#so she makes him king and promises she’ll carry all of the burden and he relents only because he loves her

[pinkfey]

the thing abt rowena and alistair that kills me is how her making him king is (in her head) an act of love in the same way her parents sending her with duncan against her will was

[tiredrxtz]

Eternal love of a demon king and the one he called his wife

She was harmonious, that was what he would say.

The way her heels clicked and scraped against the grass of the barren field she found herself in at the break of dawn, her eyes dazed as she gazed up into the night sky; [e/c] reflecting the divine emotions held by the very moon that took up the large canvas splattered with stars.

She was bewitching.

Anos voldigoad followed her swaying figure from where he was perched, besides an old blossom tree that blemished into a true representative of mother nature, his crimson eyes never straying from the women that danced to her hearts content before him.

The unconscious bodies of the humans that swarmed them previously forgotten, not dead, never dead, but a lot more quieter than when they stood before. The war between the human race and the demons was unyielding; no matter what constitutions he proposed, nor how honestly he bestowed his ideology of bringing peace to all beings, the humans failed to recognize the path of fate they were swarming down.

This war would possibly last centuries to come…

For what he wanted— a generation that did not have to suffer the consequences of a battle forgotten deep into the past— not even a miracle bestowed by the gods could compensate the desperation of his request.

He did not wish to demand peace because he was a demon nor because he was a king, Anos voldigoad simply wanted to clear up the misunderstanding that demons were the true enemy in this magic filling world.

To achieve the goal that all races wanted to forge into reality, he, along with his beloved wife, would have to lay down their very own lives in order for that to happen.

“Kanon, let me ask you this; just how many demons have you killed?” Anos spoke with sincerity as he gazed down from his throne and into the eye for the human hero— the only person that had the potential to come even close to defeating him.

Kanon hesitated on an answer. They had time but they had to hurry if peace was to be obtained within this era of time. After all, time waits for nobody…

Except for the demon king himself.

Their end had been tragic yet Anos couldn’t have asked for anything more. While it had been selfish to strip his beloved wife of her life, all in the name of peace, it was a necessary precaution he had taken; if he had been reincarnated alone, he’d have to see his wife take on the burden he once carried and that would drive him utterly insane.

He can only hope that, when they meet again in their new life, she’ll forgive him for being so selfish.

If not then he’ll have to make it up to her by taking her hand in marriage once again.

“Who would’ve though...” he wondered out loud. Anos voldigoad gazed longingly towards the night sky that was splattered with pinpricked shining stars from where he lay on his bed. “2000 years and there’s still signs of destruction.”

The demon king had been reincarnated into a new era 2000 years after his announced death as a teenage boy and had been admitted into a demon king academy— a school that purposely trained descendants of demon royalty.

Ironic isn’t it?

the peace he had obtained was formidable, well for now at least. His death had resulted in the magic residing within him to create a barrier that’s purpose was to separate the humans, demons and even the gods from each other.

His true power was truly remarkable.

The only thing that he had left to do was fulfill his last promise: find his wife and have her hand in marriage once more. If she were here right beside him, he’d bet that she’d say something along the lines of—

“The moon is rather bright tonight, don’t you think?”

The mattress dipped slightly as the weight Anos voldigoad knew all too well settled over his relaxed stature. A smile made its way to his lips as one of his hands enclosed around the one that lay against his broad chest.

It seemed that his wife was closer than he’d realized. Lucky him, he hadn’t even lifted a finger and his beloved had already sought him out from the thousands of people within the village; he was quite lucky to have an extraordinary women as his betrothed.

His lips found her own within seconds, their fingers intertwining and their bodies being pressed together. He had waited 2000 years for his wife to finally come to him and the time had come, he wasn’t going to waste another moment without her.

As cheesy as that sounded, he had missed her dearly.

Parting with a small pant, the reincarnated demon king racked over the appearance of the women lay beneath him. She hadn’t changed at all from the looks of it; her [h/c] locks cascaded down her figure just as graciously as before and her eyes were still gazing into the abyss they both ruled over.

“[Y/n].”

She was just as devoted to him as he were to her. She had remained loyal to him for all these years and had believed in his return to her— she was the embodiment of the love he longed for.

“Anos—“ the door creaked open and in popped his mother who, upon peaking in for no more than a mere second, squealed joyously and skipped away with a poor departure excuse.

Anos voldigoad sighed while the [h/c] female giggled.

“I guess your introduction will come just as early as expected.” He complained, sliding off of the female and stretching to a stand. “There’s no doubt about it that mom will spill her little fantasies to dad so there’s no point in trying to hide this little secret, is there?”

“Come, I’ll introduce you to them.”

Her hand enveloped his and on they went. The evening was then spent with Anos voldigoad’s mother crying tears of joy, clinging to the women he called his forever wife, while his father drank in honor of their announcement.

Before his reincarnation, Anos voldigoad didn’t have the fortune of his parents being alive, meaning that not only did he miss out on their shared love for him, he also didn’t get the chance to introduce them to his wife.

However, if they still resided here on earth, there’s no doubt that his mother would love [Y/n] just as much as he did.

His love remained eternal and so did hers. Only now can they experience true peace without having to draw their blades and dance in a mach destined to end in death.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Love, fear, peace.

My Masterlist  

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: “I wanted to request an imagine where the reader and Ivar have a 4-5 year old daughter. And while Ivar is usually very cruel, he'll do anything for his little princess. And she asks to paint his nails and have him join her for a tea party, so he does, as long as it's a secret between them but the reader ends up seeing them and her thoughts on it? I'm in a big mood to read Ivar fluff”

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: A lil bit of angst, my best attempt at fluff, just soft stuff all around, probably ooc

A/N: My friends, may I interest you in an AU where all five sons of Ragnar are alive and happy? We call it ‘denial’ where I’m from, but yeah, in this universe they’re all alive, Sigurd married off to some Saxon Princess, Ubbe in Dublin, Ivar King of Kattegat and Hvitserk with him with a family of his own goddamit, Björn fuck-knows-where avoiding commitment like he was born to do, and that’s it. Ta-da.

Ástríðr is a name derived from the Old Norse elements áss "god" and fríðr "beautiful, beloved"

Taglist: (If you wanna be added or removed lemme know!) @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​   @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​   @chibisgotovalhalla​ @receptionistfromhell​​ 

Hvitserk greets you with a kiss on your cheek, and you thank the gesture with a smile, though your eyes are scanning the main hall.

“Where’s Ivar?” You ask as he walks at your side, greeting a few people with false smiles and courteous nods.

Hvitserk only shrugs, “I thought he was with you.”

“No, we were supposed to talk with one of the earls about the effect of a high tide, but he wasn’t there.”

“And how was it?”

“Dull,” You reply sincerely, “But I have an idea of where my husband is.”

The other man betrays a smile, “Can you blame him? It is hard to say no to her.”

Oh, you know that. She has him -and you- powerless to deny her anything since she first came to this world.

Try as he might to deny it, to keep the idea of the ruthless king that loves nothing alive, to mantain the façade of how nothing makes Ivar the Boneless falter; your daughter is an adorable force to be reckoned with, capable of making even the King of Kattegat surrender.

It is no secret, for you or any soul that encounters your husband, that Ivar loves his family, his wife and daughter, like nothing else.

The world will never forget the battles he’s won and lost, the wars he started, the kingdoms he reduced to ash, the lands he conquered. The world will never forget of all he did in the name of his ambition, in the name of his fame.

But the world will never forget what he did in the name of love either. Countless deals made, countless fights, countless plans devised and even more sacrifices made so that he could grant his daughter the safeties she deserved; so that he can give her the world and, when time comes, have her step sure, knowing the very earth and the very skies are hers.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you blink past the sleep that weighs on your lids. You find yourself as you were, resting comfortably on a seat that has progressively become just a pile of pillows and furs since the start of winter.

You still feel the comfortable weight of Ivar’s head on your lap, and you can make out his voice speaking quietly. Looking down you find him talking to the small bump on your stomach, the evidence of your child growing inside of you.

At the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, Ivar looks up and offers you a smile, before scooting even closer to your stomach.

“Tell your mother to go back to sleep. You and I aren’t done talking, Princess.”

A part of you is tempted to taunt him about how the might Ivar the Boneless is so smitten by a child not even born yet, but you choose instead to bask in the softness in his expression, in the happiness that curves his mouth.

Still, after a few moments, you offer, “They could be a Prince. Ivarsson.”

Your husband hums, presses a kiss against your stomach and settles again on his back with his head on your lap.

“We will have sons, I know,” He tells you, smile faint as he closes his eyes, “But first, we will have a daughter.

He speaks with such certainty that you cannot help but huff a laugh. Still, it is a nice thought, to have a Princess to call your own, a little girl, blessed by the Gods.

“She will be just like her mother, and she will be ours to spoil and take care of.”

“You speak as if you wouldn’t spoil our sons, Ivar. Someone else might believe that lie, but not me.” You tease, eyebrows lifted.

“Mhm, but a father grows jealous of his sons, and their fame, their triumphs.”

“No daughter of mine, or of yours, will be content without her own triumphs and conquests.”

“I know,” He replies without hesitation, proud smile widening and eyes opening to gaze up at you, “Like I said, she’ll be just like her mother.”

It was never a secret, a surprise, for you to witness Ivar love your child before she was even born; to feel his joy and his anticipation and his love in the way he spoke of that daughter you’d have, and all the sons and daughters that would come after.

You learned to love him years ago, and found beneath the cruelty and venom and bloodthirst a man that loves intensely, that willingly gave his heart to you to keep safe the day he made you his wife. So his love doesn’t surprise you, his devotion to his family doesn’t make you falter.

There were still many things that made you falter, that made you see everything with new eyes, during those months while you carried Ástríðr and in the years you’ve been fortunate enough to have her.

One of them was how the sons of Aslaug, much to your surprise and despite all their other failings, had been raised to be utterly devoted to their families. Hvitserk was almost giddy at the possibility of a niece or nephew that he could keep close to him, unlike Ubbe’s children all the way in Dublin. Ubbe, always the father figure, visited more than once and kept watchful eyes not only on you and his brother, but on everything, as if from Dublin he could look over all of you like he did while growing up. To your surprise, even Sigurd, past the animosity between him and Ivar -and all the disagreements he has had with you over the years, of course- sent word from Northumbria wishing you three the protection of the Gods.

Another of those discoveries, sadly not as heartwarming, was to witness the burden your husband carried and not being able to do anything about it. The more easily-soothed fears, like what your daughter would think of him, or whether she would be born healthy, were quietened by your voice promising him over and over that any child of yours would love him like no other, or by the soft kicks of your daughter against where his palm rested on your stomach, making tears shine in Ivar’s eyes every time.

There were deeper fears, and fears that plagued you too, that you couldn’t so easily soothe. The whisper in the back of his mind that happiness is nothing, that everything you love eventually you lose, that all his cruel ways and his mistakes would one day cost him what he holds dear. The blue eyes of the man you love, so used to seeing what others cannot, so used to planning ahead and seeing the world like his enemy does, seeing a world where at any time his fame and his conquests could cost him your life or your daughter’s.

For a man as cruel and vicious as Ivar, it is easy to forget he is not something otherworldly, some demon like the Christians say, some beast like your own countrymen claim. Sometimes, in all his rage and all his chaos, it is easy to forget he is a husband, a father, a man.

And like any man with a beating heart, especially a heart so wholly owned by his wife and daughter; Ivar fears.

Ástríðr blinks big and strikingly blue eyes, and you smile widely, unable to keep yourself from bringing your daughter closer and pressing a kiss on her head, delighting yourself in the familiar and comforting smell of your baby.

“Good morning, little one.” You whisper, and she coos in response, as if she understands.

“Is she…is she alright?” Ivar asks, moving closer to you and looking at her over your shoulder.

“Of course she is,” You smile down at your daughter, your finger tapping the tip of her tiny nose. “Our beautiful girl, she’s more than alright. She’s perfect.”

“She was…coughing.”

“That’s something babies do, Ivar, she’s fine.” You reassure him, only slightly bothered by the fact that he woke you up because your daughter coughed. You adjust your grip on Ástríðr, let her nuzzle against the column of your throat and find her sleep again.

Ivar drops his head to your shoulder, sighing against your skin and laying quite a bit of his weight on you. You sit there, your daughter against you and your husband letting you hold him up as he releases a tension you didn’t realize was there, and feel a pang of something in your heart.

After a few moments, you hold back a sigh, you try biting back your worry, and whisper, “You should sleep, love.”

“Mhm,” Ivar mumbles, but it is an argument, even if he doesn’t find the words to voice it yet. “Later.”

He has taken the awful habit of not sleeping at night. Each night when you settle in bed with Ástríðr nestled close to you, and Ivar holds you both close in his embrace; he remains awake, vigilant and expectant, watching the shadows for ghosts and enemies. You’ve noticed him faltering during the day, worsening his pain by not letting himself rest like should.

And it has only been worse since Hvitserk has been gone.

You know there are few people Ivar trusts fully, even fewer he entrusts the safety of his wife and daughter to. With just being here, Hvitserk granted his brother a peace nothing else can, a certainty that there was someone’s back to lean his own against, a promise that he could lower his guard and rest assured he wasn’t alone.

It is just a matter of days before Hvitserk returns, but you refuse to let Ivar run himself ragged.

So, you use your and not holding Ástrídr to wrap around his waist, and slowly move the three of you, as well as you can manage, back to lay on the bed.

With a slightly startled breath Ivar opens his eyes, focuses almost frantically on you and Ástríðr. You sigh again, but make use of the loss of his weight against you to settle against the pillows, holding your daughter better against your chest, your hand covering her back and holding her gently.

When you’re certain she’s comfortable, you lift your free arm and run your fingers through Ivar’s hair.

“You’ll rest.” You order, your eyes on your husband’s. He wants to argue, you know he does, a war between exhaustion and stubbornness, but it seems the pull is strong enough to even make him cave.

Ivar settles on your opposite shoulder from your daughter, his hand warm and rough as it settles over yours on her back. You chase tension off his back by running your hand up and down his back, and as both he and your daughter sleep safe and warm against you, you allow yourself a whisper of gratitude to the Gods.

You never knew what the Seer had meant when he told you so many years ago that ‘he can only use one hand and chooses to hold the sword, and for that you’ll need to hold the shield’, but now, as you hold your world close against you, you dare think that you understand the Ancient One’s words.

Eventually, the fear of something stealing her in the middle of the night passes. It always returns, that irrational fear he has that he will lose it all, that frantic paranoia that if he doesn’t plan, if he doesn’t prepare, they will take you both from him.

But as Ástríðr grows healthy and lively, the fears dwindle, or maybe they just change. And for a man that scorned the very uttering of the word, Ivar finds peace.

Through the halls, you follow the familiar sound of Ivar’s war cry, though quieter, and the adorable giggles of your daughter. Walking into your rooms, you make sure to remain hidden as you watch Ivar on the floor, holding himself up on his arms, mocking a taunt towards your daughter, daring the little shieldmaiden to attack.

A part of you is glad that this is a secret, a side of your husband, of your family, that the world will never know of. The world needn’t know of how easily Ástríðr makes her mother and father cave to her every wish, the world needn’t know of how fiercely and uncondicionally she is loved; only she needs to know of it, andn you and Ivar have made sure she lives a life knowing how loved she is.

You lean your shoulder on a pillar near the door, arms crossed over your chest but still betraying a smile.

Ástríðr brandishes a wooden sword at her father, big eyes strikingly alike Ivar’s when she focuses and finds her determination.

“I will defeat you!” She exclaims, the seriousness in her expression making your chest warm.

“You’re just a shieldmaiden, you can’t defeat me!” Ivar replies without missing a beat, faking a monster’s swipe with a hand that tries grabbing at her small foot.

Your daughter jumps out of the way with a squeal, but quickly furrows her brow adorably and lifts her chin, stubborn and arrogant.

Gods, Ivar is right, she looks so much like you.

“I am Ástríðr Ivarsdottir, I’ll always win!”

“Ah, you will, won’t you?” Ivar teases, letting go of the role of whatever beast he was supposed to be, grabbing onto your daughter and falling on his back with her in his arms, lifting the girl up and making her giggle. “Mighty shieldmaiden you’ll be, my sweet.”

“I know.” She replies without hesitation, startling a laugh out of you.

Two pairs of blue eyes turn to you, and Ástríðr wastes no time in calling out for you, squirming her way out of her father’s grasp and skipping towards you.

You kneel on the ground and welcome your daughter’s enthusiastic embrace, even if it was only this morning you last saw her.

“Did you defeat him, little one?” You ask her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Of course I did, mama.” She replies, almost offended. Of course, look whose daughter you’re asking about a victory in battle, imaginary or not.

You catch Ivar’s eyes and whatever intent you had on chastising him for leaving you to deal with the earl alone vanishes at the softness in his gaze at he looks at you both.

Not many know of Ivar the Boneless’ love. Even fewer know of his fear.

But there’s only a few lucky ones that have seen his happiness, his peace.

You two share a look, a look that speaks not only of gratefulness for one another, but of gratefulness for this perfect blend of the two of you, of your stubbornness and his drive, of his eyes and your hair.

Ivar betrays a small smile and his eyes go to the discarded wooden sword at his side.

“Oi, shieldmaiden!” He calls out, and Ástríðr turns to him without hesitation. “You never leave your weapon behind. It is the one thing, besides your mother and me, that you can trust blindly in this world.”

Ivar motions for the sword, and your daughter dutifully goes to pick it up, only to be ambushed on the way, Ivar’s eyes trapping her to his chest.

She is startled, and lets out a loud and adorable laugh as her father once again drops to the furs at his back, his smile blinding.

“You see? If you’d had your sword, no monster would have gotten you.”

Ástríðr grumbles an argument, but Ivar only snorts a laugh. His eyes lift to yours, and he lifts his hand, calling for the touch of yours, calling for you to join them.

You sigh, but still walk to them and stretch on the furs near the fire, accepting the embrace Ivar offers you when he lifts his free arm.

You nuzzle your nose against his throat, reaching with your hand and taming Ástríðr’s wild hair.

“Do you think one day I could defeat a dragon, like the warriors you tell me about?”

“Mhm, of course. You’ll be the most famous shieldmaiden who has ever lived.” He promises her, pressing a kiss against her hair, his arm tightening and trying to bring you closer even if it is impossible.

___

I struggled a lot writing this, I don’t really know why bc it was a lovely request. I tried my best :)

I hope you liked this, lovely anon! And I’m sorry it took me so long to get it done! I love you!!

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 15: Marry Me

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which they get married.

Warning: SMUT

Word count: 5k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Peach | Y/N)

A/N: Mary explains everything pretty clearly in the last scene. I hope it answers all of your questions :)

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A letter from Calanthe arrived the day after the dance. Y/N opened it in the presence of Harry, Lance and Jo.

“What does she want?” Jo asked impatiently while Y/N read it at her desk.

“Why are you here?” Lance asked Jo. He was standing by the door with his sword drawn and rested by his side. He’d been more guarded since last night as was she and everyone else in the castle.

“Why can’t I be here? Is it because of my sex?” Jo retorted, for a second forgetting that Lance was a king. Y/N could not blame her. It must have been devastating for Jo to be the last of them to find out about Mary’s betrayal.

“No,” Harry told Jo as he leaned forward in his chair with his hands together and elbows on his knees. “It’s because you’re a maid.”

Jo shot him a pointed look. “I’m Her Majesty’s Lady-in-waiting.”

“A maid,” Lance chimed in.

Jo flicked her gaze between the two of them. “Are you two best friends now or do you just collectively hate me?”

Harry and Lance exchanged looks before turning back to Jo. “You really want us to answer that?” Lance jokingly asked.

“She’s here because I trust her,” Y/N said, rising behind her desk. Jo made a face at Lance, and he burst out laughing.

“What does she want?” Harry asked Y/N.

Y/N folded the letter and put it aside as she leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “She wants the witch to be returned to Theros.”

As expected, Jo was the most horrified at this news. The real reason Y/N had asked for Jo’s attendance was that she cared about Jo and would never want to make a decision that would hurt her friend.

“Let’s do that,” Harry said.

“No!” Jo and Lance objected at the same time.

Harry froze and blinked blankly at them. Y/N felt bad that he didn’t know the whole story. She couldn’t figure out how to let him in without having him carry all her heavy burdens. Harry would always do too much for her; she didn’t have the heart to drag him deeper into this.

Lance cleared his throat. “We need her. She may have insider information.”

“I don’t trust her. She set Y/N up for death,” Harry said, his face twisted with anger.

“Mary knew the forest wouldn’t harm Y/N,” Lance calmly told Harry while his eyes stayed fixed on Y/N. He knew no matter what they all said, it was up to her to decide Mary’s fate.

“I don’t want her to have Mary,” Y/N said.

Jo clutched her chest in relief. Lance sighed and looked over to Harry, who seemed the most confused.

Y/N took a deep breath. “Calanthe says she’ll be at the border in two days, and she wants me to be the person who brings her the witch.”

“She doesn’t only want the witch,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “It’s clearly a trap.”

“Don’t go, Y/N,” Jo pleaded, her face pale with fright.

Lance said nothing; the look he was giving Y/N had conveyed every single one of his thoughts. Y/N studied each of the three faces in front of her, and her heart stung a little. These people all knew what it was like to lose her. She didn’t want to put them through it again. However, she had to be pragmatic at this point and not let her feelings get in the way. Whatever was best for her kingdom would be best for her, even though it felt the complete opposite.

“I’ll go without Mary,” Y/N said, not making eye contact with anyone. “Just me alone.”

“That’s suicide,” Lance broke his silence.

“I have to agree with the King,” Harry mumbled. It sounded as though he was in pain to say that.

“Maybe one of you should go with her,” Jo told the men.

Y/N shook her head. “She only wants me and the witch. I’ll go alone.”

“She’ll be waiting for you with her army and they’ll take your head, Y/N,” Lance snapped, his grey eyes piercing at her.

Y/N looked up and met Harry’s intense gaze begging her not to do this.

“Maybe I can have an escort,” she sighed, “but Calanthe specifically says in this letter that my betrothed cannot be there with me.”

Harry and Lance exchanged looks. Though neither of them said anything, Y/N knew exactly what was on their minds. She hated that they were put in a situation where it only benefited her.

“She wants to negotiate now?” Jo asked, her voice fragile. Y/N assumed she was scared for both Y/N and Mary.

“Apparently, she wants to talk. And she says that she’ll be there alone.”

“And you trust her?” Harry asked, raising both eyebrows as he stood up straight. “You want to rely on the promise of the woman, who’s only life goal is to ruin your life and make you pay for your father’s mistakes?”

“I don’t trust her,” Y/N said. “I trust myself. I know she and the Monks don’t want me dead. At least not before the battle. She’s causing all this chaos to trigger us to strike. She sets us up, blames us for killing George Wallace and is most likely going to use that as an excuse to invade the North. And she’s ready. I know she is. But so are we. I just want to hear what she has to say. Two can play this game. And I’m not afraid of anyone. Certainly not Calanthe.”

“It’s up to you,” Lance sighed. “We can only tell you what we think is best, but we can’t tell you what to do.”

Y/N frowned. “I still want your support.”

“You have our support, Peach,” Harry said though he didn’t sound so confident. That was good enough for her. She would not be able to go through with it without his approval. Despite what he might think, his feelings mattered to her.

“Absolutely,” Jo said anxiously.

“Well, at least I still have this ring to know if you’ll survive,” Lance said, showing Mary’s ring on his left hand as Jo shot him a glare.

Y/N let out a laugh then mouthed, ‘Thank you,” to him.

Lance gave a shrug and pushed away from the door, stretching his limbs. “If that’s all, I’d like to leave. I’m going to check on Mary. Are you coming, Jo?”

Jo bit her lip, glancing at Y/N. “I don’t know if I should. I don’t want to look at her right now.”

“You can’t just avoid her forever,” Y/N said. “She’s been through some traumatic events. You might be able to cheer her up.”

Jo took some time to think before letting out an exasperated breath. “Fine.”

She wished Y/N goodnight and followed Lance out of the room, leaving Harry and Y/N alone with each other. Silence sank in. For a long moment, Harry and Y/N just stood quietly, stealing glances at each other.

Suddenly, Harry chuckled.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Nothing.” He pressed his lips together. “Would you like me to go as well?”

“No. You can stay,” she said, returning the smile.

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Harry told himself to not trouble Y/N anymore by talking about this, but he could not shake off the fact that she would keep running back towards danger. He’d almost lost her last night. He couldn’t risk letting it happen again.

As she turned her back and remained silent, he had trouble doing the same.

“You don’t have to go alone. I’ll go with you. She just didn’t want Lance to be there, and I–”

He stopped talking and pacing as soon as he noticed that Y/N hadn’t been listening. She was staring out of the window, silent as a ghost. At first, he thought she was just pondering over Calanthe’s letter. But then her shoulders began to shake.

“Peach?” he asked quietly, moving closer and taking her by the hand.

She was crying when he turned her around. He hadn’t seen her cry since that night on the cliff. In fact, she hadn’t shown any emotions since they’d returned to the castle. His heart dropped as he cupped her face while she sniffled, trying not to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered painfully.

“Why?”

“I’m c-crying...”

Harry pulled her to his chest, putting his arms tightly around her. “Why are you sorry for crying?”

“Because,” she sobbed, “because...I don’t think I’m supposed to…”

Those words were like knives going through Harry’s heart. He held her closer and whispered into her hair, “You don’t have to be strong when you’re with me.”

She said nothing, wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed him in a tight hug. They hadn’t been intimate since they’d left the woods, and for a while, Harry had feared that the girl he loved had never made it out of that place. Now, seeing her break down right in his arms, Harry didn’t know if he should feel relieved or concerned.

“When I told you you were free to leave as soon as we made it back,” she said, her voice brittle, “I meant it...you can still leave this place.”

“Don’t you want me around anymore?”

Y/N pulled back, her contorted face made his heart ache. “I do. I’ll always need you. But...you didn’t sign up for this. You can still be happy. You told me you wanted to see the world. You can still have that life, find yourself a normal wife to love and cherish and spend the rest of your life with. This isn’t normal. I wish we could talk about the future and kids and a family and not death and war and uncertain fates.”

“Peach, stop–”

She shook her head fast and cradled his face in her hands. “It’s killing me, Harry. I don’t want to see you miserable, but I...I c-can’t make you happy anymore.”

“Hey, enough.” He grasped her wrists and gave her a shake just so she’d snap out of it.

Startled, she gawked at him with glassy round eyes. His fingers drifted to her face. Her breath caught at his tenderness.

“I want you,” he said. “All of you. It means I want this. I want your darkness. I want your pain. I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re suffering alone. You don’t have to even love me back for me to love you, Peach. I’m not going to leave you just because you’re carrying more baggage than you could bear.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and he wiped it away. She shut her eyes, taking a shaky breath. “I don’t want you to get hurt again,” she said.

He smiled sadly. “Hey. You got stabbed. I didn’t. Lance didn’t either, and he was the one without a sword. So you don’t have to worry about either of us. Just yourself.”

Y/N snorted as she rubbed her nose onto her sleeve. “You just had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

“I enjoy making you smile while you’re crying,” he said, lifting her chin. “That’s why you need me in your life. I don’t care what people expect from you, love. I just want to be there for you.”

Y/N’s lip quivered. She took his hands in both of hers and pressed them to her chest. He could feel her heart racing. “I’m sorry for pushing you away…”

He chuckled. “And I’m sorry for disobeying that order. I know you love me, Peach. You’re the only girl who would jump off a cliff for me.”

“You mean I’m the only crazy one?” she said, giggling through the tears.

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve known from the start. I told you you were crazy when I saved you from the river.”

She nodded, her lips curled gently.

“That’s how it works,” he added and brushed their noses together. “I save you. You save me back. Life could be easier without you, but I love myself a little challenge.”

Y/N pursed her lips, her brows drawn together, and Harry was afraid he’d said something wrong. “What is it?”

She squeezed his fingers before bringing them to her lips. “Marry me.”

Harry’s mind went numb for a second. He blinked at her, astonished. “Are you insane? We can’t just–”

“No one has to know.”

At this point, he was convinced she was unwell. “Peach, that’s wrong. You’re betrothed to Lance.”

Y/N shook her head fast. “A marriage based on an alliance will never be true. Lance and I both know that.”

As hard as it was for Harry, he had to say it. “I don’t think it’s untrue for him, Peach. The way he looks at you.”

Y/N’s eyebrows sloped. She sucked in a breath and averted her thoughtful eyes.

“I will always care for Lance,” she admitted, “and I want him to be happy and safe. So in a way, you can say that...that I do love him. However, the love I have for him is based on the purpose of survival. I can count on him, and he can count on me. We protect each other and the people around us. That is all.” She turned back to Harry, her eyes glimmering in the candle glow. “What you and I have is so different. I’ve loved you since the day at the river. When there was no danger or enemy. Just us being kids. And I know a lot has changed since, and things can’t go back to the way it was, but I’ll always love you the same and always want to be with you.” She slid her hands down to lace her fingers with his. “So...will you marry me?”

Harry could not stop the beam from spreading across his face. He knew this was wrong, but it was all he wanted and more.

“We don’t have any witness,” he blurted, making her giggle.

“We do. Us.” She looked heavenward. “And my parents.” Harry supposed he must seem so silly because she broke into a laugh when she saw the look on his face. “Just say yes, please? I’m a very proud person. You won’t like it when my pride gets hurt.”

“Are you proposing or threatening me?”

Without breaking eye contact, she took his left hand, slid her gold ring off his finger and kissed it. “Depends on your answer,” she replied with a smirk.

He snorted. “You know I’d just say yes to anything you ask.”

“Good.” Her lips curled as she put the ring back on his finger. “It’s official. We’re husband and wife.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“I’m the Queen. It works when I say it does.”

Y/N didn’t wait for Harry to come up with a remark. She grabbed him by the collar and tugged him in, locking his mouth with her own. She kissed him wildly. It had been a long time since they’d kissed like this. Harry never wanted this to end. Every touch of her fingertips increased the hunger in him. But he wasn’t going to let passion cloud his judgements. He would not pressure her into doing something she wasn’t comfortable with.

“Are you sure?” he asked breathlessly when they broke apart. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she breathed, drawing him back into her. “Do you?”

He nodded, kissing her slowly. “I always want you. I missed you.”

“Show me.”

She slipped both arms around his neck and held him tightly, returning his kisses with equal desire. He knew they were spiralling down the pit of disaster, yet he didn’t want to stop.

The next thing they knew, his shirt had come off and her dress was on the floor. He lay her down on the bed. His hands cupped her breasts as his thumbs played over her nipples. She trembled and moaned into his mouth as she ran her hands up his broad back.

Pausing, she gazed up at him. “You’re so handsome. I love you.”

“You love me for my looks?” He laughed lowly into her neck. “Ouch.”

“That’s just a bonus. I love you for you.”

Harry smiled into her skin. “I’m flattered.” His voice a husky whisper. “And you’re so beautiful, love.”

Drawing in a quick, hard breath, her body tightened instantly in response to the wetness of his tongue over her nipple. She arched up into his mouth as a way of begging him not to stop. Knowing she’d only let herself be so vulnerable and helpless when she was with him, Harry’s heart doubled its side. He lifted his head to kiss her mouth again. He wanted to take it slow, but he knew this was torture for both of them, and he was dying to feel her again.

She pressed tight against the whole long length of him. It was evident how wet and ready she was. He slipped his fingers down between them and felt her there. His jaw dropped, mouth hanging open. She snuggled closer, her skin damp and hot and smooth. As he began to move his finger inside her, he could feel her heart pounding and her breath caught. He suckled her breast, giving it his full attention. She cried and tightened her fingers in the curls behind his head. She squeezed her thighs around his hand as he slipped in two fingers. Then she started rocking her hips.

“Easy,” he chuckled as she aggressively tugged his trousers down. His breath caught when she wrapped her fingers around his hot and hard length. She gave it a few strokes while kissing his mouth.

“Want you now,” she begged.

He couldn’t manage a single word, only nodding like a fool as he wrapped his hand around hers then rubbed himself against her soft, wet folds. Slowly, he worked his way inside. “Gods,” he gasped. “You’re so tight, love. Is it painful?”

“No,” she replied, swallowing hard. “It feels good.”

Harry was spending every ounce of control he had going slow to not hurt her. “Just tell me,” he said through clenched teeth. “If it hurts too much, we’ll stop.”

Y/N’s hands tightened on his shoulders as she arched her back and pushed back at him. To his surprise, she laughed. “Why are you acting like it’s my first time?”

“I’m sorry for caring about you?” he said between harsh breaths, smiling and kissing her cheek. Then, he thrust back inside her, seating himself fully where he most wanted to be.

She cried out, from pleasure, not pain, cupped his face and pulled him down to kiss him again. Her legs locked around his waist, refusing to let him leave her body. The fire spread up his legs and so he moved his trembling hand between them and rubbed her hard and fast. She tightened on him until it hurt, but it was the kind of pain he wanted to feel every day. She cried again with raw pleasure wrenched from her chest as he wrapped her in his arms and pumped into her.

“I love you,” he gasped, squeezing her thighs and going faster. “I love you so much.”

She arched into him, crashed by the second wave of pleasure. He caught her screams with his lips. Stars exploded behind his eyelids, and he could hear her whimpering his name again and again.

They lay still, legs tangled in between the sheets until the sweat on their skin was cooled by the wind through the opened window. Harry groaned as he propped himself up on his elbows.

Y/N caught his wrist before he could get up. “Where are you going?”

“To close the window.”

“No. Stay. I’m not cold.”

“I am,” he chuckled but lay down anyway and snuggled up against her. She giggled and tugged the cover over them, pulling him close to her chest.

“You’re such a Southern boy.”

“Thank you, Ice Princess.”

“Hey, I’m a queen.”

Harry grinned up at her and lifted his head to kiss her on the lips. “Well, Your Majesty. I’m coming with you to the border.”

Y/N’s smile dimmed as soon as she heard. He assumed she was having flashbacks of the last time they’d travelled to the border. Only one of them had made it back.

“No, you’re not,” she said.

Harry shook his head. “Dead or alive, we stay together. I can’t risk losing you again.”

Y/N groaned as she rolled her eyes. Harry braced himself for another argument, hating that he’d ruined the moment in which they both pretended to be two lovers without titles and responsibilities.

Surprisingly, she combed her fingers through his hair and said,  “All right. We’ll go together.”

.

.

.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better. Thank you, Your Majesty,” Mary told Lance, yet she was looking right at Jo. Jo hadn’t said a single word to her since last night. In fact, she had been expecting Jo to visit her after the attack. She’d heard that the Queen had been hurt, so Jo must have been by Her Majesty’s side this whole time. Mary knew it was Jo’s duty, yet she could not help but envy the Queen. Y/N had everyone caring about her.

“I know this is a tough time for all of us,” Lance said, standing with his hands behind his back. He looked relaxed at all times, which made Mary wonder how bad a situation must be for him to lose his composure. She wouldn’t want to find out, though. “My Queen received a letter from Calanthe today,” Lance went on. A line appeared between his dark brows. “She demands you to be returned to Theros.”

The news stopped Mary’s heart for a second. She couldn’t breathe. She clutched Lance’s wrist, causing him to flinch. “Please, don’t! Let me talk to the Queen!”

Lance regarded her with a sympathetic look as he gently pried her fingers off him. “Y/N will go alone,” he said. “That’s the difference between her and Calanthe. She’s not sacrificing innocent people for her own good.”

A sense of relief washed over Mary only to drown her in guilt. She was the way she was now because she’d blamed Y/N for all of her misery. Meanwhile, Y/N was protecting her. If she survived this somehow, she’d have to spend a lifetime regretting all her selfish mistakes.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Lance said, eyeing Jo before he spun on his heels and marched straight to the door.

The door was shut behind the King, and Mary turned to Jo, hoping she’d start the conversation. Jo idled for a long moment, just staring at her feet, probably trying to decide whether she should follow Lance or stay. Mary half wanted Jo to stay and talk to her, half wanted Jo to leave so she could pretend she and Jo were still on good terms.

Jo finally made up her mind. She padded across the room and sat down on the edge of Mary’s bed. Mary’s muscles were still sore from the chase last night, so she sat still with her back against the pillow when all she wanted to do was get closer to Jo.

“I know,” Jo broke the silence.

Mary’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“I know the truth. About why you came here.”

With Jo looking at her with that much disappointment, Mary wished she ceased to exist. She reached for Jo’s hand only to be pushed away.

“I can explain–”

“Please do,” Jo said, her face twisted in anger. “I’m so tired of seeing the people I care about get hurt because of you. Have you ever done anything right since you got here? You’ve been ruining lives. Y/N almost died last night, and she’s going to put herself in danger again to protect you.”

Mary swallowed hard as she dropped her head. “I-I’m sorry.”

Jo let go of a harsh breath. “If something bad happens to her, I will never forgive you. Because when I have to choose between Y/N and someone else, it’s always going to be her.”

Even though Mary knew it already, hearing it from Jo still hurt. “I understand,” Mary mumbled. Her hands started shaking, so she clutched the sheets. “I’m sorry for lying. I can tell you everything right now if it means I can gain back a bit of your trust.”

Jo frowned as she looked away. “Go on.”

Mary nodded, taking a deep breath. “At the beginning of time,” she began, “the four high courts didn’t exist. One hundred kingdoms were independent of one another. When Lokesh became King of Isolde, the Monks convinced him that he was the chosen one and it was his destiny to rule over one hundred kingdoms. And so Lokesh and his three brothers started invading the other kingdoms, until the rulers of what we called the low courts today had to give up their reigns to Isolde.

“However, with greed running in their blood, Lokesh’s brother did not want to hand full power to their brother. It was the beginning of the civil war that lasted over a year. Lokesh wanted to win so badly he sought consults from The Monks, and they helped him make a deal with the Gods to trade his firstborn for victory.

“He didn’t have a queen yet, but he was madly in love with a witch, who was a member of the society. The witch was with child and unaware of her lover’s cruel intentions. Lokesh’s army was winning when the Monk came to the witch’s house to collect the baby. Scared and heartbroken, she set her house on fire and ran away with her child. They both fell through the ice and died in the lake.”

“She was the witch in folklore,” Jo said when Mary paused.

Mary nodded. “Yes. And without the child, Lokesh couldn’t win. None of the brothers did. The one hundred kingdoms were then divided into four high courts. The Gods were angry at the brothers’ selfishness and cruelty, so they stopped the seasons from changing and let Isolde suffer from the cold all year round.

“Every day, Lokesh would come to the lake to mourn his lover and child. Then one day he never returned, and the crown was passed onto his cousin. Y/N was the only one who could find the lake because she shares the late king’s blood. But also because it was believed that the witch and the king had unfinished business and so they would keep meeting in different lifetimes as different people until they set things right.”

“So Harry and Y/N…”

“I thought it was Harry, too,” Mary said. “But then Lance showed up. And now I’m sure it’s Lance.”

Mary expected Jo to call her crazy or a liar, but what Jo said to her was, “Are they going to end up together?”

“Lance and Y/N?”

“Yes.”

Mary lifted her shoulders in a half-shrug. “I don’t know. Every lifetime is different. But as far as I’m concerned, soulmates don’t have to be lovers. And not every kind of love is the same.”

Jo pondered over the given fact, her brows furrowed as she pinched her bottom lip between two fingers. “What does this mean for them?” she asked after a moment. “Will they have to sacrifice themselves?”

“Not...necessarily,” Mary said. “I know Y/N is the saviour in my sister’s prophecy. Lokesh started this mess, and she’s going to end it. We just don’t know how.”

“So why didn’t the Monks choose her instead of Calanthe?” Jo asked.

Mary laughed dryly. “My theory is that they know they cannot control Y/N. She’s a wild horse. Calanthe is a house cat. If Calanthe wins, and Y/N is dead. The Monks can take over one hundred kingdoms. But if Y/N wins, chances are nothing will change, or she’ll give independence back to the low courts, and the world will be as it was at the beginning.”

Jo raised both eyebrows, looking intrigued yet worried at the same time. “So Calanthe’s a puppet?” Mary nodded. “Does Y/N know about this?”

“Not yet. Do you think I should tell her?”

“Yes, before she’s going to meet Calanthe,” Jo said, rising from the bed and smoothing the wrinkles on her skirt. “Well, I must go now. Rest well.”

The words piled up on Mary’s tongue as she watched Jo make her way to the door.

She had to say it.

“Just so you know.” Jo stopped and slowly turned around. Mary took a steady breath. “I may not be strong like Y/N, but I care about you, and I’m not going to let anything or anyone hurt you.”

Jo tilted her head, her expression so unreadable that Mary didn’t know what she was expecting. Jo said nothing at all. She just left, shutting the door without making a sound.

[sabraeal]

If All Else Fails Just Play Dead

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki AU Bingo 2021 Swan Princess AU

There is a boy in her house.

Two boys, actually; not counting Uncle, who is the Margrave Entaepode, or Papa, who acts like he is, or Raj, who everyone simply tolerates because there are worse things than having the first prince adopt your heir as their particular friend, and all of them start with denying said prince what he wants.

(And also because when he’s not trying to flex all his royal powers at once, Raj can be almost tolerable. He at least believes in magic, which gives him a leg up over just about every other boy Shirayuki has known, save for uncle, even if he doesn’t know any himself.)

Sakaki is also not to be counted, though she feels bad about it, on account of how often she typically forgets that Sakaki is a boy and not just some boy-shaped furniture Raj travels with, like how he always brings his pillow and his favorite chair. She’ll have to remember to bring him some extra pastries from the kitchen as an apology.

No, these are two entirely foreign boys, shipped straight from the court of the King Who Isn’t, as her father calls him-- though not within his mother’s hearing. Shirayuki is resigned to make the best of it; Uncle asks for so little, and she is the Lady of the Manor, even if she only comes by the title from a lack of older women to fill it. If she must, she can entertain their guests, but that doesn’t mean she has to like it, not one bit at all.

A shelf rattles, jostling the books on their bindings. Shirayuki’s fingers nearly dint a page as she turns it, but she does not look up. To look up would be to give in, and even if she is charged with entertaining, she does not need to be the entertainment.

It rattles again, now with two giggles to accompany it. Excellent. It seems both her troubles are accounted for.

With a sigh, she collects herself. This is what is fair, after all. It is her duty to see after Entaepode’s guests, and Papa is already taking on the brunt of the Her Majesty’s needs, as well as the marquis’ that travels with her. Not that she would have minded if he wanted to switch; Queen Haruto at least seemed like the sort to enjoy a quiet afternoon in the library.

A leg swings over the top of the shelf, long and skinny and ending in a particularly scuffed boot.

Very much, Shirayuki thinks, slapping her book shut on the table, unlike her son and his companion. 

“You’re not supposed to do that.” She means to be mild, but each sound falls so waspish from her lips that it could sting. Oh, Uncle will be displeased when he finds out she was rude to their esteemed guests. “It harms the books.”

A sly, cat’s grin shines down on her as a second leg follows the first. “We’re just on the shelves.” Obi twitches his shoulders in a lazy excuse for a shrug. “It’s not like we’re ripping out pages.”

Of the three of them, he’s older-- oh, well, both boys are older than her, but he’s oldest. Only a few years shy of being a man in his own right; the sort of older that’s supposed to know better. Not that he looks it-- Obi’s supposed to be thirteen, but he’s barely an inch taller than Prince Zen, showing none of the stretch in his limbs that boys his age should before they come into their growth.

His feet dangle, just at the level of her nose, and uncharitable irritation itches in her thoughts. Maybe he’ll be one of those boys who’s small forever, a man in a child’s body. The sort of boy she’ll be looking down on instead of up at, should she get Papa’s height, or Uncle’s.

“The shelves are where the books live,” she tells him officiously, fists high on her hips. “And if you knock it over, then you might hurt your spine, or worse, one of theirs! Or even worse,” she adds with no little horror, “you might tear out a page!”

He blinks, those wide, gold eyes flashing like candlelight. “Huh.”

She conjures up Uncle at his most imperious as she says, “This isn’t a training yard.”

“How would you know?” The shelf wobbles, and a pale white mop heaves itself over it. The second Prince of Clarines is pinch-faced, like he’s always just finished sucking on a lemon, and pale as an invalid. She could believe he was bedridden, from the way he keeps waiting to be served. “It’s not like you’ve ever been on one.”

A breath hisses between her teeth. It’s not from lack of trying, she wants to say; her last birthday, Papa has trousers sewn for her, plus a shirt and waist. He’d promised her a sword, even traipsed her through the halls to the yard, but Uncle had been waiting right at the gate, mouth drawn to a forbidding line.

What are you thinking, Mukaze? She’d heard him growl, her ear pressed tight to the study door. My own heir, and you put a blade in her hand.

If she were a boy, you’d have thought I’d done it too late, Papa had replied, easy as always, the way that would drive Uncle mad. I don’t see the harm--

Of course you don’t. Uncle had never sounded so cold, so bitter as he did in that moment. You never do.”

Her stomach twists, slithering around like a nest full of snakes, only getting more knotted, more sick as she thinks about it. Uncle and Papa were close as brothers, surely--

Surely, she shouldn’t be worrying about this at all.

“Why are you wearing all that black?” she snips instead, ignoring the heat that licks up her neck. “It’s summer.”

It’s not doing him any favors either; all that thick velvet just makes his limbs skinny and his face more drawn, like he’s a skeleton rather than a boy.

The prince stills, legs no longer kicking, lips no longer flapping; just a steady, slow rise and fall of his chest. Obi-- a study of constant motion-- doesn’t even do that; instead he sits, utterly immovable, and stares.

With a voice chilled with the winter he’s never felt, His Highness finally says, “My father died.”

She’d known that, she had. His Majesty died a year ago, her Uncle even told her, their legs pressed tight on his study’s sofa. She liked doing that, lining bone to bone, like they might one day be a matching set, margrave and heir both. Another pair of shoulders to carry the burden of rule, after so many years of an absent, broader pair.

Her Majesty has ever been a bosom companion to this family, he’d continued, a strange tightness to his voice. Now that her mourning is over, she is bringing her youngest son to visit. I’m sure your father would be pleased if you became...as close as they.

So much for that. Uncle would be so disappointed-- not only had she scolded the prince, but she’d insulted him too, and--

And he had started it. Her mouth settles into a thin line, so like Uncle’s.

“So did my mother.” So long ago that she is barely more than a song and a scent. Still, there is no ceding ground, not to Prince Zen; every inch she gives him yields a mile, and he considers it his due. “And you don’t see me walking around in velvet during high summer.”

The prince’s skin is pale as moonlight, the envy of every maid in the manor, but it flushes an angry red now, his body trembling to contain him. “My father, he sputters, leaping off the shelf, “is more important than your stupid mother ever will be.”

Papa praises her for her even-temper. Just like your mother, he laughs, not as boldly as he is wont. You never let anything under your skin. Not like me. Though all our impulse certainly bred true.

Anger, Uncle would say in his soothing voice, every syllable measured, makes a man a fool. You would do well to eschew it if you can, my little girl.

So it is not that Shirayuki is angry; oh no, she is incandescent.

Her finger curl, carving pitted crescents in her palms. For once she is glad that magic is consigned to history books and scholars in their towers, for if she could but call fire to her fingertips, this whole library would be alight. Her mother may be more sense than solid to her, but there is not a stone here she has not touched, and--

Well, Uncle is right, but Shirayuki is content to be stupid.

“Maybe so,” she says, so calm, so even, just as Uncle might. “But at least people liked her.”

For a moment, Prince Zen looms, every line trembling, and she is convinced that he will raise a hand to her, that he will truly treat her as her father’s mouth has earned her. But instead he spins on his heel, stalking out of the library with naught a word.

Wrath leaves her at once, a spirit exorcised from her chest, and oh, she’s dizzy with the lack. Her hand reaches out, meaning to grab for the chair--

But another hand grabs it instead. Shirayuki had never noticed at what a patrician angle Obi’s nose sat, not until he stares down it at her, his face a smooth bronze mask.

“That,” he says, finally sounding his age, “was badly done.”

Had her father sat her down after that terrible, disastrous morning, and told her that one day she would consent to marry the prince, Shirayuki would have--

Well, she would have done something Uncle wouldn’t approve of, surely. And she had, when Papa sat her down not too long after the queen’s carriage disappeared into the horizon, and told her that their union had been agreed upon, dowry and all. But to think she would ever want to, that she herself would gladly make the plans-- impossible.

If only it had stayed that way. If only she had remembered why she’d waved him off at arm’s length every summer, why she’d tossed him in the pond when he tried to kiss her at fifteen and told him he’d have better luck finding a princess of his own species in there. At least then she might be able to scuttle this whole wedding, instead of having Papa and Haruto cluck at her pitifully when she asks, telling her that it would all work out eventually.

After all, hadn’t she loved him just last night?

Shirayuki huffs, rolling to her side. She’s no longer livid, which is an improvement; last night she’d thought quite long and extremely hard about how many tapestries she would need to tear from the walls to get a good, solid bonfire to catch and burn Wistal palace to its very stones. Once she started considering where the custodians might keep turpentine, or whether she could wheedle the key to the cellars out of the chatelaine, she’d forced herself to lay down. Few things had ever made her so angry that they couldn’t be solved by a good night’s rest.

Wrath and rage has cooled, but not to her usual levelheaded calm, the answer filling her with vim and vigor and a dangerous determination. Oh no, instead her fine barrel of fury has turned to melancholy, and with each minute that ticks by, she drinks a deeper draught.

Is beauty all that matters to you?

Even now her breath catches at the roiling confusion in Zen’s eyes. What else is there?

“What was I thinking?” Her fists clench at her sides, but it’s not enough, not until she brings them to her eyes and pressed down, colors sparking across her eyelids. “Why did I...?”

She thought he had changed. They all had, these last few years, hadn’t they? No longer the three children that had tripped over each other in her uncle’s halls, bickering and pinching and causing trouble wherever they roamed. Shirayuki’s temper had mellowed. Zen had grown taller-- or at least tall enough to please him. And Obi--

Obi should be here. And now he’s not, and it’s yet another why she has no answer to.

A timid knock brushes against her door, followed by an even softer, “M-my lady?”

Shirayuki pulls her fists from her eyes, blinking away the blur. “Come in.”

A small girl slinks inside, dark eyes wide and round. “M-my lady...” Her brow furrows. “Your hands are wet.”

She glances down, staring at the fingers laces so tightly in her nightgown. Her knuckles do indeed shimmer in the light, right where they had been pressed along her eyes. “So they are. I...suppose you are here to dress me.”

“Ah...” The maid loses her certainty, eyes darting around the room. “About that...”

Her heart leaps in her breast. “Has something happened?”

“Ah, well.” The girl winces. “There’s a bit of a, um, problem. With the arrangements.”

“The arrangements?” Shirayuki echoes.

“Ah...”

That’s when she hears the screams.

Her twelfth summer marks the moment that this arrangement becomes completely, irrevocably unfair.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Branches shiver above her, the only sign of Obi a few flashes of black and buckskin and the leaves quivering in his wake. “You two have gotten nearly civil these days.”

“But you’ve gotten tall,” Shirayuki grouses, tucking herself between the roots of the old oak, book sprawled upon her lap. “Any day now you’ll be head and shoulders taller, and what if Zen’s the same? I can’t be the smallest.”

“Well.” She can’t see him, but she knows he settles above her, perched on a branch too precarious for his size. “You are a girl.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be tall.” A finger taps against the page, thoughtful. “Haruto is.”

“For a lady.”

“For anyone,” she corrects primly. “It’s fine enough for you to be tall-- you’re tolerable. But Zen...” She grimaces. “His height it the only thing that keeps him humble. The king isn’t tall, is he?”

“He is,” Obi informs her with relish. “Almost taller than my father, and he’s not done growing.”

She pictures it, Zen being able to look Haruka square in the eye, and shudders.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” Shirayuki sighs, finger knitting in her lap. “Uncle should forbid you from coming. You can stay for now, but next summer is right out.”

It’s strange how even though she can’t see him, she can feel his grin on the air. “I’m sure nothing would make him happier.”

“Or me,” she admits, wistful. “What good neighbors Zen and I might be, if we never had to look at each other again. Save for weddings and births and funerals, of course. And you’d always be welcome, Obi.”

“Thanks.” He drops down one of his too-long legs, toes curling in the air above her, the only visible part of him. “But I wasn’t talk about the Young Master.”

Shirayuki blinks, mouth curving in confusion as she parses his words. “You can’t mean Uncle.”

Obi leans, just enough for her to see his dubious, arched brow. “Why not?”

“Uncle’s always liked Zen.” He’d been the one to calm her when she’d come crying, distraught that Papa would make her marry a boy as pompous as him. Plenty of boys grow out of their pettiness, little girl, he’d told her, smoothing the wild riot of her hair, at least as many that don’t. “Even now, he’s with him, showing him the march.”

“Only because your father asked him,” Obi says, settling back into the canopy. “The next Margrave Entaepode needs to know what his lands can bring. Especially if he means to bring them to his brother.”

Shirayuki frowns. “I’m the next Margrave Entaepode.”

“No,” Obi hums. “You’re the next margravine.”

Shirayuki is not sure what she expects when she walks into Clarines’ great hall, but it is certainly not carnage.

“What happened?” she breathes, picking her way over a toppled chair. There’s not a scrap of fabric that’s not torn, not a table nor chair without a wobble. Flower petals lay strewn on the ground, and the cake--

“Oh no,” she sighs, “I was so looking forward to desset.”

It’s toppled, every tier crushed to the stone beneath it, buttercream and jam and custard smeared up and down the aisle. It had been a gift from the Seirans; Zen had been so excited to know their much-beloved cook had made each layer with him in mind-- Except one, Obi reminded him, swiping a bit of cream from a spoon. You know who Cookie loves best.

“A beast did it,” the steward tells her, near to tiers. “Knocked it over, then even stopped to take a bite.”

“Three bites,” a maid chimes in. “Odd, it was. I could have sworn it thought about it too, just stood there looking as Cook came in, shouting to high heaven, and ate its share.”

Shirayuki glances down. “Flew? As in-- with wings?”

“Yes,” the steward agrees, “it had wings, and a mouth with cruel teeth.”

“There weren’t no teeth,” the chatelaine snaps waving the wailing man off. “It was just a bird. Swan, I think, from the size. And the meanness. Came in here like a holy terror, it did.

“It was a beast with teeth,” the steward insists, “and it bit one of the footmen!”

The chatelaine huffs. “What did you expect, trying to grab it like that?”

Shirayuki can’t help but agree; she’s bitten more than a man or two that tried to catch her as well. But that’s not what has her attention now; instead it is the cake on the floor, those three big bites out of it, baring chocolate sponge and raspberry custard. The layer Cookie made special. The one she thought would go to waste when...

“Where is he now?” At their looks, she amends, “I mean, it. The beast.”

“Outside,” the steward says, sending a narrow look toward the door. “A few of the maids managed to chase it out, but I’m afraid it will have gotten into the decoration-- my lady, where--?”

“I’d like to take a look,” Shirayuki calls back, slippered feet already carrying her to the door. “I, ah, think I might know how to solve this...problem?”

The steward blinks. “Is there some...Tanbarunian folk tradition for this? Ridding the grounds of a foul beast?”

Her feet stutter at the threshold, and she swallows down a laugh. “Certainly something for removing one fowl.”

At thirteen, Shirayuki will admit, Zen becomes tolerable. Not without extreme duress, and certainly never if Obi is around, but being in his presence no longer feels like slivers under her fingernails. Now it’s just that unpleasant drone of cicadas, the same that herald his arrival every summer.

“Are you supposed to be climbing?” she asks, settling herself at the base of the tree’s trunk, as always. “Your mother won’t thank you for ruining those trousers.”

Obi laughs, already deep in the canopy. “I think you mean his laundress.”

“I have plenty more,” Zen scoffs, levering his boot over another knot, giving him the height to reach the first branch. “And I think you’re only so cross because you can’t climb for beans.”

She retracts her opinion. His Highness has certainly not become tolerable in the least.

“Come off it,” Obi laughs, so easy in his bower. “Anyone can climb.”

Zen grins down at her with smug authority. “Not Shirayuki, she’s a girl.”

“So is Kiki,” Obi reminds him, “and if she heard you talk like that, she’d come up and throw you off that branch herself.”

“Kiki hardly counts as a girl--”

“--That’s not what Mitsuhide would say--”

“--And that doesn’t mean Shirayuki can,” Zen adds, tone brooking no argument. “She doesn’t even have trousers on.”

“Shirayuki can climb in a dress just fine.” Obi swings down, right to the lowest branch. Or rather, the second lowest, since Zen hasn’t vacated the first. “Come on, I’ll tell you how.”

She spares the tree a dubious glance. “Are you sure--?”

“Always. Don’t you trust me?” He lowers down a hand, callused and bronzed, and she takes it. “Good, now put your foot there. Now just...think up.”

She sends him a dubious look. “I don’t think it’s possible to just go up by thinking it.”

He grins down. “You’d be surprised.”

Shirayuki is definitely ruining her dress.

“You’re sure it’s up here?” she calls down, a worried swarm of footmen huddling beneath her. “Waterfowl aren’t really...tree-dwelling birds.”

“I’m sure, my lady,” one pipes up beneath her. “Took to wing, then hopped up the branches easy as you please.”

Shirayuki casts a long look up the oak, sighing. “Of course he did.”

One slippered foot lifts, hooking over a thicker branch, resting her weight right by the trunk.

“Just think up,” she murmurs, irritation rising with every word. “Just think up and it’s hardly anything at all.”

“HONK,” agrees the goose above her.

“Oh.” She blinks, taking in the sleek white body and the webbed feet tucked unnaturally beneath it. Well, not that the pose was unnatural, but the place. “You’re not a swan at all.”

“HONK,” the goose informs her, wistful this time.

“Be glad,” she says, reaching for him. “If you were any bigger, I wouldn’t be able to carry you, and you’d be stuck up here with your big wings and bad decisions.

The goose ducks it head, abashed. “HONK.”

“You better,” she starts, trying to wrangle a bird his size beneath her arm, “be exactly who I think you are.”

This close, her fowl friend doesn’t dare express his opinion at the only volume nature saw fit to give him, but instead, cuddles right against her neck. For one, weak moment, Shirayuki leans against the trunk, letting her head sink into his feathers. Please let this be him. If it is, she can worry about the how later. Maybe even the why. As long as he hasn’t abandoned her, there’s nothing--

“Not to interrupt you,” a lady’s languid voice drawls beneath her. “But I’m assuming that you might need some help getting down.”

Fifteen is when Shirayuki is made aware of just how utterly unfair her life will be from now on, now that she’s to be the wife of a prince.

“No, no,” Obi laughs, nervous. “I think the Young Master has it right this time, Miss. You can’t come.”

“Why not?” He’s gotten much taller now, taller even than when he arrived, and she has to look up to guilelessly meet his eye, much more than she’s used to. “If I can climb trees with you, I can splash around in a pond just fine--”

“Yes, but--” his mouth split into a pained grimace-- “climbing trees doesn’t involve taking off clothes. You can see how that might be a, hm, problem now, can’t you, Miss?”

“No.”

His exasperation is completely unwarranted, considering how exasperating he’s being. “You’re a lady.”

“One that can swim,” she counters. “We’ve done it before, I don’t know why it’s bothering you now.”

“Because you’re...” He waves a hand at her, a harried up and down, but she only stares back. “Of all the things for Master to leave to me...”

“I can keep my shift on,” she offers, “if that helps.”

“It really doesn’t, Miss.” Obi sighs, one hand coming up to rub at his shoulder. “Surely your father-- no, your uncle. Surely your uncle’s talked to you about how boys and girls shouldn’t, um...you know.”

“I don’t.”

“It’s just...” He takes a steeling breath. “Miss, you’re a woman now. You can’t be naked with men.”

She wrinkles her nose. “I said I would wear my shift. And besides, you’re not men, you’re boys.”

Obi head rolls heavenward. “Only to you.”

Shirayuki gives him a considering look and pulls out her trump card. “Would you let Kiki Seiran come?”

She doesn’t know this Kiki Seiran, not from anything more than what’s been said in her presence, but she knows-- whatever a man does, Kiki does, and better too. The moment her name leaves her lips, Obi drops her a helpless glare.

“Kiki,” he says, as if savoring the word, “doesn’t count. No one lets Kiki Seiran do something, she just does it, and we all live with the consequences.”

A fond smile flickers across his lips, and for no reason at all, her stomach twists. “You should marry her.”

Obi blinks. “Huh?”

“Kiki Seiran,” she says lightly. “It seems she’s really quite impressive.”

For a long moment he stares at her, unblinking. Then he coughs, one, twice, until it’s no longer a cough but roaring laughter.

Shirayuki stares at him. “Is something funny?”

“Oh, Miss,” he wheezes. “That’s some vote of confidence, but Kiki Seiran-- she’s not for the likes of me.”

The sick knot in her stomach dissipates into affront. “Why not? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Again, you really know how to compliment a man,” he teases. “But no count worth his acreage will marry his daughter and heir to a bastard. With her pedigree, they’re probably planning to marrying her to Elder Highness as we speak.”

“Well, that’s silly,” she huffs. “You’re worth a thousand princes Obi. Any lady would be lucky to have you.”

His smile wavers. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“You should bring her next time,” she decides. “I can talk to her.”

“Ah,” he coughs, shaking his head as he traipses after her. “That won’t be necessary at all.”

This is not how she thought she’d meet the illustrious Kiki Seiran, her wedding dress torn to rags and goose hugged tight in her arms, but it would not be the first time today fate thwarted her expectations.

“I’m fine,” Shirayuki assures her, slowly making her descent. “But do you have, um, water?”

One elegant brow arches. “Water?”

“Ah, yes.” She drops down before her-- oh, Lady Seiran is...quite a bit taller than she’d imagined, and at least twice as pretty. No wonder Obi always smiled when he talked about her. “Like a, um, lake? Or a river might do?”

“A lake?” Her gaze drops, mouth canting into a thoughtful line. “For your avian compatriot, I suppose. You think his home must be close by.”

“Yes,” she lies, because babbling about ancient texts she’s certain she was never supposed to see and magic of the blackest sort seemed a poor first impression to make. “It would probably, uh, help with the...destructive behavior.”

“He has left quite a spectacle behind. It will take hours to clean that up. Or days,” she adds with a pointed look toward the goose. “Your wedding seems to be thoroughly postponed.”

Good, she doesn’t say. This Kiki Seiran is Zen’s friend too, after all. And even if Shirayuki could have shaken him to pieces last night, she’s that too.

“Water?” she says instead.

It’s the right thing to say, since Kiki turns around, gesturing toward the treeline. “There’s a pond back there. Just follow the cobblestone path and it should take you right out to the dock.”

“Perfect.” Shirayuki takes two hurried steps before pausing, turning over her hip to add, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Kiki. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

There’s that brow again, lifted into an elegant arch Shirayuki could never hope to mimic. “Only good things, I hope.”

Her stomach lurches as she replies, “The best.”

[sophiekimsblog]

Change

Summary: An arranged marriage is formed between the Prince of the Lee Kingdom and the Princess of the Kim Kingdom. The Prince doesn’t bother with the Princess and distances himself from her. The Princess, however, keeps trying until a particular incident has both of them realizing their true feelings.

Relationship: Lee Jeno x reader

Genre: prince!au, angst, fluff

Warnings: Mild Violence, Mentions of Character Death, Cursing

Word Count: 9.9k

You glance at the sky through the open window of the royal carriage, admiring the blue hue that's slightly covered by white clouds; the scenery calming the anxiety building up inside of you. Vaguely, you can hear birds chirping from the distance as they fly away in the sky, their destination uncertain.

You wish you could be free like them. You wish you could spread your wings and allow the wind to take you, a destination that doesn’t require the responsibilities that you currently uphold. Because frankly, you’re tired and you wish you can run away from the burden weighed upon your shoulders; to become a person worthy of the title princess.

The burden has been placed on you by your parents since you were merely five. Your relationship with your family can’t quite be called a relationship. Aside from your sister, your parents have treated you like the dirt on the bottom of their shoe.

They’ve always been rather harsh with you, opting to let the royal nurse raise you and keeping you away from the usual routine a child has. You’ve had the mannerisms and behavior of princess beaten into you, yet you’re still unable to meet up to their expectations.

It’s a public secret of the kingdom but the reason why they're relentless with you is because when your parents tried for another child, they wished they'd be blessed with a boy to continue the bloodline of the royal Kim family. But their hopes were crushed when they found out you were a girl.

In the palace, you’re avoided by your parents, barely seeing them once a week as you carry out your daily routine. And for the most part, you’re glad because all they do is compare you to your perfect older sister, someone who you can’t hate no matter how much you wish to.

Because she is the one person who stayed by your side for all these years, the person you love more than anything in this world. She’s always had a soft spot for you, sneaking cookies in late in the night when the both of you were supposed to be asleep and reading bedtime stories for you when you were old enough to read and write.

But she left two years ago, having arranged to marry the crown prince of the Seo Kingdom, Prince Johnny, when she turned eighteen. She often writes to you about her life there and how she misses you, often mentioning how she wished you could have come with her. You always make sure to write back, a promise you’re willing to keep for the rest of your life.

After your sister had left, your parents have paid a little more attention to you, specifically to make sure that you’re polished enough to be married off to another royal. Despite your mother’s obvious distaste in you, the one thing about you that satisfies her is your beauty.   During royal balls, many men of status have asked your hand for a dance. Your mother takes joy in the fact and doesn't hesitate to arrange a marriage for you the moment you turned seventeen.

And now, you're off to be married to the crown prince of the Lee Kingdom.

All too soon, you reach the grounds of the Lee Castle and you pray to God that your parents change their mind. But as always, your prayers remain unheard. "Remember Y/N, be on your best behavior," your father reminds you with a stern glare just before the guard opens the carriage door, bowing at your father as he steps out before reaching in to help your mother down. He reaches in again and offers you a hand, to which you hesitate for a bit before giving up and exiting the carriage. You're anxious, palms covered in cold sweat and a tugging feeling at the pit of your stomach. Hesitantly, you walk to your father's side, standing beside him just as the front door of the Royal House of Lee opens. The King and Queen step out and calmly make their way towards you. When they reach, both them and your parents bow at each other with you following suit. They each shake hands before the Queen reaches over to you. "My! What a beautiful daughter you have here," the Queen gushes as she strokes your cheek with a smile. You blush in abashment before smiling with a little “thank you.” Your parents laugh in delight, pleased that you met up to her expectations. "She's got good manners too, she'll be welcomed here," the King lets out a loud laugh, eyes turned to crescents. "Come on in, your Highnesses," the Queen says as she gently grabs your hand before walking into the castle. You oblige, letting her drag you along to the dining hall. When you walk inside, you see a long table that is used for dining and you couldn't help but admire the interior decor of the room when something caught your eye. You notice a man outside in the courtyard practicing archery. He's dressed in the royal uniform with his platinum blonde hair styled back, you guess him to be the crown prince. He's definitely tall and handsome, muscular too, and oozes the royalty aura. However, you've learned never to judge a book by its cover so you can only pray that he has a good personality. The Queen chuckles at your curious gaze. "That, my dear, is the person you'll be marrying soon. His name is Jeno, my first born son." She calls out to a guard then, "Please inform Prince Jeno to return inside for lunch and call Prince Haechan as well." "Yes, your Highness," the guard bows and quickly leaves to the courtyard. "Please, sit down," the King gestures to your parents and once they sit down, you follow suit. The King makes small talk with your father and you don't bother to listen to it, knowing exactly well it's about how the politics of the kingdoms will play out after your marriage. The King sits at the head of the table with your father on his right and the Queen on his left. Your mother sits beside your father and you sit next to her, a little unsettled. Moments later, Prince Jeno and another young man, who you assume is Prince Haechan, appear. The Queen calmly beckons them over and after they greet you and your parents, they each take a seat with Prince Haechan across your mother while Prince Jeno sits across you. He doesn't bother hiding his annoyance, a scowl resting on his handsome features as he stares at you. You duck your head down to look at your intertwined fingers, your once small appetite having vanished completely. Despite having been treated harshly for years, you're still too soft and emotional which is why you don't dare to look him in the eye even when his gaze bores into your soul. "Now, Jeno, darling, this is Princess Y/N from the Kim Kingdom," the Queen introduces you to him, having sensed the slight tension. "She's the one who you'll be marrying. Isn't she a pretty thing?" Jeno scoffs under his breath, it might not have been heard by the other occupants of the room but with his brother sitting next to him and you sitting across him, the both of you heard it loud and clear. Haechan subtly elbows him, reminding him of his behavior while you awkwardly smile at the Queen, feigning ignorance to his reaction. "You speak too highly of me, Your Highness." She laughs lightly. "I speak nothing but the truth." "Well then, esteemed guests and family, let us begin the feast," the King announces with a light tap to his glass and the servants come piling in with the first course of the meal. __________ Once lunch was over, the Kings continued their talk while the Queens discussed about the royal wedding, something you're dreading to happen. "Jeno, dear, why don't you show Y/N around? She'll be staying with us soon and you should get to know each other better." Prince Jeno was never the type to refute his mother's orders and even if he was reluctant to carry them out, he still respected her wishes. He stands up from his seat and gestures for you to do the same. "Very well, mother. I'll take her around." The Queen smiles at her son while your mother subtly looks into your eye. It's a warning, a reminder that no matter how you wish to be free, you have to appease to the prince and discard your feelings on the matter.

You look away from her and stand up yourself, moving around the table before coming to a stop next to the prince where he holds a hand out for you to take. "We'll be back soon." With a curt nod at your parents, Prince Jeno all but drags you outside into the hallway you entered the dining hall through. Passing through the guards who bow at your presence, he drags you through a number of corridors before reaching a secluded hallway away from prying eyes. Once he makes sure that no one's there, he lets go of you and steps back, arms crossed tightly on his chest, jaw clenched. "I take it you're not a fool?" His question makes you blink up at him, causing him to roll his eyes. "I don't want to get married, even more so to the likes of you." His words cause an inner turmoil inside you and you have to remind yourself that you're strong just so you don't tear up and embarrass yourself. "I would ask you to force your parents to arrange a marriage with someone else but even I can tell that they don't really care about you." His words hit a sore spot within you and you wonder if you're an open book that everyone can read or if he's just especially good at reading people. "How pathetic. Your own parents don't even want you to the point where they don't hesitate to throw you away to some guy after you're legal." You stay quiet at his remarks, not trusting your voice to stay composed. But all he's speaking of is the truth because hey, it's the story of your life. "Can't talk?" Jeno smirks. "Mother shouldn't have agreed for me to wed someone who's mute." "I'm not mute," you mumble lowly, a habit of yours that's unbecoming of a lady and often puts you in trouble with your parents. "Thank God for that," he rolls his eyes again with a scoff before walking down the hallway. You panic at the thought of him leaving you alone, something you've grown to hate due to your parents' mistreatment of you. "Wait! Where are you going?" He doesn't bother looking back and continues to walk. "Away from you." He turns around the corner then and you slightly panic from being left alone in an unfamiliar place. __________ In the end, after countless times of getting lost and ending up in the same hallway, you come across a royal guard and shyly ask him for help. His name is Renjun, you learn. He's the crown prince's personal guard but is currently off duty for the afternoon. He expertly leads you back into the main hallway that leads to the dining hall while you take the time to admire the lovely paintings on the wall that line up the hallways. "Thank you, Renjun," you smile at him in gratitude and he simply bows to you. "You're welcome, your Highness." You take a deep breath in before pushing open the doors and walking into the dining hall again, noticing that Prince Haechan has already left and only your parents are left with the King and Queen. Your entrance caught their attention and all conversations halt. The Queen frowns at your appearance with the lack of a certain crown prince. "Why're you back so soon and alone, dear?" "Prince Jeno needed to use the bathroom so he hurriedly brought me here before rushing away," you explain with a smile, lying through your teeth and your smile insincere. "Y/N," your father calls. "Yes, father?" "You'll be getting married in a month." His statement causes your eyes to bulge out in shock. "A month?" "Yes, and since you need to adjust to your new living conditions, you will stay here." Now, that is also news to you, bad news at that. "I thought you said we'll return this evening?" "The wedding has been brought forth, Y/N. Either you take the time to get adjusted or have difficulties later," your mother cuts in, her tone soft but you could read the true meaning underneath those words. They want to marry you off as soon as possible. Either you stay here to suffer or you go back home with them to suffer worse. They just don't care. "As you wish, mother," you respond, careful to not let out a sigh. Your father gives a tight smile and nods, "Alright then, it's settled." He turns to the King then. "I trust her in your care." The King smiles in return. "Of course." __________ A while after the discussion, the royal carriage arrives and you follow your parents to bid them goodbye, simply for the act. You know they're happy to have you gone. "Come now, sweetheart," the Queen calls. "I'll bring you to your room." She leads you in again but this time to the west wing where you'll be staying. She goes up a flight of stairs with you following closely behind her. Walking down another hallway, you try to memorize your surroundings before you reach your destination. "Here we are, darling." You peek through the door she's opened and she lets you in first, entering the room seconds later. It reminds you of your room back home. The grey wallpaper decorating the room matches with the grand ceiling high windows and the king sized bed has been made, fresh sheets adorning the bed. There's also a study table beside the window and a little dining table in the center of the room. The Queen takes a seat on the bed and pats you to sit beside her. "Tell me, sweetheart. Did Jeno treat you well?" You glance at her to see that her eyes have hardened, a grim expression on her face. You smile tightly at her, "He was nice, your Highness. It's nothing to worry about." She frowns at your response. "You can't lie to me, sweetheart. Your parents may not bother about your discomfort but I do." You keep your head down, hands clamming up. "You don't have to worry about it, your Highness. I can handle it myself." Your response strengthened her evidence but she knows she can't force you. "I'll have a talk with the Prince, you should settle down for now. A maid will call you down for dinner." "Thank you, your Highness." She smiles at you then, a warm and loving smile that you've hardly ever seen on your mother's face and it makes your chest tighten in sadness. "I'll leave you for now, dear." You bow at her before she leaves through the open door, softly shutting it behind her. Glancing around the room, you find a mirror on the wall and decide to take a look at yourself. Your eyes were droopy with fatigue and the bags under your eyes prominent despite the make-up you were wearing. You don't look that bad overall and you have a nice figure as well. But your personality is soft and timid, unlike your sister's that's graceful and smart. Sometimes you wonder if you're adopted but you know the reason you've grown up to be this way is due to the fact that you've never had parental love and care. However, even if you desperately want to voice your opinion and stand up for yourself, you've learned to fear the consequences, harsh punishments that make you quiver in fear every time you think about it. You lay down in your new bed, dress wrinkled and make up still covering your face. It dawns on you then that this will be the life you're supposed to lead, get married to a royal who doesn't give a shit about you and live the rest of your life unhappy. For the first time in a while, you cry. Tears stream down your face as you silently sob, the freedom you've always wished to have now so far out of your reach. __________ "Princess, wake up," a voice calls out to you with a gentle nudge at your arm and you realize that you'd fallen asleep. You glance at the person, noting that it was a maid. "My apologies." "Don't fret, Princess. Dinner will be held in an hour," she kindly informs you. "I've come to clean you up and help you dress." You nod at her. "Thank you. May I know your name?" "My name is Yeri, Princess." "That's a lovely name." She blushes at your compliment. "But not as beautiful as you." You chuckle at her, knowing full well that your face is a mess. You can feel the dried tears on your cheek that's no doubt left traces of mascara and your eyes feel puffy. "You're too kind." "Shall we, Princess?" You carefully get out of bed and smile at her. "Let's." __________ The sunlight wakes you up and you shuffle in bed before getting up. Dinner last night was uneventful and you were relieved to know that the crown prince was occupied and couldn't join for dinner. But at the same time, you're curious and hurt. Was it because of you? Are you that horrible to be around? Despite how Jeno treated you, you can't hate him. And that one fault has always been your downfall, you forgive people too easily, which is why you've never found it in you to hate your parents. Even when you know you should. Since you don't really have anything to do today, you decide to take a stroll around the castle to memorize the place and hopefully not get lost. You step out of your chambers and walk down the hallway, letting your feet take you wherever they feel like. You end up in the greenhouse somehow, walking through a path of flowers. It's already springtime and the buds have matured and blossomed into beautiful flowers. You admire their beauty, fascinated by the variety of flowers and couldn't help to graze your fingers along the delicate petals. "What're you doing here?" a harsh voice breaks you out of your reverie and you whip to your right to see an angry prince marching towards you. Instinctively, you draw your hand back and step away from the bed of flowers. "I was taking a stroll and ended up here," you reply meekly as he stops in front of you, brows furrowed and a deep frown marring his features. "Don't you know that you shouldn't trespass?" You look into his eyes. "I didn't mean to." "Get out." "But-" "I said get the fuck out!" His harsh words coupled with his angry tone have you recoiling in fear and you dart away, not bothering to look back at him. __________ A week has passed since the incident with Prince Jeno. You've made an effort to avoid him on a day to day basis and ignore his presence during dinners. Your parents haven't visited at all and don't bother to write you. You know they'll only come on the wedding day for formality and that'll be it. But the King and Queen aren't all too happy with the lack of progress in your relationship. They've brought it up during dinners and you can only try to assure them that everything will be fine at their own pace. And now, you're currently in the balcony overlooking the courtyard as Prince Jeno practices his archery. You know you should try to get him to open up but something tells you your effort will be wasted. "Princess," a soft voice calls out to you and you turn to see that it's Prince Haechan. "Yes, your Highness?" He chuckles at your response. "No need to be so formal with me. Just Haechan will do, Princess." "Then you should drop the formalities with me too," you smile cheekily at him. He laughs at that. "As you wish." "Is anything the matter?" "Nothing at all. I just wanted to get to know my future sister-in-law." "I'm not an interesting person, you know. There's not much to me." "I'm sure that's all a lie." You chuckle. "My brother-in-law wanting to get to know me instead of my husband? That's quite funny." "Anything's possible. Now, shall we talk over some tea?" He opens his hand out for you to take and you graciously do so. "Why not?" He leads you into his private dining room that's situated in the east wing. "Does chamomile sound nice?" "Very." He smiles at you and claps his hand. A butler comes in a second later with a pot of tea and refreshments. "Tell me about yourself, Y/N." You tell him, starting from your birthday, your childhood, your sister and other details excluding your parents. You learn that he's a year older than you while Prince Jeno is 3 years older than you, the fact making you pleasantly surprised. "He's naturally a nice and caring person, Y/N. You just need to get to know him better." You sigh. "How can I? He hates me." "That's probably not true." You raise a brow at him. "He's given me the stink eye the moment we met and he doesn't bother to get to know me, preferring to practice his archery." "My brother may not look like it but he's a delicate person. He's very soft on the inside but puts up these defensive barriers around him. He's just like a puppy. If you want him to open up, you better take the initiative." "I, myself, have a timid personality. I can't stand his glaring." "Sweetheart, how will you live then? You're getting married in less than three weeks and you can't even stay in the same room as him. You'll only live unhappily if this continues." "I know, I know. I don't want to live like this either but I feel like it'll all be useless." "You'll never know unless you try." You stay quiet at that. "Let's bring you back, yeah?" You nod your head at him. "Okay." He leads you out of the room and to your room in the west wing. "You've arrived at your destination." "Thank you, Haechan," you smile. "It's nothing, Princess. Dinner will be served at the same time as always." "Alright," you slightly bow at him before pushing open the door. "And Y/N," he calls, causing you to glance at him again. "He likes sweet treats." He doesn't bother explaining further and simply winks at you before walking away. Confused, you enter your chambers and sit down on your bed before it hits you. "Sweets, huh? Should I bake for him tomorrow?" __________ "Princess, what're you doing here?" the head chef questions you as you walk in the next morning, not expecting you. "May I ask for a favor?" He cocks his head in confusion but agree. "Of course, your Highness. What do you need help with?" You shake your head at him. "It's not help that I need. I simply want to ask if I can borrow the kitchen for a few hours." He seems even more confused at your answer. "May I ask why?" "I want to bake for Prince Jeno." The head chef smiles then and nods in affirmative. "Go ahead, Princess. Usually, Prince Jeno likes to have chocolate fudge brownies for dessert." You beam at the new information. "Thank you! Do you have the ingredients?" "I'll set it up for you, Princess." "Thank you." A while later, you're left alone in the kitchen skimming through the steps with the ingredients set up on the counter. You carefully read the instructions and get to work once you've measured everything. 40 minutes later, you're finished and the brownies are fresh out of the oven, their scent heavenly and inviting. You cut it up into blocks and place some of them onto a plate, making sure that it looks aesthetically pleasing and save the rest in a container. Once you're satisfied, you head out of the kitchen with the brownies, intent on tracking down the prince. You pass by the head chef who's on his way to the kitchen. "Have you finished, Princess?" "Yes, I have. Thank you for helping me." "It was nothing, Princess." "You're too modest," you chuckle. "I've left some in a container. You can have them if you'd like. Hopefully it's to your liking." His eyes widen at your thoughtfulness. "Thank you, Princess. I'm sure that it tastes excellent." "You put me in high regard." "I can assure you that Prince Jeno will love it." "I hope so." You bid him goodbye then and carry on your search for the prince. You go to the courtyard, hoping to find him there practicing archery. But luck's not on your side, he's not there. After searching mindlessly for him, you stumble upon Renjun. "Renjun!" He turns at your voice and give you a light bow. "Princess." "Do you know where Prince Jeno is?" "Prince Jeno is currently at the stable, tending to the horses." You deflate at that. "Oh, is he busy?" Renjun notices the plate you're carrying and the dejected look on your face and shakes his head. "He'll be happy to see you." You can't help but let out a snort at that and you blush in embarrassment as you realize what you just did. Renjun laughs at you as you try to regain your composure. "It's highly unlikely that he'll even be pleased to see me," you shrug. "but I'm willing to give it a try." Renjun beams at that, happy that you're trying to get closer to the prince. "I'll take you to him." Moments later you arrive at the stable in the Southern wing of the castle. You can make out Jeno's figure inside, caressing a horse. "I'll call him out, Princess. We wouldn't want the horses taking a bite of the chocolate." You giggle in response and he enters the stable, making his way towards Jeno. Not even a minute later, Jeno steps out and he's surprised to see you standing there. "What're you doing here?" he asks, the question is the same as last time but this time, his tone is softer and gentler. "I, uh, made brownies?" Jeno snorts at that. "Are you informing me or asking me?" You clear your throat and look him in the eye. "I made brownies." "Isn't that better?" he teases as he dismisses Renjun who bows to both him and you. "Why though?" You rack your brain for answers because you don't know the reason yourself, why did you bother to try so hard to please him? "I want to get to know you better." He raises an eyebrow at that. "Why the sudden change?" "What?" "You've been avoiding me for the past week, why're you suddenly trying to get along with me?" "I know it's my fault to have wandered around like that and I can't fathom living in an unhappy marriage where all I know about my husband is his name. So even if we can't grow to love each other, let's at least tolerate each other." His face is void of emotion and you're afraid that you've angered him once more so you open your mouth to apologize. "Don't apologize. You're right, we should at least get to know each other." You smile at him, happy that he feels the same way. "Let's enjoy the treat in the garden." You nod at him with a grin and follow his lead. __________ "How'd you know that this is my favorite?" Jeno asks as he munches on a brownie, fudge covering the corners of his mouth. He looks soft then and you know that Haechan was right, he's just like a puppy. "I may have indirectly asked the head chef." "You have to learn to stop beating around the bush." "My apologies," you smile sheepishly. "It tastes good though. And dare I say," he looks into your eyes. "it tastes even better than the one the chef usually makes." Your eyes widen at that. "Really?" He hums in affirmative as he continues to plow through the brownies. "You'd make an excellent cook." His compliment makes you blush, you rarely ever get complimented and to have him praise you makes you feel butterflies in your belly. "Thank you." After the last of the brownies have been devoured until only bits of crumbs remain, Jeno opens up to you a little. He talks about his childhood and hobbies, along with a few pranks that he and his brother pulled in their younger years. As you spend time with him, you realize that he's genuinely a nice person and you couldn't help but admire him. You find yourself laughing along to the tales of his childhood and you feel calm, knowing that the act he pulled in the beginning was just a defense mechanism. It's already noon when Renjun calls for the Prince, informing him of his duties. Jeno seems reluctant to leave but you try not to hallucinate. "I have to take my leave now, Y/N." You smile meekly at him, understanding. "Of course." "Today was pleasant," he says. "Maybe we should do this again sometime." Your smile turns into a grin. "I'd like that." He picks up his suit jacket and drapes it over his shoulders. "One more thing." You look up at him. "I want to apologize for the way I've treated you. I was only like that because I don't find the idea of marrying a random stranger comforting. However, I shouldn't have taken it out on you since you're in the same boat as me, maybe even worse." You chuckle softly at him. "It's fine, Jeno. I forgive you." "Maybe you shouldn't." His response makes you furrow your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?" "You shouldn't forgive people too easily, Y/N. It will kill you one day. You shouldn't dismiss people’s actions when they make mistakes. They should make up for it." You stare at him and he simply smirks at you before bidding you goodbye. __________ You spend the next few days getting to know Jeno better and you genuinely enjoy spending time with him. He usually visits you in your room, dressed in his gear. His visits don't last longer than an hour and when he leaves, you always look forward to your next meet up. He's softened around you, the defensive walls he put up slowly crumbling and his inner self showing. He may not admit it, but he enjoys your company. Your voice soothes him and your shy but caring personality has him smiling like a fool. The bond between you two have grown into friendship and the King and Queen are pleased to see the development within the last 2 weeks. But even though things have been progressing well, he still keeps you away sometimes, refusing to let the friendship grow into something more. He's afraid and Lee Jeno hates being afraid. So when one particular visit has you leaning towards each other, he recoils from you like you've stabbed him. The soft look in his eyes are gone and replaced with a piercing gaze, his jaw clenched tight and his whole demeanor changing back to how it was when you first met. "Jeno?" you frown in confusion, one minute he's laughing along with you and in the next minute he's looking at you with a murderous look in his eye.

He ignores the pained look on your face, backing away. "Don't," he spits, anger etched onto his features. Before you get the chance to apologize, he's out the door, footsteps hurriedly moving away from your door. You stare at the open door for a minute, wondering what went wrong. Your mind flashes back to the expression on his face and you sob in pain, hurt by how he treated you and hurt that even though he's opened up to you, you will never have his heart. And you know what's worse? The one thing you've forbid yourself to do is fall in love with Lee Jeno. But sadly, you can't control what your heart wants. And it's set its sights on Lee Jeno, someone who will never be yours. __________ You don't see him for the next three days, and you know he's avoiding you. But you don't try to appease to him because you know that this time, he'll hurt your heart even worse. It's 3 in the evening and you're bored out of your mind with nothing interesting to do. You end up taking a stroll, venturing through the third floor where you stay. After looking through every nook and cranny in the west and north wing, you head to the east wing to look around. Aside from you, only a few maids and servants stay on the third floor and they live in the east wing. So you try to see where Yeri stays and hopefully, you'll be able to bump into her and invite her for some tea. But as you pass through the hallway leading to the east wing, a certain room catches your eye. There's a red X on the door, further piquing your curiosity. The door is ajar, allowing you to peek into the room. A part of you demands that you ignore it and continue your walk but a bigger part of you is curious and dying to find out. It's also one of the main reasons you get into a lot of trouble with your parents, poking your nose in places it doesn't belong. You stealthily open the door, making sure that the coast is clear before stepping inside. You gently close the door, leaving it slightly open so that you can sneak back out without making too much noise. You observe the room, noting that it's a bedroom, probably one of the maids given at the feminine feel of the room. But it seems as though it hasn't been lived in for a while seeing as how the bed covers are caked with dust and how the floor is covered in dirt. You don't find anything interesting and move to head out when something catches your attention from the corner of your eye. A photo frame. You step closer to the frame that's standing on a vanity table. Carefully, you grasp the frame in your hand and a shocked gasp escapes you. The frame holds a collection of pictures of a girl with Jeno. Her hair is a platinum blonde, similar to his hair color and she's definitely beautiful. Numerous pictures can be seen of them together and they look happy and so in love. The smile on Jeno's face is the most sincere and carefree smile you've ever seen on his face with his eyes formed into crescents. He seems so laid back compared to how he is now and you wonder what caused him to be this way. You can't help but trace your fingers over his face, your lips pulled into a bittersweet smile. 'Will he ever look at me the same?' You're so lost in your thoughts that you didn't hear the door open nor did you hear the familiar footsteps approaching. "What're you doing here?!" The questions brings a sense of deja vu in you and in a way, it does. You've trespassed once again. However, unlike the first time where his tone was filled with anger and annoyance at you. This time, there's malice in it and to say that he's angry is an understatement, he's furious. You've unknowingly unleashed the beast inside him. And this time, you've no way out. You can't answer him and your silence pisses him off even more. "I asked you a question! What the fuck are you doing here?!" Your mind is blank, and as you turn to look at the fury on his face, your heart jumps in fear. You keep silent, not knowing how to answer and his patience wears thin. "I've fucking told you not to trespass!" He steps closer to you and you unconsciously take a step back, the photo frame still held tightly in your hand. Jeno notices it though and he marches to you in anger, ripping the frame out of your hand, causing a burning sensation to ripple through your hand. "How fucking dare you touch this?! Don't you know better than to touch things that aren't yours?! Didn't your parents ever teach you manners?!" With every question he shouts, he steps closer to you and you're frozen in place, fear overwhelming you. Your eyes cast towards the floor, your hair becoming a makeshift curtain to hide your pale face. Will he beat you like your parents usually do? Will it hurt more or will it be easier to endure? "Why do you have to be so damn stubborn?!" He snaps at last, gripping your chin tightly and forcing you to look into his eyes. You want to look away, you want to run away but his piercing gaze keeps you in place and you're unable to tear yourself away from his stare. "Fucking answer me!" He slaps your left cheek in a fit of blind rage and your head falls limply to the side, eyes brimming with tears as pained sobs wreck you. Jeno realizes what he's done then and he steps back in shock. He may be ruthless when it comes to males but he never dares to lay a hand on a lady, his parents taught him better than that. Yet here he is, hand stretched out in front of him, stinging from the force of the slap, too far gone to control his anger. The shocked look on his face quickly morphs back into anger and he doesn't let your broken sobs affect him. "Get out of here! And don't you dare step foot in this place again, or so help me I don't lose my shit and do something I'll regret." You want to move but the shock and pain from the slap is too much. "Get the fuck out!" You snap yourself back to consciousness, afraid of what he might do if you stay a second longer. You bolt out the door, a hand gripping onto your left cheek as you run to your chambers in record time. The moment you step inside, you break down onto the floor, your sobs increasing in volume and your face wet with tears. Back in the other room, Jeno crumbles onto the floor and tears stream down his face, his chest burning in pain as he regrets his actions. He didn't mean to lose control like that, even more so to the extent of slapping you. To see you sobbing in front of him in pain, pain caused by him, has his heart crying in hate and despair. He hates that he can't control himself around you. And the effect you have on him makes him more afraid than he should be. Because he's not ready to let go, he's not ready to move on. __________ You stay locked in your room for the next two days, ignoring your pale skin and dizziness from the lack of oxygen and sunlight. You haven't bothered to step out of your room for food so Yeri brings you your meals instead. The only ones who know of the incident are you and Jeno, but you refuse to sell him out to anyone, afraid his parents would punish him. And you know you shouldn't look out for him because he's hurt you too much too often, but your heart yearns for him. It longs for his touches, his affection, and his love. A knock on the door snaps you out of your reverie. But the person doesn't bother to wait for your response and slips into the room. It's Haechan. A sigh of relief surges through you because you're not ready to face him yet. "Hey," he greets softly, afraid he might panic you. You slowly rise to a sitting position on the bed, tear streaks evident on your face. You'd think that you've run out of tears to cry but each time you think of him, you find wetness on your cheeks. "Hi." "How're you doing?" he asks as he sits on the edge of the bed, voice gentle. "I've felt better." "Mind telling me what happened?" "It's nothing." Haechan frowns at you, knowing full well that 'nothing' wouldn't cause you to starve yourself in your room. "Don't lie to me, girl," he quips. "What did my brother do?" You may not want to sell him out but you wish to know the girl in the picture. You're curious as to who could make him smile like that. "Please tell me something." He raises a brow, indicating you to continue. "Did Jeno ever fall in love with someone?" And instantly, he knows who you're referring to. And he understands what happened, even if you've told him nothing. "Did you enter the marked room in the east wing?" "I did, it's all my fault." "Sweetheart, you have to learn to control your curiosity. It may get you killed one day." You chuckle blankly, curiosity killed the cat and someday, it may kill you. "I know." He sighs at your response, nothing can be done to change the past. However, he could at least tell you the truth and hope that you two reconcile, the wedding's less than ten days away. "He has." You knew he did, judging from the way he reacted. So why does it still hurt to have verbal confirmation? "She was his first love. Her name was Jang Yeeun. She was once a maid of the castle, my brother's personal maid. She was a nice person, funny and caring as well. My brother was enamored by her and he quickly fell in love." He pauses, searching your face that's currently void of any emotions. "He pinned after her, showering her with affection and gifts but she was afraid to be caught by our parents so she pushed him away. However, my brother is a very goal focused person so he kept on pursuing her, promising her that he'll always love and care for her. She finally relented and he courted her for 7 months. Everything was pleasant, going the way it should be, until an older maid found out. She reported it to the King and Queen and they immediately took action. My brother and his lover were called upon to the throne room. My father refused to accept the courtship, stating how he can only marry a royal. So my father gave him an option, either he banishes Yeeun out of the kingdom and to small town in the borders or he beheads Jeno for treason. My brother didn't care, if it meant that Yeeun could live peacefully then he'll take the punishment. But Yeeun was too kind, too forgiving, and she agreed to leave. Jeno was more than pissed and he tried to rebel against the King. Yeeun decidedly made an ultimatum, she told him that he was being selfish and that he should set her free. She had warned him of possible punishments beforehand, scenarios that he refused to foresee. He was reluctant but eventually, he let go. She was sent on a carriage the next morning, bidding him goodbye one last time." "So she's still alive? She's in a town in the border?" "She was supposed to be." You missed the 'was' in his statement. "That's great then. Since he obviously doesn't want to marry me, I'll just get Yeeun to come here and he'll finally be happy." Haechan shakes his head at you. "Why? What's wrong?" "She died." Your eyes widen into saucers. "You said she's supposed to be in a town somewhere. What do you mean she's dead?" "I said she was supposed to be there. On the way to the town, they were stopped by bandits. The bandits stole everything there was and even tried to kidnap her. When she refused and fought back, they didn't hesitate to kill her and the royal guards. Only one managed to survive and he ran back to the castle, delivering the news to the King and Queen. My brother was devastated and he locked himself up. He refused to talk to anyone for a month and he starved himself. On one hand, he hated himself for the reason she died was due to his selfishness. But on the other hand, he couldn't help but blame our parents as well, had she not been banished then this would never have happened. And a tiny part of him blamed Yeeun, she was too selfless and he hated that she didn't think twice on giving up her freedom just to save his life. It's been three years yet he still loves her unconditionally." You listen intently, heart reaching out for him. "He's afraid, you know." You frown. "Of what?" "He's afraid to fall in love again," Haechan explains, palms smoothing out the bed cover. "Why? I'm a royal like him so I'll always stay by his side." "That's exactly why. He feels as though it’s unfair for Yeeun. He made the room that she used to live in into a shrine in memory of her. He always goes there every other day, telling her of recent events. He hasn't let her go or rather, he refuses to let her go. And with you around, he feels that he's breaking a promise that he made to her right before she left." "What did he say?" "He promised that no matter what happens, he'll always wait for her and that his heart will always belong to her." You realize then, he'll never move on from the ghost of his past. "So he's afraid to love again because he's afraid to break the promise he made to her, is that it?" "Yes. My brother has always been afraid of the unknown. He's not willing to let go of her and the promise he made but it's slowly killing him." "I knew I shouldn't have bothered and I regret it." "Sweetheart," Haechan caresses your hand. "The only person who can save him is you. I know you've had it rough until now, but please, you shouldn't give up." "I hate the fact that even though I forbid myself to do so," you feel your eyes well up with another onslaught of tears. "I fell in love with him." Haechan's eyes soften. "I hate that even though I've opened up to him and even told him all my darkest secrets, he still keeps me at arm's length. He's gentler around me but he still holds back. And I hate that I'm the one to suffer from this." Haechan's eyes soften at your form. "You're not the only one suffering, sweetheart. He's fallen in love with you, that's why he's avoiding you. So he's unwilling to let himself go because he's afraid that by doing so, he'd betray her. "Then what can I do, Haechan? You said it yourself, he's avoiding me because he’s scared." "And you're not?" "Why should I be?" you cock your head at him. "You're afraid that he won't be able to let go of the past and will compare you to her. You're afraid that you won't have his whole heart." And he's right about that. It seems that being able to read people is a trait that runs in the family. "However, just because you're scared, it doesn't mean that you shouldn't try. If you truly do love him, you'll try again. And if you're meant to be together, you'll always go back to each other. That's love." "For someone who hasn't gone through it, you sure know a lot about love," you chuckle dryly. "I've always been quite an odd one." Laughing softly, you say, "You're right about that." __________ When you wake up the next morning, Yeri dresses you up and you head down to have breakfast for the first time in days. The only ones present are you and the Queen yet for some reason, your mind always goes back to him. You try not to dwell on your inevitable encounter and focus on your meal instead. After a light talk with the Queen and reassuring her that everything will be fine, you take a stroll around the castle, basking in the fresh air of the spring morning. Unconsciously, your feet begin to drift down a familiar path and you're too focused on viewing the scenery outside through the windows that you don't realize you've reached your destination. One of the places that you've been avoiding because of an accidental trespassing. A place that you know was something his late lover held dear. The greenhouse. You decide to leave, in fear of angering the crown prince once more. But just as you turn to head back towards the castle, a gentle voice calls out to you. "Wait." It's him, you know it's him. And even though you've mentally prepared yourself to face him, you're still scared. You don't waste time though, turning around to face him. It's only been a few days but he looks worse for wear, something you're not far from either. His blonde hair is flat, clinging to his face and his cheeks are hollow. His eyes are lifeless and the dark bags under his eyes are emphasized by his pale skin. "Jeno-" He silences you with a simple gesture, stepping forward in your direction. "I," his gaze downcast, eyes filled with regret and pain. "I want to apologize for that day." You let him talk. "I lost control and slapped you, something that I shouldn't have ever done and I can only apologize to you for hurting you. I'm also sorry that I shouted at you and got angry at you." You step a little towards him. "I-I can only apologize." "It's fine," you smile sincerely, causing him to snap his head at you. "I forgive you." "Why?!" he's miserable now, unshed tears brimming around the corners of his eye. "Why do you forgive me so easily? I've done nothing but hurt you and yet you still." "I-I,” you take a deep breath in. “It's because I love you, Jeno." His jaw goes slack and he stares at you with an unreadable expression. "I tried not to, you know. I tried so hard to not fall in love with you, but I failed." "I can't," he croaks out, throat closed up as he struggles to speak. "I can't love you." And this time, you've had enough. You may have tolerated a lot of mistreatments in your life but you'd be damned if you let him go. "No!" he's shocked to hear you shout, anger etched onto your usually soft and calm features. "That's bullshit." "Y/N-" "You love me, don't deny it. You're just scared." "I-" "You're scared to move on, Jeno. That's why you pushed me away in the beginning. That's why you refused to get to know me before you judged me, you thought that by having a bad first impression that I'd leave or refuse to stay by your side. But you're wrong. It made me want to prove to you that I'm not what you said, that I'm a good person and that you can trust me. You're afraid to love me because you're not ready to let go of the past. You've been clinging onto a broken memory for the past three years! I'm sorry for being harsh, but you need to move on." "I can't!" Jeno cries. "I've fallen for you and that's what breaks me the most. It's because I've fallen for you that I don't know what to do. A part of me wishes to let go and make you mine. But a bigger part of me is filled with guilt of my first love. I'm afraid that if I move on, I'd be betraying her." "You won't be betraying anybody, Jeno. You're only betraying yourself." Jeno's whole body goes rigid and his head drops. "You made a promise that can never be kept, Jeno. And no matter how sincere a promise may be, it's bound to be broken. She won't blame you, she would never blame you. If you truly love someone, you'd never be able to hate them. Instead, you'd do the right thing, even if it means destroying yourself and that's why she sacrificed her happiness for your life. I don't have to know her to know that all she wished was for you to find your true love one day, the one who will complete you, your other half. But you're resisting, Jeno. You're hurting yourself, you're slowly killing yourself." "But Yeeun-" "She would have wanted you to find happiness, not wallow in regret for the rest of your life because of a love that wasn't meant to be." And for the first time, you see Jeno break down in front of you. He drops down to his knees, sobs wrecking his body. Carefully, you walk over to him and crouch down, enveloping him in a hug. For the first time in three years, he lets everything go. He feels relieved of his burden, the weight on his shoulders gone and the stress in the back of his mind fading away. He shakily wraps his arm around you, nestling his face in the side of your neck, tears still pouring. That morning, he finally realizes what a fool he's been and he finds comfort in your arms. You feel at peace then, knowing that even though it'll take time, he'll grow to love you whole heartedly. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the King, Queen and Prince Haechan saw the scene unfold from the castle, their hearts light and proud. After years of pushing people away, he's finally let the one true person in, you. __________ The day has finally come, the day that you once dreaded to happen, yet now you're overjoyed at the prospect of getting married to the crown prince. You're currently in your room with Yeri keeping you company and making sure that your dress is in place. A knock on the door resounds through the room and the door opens to reveal your sister who you haven't seen for months. "Jisoo!" "Y/N!" She runs to hug you, taking caution on not damaging your outfit. "You look so beautiful," she whispers to you as she gently cups your face. "I've missed you." "Me too, little angel," she chuckles as she places a light kiss on your forehead. "I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed me." You shake your head at her. "No, having you at my wedding is more than enough." "Shall we go?" You smile at her. "Let's go." __________ Jeno's nervous and he's never been this nervous. He can't help but pace around his room as he waits to be called down. He's so into his thoughts that he doesn't realize his brother had slipped into his room. "What's got your head occupied?" Jeno snaps his head to see that it's simply Haechan. "I'm nervous." "Why?" "What if Y/N backs up at the last minute and leaves me?" Haechan scoffs at his brother. "Look, the one with a higher possibility of doing that is you." Jeno glares at him, annoyance rising through. "She won't leave you, you know. You've hurt her more than once and yet, she's stayed. She truly loves you, even if she didn't realize it earlier on. And you know you love her, no matter how much you denied it." "I'm just scared that this is all a dream." "Don't be. She's not Yeeun, she won't have the same fate as your late lover." "Is she truly the one?" "Run a test," Haechan shrugs. "If you feel a spark when you kiss later then she is your true soul mate." "What if it doesn't happen?" "I'm certain it will." __________ The royal hall is crowded with people, the King and Queen along with your parents are present, patiently waiting for the ceremony to start. Esteemed guests from different kingdoms are present as well, your sister and her husband, Prince Johnny Seo, included. The townspeople of the Lee Kingdom are excited to witness the royal wedding, making sure they get the perfect view of both the crown prince and princess. A loud horn can be heard from the courtyard, signaling the start of the ceremony. Jeno stands on the altar, body turned and facing the door, awaiting your entrance. A second later, the door opens and you look up to see the entire hall looking at you. You try to calm your beating heart as you slowly walk down the aisle, your dress dragging behind you. Your eyes find Jeno's and for a moment, you're lost in them, a stupid smile adorning your face. You barely realize that you've made it to the altar, your gaze still locked with his, until the priest softly calls out to you. You step on the altar, facing Jeno, and all his doubts are washed away. The ceremony continues with the priest reading through the formalities and praying that he both of you continue to live in happiness. "I, Lee Jeno, take Kim Y/N as my wife, and I promise to stay by her side and care for her in sickness and in health, until death do us apart." "I, Kim Y/N, take Lee Jeno as my husband, and I promise to stay by his side and care for him in sickness and in health, until death do us apart." The priest then tells you to exchange rings and you each carefully place the rings on your ring fingers, hands interlocked as you waited for the final deed. "You may now kiss the bride." Jeno doesn't hesitate to cup your cheeks and you close your eyes to feel his lips on yours, molding into one. Jeno feels sparks from the touch, something he's never felt before. Cheers erupt from the hall and you two break the kiss with a smile. Renjun comes forth and escorts the two of you to the carriage where you're supposed to go around the kingdom and greet the townspeople. As you sit inside with him beside you, you can't help but rest your head on his, a smile on your face. The carriage moves forward then and you go around waving at the townspeople with them excitedly doing the same. "You know, I was nervous earlier." "Why?" you chuckle, turning to face him. "I was afraid you'd run away." "Nonsense!" you laugh. "I wouldn't do such a thing." Jeno smiles as you laugh, his heart full with love. "I love you, Y/N." For a moment, you're taken aback by his confession but you know that he does, even if he's too shy to admit it. "And I love you too, Jeno." He knows then that even if it'll take a while for him to let go, he truly loves you and you won't have it any other way.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

the unseen one - 28

Pairing: Hades!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: death

A/N: we’re close to the end and i’m getting really emotional over this ending soon 😭 also did i write this watching the death scene in west side story? yes i did so i was sobbing through this.

Next Chapter

To say that Bucky had been ignoring her was the understatement of the century. 

With the excuse that she probably needed some fresh air rather than being in the meadows, Bucky had sent her a week ago to be at the Elysium with Hecate and the other maidens. Despite all her protesting and fighting against the idea of being in the Elysium, Buck had gotten the upper hand and without any argument on his part or even a single word, left her at the care of Hecate, who was probably acting just as weird as him. Before he left he had promised to visit but those visits were as short as seconds where it looked like he’d check on her, kiss her forehead and then leave again. He said that it would be better for her to be an environment similar to that where she used to live but in all honesty, she was certain the pollution in Brooklyn was worse than the meadows.

She spent her days questioning Hecate and the maidens as to why Bucky was suddenly busier than Santa on Christmas Eve but they would just say it was all on her head. It wasn’t. Even back when she was in Brooklyn, he’d come to visit more often. It also did not help that everyone in the Elysium treated her like she was made out of glass, not allowing her to do any work and basically leaving her sat on one of the stone benches with a book until night time where she would sleep in Hecate’s quarters. Psyche and Ariadne would come to visit regularly with stories of their husbands and other tales with the rest of the greek pantheon. 

Those visits had quickly became the only thing Y/N held onto and the only way she could get news from Bucky. She would constantly nag both mortal turned goddesses about him, wondering if he had finally grown tired of her but they would reassure her he was just busy. Somehow, everyone seemed to know more than her, almost as if they had locked her into a glass bubble. 

Today was like any other day, she was walking down the gardens, one of the books she had been lent in hand, trying to free her mind from the countless thoughts telling her Bucky was tired of her, he didn’t want to deal with her anymore, when she felt it again. The dizziness, the light headiness hitting her like a freight train. The book slide off her hands as she allowed her legs to hit the stone of one of the several marbled benches all over the Elysium’s gardens, sitting down to steady herself. She felt weak, cold again.

     - Y/N? - a few maidens noticed this change in posture, rushing to her side to check on her as if she were an injured person. Her hands were laying on her lap as Hecate checked the motion, taking her hands in hers and immediately sensing the coldness of them.  

      - Notify the king. - she heard her tell one of her maidens but the words looked further away, detached even. - Y/N? Can you hear me? 

      - Yeah. - she managed to take herself off that plane of thinking. - I’m alright, just dizziness. 

Hecate nodded, allowing Y/N to be alone for a while. She knew better not to try and force care onto her, specially because Y/N had become specially good at running and hiding. Hiding was what she felt right now, so, as per usual, she took shelter into the dying Grooves that seemed to now be flourishing with various amounts of white roses. She sat against the bark of one of the dying trees, trying to fight the tears threatening to come out of her eyes. She knew nothing, Bucky barely visited and she felt like the more time she felt in the Elysium the more miserable she felt. She missed him, missed seeing his messy hair or how he would bit onto his pens whenever he was looking at paperwork.

     - My lady? - she was too busy in her own miserable thought pattern she didn’t notice the presence of someone else in the Grooves. She cleaned the corners of her eyes with the fabric of her dress, turning to see the same lady from the golden threads. - I knew it was you.

      - I’m sorry, I just ... I just really need to by myself right now. - workers of the Elysium tended to have curiosity about the mortal, something Y/N didn’t really mind but right now she wanted to understand. 

      - Something seems to be on your mind, milady. Might I guess it must have something to do with the God of the Underworld? - she took a seat by her side, basket in hand. - Overthinking minds don’t look at thing clearly. 

      - I guess you’re right. - she chuckled.

      - Here. - she took a pomegranate from her basket, handing it to Y/N who suspiciously took it. How funny, this small fruit had started it all. - Mortals tend to look at it and interpret it in various wrong ways. I’ve never seen a single mortal or deity who ever understood what the pomegranate really means. 

      - What would that be?

      - Love. The type of love that makes you go against the forces of nature, crazy, unthinking love. After all, the god of the Underworld fed it to his bride when the danger of losing her came about and she ate it willingly. 

       - Some mortals think she was forced into eating it. 

       - A goddess can’t be forced into the Underworld, my lady. 

Meanwhile, Bucky had been mid meeting with Zeus when one of the handmaidens came rushing into the room like a maniac. His heart stopped as he saw her standing there, mind running wild as to why she would be here, to if Y/N was still alright, still alive. However, the news she carried didn’t ease out the heart clench. She was dying a little every single day and James was watching powerless. The past week had been filled with a platoon of meetings along with various gods to determine the cause as to why she was losing her life source. It came to no surprise that a mortal in the Underworld is unnatural and the way the forces of nature have to deal with that is to regain balance by turning a mortal into the state at which they belong into the Underworld.

The problem that stood once more was the same problem, taking her away from a contract she had unwillingly signed by eating the fruit of the dead. Most gods did not want the contract broken however James knew exactly who was easy to break down and that was Zeus. Zeus, god of the Gods, he could go against laws of the Underworld if he wanted and right now despite all attempts, he still refused to return Y/N to the mortal realm. 

In a twisted manner, he seemed to enjoy watch the god of the Underworld walk around miserable knowing someone was dying and he couldn’t do anything. Knowing the all powerful who could order the death of whomever he pleased couldn’t control the fate of the one he cared for. At least the one who still remembered him but after she passed, it wouldn’t be long til that too disappeared. 

James had even threatened ordering the death of whatever demigods related to Zeus still roamed the Earth, but he only laughed at those empty threats. What would that help in his case? It wouldn’t. He was powerless in this situation and Zeus was relishing on it. 

     - I wonder if she’ll make it to the Elysium. - Zeus thought out loud, making James’ blood boil. - You should’ve expected this. Besides, mortals die everyday, you’ve seen your fair share of relatives dying. She’s just one more. 

     - If I marry your daughter, will you break her contract to the Underworld? 

James didn’t want to be married to Aphrodite. Being married to Aphrodite meant Zeus would forever have control over him, over the Underworld and he would just be someone else’s puppet again. But yet again, he had been HYDRA’s puppet for decades and if being a puppet to Zeus for centuries to come meant Y/N would be safely back into her life, free to do what she wanted, then he would do it.

Zeus face twisted into that of someone who had won the lottery, imagining the countless opportunities. Not only would it put the control of the Underworld  onto his only and direct bloodline, it would rather amuse his daughter which was no small feat. 

     - I’ll make sure your daughter becomes Queen of the Underworld as long as Y/N is returned to her home, unharmed. - he sat down in his chair, looking at a petal from the sunflower she had given fall into the soil of the pot. - She returns home today.

     - I can ensure she returns safely to the mortal real but I won’t supply her with any protection once she’s there. 

     - She gets there safely and I follow the end of my deal. - he extended his hand up to him, looking at the sunflower.

Y/N had put the pomegranate in the pocket of her gown, returning to walk around the Elysium like a lost soul with a book in hand. She had probably read the same book several times in the space of a day, but she didn’t feel like bothering James asking for another book. She was a burden as she was. She closed the book, holding against her chest and huffing, getting ready to return to the rest of the maidens once she saw Bucky’s figure at the distance.

A smile stretched itself on her lips as she grabbed the fabric of the gown and used whatever was left of her strength to run over to him. Her feet paddled onto the grass as she finally reached him, wrapping her arms around him in what James thought was the loveliest, warmest hug he’d ever felt. She kissed his chest, holding his head as she stared onto his blue eyes. 

     - You’re late. - she teased, caressing his jaw with her ring finger. 

     - You can go home, lovely. - he smiled, kissing the crown of her head. - You can finally return home. 

     - What do you mean home? I’m home, I’m with you. - she wrapped her fingers around his. 

     - No, sunflower. You get to go home to Brooklyn. 

     - Buck, is that why you’ve been so distant lately? - he leaned his face against her touch, wondering how long it would be before he could do that again. Before he could feel her warmest touch. 

     - I’ll explain later, sunflower. Zeus is waiting for you and he’s not very found of waiting.

She followed him out of the Elysium, turning back to see what had been her normality for the past month and then back to him. She didn’t really know what to expect once she reached Brooklyn again, she didn’t know how she would act with Anne or if she even had a job back at the nursery. She didn’t know. Did returning to the home which she was once homesick for meant not seeing Bucky again?

Her mind was running wild with possibilities. She should be happy, she should be happy to return to her normality, she wasn’t a goddess, she didn’t belong here, she belonged up above with her people, with her daily runs and her jokes with co-workers. However, she wasn’t happy, she was worried, worried about Bucky, worried about herself.

Maybe, had she had the time to discuss it out she could’ve cleared up her doubts but it seemed like in a flash Bucky has handing her off to Zeus, kissing her and telling her it would be okay. It wouldn’t be okay, he didn’t look okay and she didn’t feel okay. She didn’t understand why she had even been thrown in the Elysium for a week, she knew nothing. 

     - I got to give you to you, Y/N. - Zeus took her off her own thoughts. - If I had known that all it took to get my way was for you to almost die, I would’ve made sure it happened sooner. 

     - Almost die? - she scrunched her face, stopping on her path which made the god of gods stop too. - What do you mean almost die? And what do you mean by getting your way?

     - Why do you think you’re feeling so weak, lately? Mortals don’t belong in the Underworld unless they’re dead and you can only fight the forces of nature for so long until they win. - it hit her like a freight train and she didn’t know if too feel mad or upset with James for hiding it. It finally made sense, the Elysium, the constant sick like treatment she got from people who originally despised her and James’ willingness to let her go so soon. - Besides, he made me an offer I just couldn’t refuse.

     - What offer?

     - Let’s say, the Underworld will be under my control as it should’ve always been. You can turn a mortal into a god but unless they’re controlled, they’ll never do their job correctly.

Y/N took a step back, the room seemed to start spinning. Under control. Under control. The once controlled Winter Soldier pictures came back to her mind, how he had told her about how the only good thing about being a god was being able to do whatever he pleased, not being controlled. Now here he was back again, under someone’s thumb and it was her fault. At those thoughts, much to Zeus’ confusion, she took another step back. Her eyes lingered over the pomegranate laying still on the pocket of her gown and then back to Zeus.

     - Can I ... can I go back? I forgot something. 

     - I’m sure he’ll probably get someone to bring it up to you. I don’t have all time. 

     - I’ll be back in no time, I promise. - she swore and he sighed, pointing his arm out back to the meadows and once again she was holding onto her dress, rushing down to the meadows. She could feel her heart beat faster and her legs begging her to give up, head pounding like a drum. The once path that seemed so short was now very long but still all she could think about was running, running back into his home which she eventually did.

The sound of her crashing through his door had alarmed James whose eyes widened at seeing her standing there, breathless against the door. She gripped onto the door, eyes gazing with James as she felt her body give up of her. Feeling she was about to faint, Bucky rushed over to her, holding her against his torso not sure if he was mad she had ran back or worried that he desperately needed to bring her back to her path. 

     - Y/N, you need to come back alright. - he pushed the hair away from her face but she only gave him a soft smile raising half a pomegranate with whatever was left of her strength.

     - I’m afraid I spoiled your plans. - the fruit rolled away. James world collapsed as he thought about ways to get Zeus to break the contract again. Gods, he would beg on his knees for it. - You’ve died before right? 

     - Stop talking about that. We nee ...

     - Does it hurt? - she interrupted him, clutching onto his torso. Her breathe got unruly and the once easy act of breathing became the hardest thing she ever could do. Noticing the will in her eyes, the decision she had taken, he soften his approach. 

     - No, sunflower. It’s like falling asleep. 

     - Falling asleep sounds nice. - she caressed his face, that familiar feeling of going into a deep slumber reaching fast. - I love you, Bucky.

     - I love you too, sunflower. 

She was wrapped into that tempting slumber that had been pulling at her, the last thing heard being James telling her to awake up but there was nothing left now. Just darkness.

Darkness and silence. 

tag list: @philogrobizedvee​​​​​​  @keithseabrook27​​​​​ @inlovewith3​​​​19 @nwbstan​ @romanoffs-heart

[leonthecardboardunicorn]

The Oracle Prince, Chapter 9

Pairing: Viggo/Liz

Summary: We’ve found the gems of the Dragonkin, but now Hawkeye has their eye on the treasures of the noble families. The Foundation Day royal ball seems like the perfect time. Luckily, we have the help of the crown prince- Viggo?!

First: Chapter One

Previous: Chapter Eight

"Your Majesty!" Daniel went pale as a ghost.

“Silence!” The king turned to his guards at once. “Inspect the passage. See if what he said is true. As for the rest of you, come to the throne room.”

I wasn't sure how long it was, waiting in the throne room, before the guard slipped in again. The king paced anxiously, and Daniel stood behind him.

“Well?”

“It is just as His Highness said. Many of the men we found were recognized criminals- members of the organization Hawkeye. And..” The king's guard paused, before he said, “And many have been recognized as Daniel's guards.”

“What?! How could this be? Hawkeye within our castle.”

"It's because they've had a man of the inside all of this time,” Viggo snarled. “Daniel's been working with them from the start!”

Your Majesty,” I said, “didn't you think it was weird that Daniel kept Viggo training so much? He must've known this would be the opportune moment to strike, when he would be at his most exhausted.”

Daniel went pale as a ghost. “Y-Your Majesty-”

“His desire was to bring destruction to Gedonelune,” Viggo cried, “using the six gems to tear us apart!”

"Y-Your Majesty!" Daniel cried.

"Enough!" He looked between us. "Tell me everything. From the start."

Finally, the truth came out. The king listened in silence as we told him about Cordelia, about the Dragonkin Ruins, about the attack in Queensblade, about the search for the gems within the court. Daniel stood silent behind him, his usually unshakeable confidence gone.

"To think that they would be lurking in this castle the whole time.."

"I-I had no idea about any of this," he said. "They must have been acting on their own!"

"Even if that is true," Viggo said, "why should we keep you around? Your men are traitors, and they're all you have." He grinned. "I'd be better off with another guardian that I can trust. And who is strong enough."

"Y-Your Majesty!"

"Unless, of course, you want to prove your strength for yourself?"

The king looked at him in alarm. "..What are you proposing?"

"I want him punished for what he put me through. Heck, I want to punch him myself," Viggo growled. "So I say we have one final match in three days. A fitting final to the tournament that he pushed so hard. Me versus him. If he wins, he can do as he likes. But if I win, I get full freedom. No more Oxford guards- and Daniel gets what's coming to him."

Viggo sighed as we left the throne room, slumping against the wall. “That was nervewracking..”

"I'm proud of you," I said honestly as I sat down beside him. "That was really amazing. You seemed so cool and confident, taking charge of yourself." I found myself gushing, but it didn't seem to matter, when I was with him.

After everything we'd been through, he'd changed. He'd found his moment- and struck. That was something worth the praise.

"Heh." His expression softened. "..I couldn't have done it without you. I probably would have just kept fighting them in that clearing. You gave me the idea.”

“I was only helping you. But..” Something was still bugging me. “Why did they attack you? You didn't have the gem.” I remembered the gem of fire on my belt. Luckily, Caesar still carried his.

“They were after this.” He pulled on something around his neck. “Remember when I said the treasures of the royal family are in one place? This is the key.”

“How strange.” I had seen it so many times, but I'd never realized it was a key.

“And.. that includes the key to awakening the Dragon of Time,” he said.

My heart caught in my throat. “What is it?”

“A belt. All of the gems are placed on it. Then they bring it to the Tower and.. well.”

I felt strange hearing his voice. 'I don't know what this is, but I want to stay with him.'

"They won't get ahold of it,” I assured him. “The battle's almost over. Freedom's not far behind."

"Just a little while longer. Just one more battle to go."

We had three days till the final battle. It wouldn't feel long at all.

That night, Viggo called for us to meet on the rooftop.

“It seems like a lot of the members of Hawkeye were captured,” he said, “but Jaden wasn't among them.”

My heart sank. “She must have fled..”

“And there's no doubt that she'll be helping Daniel in the match.” He took out his telescope. “I've been searching the stars for answers.”

"What did you see?"

"I saw shadows lurking in the dark. More than I could count. And I saw Jaden slipping something into his hand." Viggo folded his arms. "Though I couldn't make out what it was."

That's right. This wasn't just Viggo's burden to carry alone. We had to do our best for him too. "We can be searching through the tournament hall while you're fighting!" I said.

"That's right! We'll help you!"

"I've been waiting to get my hands on those of Hawkeye," Felix muttered.

"We'll sniff them out," Elias said.

I saw Viggo relax a little. And seeing him before us, I couldn't help but laugh a little.

"..What is it?"

"I think you're starting to look like a proper leader, Viggo."

The next morning, to my surprise, I found Viggo and Luca in the library.

“I thought that you'd be preparing for the battle,” I said lightly as I sat next to him.

“Something is still bugging me. We were searching for the records on the Orian family,” he said. “I wanted to see if Jaden might possess the gem of wind after all.”

“What did you find?”

He sighed. “Seems pretty likely to me.”

“The records don't go into specifics,” Luca said with a sigh, “but everything said they have a gem going back to the first king.”

My heart sank. “So it's possible that Jaden has the gem.”

“Or Dahlia,” Viggo said idly.

“What are you talking about? Dahlia died.”

“You mean, you didn't notice?” Viggo looked up in surprise. “That woman that we captured.. Jaden called her Dahlia back there.”

“Are you talking about Cordelia?”

“Yes. The resemblance was unmistakable too.” Trust Viggo to be the one to notice that.

My heart dropped. But suddenly a lot of things were making sense. “..Viggo, where is she now?”

As I pushed open the cell doors, I saw her. Her wrists were bound, but she was sitting against the wall. "I didn't think we'd see each other again so soon, dragon girl.” Her voice was cold as ice. "Are you happy to see me like this?"

"I just wanted to talk to you," I said. Truth be told, I felt nervous- but I couldn't show it.

I felt Viggo take my hand. He met my eyes, and it was like my worry faded. I couldn't be worried when he was by my side. I knew he'd protect me.

I took a deep breath.  "Randolph told me about you. A promising student at the academy, who gave everything up when Jaden brought you into Hawkeye. Why did you go with her? What could she have promised you?"

"That's none of your business."

"Give it up. Jaden already told us," Viggo said. "She's your sister, isn't she?"

That did it. "Shut up!" she snarled, lunging forward. "Shut up!"

"They told us the two of you were separated when your parents died. You had lost so much. But Jaden found you at the academy. She promised you the family that you never had. You gave everything up to follow her."

"Shut up!" she snarled, lashing out against her chains. Viggo stepped between us, shielding me. "You have no idea what it was like! An orphan, all alone in this world, without anybody to care, without so much as a name! All I had left was.." I saw her hand press against her collar, reaching for something that wasn't there. "All I had was..!"

My heart hurt for her, and I stepped forward without thinking. "Why do you think I don't understand? I know what it was like," I said gently. "I was an orphan too. I wished for someone to find me. I know how scared you must have been, how alone that you felt." I felt Viggo's hand tighten in mine. Cordelia stopped- and I could see that she was trembling. "I understand why you followed her into the dark. But she is not who you think she is,” I said. "She abandoned you-"

"She had to!" she snarled. "She had to leave me for the good of Hawkeye! I failed her! I knew this was the price that I paid! Leave me be!" she cried. "Leave me be!"

I could see it. No matter what I said here, nothing would reach her.

"Come on." Viggo guided my shoulder. "Let's go."

Finally, the last day of the tournament dawned.

Viggo was waiting outside the tournament hall. Despite his usual confidence, he seemed to waver. "You're here."

"I wanted to wish you good luck before the match."

This would be the most important battle of Viggo's life. His freedom was riding on this- as well as so much else. What could I possibly say to calm him?

"Viggo! If you win this match, I'll give you a kiss!"

What possessed me to say that? Was I wanting to kiss him?

He smiled, and his nerves seemed to steady. But that smile sent my heart racing. "That's reason enough for me."

Alfonse and I walked together through the tournament hall; I kept my wand at the ready.

'Whatever shadows are out there, I'm ready.'

We walked through the area, but Alfonse idly looked up. "Look. The match is about to start."

Daniel stood at one end of the hall. Despite his usual evidence, he seemed to be shaking. And Viggo stood at the other end, his pipe at the ready.

'He looks like his usual self now,' I thought.

"Begin!" And suddenly I couldn't tear my eyes away. Daniel leaped forward- and punched Viggo in the face!

Viggo stumbled back clutching his jaw, but I saw his eyes light up. "You punk." He smiled. "That's more like it. Pugnus Tempestus!"

His fist came down on Daniel over and over; the man was barely able to stagger to his feet, just barely able to dodge some of his hits.

The audience roared with cheers. Even I couldn't keep the smile off on my lips. 'Not so tough now! Daniel's probably not used to a fair fight.'

But I noticed Viggo drawing closer to him. "What is he doing?" Alfonse asked. "His magic should be enough to keep him at bay."

"It looks like I have no choice." I could just make out him reaching into his pocket-

"Viggo, watch out!"

Daniel threw something at the ground- and a huge cloud of smoke billowed out, consuming the battlefield.

"Viggo!"

"Stay back!" Alfonse grabbed me, pulling me back. I quickly covered my mouth to block out the smoke, but I still found myself looking desperately for Viggo. "I recognize this scent! This is..!"

'Viggo, please, be all right-'

"You're not getting away!" Viggo's voice boomed through the smoke. Mist seeped through the smoke, and I saw Viggo leaping towards him- until I could no longer see them in the smoke.

"We need to get him out of there now!"

Luca: Well, that was quite an exciting fight.

Albert: It's certainly more fun seeing Viggo fight than being the one to fight him.

Luca: And fun to see Daniel getting beat up too.

Albert: It would have been more fun to see his brother be the one in the fight. I would've paid to see that.

Luca: What happened to Lord Oxford anyway?

Albert: I.. don't know. Perhaps he's back at his mansion, fighting Hipogriffs?

Luca: That sounds a little scary.

Albert: Next time, Freedom.

[dsmroleplay]

#BeautyAndTheBeast Part 6 #DSM #RP #SPN #BtVS

Writers: @HuntersGirlBaby @DeadlyJager @DeanWinchester_

Graham: -At 7am Graham took back over his post and asked how his colleague how it had went. Nothing much had happened, the doctor had came and went. He'd allowed Alyson to get water and take a walk. She was secure in her room and he was happy to go rest. Graham took up his spot at the door and listening to Rosa sing down in the kitchen. The whole house smelt like eggs and bacon. Meanwhile Julian had gotten up too and made the call to @DeanWinchester_ his secretary put him straight through to Colt's phone after giving Colt a head's up of who the guy was.- :::::::::::::::::: Colt: -Colt was out in the barn working on the wood he was prepping for some projects when the call came in. "This is Colt Winchester." He wondered what the werewolf was calling for, it was brazen and highly unorthodox. The only time he'd seen Julian was from briefing reports and surveillance pictures.- ::::::::::::::::::: Graham: (Ghosting for Julian Duval) "Let's cut to the chase. I have your daughter Alyson. She's well and hasn't been harmed. I don't want a full out war Winchester so I asking for way to keep my people safe and your daughter as well." :::::::::::::::::: Colt: -Colt's face lost all color, Alyson had wanted to go for a trip with her friends and he'd let her go unescorted like an idiot. Normally he'd have told the guy to go fuck himself but no way he'd do anything to get Alyson hurt. Worry in his voice as he replied.- "What do you want want Duval?" :::::::::::::::: Graham: "I want a truce to start with, a negotiations of the werewolf houses and I want Alyson to be my bride. That way dear old daddy doesn't go back on his word. You're wiping out an entire species and left uncheck, it's time to answer for that." ::::::::::::::: Colt: -Colt was livid, "His bride" no fucking way. Covering how truly upset he was, his calm voice answering back.- "You've either got a set up balls that rival King Kong or you're looking to die young. I want to talk to my daughter, /now/." :::::::::::::::: Graham: (Ghosting for Julian Duval) "That can be arranged but first I want to see you're taking this serious. If you think you can storm me and rescue your daughter think again. I'll kill her Winchester and not in a quick way either. I want all the werewolf houses set up for a meeting you yourself will come alone and you'll tell them that our marriage will stop the killing. You're going to put your company and men behind me and I will oversee all the werewolf houses. Once Alyson has my offspring the houses will see just how serious we are about this." :::::::::::::::::::: Colt: -No way on earth he was going to go along with this shit but until he got Alyson home safe he might just have to do what the asshole was suggesting. He didn't want to see his guys die anymore than psycho wanted his "species" to be wiped out but werewolves weren't docile, they were violent and had a natural instinct to kill and humans didn't deserve to be their dog chow.- "I have to know she's still alive, otherwise I'd be walking into a trap." ::::::::::::::: Graham: (Ghosting for Julian Duval) "I'll have her call you. I don't want to have to hurt her Winchester but I /will/ if you step out of line she'll pay the price. And besides, you have the opportunity to stop the bloodshed on both sides all you have to do is cooperate. She'll be in touch with instructions soon." -With that Julian hung up on him and sat back in his leather chair. That had felt amazing, it was far from over but if this guy loved his daughter he'd get in line.- ::::::::::::::::: Alyson: Ali had sat on the window, looking outside. As she watches the sun rise. She couldn’t get back to sleep. Her head rested on the window frame. After walking around for awhile it helped to calm her a bit. She didn’t want to go back into the nightmare.

She loved the smell after a storm. It smelled fresh and clean. But something else tickled her nose, eggs and bacon. It made her stomach growl and rumble. She was hungry. Only have eaten the hamburger and fries before she got here.

Slipping off the windowsill she made her way to the shower. washing up as quick as she could. The hot water felt so good against her skin. Once done, she dried herself and dressed in blue jeans, white tank top and her white and blue shirt over it. Pushing her feet into a little brown boots.

With the promise of food, she made her way  to the door. Opening it she stepped out. Seeing Graham, a sweet smile spread across her lips.* Graham. *Seeing him made her feel so much better.* Good morning. *even with the hint of dark circles under her eyes.* It’s so good to see you this morning. *her voice soft, as the  gentle rumble of her stomach made her blush. She cleared her throat, laughing a little to herself.* I blame the smell of food on that noise. *she rubbed the back of her neck. He might just laugh at the noise of her stomach.* How are you this morning? *maybe to draw his attention away from her stomach.* ::::::::::::::::: Graham: Graham: -He'd overheard every word of Julian's phone call with Colt Winchester and it left him feeling a like a dark cloud was hanging over them. He understood Julian and his frustration and what he felt as an obligation to clans but Graham knew Julian had fallen in love with the power as well. He'd be unstoppable if the humans backed him and Graham wasn't too sure he'd like to see Julian have that kind of power. Good intentions don't always work out the way one would hope. He smiled kindly down at Alyson as she emerged from her room and he listened to her but more importantly observed. She looked like she hadn't slept and he could understand why. She seemed to sweet and innocent to be tied up in all of this and his mind began to work out a possible way to get her free of Julian and get her home where she belonged. He couldn't voice it though, if anyone suspected his loyalty it would be the end of him. And even if he wasn't killed he still had the U.S. Government looking for him and the others like him they'd experimented on and he'd rather die to become their lab rat again.- I'm alright, let's take you down to the kitchen and solve at least one problem today. :::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *His smile set her at ease. Giving a gentle nod to her head. Her mind wondered what other problems. On one hand she wanted to know what they were, but on the other she didn’t. It would only cause her to worry. Was it something to do with her? Graham? Her family? To many things  it could be.

Making their way down to the kitchen. The smell only got stronger. Her mouth started to water. Before they got to the kitchen, she peeked up to Graham.* Is there anything I can do to help? *she spoke softly as she asked. She wondered if he was going to ask about what happened last night. She didn’t even know what to tell him. Stopping she turned to face him. Working on her words and how to tell him.* Graham..about last night.. *she looked and made sure they were alone. She didn’t want others to know.* Remember I said I was..different? *she rubbed the back of her neck.* That..was an effect of how I’m different. I..I..didn’t want you to worry. *She wouldn’t tell what she saw. Not right now at least. No one should have to carry that burden, no one. Smiling softly, she turned and walked the rest of  the way into the kitchen.

Rosa was platting up breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast and fruit. Ali smiled at the woman.* Good morning Rosa! *the woman looked up and smiled. Coming around to greet Ali. She looked her over as she held Ali’s face in her hands. Ali placed her hand on Rosa’s letting her know she was ok.* Come eat. *She herded Ali to the island of the kitchen. Slipping into the stool, Rosa set out the food. With Rosa busy Ali looked up and smiled at Graham.* Would you like to join me Graham? I can’t eat all this myself. *And she didn’t want to eat alone.* :::::::::::::::: Graham: -He didn't see the harm in it and Rosa was already piling up a plate for him so he took a seat beside her. Looking over at her.- I'm sorry, it's my job to look after you. You looked like you were ill. :::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Lifting her head up, she smiled softly at him. She felt at ease, having him close. The darkness that was Julian was easier to bare. She spoke softly, as she reached out and touched his arm.* Graham, please don’t be sorry. I know it was shocking. And might have come out as  something very wrong with me. *Ali being Ali. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.* You took very good care of me. They..they hit me out of no where. I just.. *with her free hand she rubbed the back of her neck.* ....didn’t want you to worry. It’s a cross I have to bare. And it’s scary, I have to admit. *as she spoke a smile still on her lips. To put him at ease. She sat back down and started to eat. It was so good. Sipping her tea, then sitting it down. After Rosa went about her work. The problems he mentioned came to the forefront of her mind. Turning in her seat to face him better.* Graham..is there anything I can do to help? You have helped me. And I..I want to help if I can. :::::::::::::::: Graham: -He wasn't used to people being so friendly or open, Alyson's kiss softened his features as he studied her. She was trying to make him feel better. She couldn't be more than twenty if that, much older spirit though. He smiled at her.- Best thing you could do Alyson is eat, keep your strength up. -Graham couldn't and wouldn't say anymore outloud because he knew the house was covered with cameras and Julian kept tabs on /everyone/. Graham went back to eating but his mind was on Julian, wondering just what he had planned. Some of the guys had been talking already and were grumbling about wanting no part of a the hunters. From what he could gather Julian wanted to join forces with them and thus be able to overtake the werewolves system of government within the various families. With the might of the hunters behind him no one would stand a chance against him.- :::::::::::::::: Alyson: *His smile, sent butterflies off in her stomach. How could a smile do that? His face soft..dare she think of awe of it. A gentle blush creeped across her cheek. Smiling she nodded, she didn’t trust her voice at the moment. She would just stutter and make it awkward for them both. Even with the butterflies, her stomach dropped a little bit. Worry coursed through her tiny frame as she ate. Was something bad coming? What was talking about. She was already there. Right in the mist of it. Right now was the eye of the storm. The wild winds were  coming. She just hoped that her and Graham made it out of this.  

She cleaned her plate, as Rosa seen she asked if Ali wanted more. Sweet as Ali was, she thanked her. But she couldn’t eat more. She moved to help but Rosa wasn’t having it. Ali laughed softly. She wouldn’t step on her toes.

Sipping her tea, her leg bounced slowly. Digging her pockets, grabbing her bottle of anxiety pills. She didn’t even know if this would help. Hating the idea that she had to even take these. Closing her eyes she breathed out slowly. Putting them back. No.   she wasn’t going to take them. Not knowing how they would effect her. Wanting a clear head while here.

She didn’t want a run in with Julian. Whispering to Graham.* Graham. Can we go outside? I..just want to be out in the fresh air. And..I feel he is going to pop up at any moment. When your done..eating. I don’t want you rushing eating. Just..soon. *every voice in the house could be him.* ::::::::::::::::: Graham: Sure. -About that time Julian walked in and eyed her.- You look well, time to make a phone call Alyson. I promised your father. ::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Her whole body tensed, as the man she feared walked in. Gripping the edge of the counter that they sat at. She whispered.* Daddy... *he could come and get her. She could go home..and take. Her mind was swirling with every emotion one could feel. Eyes wide, as she looked at up  to Julian. Taking deep breaths. She would not show fear. Don’t show to..him. She had the blood of her daddy racing through her veins. Not knowing what was to come. She would face it.

Pushing up and off the stool she sat on. Giving herself a moment to steady herself. Walking  to the other side of Graham. But kept close.* Lead the way. *She spoke as strong as could in that moment. Looking to Graham, her eyes pleading with him not to leave her.* ::::::::::::::::: Graham: -Graham could sense the change in emotions but anyone would. Tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Julian lead them to the study and handing her his cell phone.- ::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *She followed, staying close to Graham. She didn’t like this. What was Julian expecting of her? Would this make matters worse? Stepping inside his study. Ali’s landed on the cell phone. With a little shake to her hands, she took the phone.

Awaking up the phone. Pushing the  little phone and opening up the numbers. She stopped, looking up from the phone. He was up to something he had to be. This wasn’t out of kindness or the goodness of his heart. But she wasn’t about to let this chance pass her up. Dialing her daddy’s cell phone. Putting it to her ear. Keeping Graham in her eye sight. She listened to it ring. She whispered.* Please daddy..pick up. *he wouldn’t know this number. At least she didn’t think so.* ::::::::::::::: Colt: -Colt had been waiting for the call from Julian, he hadn't told anyone what was going on yet because he wasn't entirely sure what was going on himself. When his cell lit up he picked it up immediately.- This is Colt. :::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Daddy’s voice. It washed over her, slowly she closed her eyes. Tears filled her eyes. Ali missed him, her family and her home. Slowly tears slipped from between her lashes and down her cheeks. Gently she sniffled, rubbing her nose. Trying to compose herself as best she could. Taking a few deep breath breaths. But it was no use. Her voice was shaky, filled with so much emotion. Stuttering she spoke.* Dadddy, it’s...me.. *slowly her eyes opened. Looking to the ground.* I..want..to come home. I miss you. *She whispered.* I’m scared, daddy. :::::::::::::::::::: Graham: -Graham stood there and it was damn hard to listen to this and he wished he wasn't involved. Eyes settle on Julian, face stoic he studied the younger mans demeanor. Julian didn't look thrilled, but he didn't look ashamed either. Graham knew how he thought this was a means to an end and whether he was after power or not he'd see this through because he truly believed it was the only way to get the hunters off their backs for good.- ::::::::::::::::: Colt: -Standing there Colt's face went white, he was holding the cell so tight his knuckles had went white as well. He sank into the chair, forearm braced on his thigh. Head bowed his heart was breaking, his shit had gotten Alyson grabbed and she was scared. A million things ran through his head.- "You're going to come home safe baby girl, I promise. Are you hurt?" :::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Her shoulders sagged. Ali knew that her daddy would keep his promise. Wiping the tears from her cheeks. As he asked if she was hurt. Eyes slowly rose to look at Graham. He had been keeping her safe. She believed that Graham would hold to his word. To get her out. Though she didn’t know the plans that Julian had for. And she hates that unknown. She spoke after a few moments.* I’m not hurt daddy, I promise. *She didn’t want her daddy to worry. But she knew he was. She held tighter to the phone.* I’ve had to be seen by a doctor. But it was just from stress. *she took a breath once more.* Daddy...do..do..you know what’s going on? :::::::::::::::: Colt: -Eyes shut tight he was pissed and scared for her all at the same time.- I got the jest of it baby. I promise you I’m going to bring you home and I’m going to kill that son of bitch. Stay calm, don’t take any chances. I love you Alyson, you’re going to be okay. :::::::::::::::: Alyson: *She gripped onto her daddy’s words like a lifeline. Ali could be strong. She would stick to Graham like glue. She wanted to ask what he knew. But it wasn’t the time. And she knew that daddy wouldn’t want to scare her more. Her heart squeezed in her chest. Almost to the point that she couldn’t breath.* I promise daddy. *She would do as he asked. She whispered to him.* I will be safe. I love to daddy, so very much. *She just wanted to crawl through the phone. Be free of this place. She knew deep down, Julian had signed his death warrant, the moment  he took her. She would make it to her daddy. And take the Graham with her. She looked to him once more. He maybe part of them. But he wasn’t like them. They would both come out of this.* I’m..I’m hugging you so tight right now daddy. ::::::::::::::::::: Graham: -Julian took the phone from her and got on the line.- I’ll let you know when the wedding is, she’ll be left unscathed long as you keep your word. Once it’s over we will set down and develop a plan for taking over the council. You try anything and I will send her home piece by piece. :::::::::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Just like that her daddy was ripped from her. She wanted to snatch the phone back. Daddy said no taking chances. What stilled her hand from raising. Wedding? She looked up to Julian. What wedding? She was so confused and scared. Did daddy agree? No she wouldn’t believe that.  Daddy would never do that to her. He loved her to much. Fear gripped her heart, ‘piece by piece.’ He would kill her. But she wouldn’t marry that man. She didn’t him and she wasn’t going to used as a pawn or someone that would bow to him. Her little hands fisted at her sides. Nails pressing into the palms of her hands, they shook at her sides. Meeting his eyes, she was her daddy’s daughter, his baby girl.* I’m /not/ marrying you! You are not using me for some gain! *She promised her daddy. But she just couldn’t marry him. It made her sick to her  stomach, at the very thought.* You are not going to use me to hurt others! I will /never/ be your wife! *her voice rose, and a bit stronger then she felt at the moment.* ::::::::::::::::: Graham: -Julian hung the phone up then backhanded her.- Get this /human/ out of my site before I forget she's useful. ::::::::::::::::: Colt: -Colt's heart sank once the call was terminated. He was going to kill that son of bitch and he was going to do it slowly. Heading into the office so he could pull up anything they had on Julian Duval.- :::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *A loud crack echoed around the room. Pain bloomed along her cheek. She cried out as her ass fell to the floor. Pain spreading, cupping her hand against the bruise that already started to form.

Her mind screaming to get to Graham. It wasn’t safe and she knew that. Scrambling,  her feet pushed her back along the floor, as fast as she could.

The toe of his boot hits her hand. With a hand shaking hard, she reached up and grabbed his pant leg. Pulling herself up along his side. Gripping as tight as could, hands fisting in his clothes.

Never again would a man /ever/ hit her again. Inching slowly back to the door they had entered. Keeping Graham close to her. She wouldn’t leave him with Julian. Even if he was his boss.* ::::::::::::::::::: Graham: What’s this shit? -Julian snarls at Graham as Alyson holds onto him. His eyes changing color. Graham put Alyson behind him and let out a growl, claws emerging as his wolf genes kicked in. Several of Julian’s men showed up but they didn’t come closer. There was a reason Graham was his number two, he was absolutely lethal and was much stronger than a regular wolf. Voice deeper and his stance ready to pounce.- She’s just a girl! Whatever evils her father has done are not hers. :::::::::::::: Alyson: *Oh no! Eyes going wide, seeing Julian’s eyes change color. It was brief before she placed behind Graham. She had no fear of Graham. No. It was Julian, she shouldn’t have done what she did. But, it was done now.

Flickering her eyes when the other men came in. They were out  numbered. Worry for Graham bubbled up inside of her. She didn’t want him hurt because of her. What could she do? She had trust in faith in Graham. It’s the others she didn’t trust. Pressing closer to Graham. Shocking she wasn’t shocking, something clicked in her mind and soul. She would do anything to help out. No matter what it would be. Hidden behind Graham, she steeled herself. He wouldn’t alone in this. With a strong small hand, she placed it on the small of his back. Letting him know she was with him through all this. She hopes that he would feel that from her. Keeping her eyes trained on the other men. She wouldn’t them pounce on Graham. Even little things will help.* :::::::::::::::::: Graham: You're an idiot Graham, the little whore has you in her claws. It's always the innocent ones that are the worst. I suggest you back down unless you want to die for the human. -Julian signals his guys to come towards Graham.- Let her go Julian, I'll help you go after her father myself. -Very aware of the other wolves, if he changed him then it would be to the death and Graham neither wanted to kill or be leader.- :::::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *Ali’s hand fists at her side. Anger boils the blood in her veins. She wasn’t a damn whore! Not one to be upset easy. Now, Graham and her in danger, calling her a whore. It was to much and it pissed her off.

She glared as the men moved closer. What the hell could she do? She peeked around Graham a little. See needed to see. She hoped to god this would work. Sure she had done things in the past, but this was different. Eyes falling to their feet. Maybe she could buy him some time. Using her anger, taking a breath. Focusing on their feet.  In her mind she grips them, as tight as she could. Forcing all of her power that she could into it. They come to halt, trying to move. They looked shocked. She had to ignore what was going on. Because for now, she had a hold on them. And they had no clue it was her.* :::::::::::::::::: Graham: -Graham growled low this was going to turn ugly really fast. Lunging at Julian they hit the ground biting and clawing at each other both set on killing eachother now. Blood filled the air as they both took on damage.- ::::::::::::::::::::::: Alyson: *She held as long as she could. Blood tickled her nose. With wide eyes she looked to fast to Graham and Julian. Oh god no!* Graham!! *she screamed, as the hold on the men snapped. Watching them go at one another. It was a horror to see. Oh god please let Graham be ok.

The men noticed that they could move. Ali shook, she wanted to kill Julian herself. She was exposed with three to deal with.

Something in her mind snapped. The thought of Graham being hurt or killed. She couldn’t live with that. No! He had done so much to protect her. And she  wouldn’t let /anyone/ hurt him. With a anger and power she didn’t know she had. She slammed the men up against the door. Holding them up off the ground. Her fists at her sides.* You will not touch him!! *they wouldn’t leave this office if need be. They fought against the hold  they could not see. Hell they didn’t even know what was going on. She just looked like a losses off woman, nothing more. Gripping tighter on the men, she could feel how hard they fought to get lose. Nothing and no one  would harm those she cared about.* :::::::::::::::: Graham: -About that time Rosa came in and hit Alyson across the back of the head with a book end off the bookcase behind her. Rosa had heard the commotion and came to see. The scent was strong of anger and fear. Julian’s men quickly subdued Graham by knocking him out as well. Julian ordered them to be taken to the basement and locked in steel cages. He would make sure Grahams death would be displayed for all to see.-

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Darkness”

The Messengers of Darkness have a clear purpose: to always create havoc and destruction no matter where they go. Lately one of them slowed down for a weird reason: the entity fell in love with a mortal. Such transgression is bound to attract unwanted attention from its peers, yet the Dark One posing as The Joker won’t let anything stand between his kind and the woman he will protect at all costs.  

The sound of distant thunder makes you snuggle to The Joker’s chest; you feel your forehead being kissed before another rumble disrupts the gloomy dawn.

“Is there a storm coming?” you yawn and open one eye. “Should we close the windows?”

“No, it’s fine,” J replies, carefully listening to hidden whispers scattered in the breeze making its way around Gotham.

“Ok…” you mumble and pull the covers higher until your nose sticks out from behind the thickest comforter. Your steady breathing queues J you’re dozing off again and he rolls out of bed, displeased about the unwanted presence he senses nearby.

“I know you’re here,” he growls while sniffing the air.

A low humming confirms his suspicion and The Clown Prince of Crime sneaks outside on the terrace in order to greet the emissary sent with a clear assignment.

“Why are you hiding?” the question echoes in the quietness. “Show yourself!”

“I’m not hiding.”

As soon as the words are spoken, the sinister apparition materializes in front of The Joker: it has human shape, yet is made only of Darkness. The being and its counterpart posing as The Clown Prince of Crime were born from the same abyss: one could say that makes them siblings, although the notion of family doesn’t exist in the Shadow Realm.

“What do you want?” J mutters, unhappy his early morning is interrupted by a visitor bearing ill news.

He can tell.

“The High Council demands your attendance for a meeting.”

“Regarding?” the green haired King bites on his cheek, already guessing on the answer.

“Your relationship with the mortal.”

J is watching the lightning chaotically striking inside the creature’s body since The Dark Ones are in a permanent state of mayhem: their blackness is carried within and enables them to travel between different dimensions.

“What relationship?” The Joker huffs, pretending to brush off any attachment that’s out of character for his kin.

“I was told you slowed down your activities in the past six months after you’ve met the woman.”

“I didn’t slow down. I’m actually planning for more anarchy,” the explanation prompts advice from the entity:

“I hope you won’t dare lie to the members of The Council like this; they will immediately know just like I know.”

The Joker exhales, glaring at the grey clouds above.

“What are you doing anyway?” the wraith lectures out of pure spite. “We don’t engage with these maggots; they’re useless and their lives are gone in a blink of an eye! We’re immortals and unstoppable, designed for a simple purpose: to reign this miserable planet and ensure its doom! So I’m asking: what are you doing?!”

For the first time in the whole eternity, he doesn’t have a reason for his behavior.

“I can’t rationalize what I feel,” J approaches the specter, “but allow me to demonstrate,” he transforms into the wretched monster that he truly is, identical to the one standing before him.

There is a big difference though: the fire bolts illuminating his frame are not randomly striking at once, they keep on hitting the same spots in a very organized pattern.

“What… what is this?!!” the uncanny sister marvels at the view.

“Not sure, it happens when I’m around Y/N. Here, you can feel it also,” he takes her right hand and places it on his chest.

She gasps at the unexpected sensation: quietness. Complete quietness; no crazy havoc, no evil thoughts, no urge to kill.

“How did you do this?!!!” she inquires, dumbfounded.

“I have no clue,” The Joker reclaims his human shell, waiting for her to snap out of trance.

“The Council won’t like this,” the evident truth is spoken aloud. “How did you even connect with the girl on such a level?!”

J lifts his shoulders up, confused.

“I really have no idea.”

Awkward stillness.

“We must leave,” the apparition urges a troubled Joker; it’s strange for him to worry about someone and for the moment he’s concerned about you while dreading the encounter with his kin:

How did a twisted devil like him actually learn the definition of such complicated emotions? How can he justify such abomination to his peers?

It most than likely won’t end well because The Council is already suspicious regarding his bizarre actions.

“I’ll return shortly,” he snarls. “I have to say goodbye.”

*************

You stretch under his weight, J yanking at the sheets to expose your face.

“I have an emergency meeting,” he grumbles in your ear.

“Baaaby…”, you cuddle to his neck half snoozing. “Can I take a shower and join you?”

“No… Stay in bed; I promise I’ll come back for you.”

Y/N smiles, totally oblivious at the meaning.

“You’d better Mister J; your girlfriend might get cold and she’ll need company,” you pout and he stands up, bending over to kiss you.

“I will,” the grin disappears from his face as your eyelids close; he wishes he could linger on the premises yet the messy situation requires hasty measures. Another kiss and he vanishes into thin air, abandoning the woman at The Penthouse.

You sigh in your sleep, the sudden cold gust of wind filling up the room. In a few minutes the chillness intensifies and Y/N is unaware of the grave danger she’s in: another Dark Messenger is there to annihilate the target she became after changing the laws of nature.

The meeting with The High Council was a pretext to send your protector away; The Shadow known as The Joker is a powerful entity among his kind and they didn’t want to risk any trouble. Your faith was sealed the second you bonded with him and although you aren’t guilty of anything, it doesn’t matter: you are guilty to them and that’s the sole logic they bow to.

Invisible to the human eye, the enemy is near: it watches you turn on your side, wondering what’s so damn special about an average mortal; nothing peculiar to indicate you could create trouble and switch the balance hanging in their favor. A woman like so many others.

And yet unique in a way The Dark Ones will never understand.

The wraith awaits for a little bit longer: your guardian has to be far, thus he won’t have an opportunity to save his cherished human. Ten extra minutes… fifteen…twenty…thirty…

The creature unravels his claws, quickly closing the distance between the two of you. Another step and it’s here, smelling your scent with disgust.

“Repulsive being…” he sneers, touching the lump of skin and bones peacefully resting without a care in the universe.

There is no warning, no escape: your body instantly disintegrates, the silver ashes flying on the pillows you were hugging.

The specter chuckles at the sweet victory, reckoning the reward for its mighty deed will be greatly remembered in the centuries to come.

If only…

Ironically enough your demise will set things in motion unseen neither in the world of the living or the Shadow Realm: the ordinary girl might have been just a grain of sand passing through infinity, but they forgot one important detail: she was HIS GIRL.

************

The two companions are almost reaching their final destination at the end of the 7th Gate of Darkness, when the twisted spirit posing as J halts.

“Something is wrong,” he mumbles, the unbearable emotion of impending doom growing stronger.

“What is it?” his escort curiously inquires as the lightning inside his celestial shape strikes chaotically again: no more steady pattern since you are gone.

“Something is very wrong; I can’t feel her anymore!” he shrieks, preparing for an interdimensional jump. “I’m going back!”

“We’re practically home; I’m sure she’s fine,” the soothing lies have the exact opposite effect. “We are expected and The Council hates delays.”

“I don’t care! I’m going back!”

“Wait, I’m coming too!” she offers because the whole charade points out at the ugly reality: they used her to lure him out of the nest without sharing their plan.

************** Ten minutes… fifteen…twenty…thirty…

“I told you I can’t feel her anymore…” his sister hears as soon as she catches up to him in the master bedroom where you were left to nap. “Did you know about this?”

He keeps on caressing the soot scattered on the blankets, numb to her sentences:

“I didn’t know! They just entrusted me with an easy mission and I obeyed. I was only told to bring you in front of Council for questioning; they didn’t share the bigger picture with me.”

The more she defends her innocence, the more her voice fades within the infernal ruckus shaking the building from the ground up.

“Ummm… What are you doing?!” she asks even if she can sense his intentions.

The decorative objects scattered around The Penthouse shatter into tiny particles drifting towards The Joker and he buries his face in the lifeless ashes on the bed, the only proof you were once there.

“You can’t do that!” she screams over the deafening commotion. “You can’t turn back time, it’s forbidden!”

“I want her back!!!!”

“Stop!!!! You can’t control it! You’ll lose your powers for the transgression; how will you even find her?! You’ll end up before you’ve ever met and she won’t know you!”

“That’s my burden to worry about, not yours!” the Dark One hisses amidst the hellish storm created in order to reset The Clock: the sands of time are moving backwards and he doesn’t care about consequences.

It’s better to take the risk and try to recover the lost connection than endure ages of solitude in the eternal murkiness.

*************

You drag your feet on the concrete, squeezing the bag full of groceries to your chest; three more blocks and you’ll finally be home after another exhausting day at work. You keep on admiring the nice clothes and shoes exhibited by the chic boutiques on Main Street: that’s all you can afford anyway….lots of window shopping.

You manage not to cry at the harsh disappointment of finding yourself in a desperate situation courtesy of your boyfriend Mark; I guess ex-boyfriend to be more specific. God knows how difficult it was to save money together for almost a year for a downpayment on a condo situated in a better neighborhood since this one is going downhill!

And the unthinkable happened: you had another terrible fight thus he took his stuff and moved out the following week. You were at work so Mark came to gather his last items; he was supposed to leave the spare key, take half of the money prepared for him and flee. But he didn’t have the decency to split the cash: he snatched his envelope and also searched for your share hidden under the stairs, grabbed it and skipped town.

All ten thousand dollars and the hope for a better future is gone; right when you think you know someone… damn…

Why do you have to be stuck in this district you hate?! So many weirdos popping at every corner, for example the creep that just stopped behind you. You can discern his reflection in the glass: a strange man with toxic green hair, his mouth slightly opened like this is the first time he sees a woman. Jesus!

You shiver at the view, taking one last glance at the pair of earrings displayed by “Zales Jewelry Company”. Maybe if you speed up the guy won’t be able to track you in the crowd. Or maybe you’re paranoid and a glass of wine in the safety of your apartment will make you laugh at how stupid you are while watching a movie on the couch. And then you’ll probably sobb until you doze off…

Every few moments you look to ensure he’s not pursuing; the spooky man gave out an unsettling vibe you can’t shake off. Although you’re dead tired, you find the energy to hurry and you’re finally home.

You place the grocery bag on the counter and freeze: the anxiety you felt earlier is crawling back in your heart. Oh, you know why: did you lock the door?

You instinctively glare at the exit, concealing a scream: the individual you saw earlier sneaked inside! He’s staring you down and it clicks: the mace in your purse! If you can get to it before he does, you could have a better chance of escaping the intruder.

You count to three in your head, gathering your courage; you rush for your handbag yet the guy is faster: he cuts you off and pulls you in his arms, tightening the grip as you fight to break free. You are completely terrified when he swiftly kisses you; you struggle to escape but you realize he’s not attempting to do anything else. He loosens his embrace, still firmly holding on to Y/N’s waist.

Does it sound insane that his touch feels familiar?!

You part from his lips and gaze at the hypnotic blue eyes, faintly whispering:

“Who are you?...”

The devilish smirk gets wider as he utters the words:

“My name is Jay.”

Also read: MASTERLIST

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You can also follow me on Wattpad and AO3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[fistsoflightning]

falling snows

that’s right. i am your living legacy.

                           gatheredfates’ [30 day WOL challenge] | prompt: sacrifice

i don’t mean to beat the “haurchefant-related angst” horse but also take this. this fic was inspired by a peculiar crossover-esque screenshot taken by @to-the-voiceless​ involving the quote above!

for as long as lumelle can remember, she’s always wanted to be a knight. not one of the heavens’ ward, mind you—they had to serve the king, and lumelle thought he was kinda smelly back then, and especially thinks he’s worthless as a king now—but a true knight, like her mama in all the paintings hidden behind locked doors and curtains. any time lumelle would ask, she would reply that was when she was young and filled with energy; that her arms today could not carry such a burden of being a knight.

lumelle hadn’t understood, then, what she meant by burden, blinded as she was by the gleaming swords and polished armor… by her own storybooks and young age.

she hadn’t donned her armor since auphine was born, but on the eve of lumelle’s tenth birthday—the one year they stayed home, rather than send her a birthday gift by moogle and a fulm long letter apologizing for not being there—mama had dusted off her gleaming platinum armor and circlet to play lumelle’s knight for the day, taking her through snow-dusted streets proudly.

“now, now, my little bell,” mama had chided when lumelle said she wanted to be a knight just like her. in her arms, lumelle felt safe, even when the stupid boy from house dzmael was just a few short yalms away from them with a snowball in his hands and three other kids behind him. “do you know what it means to be a knight?”

at a energetic shake of her head, mama laughed brighter than the sun, and said, “a knight lives to serve and protect those she loves. her shield becomes their towers, and her sword their final defense. at its very core, becoming a knight requires dedication.”

ten-winters-old lumelle, bright-eyed and still cheerful despite it all, took that to heart and worked to become a knight—and she did. just a fledgling knight by the time she returned home, vishap’s blood on her name, but one regardless

a knight lives to serve. to protect. to sacrifice. there is no greater calling, edmont mutters as he leaves haurchefant’s side, stifling pained tears as reese quietly walks after him. haurchefant surely would have had some witty response if he weren’t currently in a coma, the wound spanning his entire chest a scar thanks to lunya’s quick thinking, and lumelle realizes that mama never told her about being a knight, hoping that her childhood dream would one day die out like so many others.

to be someone’s shield, at the forefront of combat, a knight has to be lucky a thousand thousand times as every hit chips away at their strength.

your adversary only has to be truly lucky once.

francel comes in some time after—his steps are always light, always measured—and sits in the empty chair by lumelle, watching the rise and fall of haurchefant’s chest like a tourney, afraid to look away in the off chance—

“francel,” lumelle mumbles into her knees, and she’s more than certain that she looks like an utter mess; hair loose, tangled, and soaked in blood, her armor with more than a few dents and scratches, and an excessive amount of gauze wrapping the burns from charibert and the deepest cuts from grinnaux. curled up into a ball on her chair as she is, she might as well look like a brume brat. “i’m going to chase zephirin to the ends of this world to strangle him.”

honestly, she thinks she could do a lot more to the heavens’ ward if she weren’t on the verge of sobbing loud enough to wake the dead; first elwin, then haurchefant? she’s half expecting some barmy excuse of heresy to come and meet francel again, and she’ll come back to find all of what made ishgard home gone.

“and i trust you will come back to tell the tale, where i will be waiting with those kukuru rusks you adore… and, hopefully, haurchefant by my side,” francel says like a prayer, a gentle hand combing whatever tangles it can out of lumelle’s hair. by the fury, he’s going to get blood all over his gloves and lumelle doesn’t have the heart to lift a hand against him. 

she wants to promise him she will, her head held high and heart lighter than it is here, but part of her knows no promise would suffice. a knight lives to sacrifice, after all, and she is no more willing to have another pay the price for her mistakes.

“haurchefant will survive,” she promises instead. lunya, reese, a’dewah, duscha—none of them are fools; they know their way around fatal wounds… even if it took lunya everything she had to narrowly save him. the four of them have all of lumelle’s faith and trust by this point in their stories, and if she didn’t believe in them, what kind of friend would she be?

(if she didn’t believe in them, would she still be here in the first place?)

the room falls silent as francel quietly runs his gloved hand through lumelle’s hair until the tangles are nearly gone, and only then does he whisper, “i believe in both of you and your strength.”

...

it feels like another era comes and goes as they wait impatiently, traveling across the realm as always—adventurers aren’t wont to stay in one place, after all, especially not with them and the call of the realm at large. bismarck rises and falls, y’shtola comes back from the very lifestream, garlond ironworks prepares the excelsior for her maiden flight after soleil.

lumelle’s heart stays in ishgard the entire time she’s away, trying to heal before she inevitably finds herself broken again, by some new tragedy that comes into their path. she comes home, picks up the shards of her heart, and on the eve before cid takes them to azys lla, lumelle makes one final courtesy visit to haurchefant’s bedside, just in case this be the last she sees him alive.

(or just in case she doesn’t make it back alive.)

“so the little drake does pledge her life to fortemps,” estinien remarks when she meets his eyes, him leaning next to the door leading to haurchefant’s sickbed. his armor nearly blends in with the wallpaper; lumelle snarkily thinks he’d make for a good gargoyle. “color me surprised.”

she sighs, crossing her arms. “i am much too tired for—”

“relax. i’ve lingered not to insult your friendship, but to caution you. your sword—” estinien uncrosses his arms to pick up her sheathed sword, leaning on the wall besides him, and pull the blade out to reveal a good three-fourths of the blade missing. “failed to survive even with the smithy’s help. if you plan on joining us, i suggest you either find your lance or procure a new blade.”

mama’s sword… and her lance is lost somewhere in ul’dah, likely in the hands of some greedy merchant by now. even if she were to look for a blade suitable for her stature now, the jeweled crozier has surely fallen into chilly night; it’d be near impossible.

“...thank you kindly, estinien.” she toys with her earring as she looks away from the dragoon, sorely regretting not taking more care when she fought grinnaux. to break laevateinn in such a stupid, foolish move during a rescue mission, of all things… how disappointed would mama be in her?

he nods, quietly setting laevateinn back down next to him as he continues his silent vigilance, and lumelle walks past him and into haurchefant’s room, the metal click of her repaired boots catching her off guard. even for this time of night, the manor felt… quiet. peaceful. contented with their circumstances, perhaps.

and then lumelle nearly wrecks that blissful quiet when she rounds the corner to face haurchefant’s sickbed and finds him awake, peacefully listening to francel murmur about a firmament and plans for the future.

“haurchefant?!” lumelle hisses if only to keep herself from screaming loud enough to wake the entirety of ishgard. how is he—it’s only been a short moon or two since she was last in ishgard, and the others had assumed he would take much longer to fully recover and awaken from his coma, so how…?

she nearly falls face first onto the hardwood floor, tripping over herself to sit by her friend’s side as he gives a wan smile. francel, who must have been interrupted by lumelle’s incredibly rude entrance, doesn’t seem to mind her presence at all, drawing another chair out from its place against the wall.

“back in your armor, my friend? i thought you injured as well,” haurchefant wheezes, his voice softer than down and weaker than watered wine. francel, who has quietly shifted his stool so he sits besides her, grips his sleeve tighter at the noise.

“forgive me, but haurchefant; you do understand that lunya did truly mean no speaking until your wound heals, right?” francel says in a smothering sort of way that lumelle remembers from when she was younger and dumber, after each and every time she’d willfully challenge haurchefant in a mock duel and swiftly get her arse handed back to her.

haurchefant only grins wider at that, leaving francel to huff in faux annoyance as he too looks closely at lumelle’s armor. she’d just gotten it all repaired—a job made so much harder without elwin to guide her about it—and now she looked closer to lucia or handeloup than she did before.

“i dare say you did an excellent job repairing the metal,” francel remarks, poking at the pauldrons carefully. “ah, but lumelle. one question.” he politely motions to lumelle’s hip, where laevateinn usually sits, and draws haurchefant’s attention there with it. “where is your sword? i see only your shield.”

“...laevateinn? i—” lumelle politely coughs into her fist to stop herself from wheezing; she has to stay strong, especially now. she couldn’t—she was supposed to be a warrior of light, for halone’s sake, a sword shouldn’t— “the crack laevateinn earned in the vault from grinnaux was, unfortunately, enough to destroy the blade…”

gods, she’s going to end up crying in front of haurchefant someday if life continues to beat her down like this. both of them know just how much she valued laevateinn, after all, it being the final birthday gift she’d gotten before running away from home; she wouldn’t be able to bear them trying to console her over the loss of something stupid like a sword that was already decades old.

(mama would be so, so disappointed in her if she knew that lumelle was even alive. laevateinn was her pride and joy.)

“i know little of where you are to travel next, but excuse me if i find it unreasonable to travel without a new weapon,” francel murmurs, resting his chin in his hands. “but where would one get a sword at such an hour…” she merely stays quiet as francel’s discerning glare is interrupted by haurchefant throwing the thick quilt lying over his chest to the side.

“...if you are in desperate need of a sword,” haurchefant wheezes, sitting up in bed despite all of lumelle and francel’s quiet protests. “you may have mine, from my younger years.”

he points to the wall just above his desk, stacked high with papers he likely brought from camp dragonhead, to a sword mounted on the wall. it’s a tad longer than lumelle’s usual sword… but the way it’s framed above everything else in haurchefant’s room has lumelle pausing. the succession of blades, heirlooms, a knight’s first sword— “but that would mean...”

haurchefant nods as francel tries to keep his shocked silence behind a neutral face, hands folded primly in his lap. most knights who rise to high enough levels consider their first blades heirlooms, legacies to be passed down to their future children—if they are lucky enough to have any, what with the dragonsong war.

but haurchefant was still here, despite it all, and still he would give it up?

“to help my dear friends, i would be more than happy to pass down my first sword to you. tis doing no good merely hanging from my wall as it is.” he nearly climbs out of bed to unmount the blade himself until francel throws his arms in front of the injured knight. if he kept pushing his luck like this, lumelle would make sure herself he wasn’t awake to do so.

“i couldn’t possibly—you still have—” lumelle makes some frantic gestures as she loses whatever fraction of composure she had francel metaphorically beat into her brain during her free time. “reese. what about—haurchefant, i cannot willingly take your first sword when i’m going to commit regicide.”

francel balks at that—oh cripes, he didn’t properly know the full story, did he?—but haurchefant laughs in short wheezes, not as bright as he was before the vault but still there. he lifts his hand to pet lumelle’s head, as if her hair had raised in protest despite the tight pigtails she tied them in, and grins softly. it’s muted, compared to his normally gleaming smile, but it’s still his signature smile.

“you need not carry my legacy by taking up fragarach, but i must ask this you, ser lumelle,” haurchefant says, finally not calling her little or lady, but ser. he folds his hands into his lap, pinched eyes hiding the pain he must be suffering by sitting up to look at lumelle rather than the ceiling, and francel places his hand over haurchefant’s in a desperate plea to get him to lie back down. “please… keep them safe.” he does not mean them, the warriors of light, more than he means her—reese.

every true knight should know a plea for help when she sees one.

“of course.” lumelle puts her hand over francel’s in an odd sort of promise, but one nonetheless, and for the first time in moons, haurchefant’s smile graces the three of them, lying back down at peace with his circumstances.

...

with haurchefant’s blessing, you obtain fragarach.

[ladyhierophant]

KITHRI BARWIN (she/her) is a thirty-one year old COURT MAGE and INFERNI. Her magic allows her to control FIRE, though the physical toll is undeniable. But aren’t you impressed? No? Well, you wouldn’t be the first. 

links: SKELETON. WANTED CONNECTIONS. PLAYLIST.  biography below the cut.

i. ignition. 

When you are brought into this world, a screaming and writhing ball of fury, your mother wails over and over: “I’m burning. I’m burning. I’m burning.” When you are brought to her breast to suckle, she shrieks and pushes you away and claims “it hurts.”  

Your mother cries for four days until her voice deadens to silence, and her teary eyes go unseeing. The midwives explain to your father that childbed sickness took her, and that it was the fever that burned her, but he does not believe them. He explains precisely two things to the women: one, that you are not his child, and two, that you murdered his wife. On the first, he is unquestioningly right. You do not carry his features, nor do you particularly look like your now-dead mother. Your face belongs to another man — who, your not-father does not know. It only matters that the memory of his wife has been tarnished, and the only piece of her that he might go on to have has not even done him the kindness of bearing her eyes or smile. On the second, the truth is complicated. You were unborn and your mother lived, then you came into the world and she died. Without you, she may have lived on. But is that murder? Your not-father assures you that it is.

He raises you, because he fears and loves the Undying God and knows that you must be his burden to achieve a blissful afterlife. He gives you his surname, even though to do so pains him. He allows you to call him father, even though he cringes every time you say it in your tiny, childish voice. You do all that you can to persuade him to love you, but it is all for naught. You are bad, and there is nothing you can do to be good. It becomes easier to lean into being bad, because then he at least has a reason to look at you. You are loud because it is the only way to avoid being ignored. You whine and cry and begin to throw tantrums until your not-father threatens to throttle you, or to toss your small body into the fireplace that you tend to gravitate to so often; as if it is the comforting skirts of an ever-absent matronly figure. It does not stop you. You beg to be seen, and will take whatever punishment comes with it.

One day, you are so angry and cry so much that it has no choice but to pour out of you: fire leaks from your burning fingertips and crawls up your throat from the black despair of your gut. For the first time, you see that your father does not simply hate you — he fears you. When it happens three more times — the fire finally unleashing itself from your mouth on the last occasion — you can hear your not-father crying to the Undying God for mercy as you pretend to sleep. Despite the tight squeeze of your eyes, you can feel the way the embers from the nearby fireplace pull towards you with something like a magnetic force  — inching closer and closer,  as if to give your fingers a soothing lick. 

You are six years old when your father saddles the horse and tells you that the two of you will be going on a trip — a long journey from your home in Koldam to a place called Tyrholm that you know nothing about. You are misguidedly excited. The ride is long and arduous, but you enjoy the forced embrace of your father’s arms around you while you sit in front of him on the horse’s saddle. He mutters often how hot your skin is, but the comments rush over your small head. He brings you to a city much larger than the home you came from, and takes you to an inn where the people do not know you and give you ignorant, kind smiles. He whispers to the husband and wife who own the inn while you eat a hot meal, and later chastises you for your nosiness when you ask him what they spoke about. As you are drifting off to sleep, you think you hear your father remark with a sense of uncharacteristic pleasure: “we are a long way from home.” 

When you wake the next morning, your not-father is gone.

ii. blaze. 

Your father’s abandonment causes a tantrum unlike any you have had before, and in your grief you nearly burn down the inn that he has left you to. The woman who runs the now-damaged property coughs smoke from her lungs as she grabs you by your wild hair and promises to make you regret what you’ve done. Her husband is more empathetic, and wrestles you from the murderous woman’s arms as he attempts to soothe his wife: “she’ll be dead before long, sweetling — do not test the Undying God’s mercy by killing her yourself!” 

The wife yells more at the husband, and the husband tries again to calm his wife, but all you hear is that you are dying, and the revelation leaves you feeling chilled for the first time in your life. With fear coursing through your veins, you run from the couple. You run even as the innkeeper attempts to take some of the gold coins your father had paid him to toss at your feet. You run even as the innkeeper’s wife screams for the guard. You run until exhaustion claims you, and you sleep that night in a cramped alleyway amongst the muck. 

When you wake, you realize that you are truly alone. You do not know the way back to Koldam, and even if you did, you cannot simply walk back. You have no coin with which to purchase passage back to your home — and even if you did, you know with a too-mature sense of realism that nothing awaits you there. You are as good as an orphan, though perhaps that has been the case since the moment your mother breathed her last breath.

You survive on the streets in spite of the stink of death that clings to your skin. You steal to eat when the charity of strangers fails you, and sleep under porches and in hidden shadows. There are brief instances when merciful strangers allow you to sleep amongst their livestock, and even briefer occasions when a bleeding heart takes you under their roof for an evening. No one will hold on to you for long once they have an inkling of what you are. Slowly, you learn what that is. The inferni are the stuff of childhood nightmares, and now you are more horror than girl. For a long time, you strive to ignore the feeling of fire under your skin. For a long time, you wait to die. Despite this, you continue to live. 

When the fire inside of you can no longer be denied, and when you are no longer convinced that every day you will die tomorrow, you start to play with the magic — just a little bit, and just to see. You watch as fire dances on your fingertips, and flows from your lips. You feel the way glowing torches and roaring fireplaces call out to you. Slowly, carefully, you find that you can bend the flames to your whim. You sense the innate control you have over the fire, even despite the cautious voice that whispers it controls you. 

Over time, dying begins to feel an awful lot like growing power. 

iii. wildfire.

You become the topic of whispers in Tyrholm, and you cannot deny that you like it. They whisper that you ought to be dead by now, and they whisper that you could burn a stable and all its horseflesh without blinking an eye. In all your years in the foreign city that has reluctantly become home, you have caused outright destruction only a handful of times, and nearly always by accident. There are few over the years who have cared enough to know your name, and your tendency to hide in plain sight means that you have evaded the notice of the guard. 

You have never destroyed a stable with your burning hands, but when you hear the rumor, you know that you assuredly could. But what is true does not matter to the mundane civilians, who view your magic as something that can never be tamed. You have always craved attention, and you endeavor to feed off of their fear if it is all they will allow, but it does not taste nearly so sweet as the awe and reverence you not-so-secretly hope for. You think that if you could only show them all what mastery you have over the fire that flows from your body, they might realign themselves accordingly. Just as you did with yourself, you can slowly show them what you can do, and gradually reveal your power. Beyond the fears of conflagration, there is a beauty to what you can do; your very existence is something to behold, if they would only look your way.

If you cannot convince them to be wonderstruck by what you are capable of, you do not know what other options you have. You are uneducated and without a trade; too short-tempered to be a serving wench and too proud to be a whore. If they cannot see your beauty, whatever time you have left will comprise much of how you have lived so far: a street urchin on the brink of starvation, equal parts hungry and angry. Your very survival depends on a change of their hearts. You know that in order for them to be awed by you, you must act as if you are awed by yourself. 

This forced arrogance is your downfall. 

You bring too much attention to yourself too quickly, and the guardsmen that the innkeeper once threatened you with as a child finally arrive, albeit nearly twenty years later. You suspect at first that you will be brought to the cells and charged with disobeying the confusing laws on magic set forth by Septimus, but instead you are brought to Castle Tyrholm. Bizarrely, you are told that you will be brought before the King. You assume that this must be because he wants to deliver the punishment to you himself; to make an example out of you in front of his court. You expect to be thrust onto your knees before his throne, and instead find yourself ushered into the reception hall sometime after the King and his nobleblooded guests have eaten their fill. The occupants, Septimus included, stare at you. You stare back. A miserable beat passes, and then the King demands: 

“Entertain us, mage.” 

You waver for a moment, unsure of what to do, but decide ultimately that if your eternal fate is to die, you would rather do so showing them all some small piece of what you are capable of. You don’t approach the extent of your capabilities, but you allow a fraction of your true power to escape in a pretty dance of flames that causes gasps to erupt amongst the blue-blooded guests. When you tire yourself, you expect to see condemnation on the faces that surround you. The sound of applause is foreign, and you unabashedly revel in it. 

You are offered a position at court that evening, and you do not hesitate in taking it. A part of you knows that it is not an offer, but a demand  — you are just too clouded by the heady haze of appreciation to mull over the consequences of that difference.

iv. inferno. 

Six years elapse at the King’s court, and you have long-since known that it is not the hub of reverence you had hoped it could be. Not for your kind. Regretfully, it is not even a place where you feel at all accepted or appreciated for who you are. You are not exactly feared by the nobles who occupy the court, but it is not because what you are and what you are capable of does not frighten them. They view you as something wild that the King has broken; a dog on a very tight leash that does tricks for food and shelter. Their laughter is sometimes uncomfortable as they watch you perform your magic in the court, but they are nonetheless comfortable enough to laugh at all. Their applause is sometimes stilted when it is too clear that you are angry as you put on your little show, but they clap when Septimus claps anyway. 

You would not dare bite the hand that feeds. 

For all the scars that mar your body — the mark of death on your skin over and over again — you are still alive, which seems to impress nearly no one. The only magic that amazes is the work of the necromancers: they give the miracle of life, whereas the miracle of your life resonates with none but you. You are desperate to prove that you are so much more than the other inferni who have come before you, but you have no platform beyond court jester with which to do it. You feel an untapped power swirl in your gut. You grit your teeth and try — unsuccessfully — to ignore it.

When the King’s son prepares to lead the fight against Koldam, you ask — beg, really — for the chance to travel with him. You have no love for the son of Septimus, but you think it may be your only opportunity to show the full extent of your capabilities. Selfishly, secretly, you also have some desire to have revenge against the place where you were born. If your not-father is not dead, then he is old — but you nonetheless dream of him wearing a poor man’s armor while riding atop that same horse he’d taken you to Tyrholm on, burning in your flames. 

When you are categorically denied and encouraged to return to your courtly duties, you understand that you will never be seen as you wish to be. You will never be on the same playing grounds as the Court Necromancer, who commands the respect of Septimus himself. There is no more hope to grasp at — there is nothing salvageable in the King’s court. Him and his kind will bid you to be their clown until your fire burns you from the inside out, and you finally die: a legend amongst inferni, and yet not at all remembered by those who beheld you. 

At last, you realize the undeniable truth about what must be done. You decide then that if you have to burn up entertaining the nobles, you think it is only fair that they should burn too. For those who are left behind in the wake of your flames, you think your smoldering ghost will tell them the truth they have all so earnestly ignored —

—  a mage is not to be underestimated; an inferni least of all.

[malereader-inserts]

Train Me to Be Better

Fandom: Game of Thrones Pairing: Jaime Lannister x Male!Reader Summary: Jaime comes back as a new person, he feels outcasted, but it’s the perfect moment to hind what completes his new self Word Count: 2,341 Request: “ Could you possibly do one involving the reader having a crush on Jaime and being the one Jaime goes to train with after his injury? Whether or not Jaime has any feelings in return is totally up to you.”

Jaime didn’t know why he was with his brother in the first place, perhaps it was the fact that he was a cripple and burden without a right hand. Tyrion knows what’s it’s like to be an outcast, Jaime needed someone he could relate.

“Your new hand, it's nicer than the old one. Wouldn't you agree, Pod?” Tyrion looked at his squire, who timidly looked up from his work to stare at the cripple middle child.                         

“Is it solid gold?”

“Gilded steel,” Tyrion commented as Jaime cringes, disgusted at the hand, he looks up at Tyrion who happily eats, “You're not eating. Why is no one eating? My wife wastes away and my brother starves himself.“

“I'm not hungry,” Jaime grumbled, lying, he just wanted to sit there and have a meaningful conversation with his brother - not sit down and have a meal.

“You lost a hand, not a stomach. Try the boar. Cersei can't get enough of it since one killed Robert for her.” Tyrion motions as Podrick attempts to serve Jaime, who waves him off. Tyrion looks at his brother before raising his cup, “A toast. To the proud Lannister children. The dwarf, the cripple, and the mother of madness.“

Jamis chuckled at the playfulness of his brother, he moves to raise his own cup, but knocks it over clumsily with his right hand, “Oh!”

“I'll clean it up.” Podrick was quick on his feet but Jaime once again distractedly waves him off.

“No, I'll do it. Leave us.” Podrick leaves quickly, no question needed, while Jaime places his cup right-side up.

“It's only wine,” Tyrion commented as he holds up his own cup and pours it out onto the table. Jaime sits back in resignation, he was comfortable sulking in the chair whilst Tyrion stands and pours more wine.

“I can't fight anymore,” Jaime mumbles, staring at the hand, a part of him has been torn away. Fighting is what he had, to be stripped away from it he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“What about your left?” Tyrion questioned, his eyes not leaving the cup he was pouring the wine to, “I know plenty of knights who are quick to adapt to their other hand.”

Jaime noticed it was an offhanded comment, but to him, it sounded like his brother had offended him greatly. Yet, Jaime had to remember that his little brother had no expertise in swords or war, whilst Jaime fought with a sharp steel Tyrion fought with sharp words.

"I can hold a sword, but all my instincts are wrong. How can I protect the king when I can hardly wipe my own ass?”

Tyrion rose an eyebrow, “You're the Lord Commander now. Command. Let others do the fighting. When was the last time Father used a sword?“

Jamie scoffs, “I'm not Father. I'm the Kingslayer. When people find out I can't slay a pigeon...”

Tyrion shrugs his shoulders, “Train, then. Learn to fight with your other hand.” Tyrion sits back down, leaning back as Jaime looked awfully defeated.

Tyrion couldn’t help but feel sorry for his brother, suddenly feeling worthless to the war and outcasted. He’s felt this all his life and been dreaming for one of his siblings to get a taste of their own medicine. Yet, looking at his brother he can’t help but wish that it didn’t happen to Jaime - rather Cersei, who needs a lesson on conforming.

Tyrion saw a new man in Jaime.

"With whom? You? Men talk. Soon as someone discovers I can't fight, he'll tell everyone.”

Tyrion clasped his hands together and smiles, a plan forming quickly in his mind. He knew who to pick to train Jaime, a very good swordsman and would do it with no charge. However, he risks getting an earful and a slap - maybe his one of his only friend to give him the silent treatment.

“You need a proper, discreet swordsman. As it happens, I know someone.”

Jaime stood looking out to see at the Rocky King's Landing shoreline. He wondered who Tyrion asked to train him, even much to his surprise doing it for free. Most men would bribe for money to keep their mouth shut - eventually, all men would spill secrets. 

Jaime turns around when he hears footsteps, there he saw you, carrying some swords as you quickly make your way down the stairs. Your windswept hair in every direction due to the harsh winds.

He rose an eyebrow at you as you sat down by the hill.

“What?”

“(Y/n)?” Jaime muttered, baffled, blinking to make sure he was seeing clearly.

A notable knight, young too. Much younger than Jaime, however, your skills are remarkable. Jaime sure did admire you, you weren’t forced into thinking of joining the Kingsguard just like him. You were the second son of your house. The first son, your brother to marry whilst you were slightly in the clear of your marriage life you became a knight.

Jaime thinks back to his conversation with Tyrion the day before, you were the very few knights who were quick to adapt to their weaker hand for fighting. You had an upper hand advantage, Jaime never understood why some knights do that. 

“Is this place safe?” Jaime asked, finally getting over you being here with you.

You looked up at the Lannister, with a raised eyebrow, “I’m here to train you, not to humiliate you, Jaime.”

“I know-”

“Then stop being a paranoid man, men like you would get themselves killed,” You pointed out as Jaime’s stare linger a little longer as you continue to untie the strings.

Soon enough, Jaime gets his sword and spins it in his wrist to warm it. You uncover your supplies and look at the Kingslayer with a scoff, “I've never seen Valyrian steel before. She's a beauty. The problem is, if you fight with an edged blade, I'll have to.“ You stand up holding two sparring swords.

You drop one to the ground, clattering, and continues to walk forward. You swing your sword around, spinning it in your wrist as you crane your neck to each side, releasing tension in that area. 

Jaime looked at you as if you grew a third eye before placing his sword down, “I haven't used a sparring sword since I was nine.” Jaime walks to the sparring sword, indignant. He reaches for it, but you slap his hand with his sword, just as he grabs it.

“Ah! Bold warrior you are, attacking a man when his guard's down.”

You smirked, adjusting your grip on your sword, shrugging your shoulders, “Best time to attack a man.”

Jaime didn’t realise he let out a ghost of a laughter as you swung at Jaime, who quickly picks up the sword quickly but parries clumsily. You pushed him with your shoulder as Jaime falters to the wall.

“Mind yourself!”

“If I still had my right hand...”

“Plan on growing it back?”

Jaime sends you a dirty look as you stupidly grin at him. Before Jaime came in swinging, but you were quick to defend and took the lead of the fight. Jaime parries defensively, but well enough in your humble opinion. 

He wasn’t called a Kingslayer for nothing, he wasn’t a knight for his shit technique. You admired him a lot more than you care to admit. But, Jaime is shit with his left hand, you could see the determination in his eyes as you cheekily get him off balance as you cause him to stumble from a forearm nudge.

Jaime pants and resets himself, he gazed up at your eyes, your eyebrow raised with your piercing eyes sharply challenging him, “Come on, then.”

He lunges at you, quick to sidestep.

“You’re very predictable, Ser,” You commented, whipping your sword as Jaime drops the sparring sword when the blunt side when clashing with his left hand, “and weak.”

“I thought we are here to train, not to humiliate me.” 

“We are, Jaime, but I’m not a pity party for your sword hand,” You stood your ground as you waved your sword down to his sparring sword, motioning him to pick it up, “Do you want to be the kingslayer or be the pathetic Lannister who has to marry and be the arse of the King’s jokes?”

Jaime straighten his back, he has known you for a while and he had never heard you so assertive before, in fact, he liked it. It was weird to think that, it wasn’t explicitly bad to be with another man, but with Cersei still in the picture - he fears any romantic advances to any person he shows a mild interest she’ll have them executed.

“Well?”

Jaime blinks, he liked you a lot. It was just now, no armour but clad in leather with a willing trainer, giving his time of day to train him. 

“If I reach for this sword, you promise not to hit me again?”

“No,” You bluntly spoke.

“Figured much,” Jaime muttered as he bends down to pick up the sword, blocking your attack with his shoulder and swung his sword at you.

The clang of metal surprised you. Jaime looks at you brilliant eyes.

“Alright then...”

“How’s training with my brother been?”

You enter his office with a glare, “Fine.”

“You don’t seem fine, does he, Bronn?” Tyrion questions as Bronn grin, “What? Has my brother not been a good student?”

“You have a lot of nerve, don’t you Lannister?” You sneered.

Bronn chuckled, patting you on the shoulder, moving you sit down on the seat in front of Tyrion’s desk as Bronn perched himself on the left of Tyrion’s table, staring at you with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I thought you’d like to train with my brother, consider it as a present for your loyalty,” Tyrion commented as you rose an eyebrow, cross your arms over your chest and shrinking down in the seat you were sitting.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one drunkenly confessing you-” Bronn smugly teased you as you shut him up with a glare.

“I was hoping you drunkenly forget that whole ordeal,” You admitted, running your hand through the hair of yours, “Still I was working on moving on, then you fucking make me train him.”

“Could’ve said no,” Bronn pointed out as Tyrion nodded behind him, “I would have done it for a fee.”

“You’re all gold and talk, Bronn.”

“Gotta get my pay somewhere.”

Tyrion sighed loudly, looking between his two friends. His eyes settling down for your sulking eyes.

“Shows you’re not really over your smitten state of my brother-” Tyrion concluded as you groan, “I saw a new person in Jaime, I trust he sees something in you as we do.”

“Please, Tyrion, it’s your brother. He could get any person in here, marry a fancy girl or something,” You waved your hand about as you sat up, “not me.”

“You have little faith.”

“You’re a good looking lad, (Y/n), the girls at the brothel giggle when they see you walk pass - often wonder how the likes of you get them girls to like you.” Bronn shrugs, muttering how you and Pod being the underdogs.

“I haven’t visited the brothels for a while, Bronn,” You drone, “Who send I go there for the girls anyway?”

“Maybe that’s what you need, relax your fucking self. Release some stress in some good old fucking.”

“He’s got a point, (Y/n), go take a break. I’m sure, you’re needed afterwards.”

You huffed as you exited the office and shuffle your way down to release tension, unknowingly that Jaime had been planning to visit his brother to talk about you. Hearing every word of the conversation he was quick to hide away and felt jealously rage inside him when you exit to the brothels.

Not realising, you weren’t even heading in the right direction.

“This is the fifth lesson, Jaime, quick learner?”

“Just here to impress the teacher, ser.”

You look at him, as Jaime at down at the wall. Drinking on his water before offering you some. You waved him off, declining it.

“I heard something about you, (Y/n),” Jaime started, his mind had been playing this moment in time for hours, “Nothing too bad, I would say.”

You looked at him sharply, a hint of confusion but a hint of desire not to be outed to him, “Oh, well, what is it?”

“I heard something in my brother’s office, later before,” Your eyes widen, “I’m flattered really.”

“Fuck off.” You defensively spoke, allowing the sparring sword crash to the floor so you can cross your arms over your chest.

“Will you be quiet for a moment?” Jaime hissed, “I’m trying to say that emotions have got me thinking of you.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I don’t mock like my brother does,” Jaime was quick to reply, “I am willing to try us.”

“What have you done to the Kingslayer I know of?”

Jaime’s shoulder deflated as he looks out to sea before looking at you, “I’ve been confused all my life, on the idea of love, but seeing you again after a whole journey it’s refreshing. I admire you a lot, (y/n).”

“And I with you.”

“Then-”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Jaime Lannister. What you say to me as of now, is the truth and no lies.”

“Aye, yes, why would I lie to you?” Jaime looked at you confused, “I would never ridicule you, (Y/n).”

“It’s hard to believe when all Lannisters are known to be merciless.”

“Then give me a chance to prove to that I am not like my family, who are heartless-”

“Manipulation is not a good look on you, Ser Jaime, keep at it and I might not be able to keep you.”

Jaime looked at you blankly before the words had processed in his head, his eyes light up and his smile widen. You chuckled at him, rolling your eyes.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“I won’t let you down.”

[talvin-muircastle]

Victory Song

"She has the soul of a Bard," they said, "a pity she lacks the voice."

Passeria loved music. As a baby, music was the only thing that would still her when she was cranky. As she grew older, she tapped, plucked, beat rhythms on anything she could find. She had her first wooden flute not long after she could walk, and her first harp before she was ten summers old. With any of these, she could make a pleasing sound--but no tune could pass her lips without a wince from the audience. Her speaking voice was unremarkable, neither good nor bad, but the gods that had blessed her fingers with music stole it from her breath.

When she had seen thirteen summers, a Queen's Bard passed through their village. This was a rare thing, for they lived in the Marches, a day's march from the foothills that marked the border of the Kingdom, and such a noble personage did not normally risk himself so close to the fell things that dwelt in those woods. He played for them, and he sang, and Passeria's eyes shone even as her heart broke, for it was a delight to hear such music, and torture to know it would never be hers. The Bard saw her little wooden flute and invited her to play with him, an honor that the cheering villagers would not permit her to refuse.

That night, after most had gone to bed, he found her. "Your elders have spoken to me of you. Come with me. You will play. And then you will sing. And we will talk." Shaking, she followed.

He had her play her flute again, and her harp, and he had her try her hands upon his own lute. He listened closely as she beat out rhythms on her little drum, his foot tapping along the while. Then came the dreaded command: "Sing for me, child."

Tears in her eyes, she did, and she hated herself for every note. She knew the words by heart--oh, she could sing beautifully, in her heart!--but the song was that of a sickly crow, not a beautiful songbird. He nodded solemnly, and asked for another song, and she sang it. Three songs he demanded of her, each more challenging than the last, and she hated him for humiliating her so.

Finally, "Enough. Here, drink this. It is watered down, and you must replace those tears you lost." She drank, making a face at the hint of wine in the water. "Mind me well, Passeria, for this is very important: you are a Bard, and let none ever tell you otherwise. You have the talent for music, but more importantly, you have the magic that only our kind possesses." She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and blinked at him, made now uncertain by his words.

"Master Bard," she whispered, "please do not mock me so." In answer, he left his own chair and took a knee before her, his eyes meeting hers.

"Passeria, I do not mock you, but speak only the truth. There is a power in your voice that I can sense. Not all music is meant for human ears, young Bard. The Gods granted me my gift that I might please Kings and Dukes and Knights and Guildmistresses. That is no small thing in this world--but the Gods granted you a gift that can part the waves of an evil sea. You have within you to do something that I cannot--that only a bare handful of men and women in this Kingdom can do. I knew this as soon as you started singing--I only made you sing three songs so I could fully judge the strength of your gift, and it is a powerful one. The Gods only grant such a gift in the time and place where it will be needed." She shook her head, understanding and yet not.

He sighed, and raised an admonishing finger, "Mind me well, Passeria! Someday--it may be soon, it may be when your grandchildren dance around you--but someday you will hear singing like unto your own! When that day comes, you must answer it with your own song! If you do not, many will die. That is your gift and your burden. Will you promise me that you will remember this?"

She gulped and said, "I swear." For the first time since they had played together by the fire, he smiled at her. Then he stood and turned to go.

He stopped at the door. "Oh, yes: the lute is yours now. You are worthy of it. I will tell your Elders." Then he was gone.

The Bard rose with the sun the next morning and rode on his way. The Elders, puzzled but obedient, confirmed that the lute was indeed hers--as was the olive-green cloak permitted only to recognized Bards. He was the King's Man, and his orders carried the weight of the King's Law.

He had also commanded that young Passeria should learn the ways of blade and bow. "She'll need them," he had said.

She wore the cloak, and practiced the lute, and found to her surprise that she was passable with the bow and better than most with the sword. The villagers were more respectful when they asked her to play of a long evening, and she went on the march-rides with the hunters, watching for sign of the evil things from over the frontier.

She never sang.

When she was sixteen, the evil things came.

It was late autumn, and the harvest was almost finished. The herds had been culled for the winter and the meat salted down. Three hunters went out looking for whatever had been savaging the pigs that were left to run wild in the woods. One came back, minus an arm.

The evil things of legend had come down out of the mountains, the evil things that had not been seen since their mother's father's mother's time. They had no names: some had the shape of beasts, some had the shape of men, some had whatever shape they pleased, but they were all bone-white, their blood did not darken as it dried but stayed crimson until the rains cleansed it, and they killed for pleasure rather than need. "Evil" was the only name that fit.

That first day, they sent runners to the garrison a day's travel further in, and they gathered what they could and withdrew inside the palisade.

The second day, they peered over the sharpened stakes of the wall and listened to the screams of the herds as the things savaged them and ran them to death.

The third day was quiet. Evil had sated itself in the night and needed to sleep.

The fourth day they knew despair, for if the runners had made it to the garrison, the soldiers would have arrived by then. They were cut off and alone.

The fifth day, the evil things attacked.

Passeria stood the wall with the hunters and the veterans, loosed arrows until her quiver was exhausted, then another took her place while she gulped down water and replenished her ammunition. They had many arrows--arrows and bolts were as good as coin at tax-time when you lived in the Marches. The Evil things had a sound battle-plan, even so: keep throwing themselves at the walls until they ran the defenders out of arrows. Foolish for any mortal host, but the monsters had the numbers to make it work.

The First among the hunters patted her on the shoulder as he came down for his own water and arrows. "How are you holding up, Passeria?"

"Well enough, I suppose. Most of my shots hit. I just hate that damned song of theirs!"

"Song? Ah, that raucous keening of theirs? Has a rhythm to it, I guess...I suppose a Bard would find it more vexing than most." Another light clout on the shoulder, and he was back to the wall and his work.

She leaned her head against the water barrel and listened to the monsters at the walls. That song...that damnable song. Everyone else seemed to tune it out, but it got inside her, into her bones, and it resonated there. Horrible, ugly, screeching...

She dropped the cup and turned to stare at the wall. What a disgusting sound...like her own singing voice.

She left her bow and quiver at the water station and climbed the short flight of steps to the top of the palisade. Someone growled a warning at her to "be careful with that thing!" and she realized that she had her sword in her hand. She looked out at the screeching, tumbling horde of their foes, and she took a deep breath.

The first note was as painful to sing as it was to hear, but it caught the attention of a thing with the head of a dog and the body of a ram that had been clawing at the logs, ignoring the arrows studding its flanks. So she sang to it, and it sat back on its haunches, staring at her raptly right up to the point that it slid back into the ditch, bright red blood mingling with the muddy pool at the bottom.

She sang louder, and more of them stopped and stared. A few raised their own voices, a chorus of demons in answer. She jumped down from the palisade, voice faltering for only a moment, and scrambled out of the ditch to face them directly.

The first thing died with her blade in its throat, never moving a muscle.

The second was man-shaped, and sang with her even as she slid the sword into its belly.

The third died under the axe of the First Hunter.

The fourth fell to a hammer blow from the smith.

The fifth opened its mouth to sing and took a shepherd's sling bullet in its gullet.

She sang and sang, voice croaking out refrains to every song she knew, and when that failed her she sang wordlessly, scales of death and blood and slaughter. The moon was high in the sky when the business was finally done, and one of the shepherds caught her as she collapsed.

The next morning they loaded her onto the back of one of the three surviving horses, which rolled its eyes at the stink of decaying bone-white flesh and blood that would not turn brown. The hunter's First and the Headwoman's son led her between them, and whenever they encountered a roving thing, she sang to it in a voice that cracked from overuse while it died under their blades. That night they reached the garrison.

The winter was hard, but the King sent wagonloads of provisions, and promised that the spring would see new herdstock sent from his own lands. Other Bards, others like Passeria, dwelt with the garrison, and patrols were pushed out almost to the foothills.

A hard winter, but filled with song.

[diwatang-sirena]

Food For Thought: Is it possible that Daenerys' storyline is going to go a similar route to Darth Vader's?

Now before you guys protest, especially the die-hard Dany stans, just hear me out on this. I’m a fan of both Vader and Dany, and as much as I wish that Dany will not turn into an antagonist, let’s not discount the possibility and try to look at her story in a different perspective. Okay? Then keep reading.

If you’re not familiar with Vader’s story in Star Wars (but how tho??), protagonist Anakin Skywalker started out as a poor, innocent slave boy who happened to have a very strong connection with the force. He’s even assumed to be the “Chosen One” from the prophecies that would balance the Dark and the Light sides of the Force. So he ends up training to become a Jedi with the hopes of freeing his slave mother whom he left behind in Tattooine, his home planet.

Eventually Anakin grows up to be a good but slightly arrogant teenager who is manipulated further by Emperor Palpatine (who’s posing as a good guy in the Senate). And because he’s fully aware of his natural talent, he’s even pushed further by the fact that the Jedi Council does not fully acknowledge his merits when he deserves them. One of the key moments in his transition is when he finds his mother murdered, which led him to his first act of madness when he massacred the tribe that stole her away.

But the final straw was when he dreamt that his secret wife, Padme, might possibly die through childbirth. This made him seek even more power to save his wife and unborn child, of which he was unable to do with his mother, and it eventually blinded him from seeing the good that his comrades and loved ones were trying to do to help him. 

At this point, he concluded that by being the most powerful, most fearsome Jedi on earth, he can prevent every terrible fate that could happen to the ones he loved. So he helped the Emperor massacre the whole Jedi Council, including the innocent children, in order to be stronger using the dark side of the Force. And you know the rest, his wife died in childbirth, indirectly because of his actions, and thinking that his mentor and brotherly figure Obi-Wan betrayed him and left him to die, he eventually became reborn as Darth Vader, now completely overwhelmed by hatred. 

And it’s not until the last minute when Luke, his son with Padme, helped bring him back to the Light when Vader chose to protect his son with his life instead of letting Palpatine kill him, ultimately fulfilling his prophecy as the Chosen One.

See the pattern here? Daenerys seems to be following quite a similar path, with her initially being a poor, helpless girl with a very tough upbringing who eventually gained power to protect the common folk. Not only that, but she also has something to do with the “Azor Ahai” Prophecy about the “Prince/Princess that was Promised”, although whether or not this means her, Jon, or their future child is yet to be seen.

Unfortunately, just like Anakin, Daenerys has been shown to have lingered in between the light and dark at times, such as burning her enemies or using fear to bend people to her will when her patience runs out. Of course I won’t deny that some of these actions are considered necessary considering that some of her enemies don’t do well with peace pacts or respectful discussions, most especially when they go through lengths to disrespect her as a woman.

But as much as I love Dany, I can’t deny that some of her actions, regardless of where she came from and how she came to be, are not doing her any favors with the Westerosi. Like Anakin, she has been slowly losing sight of what has been her main goal in the beginning of her pursuit; to save the people who suffered like she did and to find a place to truly call home. Now most of her focus is gaining her right to the Iron Throne, while slowly losing bits of emotion here and there especially when betrayal hits her at one front to another.

That is, until dear honorable Jon Snow came along.

Just like how Anakin and Padme’s forbidden love story ended up changing the Jedi forever, Jon and Dany’s love story seems to be a must in breaking the wheel of the current world, not just in politics, but the fate of the world itself. After all, Melisandre has prophesied that both of them have a very important role to play in the Azor Ahai prophecy in stopping the Night King.

Whether you ship them or not, you can’t deny that these two were bound to have a special connection thanks to their parallel journeys and their secret Targaryen relation. It’s interesting to note that in the beginning, all that Jon ever wanted was to become acknowledged as a Stark, arrogantly thinking that he had it worse than everyone else. Now that he’s constantly given all these burdens and high positions, he’s become more humble and doesn’t enjoy being the leader that people turn to.

Dany, on the other hand, was a meek and afraid little girl, having no idea in the beginning that she was capable of becoming more, no thanks to Viserys’ abuse. But as time went by, she began to grow as her own person and became more and more powerful, which unfortunately led her to become quite arrogant at times. 

While Jon’s been shown to have a harder time killing more and more people out of duty, especially when he began to realize that not everything is in black and white, Dany has been shown to be having an easier time disposing people who defy her, even the ones who used to be on her side. It’s not to say she hasn’t tried doing things the gentler way, but a lot of if not all the peace talks she’s attempted with her adversaries have never really gone smoothly. Not to mention, most of the people she had placed her trust in in the beginning have either betrayed or left her at some point.

To be fair, we can’t have two exact copies of “Jon Snow” in the GOT world. That wouldn’t make much of an interesting story now can it?

With that said, it seems possible that Jon’s role in GOT is quite similar to Luke’s trope as the reluctant hero of the story, the one who saves the whole world by saving their loved one from being completely immersed into the Dark Side.

Of course, we haven’t seen Dany turn completely mad just yet, and I personally hope it would never happen. But the first two episodes of Season 8 has compelled me to imagine the uncomfortable possibility of what it would be like if Daenerys does end up becoming a villain. Her thirst for the crown has been focused on too many times to deny in the first two episodes of the final season, and it seems that not even her love for Jon would let her set aside her quest for the crown completely, at least not yet.

But there’s also a possibility that their future child, if the constant foreshadowing in Season 7 comes to fruition, might also be a strong factor in changing her mindset, just like how Vader’s love for Padme and his children compelled him to eventually turn away from the Dark Side. Most importantly, their child might also have a huge role in stopping the second Long Night from happening, however possible that is, if he/she/they have something to do with the prophecy.

Another interesting possibility that’s been pointed out by some fans is that the only person other than Jon that might stop Dany from her road to Mad Queen status is the woman who currently checks up all the boxes of said status.

Cersei may not have the pure intentions that Dany has, but they do have a common factor of wanting to gain and remain in power no thanks to their past experiences of having their father/brother control most of their lives in the early parts of the series (Tywin with Cersei, and Viserys with Dany). I’d personally wager that Dany is still far from Cersei’s “Mad Queen” level, because at the very least Dany still has a few good and true comrades to help keep her feet on the ground. As Tyrion told Cersei, at least Dany has enough brains and empathy to listen to their advice at times, whereas Cersei would never do so unless it benefits only her.

This Cersei-Dany parallel would be a pretty similar situation with, again, Darth Vader and Luke. Just when Luke battles with his father and was almost on the verge of killing him, he stops when he sees his father’s robotic hand, realizing how similar they actually are and how much the Dark Side has affected Vader in the worst ways, which he himself almost fell into if he didn’t see the truth with his own eyes.

After the Battle of Winterfell is over, and Daenerys sees the remnants of the Night King's power while also coming to terms with Jon’s status as the rightful heir, perhaps Dany might reconsider and reflect on her true purpose in attaining the Seven Kingdoms. True there's also a huge possibility that she'll turn even darker than before, especially if her close comrades die/leave her, leaving her feeling more alone and out of place. But perhaps after seeing Cersei the way she is, with no true friends, no family, and no love left in her except the crown on her head, this might lead Dany to see the hard truth; The Iron Throne isn’t worth her humanity.

With that said, whether or not Dany turns into a true antagonist is yet to be seen. Contrary to some fans' predictions of her dying in the end, I actually believe that she'll survive, but not without huge consequences of course, which is carrying the guilt with her for the rest of her life. For some people, continuing to find the will to live can be much harder than dying a quick death. 

Having her killed off easily as a villain without redemption or in childbirth for me is a very big disservice to those who have watched/read her whole journey since Season 1 and the 1st book. I doubt that George R.R. Martin created Dany only to make her a Cersei 2.0 in the end. It would be the such an injustice for the series to conclude with Dany’s faults completely overshadowing the many good things she has done for the ones without power, especially during her time in Essos.

We have yet to see how low Dany would go to seize power as Vader would, and I’m extremely worried about how much it would affect everyone’s view of her till the very end, especially as a character that was so beloved for the whole 7 seasons, only to have her hated by most without proper redemption at the final season. Yes, as a GOT fan I’m glad that Dany’s being given a wakeup call that her idea of ruling has its flaws and does not suit everybody. But if she is really meant to betray Jon and the rest, I seriously wish that whatever payoff the writers have for Dany will be worth it in the end. Especially when there’re only a handful of episodes left.

And if people really think that Jon would easily leave Dany just like that, then boy, have they not been paying attention to Jon’s character development. Jon has already chosen duty over love several times, with one of those choices leading indirectly to his first love’s death. I highly doubt that Jon would ever leave Dany alone like that, even with all her faults, especially if she’s with child and if they do get married even if out of duty.

Just like how Padme never stopped believing that there is good in Anakin till her dying breath, it’s in Jon’s persona that he would do everything in his power to keep Daenerys from falling completely into the dark and feeling alone. I won’t be surprised if Jon would choose to take the fall for/with Daenerys if she is to be punished for whatever wrongdoing she’s about to do. That’s just the type of guy he is.

With that said, we have no choice but to wait until Episode 3 and 4 to really see where Daenerys’ morality will be going. As with every season, with every new episode that comes out, anything is possible. I still hold onto the hope that the writers know exactly what they’re doing with Daenerys and that it’ll be true to what George R.R. Martin really intended for her, although I’m already a bit wary at how they’re currently handling her responses. If her path is to go the same way as Vader’s like I guessed, I can only hope that they can do enough justice to make her memory worthwhile.

If not... there’s always hope for the books. And fanfiction.

[airiat]

for the detail OC questions! 28, 38, and 45, for either or both your girls!

Helloooo! Thank you so much for asking these questions!! They all deal with themes I focus on pretty heavily in LMNIT, so much so that Fjoara has even answered these questions before in her own words! Therefore, I’m only going to answer for her, and also because I lowkey haven’t developed Morvera very much yet. I’m so, so sorry it took this long to answer–I ended up basically writing a whole essay on this because you picked the absolute perfect questions to ask lol. Thank you so much, again! This was so helpful for my fic and super enjoyable to do.

Fjoara Ebonhand:

~ What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? 

~ How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

~ What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared?

The driving force behind most of her actions is actually her overwhelming sense of fear, the biggest being what she’s tasked to do as Dragonborn (first dealing with Miraak, then defeating Alduin), and if she’ll be capable of carrying it out. When we look at the LDB from an in-game perspective we view them as fearless and able to do anything, but I would imagine the emotional implications of being chosen to literally save the world would cause an immense amount of inner turmoil, and this is a theme I explore consistently as it evolves within her. The catalyst for this all is her complete lack of confidence in her abilities in combat. She compares herself to the traditional brutish Nord warrior when she herself will never be like that. However, I think LMNIT will see her gain this missing confidence when she successfully deals with the situation on Solstheim, even if her approach is somewhat unconventional.

Later on, though—and you can already see hints of this—her fear becomes more directed inwards instead of outwards. As in, she’s afraid of her own power and its potential for causing devastation. Another element of in-game Skyrim is the idea that the LDB is very much a murderer, even a serial killer, but Fjoara is very strongly against using violence as anything but self-defense, preferring instead to be diplomatic or tactical. In fact, her carrying of Dawnbreaker, a sword most powerful against the undead rather than living people, is somewhat symbolic of this. She sees the thu’um as a weapon rather than a powerful tool capable of bringing peace, believing that the two are mutually exclusive. Of this she has said, “I have never wished to harm others, but the gods have given me a weapon that can speak an end to life with more ease than the sharpest sword, and with more devastation than the most powerful army. Yet, if I were to cast this weapon aside in favor of peace, I would bring upon an even greater destruction to all of Tamriel. Both my calling and the fear within me are inescapable. How am I to cope with being torn between these two parts of myself?” Once she learns Bend Will, however, I believe it will become a whole different story. That’s one for another time, though.

As for how Fjoara’s fear manifests tangibly, she would meet the criteria for Generalized Anxiety Disorder as well as Panic Disorder. When confronted with something particularly intense, like when she went to Apocrypha for the first time, she’ll most likely have an anxiety attack. If it’s something less severe, she’ll just shut down for a little while and become almost catatonic, though you can coax her out of it. Otherwise, she’s just a super high-strung and nervous person all the time no matter what the circumstances are, and will occasionally have panic attacks if the stress is too bad. She presents pretty classically, it’s just the things she deals with in her life are obviously quite unique.

On a less serious note, she’s really not a fan of frostbite spiders.

45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves?

Fjoara has held two statuses in her life that predispose a certain attitude to her: daughter of the High King who is next in line to the throne and, of course, Dragonborn. Both of these titles command a great deal of respect and an innate sense of admiration, but that then means an inaccurate image of herself is being projected onto her. This has been a huge source of contention for her. Before she knew she was Dragonborn and was only just nobility, she always felt like people were only ever nice to her because of that. This is what she’s said on this topic: “Back home in Solitude, I had become so accustomed to the delicate and inauthentic manner in which I was treated by my father’s court, and even by those whom I considered my friends. The luxuries and privileges afforded to me by my father being High King of Skyrim were beyond the common people’s most outrageous fantasies, but there was always a part of me who would have discarded it all for the chance at a real connection with someone. To be loved and respected for who I am, not because of who my father is, and certainly not because I’m now destined to become some sort of hero.” On top of this, she doesn’t really have a good sense of self because she has never really received genuine feedback about herself from anyone other than her family, who also have their own ulterior motives. As it is mentioned above, Fjoara at the very least knows what she wants out of her relationships, but she feels barred from receiving that because of her social status. This is why she takes advantage of an out that was given to her by way of being Dragonborn.

After she absorbs her first dragon soul (but before she knew that meant she was Dragonborn) and runs away from home, Fjoara makes a concerted effort to hide herself and from herself, which is why she “traveled to The Rift, the farthest possible hold from Haafingar.” In doing so, she also decides to distance herself from her noble identity by changing her last name and lying about where she came from. She also inadvertently gains more anonymity when she decides to join the Thieves Guild just by the very nature of the work she does with them. Besides, who would ever suspect that the King’s daughter would stoop so low as to become a filthy criminal?

Fjoara gets on really well with the Guild, and it becomes her greatest source of pride because it was purely her own skills and efforts that got her membership–not because of nepotism or birthright. I won’t go into the story of how she joined, but it’s actually pretty funny. Let’s just say Brynjolf never saw it coming. While there, she also develops a strong, somewhat romantic relationship with Brynjolf and eventually, she does tell him who she is. He had a positive reaction to it and promised to keep her secret, which he does honor. This was really the first time that she feels truly appreciated by someone else; even though he knows of her nobility, he doesn’t treat her any differently because of it.

Yet, Fjoara never really finds her identity in the Thieves Guild despite her sense of belonging and the second family she creates there. I believe that this sense of disconnection will be something she’ll struggle with for her entire life. It will be a challenge for her to truly name an identity for herself when she will have to fulfill so many vastly different roles, from the mundane domesticity of wife and mother to the last of an ancient prophesied hero to the familial burdens of nobility, and so on.

Despite all of this, however, people do actually really like Fjoara no matter what lens they are seeing her through. She is very personable, eloquent, and charming, and genuinely takes an interest in helping people, even if she can unintentionally come off a little fake sometimes. The Skaal respect her, the Guild admires her talent, Frea will become her first real friend, and Teldryn will fall so much in love with her. And that’s just the beginning.

38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had?

I get to talk about Teldryn in this part! The very nature of their relationship is a mutual, but unspoken feeling of admiration for the other. A sense of “I can’t believe you would choose to be with me because I believe you to be far more superior than me.” For Teldryn, he obviously admires the fact that she’s Dragonborn–that much is inescapable–but not for the reason one would expect. As he is a Dunmer, I feel as if the meaning he assigns to her being this hero carries much less of a cultural significance as it would if he were a Nord. Instead, it’s out of pure wonder at how powerful she is, her resilience against the tribulations she will have to go through at the hands of it, and the amount of cool stuff she gets to experience. The very first admission of his admiration for her was: “There is a growing need within me to provide for her and ensure her safety, though I know she is capable of doing these things for herself. I truly have nothing to offer that she doesn’t already possess. Her wealth appears limitless, guidance and accommodation are given readily just because of who she is, and her abilities in combat dwarf my own—a spellsword, like me, but in combination with that fucking voice of hers, she’s a lethal weapon.” As of right now in my fic, Fjoara doesn’t yet know enough about Teldryn to think any more of him than just that she is attracted to him, so I say this about Teldryn’s feelings for her to help illustrate the idea of her own eventual admiration.

The things that Fjoara values in another person are a bit misguided right now. As I said earlier, she struggles with her identity, and part of this is a disassociation from what she feels it means to be a “daughter of Skyrim,” a true Nord. Inadequacy is something that plagues her and this is highlighted when she says, “For a Nord, there is no greater shame than that which is found in cowardice, but it would be impossible for me to ease my mind of all fear. I still cannot comprehend why I was chosen for this duty when there are thousands of other more capable warriors than I. If I had been allowed to retain my normal life so that I could have someday utilized my skills to be High Queen of Skyrim, then I would have still held on to my honor. But now I am unsure what of it still remains, if any at all.” Therefore, what she admires most are the strong, militant warriors who know their way around a battleaxe. Another reason why she carries Dawnbreaker is to create the illusion that she actually is as such, but in truth, she is certainly no swordsman. Instead, Fjoara is actually a really talented mage. She studied at the College of Winterhold for less than a year, but she was able to get a firm grasp on Destruction and has dipped a little into Restoration, Illusion, and Alteration. Because of the attitude Nords harbor against mages, however, Fjoara doesn’t value this skill as much as she should. On another note, the “skills” she mentions in the quote are her inclinations towards diplomacy, leadership, and oration. As in, if one were to look at her skill tree, her speech skill would be way up there. Fjoara honestly would have made a really good High Queen, but that’s not the path set out for her anymore, and she hasn’t quite realized yet that she can still put these talents to good use as Dragonborn.

To rein in my tangent a bit, as with Teldryn, Fjoara also admires resilience in the face of hardship. She admires the fearlessness both he and Frea displays. She admires Frea’s selflessness and dedication to protecting her village. She admires people who have been through more in life than her and respects the wisdom she can glean from them. She admires Teldryn’s persistent good-humor in spite of adversity in the present and the traumas of his past. She admires Brynjolf’s cunning personality, even if it isn’t always to the best end. She also admires anyone who is artistically or musically gifted because she can’t do either for shit.