spine. What was that?

"Did you guys hear that?" He asked, almost frantically. It wasn't just him who heard it, was it?

"No we didn't. What did ya hear, Virge?" Gordon chimed, a teasing tone in his voice.

"I swear I heard a scream! And it doesn't sound human!" Virgil gritted, both from the struggle of pushing away the rest of the ruble and from the annoyance for a certain redheaded fish.

"Okay, okay. You sure it isn't your engines fired up from pushing all this debris?" 

"Firefly's engines don't sound like that!" Virgil growled.

As Gordon was about to say something, an irritated Scott cut their chat and told them to focus back on the mission. Their elder brother was almost at the end of his rope, as both Virgil and Gordon realized. The second eldest gently reminded Scott to keep his calm, in which his brother did. He can only hope his big bro can withstand a little longer… for now.

As soon as Virgil finished the clean up, Alan and Gordon, with Scott on board for extra hands, rolled out from the pod inside the Mole. The giant drill stood at the entrance, waiting for Firefly to cross paths with her so the second eldest can join his brothers. 

Once that was done, the Mole drove again towards the clearance that was made by the anti-fire tractor. She stopped at the middle of it, her carrier then lifted her to an angle towards the ground. Her drill began spinning, her sharp propellers digging through ground as she dove into it with the help of her thrusters. Moments later, she's gone! Like a mole itself into the depths of the soil.

The brothers, with the help of John, navigated through the hard rock to the basement. 

Alan began feeling an uneasy sensation clutching his stomach. He swore he can feel his tiny baby hairs rising from his skin as they dove deeper. A wave of shiver echoed through his body, his legs almost clamped together. There was something wrong down there… Very, very wrong…

"Hey Sprout, what's wrong?" Asked the starman of the brothers.

The youngest shook his head and waved off, "Uh… it's nothing John."

The elder blonde gave him a narrow-eyed look before getting distracted by Scott, who told everyone that they were nearly in the basement. 

Geez, Scott was really tight on his nerves! Thought Alan...

Soon enough, they had busted through the concrete wall. Fire-protection suits on and rescue tools equipped, they ran out of the Mole (except for Virgil, just to keep an eye on the pod vehicle and he will be examining the area around her).

The whole basement was full of smoke and in big ruins. The floors was filled with huge holes and gapes. Fire was in every corner. What had happened here? This isn't caused by normal means...

Scott, Gordon and Alan scouted the areas, every room and every corner in search for any survivors. They cut through doors, putting out the flames, calling "This International Rescue! Do you need any assistance!?" But no one had answered. Only echoes of their voices through the halls… 

Alan swore he saw shadows within the flames, seemingly stalking them in every corner. He could feel his flight or fight instincts kicked in. He began to feel his desire of wanting to warn his bros! But he decided to ignore the warning… He needed to focus on the rescue… 

No one would believe him...

They had managed to find the trapped group, who were stuck in the storage area after Scott broke through one of the doors to the storage room using a laser cutter. They immediately gave the poor fellas some oxygen masks and some immediate care.

"Th-They came out of nowhere! They just appeared and attacked us!" A poor man stuttered, as they were escorted out of the storage area.

"Who's 'they'?" Asked Scott as examined for burns, scrapes and other potential fatal injuries.

The man suddenly shook as his eyes turned into giant saucers. He lifted his hand and pointed somewhere behind Scott's head and screamed, "T-THEM!!!"

Scott looked behind him... and dodged with the man at the last second the moment his corner of his eye caught a claw swinging his way!

He looked up at the mysterious attacker. Then Scott felt his blood froze at the sight… a humanoid creature standing in front of him, his head is that of a panther. Some parts of its muscular red and grey body had flames protruding from it. It wore roman-like skirt and golden cuffs, almost looking like an ancient warrior. And armed with a long, black metal claw on it's right arm. It looked nasty… deadly as it growled at the IR commander...

"What in the-..." His words had been cut off as he had to dodge again from another swing, the creature growled in annoyance.

"Gordon! Alan! Get the guys out and RUN!!!" He shouted at the top of his lungs as he ran the man with him.

As soon as they took notice of the situation at hand, the terrible two made a run for it with the rescuees. Gordon could almost feel the panic taking over his nervous system as they fled from the monster.

The panther creature walked as he swung his claw, unleashed a wave of flames that somehow reached in front of them, blocking the way with a wall of fire! They were forced to take another direction when they were faced by another monster!

It was like the fire-panther warrior, but it was bulkier and heavier, armored with a shield. And instead of having a head of a cat, it had the head of a goat!

“Guys! I have been under attack!” Yelled Virgil through comms.

"Really!? By what?!" Gordon dreaded this when Virgil answered his question.

"I had been attacked by some unknown threats! They will damage the Mole if I stay!"

"Hang on Virgil! We are on our way!" Scott ordered, as he and his team dodged a charge from the fire-goat monster.

"You better be quick! I can't stay here much longer!" It was Virgil's only reply before a deafening explosion was heard from the radio, before it was cut out!

"Virgil? Virgil?! Damn it!" Scott's blood froze, even when the adrenaline was rushing through his bloodstream. His brother… his best friend… Oh god please no…

"Come on, Scott, we better find Virgil!" Gordon snapped him out of his thoughts with a shake of a shoulder.

Right, they are still running. Running from these… things! Whatever they are, they are after their heads!

They kept on running. Running with the weight of the rescuees on their shoulders. Running with the flame creatures at their tails. They tried to stay close to the path where they came from. Back to the Mole… if she's still there… They are growing tired but they keep on going. Even if they had to dodge the flaming claws of the panther monster and the flaming horns of the goat monster.

They were just near their destination when the floor in front of them collapsed! Alan nearly dropped along with a guy just as Gordon caught them in time. But the respite was short, as two new humanoid fire-monsters flew out of the crevasse! One was a cobra, skinny but agile, armed with a fire staff. And the last one was an armored dragon, it's flaming sword in hand and it's fiery wings nearly fried the poor group.

"We're dead! We are so dead!" Wailed one of the poor rescuees, clinging on for dear life on Alan.

"Not yet..." Scott grunted, as the monsters closed in. "Gordon! Go this way with Alan and the rescuees! I'll distract them!

"Are you crazy?! Ya going to get yourself killed!" Warned Gordon as he grabbed his eldest brother's arms. He held it tightly, fear radiating from his eyes.

"No time, just run!" Scott shook off his brother's grip violently and ran towards the other direction. Some of the creatures got his attention and went after him.

"Scott! Come back, you Cloud Idiot!" Gordon nearly lost his professionalism as he yelled at his eldest brother, but his brother had already vanished into the flames of hell.

The prankster of an aquanaut cursed under his breath and ordered Alan continue running to find another way of escape with the rescuees, while the remaining monsters were at their tails.

The Earth shook all of the sudden. Cracks formed on the wall, Gordon halted the run to avoid potential debris from falling on them. Then a familiar drill broke through, her almost burned, yellow hull pulled from the dirt, dust and debris. Her hatch opened, revealing a certain ruffled up mechanic.

"Virgil! You're okay, ya big son of a devil!" Gordon almost cried out of joy.

"Come on, buddy! Get the rescuees in here quickly!" Virgil urged, smiling a little. 

"But... what about Scott?" Alan asked, giving his second big brother worried puppy eyes.

"We'll get him!" 

As soon as they settled, the rescuees secured the medbay and the terrible two seated and seat belt on, the mechanic attempted to move the Mole again. But she made some noises of a broken mechanism. He pulled the ignition again... Same thing... And the digger hasn’t moved an inch. A moment of realization...

"Damnit, the Mole broke down!"

"Are you kiddin' me!" His fish brother gaped at him, sweat and dust pouring from his face with worry. Alan sat where he was, gulping almost.

Virgil glared at the scanner, noticing two figures approaching the Mole. He won’t have time to fix her if those things are going to make things worse! Not until the blonde daredevil suggested that they should distract the monsters while Virgil repaired the Mole.

"You are not going out there shooting these bastards all by yourself, Sprout! I’m coming with you!"

"Alright! But please don't take chances!" Virgil warned seriously as he began work on the repairs. He just hope his brothers won't do anything stupid.

The terrible two pulled out their guns and let out battle cries as they began shooting the monsters, getting their attention. Together, they stayed close as they ran, getting their attention away from the broken down digger. It was a battle they didn't expect to deal with in a rescue. But, they had no other choice. They have to get out and get Scott as soon as the Mole was in a working order.

From time to time, either Gordon or Alan asked how long or what needs to be fixed. They get a response that either one or some of the gears fell off, or some circuit got fried.

They are lucky that the engine hasn't got damaged.

"Hey! Come and dare to take a piece of me, ya lizard heads!" Gordon spat as he shot the snake and dragon fire-monsters. The bullets hit them, but they only let a few sparks as the charges ricocheted off their tough bodies. The squid gritted his teeth.

 He had spoken too soon!

Enraged, the dragon Monster used his flamethrower breath. The duo dodged the sting of fire, but they got separated. With a fence of flame in-between them, they got to change tactics and fast!

Just as Alan tried to run around the monsters, a familiar figure jumped in front of him! And he barely escaped its claws!

The Panther was back! Does that mean… 

Scott...

Alan realized he had dropped his gun! And nowhere to run! But then he spotted a potential weapon next to him. The young blonde picked up the piece of a metal pole and let out battlecry as he charged at the fire-panther creature and hit it with all of his might. But the pole bended on impact, much to his horror. The creature grinned at him as he swiped him with its muscular arm, sending the youngster to fly and land hard.

When it began approaching Alan, multiple gunshots was heard as the sparks fly off the back of the monster. This got its attention away and turned to the one responsible for the intervention: Scott! 

He was breathing heavily like a bull, the flames that reflected on his cobalt irises revealed a thundering rage. He held his gun tightly in front of him, arms stretched out towards the face of the menace.

He had enough...

"Don't you dare…" Scott growled.

The fire panther-humanoid flexed its shoulder as he approached the blue sashed commander, as the latter continued to shoot it. Realizing that the charges weren't doing much to fire-monster, Scott decided to change strategy.

The young blonde watched as his brother fighting back the creature. It ignited his desire to help his big brother.  He can't just stand there and do nothing! He just can't! 

But he was caught by surprise when the goat monster reappeared! He was pushed by its big shield, sending him flying towards a crevasse! He grabbed the edge just in time, his hands tightly taking hold of the , his tiny feet dangled over the deep depths of death.

"Alan!" Cried Gordon. He tried to run to the rift to save his little brother, but he got blocked by the goat, snake and dragon fire-monsters! Ready to cook some fish meat!

Scott wasn't having a great time. His ammo ran out as he was distracting the panther monster. He got close calls with the amount of fireballs and flaming slashes thrown at him. He managed to barely dodge them all, but he wasn't sure how long he would last.

But that moment of pause made him regretting, as he felt himself getting grabbed by the neck and lifted to the air, his eyes took a glance of the ugly face!

Oh shit...

Alan was hanging for dear life as he was watching his poor big brother getting thrown around like a puppet with its strings cut off. His hands are getting numb, his arms losing strength, hopeless to do anything but to expect the inevitable doom. Of himself, of his brothers, of the rescuees...

“SCOTT!!!” cried Alan as he saw the creature was about to slice his big brother to ashed pieces.

It lifted its nasty claws, and as if by magic, they ignited with nightmarish fire. The monster’s eyes glowed as it grins down at him, having finally cornered his weakened prey. Then, it swung its arm at Scott, where the latter shut his eyes, welcoming the fiery demise! Or was he…?

Its flaming claws barely touched his face when a sudden roar of the engine echoed through the walls. The creature stopped and looked over Scott as its face transformed from an evil smug to a surprised worry.

Scott Tracy followed its gaze and saw a dark figure beyond the inferno. It was approaching fast as the sound of a motorcycle grew louder and louder.

The creature took a panicked double-take before a gold and red bike flew over Scott and hit it, causing it to fly a few meters away from him! The strange motorcycle then landed in between them. The field commander nearly gasped when his eyes processed the shape of the mysterious rider...

No… not just a rider… a Kamen Rider!

-0-0-0-

[my-random-ocs]

Rise Up Chapter 2: We Fight Demon Scorpions

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x OC (eventually)

Warnings: Angst, weapons, betrayal

<<< Previous || Masterlist || Next >>>

The next morning, the buzz at breakfast faded into the background as I attempted to wake up. I never really managed to fall back asleep after my nightmare.

A nudge against my shoulder made me jump, and I turned to see Silena sending me a worried look. “You okay?” She asked.

I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. I zoned back into the breakfast announcements. Apparently at around three this morning, an Aethiopian drakon had been spotted at the borders at camp. I was so distracted by my nightmare and tossing and turning that I hadn’t even noticed. The magical boundaries kept the monster out, but it stalked along the border, looking for weak spots in our defenses. It didn’t go away until Lee Fletcher, the Apollo cabin’s head counselor, led his siblings in pursuit. After shooting a few dozen arrows into its armor, it finally got the message and left.

“It’s still out there,” Lee was warning us. “Twenty arrows in its hide, and we just made it mad. The thing was thirty feet long and bright green. Its eyes-” He cut himself off, shuddering.

“You did well Lee,” Chiron said, patting him on the shoulder. “Everyone stay alert, but stay calm. This has happened before.”

“Aye,” Quintus said from his seat at the head table. “And it will happen again. More and more frequently.”

Wow, how helpful.

The campers murmured amongst themselves.

Everyone knew that Luke was planning an invasion into camp. Most of us expected it to happen this summer, but no one knew how or when. Our attendance was down, and that definitely didn’t help. When I started about four years ago, there had been over one hundred. Now there were only a little over eighty. Some had died. Some had joined Luke. Some had straight up disappeared.

“This is a good reason for new war games,” Quintus said. I didn’t love the glint in his eyes. “We’ll see how you all do with that tonight.”

“Yes…” Chiron said. “Well, enough announcements. “Let us bless this meal and eat.” He raised his goblet. “To the gods!”

We all raised our glasses and repeated the blessing.

I grabbed my plate, stood, and led my siblings to the brazier. “Aphrodite,” I whispered, tossing a hash brown into the fire. Mitchell showed Lacy what to do as I prayed to my mother. “Help me with Luke, and Grover, and protecting Amara…”

There was so much to list that I could have gone on all morning, but I headed back to my seat.

After a few minutes, I noticed that Grover was eating with Percy. Suddenly, my fork was halfway to my mouth when I felt somebody lift me by my shirt and take me to the Poseidon table. She plopped me down next to Grover and I swallowed my breakfast while Annabeth slid into the bench next to Percy.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

“Oh, okay, so we’re talking about this now,” I realized.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy told Annabeth. Campers weren’t allowed to switch tables. I wasn’t sure what the punishment was for switching, because it’s never happened. If Mr. D had been here, Annabeth and I would have been in big trouble, but he wasn’t here. Chiron apparently had already left. Quintus was still sitting at the head table, but didn’t say anything.

“We need to talk,” Annabeth insisted.

“But the rules-”

“Look, Grover is in trouble,” Annabeth interrupted. “There’s only way we can figure to help him. It’s the Labyrinth. That’s what Clarisse, Zia, and I have been investigating.”

“The Labyrinth isn’t in Crete anymore,” I continued. “Like a lot of ancient Greece myth stuff, it’s moved to America. Or, in this case, under America.”

“So… is the Labyrinth part of the Underworld?” Percy asked.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Well, there may be passages from the Labyrinth down into the Underworld,” Annabeth corrected. “I’m not sure. But the Underworld is way, way down. The Labyrinth is right under the surface of the mortal world, kind of like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years, lacing its way under Western cities, connecting everything together underground. You can get anywhere through the Labyrinth.”

“If you don’t get lost,” Grover grumbled helpfully. “And die a horrible death.”

“There has to be a way,” I told him. Again. We’ve had this conversation more than a few times over the past few months. “Clarisse made it out.”

“Barely!” He countered. “And the other guy-”

“He was driven insane,” Annabeth interrupted. “He didn’t die.”

“Oh, joy,” Grover said sarcastically. “That makes me feel much better.”

“Whoa,” Percy said. “Back up. What’s this about Clarisse and a crazy guy?”

I glanced over at the Ares table. Clarisse eyed us like she knew what we were talking about, but as soon as we made eye contact, she quickly focused on her plate.

I lowered my voice as I turned back to Percy. “Last winter,” I started, “Clarisse went on a mission for Chiron.”

“I remember,” he said. “It was secret.”

I nodded. “It was a secret because she found Chris Rodriguez.”

“The guy from the Hermes cabin?”

Chris was a son of Hermes who had come to camp before I had. He was about a year older than I was, and used to be friends with Nisha and I, until he left camp soon after Luke did. Last summer, Percy, Annabeth, Tyson, and I had found him on Luke’s war/cruise ship, the Princess Andromeda.

“Yeah,” Annabeth confirmed. “Last summer he just appeared in Phoenix, Arizona, near Clarisse’s mom’s house.”

“What do you mean he just appeared?” Percy asked.

“A few weeks after we got back from our quest,” I said, “Chris was found wandering around in the desert, in a hundred and twenty degrees, in full Greek armor, ranting about string.”

“String,” Percy said.

“He’d been driven completely insane,” Annabeth said. “Clarisse brought him back to her mom’s house so the mortals wouldn’t institutionalize him. She tried to nurse him back to health.”

“Chiron even came out and questioned him,” I added. “But it didn’t do much good. The only thing we were able to figure out is that Luke’s men have been exploring the Labyrinth.”

“Okay,” Percy said, trying to take all of this in. “Why were they exploring the Labyrinth?”

“We weren’t sure,” I said. “That’s why Clarisse went scouting. Chiron kept things quiet because he didn’t want to start a panic. The only reason he involved me was because… well, it’s Luke.”

“And he involved me because the Labyrinth has always been one of my favorite subjects,” Annabeth said. “The architecture involved…” Her expression turned a little dreamy. “The builder, Daedalus, was a genius. But the point is, the Labyrinth has entrances everywhere. If Luke could figure out how to navigate it, he could move his army around with incredible speed.”

“Except it’s a maze, right?” Percy asked.

“Full of horrible traps,” Grover added. “Dead ends. Illusions. Psychotic goat-killing monsters.”

“But not if you had Ariadne’s string,” Annabeth countered. “In the old days, Ariadne’s string guided Theseus out of the maze. It was a navigation instrument of some kind, invented by Daedalus. And Chris Rodriguez was mumbling about string.”

“So Luke is trying to find Ariadne’s string,” Percy said. “Why? What’s he planning?”

“I wish I knew,” I answered. “At first, we thought he wanted to use the maze to invade camp, but that wouldn’t make sense. The closest entrances Clarisse found were in Manhattan, so Luke wouldn’t be anywhere near our borders, let alone be able to get past them. Clarisse explored a little ways into the Labyrinth, but it was really dangerous. She had some close calls. Annabeth and I researched everything we could about Daedalus, but it didn’t help much. We can’t figure out what Luke is planning, but we know that the Labyrinth might be the solution to Grover’s problem.”

Percy blinked in confusion. “You think Pan is underground?”

“It would explain why he’s been impossible to find,” Annabeth said.

Grover shuddered. “Satyrs hate going underground. No searcher would ever try going in that place. No flowers. No sunshine. No coffee shops!”

“But,” Annabeth said, “the Labyrinth can lead you anywhere. It reads your thoughts. It was designed to fool you, to trick you and kill you-”

“- But if you can make the Labyrinth work for you-” I continued.

“It could lead you to the Wild god,” Percy finished.

“I can’t do it,” Grover insisted, clutching his stomach. “Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up my silverware.”

“Grover, it may be your last chance,” Annabeth said. “The council is serious. One week or you learn to tap dance!”

A throat clearing gained our attention, and my head swiveled to the head table, where Quintus was staring pointedly at us. I had a feeling he didn’t want to make a scene, but Annabeth and I were pushing it by staying at the Poseidon table for this long.

“We’ll talk later,” Annabeth said. She squeezed Percy’s arm. “Convince him, will you?”

Annabeth got up and went back to her table.

“It’s going to be okay, Grover,” I tried to reassure him. “We’ll figure it out.”

He just stared dejectedly at the table. I stood up and returned to my breakfast with Cabin Ten.

____________

That night after dinner, Quintus had us put on armor like we were going to play capture the flag, but the camp’s mood seemed more serious than that. At some point today, the crates from the arena had disappeared, and I had a bad feeling that whatever was in them was now running around in the woods.

Quintus stood up at the head table. “Right,” he said. “Gather ‘round.”

I found Ethan in the crowd and went to stand between him and Silena.

He was dressed in black leather and bronze. Mrs. O’Leary bounced around him happily, looking for food scraps to eat, then came right up to me.

I grinned, scratching behind her ears.

“You will be in teams of two,” Quintus announced. Immediately, everyone started moving around to get to their friends, he shouted, “Which have already been chosen.”

Everyone groaned.

“Your goal is simple,” Quintus continued. “Collect the gold laurels without dying. The wreath is wrapped in a silk package, tied to the back of one of the monsters. There are six monsters. Each has a silk package. Only one holds the laurels. You must find the wreath before the other teams. And, of course… you will have to slay the monster to get it, and stay alive.”

The crowd muttered excitedly.

“Lot more exciting than capture the flag,” Ethan grinned.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed. The goal seemed simple. Most of us had killed monsters before- that’s what we trained for.

“I will now announce your partners,” Quintus said. “There will be no trading. No switching. No complaining.”

“Arooof!” Mrs. O’Leary howled. She moved from my side to bury her face in a plate of leftover pizza.

Quintus took out a scroll and started reading off names.

Silena was paired up with Beckendorf, and she couldn’t hide her smile. I nudged her shoulder with mine, smirking. She shoved me playfully, both of us grinning. See, Silena had a crush on Beckendorf that neither of them would do anything about, and hoped they would soon, because it was super annoying how they wouldn’t tell each other how they felt.

Travis and Connor Stoll were paired up, which wasn’t a surprise. They did everything together. Clarisse was with Lee Fletcher. Percy and Annabeth were together. Grover and Tyson were paired together, which neither looked very happy about.

Then my name was called. “Ghaziyah Banerjee and Ethan Nakamura!” Ethan and I grinned at each other, and high fived.

“They don’t want to give anyone a fighting chance?” Ethan joked. Both of us were great sword fighters, and always rocked capture the flag when Aphrodite and Hermes were allied. I couldn’t wait to see how this would turn out.

____________

The actual game itself wasn’t important. Ethan and I almost beat Clarisse and Travis, but Grover and Tyson had a little issue. In order to make sure they didn’t accidentally kill each other, we missed the box with the laurel that would have made us win.

Luckily, Ethan wasn’t mad.

As I started taking off my armor, Ethan shuffled around nervously. “You okay?” I asked, undoing the straps of my breastplate.

“Yeah, I just-” He stopped. “I need to talk to you.”

I furrowed my brows. “About what?”

Ethan took a deep breath, then said all at once, “I wanted to leave camp.”

My eyes widened in surprise. “You-”

“I wanted to leave,” Ethan continued, “and join Luke’s army. But I don’t anymore.”

My mind was reeling. “You wanted to leave?” I asked, unable to keep the hurt and confusion out of my voice.

Ethan nodded, looking ashamed. “I did. I have a lot of anger toward the gods- you know that. And when I met Luke, so did he. The gods don’t pay enough attention to their kids, and he was really the only one doing something about it. But I realize… that he isn’t going about it the right way. I’ve decided to stay.”

“You have?” I asked, my hopes raising slightly.

“Yeah. I just- you’re my best friend in the world,” he said. “You’re the only one who actually accepts that my mother is Nemesis. You’re basically my little sister. The last thing I want is to mess that up.”

I processed everything Ethan just said, finally whispering, “So… you’re staying?”

Ethan nodded, beginning to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m staying.”

I grinned, squealing happily, and gave my best friend a bear hug, causing him to laugh.

“Hate to break up the fun,” a voice called, causing me to pull back. I turned to see Clarisse. “But we have a problem.”

I tensed, placing my hand on my sword. “What’s wrong?”

“Percy and Annabeth are missing.”

I would love to say I didn’t freak out.

Truthfully, I just about had a heart attack.

The whole camp, including Chiron, searched the entire woods.

After about an hour, I was on the verge of a panic attack when we heard shouts that they had been found.

Ethan and I followed the voices to Zeus’ Fist.

“Thank the gods!” I exclaimed, launching myself into Annabeth’s arms, causing her to stumble back from the force. Before she could react, I pulled away and hugged Percy tight. “Where were you two?”

“We’ve been looking forever,” Clarisse added as I pulled away, examining my friends for injuries.

“But we were only gone a few minutes,” Percy protested, confused at my outburst.

“Only a few minutes?” I repeated. “What, did you time travel?”

Chiron trotted up, followed by Grover and Tyson.

“Percy!” Tyson cried. “You are okay?”

“We’re fine,” Percy said. “We fell in a hole.”

We stared at him, confused, then looked at Annabeth.

“Honest!” Percy insisted. “There were three scorpions after us, so we ran and hid in the rocks. But we were only gone a minute.”

“You’ve been missing for almost an hour,” Chiron said. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Grover mumbled. “We would’ve won, but a Cyclops sat on me.”

“Was an accident!” Tyson protested, then sneezed.

I would have laughed if I wasn’t so confused.

“A hole?” Clarisse asked suspiciously.

Annabeth turned to our mentor. “Chiron, maybe we should talk about this at the Big House.”

Suddenly, it clicked, and I looked at Clarisse, who seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “Oh, my gods,” I said in amazement, my eyes widening. “You found it, didn’t you?”

Annabeth bit her lip. “I- Yeah. Yeah, we did.”

About fifty campers started asking questions at once, but Chiron raised his hand, quieting everyone. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He eyes the boulders like he just noticed something wrong with them. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. A game well played, but curfew is past!”

There was a lot of complaining, but the campers made their way back to the cabins.

“This explains a lot,” Clarisse said. “It explains what Luke is after.”

“Wait a second,” Percy said. “What do you mean? What did we find?”

Annabeth turned to Percy, worry clear on her face. “An entrance to the Labyrinth. An invasion route straight into the heart of camp.”

After that, Clarisse, Percy, and Clarisse headed back to their cabins, and I followed. It was difficult wrangling a bunch of eleven- to sixteen-year-olds together for bedtime. And I thought living with a one-year-old was difficult.

I turned toward the cabins, and I noticed Ethan was still there, a little ways away. He looked like he heard everything, but I wasn’t too worried. I smiled, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Come on, let’s head back,” I said happily.

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t read his expression, and it made me nervous.

We stopped as we reached our cabins. “Good night, Ethan,” I said quietly.

“‘Night, Zia,” he responded, and we went our separate ways.

[mooberg]

Among the Statues

Chapter 6: Hammer on Stone

I’m gonna try and not make updating this story a yearly thing, I swear.

The lvc belongs to @voiceoflarka​

Word count: 2291

Warnings: None

Enjoy!

Purple light splashed across Horns’ face as he gazed steadily out the window. His senses were on high alert for anything flying through the sky as he counted raindrops falling past the bright neon. Gamma and Psi were still out, but no one could be sure Dragon couldn’t find this place. The team slept about the safehouse, exhausted from worry while he stayed wide awake from the same.

“How powerful you must be, my little psychic…”

Dragon’s words echoed in his mind, cloudy in their intent. Clearly there was some darker interest there, and he doubted it was present before she froze the world. But what did she want, truly? He felt certain in the assumption her wishes had shifted upon their introduction, and her intensity toward him was worrisome; more than he wanted to let on. The team was worried enough, this was just part of it all. Having to consider additional motivations of a person who’s actions were already irredeemable was just going to add more stress. Was he being stupid? Probably. But they were aware enough of the situation and so he chose not to complicate things with his emotions. Well, more than normal anyway.

He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as his eyes shifted briefly out of focus, his mind doing the same. Worry was tiresome on a mind already stretched thin from recent events. His body was alert, but his focus wavered. The sound of the rain lulled him deeper and deeper into trance…

Flashes. Bursts of light. A mansion. Then a forest. A courtyard covered in shards stained each colour of the rainbow. Eight viruses stood at the entrance in shock. A field of picnickers. A broken tree branch just barely pulled out of the way. Flashes of white. A feeling of doing good. Flashes. Helping. Flashes. “Stop her”. More flashes. A convention hall. Solaris Amphitheatre. “Go…” echoing in his mind as everything slowly faded to black…

Horns pulled out of his trance with a jolt and a gasp, shaking his head as his vision returned. He glanced around quickly, panic abating as he took stock of his team around him, safe and sound. He whipped out his phone, typing a quick text.

“Need you back ASAP

We have a lead.”

 ~~*~~

 “The amphitheatre’s packed, guys. The Colors of the Wind Art Festival was this weekend and it attracted hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. Viruses from all over Dashland, maybe even beyond. Honestly, it’s kind of a miracle she didn’t hit here first, I can’t see another cluster of people quite this big anywhere in the Capitol.” Callow’s voice deep in their ear informed. The earpiece struggled to be heard over the whipping wind and thundering motors.

Horns thanked every being he could think of that Glitch was a good driver as they sped down the centre of the road. Cars whooshed past on either side of them at a solid 120 kilometers, and he just held on for dear life behind her.

“With her powers, she could wipe them out in seconds.” Glitch said, swerving around a car frozen in a lane change. “We… can’t have that again.”

“She’s going to come after me when she sees us.” Horns added. “This stopped being about frozen viruses the minute someone resisted her spell. Let me draw her out.”

“You better be careful.” Gamma’s response came quickly, and not without trepidation.

A conflicted silence hung on the line as the tall buildings of Lower Dashland Proper fell away to low, manicured trees and green fields. The Dashland convention grounds sprawled out before them. Bordered on three of four sides with downtown roads, the grounds were located a few kilometers off from the city centre and hosted most major events held in the region each year. The amphitheatre was an architectural feat, the large glass and wood dome towering over the stage and most of the ringed seating. Its façade was designed to match the three other convention buildings dotted throughout the parkland. Dozens of vendor stalls and food trucks had been gathered on the northern field, where the team had arrived. Glitch brought their motorcycle to a stop next to Callow and Jolly’s just as Gamma landed next to them with the rest of the team.

“Let me scout real quick. Find us a clear place.” They said. “We’re not losing any more lives today.”

“We are more prepared this time than before.” Psi began as Gamma took off. “We know what we’re up against now and we’re here first. Be on your guard and keep communications open. We can do this.”

“I’m gonna try to get her talking.” Horns added. “Figure out what it is she wants out of all this.”

“I mean… you said it yourself.” Jolly said. “She wants you.”

Horns sighed, looking out around the convention grounds lit up in shades of gold with the late afternoon sun. “There’s more to it than that. I know it.”

“Maybe before, but now-”

“The field to the east is the clearest we’re going to get.” Gamma’s voice in their ears cut them all off. “Everyone spread out around the grounds and keep your eyes peeled.”

“Where are you going to go?” Psi asked Horns.

The Satyr hadn’t torn his eyes from the fields through Gamma’s report, falling back on his intuition to guide him, as it had done when it brought him here. “The amphitheatre.” He pointed to the east as he gave Psi a wry smile. “Seems Dragon wants to put on a show.”

His mentor gave him a nod and headed off directly south. Horns took a breath and stepped on to the paved concrete path. Banners hanging from the merchant stalls along the path flapped in the gentle afternoon breeze. Vendors hung out of almost every stall, enticing customers in to buy. Or at least their statues did. Horns stepped around their potential customers dotting the path. He took his time. There was no point in hiding.

He sighed. “Would’ve been a cool festival…”

The grounds opened up to him eventually as he left the stalls behind, as manicured as an open public field could get. Short grass dotted with trees to allow convention-goers to hide from the sun. The amphitheatre lay in the southeast corner, and he stepped onto the grass to beeline straight there. Even from this distance halfway across the field, Horns could see all the souls sheltered within. There they remained, locked in a moment of excitement and celebration now stained with freezing ice. A rainbow of innocents who did not sign up for this chaos.

“Poor guys…” He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Nice to see you again,” he reached up and discretely tapped his earpiece on as he turned, knowing without looking what he faced. “Dragon.”

Across the convention grounds, his whole team froze.

“My dear, I’m afraid I cannot return your greeting as you have not given me your name.” She replied.

Horns gave her a quick once over. Her dress had changed to a simple red velvet with fine black lace over top, but the black cloak remained. Her dark brown hair still fell freely about her shoulders, now unburdened from the weight of the rain under which they had first met. And she smiled at him, her glowing dark red eyes regarding him with a complex mix of emotions. Horns decided to take a chance.

“Horns.” He offered.

“Any last name?” She asked.

“Maybe another time.” He gave her a cocky smile.

“Very well.” She sighed not quite out of disappointment. “I assume the others are close by?”

“Close enough.” Horns confirmed. “But it’s just you and me in this field now so let’s talk. What did you mean?”

“In which case, dear?”

“What am I wrong about?” His eyes narrowed. “What do you know that I don’t?”

She gave a haughty laugh. “Oh, my little psychic I wouldn’t say you’re ignorant on the matter, just… prone to forgiveness.”

Horns cocked his head in question.

“I can tell by those horns and those ears that you know as well as I differences are not always tolerated.” She began. “Sure, those in power preach equality and change, but they never seem to follow through, do they? Someone always ends up under someone else’s boot.”

“Keep her talking, Horns. We need to know more.” Gamma came through in his ear.

“It’s more common than people think, that’s for sure.” Horns agreed.

“Not so naive after all, are you?” Dragon grinned, leaning towards him a little. “So tell me child, have you been under someone’s boot?”

“You said you know these horns; you know the answer.” Horns hesitated to continue.

“It’s okay. I know they’re listening.”

He looked around briefly, unable to see any of his team. Then with a sigh, he turned off his earpiece. There were still people close to him in the dark about his true nature, and he’d rather it stayed that way for now. “All my life. There’s never been a moment I felt safe. From ridicule, from harm caused by those who didn’t care, or didn’t even want to know. I was born a Satyr. It’s who I am; I can’t change that. I can’t hide it, and I have tried. So why does that give people the right to push me around?”

“It doesn’t.” Dragon countered. “You do.”

She looked out across the fields and Horns took that moment to quickly turn his earpiece back on.

“You let them walk on you, you place yourself under their boot. You give them permission.”

“So that’s what this is.” Horns connected the dots. “You’re taking back permission.”

“You catch on quick, my little psychic.”

“But not everyone is like that.” Horns countered. “I’ve met good people. People who care about me, about everyone. People out here working themselves to stardust to try and stop you from taking more innocent lives-”

“Innocent?” Dragon scoffed, forcing Horns to step back as she stepped forward. “My dear there are no innocents here. There are the guilty parties, and the ones that do nothing. Well, if they’re going to do nothing, they might as well make me a lovely little statue garden.”

“I… I’ll stop you.” Horns insisted. “Even if I have to wake everyone up all by myself. I won’t let you stomp them down to dust.”

Dragon smiled at him. “I know.”

With a pound of her foot on the paved concrete, pillars of ice erupted from the ground, angled at him. Horns had no time to react before the blow caught his chest full force, sending him flying back and into the air. He shut his eyes against the spiderwebbing pain, curling in on himself to protect his damaged chest for when he hit the ground.

“I’ve got you.” Gamma’s voice cut through the pain as their arms carefully wrapped around him. He opened his eyes to his team starting to attack below him. Psi’s plants snaked their way into the fight and turned the field to chaos as the trainees moved in.

Gamma lowered him to the ground out of the way of the fight. “Stay here.”

They took off before he even got a chance to argue, wings open wide at the top of their flight to fire on Dragon. Psi's vines swooped in as Horns watched and curled around him to shield him from the fight. But he could watch on with mounting worry.

Like last time, the team struggled to land any hits on their opponent. They lined up a modified version of their well practiced barrage attack, using the distracting attack of one person to bring the next closer to their target. The very one that had gotten Horns in close to Psi once. Even if they missed, even if she blocked them, bit by bit they could close in. Dragon was faring well, but the cracks in her defences were beginning to show. Between Gamma's unrelenting laser attacks, Psi's distracting and deadly plants, and the team refusing to let up, Horns could very well see this fight turning in their favour.

But of course, so did Dragon.

Just like last time, Horns watched her preparing to strike. She allowed the team to land some blows and chose to dodge Gamma's attacks instead of blocking them with ice. The small reprieve was just enough to save her enough energy to send them all flying back with a burst of wind and throw up a jagged dome of ice.

Gamma bared down with their lasers, intent on melting through, but Horns knew it would still take too long. He thrashed against the vines' hold on him, panic gripping his chest tighter and blocking out the pain from the movement. He couldn't see them frozen again. He couldn't look down the line of his family and force himself to think strategically about who he could afford to leave frozen, should he not be successful in waking them all. He couldn't do it all again. Not again.

The scream he unleashed in his fear and fury was nothing compared to the mind blast that simultaneously ripped through Dragon's skull. It exhausted him almost immediately. He was barely aware of Gamma breaking through the ice barrier and the sounds of frustration when their adversary was not found inside. He hardly felt the vines slowly lowering him to the ground and releasing their grip, though he did fight his last few inches to freedom. And he didn't pay mind to three familiar statues now present in the open.

He just stayed on his knees where Psi had dropped him and tried to force some energy back into his soul.

[roseategales]

WHERE FIELDS OF FLOWERS BLOOM  —  CHAPTER TWO: GHILANAS, DYS.

fic rating: explicit, for eventual smut. | chapter rating: teen. | categories (for this chapter): missing scenes, mild angst, hurt/comfort. | pairing: solavellan. | content warnings (for this chapter): canon typical violence, death, war, racism, experimentation on lavellan as a prisoner. | word count: 4.3K. | alternate link: ao3.

author’s notes: all my love to @brietopia and @spacedadpicard​ for beta’ing and putting up with me going, ���but! but! but!” every few comments. full authors notes are on ao3. | ghilanas — luck, fate, destiny, lit. "guiding soul" the force that seems to operate for good or ill in a person's life, as in shaping circumstances, events, or opportunities; dys — chance, luck. translation by fenxshiral.

_____________________________

The Herald was a symbol of his mistakes made manifest.

She was of the People. Dalish. Left without empire and without home. Sundered from her history, herself. Marked and marred by vallaslin, the chain by which the Evanuris’ slaves were bound, that elves once died to have him break, in an attempt twisted by ruination and ignorance along restoring what was.

Were that not enough, she had found her way into the Conclave between the Templars and the mages, and thus stumbled upon Corypheus and the ritual meant to unlock the foci, the Mark bestowing itself upon her hand in the process. She would have died in the explosion if not for that chance encounter, and all the world would have been reshaped to feed the arrogance of a madman he had never wanted to enable. He would have had to devise new means to again procure the foci and tear down the Veil—if he even survived.

But whether her survival could be called miracle or mercy remained to be seen. For her and for the People.

And yet… It seemed she would be unlike anything he expected.

It was nearly nightfall when he arrived at Haven’s gate, the first rift having burst into the sky that morn. Already it was spreading—like a wound unable to heal, splitting across the heavens, sickly and virid, over the high mount that cradled the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The ancient structure itself was a wreckage. Broken, jagged pieces of its remains hung suspended in between the two halves of the world, visible from the village below.

There, the Divine’s people were reeling from the shock. Bellringers sounded continuous alarms to action. Scouts were racing to uncover answers, soldiers marching to fight against the demons pouring from the Fade, clergy and pilgrims were scattering. Everywhere, a whirlwind of boots hitting the ground, hoofbeats, blades ringing in the air, confusion searching for clarity. The same questions repeated over and over again, in a multitude of forms:

What happened? Sabotage? Who would do this? Why?

Treading on a snow-laden road and leaning on his staff, Solas navigated his way through the people moving past him, the breezing winds and snow flitting by, grazing his cheek. Those who noticed him threw suspicion with their glances. They murmured their surprise, and some even stared. The two male guards standing at the gate in particular.

They saw an apostate mage, after all, donning wool and linen. Arriving on a day of a cataclysm, during a time when mages across Thedas were demanding freedom from the confines of the Chantry.

Although he was no threat, he called out his surrender and intent to assist as he came to the gate, and gave up his staff as a gesture of goodwill. The guards immediately seized his pack, bound his hands with tightened rope and arrested him—as he expected they would—and one of them barked for a soldier to take him to a tent near the chantry on the hill, where one whom they called Sister Nightingale would subject him to questioning.

The soldier who was called to lead the way took him and charged forward. He was a man who could not have been more than thirty, whose bold features curled into a sneer, and whose gauntleted grip would bruise flesh through to bone of the arm he pulled on. Solas said nothing, but showed a slight smile, determined to ignore the injury and the onlookers. It was a minute inconvenience, in the grander scheme. One that would end quickly once they reached the Sister.

Who, he recognised upon seeing, was no mere Sister of the Chantry at all, but a figure of high rank, associated with the Divine herself.

She was surrounded by wooden tables set at each corner of the tent, supplies, and scouts receiving and handing over missives and messages. She gave orders like it was bred into her nature. And unlike the laity and the other robed clergy about, she was outfitted in plate and mail, an insignia emblazoned on her chest that differed from that of the Templar Order’s. It was not a sword upon flames. It was an open eye in the midst of them.

Hearing the crunch of footsteps on snow, the Sister turned her head from missives arranged on a table facing west. The soldier announced the arrival of an apostate, and repeated his alleged surrender and offer of assistance. Waning light glinted off the Sister’s hard gaze, and she dismissed the soldier. Leaving herself alone with a character unknown, to interrogate without interference.

No time was wasted in launching her inquiry, her conduction of it extensive and circumspect. What was he called? Why had he come? Where had he traveled from? Would there be witnesses who could verify his story? Did he have family? Friends? Connections? What did he know about the tear in the Veil? How had he come into his talents? Pursued his studies? And how did he avoid capture by the Templars? She spared no boundary, no diversion of her waiting, watchful gaze.

Solas answered as required. He told the Sister his name, his purpose for coming, the village he embarked from. He told her there were indeed witnesses who could place him, that he traveled alone and had no family, friend, or connection to speak of. The paths that led to details he could not give, he furled into half-truths and omissions, spun back toward his knowledge of magics, the Veil and the Fade. He explained to her what he’d seen, the tools and gifts he gleaned and dreamed, how he walked through memories ever fluid. He laid out secrets of the Fade, made plain its nature and channels, expounded on its hosts and dangers presented. Still, he named his childhood village, for needed trust.

And it was then that the Sister cautiously asked: Did he know there was a survivor?

He heard the rumours.

Did he know who she was?

He did not.

He took the opportunity for his own inquiry: If he might study the survivor, for signs of what caused her survival, as he believed that could be the key to sealing the tear in the Veil.

Could he help them wake her?

He would try.

There was a falter in the Sister’s trained mien. Solas saw the denouement in shard-like precision, when resignation demanded a choice be made.

She slid a dagger from her sleeve to cut his wrists free, a warning and an agreement without need of speech. He thanked her, and she escorted him within the sunburst-painted doors of the chantry.

The chill of winter had stolen through, even there. Stone walls had become vessels for it.  Any warmth the candles, torches, and the Eternal Flame could provide was feeble, snuffed out by damp air, the further down and down he and the Sister went, into the depths beneath the place of worship. A sting of cold shot up his soles with each step. She assessed him in peripheral view, for a flinch, an indication of duplicity, as he did her. They were silent but for their footfalls, passing by intervals of luminescent sconces and deepening shadows, empty cells and statues of Andrastian legends on both sides, to the end of the tunnel—where the prisoner was lain.

There were two Templars at the mouth of the corridor, atop the steps that led to the prisoner, in the low incandesce of torches fixed at the four corners of the cell. A man and a woman, who saluted the Sister, gauntleted hands at the hilts of their swords, faces hidden behind the visors of their steel helms. They were waiting, undoubtedly, for some volatile effect of the prisoner’s magic, or for her to turn into an abomination upon her waking.

She would pay the price for his failings.

They all would, if he could not set things right.

The Mark flared virescent. The guards tightened their grips on their swords. Solas looked warily to the Sister, who stood steel-stiff. The guards moved to protest whatever he would do, but she shook her head and gave her permission. He was enabled to take the steps down, to kneel beside the prisoner herself.

She appeared a slight thing. Sweat beaded at her forehead, down the dust and halla-spirals of her vallaslin, her body shivering and paled, shrinking into the too-large coat of a human mercenary she had padded out, into itself. As helpless as the Dalish patchwork depiction of the Halla Mother. Bound as the would-be goddess was in the stories as well, her hands cuffed in iron chains. Like a hunter’s kill.

A waft of elfroot hit him. He spotted an emptied flask in the corner, used up to afford them precious time and opportunity before her probable slaughter, and he questioned if it was too late. If he had failed before he’d begun.

He turned to the Sister, and gave her a list of spells he might attempt, what he could try, gently drawing the prisoner’s marked hand to his. It was like ice. Magic ebbed from the scar along her palm—magic composed by him—pulsing green, a current thrumming on his skin, strange and unfamiliar now.

The Sister nodded. She bid him to do what he could.

He sheathed himself in a layer of protection, and cast above them a map of the prisoner’s channels and links of mana and magic.

That was the first day.

The second day passed. Solas was again interrogated by another of the Divine’s aides, a Seeker Pentaghast. She assumed suspicion of him until witnesses could corroborate his story, and threatened execution if he did not wake the prisoner. Then they returned to him his pack and staff, conditions and expectations clear. They placed him in a hut, Templars stationed and stalking outside. Everywhere he went, there were eyes on his back, waiting for a single offence.

All the while, the first rift continued to spread and grow. Reports of more rifts came from the surrounding areas. Demons were ravaging whole camps and villages. Scouts and soldiers were lost. Refugees replaced them in exchange for shelter and safety. The tear in the Veil was dubbed as the Breach, perhaps so they could comprehend it: what was swallowing the world whole.

And the prisoner? The prisoner remained unconscious.

He did what he could. He tried to separate the Mark from her, but he was still too weak. He tried to siphon the excess energy to lessen its effects, but it overflowed. He penned notes with each attempt, each method he could think of and perform. At his request, the apothecary, who attended to her with elfroot every morn and eve, brought him a draught of spindleweed to combine with his spellwork. He had to stop a trial when the Mark resisted and her body began to thrash. Reading his report, the Sister and the Seeker pressed the importance of her survival and a solution to the Breach.

At his wits’ end, he entered the Fade with the intent to make contact with the prisoner’s mind or a spirit who could advise him, or one who might’ve witnessed her actions preceding the blast, to grant her time and prove her innocence. It was of no use. Ill as it was, her body hadn’t the strength to sustain itself, and her spirit was compensating for it, confined to its form in the cell, unable to slip fully into a dreaming state. The spirits who possessed knowledge of the ancient magics were driven away by the Breach. The ones who might’ve witnessed the events of the Conclave were twisted by Terror. His options for saving her life and the Mark were all but exhausted.

The best he could do was give her a less fitful sleep, by suppressing the Mark’s link to her mana.

No one expected her to wake by the end of the third day. While Solas hoped—neither did he. How could she? When she was a mortal made in a world rendered immutable? A mere shadow of who the People were? When she had been thrown physically through the Fade? When the foci’s magic was never supposed to be tuned to anyone else’s but his own?

No, she would pass. He had to find other means of repairing the rifts, and brace himself to flee.

He turned his back on the prisoner, and diverted his research to alternatives. To mending the Breach alone.

She woke on the dawn of the fourth day.

She was an impossible sight—a force who fought her way to the riverbanks, the Seeker at her side, staff in hand, flickers and flares of flames and thorns at her fingertips, her face a fury as sharp as the crimson shock of her vallaslin. He nearly stumbled as he saw her, the rift at his back, demons outpouring toward them, assailing. She burned a number of demons to ash at her feet, the Mark’s magic pulsing and crackling in the air, as awake and alive as she.

There’s a chance, he thought, banishing the demons before him, opening a path to race to her side. There’s a chance, there’s a chance, he repeated to himself, like a plea, a prayer, as he grasped for her hand, and felt the surge of power, pushing it up toward the rift.

She sealed it. And another at the forward camp. And another in the valley. The Mark and effort drained her, left her gasping for breath as they forged on to Temple’s remains, but she persisted, assured him she would do what she could while she lived. And she did. She closed that first wound in the sky, stabilising the Breach, and the Mark’s symbiosis to herself. The world had its hope of healing the Veil.

But what little relief their victory had, Solas could not take comfort in. Talk of her divinity, her mantle as Andraste’s favoured, flew faster than ravens across Thedas, witness accounts carrying its wings. They spoke of the woman behind her in the Fade, the echo of the Divine’s tenebrous slayer. As a new villain entered the story, she was titled its hero, her transfiguration occurring over a matter of days. From survivor, to prisoner, to the Herald of Andraste.

How bitter the irony was. He had devoted his life to freeing his People from would-be gods and their false images, and here, his actions had indirectly led to the creation of yet another.

He would deserve his enemies’ mockery.

Thus, his service to the Inquisition would be twofold. He would lend his expertise and talents as they were required, and he would take it upon himself to observe the Herald, to counsel her, to check her if necessary. Corypheus, the Breach, and the Mark were his responsibility. She was the solution and a consequence, a complication that could put an end to his plans if he was not careful. He needed to learn who she was, gain her trust, and prepare himself for who she would be.

At first, he thought to do so at a distance. But after her recovery, she’d come to him. She wanted to understand the nature of what befell, the cause of the Breach, his theories on the Mark on her hand and its effects. She asked to see his notes. Reasonable requests. Pragmatic. If she was the possessor of unknown power and subject of study, it was her right and, arguably, her obligation to be informed. He sat with her in his hut, on the stone floor warmed by the hearth, his notebook between them, the desk’s nook too small for them both. Snow was falling with the afternoon sun outside, strong winds blowing past. They explored each topic, one by one. How could the Veil be rent like this? Think of it as a chord’s constant vibration, anything with enough power can disrupt it. Could such a thing be expended, destroyed in the blast? She survived, did she not. Will the Mark’s volatility resurface with use? It’s difficult to tell, but it appears stable, for now.

She paused when they turned to the dog-eared page of his tests on her. Her fingers traced the diagram he drew of her mana lines, like veins, like roots and branches forming an indistinct figure. Beside it was his scrawl, in Common for transparency:

Using spindleweed achieved the opposite of the desired effect. Its remedial properties on wounds caused by demons and spirit magic were absorbed by the Mark, amplifying it momentarily. The survivor’s connection to the Mark is too intrinsic. Casting a sleep spell stopped the thrashing. Pulse is still elevated. Other methods may have to forgo supplementary elements, or prove fatal.

Frowning, she thumbed the scar on her palm. Cast in the light of the fire, shifting shadows and golds on her sun-warmed skin, Solas remarked to himself how she looked less like a religious icon, or a helpless creature, and more like one of the People who fled to his rebellion; with circles under her eyes, her form meals away from filling her plain cotton tunic, apprehension at her spine and heavy on her exhale, his notes echoing Ghilan’nain’s. It was like the past impressed upon the present. Yet that would imply she chose the road they were on. On some level, he pitied her. He wondered what she must have thought of it all.

A strand fell from her flaxen braid. She tucked it behind her ear, and asked him softly: How did he wake her?

He told her the truth. He didn’t.

Her eyes snapped to his, disbelieving. She lifted her hand from the page, curled it in her lap. He anticipated reproach. Anger. Contempt. For her to spit that colourful Dalish curse at him. May the Dread Wolf take you. Instead, she asked him another question: Was he threatened?

Would she absolve him for that reason?

No, she said. To absolve him would be to declare him condemnable, his position easy—he did what he had to.

He wasn’t sure what surprised him most. Her understanding, her willingness to be sacrificed, or her solicitude, genuine and thoughtful. She swore she wouldn’t let anyone use his help against him. Of course, this was in part due to her deeming his knowledge and skills an asset. No one else could offer her the explanations she wanted, not in detail. But when had anyone in this world, let alone a Dalish elf, considered his point of view so readily?

He didn’t know how, but over two weeks, their time together became routine. If she wasn’t in meetings with the Inquisition leaders, or in her hut, or with whomever needed her, she was with him. They discussed the Fade, his travels, the war, lands and cities navigated by her clan, texts she’d read, heroes of the age and prior, hour upon hour. The company was unexpected, but not unwelcome. It was refreshing to have someone listen, and to hear them speak to him so freely, without reverence, without prejudice. And he was provided opportunity to learn much of her. Of her idealisations for a world of peace and magic, of routes she traveled in the Free Marches and Ferelden that overlapped or just missed his own, of her decision to scout in her father’s honour, of her inclination to study, her discomfort in her new role as Herald.

He commented on that discomfort once, people bowing to her as they walked by and she entered his hut. The door closed, safe inside, she told him it was like no one saw her as she was.

He knew the feeling, he said, before he could catch himself.

Did he?, she questioned. But a sadness underlied her smile, and she supposed that he did.

Such was her longing to make sense of her circumstances, and for connection, that she laid down her skepticism, accepted him. By this, he was disarmed. He would give away more of himself than he intended. Encourage her jokes and teasing when he should have been more reserved. It was dangerous, frightful. She had an openness he admired, and he’d forget himself in it. He had to raise barriers, recall the purpose of dialogue with her.

Yet—he regretted not returning her favour.

One mistaken sentence, spoken unfairly of the plight of the Dalish, and she was gone. He felt betrayed, that he misjudged her. She was the one who asked for his opinion and insights on Elvhen culture, only to scoff and turn on him, as a foolish, insolent child would, like the rest of her kind, was she not? He was left cold, dismissed, abandoned as soon as she heard truths she disagreed with. He caught glimpses of her on two occasions, when the apothecary requested his assistance; once as she was leaving the chantry with the Inquisition’s Chief Ambassador, another when she was ushered into the tavern by the Child of the Stone. He wanted to go after her, but thought better of it. And if she indeed cared for him or what he had to say, wouldn’t she have approached him by then?

He didn’t think... She’d felt betrayed as well. Nor did he guess she would have apologised, though she was not to blame, and neither were the Dalish. But she did.

She called him lethallin. Her friend. Her kin. As if their People were one and the same.

As with all his mistakes, however, Solas paid a price. Although she was still happy to listen, she was comparatively reticent with what she shared of herself. His questions on her clan and her life before the war would often be met with nonanswers, subject changes, or questions of her own. Her trust was damaged. On these matters, at least. It had to be mended, with time.

But as for the matters she continued to trust him with, he was grateful for them. The day after the Sister’s agents were sent out, they received a report, that the Mother was found tending to wounded in the Hinterlands. Because he was to accompany the Herald along with the Seeker and the Child of the Stone, he was privy to the briefings. A section of thirty soldiers was to travel with them, six as an escort, the rest to bolster the forces already there. They were warned of what awaited in the war-snatched territory—corrupt Templars, apostates driven to madness by desperation, displaced refugees, farmers and village folk clinging to semblances of their lives in between—and charged to set up posts, protect whoever they were able to, win influence and allies, gather supplies, and make their way to acquire a horsemaster if they could. The journey lasted two days, and they paused little for rest and refreshment.

The Herald was at the center of preparations throughout. She’d ask the Seeker for advice on Chantry politics. Write letters with the Child of the Stone to a mutual friend in Kirkwall’s alienage. Rise early and retire late to help the soldiers around camp. Allow him to examine the Mark periodically for any signs it would conflict and destabilise with use of her magic.

The one thing they could not fully prepare for was the devastation of the Hinterlands itself. Ancient towers were torn down, homes razed, the crossroads blocked by bandits taking advantage of the chaos. People were at death’s door due to lack of medicine, food, shelter, and something as simple as a blanket to keep them from the bite of winter’s winds. Worse, the Templars and mages were little more than animals. The Inquisition’s party was attacked upon arrival, calling out peace to both sides. Neither could be reasoned with, even as the Seeker and the Herald pointed out the Inquisition’s banner, the camp of sick and injured nearby, their voices high above clashes of metal, blasts of fire, lightning, screams.

War, as ever, spared neither the neutral nor the innocent.

He could feel how the battle weakened the Veil. Terror, Despair, Rage, all threatened, humming on the hairs at his neck and in the back of his mind. The party was disconcerted by the encounter, the scene of death and suffering around them. The Herald especially.

She was no soldier. The first time he saw her fight, she was driven by pure instinct, against creatures she’d been taught to fear, to see as an other. But against humans and elves, those living and breathing to her, her spells were defensive, roots and vines coiling up from her staff as shields or holds. Were it not for his barriers and the Seeker’s blade, she would’ve been wounded. Her kills were hesitant, last-minute. And in the aftermath, horror and grief were plain on her face. Grief for her parents and clanmates, perhaps.

Perhaps that was why she wore her diplomatic posture like armour when meeting the Mother to acquire potential allies. Why she turned her focus to aiding the refugees, hunting medicine, food, and whatever they needed to survive. Why she insisted she was fine when he and the Child of the Stone expressed concern, refusing to eat, or even sit, until she was certain every last supply they had was distributed.

He would never forget how she knelt before a dark-haired Elvhen woman and her daughter, gently placing a blanket in the child’s small hands. Cooking fires limned the camp, ambers and golds painting its inhabitants, the background of obsidian night tinted green. The Elvhen woman prompted her daughter to thank the Herald. But, she shook her head, leaned close to the child and said, “Eludysia will do,” as an entreaty, not unlike when she first came to him, sadness in her forest-green eyes.

Eludysia. In Elvhenan, your name’s meaning evoked who were. Your vices and virtues, your past and your present, your deeds, your failures, your triumphs. Hers meant: She who’s lucky with a secret.

He hoped she would be.

[sailorscuttle]

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[elmidol]

The Kaleidoscope of Reality

Three Blind Tooke Part Three Death Is An Art

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Three Blind Tooke 

 Part Three: Death is an Art

 Chapter Sixty-One: The Kaleidoscope of Reality

 Of the colors and the shades

In this kaleidoscope of childhood,

I never saw that shapes they made,

Nor their meaning ever understood.

 The Knights of Ren had boarded the Night Buzzard ahead of Kylo Ren. You stared past his shoulder at the modified starship while digesting the information he had given you. Though you were not benched, you would not be on the front lines alongside him and the warriors you had accompanied on other missions. This was to better utilize your skillset as an LDS, which was why you were not opposed to the idea. It was more that you were suddenly quite afraid as the reality of the war hit you anew. The losses that you had endured had compiled one after another until there you were, unsure if your mother yet lived. Aware that you did not want to lose Kylo, not for a second time. You released a shaky exhalation and clutched the helmet more tightly against your abdomen.

 His eyes roamed your face. Neither of you wanted to say words of farewell. There were no cheesy or overly sentimental lines to share either. The silence was a comfortable one. An understanding. You traced his features with your gaze to assist in once more memorizing them. This was who you were fighting for. You felt your head bobbing in gentle nods despite not having made a conscious decision to do so. Kylo mirrored the movement, albeit a single time. His feet carried him away from you in the next breath, which you released while watching him leave. Only as he headed into the Night Buzzard did you abandon that position in order to enter the ship that would take you to the same planet.

 Four ships including the Knight Buzzard, that was all that Kylo had gathered for this. The Star Destroyers belonging to the Order of Ren would be nearby for if the First Order worked to show its full might. From what the scouts had revealed, however, Armitage Hux was taking a different approach now that the weapon that had destroyed Naboo had been dismantled. He was deploying ground troops and, if their intel was accurate, was there himself. This fact alone caused your lips to curl upwards at the sides, a cruel smile gracing your face. You strapped yourself into your seat then rested your head against the wall and closed your eyes.

 There were stormtroopers and officers alike in the shuttle with you. The majority of them were Force sensitive, however there were at least three individuals you knew to be ‘normal’, like you were. They had defected from the First Order to join the Order of Ren not because they were being persecuted by Supreme Leader Armitage Hux, but due to their personal beliefs. Time and again they had put their lives on the line. Your respect for them grew, more now that you had joined the cause in full. Kylo Ren would require guidance, as would any leader, however you were more certain that he could rule the galaxy with fairness. To help temper his anger would be to assist the galaxy in finding peace after the war. This was true for Force users. It was equally true for those who could not master those mystical arts. The First Order would work to eliminate Force users. The Resistance was foolishly anchored to the past, to the leaders of old rather than transitioning into what the galaxy had become or was becoming.

 It was the Order of Ren that drew from the past as well as the future. Kylo Ren worked to utilize the artifacts of Jedi and Sith alike, to merge the Light and Dark--ultimately this would assist in driving away fear. He wanted power, yes, however he also made clear that he did not oppose others having power either. Rey, for instance, was a being he openly embraced. He had praised you for your strength since the beginning. Kylo Ren was a man of action who would commit to the deeds himself; he did not hide behind an army like Armitage Hux did. He did not lead from behind as Phasma had. His Order was not the First Order that you had opposed. It was not the Resistance either. Kylo Ren did not move to shove the role of hero onto a legend nor force the young to become symbols of hope simultaneous to the previous generations maintaining the true roles of power, of political influence.

 Responsibility and accountability. You breathed out through pursed lips. If one pulled the trigger or handed another a weapon, they were accountable. But so many leaders hid, you realized as time dragged on. They did not put themselves on the frontline. Kylo Ren did. He was reckless at times. Foolish even. Yet he earned your respect and the respect of those who followed him. Even where he had viewed others as pawns, he had taken it upon himself to commit to the cause in full. Armitage Hux was a dictator. The Resistance was a fumble to reinstate senators that valued their own self-interests rather than those they were meant to represent. Kylo Ren was ready to relinquish the chains of the past to move forward into this new era.

 In truth, you still did wish that the Resistance and the Order of Ren would merge. You lamented over the knowledge that Leia Organa was not allowing this--and it was, you thought, out of fear of the past. The terror that her son would become a combination of Vader and Palpatine. So instead of working to ensure that he wouldn’t by guiding him, she had sent him away and now fought against him even when he had metaphorically extended his hand to her. The repetitive rejections were felt by the galaxy as a whole. Three sides to this war in place of two.

 “Are you ready for this?” One of the officers was speaking, and it was the lack of an answer that prompted you to reopen your eyes, which allowed you to see that you were the recipient of the question. You hummed out an affirmation despite feeling a sudden conflict within yourself; not knowing the extent of what you were agreeing to did not sit well with you. This could well be a battle between the First Order and the Order of Ren. You were ready for that. This could be a threeway fight, in which case the lines blurred. You wanted to shrink away from such an experience, however you knew that you wouldn’t.

 Your hand skimmed along the length of your weapon. Kuruk would be fulfilling his role as a sniper in a different location from yours. In this, it was similar to what had occurred when you had assisted in taking down Phasma. Rage was beginning to boil within you as you thought of how much you wanted to target Hux specifically. That would be to the detriment of the mission. If you had the opening, you would take it, but your priority was to pick off any larger threats that you could. Those aboard the shuttle that carried you would split off save for one officer and a Force sensitive stormtrooper. These two would ensure that you were safe. This was not the first mission any of them had been on, a fact that allowed you a modicum of comfort.

 After glancing towards the pilot of the craft, you returned your gaze to the officer who had spoken and gave a verbal reply to accompany the previous nod. “Yes.”

 “There will be civilians present.” You sucked in air through your teeth, your chest expanding. The information was not new to you. That did not detract from the fact that it was, in your opinion, poor taste to focus on it. The presence of civilians was one of the main reasons Kylo had given you a blaster in place of a blade. The threats that you would target were those that would be using civilians as shields. In response to your forming scowl, the officer’s eyes flickered away. “It’s been different with him in charge… Well, different than when he led the First Order as well.”

 A truth that you had come to embrace, to adore. It was one of the reasons that you had been able to join Kylo at his side and fight for him. Kill for him. The First Order under Kylo Ren’s rule had not been concerned with protecting civilians. Guilt by proximity, no contact necessary. This was different. You now understood the officer’s concern was not for you but for themselves. The deflection was very similar to how Kylo had always been around you, and you found yourself beginning to smile gently as though to comfort this person.

 “Don’t let fear of failure or death stop you,” you said. Your voice was soft, tone level without being condescending. “We’re going to see people die. We aren’t going to be able to save them. It’s a cold fact of war.”

 There had been an emphasis on the success of the mission overriding the value of life when these Order of Ren members had been a part of the First Order. This mission was the value of life. You thought of Leia in that moment. How she had inspired you, the hope that she had given you. Your mind drifted to Kylo. You placed a hand over your heart while bowing your head. In that brief pause, you wished that you were able to feel the Force so that you could reach out to him in the bond that you shared. It had sapped much of your strength to do so with Rey, and even that had been clumsy on your part. The upcoming battle meant that you had no energy to waste. Not that expending strength would be a waste, it never would be when it came to Kylo.

 “Mm.” The grunt echoed from all Force sensitives in the shuttle with you. You once more turned towards the pilot. The planet loomed in view, as did numerous First Order vessels. Some of those were engaged in dogfights with what you knew to be Resistance starfighters. The Resistance pushed towards the planet as best it could similarly to what the craft you were on was doing. The turbulence jerked you back and forth. There were ysalamir in some of those First Order ships and on the planet. You knew this based on the reactions of and expressions worn by your comrades.

 I’ll protect you from death, you silently promised them, your grip on the weapon in your hands tightening. You willed away anything that would be a distraction or weaken your resolve. The sounds of the dogfights drifted away until the beating of your heart was all you could hear. An invisible caress assisted you in further relaxing; Kylo was with you, always with you even while you were physically apart. You had both come back from death, you remembered, you had both mastered its art.

 Within minutes of landing on the planet, your two long term companions for the mission were falling into rhythm. They raised their blasters to cut past any foe that would hinder your movements as you sought an ideal location that overlooked the battle, which was more widespread than you had hoped. The First Order had poured a multitude of resources onto this planet. That, or the Empire before it had. Not only did this planet contain families that were known to produce Force sensitive offspring, it housed technology for weaponry.

 And something far more sinister than that, you thought, your gaze cutting to the stormtrooper accompanying you. The ysalamir presence did not kill all of their heightened senses. The moment that the ship had broken atmosphere, more than one of those aboard had commented that there was something on the planet. Someone, you recalled them claiming.

 The Resistance presence left you hoping that what your allies sensed were the Force sensitives that you knew; Leia, Finn, and Rey along with the stormtroopers that had left the Order of Ren. Jannah, you remembered Ap’lek saying when he referenced one of the stormtroopers. Your stomach clenched at the Knight’s name. Stars, you wanted him there with you on the mission.

 Pushing forward and dismissing those longings, the three of you worked your way away from the thick of things. You laid upon your stomach then began to adjust your weapon. Stared through its scope and scanned the individual fights that comprised the battle. Your gaze was drawn to activated lightsabers. Finn was there on the ground. He was engaged with two First Order stormtroopers that were using laser axes, and his training with the Skywalker twins was revealed with how easily he was able to twist away from their blows. The next lightsaber you located was Kylo’s. Its red glow illuminated its victims as it cut through them and moved on to the next. General Organa worked her way through First Order soldiers. It took you aback to see her there on the battlefield. There were six Resistance members with blasters keeping her way clear.

 You followed the trail she was making for herself and grit your teeth as you beheld Armitage Hux. His hair was immaculate despite the setting. An energy shield kept him safe, otherwise you would have pulled the trigger, not caring if you gave away your location. In that you were, to an extent, foolish. What caught your eye next was the lightsaber to his left. You furrowed your brow. Your breath caught in your throat and you mouthed the words what the…? The robed woman had her hood drawn up, however the angle you were at allowed you to see her face. Such a familiar face though it possessed differences as well that made you refer to her as Not-Rey.

 Not-Rey had cheekbones that were a little higher than the Rey you knew. Her features were harsher yet elegant. Harsh because of the cruelty in her gaze, you noted. This woman was older than Rey, at an age that indicated she could well be your friend’s mother or aunt. Perhaps an older cousin. Empirical secrets--you thought of the lists, the one of the children that had been sold to Brendol Hux for experimentation and the one of planets with known Force sensitive families. To locate Rey’s family. You felt a growl rising as you realized the calculated cruelty of Armitage Hux. To combat Rey, he sought out what he knew for a fact to be a great weakness of hers: family.

 Is this why Leia wanted the chip? You felt ill at ease and hated that you were in the dark on these matters. Focus on what you can control. You directed the scope elsewhere. A buzz along the back of your neck urged you to look back at Not-Rey and Hux, however you ignored it as best you could for the time being. There were, as had been pointed out, civilians present.

 A First Order officer had a woman held captive, his arm extended over her shoulder to fire at a Resistance opponent, who wavered and thus was caught in the arm. You took aim at the officer’s side then paused. If he shifted at all, you would hit the civilian woman instead. Another shot from the officer, the Resistance fighter crumpling to the ground. One life lost, one that you may have saved but at the risk of another’s life. You clenched your teeth again. Waited for the First Order officer to turn--which he did in order to use the civilian as a shield against a different opponent. If you fired your weapon, the blast might cut through both bodies. You had to wait for her to move.

 “Shift, you kriffing little...there.” Your finger pulled the trigger, the blast clipping the First Order officer in the right side, obliterating  that section of his torso without wounding the female. The shot caused his grip on the woman to falter. Cleared to fire with no risk to the civilian, the Resistance fighter fired twice and killed the target.

 You trailed your gaze, amplified by your scope, along the battlefield. Finn had killed one of his opponents. The other shuffled to keep after him as Finn worked to join Leia. She had five escorts at that point, two of them wounded and staggering. The next individuals you sought were the Knights of Ren. As you found one, his opponent was taken by a blast you knew to have come from Kuruk. Vicrul killed three First Order stormtroopers in the time it took you to quickly scan his position. When you found Cardo, you fired your blaster at an enemy that was coming to him from the side while he was engaged in battle with two others.

 The officer assisting in keeping you safe peered through their electrobinoculars. You knew that they were observing Hux with how they growled then gasped. They had noticed Not-Rey. “Is that...no… Who?”

 “This is likely her birth planet,” you muttered. “He came here for a reason, and she is likely it.” A powerful ally to replace Phasma, one who could counter Kylo Ren and Rey. She would not be as well trained in the Force as they, yet that hardly mattered. Rey would hesitate, her thirst for her past so strong. It would cause a rift between her and Kylo. Multifaceted reasonings, you noted, had directed Armitage Hux to this location though he had no love for the Force.

 You scanned the battlefield in the opposite direction so that you were able to check the status of the shields that protected Supreme Leader Hux from your wrath. There were no perceivable weaknesses. Not-Rey had failed to draw away from Hux’s side. The angle of their bodies suggested that they were like-minded, the solidarity that existed between them causing your stomach to roil. They had a history, though how far that extended was not information you were privy to. You speculated that they had met subsequent to Kylo’s death. Or had it been close to it? Had Not-Rey been one of the pieces that had given Hux enough confidence to officially pursue Kylo’s death? It hardly mattered in the end. No matter what, this was the result.

 Next you searched out Kylo’s position. He was moving in closer to Hux although more First Order troops worked to obstruct his path than they did with Leia. You looked to her and discovered that another of her allies had been lost along the way. She twisted her wrist in order to deflect a blaster bolt from a First Order stormtrooper. It bounced off her blade and hit one of the shooter’s allies. You resumed targeting the First Order troops that were grabbing civilians or else cornering some of your allies.

 Above, the Millennium Falcon swooped into view and shot at two of the Walkers that the First Order had deployed. You felt the muscles in your legs tensing. It was difficult to not wonder who the pilot of the famous ship was. Poe Dameron? Rey? Some other Resistance hero? Aware that it ultimately did not matter, you committed yourself to your duty. You pulled the trigger, injured another, and fired upon more. At times it was to kill, other times to injure, and there were several instances where you fired your weapon to damage objects. All of it was to save the lives of your comrades and protect the civilians that had been caught up in this war. The Falcon passed overheard multiple times throughout. It eliminated the first Walker with no issue. For the second, it took a third run before the technological behemoth was downed.

 The stormtrooper by you fired upon one of the First Order enemies that had come too close to your location. The officer was in contact with other ground troops. He read off coordinates for you to transfer your attention to. You obeyed without question; what was important was that you were useful and could fulfill your duty. As much as you wanted to fire at a faster rate, you knew better than to give away your position.

 “Oh, will she….” The unfinished question had you turning yet again to where Armitage Hux stood with Not-Rey. Leia and her entourage had managed to work their way through the shield, which flickered for a moment before resealing itself. You narrowed your eyes while peering through the scope of your weapon. Such behavior from the shield indicated that it had been released by one of those using it as protection.

 Your finger quivered on the trigger. If you fired a shot, it would not penetrate the shield. There was no way for you to protect General Organa nor those who were being picked off by Not-Rey and another of Hux’s guards. The First Order Supreme Leader smiled cruelly while stepping around Not-Rey so that the woman could engage Leia in battle. Their lightsabers clashed, reminiscent of how Kylo and Leia had met one another in the cavern after years of being so far apart. You stared at the red-bladed lightsaber that was in Not-Rey’s possession; you had taken for granted that the First Order would have kyber crystals beyond what the Knights of Ren and Kylo had taken. Or had Not-Rey made the lightsaber before Hux had come to the planet?

 Not-Rey ducked around one of Leia’s attacks then twirled while aiming at the older woman’s head. Leia raised her hand. Her blade caught the other one. She blocked a kick aimed at her hip with the heel of her hand. It weakened her grip on the lightsaber, however Leia recovered quickly enough that there was no lasting impact.

 You scanned back towards the remainder of the battle, looking for the individual Knights of Ren and then Kylo himself. He sliced one of his opponents in half, his hand reaching out as he struggled against the ysalamir effects so that he could call upon the Force and drag one of his enemies into his grasp. The other staggered forward rather than fly into Kylo’s grip. This was far too reminiscent of the set-up Phasma had arranged with Hux that had resulted in Kylo Ren’s death. You clenched your jaw, your frustration mounting.

 “How is she faring?” you asked your two companions in regards to the Resistance Leader. You fired your blaster at an enemy that was but a few feet away from Kylo. Anything you could do to assist him, you knew that you would.

 “Hux’s mystery woman has been trained in combat.” It felt like a punch to your gut. Snoke had been exploring alternate routes for controlling Force users that Kylo Ren had never been made aware of. Beyond the Knights of Ren. Beyond Kylo. Beyond Rey and the other children used in experiments.

 You tracked along the path that Kylo would be required to take to make it to Armitage Hux and Not-Rey. There were no targets that you could assist in eliminating. Continuing on, you focused your weapon on Supreme Leader Hux then switched to Not-Rey. She and Leia were evenly matched. Their blades locked.

 Through the scope you saw Hux move nearer to Leia. His arm twitched, a blade slipping from his sleeve into his hand. Your heart raced in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. Hux reached around Leia as Not-Rey swirled her wrist and ensured that Leia’s hands remained occupied, her blade held captive. Before the Resistance Leader--General Organa, who had been your hero; Leia, who as your mother-in-law--could react, Hux jerked his hand and the blade he held across her throat. Red erupted in your vision. You screamed.

 It was not only your own pain that enveloped you. Not only your own rage. The pounding anger that threatened to explode from you was coming from the bond. Your trembling hands were barely able to direct your scope away from the woman’s crumpling body to her son instead. You felt impossibly hot. Tears slipped from your eyes although you did not initially realize that as the wetness you felt or as the fluid obscuring your vision.

 Kylo had stopped walking. His eyes were trained on the ground. Or you assumed they were, for his back was to you. He was standing there, rigid. His hand clenching more tightly around his lightsaber, which remained activated.

 There had already been cries of death on the battlefield. Ones that had faded into the background as you tried to process the fact that this was reality. The death you had witnessed was no illusion. The pain that you felt, your own and his, was a part of reality. A pain that began to morph into darkness, which crept outwards in tendrils that developed prongs and split off into spears. These invisible weapons pierced through the ysalamir that threatened to eliminate their presence simply by existing. The creatures exploded in showers of gore. Thus the power that had been contained was amplified. It grabbed hold of the throats of Kylo Ren’s enemies along with some of his allies. You watched the bodies raise into the air. Their legs kicking. Their hands clutching at their necks. Their eyes bulging before also bursting.

 Blood spilled from their mouths just as your heartbeat, the one you heard in your ears, devolved into a high-pitched squeal. You dropped your weapon and grabbed either side of your helmet. Your breaths were shaky, forced. Grief was not the only hand squeezing your heart.

 The Millennium Falcon took another pass, cutting in front of your view--you would have missed it had it taken an alternate route. From its opened ramp descended a warrior clad in white. You dropped your hands away from your ears though still you shuddered and felt your body protesting the power of the Dark side, which was rising in potency. The Resistance warrior, whom you quickly recognized as Rey, landed yards distant from Kylo. She hit the ground running towards him. Her lightsaber was on her hip, the weapon she had chosen to utilize was the lanvarok that you and she had used together.

 You felt her through a bond as well, albeit one that had been weakened ever since she had cut you off. Her determination and the lack of bloodlust halted you from seeking to fire your blaster. You clumsily grabbed up your weapon all the same. Peered through its scope and saw to a greater extent the slaughter that had occured in the aftermath of Leia’s death. Her child mourned her in rage. You relocated Armitage Hux. He stared at the battlefield as well, his mouth set into a frown. Not-Rey spared him a glance before she headed for the shields. A flick of her hand, the shield was extinguished for the split-second it took her to leave its safety. Your finger found the trigger. Before you could pull it, however, you found yourself faltering. Not-Rey ignited the other half of her lightsaber, the dual-blades both a red that was identical in shade to Kylo’s.

 Terror rippled through you, a sense no less intense than what you had felt mere moments before when Kylo’s powers had spiked. Rey, too, took notice of the other woman. Of her relative, you reminded yourself as Rey turned only to stumble. She walked backwards as though on autopilot. Her feet carried her nearer to Kylo Ren, who raised his head. You rolled; grateful that neither the stormtrooper nor the officer that were your companions impeded the movements, you repositioned yourself to where you could see Kylo’s face.

 His eyes, as you had suspected and feared, were much as they had been when he and Luke Skywalker had been battling over the two halves of the Sith amulet. With a swipe of his lightsaber, more soldiers fell to their knees. Not-Rey mirrored his actions. She cut down people indiscriminately. There was no one she viewed as an ally, not a single person worth saving. Between them was Rey, a spot of Light between the Dark. You pulled the trigger, hoping that somehow you would at least harm Not-Rey. Instead she extended her hand in your direction. The blaster bolt froze midair. You felt fear creep into your body.

 This preceded the sensation that a hand had gripped your throat. If you had wanted to scream, you would not have been able to. A gurgle erupted instead. Somehow you kept hold of your weapon. Stared through its scope, which allowed you to witness Rey fire the lanvarok at her relative. Not-Rey swung her lightsaber in an arc to deflect the projectile, which dodged the plasma blade. Barely able to breathe, you saw that Rey was wielding the Force as she had trained to do. She altered the projectile’s route and forced Not-Rey to relinquish her hold on you lest she be injured.

 Where are the Knights of Ren? Where’s Finn? The questions tumbled one after another through your mind. All the pieces were falling. Armitage Hux hid behind a shield and let others bloody their hands. He headed in the direction of a ship that would take him to safety. Kriff. I’ll kill him!

 It was with revulsion that the First Order Supreme Leader considered Leia’s body. He spat on her as he walked by. Stormtroopers had moved to meet him. They surrounded him. More ships were pouring from the skies. Resistance, First Order, and Order of Ren. The deaths were nowhere near finished, although you feared that this would not be the final battle that you would witness in the war--if you survived. The shield would protect Hux if you tried to fire. Not-Rey had the Force to stop you. You felt helpless, foolish. Much as you had during countless missions with the Resistance where all you could do was observe the slaughter. You watched the battle through a scope.

 I cannot be in this position again. You refused to be helpless, to be of no help. The raw agony and rage that you felt from Kylo was a darkness that would extinguish him. You leapt to your feet, slung the blaster strap over your shoulder, and took off running before your two companions had the chance to question you.

 The Knights of Ren were in various locations. They were locked in their own fights or else heading for Kylo, albeit cautiously. One was injured, the damage sustained from Kylo Ren’s reaction to his mother’s death.

 Kylo rose to his full height again and took a single step in the direction of Not-Rey. They matched one another step for step after a pause. Between them, Rey had switched so that she was perpendicular to their path. She moved in reverse though not in retreat. Her intention was to prevent herself from being caught between their blows. Finn and the Knights of Ren were fanned out. Power rippled from the pair of Darkside Force users. Rey bared her teeth. Her eyes locked with yours, and you knew in that moment that her bond with Kylo was a burden as she fought to swallow the grief of her loss. The grief of realizing that a member of her blood-family had assisted in killing the woman she had adopted as her found-family.

 Not-Rey and Kylo charged one another, their lightsabers clashing so violently that you realized they truly would have cut through Rey to get to each other. Their bloodlust spiked, palpable to you from more than the bond. Rey tossed aside the lanvarok and grabbed hold of her lightsaber. You, aware of her intention, dropped down to your knee and fired at the shields that had for so long protected Hux and now blocked no one. You expended the full energy of your weapon, not a soul stopping you. Kuruk, from wherever he was located, assisted you. The angle of the blasts were what gave away his identity. Cardo, too, began to shoot at the shield. It crackled noisily. Kylo and Not-Rey’s strikes were a louder roar.

 As the shield weakened, Rey extended her arm and began to call upon the Force. Leia’s saber wobbled before it began to fly in the right direction. Except it bypassed Rey’s hand and landed in Kylo’s. He ignited it, hammering with his lightsaber at the weapon of Not-Rey and using his mother’s blade to cut an arc in the direction of the woman’s throat. She pushed off of him with her foot against his thigh. Flung herself backwards and twisted to take a swipe at Rey, who clumsily dodged. She had not recovered from the likeness they shared. Rey did manage to avoid being cut. That did not mean she had the upper hand. This Not-Rey had secured. She executed a similar maneuver to the one that had sealed Leia’s fate. The difference now was that there was no Hux to sidle up behind Rey and slit her throat.

 Instead there was Kylo Ren, who was Not-Rey’s opponent. His red blade narrowly missing Rey’s head as Not-Rey dropped down to her knees to avoid the man. Leia’s lightsaber cut through part of the woman’s cloak, which she then whipped off and let fly in the wind.

 You wanted to get closer, to help somehow. There were stormtroopers closing in from all sides, encircling all who had thus far survived the battle. So many corpses, you realized. Many of them a result of Kylo’s Dark side energy--would that ever fade away? Would he become the man you knew him to be? Masters of Death without being monsters.

 You tossed aside your blaster. In the next second, Finn had drawn up to your side. His body was angled into a defensive stance, albeit not one that marked you as his enemy. “She’s gone,” you whispered. He nodded, his expression pained. The First Order was closing in, and what remained of the Resistance and Order of Ren were grouped together. As though in an unspoken truce, you were all of you working to defend one another from the First Order troopers that had arrived. Waiting for reinforcements of your own to properly land. Realizing that no one knew what to do with Kylo. Neither Finn nor Rey were moving to harm him. The Resistance had witnessed that Kylo had cared about Leia.

 Did that justify the deaths that had occured as a result? It’s war, you wanted to say. Yet the reality was I don’t care. I can feel his pain like it’s my own. You placed a hand over your heart and tried to catch your breath.

 “He’s not leaving an opening.” There was a strain in Finn’s tone that you knew was from the loss of Leia and the sense of helplessness as he watched Not-Rey and Kylo engage one another in combat. The clash of their sabers sent a shockwave that knocked you to your knees. Many others faltered as well, a few landing on their backs. The Knights of Ren, Finn, and Rey recovered most quickly. They each had a hand extended, palm downwards, towards the ground. You envied their ability to call on the Force to assist themselves. Finn was considering soldiers on the battlefield beyond those nearest. His eyes landed on civilians--or those you had assumed to be civilians. “What brought you here?”

 The question caused your brow to furrow. “What....” Finn was slipping a pistol into your hand as you considered things. The First Order, the very reason that Leia Organa had come to this planet, had died there. After a beat, you remembered the chip that had been obtained from Millicent’s collar. That was why you were there. So what had alerted the Resistance to the presence of Armitage Hux? “There is a list of planets regarding Force sensitives. This was one of three, alongside Naboo and another, that… Wait, what brought you?”

 “Leia and Rey sensed something. It called to Rey.” The temporary lull in separate skirmishes as the shock of Kylo’s power dissipated. Finn and you moved so that you were back-to-back. He used the Force and lightsaber to deflect blasts that were directed at the pair of you. You, meanwhile, took aim and fired. There was a comfortability, a rightness being with him that had never left no matter the times your paths had separated. Circumstances had failed to be favorable, and yet your friendship had endured. It was with him that you had first laughed as you had before joining the Resistance. Before you had been captured.

 How wrong it felt to consider that Leia, who had just been murdered, had been one of the reasons this alliance had failed to come into fruition. You choked on a breath, on a sob, felt tears threatening to form anew. Heat traveled throughout your body and into your limbs. This sensation was not foreign to you. It was how you had felt when you had met your mother after believing her to be dead. The judgment there. The momentary wish that it was your father you were seeing. So human. So selfish. So cruel. You pulled the trigger and ended another life.

 “He wants to kill Force sensitives. He doesn’t care. Why is she fighting for him?” Your voice was rising in pitch. Both you and Finn turned to consider Rey and how she fared against the pair of Darksiders. Not-Rey caught Rey’s blade with one side of hers simultaneous to deflecting a blow from Kylo, who used his mother’s saber to thrust at Rey. She ducked, relinquishing hold of her blade then catching the deactivated saber as she rolled forward to disengage from the pair. This appeared to have been his intention--to have Not-Rey to himself. The two twirled, their two blades utilized in different ways.

 Finn reached towards Rey, halting a blaster shot that a First Order officer had fired so that the young woman could remain focused on Kylo and Not-Rey. “I was taken as a child, and I wasn’t the first. If the Empire was running experiments”--you knew it was-- “on Force sensitives, they might have pacts with families.” In which case the implication was that Not-Rey had been training to uphold the First Order that Snoke had been Supreme Leader of. You ran your tongue along your lips whilst continuing to shoot. You explained the information on the experiments that had increased Rey’s abilities. “You’re thinking Hux and...her…” You nodded though you knew he could not see you with how the two of you were standing. “He located the remnants of the experiment.”

 “Grafted them into her or whatever, yeah.” For you, it explained how the Skywalker twins had not sensed this woman’s power, what with how strong it was. The palpable darkness of both Kylo and Not-Rey spiked again, the two of them feeding off one another. “I thought he had killed my mother with ordering the destruction of the Hosnian system. But Kylo kept her alive. And yet I… I didn’t even try to shoot to protect her. His mother. My mother-in-law. Leia is...I did nothing.”

 The words that you said, you realized, were not only your own feelings. The anguish in the bond resided there underneath the rage that worked to stomp it down. Kylo Ren was angry with himself for not saving his mother, for saving yours instead. The selfishness of it--the fact that he remembered you would have preferred your father while he preferred his mother. He had been incapable of killing her, would not have done so as long as he could choose. By leaving Armitage Hux alive when he had become Supreme Leader of the First Order, he had doomed all of Naboo. He had doomed himself, perishing temporarily. Had lost the one member of his family that he adored with all his heart despite her betrayal.

 He was tumbling in darkness without his mother to reach him. Rey was doing what she could, however she was also being consumed. By loss. By betrayal. By the realization that the family she had longed for was her nightmare. You fired another shot. Looked at how the Knights of Ren were on the periphery of the battle and were fending off any who might interfere with Kylo’s desire to attack Not-Rey or harm him at all. Yet they were not aiming to stop him. They would not be able to do so even if they tried.

 When Aris had died, you had been assaulted with guilt. You had placed the weapon in her hands that first time. The guilt that you felt through the bond surpassed that beyond anything you would ever be able to articulate. He was alone, the last of his family gone. You, too, had felt that when you had believed your parents both perished. Except you hadn’t had to endure watching their deaths. You had not been alone. He was. While Rey had found her family, he had lost his. Alone. Enraged by the fact that he had not killed Hux, that Rey’s face was an echo of this woman, who had assisted in his mother’s death. All while he had done nothing. He could have stopped this, was meant to be a Master of Death. Rey’s conflict was something that fed into his despair. He hated her in that moment.

 “I have to go to him.”

 “Are you crazy? He’ll kill you!”

 He might, you thought as the tears trickled down. Yet he was grasping at his anger to drown out his sorrow. Your desire to go to him was not rooted in self-preservation. As Ap’lek had said about Aris, it was not about you. This was about the death Kylo himself had felt. It was about him.

 You repeated your statement to allow Finn to prepare himself for the sudden absence of your back against his. You rushed forward, doing what you could to avoid injury, and passed by Trudgen on your way. He cut through two enemies to allow you to pass, and you hissed out gratitude with what breath you could spare. Rey had gone for Not-Rey, knocking her away from a strike from Kylo that would have beheaded her had he succeeded. The rage spiked again. More terrified screams from nearby soldiers who were cut through the Force tendrils also pierced the flesh of your arms. You felt blood beginning to pour from your wounds. They were, thankfully, shallow enough that you did not drop your weapon.

 Kylo aimed for Rey with his mother’s lightsaber. His own nearly caught you as he twisted to kill whoever had dared to draw close. Those amber eyes landed on your face. Rey, now no longer occupied with Kylo, was able to prevent Not-Rey from pursuing Kylo or you. She worked to batter at the other, to attempt to gain a more offensive position and drive Not-Rey away.

 The crackle of Kylo’s red lightsaber was at your throat. Perpendicular to it. His arm bent as he took a step closer, closer. You had reached up and removed your helmet. Tossed it off to the side so that he could see your face. He was drowning in darkness. Tumbling, tumbling, alone, hurt. A child without his mother. A child who had been abandoned and who now had no hope of ever having his mother fully see him for who he was. Without hope that she would embrace him--as she had embraced you.

 Why did you hug her? He had asked this though both of you had wondered why she had not pushed to hug him. Why she had not embraced him. Why she had waited so long. She had sent him away in fear of this Darkness that not threatened to consume him. You had run towards it--towards him. After all these deaths. You were not spitting out that he was responsible for them. You were standing there with his blade at your throat.

 “I didn’t pull the trigger.” It was not about you, but also you knew him. Knew that he deflected. That it was harder for him to admit his shortcomings. If someone met him halfway, it was easier. It felt less vulnerable.

 Kylo’s eyes wandered along your face. “I had this power all along. I could have stopped it.” I could have saved her. You placed a hand over your heart. The hand that held the name Ben Solo. He lowered the lightsaber, its crossguard so near the digit. If either of you twitched, you would be harmed. You were not afraid. And if he asked you to, you would push forward and impale your finger on the blade. Instead of saying tooke, he said your name.

 “Kylo,” you said, returning the gesture. Reaching out for him. Not an idea. The entirety of him, the man lamenting the death of his mother, whom he had failed to save. “This won’t bring her back.” Your voice cracked near the end. His thumb hit the switch of his weapon, deactivating it. The thrum of his mother’s blade did not die away. His eyes were intense and did not soften in the least. “You have to control who you kill.” Because there would be more death, but you could not stand to witness the casualties rise in the wake of his rage.

 Here he reactivated his lightsaber while turning away from you and extending his arm. You stared at the offered hilt of Leia’s weapon. You holstered the pistol that Finn had given to you and took hold of the lightsaber. The Knight of Ren had been assisting in training you more recently. You knew how to handle a blade--that Kylo was offering you this specific one hit differently. This was not only a weapon to kill. It was a weapon to save him, to join him, to help defend the vulnerable part of him that so few were welcomed to see.

 You were not as skilled in lightsaber combat as any of the others and thus you did not aim to pursue Not-Rey. As for the First Order enemies that had rushed closer, you turned to them and caught a laser axe on the blade. The force of the blow knocked you, their power more than you had thought. You were not alone, however, and Finn surged forward to cut at the laser axe as Trudgen swung his large vibrocleaver at the First Order stormtrooper’s midsection. With the pair in wordless camaraderie, you moved onto the next opponent, attempting to stay as near Kylo as possible.

 The Dark power he exuded had lessened though it had not disappeared entirely. You knew that it could spike at any given moment. All he would have to do was remember the sight of his mother’s throat being slit. Remember that he could only watch. Recall that he had wanted her to accept him and it was too late for any of that.

 Your grip on the lightsaber hilt tightened as you placed both hands on it and altered your stance. There were two fighting forms that you had studied, and this one would better allow you to block any incoming blaster fire. Maker, though, you wished you had the Force to help your reflexes. The bleeding wounds that had formed on your arms from Kylo’s power stung and ached with the next attack. The battle was different now that you were not observing it through a scope. Things were swirling faster. Your focus did not alter as frequently. That would mean your death. More than that, you merely wanted to be there for Kylo.

 Not-Rey deactivated then reignited one end of her lightsaber, this resulting in her able to successfully injure Rey. The wound on the woman’s leg did not bleed. It was cauterized immediately. She dropped down and would have been beheaded had she not snapped up a hand and call upon the Force to halt the blade mid-descent. Kylo attacked the woman then, their blades meeting in a flurry of blows that you could barely keep track of; even if you had not been forced to divide your attention between that battle and the enemies coming at you, you would have had such difficulty.

 A blast from a starfighter forced you to jump backwards. Another volley, a strafing run that left Kylo, Rey, and Not-Rey no choice but to break apart from one another. This frustrated Kylo, rekindled the negative emotions that dwelled within him. In accidental unison, Not-Rey and Kylo reached for the offending ship. Together their power snapped the craft in half, rendering it a ball of fire. Pieces of the starfighter rained from the sky. Some cut into foes, others into allies. The durasteel bounced and rolled, cutting up the land. A section nearly hit the Millennium Falcon, which was in pursuit of three First Order TIEs.

 What caused a scream to erupt from you was the portion that bounced off the ground and impaled Cardo, who was knocked onto his back. The enemy he had been fighting moved to take advantage of the situation. You roared in fury, rushing forward. Kylo Ren whipped around at the sound of the cry. His hand, palm facing the enemy, was quickly clutched into a tight fist. You heard the crunching and crackling, the snapping of bones. All these noises soon complemented by the sight of blood spewing from the man’s orifices and wounds as his bones were made to saw through the flesh meant to contain them.

 He can’t lose anyone else. Not today. You lunged for the First Order stormtrooper that had moved in despite the display of Kylo’s might. Leia’s lightsaber blade gutted them milliseconds before you dropped down to your knees. You were ripping off your jacket and wrapping it around the wound, doing your best to not jostle or remove the durasteel that had impaled him.

 You had gone from watching the battle through a scope to now feeling it through the bond, which was filled with rage and a growing bloodlust as despair crackled through Kylo in blows that tore at his soul. Memories stirred of the shower you had shared. The ashes and the blood that had covered you both. The phantom tears that had threatened to fall, that he would not allow himself to cry. So you cried for him and you pleaded, “Don’t die, Cardo.”

 She’s already gone. She’s gone.

 The mantra, in his voice, resounding in your head. Cardo took a shuddering breath. You could not breathe a sigh of relief as an Order of Ren medic trooper arrived. There was only so much that they could do, and the enemy was closing in. The dogfights multiplying in number rather than dwindling down. It was an insult that Armitage Hux had--at least, as far as you knew and had seen--escaped. He had left the planet after spitting on Leia’s still-warm body. His victories felt like they were mounting, multiplying, swallowing you as they consumed Kylo.

 I am the Dark and the Light.

 I would be a monster without you.

 You swallowed thickly, forced yourself to rise to your feet. There was nothing you could do beyond watch the medic attend to Cardo. He weakly nodded at you as though he understood. Whether he lived or he died, he wanted you to do this--you turned away from him and ran towards Kylo for a second time. Ran in the direction of the man who was aiming to kill Not-Rey, who in turn was smiling wickedly. As though she did not care whether she lived or died; she merely wanted to experience the joy of battle. It terrified you to think that this could be Kylo if the Darkness took him in full. You could not and would not allow that.

 He would never, you swore, be without you.

[crimsonredemption]

It’s over, isn’t it?

follow-up Oneshot to never enough 

Javier x GN!Reader  /  platonic Arthur x GN!Reader   //     Angst      //          ca 2800 words  //  a huge thank you to @cupofcowboys for beta-reading!

TW: Death, Chapter 6 spoilers

Only four days had passed since you left Javier’s tent, but you couldn’t get yourself to leave camp completely - not yet. You hated Beavers Hollow, hated how tense everyone was, hated the way Dutch seemed to care less and less about those he swore to protect and love, hated to see Arthur getting sicker by the day. But worst of all was seeing Javier drift into an abyss of anger and bitterness, blind loyalty guiding his way. The two of you avoided each other, not having shared a single word. But sometimes you could swear you feel his gaze linger on you, just for a moment but when you turn, he’s gone. He was there in flesh and blood, and yet, you felt haunted by him as though he were a ghost. 

You weren’t the only one who noticed the ongoing decay of your big family; some people had already left camp in the dead of night, slipping out while they still could. You couldn’t blame them. Leaving was what you wanted to do as well, but with every day that passed you felt the life you had hoped for, the life you had wished for, slipping through your fingers like fine sand, and there was nothing you could do about it. Something always held you back from leaving, one day it was the bad weather - the next day Arthur needed your help, it was never a good time. 

Your mind wandered back to Javier, eyes scanning camp for him almost automatically. He sat next to Micah, a sight all too common in the past few weeks. Just thinking about the way Micah slithered his way into Javier`s trust made the hair your neck stand up, it was almost ironic. Javier never had any respect for Micah, never once shared more than two friendly words with him and yet here they were - close and tight. 

The weight of a hand on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts. Raising your chin, you saw Arthur looking down at you, the usual half-smile on his lips. Looking at him, your eyebrows furrowed visibly, his condition worse since the last time you saw him.

“Look at this mess we made Y/N,” he said in a voice low and breathy, always on the edge of coughing and you found yourself anticipating it, but it didn’t come. 

“It’s a mess alright,” you whisper.

“I always thought...you know, the two of you would make it outta here. I hoped to see you and Javier leave and live, you know...a happy life.” Arthur adds, his eyes searching for something in the distance.

Your hands were kneading a piece of cloth while you fought the urge to cry, to just let out all your frustration and anger at the world. But while your emotions weighed on you like a mountain, only a single tear found its way along your cheek, only to land on your hand that was laying in your lap. You didn’t dare answer him, you just couldn’t. But seeing the way your shoulders tensed up and how tightly your hands were clenched, Arthur laid an arm around your shoulder - offering you all the comfort he could provide for the moment. 

You were both content in your embrace until Arthur straightened his back, signaling that he was about to get up from the log you were sitting on. You expected him to get up and leave, but to your surprise he squatted down in front of you, cupping your hands with his. 

“Things are about to get messy here Y/N, I’d rather you’re not here to see it. If you don’t know where to go, search for Charles. He’s with the people in the reservation.” he explained in a hushed voice as if he was afraid someone could hear. Only now you saw that he had one of your bags around his shoulder. You were at a loss for words, opening and closing your mouth to answer him time and again, but no words left your lips. Your eyes left Arthur’s face and searched for Javier, who only a few minutes ago had been sitting not too far from you, but now he was gone. Your heart ached for him, to see his face one last time before you left the hell that was Beaver Hollow. But what exactly did you hope to see? Eyes that once held so much love and care for you, now carrying no more than resentment? No. It was better he wasn’t here to see you leave camp for good, it would make things easier for you. 

Once you had your belongings and weapons on your horse, you were ready to go. It was awfully quiet at camp. After taking in a deep breath you turned to face Arthur. “Thank you, Arthur, for everything you’ve done for me, for all of us. These fools don’t know half of it.” you murmured while leaning in to hug the bigger man.

“Don’t mention it.” was all he said, he was a man of few words after all. 

After saying your goodbye to Arthur, you led your horse down the trail that leads away from camp. Sunlight was shimmering through the treetops as you walked on, and lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice when you passed Javier, who was standing a little offside the road, hidden between the green of the bushes. He stepped out of the shadows trailing you for a bit, but somehow his presence eluded you. 

“It’s over, isn’t it?” 

Hearing his voice made you stop in your tracks, your horse following your example after the grip of your hand on the reins hardened. It wasn’t much of a question, but more of a statement, an unshakable truth. For a moment you considered ignoring him and to just keep walking. You pondered on what to answer when a noise in front of you demanded your attention. A look over your shoulder confirmed your suspicion - Javier had a finger in front of his mouth, signaling you to keep quiet. Your eyes followed the movements of his hands and with one swift motion, he took out his knife and threw it in the direction the noise originated from. A muffled moan reached your ears and in a heartbeat, you had closed the distance between you and the man who had been hiding behind the thicket. 

“A Pinkerton?” you gasped your own knife now at the man’s throat. He struggled visibly before you, Javier's knife hit his shoulder and he was bleeding heavily. 

“Are there more of you?” Javier asked, expecting him to explain himself and their plan. Instead of giving an answer, the man spat at Javier. “This time your lot won’t have time to run...we made-” but before he could finish his sentence, Javier slit his throat. “That was all I needed to hear, Bastardo.” 

“We have to warn them, Javier, they will over-run them if we don’t.” 

“I know, you go. I’ll hold them off.” he says but you weren’t having it.

 “Javier, you only have one revolver. I have all my weapons here, I can buy you some time!” 

“But Y/N...” there was an honest concern in his eyes, and you fought off the urge to run to him. 

“No buts! Hurry now, I got this. He was only a scout, but soon the place will be buzzing with this scum!” You prayed that your nerves wouldn’t get the better of you and show how afraid you were. You didn’t know how many exactly there were, but there was no other way. His eyes were still locked with yours when he took the first few steps back in the direction of camp but soon he started running, leaving you behind for good. When he was out of sight you turned to face the other side of the road. Whatever it was coming for them, you would make sure to stand in their way.

Or so you thought.

You had been searching the area for what seemed like an eternity; realistically it was about 10 minutes since Javier left, but every minute felt stretched out indefinitely. Soon the sun would set, making it almost impossible to find people in the dark of the forest, so your best shot would be to return to the gang and help them pack up as quickly as they could. You mounted your horse and made your way back when you heard a gunshot. A sense of foreboding overcame you and you fastened your speed, making your horse give their all to you. 

When you arrived at camp you rode past the other horses, well into the camp and what you saw was far from what you had imagined the scene to look like. Instead of packing, the gang members were standing in two separate groups, one group only consisting of Arthur and John, whereas the other was made up of the rest of the gang, everybody pointing their guns at the other group. A scream escaped your mouth when you saw the body of Miss Grimshaw lying in the mud. You hurried to her side in hope to find any sign of life, but it was too late. Tears streamed down your face while you were holding her lifeless body close to you. You had always loved her like a mother, and even though she had been harsh on all of you, you knew that deep down she cared deeply for every one of the gang. 

“What happened here?” You closed the lids of her eyes before getting up, slowly and shivering with rage. “And what’s with all this bull shit here, pack your damn guns away! There are Pinkertons coming right now!!” 

Micah was the first to open his mouth. “This doesn’t concern you, pick a side or get lost!” he snarled, but you weren’t paying attention to him. Your eyes were on Javier, who had his gun out but didn’t point it at Arthur or John, unlike the others. A thousand thoughts running through your mind as you started walking towards him. Javier lowered his gun slowly, a look of bewilderment mixed with joy on his face. The thought of you returning to camp in this situation and picking Arthur’s side...he could never point a gun at you, not for everything in the world. 

“Mi Amor,” he started while reaching out for you and he wanted to say something else, but you threw yourself at him, wrapping your hands around his torso, and started weeping. There was no holding back anymore - all the bottled up emotions, fears and crushed dreams fought their way up to the surface and you could barely hold yourself up straight. An uncontrollable stream of tears wet Javier’s blue Jacket, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be held by him, to be comforted by the man you loved so much while the world you knew seemingly crumbled to pieces around you. You had almost forgotten how good his arms felt around you, how much you loved feeling his skin on yours. The world around you seemed to fade away, though you could hear the other man arguing with each other. Javier’s hands were stroking your back when you opened your eyes, only to see a handful of Pinkerton Agents emerging from the woods, pointing their guns at your family. Everyone else was too busy with themselves, not noticing the danger coming for them. 

Before you could open your mouth to warn them the agents opened fire, aiming for the outlaws closest to them. Javier was still holding you tightly when the first shot was fired and without so much of a second thought you turned with him, so it would be you facing the agents with your back. It was intuition that led you to do it, and not a second too late. The sound of the shot still ringing in your ear, you felt a stinging pain in your back that made you cling to Javier for a moment before your legs gave into your weight, Javier going down to the ground with you. He was still holding you, a look of complete horror on his face. You saw his mouth moving as if he was saying something, his body moving in frantic waves. You were too focused on the pain to make out what it was what he was saying though. It was different than anything you had ever felt before. You knew you were in pain, but at the same time, you felt as if your body was numb to the feeling, as if your brain couldn’t catch up to it. Slowly you started hearing the tumult around you again, screams and the sound of the fighting reaching your ears again. 

You felt your body being lifted from the ground and found yourself in Javier's arms once again, as he was carrying you away from the fight into the woods, taking the risk of stumbling onto other Agents that might still be out there. Breathing was getting harder and harder, the urge to cough omnipresent. You wanted to talk to him, but barely a noise left your mouth. As the seconds and minutes passed on, you watched Javier’s face, a variety of emotions visible on it. 

“Y/N! Please...stay with me, okay? You’re gonna-” he said while placing you on the ground before adding, “You’re not going to leave me, alright? Stay strong, mi amor.” 

A weak “yeah” left your mouth when you felt Javier’s hands on your side, trying to get to the wound to see if there was a way, any way, he could save you. His jaw clenched when he saw that the back of your blouse was completely red, soaked in your blood, and the familiar smell of it just now hit his nose. Javier inhaled sharply, his mind frantically searching for a solution, but he feared that there was nothing he could do anymore. They were way too deep into the forest to reach a doctor in time and he couldn’t go back to camp, either. 

As you watched him through half-closed lids, you slowly but surely became aware of your situation. You weren’t going to make it out of it, not this time. But strangely you weren’t sad or angry at the fact that you were dying. A weird sense of self-awareness came over you. 

“Javier?” you managed to call out to him, which made him crawl closer to you instantly, taking your hand into his and bringing his face closer to yours. 

“Yes, Y/N, I’m here. I won’t leave you.” he answered, patiently stroking your face with his thumb. 

“I think I’m dying Javier and I want you,” you coughed heavily before continuing “I need you to know that I love you. More than anything else.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper by now, the rattle in your throat making it hard for you you to talk. 

“I...I...Mi amor, I’m so sorry for everything. I can’t let you go without letting you know that I was the biggest fool alive. I..”

You cupped his face with your hand and he understood your silent plead - he closed the distance between the two of you, slowly placing his lips on yours. He was incredibly gentle and loving, and you felt your heart swell with love for him once again. Javier whispered a quiet “I love you” against your lips, smiling. But his eyes betrayed him, tears swelling in the corners of his when he saw that your eyes were closed. Your body grew limp in his arms as he tried to sit you up against him; if you had to go, he wanted to hold you in his arms while it happened. 

He didn’t know, of course, that you could still hear him. You heard when he surrendered to his emotions, loudly crying and sobbing and calling out your name. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but after a while, he gathered himself and started to hum a melody. 

You listened to his quiet singing, surrounding you like it was all that was left on this earth, which in a way it was for you. He had never sounded more beautiful than he did now, and as much as you wished to listen to him forever, it started to slowly fade away and finally eluding you completely until there was nothing more. The last thing you saw was Javier’s face, the last thing to touch you were his lips, and the last thing you heard was his voice, singing you the softest words. You were happy in the end, and when you finally took your last breath, all was well. 

[blankdblank]

Magnificent

Let’s pretend here Rivendell isn’t finished being built yet and Elrond and his wife are living in Amon Lanc with Thranduil with all their kids growing up together.

Plus, not gonna lie got a bit inspired for the end by reading @deepestfirefun​ prompt on this posted earlier. Tried to make it different and leave it open to continue later possibly to keep it short and cute. hope you guys like it anyways :D

…

“We shall have a magnificent garden party, and you’re not invited.”

…

Soulmates. Each one born that upon their reaching their teen years would wake with a book linking their minds and dreams. Each book had a certain amount of rules.

The book can never be gotten rid of, stolen or destroyed and it never fills up.

You can draw or write in then to affect their dreams, or if you sleep at the same time you can even interact in your dreams.

You can mentally speak, though in our world it seems more like our conscience that little voice in your head trying to point you down the right roads.

When you meet you have to spend a year together no matter what you have no choice in the matter.

..

Years you had tried to figure out who your Mate was. One comment on liking stories and you couldn’t help but feel like he was lying to you. Prince to a kingdom you could find no trace of who spent your monthly dream meetings teaching you hand to hand combat when he first spotted the bruises your father had left on you. His concerns of why you had been sleeping in the library led to a revelation of the worst, and in the meantime to however you would meet up one day he had to ensure you would be safe and wait to find a way to you.

Eventually when the pretending got to be too much you simply started to doodle in it wondering what you had done to deserve a Mate who preferred pretending over sharing who he really was. And when he wouldn’t stop asking questions simply to know if you were ok after two months of silence the pages were filled with short stories about a Pompous Prince needing to be rescued by some female hero.

The last straw was finding out that he had gotten married. You were supposed to be the same age, and when you turned 17 your great birthday present was that your chance at happily ever after were over. From then you were distancing yourself from him, slowly growing quieter and merely listening about him gushing about his now expecting wife.

Tearfully you decided to try the impossible, for four years you did all you could to try and get rid of the book. Fire, water, even tossing it out of cars or trains it would pop back into your lap. Focusing on school wasn’t hard to do when you wanted to run away from it all. Again living in the library, literally, sleeping in a storage room in return for cleaning at night when a boyfriend took the handholding too far and decided to try and burn your apartment building down leading to your being evicted, this place only temporary you kept saying as your friend working security here each night had helped you into it.

Tonight however you spotted that ex scouting out ways to sneak in and you gathered your bags reading to leave. The last thing you had to grab was your book, peering at it tears welled up in your eyes at the Prince turned King and Father of a somehow 7 year old child after his now dead wife was pregnant not three years prior. It was just too much, shouldering your bags you shoved the book into a shelf and kept on going.

A tight grip on your shoulder was joined by one on your other shoulder, in the racing of your heart you peered over your shoulder expecting to see your ex, not the blackened ink formed hands from the now open book behind you that jerked you straight through the book and from one library to the ground of another.

From carpet lined to polished marble the floor changed and you found yourself seated on the marble peering down at your glowing book with the number 365 repeating on the flipping pages that suddenly slammed shut making you mumble, “What the fuck…”

The entrance of a quartet of armor clad brunettes froze when they saw you in the middle of the floor with bags around you, all around you they circled you and the tallest of them said in the made up language your Mate had taught you in your youth, “Who are you and what are you doing here?!”

“I’m Jaqi, Pear, um, I wouldn’t happen to be in Amon Lanc, would I?”

Brows were furrowed and another said, “Maybe she bumped her head?”

Another looked at you, “Have you retained any injuries, Miss Pear?”

“Um, my hip sort of hurts, but I wouldn’t argue with my head being hit. Am I in Amon Lanc?”

The silent fourth answered, “Yes. Where were you intending on traveling to?”

“My ex, showed up at my job and, well my last home when I tried to leave him he lit it on fire, so I grabbed my things and tried to run, then my book here sucked me through it, and here I am.” Wetting your lips you peered up asking, “Your King wouldn’t happen to me Thranduil, would it?”

They all looked at one another and you raised the book, “He came with the book.”

Bending down the group lifted your bags while the last offered his hand to help you up saying, “We will show you to our King.”

Once up you peered up at the seven foot Elf asking with a tilt of your head lifting his brow, “Does that mean I have to curtsy in front of him?”

“If you prefer.”

You nodded then said, “Well, I’m still mad at him so no, no curtsy.” They all glanced at you then the one you had just spoken to turned to guide you to the King.

.

Atop the raised platform with a trio of thrones was a rather stern faced blonde with pointed ears sat with legs crossed listening to a tall group of colorful cloak clad men with varying shades of hair. In the approach of the guards his icy blue eyes landed on them making you sigh realizing it was just your luck he’d be as much of a pessimist as you. Coldly he said, “None of you are on this rotation.”

Inhaling sharply you said, “Ya well, they found me,” At your voice the men between you both parted to turn and inspect the stranger in their midst. A tilt of his chin later and he took in your sloppy ponytail draped over your shoulder full of knotted curls your naturally white hair and clip in neon purple highlights matching your bright purple eyes. “Oh don’t give me that look Mr we’re going to grow up, meet and live happily ever after, then one day just look whose grown up, become a King, gotten married and had a baby.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I’ll make it brief, I was trying to hide from my ex who showed up at my job and I got sucked through my book bringing me here. Now whether you want me here or not the book says I’m here for another 365 days,” you said holding the book open making him stand up open mouthed.

“Jaqi Pear.”

You nodded, “Your Majesty.”

“You know my name.”

“I also know you’re a single father and find gardenias overrated.”

Nearing you he stated, “I told you that in confidence.”

Smirking up at him, “What are they going to do, take your crown for it?”

“They might.”

“Then they don’t deserve you.” His weight shifting on his feet his eyes scanned over your face still focusing on the irritation and hurt in your tone conflicting with the playful hint of a smirk fading away. The encounter was being watched by those around you as well as the walk off to the hall you had just exited.

“I will show you to your apartment.”

“I get a whole apartment?”

“You are my One. Deserving of no less.”

“You call them Ones?”

“Yes.” His eyes flinched over you and your baggy sweater and tight jeans covering nearly all of you, “Did he hurt you?”

“Not this time, but I think I bruised my hip on that fall.”

“How much is the apartment each month?”

He glanced at you again, “We can find a position in our libraries since you are so accustomed to the world of books.”

.

Three days, two meals a day together with the King and a series of Nobles and a small group of children later again you were sleepless and on your way back from the library. A sniffle in the hall leading to your apartment you spotted Prince Legolas in the garden wiping his cheek making a flower crown under the watch of a pair of guards in the entries to the garden opposite you. Moving closer you crouched asking, “Is something wrong, Prince Legolas?”

In the turn of his head those big tear filled eyes of the somehow 7 year old child that looked more like a three year old who timidly replied in a half blubber, “Ada promised to read me a story, but another meeting took him away.”

You nodded and asked, “Do you like swans?”

“I have to go to bed, the pond-,”

Shaking your head you said, “I know a story about a swan I loved when I was your age. I can tell you a story if you like?”

Nodding quietly he set the flowers down and climbed onto your lap to have you carry him into his nursery attached to the King’s apartment. A few chapters into the Trumpeter Swan you stopped in your apartment to pick up Legolas was tucked into his bed sound asleep while your eyes drooped and your body shifted sideways in the armchair you were seated in. A curious check of the gardens and then the nursery had the King looking on at you both longingly, wishing to himself that you might choose to stay when the year was up.

One night and it built up a pattern, a growing one as the trio of Elrond’s children soon began to join you in the library and gardens with books of their choosing to hear you read to them. Soon enough whenever Thranduil had been called away you were the go to person for playing and each time he chose something over his son a piece of your mind was given to the King who was floored each time but gradually realized that from a child of an unhappy home truly did know what it was like to feel your parent hated being with you. It would be hard but the obvious irritation you had and one particular event had the council becoming overly eager to aid the King in changing how things worked to spend more time with his son while he had the chance to.

The main Royal Gardens had been made up, complete with a tent and string lanterns with snacks, tea and a selection of books for when the snacks were through, just one thing missing. Alongside Lady Celebrian the children sat peering up at the setting sun marking just a short while to when the King was supposed to have shown up only to have been distracted again. Brushing your skirt down over your legs you kissed Legolas’ cheek saying, “Five minutes, I’ll be back.”

Angrily into a council meeting you strolled right up to the King’s side ignoring the stares of the Council and said, “Two words, Garden Party.���

Peering up at you he huffed back, “I have to settle this dispute over a prized cow.”

“Seriously? Time with your son over two arrogant Lords fighting over a cow.”

One of the Lords in question stated, “I resent that!”

You turned your head to look at him, “You do realize you and your egos aren’t the only ones living in this kingdom? Right? There are thousands you should be thinking of easing the struggles for. And trust me if I was King I’d have taken your seat or your head for how much nonsense you stir up just so you can skip exerting yourself for any reason at all. Most of you are acting like children,”

Thranduil sighed, “Miss Pear-,”

You shook your head, “You know what, no. No more chances. A little boy asked his father to a garden party for a day off from his nonsensical day job and obvious arguing with these children is more important, so congratulations on your choice. Because that’s what it is, a choice to let him down when you gave your word. Enjoy your bickering. We shall have a magnificent garden party, and you’re not invited.”

Turning around you strolled to the door and he called out, “They are my gardens if I wish to go there I can! I am King!”

Stopping in the doorway you turned to say, “Well you’d have to get your ass out of that chair to do it first now wont you, Your Majesty!”

The sarcastic curtsy from you had him huffing and jolting up to storm after you, “Luo, Liu, neither of you get the cow. Viae you will take possession of it until I deliberate further.” Right after you he strode saying, “If you assume for one moment this argument is over merely at leaving a room-,”

Sharply you turned and poked him in the chest, “No, you don’t get to be mad at me. You don’t. I’m sorry your father forced you into an arranged marriage, I’m sorry your One was born in a different world and aged slower than you, I’m sorry you’re still young and have to be King, but the one thing I will never apologize for is telling you that your son will be eight in 73 days.”

His eyes narrowed, “He will never be this young again. You will never get this day back and today all he wanted was for his father to show up to the party we planned, for you to relax for once before you explode into a cloud of silver and scowls. You get one chance, our book isn’t the only one counting down. He’s going to have to have an heir one day, he’s going to have to get married, how do you want him, possibly as King, should the worst happen, to treat his family? Because right here, right now he’s learning. Soaking up everything, big, small, spoken, unspoken. I get it, King, but, Big Leaf, come on! It’s a Garden Party over a cow! He is safe here, but you have to love him more than air and show it to everyone because he sees Celebrian and Elrond fawning over theirs. He’s down one parent don’t make him lose two. You can be more than enough to make him shine brighter than the moon, you just have to show up. No perfection needed, parenting is messy.” Turning away he stood still for a few moments then continued following you at the rise of your hand to wipe your cheek.

Stepping forward his fingers looped around your upper arm making you turn to face him, in what you expected to be the rebirth of the argument his hand cupped your cheek and behind a pillar he claimed a fiery kiss ending with a top of his forehead to yours to hum, “It was never my intention to hurt you, and I will do everything in my power to regain your trust. Just tell me what to do.”

“For starters,” You reached up lifting his crown parting his lips, “No King’s allowed.” Removing it to set it on the table by the archway you strolled through into the garden exhaling shakily to calm yourself after his show of affection.

Peering through the opening he watched you carefully then glanced to Legolas, who’s face fell and his shoulders slumped for a moment only to rise in his large step into the garden earning a gasp from the boy who raced for him, “Ada! You made it!”

Chuckling lowly he kissed his son’s cheek then hummed, “I had to deal with some nonsense over a cow.”

Looking up Legolas, “Ada, your crown!”

Thranduil smirked replying, “I was told there were no King’s Allowed.” Making the boy grin and giggle hugging his neck, a moment he used to steal a glimpse at you in the rising moonlight feeling the first marker of your union being sealed burning into his left shoulder blade giving him hope this just might work and you just might have had what the other has needed for so long. Only ten months left to find out.

All –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor​, @armitageadoration​, @fizzyxcustard​, @here2have-fun​, @lilith15000​, @marvels-ghost​, @catthefearless​, @imjusthereforthereads​, @c-s-stars​

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​, @jotink78​, @pastelhexmaniac​

X Thranduil - @evyiione​, @sweetlytenacious25​, @tigereyesf​, @pastelhexmaniac

[spectraspecs-writes]

Kashyyyk - Chapter 70

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 69. Chapter 71.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma thank u for reading you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank u for support you get a tag

A/N: Okay, one more complete chapter to type before I drift into the abyss for another week or so.

-----------------

I think it is! It’s green, and it flashes quickly, accompanied by sounds of the beasts. Four at once, and they aren’t backing down. But before I get close enough to help, he takes out all four himself. Cool.

He turns and sees me. “Ah, the damnable racket of battle!” he swears. He sounds crotchety, but he’s got the same kind of attitude I have, which I love. “Watch yourself, even more of these crawling beasts are hiding in the underbrush.”

“Who are you?” I ask, “You’re not Czerka, are you?” He certainly doesn’t look like Czerka.

“I'm Jolee. Jolee Bindo,” he says, “Follow me to my camp and we'll talk a bit.”

“You use a lightsaber in battle,” Bastila asks him as he starts to head back to his camp, “Are you a Jedi?”

“Ah, don't start fawning just yet, I'm too old for it,” he complains, and then he sighs, “I…I know a few things, but we can talk about it at my camp. Keep close. It's nearby under a log.” He scoffs. “Yeah, I live like some burrowing rodent. I fought the Sith… now look at me. Hmph!”

We follow where he leads. He has a charming little hut-house, and he’s kinds enough to let us in as it starts to rain a little. The rain exacerbates my allergies, so I inject another of Canderous’s stim packs. Jolee huffs a little at that. “Well, welcome to my home,” he says, “such as it is. Pull up a stump and be comfortable. We should discuss a few things.” He offers us some fruit, being a kind host. 

Bastila and Canderous both take the offer in earnest, but I’ve got business on my mind. “No offense,” I say, “I’m sure you know a lot, but I don’t have much time.”

“You'll have nothing but time if you don't take what help you can,” he says gruffly, “I've been here for many years. I know things. Remember that.” He shakes his head and sits down. “My days of glory are behind me, but… perhaps there is something I can do for you. You must have questions.”

“I would like to ask about you,” Bastila asks, “If that’s all right.”

“Ah, what is there to tell?” he says simply, “Jolee Bindo is the crazy old man in the dangerous woods. I'm content with the impression I give.” My kind of guy.

“But you use a lightsaber in battle. You are a Jedi,” Bastila says.

Jolee sighs. “I follow the Jedi Way and I command the Force, yes, and I suppose that makes me as much a Jedi as anyone,” he says, sounding almost a little reluctant to admit as much, “… but what of it? Why should being what I am compel me to entertain others with tales of the 'good old days' huh?” Bastia doesn’t quite like his gruff manner. I like it, personally. “I've seen my share of the dark and the light. And frankly, both extremes annoy me. Of course… I have felt the rumblings of change… “

Bastila gets a small smug look on her face. “I can feel the power of the Force within you, old man,” she says - is she… trying to tease him? - “but I do not sense the taint of the Dark Side. I think you are a servant of the light, despite what you claim.”

While Jolee would certainly be understood if he gave her a talking-to, he doesn’t. “Well, I assure you, I see more grey than dark or light. I'm just a stubborn old man, tired of the foolishness of others.” I certainly agree there.

I’m here for a reason, though, and if he knows the area, I’m going to try to get the information I need to finish what I came here to do. “Chuundar, the Wookiee chieftain from R… Ruh-wook…”

“Rwookrroro,” Jolee finishes for me.

“Right, yes, thank you. He sent us after a crazed Wookiee,” I say, “Do you know anything about this Wookiee? Have you seen him?”

“Crazed? Maddened with grief, perhaps, but not crazed,” Jolee says. See, I didn’t think he was crazed, exactly. “I helped him pass to the lower forests where only a Wookiee could follow. Some other matters will determine if you can follow. There is a barrier that… well, we'll talk of that more in a moment.”

He’s a cool dude and everything, but the less time I spend on Kashyyyk the better. “I’m looking for a Star Map, mainly,” I say, “Do you know anything about it?”

He grins. “Now why would you be asking about that, hmm? Don't answer. I knew that had to be why you were here. The problems of a few Wookiees don't amount to anything before the concerns of the Jedi.” Now, that’s not fair. If I wasn’t allergic to this planet I would do everything I could to help the Wookiees. I’m just in mild agony and have been for several hours. “No,” he finishes, “you are here for the map.

“Kashyyyk is an interesting place, more so than anyone suspects. If Czerka Corporation knew,” he says with an ironic laugh, “the planet would be a strip mine.” Doubtless. Czerka is willing to destroy anything if it gets them a few more credits. “The Wookiees have their legends that they were not always here, but it is more than that. The trees themselves are strangers.”

Uh… what? “That sounds fascinating,” I say, “and I would love to hear more, but I’m confused.”

“What I'm saying is that there are literally walls in your way,” he says - and I don’t exactly see how that relates to the trees being strangers, but okay, “and you won't find what you need without my help. And my help has a price.” Of course it does. “You must do a task for me, and then allow me to join with you. I will then remove certain barriers in your path.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Canderous protests, “The port quarters are crowded enough as it is. You want to add a cryptic old man to your current entourage of a Wookiee, a Mandalorian, and your Republic boyfriend?”

“Canderous, Carth is not my boyfriend.”

He laughs. “You know what they say about people who protest too much.”

“Leave her alone, Canderous,” Bastila says, gently smacking him. She smiles at him but she doesn't like his suggestion any more than I do. “I’m sure we can accommodate you, Jolee.”

“Glad to have you aboard,” I say, “So what’s the task?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Jolee says, “Since they began expanding in the Shadowlands, the Czerka have left me alone, for the most part. Until recently, anyway. A group of them set up camp not far from here.” He scoffs. “Poachers, is all they are. I'd like them removed from this place.”

And this is supposed to be a difficult task? I’d chase the Czerka away for fun. “So you want me to get some kids off your lawn,” I say teasingly.

He takes the joke and returns it. “Yes, yes, I’m an old man that’s getting fussy,” he says, “Call me foolish if you will, I don’t care.”

“Perish the thought,” I say, “I’d do this just for fun. Czerka has absolutely no respect for the native environment or animals, I‘m sure they’re threatening the wildlife and the ecosystem balance, and I know some of the Wookiees hate the idea of them being down here.” Gorwooken expressed as much, and I get the impression he’s not alone. “Out of idle curiosity, though, if you want them gone so badly, why haven’t you gotten rid of them yourself?”

“Don't talk back to your elders, child,” he says, teasing a bit, “Look, they know me quite well, and are always on alert when I approach. The only way I could get rid of them would be violence, which would eventually lead to trouble for the Wookiees.” I can see that. The Wookiees know he’s down here. If he removes Czerka, Czerka may ask why they haven’t removed him. Any hint of conflict could exacerbate this whole situation. “I want them gone,” Jolee continues, “but with as little fuss as possible. They have already caused enough trouble as it is.

“Their camp is in the far northeast,” he says, “And remember, if I wanted them dead, I'd have done it myself. Find a better way.”

“Gladly,” I say, “I don’t like Czerka any more than you do. I’d love nothing more than to get them all off this planet.”

“Well, you can start with the poachers,” he says with a smile, “Go on, now. Shoo! Shoo!”

Ah, he’s not so tough as all that. Despite the rain picking up, I still head out. Bastila and Canderous reluctantly follow me out into the wet. The moss glows brighter in the rain, and helps guide me close to where the Czerka poachers are hanging out. It’s dark, but my eyes adjust quickly to the low light. And I’m honestly enjoying myself. This is the closest I’ve gotten to my old scouting lifestyle in months, and I was starting to miss it. The days when water was scarce so the closest you got to a shower were rain storms like this one. When you kept lights low at night so as not to disturb the local environment too much, and to keep unwanted attention away from you. When what you ate was what you could kill, harvest, salvage, or store for months at a time, and you never took more than you needed. You were only a guest. You lived off the land, surveyed, gathered information, traded with any locals you found, learned their methods for surviving. I was with a Republic-aligned corps - not in the same field as the soldiers but I followed some of the same rules - but when we met up with Mandalorian squads, Hutt-funded expeditions, or even Sith corps, there was never much conflict between us. It wasn’t worth it. We were all at the mercy of the planet, the changing conditions. Would we ever keep information to ourselves? Yeah, of course, but nothing that would risk anyone’s lives. We’d keep shortcuts, or secluded resources to ourselves - I know about a hot spring on Utapau I’ve only told a few people about - but if my group ever came across another, we’d trade stories and tips, advice about where to camp, what to eat, who the natives were. Much as I hate Czera, their scouts were even tolerable. For them, Czerka was just an employer, not a way of life. Czerka may have funded their trips and asked for reports, but their reports were no different than mine. They may have had Czerka gear, but when it broke down they made do and improvised the same as I did. They were there to explore, provide reconnaissance for whoever paid the bills, just like me. I tried not to think about the fact that their information would lead to the leeching of a planet. 

But Czerka scouts and Czerka yes-men are two different types of people. It’s not hard to find the camp of these Czerka poachers. All the light hurts my eyes. The moss doesn’t glow. It looks a bit sickly. There are no tachs here, no beasts of any kind. When an animal starts to approach, it shrieks painfully and runs away. And for any that aren’t deterred, there are mines. They have tarps set up over some of their equipment, keeping it dry. And beyond the small camp, I can make out… something. A massive force field. Must be the barrier Jolee was talking about.

Something hurts my ears. Gives me a headache. Not the allergies, but I can ignore it well enough. There are four Czerka grunts and one with a hat - only bosses get the hats. And the boss comes up to me with his blaster. “Who are you, another civil merchant like that core-slime up on the docking ring?” he asks derisively. Rude-ass bitch. “This is my territory. I don't make deals and I don't persuade easily, so go back topside. Mess with my profits and I'll see you dead.”

What a jerk. Is a poacher incapable of being a nice person? “Are you going to stop me? You’ll need more than a blaster to do that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, I don't care if you want to play tourist down here, but you behave yourself or we'll have a problem. I've got a job to do, and I won't be gentle if you get in my way, understand?”

Geez, okay, fine. I’ll get out of your way. I’m not going to get anywhere with him. And I don’t want to. He moves away and I go past him, further into the camp. I hunker down under one of the tarps set up. (There’s an open plasteel cylinder with only one thing in it, some animal organs. I have to assume they’re tach glands. It doesn’t smell, so I reach in and grab it before anyone notices. There we go, I got the tach gland for Griff and possibly inconvenienced some Czerka asshole. All in a day’s work.)

Under the tarp is a piece of equipment with a slowly rotating head. Weird, wonder what it does. I would start messing with it, but one of the Czerka grunts is standing close to it, I don’t want to tip him off. I try to read him, see what I can see. There’s a patch on his jacket, or rather a spot where a patch has been removed. The shape is distinctive, because I’ve seen it so many times before. That’s the shape of the patch Czerka scouts wear. Which means I’m cut from the same cloth as this guy. “Hey,” I say to him, “you a scout?”

He seems surprised to see me or hear me. “Used to be,” he says, “But then Czerka decided my skills would be more valuable here.” He scoffs at that. Yeah, you can’t get rid of the scouting bug. We’re not happy sitting still. “You?”

“Yeah,” I say, “Republic corps. They called me in to the fleet, put me on a ship. I hated it.”

“Not on that ship anymore.”

“Yeah, Sith blew it up,” I say, “But then I met a Jedi, one thing led to another, and here I am.”

He looks impressed. “How’s Jedi life treating you?” he asks, “I bet you don’t miss roughing it.”

“I do sometimes,” I tell him honestly, ”Jedi aren’t really explorers. I miss exploring. Dropping down on a planet and going where the wind takes me. How about you?”

He drops his blaster to his side, relaxed. “I wish I could be here as a scout, honestly,” he says, “I’d love to explore down here, see what’s hiding in these trees, Can I tell you something? Scout to scout?” I nod, and he comes close. “I hate what Commander Dern has us doing. He’s in the tach harvesting business, selling their glands to make stims.”

“You could put in for a transfer,” I suggest.

“Yeah, sure,” he says sarcastically, “And risk them sending me to one of their corporate offices? No way. At least here I get fresh air in my lungs.”

“Maybe you could ask about being stationed to the docks,” I say, “Out of the Shadowlands.”

“That’d be a lot easier if there weren’t operations down here,” he says, “I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, they wouldn’t get it, but these emitters take all the fun out of being down here.”

“Emitters?”

“Yeah,” he says, tapping the spinning-head device with his foot, “this stupid thing. This and those other three generate a sonic barrier that allows us to stay down here. It keeps the big predators away, mostly katarns.” Must be those big things Jolee was fighting earlier. “I don’t know how it works, really. I just know that if they go down, the camp would be overrun. They’re permanent, too - these things will run for years. They say it makes harvesting easier. Personally, I think they should just equip it with a blaster and station us all somewhere else.”

“Hang on, let me get this straight,” I say, “The emitters keep you safe down here. What would happen if someone… shut it down? Theoretically speaking, of course.”

He gets a little grin on his face, and reaches discreetly into his pocket. Then he says, a little louder, “These emitters can only be programmed with a special code, specific to each emitter. I would never share my emitter’s code.” He says, while handing me a small programming strip. Then he whispers, “Thanks,” and turns away from me. With that strip, shutting the emitter off is simple. Now my headache lessens - it must be these emitters that are hurting me.

“Well done, Rena,” Bastila says, “How did you know he was a scout?”

“I recognized a patch spot on his jacket,” I say, “Czerka makes all their scouts wear a certain patch. I got to know that patch pretty well after all the years I spent scouting.”

It doesn’t take much persuasion to get one of the other guards to give me his code, too (admittedly for different reasons - this one just really didn’t like waking up every morning to find a tach in his tent), and with just two emitters down, the field deactivates. It doesn’t hurt my ears anymore. Shouldn’t take too long before…

“Run! Run!” the commander shouts, as a small group of katarns overtakes the camp. And just like that, the poachers are gone.

[the-walking-memelords]

Allegiances: Chapter 12

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 13

Series is rated M

Word Count: 3003

Louis and Clementine accompany Mitch and Willy to scout out the Delta's ship before breaking off on a side mission in an attempt to track down an acquaintance of Clem's. Their progress is delayed, however, when they become confronted by a familiar face.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

Within the hour Clementine found herself hiking through the forest along with Mitch, Willy, and Louis. Mitch lead the way, map in hand, guiding the four of them towards the river where the boat was docked. The silence between them was deafening. The shaken trust left a gap that made her feel isolated from the rest of them. Every time she glanced over at Louis, he always had his eyes trained forward, concentrating on the path ahead, as if he was struggling not to look back at her. Louis claimed he forgave her, and maybe he wanted to, but Clementine could see a darkness in his eyes that held some semblance of coldness.

He hates me.

Clementine bit her lip and tried to focus on the task ahead of her, following along without a word.

“There it is.” Mitch picked up the pace as they entered a clearing above the river.

The four of them ducked low as the boat came into view. Clementine retrieved a pair of binoculars she’d looted from Yonatan’s body. She scanned large vessel, noting the guards patrolling both the pier and top deck.

“This is it.” Clementine confirmed. The rusted sheet metal haphazardly welded on hardly made the ship look seaworthy, it was honestly a miracle the thing could float.

“Prisoners are kept on the second deck. I know the way, it’s where I was held when they brought me here.”

“Why did they put you in a cell?” Willy asked.

“They always told me I was one of their people but it was never true.” She spit, holding but the memories of the shit Lilly had put her through.

“They treated me like an animal, kept me in a kennel. I wasn’t allowed in general population.”

Four blank walls and only my thoughts to keep me company.

Hell.

“I only went along with it to keep AJ safe. I’d never met a group that seemed worth the risk of fighting back before.”

“Well, I’m glad we had that effect on you.” Mitch said almost jokingly.

Movement caught her eye on an opening of the third deck. The woman she’d pinned with the couch escorted a young blonde girl at gunpoint. Clem spotted the girl’s head turn in her direction, taking a fleeting glance at freedom before disappearing back into the boat.

“I saw Violet!” Clementine gasped, her friend within sight but out of reach.

“We really found them.” A glimmer of hope shined in Louis’ eyes at the prospect of successfully bringing everyone home.

Finding them would be easy, actually getting onto the boat in the first place was another story. The pier itself had been messily lined with crates, creating a decent amount of cover, but the only way to actually reach the pier was to walk through a wide-open path. Absolutely no cover.

We’re going to need one hell of a distraction.

A loud shout from one of the raiders on the pier caused them all to jump in surprise. They froze for a moment before realizing they weren’t the cause of the alarm. Three active corpses stalked their way towards the guard. He didn’t even have a chance to fire his gun before each walker dropped to the ground in front of him, each picked off by Dorian from the top deck.

If she spots us we’re dead.

There wasn’t a better sniper within their ranks.

“So what, all we need is like, a dozen walkers?” Louis chimed in, only half amused.

“How hard can that be?”

“Maybe not as hard as you’d think.”

“Hey guys, check this out.” Willy called to them in a hushed voice.

A few more docks lined the riverbed, each loaded with crates of furniture and building materials. Nothing but a few ropes prevented the wooden platforms from floating away.

Spoils from the train station most likely.

“We should have that stuff.” The young boy’s tone was filled with frustration.

“I could build traps, weapons.”

“That could work as part of our distraction.” A plan was starting to form in her mind.

“I saw some horses tied up down the path.” Mitch pointed out.

“We could use the torches to burn the hay and the cut the rafts free, divert their attention in as many directions as we can.”

“Sounds like a plan, now all we need is a shit-ton of walkers to get us right to the boat.” Clementine was starting to feel confident in their odds.

We’re smart.

Smarter than all of them.

“How exactly are we going to lead a herd of walkers to the boat without getting chewed up?” Louis was understandably skeptical of the idea.

“Where the hell are we even going to find that many walkers?”

“I think I have a way.” A previous encounter sprang to her mind. A boy in the woods who might be willing to lend them a hand. Clem didn’t know how much their brief meeting was worth, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

Right?

Clementine couldn’t really say she trusted James. He saved her life once, sure, but Clem knew the stories that surrounded the group that wore walker skins. Ruthless bastards who believed fiercely in survival of the fittest. She wondered how much of that mentality stuck with him since his escape. Clementine would lead with caution around him. The last thing she needed was to lose someone else because of misplaced trust.

“I… snuck out. About a week after I showed up here. I ran into a boy in the woods who used to be part of a group that could control walkers.” Clem felt best to leave out the gory details of the Whisperers.

“He lives somewhere in the area if we can track him down maybe I could convince him to help us lure enough of them to the boat.”

Honestly, any plan was better than no plan at this point.

“Why the hell would he help us?” Mitch’s disapproval was clear on his face.

“He wanted to help me when we met in the woods. Offered to let me stay in his camp for the night. If all I’m asking is for help moving some walkers, he might be willing to lend a hand.” It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

Mitch crossed his arms as he considered bringing in a stranger to help them.

“Fine, but you’re not going alone.” He wasn’t a fan of the idea but it was as good a bet as any.

“I’ll go.” Louis piped up, stepping forward.

“You two go back and tell the others about what we saw, I’ll go with Clementine to find this guy.”

Clementine flashed him a small smile which he only briefly returned.

“Fine, but be careful around this guy.” Mitch bid them good luck as they split into two groups and headed in opposite directions.

As the two of them walked the trail alone, Clementine struggled to find something to say. Anything to fill the silence. She didn’t have to though, because Louis decided to speak first.

“Why did you sneak out?”

“What?” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment.

“You said you met James on a night you snuck out.” He glanced at her nervously but spoke as if the question had been eating at him.

“So… why uh, why was that?”

Raider business.

Clementine would rather not let him know she had been spilling all their secrets, but how could she keep lying to him?

“Part of my mission was to check in with Lilly and Abel. Tell them what I’d learned.” The memory made her sick to her stomach. Willingly going back to her captors like an obedient animal. Telling their enemy everything they wanted to know.

“I’m really sorry.”

“O-oh.” The look on his face told her that was the answer he was hoping not to get.

“That was… the morning we ran into each other. Before the hardware store.” Clementine felt

chilled in comparison to the warm memory of falling asleep in Louis’ arms.

Will we ever be the same?

She guessed it was too soon to tell. Maybe after all the bullshit with the raiders. Maybe then, they could figure out what they were now.

A loud chop echoes through the trees as they made their way down the path. They froze in place, readying their weapons.

“A raider?” Louis whispered as they ducked behind a moss-covered tree.

Clementine carefully peeked around the tree. Another chopping sound guided her eyes to a girl with flaming orange hair. The girl held an axe high above her head before bringing it down on a small log, splitting it in two. She didn’t seem to be a patrol unit, which gave Clementine some hope that Mitch and Willy wouldn’t encounter anyone this far into the treeline on their way home.

A soldier.

“Stay here, I’ll see if they know anything we can use.” Clementine flipped her knife around in her hand.

Louis nervously glanced between her and the raider before giving her a determined nod. A silent message to be careful.

Clementine tread carefully over the fallen leaves, leaving not a single crunch to give her away before she stood only a few feet behind her.

“Rockingham.” She said with conviction, causing the redhead to flinch mid-swing, missing the log in front of her.

The soldier spun on her heel towards Clem, expecting one of her comrades but instead getting her axe violently ripped from her grasp. Clementine kicked out the girl’s leg, sending her to her knees with an arm twisted behind her back and a blade pressed to her throat before she had a chance to cry out.

“The people you stole.” Clementine spoke with words laced with venom.

“Did Lilly hurt them?” She knew Lilly’s tactics. Inducing fear early on to break any will to escape.

“I-I don’t know what you’re-” The girl’s words were cut off by the knife being pressed harder against her skin on the verge of slicing it open.

“I’m not fucking around.” She growled. She held no sympathy for any of these people.

“N-no. They’re fine.” The redhead claimed though Clementine wasn’t too convinced.

“Clem! Stop!” Louis rushed over, keeping his voice low.

The Delta soldier took the moment of distraction to wrestle her way out of Clementine’s grasp, sending the smaller girl backwards with a shove. The girl eyed the axe laying in the dirt for a moment though she never dived for it, instead freezing when she saw the boy who stood next to her attacker.

“Hi, Minnie.” Louis said in slight disbelief.

Clementine looked back and forth between the two past friends.

This is Minerva?

He slowly approached her, pulling her in for a brief hug. Minerva rested her head on Louis’ shoulder, lips slightly parted in shock at the chance encounter. She buried her face into the fur of his collar before pulling away.

“After the attack… I wasn’t sure. I mean, I heard they burned half your school down.” Minerva spoke in a soft, slightly gravelled voice.

“Who survived? Marlon? Ruby? Tenn?”

Her little brother.

“Tenn’s fine, so is Ruby, b-but Marlon…” Louis’ words faltered as he bit down on his lower lip.

“He didn’t… didn’t make it.” His voice grew soft as his gaze fell to the grass below his boots.

Minerva seemed to share his moment of grief, Scrunching her nose in not disgust, but sorrow at the news of her betrayer’s death. Disgust eventually did cross her features though, but only when she had Clem in her sights.

“Clementine.” She spit, crossing her arms.

“You’ve got some fucking nerve showing up around here after the shit you pulled. Fucking traitor.”

“I never wanted to be a part of the Delta. I saw a way out and I took it.” Her loyalty had always been empty. Reinforced by fear instead of respect.

“‘A way out’? By turning my friends into an army and leading them into battle?” She raised her scar-crossed eyebrow.

“It’s a miracle Marlon was the only one who died from your dumbass idea. You ruined our whole plan.”

“That is some grade-A horseshit.” Louis countered.

“Clem saved us. Lilly would have taken us all.”

“And you all would have survived it.”

“You really think it would have been better if we’d just given up?” Clementine challenged.

“You really think it would have been better for your little brother to be caught up in all this? It’s bad enough they’ve already got Violet.”

Tennessee deserves better.

No one deserves to be a slave to the Delta.

“At least we’d be together as a family again.” The stoic girl’s demeanour cracked with a hint of emotion at the mention of her younger sibling and former girlfriend.

“Unlike you. Your little boy is fucked because of what you did. At least at the Delta, he has people who care about him.”

“You shut your fucking mouth!” Her voice began to rise. This was all for AJ. Why was that only apparent to her?

“Easy.” Louis put his hand on her shoulder, attempting to deescalate the situation.

“Minerva, where’s Sophie?”

Minnie’s eyes widened before being squeezed closed. The girl hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath before responding to his question.

“Sophie…” Her voice wavered at the mention of her sister.

“Sophie died protecting the Delta. A hero.” The amount of pride in the way she spoke of her sister’s demise made Clem’s stomach twist. Lilly had dug so far into this girl’s head she wasn’t sure if there was anything they could do to undo it.

Louis let out a fatigued sigh, emotionally exhausted from losing so many of his friends. Old wounds no doubt reopened from lost hope of bringing both of the twins home.

“You could still come home, Minnie.” Louis pleaded.

“Disappear right now, help us get the others back later. We can do this.”

“I can’t. Someone would get hurt if I up and deserted too.” The taller girl cast a sharp glare at Clem.

“I can take care of myself, Louis.”

Clementine knew it wouldn’t work. Minerva had clearly completely drank the kool-aid. The collar she wore wasn’t coming off anytime soon.

“Minerva!” A sickening older voice called from the path ahead. Clementine practically shoved Louis into cover as a sharp burst a fear shot through her chest.

“Rockingham!” The girl called back, finally retrieving her axe.

We’re fucked.

Clementine’s nails dug into the leather of Louis’ coat, prepared to drag him away from this place if Minerva showed any sign of giving them away. Both teens held their breath, not daring to make the slightest sound as they sat at the mercy of whatever bond she still valued with her former friends from the school. Minerva cast them a side glance, pursing her lips together as Lilly appeared at the end of the trail.

“Finish up your work. I want to be in before dark.” The evil woman ordered with annoyance in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am!” Minerva didn’t immediately out their presence to Lilly, but once the girl was out of sight down the trail she wasted no time dragging Louis away from that place.

---

Clem spent a decent portion of their walk filled with paranoia, shooting a glance over her shoulder twice a minute for any sign of pursuers. Each peek coming up empty but doing nothing to calm her nerves.

“Do you really think Minerva would tell Lilly that she saw us?” Louis didn’t seem willing to believe it.

“She’s not the same person that you knew, Louis.” Clem knew Minerva was too far gone to be trusted.

“Those people brainwash you into believing what they do. It doesn’t take long to lose who you used to be.”

“Shit.” He tried to focus his attention on the path ahead, his shoulders drooped and Chairles swung loosely in his right hand. Suddenly his pace shifted, the space between them closing as he walked by her side.

“It doesn’t change anything. We still need to get onto that boat.”

Even the heat of the afternoon sun couldn’t warm her skin. Her body constantly felt cold. As if liquid nitrogen ran through her veins. But standing so close to Louis she could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. She swung her hand out a little father than her natural pace dictated, her fingers just barely grazing his. A simple, fleeting touch that sent electricity through her arm, feeling it deep in her heart. Louis didn’t seem to respond to her touch, but the concentrated expression across his freckled face made it difficult for her to read his thoughts.

Her eyes fell closed as she walked next to him. Piano notes danced through her mind on repeat.

Clementine.

The song he named for her. The song he poured his heart and soul into.

The song played vividly in her ears as if they were back home, sitting in the piano room. The music swirled through her, her heart fluttering with every gentle press of the keys. The feeling of his lips against hers was something she’d never forget, and something she feared deep down that she wouldn’t feel again. The time they spent together the night before was the happiest she’d been in longer than she could remember.

Last night.

All of it, not even twenty-four hours ago. God, how could everything become so fucked in just a short amount of time?

A sudden jolt broke her out of her own head as she stumbled forward a little. Her ankle stung slightly from the impact of the root she’d tripped over.

“You alright?” Louis shot her a quick concerned look.

“Yeah, I just tripped.” Clem brushed it off, speaking slightly out of breath. She hadn’t realized how unsteady her breathing had become.

“Let’s just find James.” Her limbs felt heavy as the beginnings of her exhaustion clawed at her heels.

Clementine was just eager to get this over with before the thumping ache in her chest sapped away the rest of her energy.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

End Game [Levi Ackerman] Chapter Three [The Fool]

Waking suddenly to a brief and horrifying noise, Camilla shot up with a gasp. Her nerves tingled in fright, paralyzing her until the weight of her eyelids lifted and gave back her sight. She immediately shut them again, groaning in annoyance as the bright rays of the morning sun pierced through the open curtains; too intense for her delicate eyes at the moment. Adjusting them quickly, she took a curious glance and noticed the extra body in the room.

"Was that necessary?" Pulling the bedding off her legs, Camilla stood and wobbled like a new born fawn across the room. She didn't wait for Levi to answer, before dipping her cupped hands into the basin, splashing lukewarm water onto her face. Suppressing a shiver, Camilla dried her skin and glanced into the mirror on the crest of the wash stand – Levi was staring at her, propping his head on the palm of his hand.

"Are you referring to me drawing the curtains?" He waited for her to nod before continuing on. "Then yes, it was. I have charts to look at before mass.

Still an early riser. Camilla yawned and turned, raking her fingers through her messy hair as she walked back to the velvet loveseat she fell asleep on. Studying really exhausted her; she barely remembered closing her eyes, let alone covering herself up. Frankly, she wasn't certain she had. Levi must have done so. The bed was unmade, so she assumed he hadn't slept much at all. Not wanting to pester him about it, she let it go and moved briskly over to the desk he was seated at.

"Mind if I have some?" Gesturing to the cup of tea on the table, she waited for his consent before lifting it to her mouth. Stopping short of taking a sip, Camilla recognized the chart Levi had in front of him. It was a drawn map – the district of Trost and Shiganshina were circled as well as some unnamed markers between them. She moved over to his side of the desk and looked closer at the chart. "These are new" – Camilla paused to make a disgusted face at the strong taste of the tea. – "Needs some sugar."

Levi scoffed, "This isn't the interior. Most of the people outside the capital have never even tasted sugar."

Not taking his comment to heart, Camilla laughed. "Not even in the interior could I get my hands on it. I wasn't treated any different than you, believe it or not. And furthermore, being your wife isn't easy; the Military Police do not think kindly of the Scouts, or of you."

Leaning on the edge of the desk, Camilla sat her cup beside her and cleared her throat. "I did generally miss you, Levi. Despite my absence I thought about you all the time; what you must be doing or if I'd ever see you again." A sense of dread filled her. She understood that she had no right to gauge him like this, but reassurance was needed. Taking his hand, she gently squeezed it.

"You still wear your ring?" Levi noticed it on her finger the afternoon she arrived. He was surprised that she had kept it, believing that her reason for leaving was based largely on him.

Again she laughed. "I never received the papers, so I assumed that we were still married." As an afterthought, Camilla tried to assure him of her current feelings. "I … do love you. Please understand that everything I did was because of me, not you."

"Is that so?" Levi glanced up at her, waiting for an honest response.

"I didn't agree to marry you for that mouth. It's foul and spiteful the way you speak sometimes." She was serious; her lips were drawn down in a scowl – Levi noted.

Standing, he moved in front of her and placed his palms flat on the desk beside her legs. "Remind me again why you agreed to marry me … if not for my foul mouth." Levi could visibly see the blush spread across her cheeks.

Is he … teasing me? Camilla honestly didn't know how to answer. Rationally, she should've asserted her feelings, but seeing as how he was clearly enjoying her unease, she slumped to his level. "If you are hoping to make up, then I suggest you not hold your breath. I'm not going to indulge you."

"I would certainly hope not," Levi retorted. "You haven't brushed your teeth nor bathed since you arrived." He knotted his brows in disgust.

This man and his obsession. Camilla playfully narrowed her eyes. "In spite, I ought to kiss you."

"Undoubtedly you would, but I can't indulge you." Levi removed his hands from the desk and stepped back, grabbing his coat from the chair he was seated in previously and slipped it on. "Mass will be starting soon, and if you plan to question Eren, you'd best do it before the four eyed annoyance drags him away."

"I can meet him?" Camilla was surprised, especially after Levi nodded to confirm her question. She half excepted to be forced to wait days before getting the chance. Frankly, she didn't know where she'd even start.

Levi turned towards the door, glancing at her briefly over his shoulder. "Wash yourself up first, then meet with me in the yard outside. The squad will be cleaning the exterior; Yeager won't be too busy."

Before he exited, Levi overheard her teasingly address him as sir.

This is him … the same one who defeated all those Dolls? Rather impressed, the bright eyed woman was at odds with how she would conduct this meeting. The report made him out to be some kind of ruthless brute, yet he doesn't seem to be; Eren is clearly a timid kid. Camilla noted the lost expression on his long, round face as he stared unknowingly out into the yard while the SO squad cleaned around him. Definitely just a kid. She rolled her eyes and walked briskly over to her husband's side – who stood four inches shorter than the minor next to him.

"Miss me?" Camilla tugged on his sleeve.

Levi disregarded her harmless question and signaled towards the brat. "He's yours. Don't keep him long."

Of course, dear. A soft smile pulled at her lips as Eren glanced in her direction. "Hello. It's nice to finally meet you." Camilla lifted out her hand between them. "I'm Camilla Ackerman."

"You're an Ackerman too?" Eren was bemused. The woman in front of him didn't come across as an Ackerman. She had tan skin and lively eyes; nothing resembling Mikasa or the Captain. As he stared at her, Eren realized that Camilla was waiting for him to take her hand. However, before he could react, Levi struck him in the chest.

"Don't be rude, brat. Shake her hand."

Eren apologized, doing as told. "I didn't think there were any members of the Ackerman family still alive." He sent a curious glance at the Captain just to make sure he wasn't stepping over any boundaries, but Levi didn't seem to care.

"Well … I don't know anything about that," Camilla admitted. "Through marriage I'm an Ackerman; Levi's wife in fact."

The Captain is married? Eren knew next to nothing about Levi, other than what Petra – the gentle woman who guided him when he was first admitted into the SO unit – told him. Does his team even know? Eren wondered this. He certainly didn't.

"Was there … something you needed me for?" Honestly, Eren was uneasy with Camilla so close, especially with Levi nearby. He was nervous that the wrong remark might offend her, and he certainly didn't want to do that. Still, he was curious as to why she was eager to meet him.

Camilla smiled; to Eren's relief. "There is actually. I'm a physician from the interior, and just recently I was told about your dilemma in Trost. I'm intrigued … to be honest. I came here just to meet you, Eren. And hopefully learn from you, if you don't mind answering a few of my questions."

This didn't make Eren feel much better, but he agreed nonetheless. With a nod, he cried out as Camilla seized his wrist and bobbed in excitement. She's just as eccentric as the Squad Leader when it comes to her work. Without a fight, Eren let her guide him to a stretch of grass beneath an oak tree. He watched nervously as she rested on her knees and sat up a temporary station to keep her ink pot from tumbling over.

"Join me. We don't have much time before Hange takes you, so I'd like to begin." Camilla shot the teen a brief glance before she returned to her work. The records Hange allowed her to borrow were in her lap; dockets on the pages that she wanted to review. Her own notebook was stacked on top of them, open and ready.

"The Squad Leader is coming for me?" Eren took a seat, crossing his legs.

Camilla bobbed her head. "Far as I know." Not for certain the exact details she changed the focus over in her favor. "But until then … tell me about Shiganshina. I hear that you're from there." Not the most appropriate question to ask, she planned to get it out of the way first.

"It was," Eren said quietly. "But not anymore, not since the outbreak. So many innocent people died, trying to escape into the walls … and then so many more followed once the retrieval operation began. It was pure hell."

The government began the operation a year after, Camilla recalled. They put to death a little over two hundred thousand people trying to retake the wall. She was in Trost at the time, not exactly in the battle as intended. Erwin knew the truth; population control. He asked to send us instead, but they wouldn't allow it. All because they wanted to thin out the number of mouths to feed. Camilla had to agree with him; it was hell. Dread burbled inside her. "Then you became a soldier – a reason noble to you. So then what? You came to Trost. What happened to you?"

"The Colossal emerged again. It began the outbreak, then disappeared" – Eren paused when he saw her writing, continuing only after she looked up and motioned for him to. "Our squads were separated and deployed throughout the district. None of us were really prepared to fight them. Next thing I knew, one bit me as I was trying to save my friend. I felt myself turn; a horrible burning pain consumed me … and I blacked out."

It happened so fast. According to the notes Hange gave her, the rate of infection depended on the nature of the bite. Eren was wounded on the hand; blood loss would have ensued quickly, but with proper training he could have controlled the bleeding. Somehow the infection killed him immediately – roughly three minutes was needed for the heart to circulate blood through the body, then another minute to get to the brain. An important factor was missing somewhere in this. Writing down what she knew, Camilla made a note to revisit the section she marked on viral infection rates. That's one issue on the plate. The next was regarding the witness – Armin. She hoped that maybe he could tell her more about Eren's death.

"This friend of yours. Is his name Armin Arlert, by any chance?"

Eren perked up to the question. A gentle smile grew across his face. "Yeah. That's him."

"He's mentioned in the report as a witness to your death," Camilla admitted. "Since you don't remember much, beyond dying, it might help to revisit his statement. If he'd be willing to do it, I'd appreciate it. Maybe he can remember something from that day he may have forgotten; trauma such as the type he may have experienced could have affected his memory at the time."

"I'm almost certain he wouldn't mind," Eren replied. His smile, on the other hand, dwindled. "Damn … I nearly forgot, but he and Mikasa are still with the 104th. We were about to graduate before the outbreak. Sorry, but I don't think he'll be able to answer those questions just yet."

"It's alright; I can wait." Making another note, she included Mikasa to the list. Their graduation was sure to be completed within the next few days. Camilla wasn't sure what branch they'd choose, but as long as it wasn't the Garrison she'd be able to speak with them. Moving on, she returned to the previous discussion. "You mentioned blacking out, but do you remember anything while you were a Doll? Feelings? Or maybe you might have felt something before you turned, other than the usual symptoms: pain, fever, loss of muscular coordination."

Eren tried to remember, but he was drawing a blank. He couldn't recall anything prior to waking up, and nothing beyond falling unconscious. There was pain, but she already knows that. Nothing; there was nothing. "No … I'm sorry."

"Hey. Don't look so blue. You've given me enough information to keep me busy for hours." Frankly, she wasn't sure any of it would answer her questions, but it was a good start. Sitting down her notebook, she caught a brief glance at Eren's hand. It was bandaged up, probably marked by the teeth that pierced it. Gesturing towards it, she hoped to have a look. "May I see your hand? I'd like to gauge the tissue damage."

"Um … sure." Eren hesitantly lifted his arm, giving her permission to do as she liked. He was greatly moved by how gentle she was in removing his wrap.

Not wanting to agitate the wound, Camilla only lifted the corner of the adhesive patch and peeked beneath it. She expected broken, jagged skin; a thick, discolored fluid to indicate that it was healing. But nothing was there, except for a scar to mark the spot where Eren was bitten. Her eyes narrowed in uncertainty. This can't be right. "When were you bitten, Eren? How long ago?"

"A day or two ago. I'm not exactly sure," he answered.

Camilla pulled the patch completely off and gently touched the raised, white patch of skin. "Does this hurt?" She frowned once Eren waggled his head in disagreement. Something was off about this. His bite shouldn't be healed. Letting go of him, she grabbed her notebook and made a note of her discovery. It concerned her. "Did you know about this? Stupid question … you're still wearing the bandages, so I'd assume not." Camilla bit her bottom lip in aggravation.

"The Squad Leader asked me to keep it hidden, actually. She's been doing tests on my body since we figured out I can heal quickly," Eren clarified.

Regeneration? Like a Flesh Doll? Nowhere in Hange's notes mentioned this. Camilla felt even more annoyed than she should, given the fact the researcher was keeping her from significant information. She and I need to have a word once she gets here. In the meantime, Eren was her priority. He looked troubled, flexing his fingers in and out. Camilla reached over and placed her small hand on top of his. "Don't fret, dear. Just because we can't see the answers now doesn't mean they aren't right in front of our faces. We just need to look beyond the problem, at the bigger picture."

"I'm like this for a reason. But why?"

Honestly she didn't know. "Can't answer that for you, but we all have a role to play; just need to figure out what yours is." Be thankful it wasn't to die an unknown human. "Trust me, Eren. I'll find out what you are. Focus on how you can help us – humanity needs you."

A thoughtful expression lightened his eyes. "I'll try. But can I ask … what it your involvement to the squad?" Eren wasn't sure if he should ask, but he couldn't help it. She's asking me to trust her. It's only fair.

"Questions are a good thing," Camilla said with a smile. Her brows sank in gloom. "I … want to cure the world. Before I thought it was impossible. No one bitten could possibly survive turning into one of those things. With no idea how they came into existence, merely wiping them out might not stop the virus from infecting us once again. We know so little about what's happening to us, but with a cure, humanity might have a shot at enduring this."

"What changed your opinion?" Eren could see the passion in her eyes grow as she looked at him. Her hand tightened around his.

"You … you did. Inside you might be the key to a cure. Everyone here is riding on this shot, me included. I just hope you will allow us the chance to learn from you." Camilla released him and began to gather her things. She was done as far as questioning went.

Her reasons are completely unlike mine. I want to kill those monsters; remove everyone of them from the Earth. For this he wasn't sure. But she's the Captain's wife. Levi was someone he could trust – Eren had no reason not to. Maybe I can try; hear out what she has to say. Just because she wants to support humanity in another way, doesn't mean she's untrustworthy.

"How are you getting along with the others?"

Eren was taken back, unable to answer her right away. He wasn't expecting her to ask such a personal question about his relationship with the others. Frankly, there wasn't much to tell her. "They don't want me here, and I don't blame them. I believe they're scared, thinking that I'll turn again. Yet, because of Captain Levi they tolerate me. Each one of them trusts him, and he's putting his trust in me, so they won't question the idea of having me on the team. But I know they feel differently. Petra – the girl talking with Captain Levi – is the only person who has spoken nicely to me since we arrived here."

Petra? Camilla looked over her shoulder, finding Levi with a short, blonde woman at his side. A sense of resentment surged through her as she watched them together, but she brushed it off as lack of attention. She's on his team. It's only admiration those cute eyes are showing. Returning her attention back to Eren, Camilla faked a smile. "Trust isn't built in a day. Give them some time and I'm sure they'll come around, once they see the good you can do. Petra seems to have warmed up to you, from what you've said."

"Yeah. She's pretty nice," Eren confirmed. He laughed, remembering something she told him the previous day. "Is it true that Captain Levi was once a thug? Petra heard that he was a celebrity in the Underground. You would know wouldn't you, Camilla?"

She did, huh? Camilla huffed a sigh. "You could say that, but I know he also paid severely for those crimes. It's not something I can tell you about, because to be honest, I don't know too much about his past either." He cares for me; that's all I need to know. Or at least he did. I'm not too sure now. Again she sighed. "This has been informative, Eren. Thank you for answering my questions. Best get you back to Levi; he doesn't like the mess of this place and I doubt he'll let you rest until it's clean."

Eren frowned. "No kidding. He's a monster." He stood before Camilla and dusted himself off, then offered a hand to help her up. She accepted with a smile.

Before she was back on her feet, Camilla noticed a key around Eren's neck. She didn't notice before, probably because it was hidden inside his shirt until now. Upright, she gestured to it with a finger. "That key you have … a keepsake from your district?"

"Kind of," Eren admitted, holding the metal piece in his hand. "It was entrusted to me by my father. The key unlocks a secret to something he kept from me; something important."

The curious woman narrowed her eyes. She was certain she understood what he meant. "Do you think it's what we've been looking for?" The cure? The explanation behind what Eren really is? It's been within reach this whole time?

"I think so, but it's locked behind a door in Shiganshina District – in the outbreak zone. Captain Levi and the others are going take me there, once we have the manpower." Eren missed the dark expression that crossed Camilla's face, too caught up in his own excitement.

"Forgive me, Eren. I need to go. It was nice meeting you." Before the teen got a chance to speak, Camilla was already out of ear shot. She passed by Levi and Petra, giving them a scowl as she stormed off the yard and back to the castle. It all makes sense now; the charts, me coming here. Erwin played me like a fool. I was never meant to learn from Eren. This was his messed up way of getting me back here. Forcing me back into this hell.

What hurt Camilla the most, was that Levi knew. He knew and he lied to her.