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americasass81 · 10 months ago

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Finding Her Calm In The Chaos

Warnings 18+ for the following:- Smut {f/f), Oral {female giving and receiving], Fingering, Implied Multiple Orgasms, Fluff. Seriously do not read if any of this upsets you, the warnings are there for a reason. Feedback is welcomed and any mistakes are my own.

By proceeding you are acknowledging that you are over 18 and are consenting to the content below the cut.

Author’s Note 1:- A totally self indulgent Fic, this came about after a mutual tempted me into watching House of The Dragon (thank you @targaryenvampireslayer ) and I discovered what a badass Rhaenys is. This may take some liberties with regards to the show, but then this is fanfiction after all.

Author’s Note 2:- As always, all images have been found through google search.

Synopsis:- Throwing her lot in with Rhaenyra in the hopes of protecting the boys betrothed to her beloved granddaughters, as well as the peace her grandsire and cousin had presided over during their lifetimes, Rhaenys now finds herself planning for the future while hoping to survive a litany of mistakes from the past. So where then do you fit into all of that?

Pairings:- Rhaenys Velaryon x Female Reader.

Word Count:- 4,003

Diving out of the sky and penetrating a cave mouth you never even knew was there given the dragon’s speed, Meleys seemed to take up every inch of space available as she lay down on the ground to allow you and her rider to dismount. Standing out of the way then as your feet readjusted to the feeling of solid ground beneath them again and your insides realigned themselves after the flying experience, your attention was torn however between watching Rhaenys instruct this wondrous creature on what to do and trying to figure out what exactly you were doing here. Never mind where here actually was.

Having served the princess faithfully now for almost four years, while silently admiring from afar her strength, courage and loyalty, not to mention her beauty, all that time, her invitation to join her for a ride through the skies on dragonback was not something you could refuse. Hell, she was your princess after all and you had sworn to serve her faithfully in every way you could. But this? This whole situation simply baffled you.

Sure Meleys was one of the older dragons in existence, but even soaring through the skies and bursting through the clouds with two people on her back she should easily have been able to fly you and the princess on this trip and then return both of you to Dragonstone or Driftmark without ever having to set down here in this remote location. She was still after all one of the swiftest dragons in Westeros and it's not like the weather was a deciding factor. Having already soared above the clouds, you had seen with your own eyes, once you had opened them that is, how calm and peaceful the day actually was. Which meant there was no chance of any storm brewing here to force her to land and take refuge, except her rider's instruction. So what then was really going on here?

Turning your focus back to your two companions now as The Red Queen settled down while simultaneously blocking out most, if not all, of the natural light entering the cave, you would have asked this question along with how Rhaenys could possibly see where she going or what she was doing, but thought better of voicing that particular question however. After all, here was a Targaryen, a family whose very blood supposedly tied them to these magical creatures, who had spent more time in the depths of dragon pits than anyone else currently alive. Of course she could navigate in diminished light where others might not.

Sure for all you knew she could even see in the dark.

Then again, as she took your hand and led you down a flight of previously unseen carved out steps, the scene before you temporarily distracted you from these questions and the informal actions that seemed to be occurring and told you that this was a place Rhaenys had been before and knew her way around intimately. In more ways than one.

Walking with your princess now to a rundown wooden cabin built into this very rockscape with a forest to the front and her loyal stead sleeping above, the structure and clearing really didn't look like the type of place one would expect to find a high born Targaryen princess. But then again it seems that was the very image she was trying to convey to those that stumbled across its location as the inside painted a totally different picture. Bigger than it appeared from the outside having somehow extended back into the mountain, the fire, table, books and seats would have been more than enough to convince you that Rhaenys came here often, but it was the bed positioned against one wall that blew all the mystery away however and revealed to you what this place truly was ... her refuge. Her secret hideaway far away from the loss and responsibility she carried with her without complaint on a daily basis. And she had chosen to bring you here.

But that then raised the question of why she would do such a thing. You were nobody special after all, and certainly not someone worthy of being singled out like this.

She however seemed to sense your confusion. "I discovered this place when I first flew out with Meleys years ago and have fortified it well over the intervening time in concert with the natural elements all around it," she clarified as your hand now rested on the book sitting open atop the table while Rhaenys removed her gloves and seated herself upon the bed. "Castles come and go you see, being that they are the easiest and most desirable of targets. But here," she continued as you at last looked in her direction, "no one's going to expect a princess and her dragon to hang out in a cave or a forest. For that's all anyone sees unless they look closer," she finished with a smile that knocked years of her visage and gave you a glimpse of the woman she must have been all those years ago. "Join me?" she quickly added then while patting a spot on the bed next to her before you had a chance to look away.

And how were you supposed to respond to a request such as that?

After all, back on Driftmark she was to be obeyed. Not because of fear or because she demanded it, but simply because of who and what she was ... a kind person when treated with respect, the lady of the castle and someone who, in her husband's absence, had proven herself a worthy leader. A descendant of Old Valyria through and through. But here it seemed all semblance of regency was cast aside and she was giving you a choice as if you were her equal. Stating it more like a question, as she had that morning when she first asked you to ride out with her, her hand remaining where it lay still conveyed her invitation as her eyes beseech you to accept once more. But to what end?

To sit on a chair beside someone of Rhaenys' standing was one thing and something that still made you feel a little uneasy. But to ride on dragonback with her? To sit on a bed beside her? These two things had taken you so far out of your comfort zone you didn't see how you would ever find your way back there again. And yet she seemed to sense this conflict within you too.

Remaining still on the bed, her hand now rose out towards you palm up as her voice broke the silence filling the space between both of you once more. "It's all right, I promise to be gentle," she reassured as your feet began to respond all on their own and move your body towards her. And gentle is exactly what she was. Far gentler in fact than you thought a dragonrider ought to be, for the second your arm got within reach, her fingers closed around your wrist before your brain could even register her skin against yours and used your forward momentum to bring your body down on the bed where her hand had just left. A hand that released your wrist now and joined the other as they slowly roamed freely over your heaving form, removing every layer of fabric while your brain tried frantically now to figure out how it should respond.

But it seemed Rhaenys here too had experience you had not accounted for. "Is this your first time with a woman?" she asked as her fingers slipped down your body towards the final piece of clothing hiding you from her while your eyes looked anywhere except where they longed to focus. Not that she allowed you to continue ignoring her for long however as she stopped what she was doing, spoke again and shocked you with a revelation you thought only existed between you and the night, "and is this not better than all those scenes your own fingers conjured up as you watched over me while I slept?" she questioned, and your teeth silenced your response here too as they always had in the past. But your body betrayed you and told a different story.

Naked before your princess now, as you were the day you first exited your mother's womb, her fingers, teeth and tongue brought forth the truth it seemed you were too shy to confess however. You longed for her to claim ownership over you in the only way she had not yet done. And it seemed she wasn't one to shrink from the task.

Releasing her hold on you now as you panted frantically from her initial assault, years of service and the air in your lungs suddenly kicked back in however when she rose from the bed, raised her hands and stood in a manner you were all too familiar with. Even if the circumstances now were far removed from anything you had ever experienced before. For undressing her now would be totally different than anything the last four years of service had taught you. And the consequences would change everything.

But still, you couldn't deny her. Leaving the bed behind you now, as she had just done, and standing before her like you always had, sans clothes of course, your fingers trembled slightly now however as the weight of what was about to happen settled over you and altered the present from anything you had ever done in the past. And it seemed Rhaenys felt that shift too.

Reaching out her hands again, her fingers now twined with yours before her voice, soft as a whisper, captured your attention once more and set your mind at ease. "It's all right if you don't want this. I'd simply be content to spend a night asleep beside you," she reassured, until her eyes and the words that followed told you she wasn't finished, "but my instincts are telling me you want more. So why not simply reach out and take it?"

Silenced by the force of her conviction now as her eyes and words somehow held sway over you, the next few minutes passed in a blur as you stripped off every article of clothing she wore and placed it lovingly on a lone chair situated in the farthest corner before walking back to stand now before her naked form. And you couldn't believe what you were seeing. After all, it wasn't as if you hadn't helped her undress before, you wouldn't have lasted four years as one of her ladies if you had refused daily such an integral part of your job. But before, you had simply worked through the motions. Remove an item, move on to the next. Copy and repeat, copy and repeat until the task was done.

Here, now, in this place however things were very different. Here there was no Baela, Lord of The Tides or other ladies-in-waiting to get between you and your wandering eyes. And what a sight they got to witness.

Whispering to you now that the dragon she rode was named after the old Valyrian goddess of love and fertility, their bonding now made total sense and her more muscular body seemed to confirm this. For as gentle as she was, Rhaenys was also forged of something stronger. Oh sure, her two now deceased children, her feminine attributes and the obvious assets which kept her off the Iron Throne screamed that she was no different from you, Rhaenyra or any one of the countless women throughout Westeros who suffered endlessly for the cruel greed of man. Except for one difference ... her muscles were a bit more defined.

Of course, training with your brothers back home before ending up in your current position, you too had managed to hone your body and shape its composition, but dragon riding? That took strong arms, legs and bodies that no woman would ever possess simply by sparing or attending court and smiling at any man who paid her a passing interest. And the proof now was evident beneath your wandering fingertips. Running them along her arms now as her own fingers reached out and pulled your bodies closer, you explored every inch your imagination had never before done justice to until her patience finally ran out however and the Lady of Driftmark tossed you back upon the bed and allowed years of sexual experience to take over as her gentleness slowly gave way to her passion.

Placing her body over yours now while still not crushing you beneath her, her mouth next began the task of claiming you as she had previously told you to do with her. And it was better than you dared to dream of. Kissing here and biting there, you knew now her plan was to leave signs of your coupling upon you that would last as long as possible, but as her teeth latched on to your left nipple while her strong fingers stretched your right, you realized you didn't care. Screaming out her name now as the pain gave way to pleasure when her tongue took over and soothed the nerves she had skilfully awakened, your mind wondered now if your flower could withstand the same attention as she began to make her way towards it. But it seemed your worry was misplaced.

Teasing you gently now with licks and kisses in a way your breasts had recently just been denied, her fingers working your entrance bit by bit was a method you yourself would later turn on her to the same effect she now had on you. Moaning and writhing feebly beneath her now as her fingers skimmed your inner walls and her tongue made contact with the little bundle of nerves hidden away where only those educated in a woman's body would ever find it, your fists grasping for the sheets was all you could seem to do now as the orgasms she worked from you stole your voice and your strength.

Eating you out a few more times now until you cried out for her to stop, her kneeling on the bed above you and smiling triumphantly as she ran her tongue along her lips would be a sight you thought could never be equalled as you waited for sleep to claim you, but it seemed you weren't as worn out as you had actually thought.

Remembering your training now and all the times you had thought yourself defeated, you waited for the final aftershocks of your releases to recede and taking a firmer grasp of the sheets, you moved your body down the bed and surprised Rhaenys now when your head appeared between her knees while your hands grabbed hold of her powerful thighs. Smiling now as it seemed she hadn't thought you capable of such a feat, her eyes locking on yours and a very noticeable nod of her head was all the confirmation you needed however to know she was ready, willing and waiting to see what you could do.

But ready it seemed was an understatement.

Lowering her body to meet your mouth now as your tongue snaked out as if it had taken on a life of its own, the first touch of your muscle against her entrance and you knew her desire was as strong as yours ... for her garden was absolutely dripping. Recalling now in vivid detail all that she had just put you through, your tongue swirled, your lips sucked and soon after breaching her entrance more times than you could possibly count, your combined orgasms found both of you buried beneath the sheets now in each others arms while her back rested against your front and your leg thrown atop hers completed the connection.

But unfortunately duty still seemed determined to find her here and ruin even this special moment. "Listen to me carefully now, for now is all we have," she suddenly started some time later, breaking through your bliss as her body now turned to face you and the mask of the Targaryen princess fell back into place once more while she tried to find the words to explain to you what lay ahead from here. And the reality of that frightened you far more than all that had gone before and what you had just done.

For now here she was, The Queen That Never Was, lying in your arms after the most amazing love making session of your young life and she was telling you that she was going to die. Not because she possessed the gift of foresight or some prophet had told her so. No. She knew because there was no other way given the forces at play and how things were shaping up. She was just too gifted at reading the situation. Even if Rhaenyra for example should fly into battle, as heir to the throne she couldn't just challenge her half-brothers in the hopes that she would end up victorious. As her own son Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had rightly pointed out, her allies backed her claim so she, and by extension he, had to be protected, while Rhaenys as always would be expendable. After all, was it not the one defining trait that marked her whole existence?

Forged of a stronger temperament than her cousin and better suited to rule, she had been cast aside at the great council in favor of Viserys simply because she had been born a woman. Had been denied a possible place on his small council for the same reason even though, as ill health visited him in later life, his own wife Alicent Hightower would grace that very hall in his stead. Hell, even her eyes and ears had provided ample proof that her own husband had strayed and abandoned her to carry on alone despite his claims that she was everything to him. And with Daemon currently uncommunicative from his base in Harrenhal, well she really was the Blacks only other experienced option.

Her and her loyal dragon.

Oh sure, with the peaceful reigns of Jaehaerys and Viserys, Meleys, like most of the dragons in existence with the exceptions of Vhagar and Caraxes, had only known minor skirmishes if any real fighting at all. But like her rider, she was still fearsome and cunning when roused and had proven herself more than capable of fending off attacks in The Gullet since the blockades had been set up by her husband's forces on Rhaenyra's behalf. Still somehow she had always known when the two of them rose out of the dragon pit at Aegon's coronation, it would fall on her shoulders to lead the dragons to actual war.

After all, Lucerys had fled from Vhagar rather than engage the huge beast in battle, just as his mother had made him promise. And Aemond, well he was nothing more than a child riding a weapon whose full power he still did not truly understand or appreciate. Neither one of them could be held completely responsible for the tragic accident that had really pushed this conflict beyond the reach of human intervention. And since then Rhaenyra had been doing everything to hold a fragile peace together. No in truth, it was Daemon's reckless actions that had blown all hopes of maintaining that peace to smithereens and now it fell to Rhaenys and Meleys to defend their allies and claim whatever victory might present itself to them.

Which was a sobering realization really. The possible deaths of countless people. The introduction of dangerous and destructive dragonfire into a world that had never really seen the true power of these fearsome creatures. If she was being honest with herself, it was why she had even counseled her husband time and time again over the years against all of his harebrained schemes to remove Viserys and install her in his place. For she had accepted the terrible price a war within the house of the dragon would cost. And so she did now what she always had, planned for what she could control while leaving the rest in the hands of the gods of Old Valyria.

Which brought her back to you and the message she needed understood should her worst fear come to pass. You were to live here now in the safety of this cabin and the bounty that nature and the land provided. Should you require anything extra, well she informed you while pointing to the chair that now held all of her clothing, hidden beneath it and the floorboards was an underground area that housed more than enough coin to see you through the rest of your life along with a tunnel to escape through.. All she asked in return was that you protect her treasures and never forget your time together.

Taking a moment now to look around the cabin while this request sunk in and once more take in the items she spoke of, the hidden truth you had missed earlier finally hit you ... these were her personal items. Things passed down through her family that she wanted preserved and had somehow chosen you for that task. And how could she not? After all, as you had fully accepted, you were no one special. Her descendants, such as they were now however, consisted of her husband Corlys Velaryon and her granddaughters Baela and Rheana. All three you knew, as did Rhaenys, were well and truly entwined with Rhaenyra's cause which meant their futures were uncertain. You however could disappear while still undertaking the task she requested.

And yet, her goodness still shone bright as her next words brought your focus back to her. She didn't expect you to remain celibate. Should fortune favor you with a love worthy of your trust and value, she fully expected you to seize it, despite your protests that your heart belonged only to her, as long as you promised to keep a watchful eye on her descendants and pass on her gifts should a time and opportunity present itself. For it seemed despite what lay ahead she still had hope. Hope that whatever catastrophe befell the House of Targaryen, and Westeros as a whole, that House Velaryon at least might be spared.

So what then could you say? 'Sorry, but no. I won't do it.' That was never really an option you silently admitted now and it had nothing to do with who she was. It had to do with who you were and was quite possibly the reason she had trusted you in the first place. After all, had you not just professed your love for her now through both word and deed? No, it was so much more than that. You wanted to offer assistance if it was in your ability to provide it. You were a good, kind, decent and honest person who only wanted to spread love and kindness to all who happened to cross your path and no matter how life might treat you, you still only ever wished the best for even those that had wronged you. But you were also stronger than these gentler attributes portrayed you to be.

You were fiercely loyal, trained in the use of weapons, though Rhaenys had never asked why and, despite your innate goodness, you also possessed an almost self-preservational instinct of liking everyone while trusting no one. It was why now, as you accepted her request while Rhaenys drifted off back to sleep in your arms, that she knew she had made the right decision, just as she had the day she had asked you to join her house ... you would serve her without fault as you always had. Knowing this she could now face whatever tomorrow brought, secure in the knowledge that her Valyrian heritage would be protected and what might be her last night beneath the stars had been spent with someone who loved her for her heart instead of a crown.

#rhaenys targaryen #rhaenys velaryon #rhaenys targaryen x female reader #rhaenys velaryon x female reader #house of the dragon

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shardminds · 1 year ago

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the gods grow tired

pairing: gwyneth berdara x azriel rating: e (for everything hurts) wc: 8k and some change primary tags: angst, hurt/comfort, major character injury, arguing as a form of foreplay, sex. for more detailed tags, see ao3. read on a03

In the aftermath of battle, Gwyn follows her heart… what's left of it. It leads her to the edge of chaos, where there is one more life to save.

a/n: happy gwynriel week(s) everyone! this fic isn't necessarily in line with any of the prompts (sorry!) but it tore its way out of me just in time to join in with the festivities. thank you to @gwynrielweeksofficial for throwing such an amazing celebration! i can't wait to work through all the fresh gwynriel content!

@damedechance - here's the tag you asked for, bestie. couldn't have done it without you 💕

warnings: there are some heavy topics in this one, boys. this is the seed that plants the PTSD… or like, exacerbates it. it's rough. the only way out is through and BOY are they going through it. please check the full tags list and take care of yourself first ♥

snippet under the cut!

When the last soldier fell and the scarlet rivers fracturing the battlefield slowed to thin veins, then, and only then, Gwyn let herself breathe. Gentle morning sunlight on the horizon lit the clearing for what it was— a massacre. Where once verdant green and lush copses of sycamores spread through flat meadows, there was now only blood, mire and scorched earth. Bodies, face down in viscera, were all the same. Friend or enemy, and all of them still. Silence, in the wake of war’s cacophony, curled tight around her spine — awaiting the ring of steel against steel, the sting of an arrow.

Koschei met them evenly matched and, in the end, equally damned.

Exhaustion dragged at her bones in the aftermath of adrenaline, its iron chains clasped to her boots and leathers. Five days. It had taken five full days for the battle to wage. Rhys had warned of how long it could take. A fortnight, his estimate. Heavy with hope, rations were packed to last the week.

Hers were lost the first night, along with four males from her cohort who died to protect it, and her, while she clutched at the edges of rest.

Sleep, apparently, was a luxury the Mother did not allow them. She did not attempt it again.

Food, water — all of it became second to survival. Second to the blade in her palm, the stained ribbon at her brow.

Despite the training, the blood rite, the experience gained along the way… nothing could’ve prepared for the ferocity, the unyielding brutality, of real and true war.

The bitter taste of victory was the only thing keeping her upright now, from falling to her knees on the sodden ground and screaming. As if tears could somehow cleanse the filth from her hands.

No, she had to keep going — to keep moving through violence’s cruel remnants, to find her team, her friends, her Valkyries.

Feyre and Rhys attacked from the field's distant edge, infernal power allowing them to mist entire battalions with hands entwined. Nesta had been back-to-back with Cassian the last time she’d seen them, manifesting death and destruction in their wake. Emerie had taken to the skies in one of twelve aerial legions, an obsidian pegasus lifting her above the cloud cover with over a dozen chosen riders heeding her command as gospel, Morrigan among them.

Gwyn had volunteered to take the flank, a smaller group of their swiftest, most vicious warriors tasked with infiltrating the scores of Koschei’s hoards by surprise. She’d taken the south and Azriel— oh Gods, Azriel — he’d headed north.

When the first explosion hit on the second day, it had been far from her side of the battlefield. Yet, her chest spiked with fear.

Then, silence. Horrific, terrifying silence. As if the mountains themselves had held their breath to hear it.

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veilder · 4 months ago

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WIP Word Train

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share an excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

Tagged by both @thescrapwitch and @polutrope! Thank you both so much for tagging me?! :D My words are CRAB (lol!) and CAT (hah, two animals! XD) I will try to do both (and by that I mean, I'll do a T at the end since both words use the CA already. XD)!

C - An excerpt from a Second Age fic where Elrond has only just been given his Ring. He is still adjusting to it (and his councilor definitely notices. XD)

Clearing his throat (which had certainly grown dry in his idleness), Elrond calls out: “Come in, come in, Erestor!” For he knew his voice as well as his own. An Elf shuffles in, his dark garb and darker hair giving him a rather gloomy mien even as he lays out scrolls and reports across Elrond’s desk. “Oh!” Erestor exclaims, “but you’ve not eaten, my lord! Was it not to your liking?” He gestures broadly to the cold tray sitting nearby, the food upon it, uneaten, the tea likewise, untouched. A glimmer of shame wells in Elrond’s chest as he observes, wondering if the porridge would still be in any way palatable after hours left unattended, for it is not his way to waste the labor of the land. But before he can even suggest such a thing, his anxious counselor whisks the tray away, calling for a servant to have a new one made. When Elrond makes to protest, Erestor simply tuts in affront. “It would not do for our Lord to take ill so soon after his appointment. Come now, are you feeling out of sorts? The choice of the Eldar you may have pursued, but peredhel you still remain, my lord. Shall I summon a physician?” Elrond sighs, used to Erestor’s fussing after long years, and responds simply: “No, thank you, Councilor. I’m afraid my mind was simply far afield ere your arrival. I assure you, I am well enough to receive your report.” Erestor huffs again, but acquiesces, coming to stand at attention before him. “As you say, my lord.”

R - This one is from a prompt exercise I was participating in. Just a flashback of Mae and Mags back in Valinor when they were young.

"Race me, Maitimo!" Makalaure's childish voice challenged, whipping by his elder brother atop his roan filly. He grinned wide, joyous, exuberant, and Maitimo had no choice but to follow, kicking his own horse into pace.

"A challenge, brother? And do you think you might win it?" Maitimo calls back, his own laughter tangling in the wind as he rushes to catch up.

Makalaure answers not, simply charging ever forward, twisting through the dotted trees and across the dappled meadows until the Mingling sets upon them both. It is only when they dismount, laying beside each other in the tall grass as their horses take a much-needed break, that Makalaure speaks again:

"I shall be the greatest rider, Maitimo! The swiftest and most skilled in all of Valinor!

Maitimo chuckles. "Oh, shall you be? Would you challenge even Nahar, then?"

Makalaure's tiny face furrows as he considers. "Nahar is… very big." But then he turns his head, looking over to where his own filly laps at the nearby brook, and a stony determination comes over him. "But I shall be bigger one day as well. And Suretal as well! And the Lord Orome would do well to accept our challenge then!"

A - Another prompt fill, but this one I fully intend to write into an actual oneshot. This is Celegorm's reaction to hearing that Huan has been killed. :(

And Celegorm howls. Howls for his best and dearest friend, sundered from him by his own choices. Howls his grief into the twilight until his voice gives out and he collapses, falling to his knees on the hard-packed soil.

Abortively, Curufin lurches forward, intending to catch his brother, but a handless arm stops him. He looks to Maedhros who regards him, tight-lipped and grieved. He shakes his head and Curufin relents, watching the display unfold. Together, the brothers stand vigil as Celegorm screams his despair and fury through the night.

In the morning, they return to Himring. In the morning, Maedhros allows Curufin to attend his brother, lugging Celegorm's limp form to the baths with all the care the world thought him lacking. In the morning, the dawn crests the mountain peaks and the day begins anew.

And Huan is not there to greet it.

B - Another excerpt from my Second Age Elrond fic! Some musings on his lineage.

…But no, even in his own musings, Elrond knows this not to be quite true. Quietly, he hums to himself, still twisting his Ring of Power upon his hand, and considers a more dubious motivation. For many still were Doomed beyond all—the last remnants of Fëanor’s once great House beyond the Sea—and they follow the lords of that house even still. To Ost-in-Edhil after Beleriand’s sinking, and now here, to the fosterling of the Sons of Fëanor, final heir of their House. Solemnly, Elrond bows his head in the early morning rays, both in remembrance of his kin and in grief at their legacy. In the habit of many long years, he reaches down to his belt, to the dagger sheathed at his side, and slides a thumb across the emblem emblazoned on the hilt, the eight-pointed star worn smooth from age and repetition. Elrond knows his lineage well. He knows his descent from the Great Houses of Men and Elves, from the Edain of Middle-Earth, from the lost lords of Doriath, from Valinor to Gondolin and beyond. And yet, quietly has he ever laid claim to yet one more, though he took care not to flaunt it outwardly. Indeed, it is because of such allegiance that his cries of “Cousin!” to the Lord of Eregion had rung not so distant, that he counted the late Celebrimbor as his closest of kin. Or, at least he had.

T - And last but not least, some Maglor from the same fic. Still fierce in his old age! XD

The figure is Maglor Feanorion—or all that yet remains of him—and it seems yet to be a day like any other in his interminable, self-imposed exile. And yet... For the first time in long hours, the quiet singing ceases. Maglor blinks, awareness coming back to him all at once. There is... something... Something electric in the charged air, like a bolt about to strike, like a sword at his throat, and he tenses, wary. Something is amiss, every instinct honed of countless years telling him of some unknown danger, though a quick survey of the area tells of none but he upon the beach. Instinctively, he stands, scarred hand reaching for the broken blade at his hip as he settles into a fighter's stance, far less fluid now than he had been anon, but still lethal by every measure. A fell wrath overtakes his features, the bloody bane of Shadow's servants and Elven kin alike envisaged in his bared teeth, the promise of violence honed over Ages of the world. A Song springs to his lips once more, no longer an idle ditty, but now charged with Power. "Nanhalya intyë!" he cries out in a loud voice. "Show thyself!"

Tagging: No one in particular, lol. But if you'd like to use the word STAR, please do! XD

#tag games #long post #wips #writing #fanfic #silmarillion #hah they're all Silm works now XD #I could've tapped in to some of my older WIPs but this seemed fitting XD #but yeah thank you both so much for tagging me!#I swear I actually will write a fic at some point XD

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citadelofthestars · 4 months ago

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Permission to be your swiftest rider my liege?

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backjustforberena · 2 years ago

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Okay so the Dance of the Dragons happening earlier: or Rhaenys doesn't back down her claim, Jaehaerys demands Baelon deal with her as Baelon is his heir, and Baelon refuses. Jaehaerys going to take to the sky despite his age because he will make them do as he says (look at his fight vs Saera's suitors). Young scared Daemon claiming Caraxes in a desperate move to try and get to Rhaenys to tell her what's going on before anyone else can do anything, bid by his father who's trying to keep things from getting worse. Alysanne and Silverwing, determined to defend her granddaughter's claim when she couldn't defend any of her daughters.

The firefight above King's landing, worse than the battle of the Gods eye because it's the Good King Jaehaerys on Vermithor vs Baelon the Brave on Vhagar. Two massive dragons in a fight where no matter who wins someone will be cursed by the Gods.

You'd really be hoping that those dragons would be going in to only maim or seriously injure, rather than kill. If they go in for the kill then, chances are, unless the rider alights, the rider will be killed also. At least if the opposing dragon is rendered unable to fly, there is a chance for a better landing and the survival of the rider whether by the rider's command or the dragon's instinct.

I'd be intrigued to see if Silvering and Vermithor would have ever gone into combat against each other, as they were pretty much a bonded pair and in love. To force them to fight each other would be cruel and quite striking. They were spared from fighting one another in the Dance.

It genuinely is a case of "how far are you willing to do". It would have to be Jaehaerys on the offensive, because I don't see any fight ensuing otherwise - they don't want to go to war against the Throne, against their King, against their husband/father/grandsire. Driftmark is more than defended and it doesn't need to attack, only to defend, if the aim is to keep Rhaenys alive. Whereas, to Jaehaerys, Rhaenys being alive is the THREAT and the source of the discord, so he needs to deal with it, i.e attack her. He needs to do what his son refuses.

I don't think Alysanne and Silverwing would have fought against Jaehaerys and Vermithor. Baelon and Vhagar are the better and then there are Meleys and Rhaenys. Alysanne would be purely defensive, and not go towards King's Landing or Dragonstone or wherever the dragons would meet on the journey to Driftmark - she wouldn't seek out a fight, though she'd meet one if it came to her.

But the idea of Baelon killing his father, or the tragic irony of Jaehaerys killing his appointed heir, is just so sad. No doubt Rhaenys, as soon as she gets word, will be on Meleys. And then the swiftest dragon in the Sevin Kingdoms will be on the scene. What if she kills the King? Would they make her Queen? Even if Jaehaerys is not her murder, would they blame her - could Baelon look her in the eye if Rhaenys could have just let it be and never contested?

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uncle-dusknoir · 2 years ago

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Great heavens! How shalt thou prepareth for thine festivities under thus conditions? I wish not but the swiftest ceasing of these curses for thine sake!

Pffft. hehehe...

- @silver-crowned-riders

i have two sets of ears a tail and there's a horde of elgyem watching me this is not fun. also I'm going to bite you like an animal

#magic daynon #this outfit is awful

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myrfing · 4 months ago

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there literally was a de facto “swiftest rider” role in fantasy earth zero but also you were just sent headlong to scout the enemy and often died first

#like thancredstyle

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hafsasuhair · 10 months ago

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The Best Family-Friendly Attractions at Wild Wadi Water Park Dubai

Located in the centre of Dubai and with the renowned Burj Al Arab as a beautiful backdrop, Wild Wadi Water Park is a top family adventure and fun spot. With more than thirty thrilling rides and attractions, the park provides guests of all ages with the ideal balance of excitement and relaxation. From heart-pounding water slides to calm flowing river waves, Wild Wadi guarantees an amazing experience that prioritises fun and safety. The park is the perfect place for families to spend quality time together, as it immerses them in an exciting world of aquatic entertainment centred around the story of Juha, a character from Arabian legend.

A trip to Dubai's Wild Wadi Water Park is an amazing experience that provides families with the ideal balance of adventure and relaxation. There is something for everyone to enjoy among the many attractions, which range from the thrilling Jumeirah Sceirah to the peaceful Lazy River. A full day of fun and adventure is guaranteed when you purchase wild wadi water park dubai ticket, which give you access to over 30 rides and attractions. This water park, which is in the centre of Dubai, offers a wonderful chance to make lifelong memories with loved ones. Get your wild wadi water park tickets now to avoid missing the opportunity to visit one of Dubai's top family-friendly attractions.

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2. Jumeirah Sceirah:

The Jumeirah Sceirah is a must-try for thrill-seeking families and families with older children. One of the world's tallest and swiftest free-fall water slides is this one. A tower's top is reached by riders, who then board a capsule and wait for the ground to give way, sending them tumbling down at as much as 80 km/h (50 mph). This is an event that will never be forgotten because of the amazing views from the top and the rush of excitement. For those who dare to take the plunge, this attraction delivers an exciting challenge that perfectly balances fear and excitement.

3. Burj Surj:

For families wishing to have fun and experience thrills together, Burj Surj is the perfect attraction. This attraction consists of a sequence of high-banked curves and a series of downward waterslides that lead to a sizable bowl that the tube circles before entering the slide's exit pool. Families may enjoy the thrill together in a multi-person tube thanks to the ride's design, which fosters strong bonds. Everyone will love the journey thanks to the mix of twists, turns, and splashes, which will leave a shared sense of excitement and adventure.

4. Master Blasters:

A thrilling experience is provided by the Master Blasters, a special collection of water roller coasters that shoot riders uphill with powerful water jets. Through a web of slides and flumes, travellers can experience a thrilling journey on several interconnected rides. It's a strange and thrilling feeling to be driven uphill by water jets. Double tubes allow families to ride together, which increases the excitement and adventure. Every ride provides a unique course and experience, so there's always something fresh to learn and take pleasure in.

5. Lazy River:

The Lazy River offers a calm haven for guests wishing to decompress from the park's more intensive attractions. This long, winding river offers families the opportunity to float along its mild currents and enjoy the beautiful scenery at their own pace. It's the perfect way to take in the sea and relax while rejuvenating. All ages can enjoy the Lazy River, which makes it a great choice for family outings. The serene ride provides a welcome counterpoint to the thrilling activities, giving guests a well-rounded experience.

6. Breakers Bay:

One of the biggest wave pools in the Middle East, Breakers Bay gives families the opportunity to enjoy the thrill of surfing waves in a supervised and secure setting. Swimming in the pool is lively and thrilling because to the five distinct configurations of 1.5-meter-high waves. Together, families can play, swim, and surf the waves, making for enjoyable and treasured memories. Everyone can enjoy the waves without fear because everyone is safe in the supervised atmosphere. The experience is kept interesting and novel by the shifting wave patterns, which makes it a popular destination for many tourists.

7. Tantrum Alley:

Tantrum Alley provides families with a thrilling experience by combining three tornadoes with a downhill waterslide. In a multi-rider tube, riders sit together and manoeuvre through a succession of twister funnels and abrupt twists. Families with a spirit of adventure will love the thrilling ride created by the fast slides and rotating funnels. The fun is made better by the shared experience of riding together, making it an unforgettable attraction. Everyone is kept on edge by the ride's excitement and unpredictable nature, which makes for a thrilling and delightful experience.

Conclusion:

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forestwarrior · 8 months ago

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Vidar chuckled as Mablung patted the side of his neck, softening up to the elf as he spoke. Perhaps he could be convinced to take him as his rider more often.

"I was created to be the swiftest horse in the lands, not many have experienced the level of speed I can reach."

Mablung's laughed ebbed as they slowed, but he cheerfully patted Vidar's side.

"That is enough speed to make even an elf breathless! I did not know fey steeds could be as swift as Nessa herself."

#thegreatstrongbow #They are bonding and it's cute

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hero-motocorp · 2 years ago

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What Makes the Xtreme 160R 4V the Best in the Segment?

The motorcycle industry continually evolves as manufacturers strive to redefine innovation, aiming to provide riders with the ultimate experience. Hero MotoCorp, a prominent player in India's two-wheeler sector, has once more set new standards with its Xtreme 160R 4V, boldly asserting its position as the swiftest 160cc motorcycle in its class.

Visit:- https://www.heromotocorp.com/en-in/media/blog/what-makes-the-xtreme-160r-4v-the-best-in-the-segment-know-all-the-details.html

#xtreme 160r 4v

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scorchieart · 3 years ago

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Home Sweet Homesick��| AO3

Characters: Clavis Lelouch, Chevalier Michel

Genre: Angst, Comfort.

Summary: Two brothers. One month. The final autumn before Bloodstained Rose Day.

Word Count: 5.8k (grab a mug of your preferred warm beverage, friends)

A/N: It has come to my attention that I have never written a fic with these two interacting. Yes, I am shocked, too. This is a franken-fall-fic for the following challenges, many warm hugs to the awesome writers who set them up!

Prompts:

Getting warm in their sweater - Cozytober hosted by @randonauticrap

"Your hands are cold." - Pumpkins & Fireplaces 2022 hosted by @chaosangel767

Treats - Fall Fluff & Autumn Angst CCC hosted by @aquagirl1978 & @violettduchess

Warnings: Mentions of death, grief, mild descriptions of injuries and pain (no blood), mild Clavis route spoilers.

“Recent activity west constitutes a growing concern, however full-blown mobilization of troops would be premature at this juncture—”

“Yaaaawn!”

“—No significant changes to report. Although such an extended pause may suggest possibility of attack—”

“Sn-ore!”

“—Our swiftest horse and rider are prepared to head out on-call with detailed instructions, should any perturbing developments arise—”

“Some perturbing development better arise in the next five seconds before I die of boredom!”

Tent flaps crack as a sharp gust bursts in unannounced, causing the stacks of paper and envelopes piled on top of our makeshift oakwood desk to flutter longingly underneath the stones I arrested them with. Three of the four candles illuminating my side blow out instantly, but the last one manages to hold on to its wicker as the mini tempest fades out as quickly as it started. It flickers feebly before bouncing back to its previous height, as though the wind was but a slight inconvenience.

I want nothing more than to grab that candlestick and plunge it straight into the desk.

But I don’t do that. I straighten my back, brush the windswept hair out of my face, and assess the damage. Luckily I had the foresight to restopper the ink bottle, because it was rolling halfway across the table by the time I spotted it. I manage to snatch it and my quill before they tumble over the edge and lay them atop the slightly wrinkled letter I was penning. Oh well, wrinkled doesn’t mean illegible, and I would know that better than anyone. Besides, the thing will get folded and stuffed into an envelope anyway. What’s one more crease in its cap?

I lightly tap the last word I wrote and lift my finger. No stains. Amazing how some good came from that nimble nimbus, considering all the damage its friends did to our tent. A large dollop of water trickles through a rip in the top and drops onto my hair, a casual reminder of the rainstorm that bucketed our camp this afternoon. I shake my head and peek through the still-swaying tent flaps to the citadel stationed at the bottom of the hill.

Golden fireplaces and candelabras illuminate the dozens of windows scattered across the fortress walls. Up here they look like tiny fireflies waiting to be captured.

I would like to go down there and catch them.

But I am technically still on duty. Yes, being a scribe is a duty of mine, and one I take rather seriously, despite what some nosy naysaying ministers may claim. Despite the fact that I prefer to be buried beneath a stack of dry blankets than wet letters, next to one of those shimmering fireflies. Despite the fact that our shabby little tent is one gust away from flying off to oblivion.

I mean Obsidian.

Either? Both? Beyond?

I do not like our shabby little tent.

But it doesn’t matter what I like because Chevalier likes it. Or rather, he likes its location. High above the tallest hill, the perfect vantage point overlooking both Rhodolite and Obsidian’s movements. Close enough to the citadel to relay any new perturbing developments as soon as they occur. Far enough from the border to dispel any accusations of militaristic intent.

Were this hilltop not the size of my closet, I bet Chevalier would move here permanently.

I wish Chevalier would move here permanently.

“Though it would be ardent to begin preparations at present, for the tides may turn mere moments after this letter leaves our base—”

“Now hold on, I haven’t caught up yet!” I say, quickly picking up my quill again. Did he say “preparations for presents”? I didn’t realize we were throwing a party. Yves’s birthday was a few weeks ago, but he’s back at the castle.

This makes no sense. And “tummies may turn”? Jin would sooner swear off women than Chevalier utter the word tummy in any context. Though mine has been spinning in circles since we started nearly two hours ago. It is long past midnight now, and I’d really like to lie down. But if Chevalier isn’t tired, neither am I.

I’ll just write down my best guess.

Like the candle, Chevalier only paused for a moment then instantly resumed his blathering as soon as the wind ceased. It doesn’t surprise me, honestly. I’ve seen my brother cut his dinner with a steak knife, stab an assassin with said knife, and chew his brisket all in the same breath.

And people say I’m the batty one.

Keeping my head hanging low over the paper, I steal a peek at Chevalier at the other end of the tent. He twirls a red stone figurine of a soldier in his left hand as he studies the large map laid out on the table, his back towards me. Not even his hair looks disturbed by the wind, and for some reason that angers me more than his refusal to slow down enough for me to catch up.

“Stop that,” he snaps, plunking the red soldier on the map with a sharp thwack.

“Stop what? Writing for your lazy behind?” I say.

“That nettlesome tapping. It is disrupting my thoughts.”

I unconsciously halt tapping the quill. Now do you understand what a blessing it is that I am still sane, dear reader?

“Well, you’re disrupting my process with your ugly mug,” I say, resuming the tapping, louder this time. I wish I could see his face right now. His eye is probably twitching like it does when I interrupt his reading, and that always makes it worth the mental trudge it takes to see him.

I will not be rewarded for my efforts tonight, it seems.

“You’re welcome to pick up where I left off if my way bothers you so much,” I say.

Chevalier hums and reaches for another figurine from a box. This time he pulls out a black one.

“And what would you do then to occupy yourself?” he asks, flicking the tip of the soldier’s miniature sword with his finger. “Tap your quill? Twiddle your thumbs? Sleep? When you’ve hardly managed to catch a wink this past month?”

And whose fault is that? I want to say, but I force my lips into a tight grin instead. A gentleman does not complain when faced with adversity. He powers through with grace and dignity and an unyielding smile.

But my cheeks are seriously starting to bear the toll of weeks upon weeks of these fake smiles. And my eyes have long since run out of tears following all those late-night jumpscares whenever I do manage to fall asleep. And my limbs are screaming from the grueling daily training rounds from dawn to dusk. Even if the days are getting shorter, they’re getting colder as well.

And I haven’t told Chevalier this, but earlier today I sprained my wrist while sword training. It really isn’t that big of a deal, to be honest. I was only squeezing in some extra swings before training officially began because a nasty nightmare woke me up too soon again. I figured I’d practice on the ancient oak tree we secured our tent to, and maybe set up a scenario where I’d “accidentally” sever the ropes and let the thing collapse on top of snoozing Chevalier, but I ended up tripping over one of the massive roots in the dark and tumbling down the hill.

He just had to choose the tallest hill.

“You are thinking of something asinine again,” says Chevalier.

“Definitely not,” I say, turning back to the letter. He is very lucky I injured my illegible hand.

I stuff said hand into my pocket and slowly stretch my fingers one by one, starting from the thumb, but my index finger only makes it halfway up before I have to muffle a grunt from the pain. I masterfully mask it by coughing into the crook of my good arm.

Another thwack of a figure placement, and Chevalier is back to reciting his correspondence. If he is upset that I just coughed on his sweater, he doesn’t make an effort to show it.

Yes, this is Chevalier’s sweater I am wearing. My shirt is all in tatters now after a certain fall down a hill (that I cannot believe I am bringing up twice in the same sitting). And my backup shirt is currently hanging outside, still dripping with this afternoon’s downpour. Chevalier took one look at me after I returned from practice and tossed me the sweater before I could get even one foot in the tent.

How very considerate of him, forcing his exhausted and sopping younger brother to change outdoors after sunset in October so his precious maps and documents wouldn’t get drenched.

I think I’ll leave a great big sneeze in the collar next, just to show how much I appreciate his prospective.

But I’d end up inhaling more wool than medically recommended before Chevalier would ever bother to tell me to stop.

I’m actually still in shock to even be wearing it, to tell the truth. I figured it was buried at the bottom of his closet half-eaten by moths. It had been years since I’d last seen the thing, when his grandfather gave it to him at his mother’s funeral. One of those events I figured Chevalier deemed not worth remembering.

But I remember.

I remember the way Chevalier stood in front of her grave after they buried her, pale and stiff and dry-eyed, like a flawless stone figurine. I remember how the Lord Michel walked up beside him and almost put his hand on his shoulder, but pulled away at the last second when Chevalier turned to look at him. And I remember how he looked back. How he shakily drew the folded sweater from his other arm and trembled as he presented it to his grandson, a boy not half his size.

“She’d want you to keep warm,” he’d said. I remember how cold his words sounded that day.

I remember how cold my mother’s hand was, too.

“Ow!”

The quill clatters on the desk as I furiously rub at my temple. When I open my eyes, a black knight lays atop my letter, shimmering dully in the single candlelight.

“What was that for?” I growl.

“You misspelled ‘accommodate’.”

“What?” I push the knight aside and count the letters of the last word I wrote. Two c’s and one m stare back at me in glossy ebony ink. I glance back at Chevalier. His hand is rummaging through the box again, but his eyes never lift from the map.

I pick up the quill and start to squeeze a mini m by the first when a second figure bounces off my head.

“Stop that!” I yell.

“Start over.”

“No way, it’s just a tiny fix. And I was almost done!” I hold the nearly-filled page up to him, but he still refuses to look.

“Then you should have been more attentive.”

“Who cares? It’s just going to Leon.”

“With my signature.” He slams another figure on the map with finality.

But I’m not finished.

“You rewrite it then.”

No response.

My seat flies back as I stand, but my cheek is pressed against the dirt before it reaches the ground.

My wrists are trapped and suspended in the air, but this time I can’t hide my roars of pain. They’d be louder I’m sure, but the knee jabbing into my back limits the airflow into my lungs.

My vision spins. I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to breathe deeply through my nose. Wet, molding tent mixed with the unwashed stench of two teenage boys who haven’t bathed in weeks burns my nostrils, but years of experience taught me this is the fastest way to calm my nerves in these situations. Years and years and years of experience. My head is still going fuzzy though, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or the exhaustion.

I pry my stinging eyes open and focus on the closest thing to me. The candlestick rolls a few inches away, the shape of my clenched fingers imprinted in the wax column, its flame still burning.

I must look positively feral, but no more feral than the beast pinning me down.

“I expected more,” says Chevalier.

His fingers dig under the sleeves and into my wrists as he yanks, pulling my face a few inches off the ground. I gasp like I’ve just resurfaced from a lake, and crane my neck as far back as I can to meet his piercing stare. He’s waiting for an explanation.

His palms are like ice, and my teeth chatter as I bite back the urge to scream.

“Your hands are c-cold.”

That’s it? One month of endless belittling, cold-shoulders, and sleeping outdoors. My fingers are brittle from writing dozens of letters. My elbows and knees bruised from constant repairs to this tent. My hand drips with searing wax from my latest failed payback attempt. And the best I can come up with is your hands are cold?

I expected more, too.

He stares a bit more, longer than he has all day, before finally releasing me. I fall back to the ground and bury my face in my collar —Chevalier’s sweater collar— heaving breaths in and out my nose until my head stops spinning. It takes me a few minutes, but I eventually push myself onto my knees and inspect the damage. I had grabbed the candlestick with my good hand without thinking, and my palm is now almost entirely covered in the waxy sticky stuff. At least it’s quickly solidifying in this cold, but I don’t dare peel it off yet. I might end up pulling off skin, too.

My injured wrist, on the other hand, looks even darker than it did this morning, with splotches of blue and purple climbing up my forearm. I hold my breath and nudge it with a finger, but to my surprise, I don’t feel any pain. In fact, I don’t feel anything, except for the sensation of frigid digits tapping my skin.

“Get that checked and be back by noon,” Chevalier calls. Another surprise, he’s not at his map but at my desk corner, chair back upright, scratching away with my quill at blinding speed.

“Noon?” I repeat. “You mean tomorrow?”

“I mean six hours from now. The numbness will wear off soon, and you’ll hassle the medics with your obnoxious blubbering if you do not hurry.” As if on cue, the first specs of dawn trickle in through the tent flaps.

“I’m not missing training,” I say. “If you’re going, so am I.”

“There is nothing more foolish than a dying man demanding poison over cure.”

“I’m not dying!” I march over and pull my good arm sleeve up to my elbow. “See? You’re just being dramatic.”

Again he refuses to look my way, instead focusing on folding the paper he was writing on into thirds. He retrieves the fallen candlestick, elegantly prepares a stamp, and, as soon as the seal cools, stacks it and the other letters I prepared onto my outstretched hand.

“You will deliver the post and return in time to memorize this new battle formation before afternoon practice commences. With the correct hand bandaged,” he warns, pushing past me to his maps. “Do not fall short of my expectations again.” He picks a red soldier from the box and resumes his planning.

I push through the flaps before the thwack reaches my ears.

Even though the tent is meager at best, it still mostly protects us from the harsh winds that pound every night. The approach of dawn hampers the air, but a brisk rush still uncomfortably tickles down my spine as I approach the edge of the hill. The numbness in my hand starts to fade as I stare down at those jagged rocks, almost goading me to trip again, and I back up until my boot bumps the oak tree.

Chevalier did say I have six hours.

I stuff the letters in my armpit and start climbing the tree, slowly as it is still quite dark out and my hands aren’t exactly in best form. I also try to keep quiet, in case Chevalier won’t approve of my little recess.

Once I reach the highest branch that can support my weight, I throw my legs over the edge and lean my cheek against the trunk. It is cool and covered in morning frost; a welcoming sensation to my welting face. Not so much to my tense thighs, but if I learned one thing on this trip it is to hold on to any good happenstances because they are rare to come by. Or last long.

I pull the letters out again and straighten them. Leon’s is first, a tiny detailed rose drawn directly underneath his perfectly-penned name. That’s the code we came up with for documents that need to be read with high urgency. Chevalier likes his papers to be ordered by importance, both outgoing and incoming, and as I leaf through the rest I see he’s arranged the next one to Sariel, followed by Jin, and then to various nobles and ministers back at the capitol.

I sometimes wonder, if I wasn’t Chevalier’s shadow, could my letters top his piles?

My skin prickles with envy. He isn’t even the king, so why must everything be under his thumb? The land, the people, and now the words. Why not let these papers be picked up by autumn winds, like the golden leaves of the oak, with no drive or direction other than away from here? Embarking on a journey unknown, a glorious adventure beyond the confines of their pages, full of twists and turns and loop de loops never before scrivened by man. In the infinite realms of possibility, there exists a universe where they all land exactly where intended. But equally likely, they also may end up at the most inopportune destination.

I spread the envelopes like a hand of cards toward the Obsidianite border, a gentle wind growing from behind.

It’s really not so different from Rhodolite. We each have rocks and grass and bushes. Storms hound us both, the rising sun does not discriminate, and we both settle at night under the same starry blanket sky. This little sample of land shows even more, with our matching fortresses and battle posts, and there’s a high hilltop mirroring our own. It even has its own matching oak tree, though while mine still brims with flittering leaves of reds and browns, theirs stands thin and bare. So bare, it is impossible to miss the dark figure seated on the top branch.

Frostbite stabbing my thighs jumpstarts my senses, and I manage to hook my leg onto a knot in the trunk before the shock sends me tumbling down. I hug the letters and straighten my shoulders, looking back at my tree twin. How long has he been there? Has he been watching me? There’s quite a bit of foliage surrounding me. Does he even know I'm here?

I tentatively stretch my free leg, both to see if he’d respond and to encourage blood flow in case I need to make a hasty exit. A minute passes with nothing, but as soon as I start to lower my leg, a shadowy appendage protrudes from the figure.

So he can see me.

I raise my arm. This time the figure waves back almost instantly. Could I interpret that as neighborly? I don’t want to raise my voice in case Chevalier investigates. Instead I shrug my shoulders and wag my head from side to side. My neck is still sore from Chevalier’s little “rebuttal” earlier, but I hope the message is still understandable.

What do you want?

Another unresponsive minute goes by before the figure raises both arms. The first points a finger at me. The second beckons in his direction.

I look over my shoulder as though I expect someone else to be there. This can’t be serious, is he asking me to cross the border? The Obsidianite border? When we are at the cusp of war? Does this guy even know who I am?

I don’t have the time to conjure a reply before I hear my name called from below.

“Well met, Prince Clavis!”

So much for that last question. And for keeping Chevalier in the dark.

I scan my surroundings and locate a horseman at the base of the hill, waving a scarlet flag with a rose up at me. The postman has arrived.

For the first time on this trip, apart from the daily workouts, my palms pool with sweat. But this is a different kind of perspiration. Chevalier could pop out any minute, and my head whirs with what to say back to the stranger across the border before he does. Er—sign. Sorry, now’s not a good time? I’ll think about it? Can we talk later?

Do I even want to continue this conversation? I jerk my head back toward Obsidian, but the branch is just as bare as the rest of the tree.

“Is everything alright, my prince?” the postman calls, turning the direction I’m facing. “Is something happening across the border?”

“No, no. Everything’s fit as a fiddle! Just watching the sunrise,” I say, fumbling out of the tree. No light emerges from the tent, and I quickly poke my head in to confirm Chevalier’s sleeping form settled in a chair by his desk of maps. He lets out a long snore, and I let out a long sigh of relief.

After a slow descent of the hillside (I will not fall for the same fault twice in a row), the postman and I greet each other and exchange our stacks.

“I am very glad I ran into you, Prince Clavis!” His voice is cheery, despite the fact that he no doubt traveled the entire night. He isn’t originally from the capitol, I have everyone’s names and faces memorized there, but the flag he bears is reserved only for envoys from the royal palace. He looks about my age, with modest build and eyes not yet marred by the horrors of the battlefield. If I was to hazard a guess, I would say this is his first mission this close to the border.

“You are glad?” I ask.

“Indeed! I was instructed to hand-deliver those letters to Prince Chevalier. I feared it would be a great impertinence on my part to address His Highness personally, so I attempted to leave the letters with the general. However I was shocked to hear that you two were not staying at the fort! I was told your location was classified, but I really wanted to make sure I completed my first delivery. I never would have imagined royalty sleeping in a tent mid-autumn, of all places!”

Called it, but all I say is, “You and I both, lad.”

“But this could not be more perfect! I can trust you to pass these off to Prince Chevalier, then? Master Sariel said it is extremely important that he reads his letter as soon as humanly possible.”

I see now. This could not be more perfect because he ran into Chevalier’s middle man instead of the man himself. I stretch my cheeks into that wide grin and give him a polite nod. The boy looks pleased with himself as he bows and marches to his horse, and I take advantage of his turned back to drop my smile and peek at who’s top-pile today.

The deep purple seal pops in the faint light of dawn, rays sliding up and down the swerving curves of the embossed serpent like ethereal liquid, but it is the text on the other side of the envelope that locks my attention. Chevalier’s full name is elegantly printed in bold black. Below it, scripted in an equally flawless hand, are two roses.

My breath catches in my throat as I grip the paper tighter. The ink on the petals is slightly smudged, as though it was handed off seconds after drawn. Never before have I seen two roses, neither sent nor received, and the thought of what news they bear freezes the blood in my veins even quicker than the weather. Are we officially at war with Obsidian? Was a meeting held while we were away? Has Jade or Benitoite made a move, too? Or is it something domestic? Have the people finally started to revolt against this endless back and forth? Has something happened to the king? Has something happened to my brothers?

That last thought drives a final icicle through my chest. My eyesight blurs and my legs start to give way, but both are locked back in place as something large is shoved into my arms. It is still too dark to make out what it is, but I immediately register the residual heat it dissipates.

“And here’s the final package!” the boy says. I blink several times before I can make out the shape of the wooden crate. It is about the size of my torso, light as a practice sword, and feels like a tiny oven pressed against my chest. “It’s the other extremely important cargo piece.” He ends with a wink, mounts his horse, and departs before I have the chance to ask anything else.

My first instinct is there’s something alive in there, and I slowly lower the crate to the ground to not startle (or infuriate) it. It may be asleep, but there are no abrupt movements as I observe the box from all angles. If whatever it is was alive, it is highly suspect that it could survive the trip from the palace with only three tiny breathing holes. And the soury-sweet smell wafting out from them could not belong to a carcass.

There is no identification on the box, and I pull out the stack of letters again to solve this mystery. Sariel’s letter deadpans me with a scowl, almost like its author would, and I shuffle it to the bottom. It won’t make a difference if Chevalier reads it right this second or after I’ve figured out what’s in this crate. Each successive letter is from some general or marquess or duke, no doubt begging Chevalier for some fatuous favor because none are marked with roses, and I nearly resolve to just prying the crate open myself when a glint of pale pink catches my eye.

I grasp the final envelope in both hands and hold it up to the steadily rising sun, but my eyes are not playing tricks as the delicate figure of a cat shines back.

Why would Yves write to Chevalier?

Again, no roses adorn this letter, but I pull out my pocket knife and carefully lift the seal from the paper. I can practically hear Sariel squalling at me through the mouth of the discarded purple serpent, but I ignore it. This is a matter between brothers. Sariel could never understand.

My heart pounds in my ears as I unfold the letter to reveal Yves’s gossamer script, and I press one palm against the side of my head to steady it as I read.

Gladdest tidings, Prince Chevalier.

Thank you ever so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to write to me. It brought me the greatest joy to receive your letter on my birthday, I could not stop myself from shaking with excitement upon reading it.

Shaking with fear sounds more like it. That answers why Yves sent this, but drops a new more important question: Why did Chevalier send Yves a letter? Surely not just to wish him a happy birthday.

While your sentiments are more than enough, I truly wished you and Prince Clavis could have been present for the celebration. It was a small affair, as usual, but it was a welcome respite from the turbulence of the court since your departure. I am sorry to say our people are not pleased that your two-day inspection of the citadel has turned into a month-long station at the border, and many nobles are demanding your return to the palace posthaste. They fear your decision to remain may anger Obsidian and incite retaliation, but they only speak their minds so freely knowing you are so far away. I have no doubt you will have received letters from them asking for your return, but I beseech your understanding of their apprehension in your responses.

I scoff, the cooled breath materializing before me. Leave it to Yves to think the best of the people’s intentions, but he hasn’t read the novels of resentment Chevalier receives each week. And he hasn’t penned the curt, cold-blooded replies.

Then it hits me, Chevalier sent a letter to Yves that I didn’t write. The paper wrinkles as my grip tightens, and I have to squint to make out the next lines.

Ah, but I am getting off topic. I am sure you tire from talk of military and government, Sariel is currently drafting a lengthy report to you on both as I write this, so I shall make this as brief as I can.

It will please you to hear that despite the political climate, the seasonal climate has been rather generous. The harvest has been bountiful this year, and while the people’s spirits are not at their highest, their bellies are full and they are thankful. It took some help from the other princes, but we even managed to prepare the extra set of treats you requested. I must admit, I worried I would not be able to bake and pack the lot in time for the post. I had wanted the delivery to arrive as fresh as possible, and it was only with their assistance that we prevailed. Even with their pilfering hands snatching ingredients left and right, I ask that you thank them as well when you sit down to enjoy the sweets.

The tart aroma hits my nostrils again, and I have to hold back from clawing the sides of the crate apart. I limit myself to prying off two boards from the top, and am rewarded with a waft of warmth and a cornucopia of baked goodies. My mouth waters as I stick my face through the opening, letting the heat and the smell envelope my senses.

Home. It really is a piece of home right in front of me. So close I can touch it, smell it, taste it… but I hold off on the last one for now. What if Chevalier sent a specific numbered order? I pull my head out and rest my chin on the top as I read the last part.

And speaking of the others, it will also please you to hear that they are all well. Prince Leon and Prince Jin have placated the citizens for now, and while it is fortunate they are a team of two, I fear their efforts will not last much longer. I have spotted Prince Nokto speaking to nobles as well, and despite his age he harbors a magnetic quality that calms even the tensest of brows. Prince Licht and I have been handling paperwork in the background, and we have learned much about our kingdom and its operations in the process.

Furthermore, I know you did not ask, but father is in good health as well. Though he seldom leaves his room these days and only speaks with Sariel. I fear his spirits are lowest of all.

I have a little space left on this page, so please allow me to use it to ask of my brother. You mentioned he has not taken well to the extended stay, I hope he is at least keeping himself entertained. Even with the disquiet of complaints, the halls never felt so still in his absence. But I believe he can keep up with you, we all do.

Lastly, I do hope you are both keeping warm. The previous postman reported the weather is much colder near the mountains where you are. It was a bout of good fortune Prince Jin managed to hand you your sweater before you left, was it not? But as you said, a decorated mantle does nothing to light the hearth, so please enjoy the treats while they are still hot.

Take care of one another, and I pray for your safe return before the first winter snow.

Yves Kloss

The hand reaching for the crate is automatic. It takes a couple chews before I realize I have bitten into an apple strudel. It takes a few more before I realize I am crying.

Hot tears stream down my cheeks and smudge Yves’s words as I hug them and the pastry to my chest. Weeks… months… years of what I could never put into words rock my body as I scream into the crate.

I don’t want to go to war. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I don’t want to keep hurting myself climbing to catch Chevalier, because I know I will never make it. I just want to go home. Home where these treats were made. Home where these treats were shared. Home where these treats never fathomed a life outside their oven.

The sun is mostly up when the final cries exit my system. My body weighs like it ran to the palace and back, and I cannot even raise an arm to shield myself from the blinding rays or the chilling winds of early morning. The only thing I can do is bury my face in the collar of my sweater. Chevalier’s sweater.

Chevalier’s sweater is warm.

I wrap my fingers around the half-eaten strudel. It is warm, too.

Warm, like Yves’s hands when he pulls them out of the oven. Warm, like Licht’s cheeks as he stands tip-toed at the edge of the table and watches his brother set them down. Warm, like Nokto’s hugs when he ambushes his brother from behind, both in thanks and in distraction. Warm, like Jin’s ears as he swipes the top pastry and it disappears into his mouth. Warm, like Leon’s laughter as he prepares to pacify the situation.

Warm, like Sariel’s gaze as he watches the scene unfold. Warm, like my mother’s kisses that linger to this day. Warm, like Chevalier’s…

A sharp crack turns my attention back up the hill. The top of the tent rips and flutters in the breeze, waiting for me to patch it up again. Chevalier must be cold.

Pain throbs in my wrist. I peel the wax off my hand. I look back and forth between the citadel and the hill. Then between the border and the sun. I have many paths before me, and a good four hours left.

I stuff the rest of the pastry in my cheeks and collect the letters, careful to reseal Yves’s the way it was and return Sariel’s to the top. I grab the crate under one arm and start back up the hill. It is a long climb, yes, but one I know I can make.

*Nudges Yves* Get in there, Evie! You're the hero of this story! And uh, you can just stay where you are, Gilbert.

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