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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 10 months

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Words: 5,818 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan Warnings: scary imagery, frightening scenarios A/N: This is part of a series! Find the rest on the Master List!

Summary: Escaping from the horde and leaving the ruins of the cabin behind, Daryl and Y/N head down the mountain and then must decide what happens next.

Previous Chapter

You cut the engine of the snowmobile and shut off the lights. The slope of the foothills behind you continued to carry you downwards toward the darker shadows looming, rising up in front of you like a tidal wave. The moon was bright enough to illuminate your way.

You were shivering, almost violently, and Daryl’s arms tightened around you. Your teeth chattered.

“What is it?” Daryl drawled over your shoulder.

“W—we’re almost there. We should f—find somewhere to leave the sled and g—go on foot. I don’t want th—the engine noise or lights to attract the dead or the l—living,” you stuttered. You both squinted ahead at the dark buildings.

“Yer frozen,” he said. The worry weighed heavily in his voice. “We gotta get ya warm and into some dry socks and shoes… Hopefully I can build ya a fire when we find a clear buildin’.”

“I’m—I’m okay,” you managed, though you weren’t sure you believed it. You felt as if you’d been in a daze since you’d woken up and seen the crowd of dead outside the cabin. You still had the fleeting thought that this wasn’t real, that this wasn’t happening, but then the bite of the cold on your cheeks and fingers would reassure you that it was. You were far past feeling anything in your toes, even the painful teeth of the frigid wind.

At last, you stopped the sled at the bottom of the hill and pulled it sideways along a row of brushy shrubs to conceal it. Daryl climbed off immediately and the dogs eagerly jumped out and began nosing around in the snow. Bear let out a few quiet whines, but they showed no sign of alert due to any nearby enemies, dead or living.

You climbed off the seat and staggered on your feet in the deep snow. Daryl’s hands seized your shoulders and steadied you. In the glow of the moon, you could see the frantic turmoil in his blue eyes. “Ya alrigh’?” he drawled softly. He was on edge. You could hear it in the flinty sharpness of his voice.

You gulped and nodded.

Your frozen fingers fumbled with your gear, pulling it clumsily from the snowmobile and shouldering it over the oversize parka you’d pulled on hastily on the mountain. Daryl popped open the storage container and began tugging more bags from inside, shifting them onto his back. Crossbow in hand, he was waiting nearby until you were ready, and then he began to lead the way to the closest building.

The night air was dampened of all sound from the blanket of snow. Somewhere among the buildings you could hear the occasional squeak of metal or bang, perhaps from some infected trapped somewhere, but the street seemed blessedly empty.

You were trying hard to control the violent shivering wracking your body, clenching your teeth and trying to focus on staying alert to the surroundings, but your feet had begun to burn again in your sodden layers. Daryl’s hand drifted along the painted cinderblock as he moved stealthily toward a heavy metal door ahead. You were at the back of some store, though you couldn’t say what it may have been a long time ago. There were no windows and Daryl heaved in a steadying breath when he finally stopped in front of the gray, metal door. He raised the butt of his crossbow and knocked it hard in the center. A hollow reverberation sounded and you could almost feel the vibration in your bones.

Both of you strained your ears in the silence. The dogs stood on either side of you, alert. You waited several long minutes, rigid with anticipation, until finally you wavered on your feet and Daryl almost dropped his bow in his anxiety to steady you again. His brow furrowed deeply. “I think it’s clear, but dun let yer guard down until we know for sure. We gotta check the whole building.” He reached out and tested the handle cautiously. It was loose. He turned it and pushed inside into the darkness, clicking on the light mounted on his bow.

You moved through the building efficiently, searching for any sign or people or infected, but the building was silent with its maze of shelves and newspapered windows. Part of the roof had collapsed at some point and pigeons took off and flew through the hole toward the inky night sky overhead. The dogs gave chase briefly but quickly returned to your sides when they realized the birds were far out of reach.

Daryl was shining his light around what must have been an employee break room at some point. “I think we’re good,” he drawled, heaving a relieved sigh. As if that was all you needed to hear to allow your body to finally give out, you collapsed in a heap on the floor. “Whoa—hey, hey!” Daryl rushed to you. Bear whimpered and licked your cheek. You were breathing hard, clearly exhausted and crashing after the highs of the adrenaline. “Hey—yer alrigh’,” he drawled, kneeling beside you and quickly dumping his gear down on the floor. He cupped your face between his hands and wiped at a spot of blood on your cheek from your fight with the walkers outside the shop. “We’re okay. S’gonna be okay…”

“I c—can’t f—feel my feet,” you said, reaching a still gloved hand toward your sodden feet. The slippers were blocks of ice and so were the socks beneath them.

Daryl’s brow furrowed. “Yeah… uhh—yeah, we need fire. We gotta get ya warm. Lemme—” he glanced back at the hole in the roof, perfect to let the smoke escape. “Okay. I’mma make a fire. Lemme gather up some shit to burn. Just—ya peel off those wet socks and stuff and move your toes and feet, see if ya can warm ‘em a bit with yer hands. If ya gotta, wrap ‘em in yer coat or put your mittens on ‘em.”

You realized for the first time that he barely had any winter gear on either. “W—what ab—bout you?”

He gave you a half-smile. “‘M okay. Haven’t ya noticed ‘m immune to the cold now? It almost had me once, but ain’t gonna happen again.”

His cheeks were red and windburned and you frowned. “It’s n—not a virus. Ya don’t g—get immunity l—like that, Daryl,” you argued. “Ya can’t just—”

He suddenly cupped your face and pressed his lips eagerly to yours. Yours were chilled and tasted slightly salty, like tears, but you kissed him back hungrily, feeling a screaming welling up inside your chest—too close, it was too close, too close, that was all too close… “I’ve got this,” he whispered to you when he pulled back, brushing some strands of your hair that were sticking to your cheeks. “Just rest here and try to unfreeze them toes.” Daryl was here. Daryl was going to make sure you were okay. The scream lessened to a dull roar. You nodded and watched him step away into the darkness to gather dried bits of cardboard and paper and broken pallet wood to build a fire. The glow of his flashlight was a warm torch in the cold darkness.

You sighed and turned your attention back to your frozen feet. Bear laid down against your side, whining slightly. Strider walked calm patrol around you, on alert and staring and sniffing into the darkness.

When you peeled (or cracked may be more accurate) the sodden socks from your feet, the skin on your feet was so white it looked completely drained of all life and you thought that the tips of your toes were slightly blue, but it was difficult to tell in the warm, yellow light of your headlamp. You did as Daryl had instructed and tried to move and wiggle them, mentally trying to summon hot blood back into them. You finally took off your mittens and pulled them on over your feet. Slowly the warmth from your hands began to penetrate the iciness of your skin.

An orange glow flickered to life in the direction Daryl had gone and you watched embers lick up toward the hole in the roof. Daryl reappeared around some shelves and paced over to you. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get ya warmed up.” He glanced at your feet and nodded. “Nice socks.”

“Thanks.” Your shivering and stammer was gone. Being out of the wind of the sled and at least protected from the worst of the descending cold of night seemed to allow your body to make some headway toward warmth again. “It’s a new trend I’m starting.” You noted that his hand was chilled as you accepted it and he pulled you to your feet. Daryl gathered up the gear and hauled it along to the fire. The dogs trotted beside you.

There was already a happy blaze and you sank down beside it and warmed your fingers and feet, sticking them out toward the flickering flames. It wasn’t lost on you that you’d almost died in a fire not 40 minutes ago and now the same thing was perhaps saving your toes. The cabin—gone. It was hard to believe it was gone. Gone like your mom and dad. Gone like Brian. All of your old life was now behind, smoldering on the mountain, perhaps trampled under rotting feet. But you’d made it out. No thanks to your own obstinacy, you’d made it out.

Daryl watched you silently for several long minutes, warming his own body in the glow of heat and throwing on more pallet wood to stoke the fire as needed. Finally, he broke the silence. “Ya okay?” he asked. His voice was thick, worried.

But you looked up at him, your eyes a bit teary and sad at first, and then you smiled. It was small and tired, but it was there. “Yeah,” you said with a nod. “I am. Or I will be… I’m with you. The boys are here,” you said reaching over to pet Strider’s ear. “That’s all that matters.”

He nodded, and a wave crashed over him, nearly dragging him under. He tore his eyes away from you and blinked furiously at the tears burning in them, staring instead at the movement in the coals. “I—I really thought I might lose ya,” he admitted. “That fire—it was spreadin’ so quick. And then the roof fallin’ in—”

You hastily pulled off the puffy coat you still had on and laid it down on the ground next to him before sitting on it, scooting close beside him. You leaned against his side and slipped your arm through his. “Me too,” you said. “But then—I heard your voice on the other side of that wall—and I knew you would get me out. I just knew that you’d do everything you could to get me out. You saved me. Again. I can’t ever repay you for all you’ve done.”

Daryl looked over at you in surprise. “Repay me?” His blue eyes flickered between yours again, but you were relieved to see that they were less turbulent. “Ya dun owe me a damn thing.” He leaned in toward you then and kissed your cheek, but it was soft and lingering and it warmed you even better than the fire did.

You laid down close to the fire, tucked against each other that night. Daryl’s arm looped over you protectively. You felt the crash coming hard from the waning of your adrenaline, the terror of your ordeal. “What do we do next?”

Daryl was almost afraid to ask the question, but he did. Part of him still didn’t believe that someone as good as you could come to him and then stay… “Will ya come with me? Back to Alexandria?”

You turned over beneath his arm and leaned up on your forearm, your eyes flickering between his, seeing his fear and his nervousness. “Of course, I will. And not just because of what happened tonight. I—I would have made the same decision if the cabin and everything was still there. I don’t—I don’t want to be parted from you.” You pressed your hand flush to the center of his chest when you said it and Daryl felt a surge of relief and happiness and hope and—

He smiled at you. Just a small one, but it touched the corners of his eyes. “Everybody back home is gonna love ya. Just wait. Ya got a ready-made family waitin’ for ya back there.”

“Waiting for us,” you corrected him.

He nudged his nose up in a nod, that signature Daryl move. “Right. Us. Tomorrow, we’ll see if my bike is still where I left it months ago when I rolled into town—see if it’ll still run. If it ain’t, we’ll figure somethin’ else out. A car… somethin’. Or take the sled as far as we can. And we head home.”

You nodded, thoughtfully biting your bottom lip. “It’s a long fucking way. Do you really think we can make it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I know we can. The two of us together? Are ya kiddin’ me? Ain’t shit standin’ in our way.”

You let out a small laugh at that and then leaned forward and kissed him softly. His hand landed lightly on your neck. Then, exhaustion was winning and you lay down, tucked in against his chest, his arm draping over you again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Three Months Later “Hey—hey!” Glenn shouted down to Rosita who was standing by the gate. “Did anybody go out today on a run?” he asked, glancing back up to stare down the street in the distance.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Why?” Before he could answer, she looked out through the gate and saw the approaching truck too. She hurried to climb the ladder and stood beside Glenn on the guard platform. He had dug out the binoculars and raised them to his eyes.

There was a long silence where he just seemed to be staring, fixedly, at the approaching vehicle.

“What? What is it?” Rosita urged. The truck was still too far away for her to see much with no scope to aid her.

Glenn lowered the binoculars and looked over at her, his eyes a little wide. “Go get Rick—everybody, go get everybody!” he said, almost in a daze.

“What is going on?” she urged him. That’s when his face finally cracked into a wide smile, his eyes a little teary.

“There’s a bike in the back,” he said.

She knew what that meant. “Is it—? Can you see him? Are you sure?” she asked desperately.

Glenn nodded. “Yeah. It’s him. Go get everyone! Hurry!”

In the truck, Daryl glanced over at you in the passenger seat beside him. “Are ya ready for this?” he asked.

You shook your head and shrugged. “I—I dunno. It’s a lot of people,” you laughed. “But I’m—I can’t wait to meet them. Nervous though…” you added. Bear stood, sensing the end of the journey somehow and tapping his paws excitedly on the back seat, giving a big stretch and a loud yawn and whine. Looking ahead you could see the gate, just as he’d described it, and the sign posted on the wall: Alexandria Safe Zone. Mercy for the Lost. Vengeance for the Plunderers.

Daryl’s hand landed over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’re gonna love ya. Ya ain’t got any reason to be nervous. I know it.”

The brakes squealed as the truck came to a stop in front of the gate. Daryl flashed the lights three times, the old signal they’d always used that the coast was clear to open it. He nudged his head toward his door and you nodded. You both climbed out, the dogs jumping out after you, climbing over the center console to get outside. As the metal gate rattled, drawn back by someone you couldn’t yet see. It rolled to the side to reveal a small crowd gathering. More people were rushing up the street to join them. You met Daryl’s eyes again as he stepped around his door and gave you a warm smile. Home. He was happy to be home. And you were with him. You’d made it.

Daryl shut his door and strode forward. You stopped by the front of the truck, hanging back a little awkwardly. “Stay, boys,” you murmured to the dogs. They heeled on either side of you, but Strider was wagging his tail and Bear was whining a little, looking ahead at all the people.

“Move! Watch out,” a voice rose from the crowd and a woman with short silver hair burst through. A huge grin spread on her face when she saw him walking toward the gate. Carol. It must be Carol. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him in a huge hug, then pulled back to clasp his face between her hands before hugging him again, a teary, broad smile on her face, her eyes squeezed shut. Daryl hugged her back, but looked up as the crowd parted and a lean man with curly hair broke through with a little girl in his arms at a light jog.

“Maggie, would you hold her?” Rick murmured, almost not believing his eyes as he glanced back up at Daryl standing there, Carol now at his side. Maggie, happy tears on her cheeks already, held Judith. Rick’s eyes flickered over to you briefly but then landed back on Daryl again. His expression was almost disbelief at first and then it melted into emotion he was trying hard to hold back. He walked right up to Daryl and gripped his shoulder hard, looking him square in the eye and nodding, gulping emotion back. “Where the hell have you been?” he drawled, his face finally breaking into a smile touched with tears, and he pulled Daryl into a hug, clasping the back of his neck. “God, it’s good to see you brother.”

You bit your bottom lip, choking back your own emotion at the reunion, and feeling like you were intruding on something. After Daryl broke from Rick, he was quickly surrounded as his family came one by one to welcome him home—Michonne clasped his face and kissed his cheek, Eric and Aaron hugged him with broad smiles and pats on the back, Glenn gave him a hasty hug, Maggie pressed her palm gently to his cheek and Daryl stroked Judith’s soft blond hair. He was chewing on his bottom lip hard, trying to stop himself from completely going to pieces. Carol and Rick never left his side, but after a few minutes the rest of the Alexandrians who weren’t part of Daryl’s core group wandered away with plenty to talk about. Who was that standing there with the two dogs? Do you think its Brian’s sister? Did he really find her? He can’t have made it all the way to Montana and back!

Finally, he was able to gather himself and looked back at you still standing by the car, running your fingers through Bear’s thick fur nervously, biting your bottom lip. He cleared his throat and caught Rick’s eyes again. “Rick—uhh, everybody… This is Y/N. She’s—she’s Brian’s twin sister. And that’s Bear and Strider,” he said, pacing over to pat the big lab on his head and tousle his ears around.

For a moment everyone just stared at you, mostly good-natured looks on their faces, sure, but also some pity and grief and curiosity and wariness mixed in. Daryl met your eyes and gave a questioning look to ask non-verbally, are you okay? You nodded and managed a tight smile to tell him you were, though your nerves were fizzing.

“Well, what the hell are we standing around out here for?” Carol said finally, grinning again. “Come inside!”

There was some laughter and they all moved back in past the gate.

“I’mma drive the truck in, alrigh’?” Daryl said to Rick, who gave you another appraising look and then nodded. “See ya at the house in a few.”

Carol came and gave his arm a gentle touch. “We missed you,” she said. “See you in a minute.” She glanced at you and gave you a tight smile which you did your best to return, though you were so overwhelmed and nervous you weren’t sure it came off.

“C’mon,” Daryl said, nudging his head back toward the truck. He whistled and opened the passenger side door for you and the dogs. They bounded right back in and you slid in past him. The door shut with a snap and you realized you’d been holding your breath.

Daryl climbed in behind the steering wheel again and started the engine. “Ya okay?” he asked, shifting into drive.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just—a bit overwhelmed is all.”

He nodded. “Well, ya’d been alone up there a long time. I know this is a lot. Ya want me to tell everybody ya just need some space for tonight?”

“What? No! No, I want to meet everyone,” you argued. “I do. I just need to remember to breathe,” you said with a laugh.

He nodded and his eyes flickered over your face. “I’ll be right by ya the whole time.”

“I know,” you nodded.

“And if ya do need a break, they’ll all understand.”

“I’m good,” you said.

It was a quick drive to park in front of the group’s two houses. Maggie and Glenn were waiting outside when you pulled up, and you saw Rick on the porch, though he stepped back inside as you all were climbing out.

“Is this the same bike?” Glenn asked Daryl, looking at the motorcycle in the bed of the truck.

“More or less,” he drawled. “Lots of parts went to shit on the road and had to be patched up or replaced, but most of it made it.”

Maggie was grinning as the dogs ran to greet her and she bent down to let them lick her face and to give them lots of scratches and pets. “They’re adorable,” she said.

“I tell them all the time,” you said.

“We always had dogs on the farm,” she said, scratching under Bear’s chin. The next moment she stood up and pulled you into a gentle hug. You expected her to break from you quickly, but she didn’t. She really hugged you for a long moment, and you hugged her back through your surprise. “I’m so glad you’re here. We all are,” she said. Her southern drawl was sweet and warm. “We—we all loved Brian so much.” Tears bit her vision as she said it.

You nodded and swallowed at the lump in your throat. “I know you did. Thank you for that. Daryl’s told me so much about all of you and—and I’m so grateful to be here.”

“Well, let’s get you and these cute dogs inside. We don’t need to stand out here all night. Come on in and have something to eat and drink,” she said.

You glanced back at Daryl where he was talking with Glenn still and he started after you and Maggie up the porch steps and into the warm light.

Everyone was crowded around in the kitchen after you and Daryl had time to clean up and get some food and water into you. Now there was wine being passed around and the atmosphere seemed suddenly charged as a natural lull fell in all the conversation. You and Daryl looked up and met each other’s eyes at the same time.

“Well?” Carol snapped suddenly. “Tell us everything!” she laughed. “You’ve kept us waiting long enough!” The tension seemed to break and many of Daryl’s family laughed.

He let out a gruff laugh too. “I think both of us are a little too tired for everythin’ tonight,” he said. “But we can give ya a few bits from the journey back.” He glanced over at you beside him and you nodded. “We hit a blizzard in Wyoming. Literally couldn’t see yer damn hand in front of yer face. Got snowed in for six days.”

“Daryl killed his first elk in Wyoming too,” you added with a proud smile.

“We were ambushed by hunters in South Dakota. Was a bit touchy and go but we got the best of ‘em,” he went on. “Most of Iowa was a wasteland. We dropped south to avoid the Chicago metro area, but we still saw some of the biggest hordes I’ve ever seen. Had a car wreck in Indiana and then got attacked by some group of assholes—” He almost reached for your hand at that moment. It had been one of the most terrifying, lowest points of the journey back. He could still see the gash you’d gotten on your head and the cut on your neck healing. “Uhh,” he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck instead of reaching for you. “After that, a lot of the roads were fucked or camped on by groups who didn’t look too friendly. We ended up going way south to Kentucky and trying to stay off the main roads after that…”

“Flooding in West Virginia,” you added. “We had to go way around.”

“Yeah. And then—somehow, we got back here.”

The silence settled thickly again until Tara suddenly raised a glass, a welcoming smile on her face. “To family, new and old,” she said.

“To family,” Rick echoed, giving the first wide smile you’d really seem him break into all night.

Carol raised her glass and cleared her throat. “May we look forward with hope and backward without regret,” she said.

“Hear, hear!” Abraham exclaimed, hugging an arm more tightly around Rosita.

Everyone drank, and you felt full in a way that had nothing to do with the good meal and everything to do with the warmth, safety, and welcoming company. When you glanced at Daryl at your side, his eyes were already on you.

The evening wore on and some people drifted away to bed little by little, but many of you were still gathered in the cozy space of the living room.

Daryl had stepped outside for some air and not long after Rick stepped out onto the porch and came to stand beside him, gripping his shoulder briefly and giving him a classic Rick Grimes smile. He glanced back in through the illuminated window at you sitting with Maggie and Glenn on the couch. Bear was curled up at your feet on the floor, content to snooze. Strider was hamming it up getting belly scratches from Carl and Abraham, thoroughly enjoying all the attention. Carol was cuddling Judith and seemed to be watching you closely, but not in a suspicious way—just taking you in. It wasn’t lost on anyone how you and Daryl seemed to relate to each other, his regard for you and yours for him, how he hadn’t left your side all night, the clear chemistry though no one had seen any sort of touch pass between you. “So, am I wrong or did you find more than just Brian’s sister in Montana?”

Daryl scruffed a hand through his long hair and nodded once. “Yeah… more than I bargained for, tha’s for damn sure,” he said, turning to look in at you and the warm scene with his family gathered around. He leaned back on the railing and drew in a deep breath of the cool spring air. “She saved my life,” he drawled. “I think in more than one way.”

Rick smiled. “I have a feeling you’ve done the same for her. She was up there all alone?” he asked. Daryl nodded.

“Yeah. And not just survivin’, but almost thrivin’ up there in a lotta ways. I know she left a piece of her heart back in them mountains. S’gonna be an adjustment here for sure…”

Rick nodded. “Well, it was for all of us. You especially,” he pointed out. “As for that piece of her heart, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to help her with that too. Give her a new one.” He sighed again. “It’s good to have you home, brother. We never gave up hope but we were worried—we were starting to think maybe you wouldn’t be coming back to us.”

He ducked his head and nodded. “Yeah… It was a long haul. Twice,” he said with a wry laugh.

“But worth it?” Rick asked.

Daryl looked up at you through the window again. You were bathed in a golden glow and surrounded by other people he loved. It was better than he ever thought he’d have, even before everything went to shit. “Hell yeah.”

Rick laughed happily. “Now, one more thing… You aren’t takin’ her down to sleep in the basement, are you?” Rick asked, cocking an eyebrow at him, an amused look on his face.

Daryl scoffed. “The hell is wrong with my room in the basement?”

“Well, there’s a washer and dryer in it for starters. Second, it’s a basement,” Rick teased him. “Seems like you aren’t a bachelor anymore, Daryl. Take one of the rooms upstairs. We’ve got spares.”

Daryl sighed. “We can—figure that all out tomorrow. I was thinkin’—maybe she and I would just get a place…” Rick smiled at this. “For tonight, we just wanna crash. We’ve been livin’ on the road so long now, few months. Ain’t been stayin’ in the same place more than a couple days at a time, ya know? Will be nice to put down roots again.”

Rick’s eyes were crinkled in a smile. “Can’t wait to see what grows.”

“Me either.”

Daryl followed Rick back in, and you looked up and gave him a tired smile as he came in, trying to blink the waiting sleep from your eyes.

“Whatcha think?” he drawled, leaning forward on his hands on the back of the couch just behind you.

“I’m exhausted,” you laughed.

“Yeah, me too,” he mused, looking around at his remaining family. Judith had fallen asleep in Carol’s arms and everyone was cooing at her. “C’mon,” he said, nudging his nose up. “Let’s slip away while we can.”

You happily agreed and jumped the back of the couch, but your sneaky exit was immediately ruined by the dogs needing to follow. Hoots and hollers rose behind you but the two of you hurried out anyway, calling back only a few goodnights. Daryl grabbed your hand and led you toward the stairs. “We can crash in my old space tonight.” He could hear Rick in his head. “Uhh—but it ain’t much… s’just a mattress in the basement mostly,” he drawled.

“Better than we’ve had for a while. And as long as you’re there, I don’t care if it’s a moldy carpet on the floor,” you said.

Daryl snorted and looked down at you. “Moldy? Really?”

“Daryl, I’m so exhausted I could fall asleep standing up right now,” you said, yawning as soon as the words left your mouth.

“Well, ya dun have to do that,” he said. “C’mon. We can both get some deep sleep tonight… It’s safe here. Safest place I’ve ever had… ‘cept maybe for that cabin of yours.”

“More,” you said. “My cabin didn’t have big ass walls all around it.”

“This way,” he drawled, still holding your hand, fingers laced with yours. You followed him down the staircase and into a dim room. It looked like any normal basement; a washer and dryer on one wall, random boxes and storage. But there in one corner was a mattress, neatly made and piled with blankets and pillows. He patted a hand down on them expecting to see a puff of dust, but none arose. “Huh. Somebody musta made the bed up fresh while we were getting cleaned up.”

“My money is on Maggie,” you said, collapsing down onto the blankets and sinking in. “I like her,” you said, before another yawn interrupted you. The dogs settled on the rug.

“I like you,” he said, climbing toward you and caging you beneath his body. He stroked your hair away from your forehead and your eyes shut at his touch. “Maybe a bit too much…” he drawled, smiling. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, and then your lips. You were already drifting toward sleep.

“Too much? Not possible. And only like?” you smiled, opening your eyes again.

He gave you a look and you laughed. “Ya know—ya know I love ya,” he said. He still sounded somewhat shy when he said it… like he couldn’t believe he got to say it at all.

You gave him a sleepy smile. “I love you, too. And I’ll live down here in the spider webby basement or sleep on a moldy rug if I have to…”

He laughed and leaned in to tuck his face against the crook of your neck and breathe in your smell, his body now flush to yours. “Nah. We’re gonna build our own space together. You’ll see. But for now—my bachelor bed is the best I’ve got for tonight.” He lay down beside you and tugged you in against his body, much the same way he had by the fire that night when you’d escaped the flames and the horde. Your breathing was soon soft and deep.

“G’night,” you sighed, snuggling in, already falling into a warm, contented sleep you hadn’t had since long before, back in the cabin after you and Daryl had finally become something more.

“Night,” he breathed. Just before he fell asleep, he sent a thought to Brian, up into the ether, to tell him that he’d done as he’d promised, that you were here and you were safe, and he was going to make sure he protected you with his life… but better yet, that he’d build a life with you that he never thought he could have. I promise. I’ll do right by her. I swear on my life.

The End.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this series as much as I enjoyed writing it. I can’t wait to embark on a new series in the near future, and I have a lot of waiting one shots I have been holding off on until this was finished. And here we are! Bittersweet, it is.

#dead of winter #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl x y/n #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

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maesfics · 5 months

Text

YOU WON'T LOOSE ME — d.w

pairing ; dina woodward x fem!reader

↬ warnings ; established relationship, angst, visions. lmk if I forgot anything.

↬ ㅤㅤword count ; 1.2k

↬ synopsis ; 𝑖𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ a nightmare about losing Dina awakens you, leading to a night of comfort and reassurance with Dina and their son, JJ.

↬ requested ; “can I please request for Dina? I thought about reader waking up because of a nightmare and hugging Dina while crying bc she’s afraid of losing her. Hope that makes sense„

a/n ; i hope i didn't go to left with this for you. thank you for requesting nd your support ! <3

if you want to request it's open! | inbox |

Silence envelops the night, deep, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind against the fragile windowpanes of your makeshift home. As shadows dance across the room, cast by the moon's dim light, sleep, which once cradled you gently, now betrays you. A nightmare, vivid and terrifying, seize your mind—a relentless vision of losing Dina, your anchor in this chaotic, infected world.

Heart pounding, you jolt awake, a silent scream caught in your throat as remnants of dread cling stubbornly to your consciousness. Beside you, under the small pool of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, lies JJ, your son. His tiny chest rises and falls with a rhythmic peace that starkly contrasts the turmoil inside you. For a moment, you watch his serene face, finding a fleeting solace before the urge to confirm Dina's safety overwhelms you.

Assuming JJ is safe and needs to see Dina, you slip quietly from the bed and tread softly across the creaking wooden floor. Each step feels like an eternity as you make your way to the living area, where the echoes of your nightmare linger, a stark reminder of the fragility of this life you've built.

As you enter the living room, the sight that greets you steadies your racing heart. Dina, wrapped in an old quilt, sits in an armchair that's seen better days. The moon casts her in a halo of soft light as she gently rocks back and forth, taking JJ into her arms to nurse him back to sleep after he must have stirred. Her presence, a beacon in the lingering shadows, draws you in.

She looks up, her eyes meeting yours, and in them, you find the warmth and understanding that first drew you to her. Without needing to speak, she extends an arm, inviting you into their small circle of light. You kneel beside her, resting your head against her knee, and as her hand finds your hair, stroking softly, the last vestiges of your nightmare begin to dissipate.

"You okay?" she whispers, her voice a soothing balm.

You nod, not trusting your voice, content to be near her, to see her and JJ together—safe.

Once JJ's eyelids flutter closed, securing him back in dreamland, Dina gently places him in his crib and turns her attention back to you. "Tea?" she offers, and you follow her to the kitchen, grateful for the normalcy of the gesture.

As the kettle whistles softly, you find the courage to voice the fears that your nightmare stoked. "I keep seeing these... these visions of losing you, Dina. Every time I close my eyes, it feels like I might never see you again."

She takes your hands in hers, her touch warm and reassuring. "Hey, look at me," she urges gently. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together, okay? All of us."

Her words, simple yet profound, ease the tightness in your chest. Inspired by a sudden urge to feel the early morning air, to watch the world awaken, you suggest, "Let's watch the sunrise. It's been a while since we did that."

Bundling JJ up, you step outside together, the pre-dawn chill brisk against your skin. You settle on the old bench by the side of your home, Dina sitting close, JJ nestled between you. The eastern sky slowly shifts its colors from night's deep blue to dawn's soft blush.

Here, with the day breaking before you, you talk about everything and nothing—whispered dreams for the future, the simple joys of the day-to-day. Each word weaves a more substantial thread in the fabric of your family.

As the sun ascends, casting its first golden rays through the trees, you feel a warmth that isn't just from the sunlight but from the love and certainty that you, Dina, and JJ share. This moment, this morning renews your hope and determination.

You head back inside, the light of the new day filling your home, casting long shadows across the floor that dance with the gentle rhythm of your movements. Watching Dina play with JJ, his laughter and music fill the room, and you feel a profound sense of peace.

Each day is a gift, a new beginning, a promise made under the whisper of the dawn sky—that no matter what, you will face it together.

As you sit together, sipping the warm tea that Dina has prepared, the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet filled with the weight of unspoken worries.

Dina's gaze is thoughtful and reflective as she watches the steam curl from her cup. "Do you remember the day we found this place?" she asks, breaking the silence. Her question pulls you back to a timeless burdened by the immediacy of survival, a day filled with rare hope.

You nod, the memory surfacing amidst the fog of your anxieties. "I remember. You said it was perfect because the sunlight hit the porch just right." The recollection brings a faint smile to your face, one that Dina mirrors as she reaches across the table to squeeze your hand.

"Exactly. And because it felt like a place where we could make a real home," she adds, her voice dropping to a whisper. "A place for JJ to grow up, where we could be a family. I meant it then, and I still do. No nightmare, no fear will take that away from us."

Her words, filled with determination and love, help lift the heaviness from your heart. The two of you talk through the night, revisiting memories of how you've built your life together, the challenges you've overcome, and the dreams you still nurture.

It's a reminder of the strength you draw from each other, fueling your resolve to face whatever comes.

As the first light of dawn begins to seep through the windows, painting the world in hues of gold and amber, you wrap a blanket around your shoulders and step outside. The air is fresh, the promise of a new day palpable. Dina joins you.

JJ is now awake and curious in her arms. Together, you walk to the edge of the property, where the open sky stretches wide and unobstructed.

The sunrise is breathtaking, a spectacle of colors that bleed across the horizon, blending into one another. You watch, mesmerized, as the world awakens.

Birds chirp in the distance, their songs a soundtrack to the sun's ascent. JJ babbles happily in Dina's arms, pointing at the sky with chubby fingers.

"This—this right here—is why we keep fighting, right?" Dina says, her voice was soft and emotional. "For moments like this, for him."

You nod, your heart swelling with love and renewed purpose. "For all of us," you affirm, feeling the weight of your nightmares lessen in the rising sun's light. "We have so much to live for and protect."

You spend the morning outside, embracing the day together as a family. Dina teaches JJ how to say "sun" and "sky," her laughter mingling with his excited squeals. You capture these moments in your mind, a mental album of all the reasons why you fight and why you survive.

As the day emerges, you return inside, energized by the morning's beauty and clarity. Once a mere shelter, the house feels more like a home with each passing day, filled with the sounds and sights of your small family thriving against the odds.

In these moments, the nightmares that haunt your sleep seem distant, their hold on you weakened by the love and life that fill your days. You know they may return, as they often do in this harsh world, but you also know you have everything you need to face them—as long as you have Dina and JJ by your side.

#dina woodward #dina imagine #dina woodward imagine #dina woodward smut #dina woodward x reader #the last of us smut #tlou #smut #dina woodward fluff #dina #the last of us #the last of us 2 #dina woodward reader smut #dina woodward x reader fluff #maesfics

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d1xonss · 2 months

Text

Desert Rose

Chapter 57 ~ Found

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Rose

✧ Era : Season 4

✧ Word Count : 6.2k

In this chapter ~ When Terminus ends up being a giant pipe dream, the group must find a way out before they end up dead just like every other survivor the community had captured. Though what none of them expected, was to be reunited with the ones they thought they lost long ago.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ THIRD PERSON POV *~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sun was just beginning to rise when Carl finally fell asleep in Michonne's arms in the backseat of the car. They all went through something horrifyingly traumatic last night, but Carl was the one who took it the hardest, the same terrifying feeling continuing to loom over him and making it impossible for him to relax. Rick on the other hand felt numb to the world as he thought about what he had done, though he didn't regret it one bit, replaying it a few times in his head as he spaced off. None of them had uttered a word to each other since it all went down, as if trying to cope with the events they'd have to live with for the rest of their lives.

Rick was sitting down on the concrete, leaning against the car door, his stare fixed onto the trees in front of him as the dried blood was still caked on his face. Daryl eyed the man cautiously, taking out a bottle of water from his bag along with his black bandana, sitting down next to him to offer it over. The man was snapped out of his thoughts the moment he felt his presence, though he shook his head quickly once he realized what Daryl was implying.

"We should save it to drink." Rick protested tiredly.

Daryl only extended it further, "Ya can't see yerself...he can." he spoke quietly, gesturing to the backseat where Carl lied.

Rick nodded hesitantly, taking the rag to slowly clean up his face as he rubbed it gently over his cheeks. "I didn't know what they were." Daryl muttered shamefully.

Rick's gaze panned over to him as he shook his head, "It isn't on you." he attempted to reassure, though he had a feeling his words wouldn't be enough to ease the other man's mind. "How'd you wind up with them?"

"I was with Beth; we got out together. I was with her for a while..." he trailed off, thinking back to the people that somehow got her, taking off in the other direction and leaving him behind in their dust.

"Is she dead?"

Daryl shook his head, "She's just gone."

Rick didn't want to pry, only nodding again as he watched him continue, "After that, that's when they found me. I knew they weren't good people...that they were lookin for a couple others...but I just went along with them to see if..." he trailed off again.

Rick swallowed, lubricating his dry throat as he just knew what he was going to ask next, "What happened to her, man?" he mumbled quietly.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly. But at the same time, he dreaded the answer that he would reluctantly receive. It was clear to him after what he could already see...she was gone. Daryl just wanted to hear him say it. He needed to hear the whole story.

"She-" Rick started, cutting himself off slightly as his voice broke, "She tracked down Carl and I right after it happened, somehow found Michonne just a day after that. And eventually we ran into some trouble, killed a man that was trying to kill us. After that we all took off...hoping to just leave all that behind..." he trailed off momentarily.

Daryl hung onto every word he was saying, leaning against the roughness of the rusty car as he watched Rick's face contort with emotion and pain.

"The next few days, she was on edge, all she wanted was to find you. She didn't eat, hardly slept, she barely even talked. That's all she ever wanted since the beginning; was to find you again." Rick assured, watching Daryl nod whilst chewing on his bottom lip anxiously.

"But then one night when we were trying to sleep...a herd was passing by us and she somehow got separated from us. We heard her yelling...before it just went quiet."

At that moment, tears were threatening to spill down Daryl's face, silently turning away from Rick so he wouldn't see. But Rick knew.

He could hear his breathing change and the small sniffles that echoed around the now quiet air, it only made Rick feel more guilty than before. Kicking himself for not being able to protect her, now having to break the gut wrenching news to her husband that clearly loved her more than anything else in this world.

A moment of silence passed as he tried to gather what else he wanted to say, but for a while the words just wouldn't come out. He couldn't protect her. And it killed him.

"Carl thinks she's still alive," Rick finally spoke after a few moments, "But that night was the last time we saw her."

Daryl slowly nodded his head to show that he understood, but his mind was elsewhere. He felt like his heart was shattering in the most painful way he could imagine. He always knew that there was a possibility that she could be gone, but he never wanted to linger on the thought in case it wasn't true.

Though now hearing it out loud, hearing it come out of Rick's mouth, it just made it more real. It hit him like a ton of bricks, so hard that it could've knocked him on his ass at how he would truly never see her again. He would never hear her infectious laugh, or be able to feel her embrace. It was all just slowly tearing him apart.

He held his face in his hands as he processed everything, feeling Rick hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder as he too thought about the impact of her loss. Rose had managed to worm her way into his heart, he had grown to love her dearly. And now she was suddenly gone forever. It was all too hard to comprehend for the both of them, but yet they were going through it together.

"I'm so sorry." Rick finally spoke.

Daryl shook his head and looked up at him, "It ain't on you...I just..." he trailed off, not being able to find the right words.

But Rick understood what he was trying to say, "Yeah...yeah, I know."

"Carl thinks she's alive?" Daryl asked quietly.

The man nodded, "Yeah. We could hardly see anything because of the herd...which is why I think he's holding onto that hope."

"She's tough." Daryl said.

"She is...but..."

Daryl shook his head, "She's tough." he repeated.

Rick watched Daryl's face carefully, already knowing that if he would ever come face to face like this again with him, telling him only what he knew, he would be in denial. It was expected, losing someone you love so greatly, you don't want to accept it at first, which is why he only stayed quiet. He didn't want to push the wrong buttons and make it any worse for him.

But suddenly, he stood to his feet and pulled himself together quickly, "I need ta go see."

Rick's eyes widened as he jumped up to his feet as well, shaking his head, "What? No...she's...she's gone, man."

"Nah, m' goin back. Need to make sure." he replied, turning to retrieve his crossbow from the ground as he strapped it across his shoulders.

"Daryl, listen," Rick said to grab his attention, "There were hundreds of them...there's no guarantee that you'll find anything."

The man only huffed and started to walk off, "I gotta try."

But Rick didn't let him go, pulling him back by his shoulder to try and talk him out of whatever he planned. Even if he did find something that remained, it would only break him further, and Rick had no desire to watch his friend go through all that.

The two argued back and forth for longer than necessary, noting how stubborn Daryl was and the determination he carried. But eventually he caved, silently knowing that Rick was right. It was the heat of the moment, and if he was being honest with himself, he didn't know if he could handle seeing any part of her torn up and destroyed. It was hard enough hearing the words that she was gone, he didn't know what he would do if he actually saw it for himself.

So, the man reluctantly stayed with the only family he had left.

After that, they didn't speak again. They all needed time to process another loss, and try not to focus on the blood coating the road where the dead bodies of Joe's men once were.

The next few hours passed by impossibly slow before they eventually gathered everything up to start making their way to Terminus, the community being just a few miles away now. There was still a certain tension that lingered in the air between them, each seeming to have a lot on their minds. It was a natural reaction to feel nervous about this new and uncharted territory, but they could only hold out hope that it would be good for them. For all of them.

Although they all collectively knew that Daryl would surely never be the same again after the news he just received. At one point Carl tried to reassure him that he was certain she made it, perhaps even catching up to them this very moment, but all Daryl could do was nod back in appreciation. He knew they were trying to be helpful, offering a shoulder to lean on, but that wasn't what he wanted or needed.

The one thing he needed, was the one thing he could never get back.

Once the four finally made it to the sanctuary, they approached with caution, hiding a few of their supplies and weapons just in case things went south. They stuck close as they made their way through the back, wanting to see this place for what it really was considering they were walking in blindly. Not knowing if these people could be trusted; if this place could truly be as safe as they claimed.

When the small group was far enough inside, they faintly heard a woman's voice echoing through the space, beginning to follow the sound through the varies of structures. They walked slowly towards an adjacent door where the repeated phrase was coming from, carefully making their way closer inside. Daryl came around the corner first to see a woman talking into a microphone, reading from a piece of paper over and over again with some kind of headset covering her ears.

"Sanctuary for all. Community for all. Those who arrive, survive." the woman said.

Rick slowly moved past Daryl as they stuck their heads through the doorway, moving closer in towards the room, eventually calling out to her to grab her attention. Her attention was then pulled from her script as she heard them enter, her eyes then panning back over towards a few people who were working in the back. Clearly looking for the person in charge.

"Well, I bet Albert is on perimeter watch." one of the men spoke as he came around to stand into view, clear annoyance on his tone. "You here to rob us?" he asked bluntly.

"No..." Rick said, "We wanted to see you before you saw us."

The man nodded, "Makes sense. Usually we do this where the tracks meet, but..." he then cleared his throat, "Welcome to Terminus, I'm Gareth. Looks like you've been on the road for a good bit."

"We have...I'm Rick, that's Carl, Daryl, and Michonne." Rick introduced them one by one down the line.

Gareth waved awkwardly with a thin lipped smile, sensing the obvious tension, "You're nervous I get it, we were all the same way. We came here for sanctuary...that what you're here for?"

"Yes." Rick nodded.

"Good, you found it" Gareth responded and then turned to another man nearby and called him over, "This isn't as pretty as the front, we got nothing to hide but the welcome wagon is a whole lot nicer. Alex here will take you and ask you a few questions...but first, we need to see everyone's weapons."

They all collectively tensed up a little at that. They didn't trust these people, but then again, these people probably didn't trust them.

"If you could just lay them down in front of you." Gareth continued.

The group obviously hesitated, glancing at each other for some silent conformation, before complying and moved to do as they asked. They all removed every hidden item they had on them and laid them down in front of their feet, watching as Alex came over to thoroughly pat everyone down.

He started with Daryl as he moved his hands sloppily around his arms and down his waist, "I would hate to see the other guy." he joked, referring to his beaten face.

"You would." Rick chimed in.

Alex then moved on to Carl, "Did they deserve it?" he asked.

"Yes." Carl said with no hesitation.

Once the man was done patting each of them down, Gareth spoke again, "Just so you know, we aren't those kinds of people, but we aren't stupid either. And you shouldn't be stupid enough to try anything stupid. As long as everyone's clear on that, we shouldn't have any problems. Just solutions."

The four studied him and took in his words very carefully as they were handed back their weapons from the ground by Alex. Except Daryl, who instead picked up his crossbow before the man could even brush his fingertips against his prized possession.

Alex then nodded awkwardly towards the door on the other end of the room, leading the group outside to have them check out more of their little community and answer any questioned they threw at him.

This place seemed safe, and the people were nice enough, but there was this gut feeling they all had that something wasn't quite right about it. Something that every single one of them felt from the moment they stepped foot in here, yet none of them mentioned it to one another. Assuming that they were only being paranoid.

They walked up to a woman who was preparing some food and Alex asked her to make each of them a plate as he continued to talk about the place, informing them of the history. Rick's eyes absentmindedly scanned around the community as the man chatted away, but he stopped suddenly when he noticed a few things that caught his attention. An orange backpack that once belonged to Glenn, a poncho that Daryl used to wear during the winter, and Maggie's armor from the prison.

He immediately was on high alert and knew something was wrong, his gaze snapping back to Alex who had a silver chain coming out of his pants pocket; Hershel's pocket watch.

They all thought they came here to get away from the danger, but it turns out, they walked right into it.

Rose continued to follow the familiar boot prints until she came across a random car parked on the side of the road, noticing the blood splatters all over the concrete. Her eyes widened at what remained of the obvious disaster, but the sight of a trail that cut through the grass caused her to let out a small breath. He clearly ran into some trouble, but he was still alive.

The tracks were only getting fresher which meant she was growing closer, hardly being able to wait to see him again after so long. She grew so excited she almost couldn't contain it, like a damn kid on Christmas morning, practically skipping as she made her way through the trees. It amazed her how much her spirits were lifted, but she also blamed it on the fact that she thought he was dead about twenty different times in the past week.

It didn't take her long to notice that she was heading in the direction of Terminus, and the thought of seeing the others just made her legs move even faster. Hell, maybe the small group somehow found Daryl throughout everything if she was lucky enough. Finding all of them again in one go.

Though the small amount of hopefulness she felt diminished in nearly seconds as she neared the community, smelling the smoke and seeing hundreds of walkers being drawn to the large flame that was illuminated. Screams and automatic gunfire could be heard amongst the madness, a giant black cloud rising above Terminus. Panic quickly grew within her as she hoped her family was okay despite the sights she was seeing. She had made it too far for it to just suddenly end like this.

Rose then began to pick up her pace all while trying to avoid the lingering monsters around her, though most of them seemed to be more interested in the fire coming from the place nearby rather than her running figure. However, when a few did catch sight of her, she had to take them out quickly before a chain reaction started as more of them seemed to notice her presence. Firing arrows left and right to the group that seemed to follow her, drawing more attention away from the giant flame as she continued to dodge their grasp.

Too many seemed to be on her tail now, not having enough weapons to continue to fight all of them off at once. She didn't know what to do, where to run, or which way to turn when she was slowly getting surrounded and cut off from the burning community where she desperately needed to be. Where she needed to go in order to help her people.

But somehow, she caught sight of what would be her saving grace out of the corner of her eye. She didn't need to think twice, making a beeline over to it quickly as she ducked through the branches in the forest, successfully escaping from the walker's cold, dead hands.

Inside the small cabin, Tyreese fought with the man who tried to hurt Judith as he punched him over and over again. It was bad enough that Carol left without any indication of when she was coming back, but it was even worse when he had to stay with the man he didn't know and didn't trust. Though when he tried to hurt the baby, that was his final straw, easily knocking the man out cold.

However, the built-up rage he felt caused him not to stop once he had started, hitting him repeatedly until his face was black and blue, coated with blood. It was like he was taking all his anger out on this one stranger over everything that had happened to him over the past few days, one shitty thing happening after another. It was a rollercoaster of emotions to say the least.

He gritted his teeth together as he laid another punch on the man, but his movements stopped completely the moment he heard a small gasp come from just behind his frame. He froze for only a second, before his head whipped around to look over his shoulder to see the person that dared to walk in here.

It took him a few moments to process the person standing in the doorway, but the minute he realized who it was, he shook his head in utter disbelief. How could it have even been real?

"Ty?" Rose breathed.

When he finally registered her voice, he quickly stood and walked over to her in a total of three steps before wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug. She gasped in surprise, though recovered within only a moment as she wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing lightly in relief as she felt her legs dangle as he lifted her a bit off the ground.

It had been too long since she'd seen him last, having no idea how the hell he ended up here, but she wasn't about to question it. Another one of her friends was alive and safe, and that's all that mattered to her.

"You're okay." he breathed, still not letting her go as he allowed her to stand on her own two feet.

She laughed softly again, "I'm okay. I can't believe it's really you...you're here."

He then pulled back to place his hands on her shoulders, nodding with a small smile on his face. But that smile soon faded when he noticed the large gashes on her skin.

"Jesus, what happened?" he whispered, his brows furrowed in concern.

She scoffed with a shake of her head, purposefully answering vaguely, "Some assholes."

He nodded his head in understanding, seeing the look on her face the moment he brought it up, content with keeping his mouth closed about it as long as she was okay.

But Rose had about a million questions, how he had ended up here, if he was alone all this time, but her voice suddenly got caught in her throat. Her head slowly turned to just behind his shoulder, hearing the familiar coos coming from a baby and she could've sworn her heart dropped down to the pit of her stomach.

She slowly moved past Tyreese to see a box sitting on the wooden floor, her pace slowly quickening to make sure it wasn't just her imagination. Her eyes hesitantly peeked over the edge, glistening with tears almost instantly the second she saw Judith laying inside.

"Judith," she breathed as she moved forward quickly, taking the girl in her arms as she held her close to her chest. "Rick- Rick thought she was dead." she said, turning back to Tyreese.

"I took care of her the whole time." he reassured.

She shook her head, "Oh my God, you're an angel."

He smiled bashfully at her compliment, waving her off as Judith began to pull away slightly to look up at the person who now held her close. To Rose's surprise, it looked like the little girl recognized her, giggling a bit to herself as she placed one of her small chubby hands on Rose's cheek.

The woman smiled as a few tears slipped from her eyes, taking her hand and kissing it a few times as she looked into her big brown eyes, "Hi sweetie." she whispered.

Judith giggled again as Rose pulled her back towards her chest as she held onto her tightly, "Who did you get out with?" she asked Tyreese.

He just looked down at the ground and sighed before he began to explain everything. From escaping with the kids, to Carol saving them, and what happened with Lizzy and Mika. Tyreese told her everything.

"We heard this guy talking about some girl with a sword, and a kid with a cowboy hat. And we just knew it was Michonne and Carl. So, Carol went in there to get them out, told me to stay put." he finished, the two sitting across from each other now on the ground.

Rose sat there with the baby on her lap, absolutely dumbfounded. It was a lot to take in and she felt terrible to hear what happened with the kids, but she was even more shocked to hear that Ty now knew about what Carol did. He was such a good man for forgiving her and trying to move on, that alone took so much for a person to do.

Her eyes then slowly panned over to the unconscious man in the corner, scoffing to herself, "So, Terminus is a bunch of bullshit?" she asked bitterly.

"I guess so," Ty said sadly, "Best thing to do now is wait for Carol to come back with the rest of them."

She slowly nodded her head, not fully knowing if she was capable to just sit here, unknown to the extent of what was happening to them. The thought was nearly killing her.

"Hey..." Tyreese called out softly, "Have you...had a chance to clean those?" he asked hesitantly, gesturing to the deep cuts that were still prominent on her flesh.

"Oh...no, I haven't. All I had was some water, so..." she trailed off.

He wordlessly dug in his bag and grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, offering to clean it for her. She agreed silently with a nod and adjusted the baby in her grasp, seeming to not want to let her go anytime soon.

"So...what happened to you?" he asked. She flinched a little when the alcohol burned her slightly, "Sorry," he whispered.

Rose just took a breath and began spilling everything like he just did with her only moments ago. She told them about her finding the others, the men that came into the house they were hauled up in, and finally the herd of walkers that got them all separated from each other.

She found herself purposefully not mentioning the cuts on her face, or the men that left them there, among other things. It was still too soon for her to talk about, the thought alone sending a chill up her spine. The last thing she wanted as to completely break down in front of the man, because her screams and cries that she let out right after it happened, were utterly horrifying.

"Then I tracked Daryl up until this point, and well...here I am."

The man now sat next to her as he took a moment to let all the new information sink in, "Take your time." she said jokingly.

He chuckled softly before his face scrunched in confusion, "But what about..." he trailed off.

She just shook her head and that caused him to back down once again. He didn't want to push her to talk about it because clearly, she went through something traumatic. She tried to forget the pain that those two strangers caused her, not wanting to give them anymore power now that they were dead. But she couldn't forget the terror, the handprints still somehow embedded in her flesh. She thought that she felt disgusting with walker guts and blood caked onto every inch of her frame, but that was nothing compared to this.

She cleared her throat as she fished for something to change the subject quickly, "So, what do we do about that asshole?" she gestured over to the man still laying almost lifeless on the ground.

Tyreese sighed as he slowly stood to his full height, "I'll tie him up."

"Why don't you just kill him?" she questioned.

He stopped in his tracks upon hearing that, slowly turning back towards her to see just how serious she was about the idea, no hint of sarcasm behind her words. "You must've been through a lot." he stated sadly.

Rose shrugged, "Yeah, I guess..." she muttered quietly, "But what if he unties himself and can track. There's a chance he could follow us, and I don't know if I want to take that risk."

"...I don't know if I can do it." Ty said hesitantly.

"You don't have to." she assured.

He had an inner debate with himself before giving in and nodding his head, realizing that she did have a good point. She passed Judith off to him and took out one of her knives so she could take him out quietly, standing over him for a moment before quickly stabbing him in the side of the head. Ty didn't know how to feel as he watched her kill a man with almost no remorse at all, but in the back of his mind he knew that it was the right thing to do.

Both of their heads then snapped to the door when they heard some people faintly talking from outside. Ty immediately went over to peek through of the windows, leaving Rose waiting for his reaction as she gripped her knife tighter. But once she saw the giant grin break out onto his face, she instantly relaxed. He looked over at her and nodded his head in confirmation that it was in fact the others, quickly moving to grab his things to go out and greet them.

Rose scurried back to grab her things as well though she couldn't seem to move fast enough, carelessly throwing everything over her shoulders. By the time she was done Ty was already out of the house, and she took a moment for herself to breathe, her hand hovering over the doorknob.

She had to admit; she was nervous. This whole week had been building up to this exact moment and although she couldn't wait to see everyone who made it out, she needed to ease her nerves before just waltzing out there. She felt as though she could throw up.

Tyreese was not one to hesitate however, wanting Rick and Carl to see that Judith was in fact alive. As the group approached further, the two could hardly believe their eyes when they saw the baby in Tyreese's arms, safe. They didn't need to think twice as they both broke out into a sprint and rushed towards the man to take her from his grasp, holding onto her tightly. Rick cradled the back of her head, placing a kiss on her cheek as tears slipped from their eyes in pure relief and gratefulness.

Ty looked to see Sasha making her way over to him, sobbing as they instantly hugged each other. The rest of the group watched from a distance as the families reunited with one another with small smiles on their faces. Heartwarming would be an understatement, feeling like they were on cloud nine seeing just how many of them had found each other again.

Though when Tyreese finally broke away from his sister, he looked back towards the door, confused seeing as it was still shut.

"I have a surprise." he suddenly announced, grabbing everyone else's attention.

As if on cue, Rose slowly opened the door and looked to the group in front of her with wide eyes. She stopped mid step when she saw just how many of them actually made it here, along with a few people further in the distance that she didn't quite recognize. But she barely had time to even linger on the thought.

Once everyone heard the door creak open for a second time, their heads all whipped in the direction of the sound, a series of gasps heard amongst them.

Rose scanned the sea of people until her eyes met with those bright blue eyes she loved so dearly. Once he saw her, his mouth parted as he physically felt the need to pinch himself to make sure it wasn't just a sick dream, or his mind playing tricks on him. But it wasn't. She was alive.

Without a second thought, the two ran to each other in a sprint, carelessly discarding their weapons and bags along the way. The moment they were close enough, they collided with each other and almost instantly broke into sobs. With their arms still wrapped securely around each other, they both fell to their knees, clinging to each other like they were each other's lifeline. But in a way, they were.

Daryl felt alive again. As soon as it registered that she was really here and safe in his arms, it was like he wasn't drowning anymore, her being his first breath of fresh air. The air that he so desperately needed all those days he was killing himself searching endlessly for her, feeling like an utter failure.

He had never felt so happy, so relieved, so absolutely floored to see her again. His heart was hammering in his chest as he tried to control his emotions, but at this point, he didn't care. He just let everything out. He had the thing that he needed the most in this world. And right now, that's all he could bring himself to care about.

Rose on the other hand was an utter mess, not being able to stop the tears from flowing as she hung onto him for dear life, gripping his shirt to only bring him closer. She had never felt more at peace then she did right now. He was okay. And he found her just like he promised he would. Her whole world was back within her reach again, and for that she was forever grateful.

Daryl finally pulled away, his hands coming up to gently hold her cheeks, his eyes scanning over her beautiful face he had missed so much. "Am I dreamin?" he whispered.

She laughed tiredly as he couldn't seem to wipe the small smile off his face, "No," she shook her head, "I'm here love, I'm here." she whispered.

He swallowed thickly to try and rid the lump in his throat as he nodded, bringing her in to place a lingering kiss on her forehead before hugging her close again. The group tried not to watch such an intimate moment between the two, but they couldn't help but glance their way. Though every time they did so, their smiles only grew, emotions running high at the sight of seeing the couple together again.

Rose managed to then open her eyes to peer over Daryl's shoulder, seeing the rest of the group still standing around tearfully. She gently pulled away from him momentarily, smiling in reassurance before standing up to her feet to make her way over to see the others.

Without even fully realizing, she made a beeline for Glenn and Maggie who were standing right next to each other. Glenn didn't hesitate to jog the rest of the way over to see her, tenderness filling his features as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. She could hear him whispering in disbelief that she was okay, causing her to hold onto him tighter as if it would make it feel more real. Confirming she was really here.

Maggie then came up behind Glenn and gently pulled him back by his shoulder so she could tackle Rose in a hug. She laughed lightly at her fast actions, but Maggie was an absolute mess, crying onto Rose's shoulder. The two women held onto each other tightly, whispering to each other how much they missed one another as they laughed deliriously.

Rose then made her way down the line, greeting the rest one by one as she hugged them emotionally, never wanting to part from any of them again. Though this all felt like a dream, she couldn't have been happier as she relished in the comfort of her people.

Though when she finally turned back around to move over to Rick and Carl, both of them broke down at the sight of her. They pulled her into a group hug, hearing Carl say over and over again that he never stopped believing that she was alive, never doubting it for one second. Rick however was nothing but apologetic as he couldn't push away the guilt for leaving her behind. Though Rose shut that down just as quickly as it started. She didn't think for one minute that he should feel responsible for that when they all thought she was dead, nor could she bring herself to care. Not when this was the happiest she had felt in what felt like forever.

Once she finally parted from them, Daryl couldn't help himself as he ventured back over to wrap his arms around her again, burying his face in the side of her neck. He half expected her to fade away when he clung to her once more, but she didn't. Instead he felt her squeeze him tight before gently pulling back to take his face in her hands.

"I'm real. You found me." she whispered.

He wanted to shake his head at her words, amazed that she could still read his mind the way she could. But he nodded slowly in acceptance and kissed her forehead once more, trying to pull himself together in front of all these people.

The group then collectively turned back towards the direction of Terminus in unison it seemed like, seeing and hearing the destruction that was caused. They didn't know who was left alive, but they almost couldn't bring themselves to care as the war seemed to be over.

"We need to go." Rick announced.

"But where?" Daryl asked.

Rose shook her head, "Who cares?" she asked genuinely, "As long as it's somewhere far the fuck away from here."

Glenn nodded in agreement as he jerked his head towards the long dirt path ahead of him, "Took the words right out of my mouth." he muttered.

Everyone quickly followed his lead after that, wanting to put some distance between them the horrid place that would surely haunt them for the weeks to come. Eventually the group made their way back towards the train tracks that seemed to lead them all to the same place, walking in the opposite direction of the sanctuary...or what was left of it.

Rick trailed behind the others, keeping a watchful eye out to their surroundings for any other danger before something quickly caught his eye. A sign that was all too familiar, the map of Terminus that continued to lead people in a horrible direction.

"Rose!" he called out.

She turned to look over her shoulder, past all the other people as she parted from her husband to backtrack toward the man, "Yeah?"

"You still have that spray paint?"

She nodded her head, removing her bag from her shoulders as she began to dig around to feel for the familiar object. Once she had it in her grasp, she handed it to him, watching as he began to scribble wildly onto the big sign. Her eyes looked over his shoulder when he was done with his message, frowning at the writing.

NO SANCTUARY

The rest of the words were easily scribbled out by the red paint, making sure to coat it thoroughly to send a message to any other survivors who passed. Rose couldn't help but look towards him in worry, "What the hell happened in there?" she asked softly.

Rick looked back at her, noticing the fresh gashes on her face and frowned to himself, "We'll talk." he confirmed.

~ Thanks for reading! (Season 4 is officially done! Woooo)

Taglist - @justareader95 @hayley1998 @ryoujoking @sipsthecoffee @winterassassin1804 @marsmallow433 @catlalice @writingstreetspirit @silentlysuffering98

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smogfromkortalmombat1 · 23 days

Text

Warming the ice (Bi-Han and Tomas MK1 fic)

(MK1 childhood Lin Kuei trio - Bi-Han and Tomas)

Summary - Bi-Han feels isolated. Alone. Unloved. Little toddler Tomas can't have his brother feeling that way, and steps in to try and help.

(Hurt/comfort/brotherly love) (~3000 words)

Will eventually be up on my AO3 once the rest of the chapter is complete and I'm satisfied with it all - We are family. - Tsukuyomi_Ravioli - Mortal Kombat - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

Enjoy!

“You cannot keep acting like a child.”

Bi-Han lowered his gaze to the pebbled ground beneath him, trying desperately to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat.

“You must be stronger. Smarter. You cannot afford to keep showing these weaknesses of yours, Bi-Han. The Lin Kuei depends on you.”

“I’m sorry.” Ice was forming on the tips of his shoes. A new development of his cryomancer abilities, if he had to guess. It would have intrigued him, had it been at any other moment in time. Now, it only aided to further humiliate him. A physical manifestation of these weaknesses of his. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yet it continues to, despite our discussions.”

“I know.” His head dipped lower, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Rough, sharp canines cut easily through the plump flesh. His tongue tasted copper. “I will better myself.” He bit out, “I will. For the clan. For Earthrealm.”

“It doesn’t look it, Bi-Han.”

Sometimes, Bi-Han felt lonely.

It was a stupid, childish feeling. One he knew he shouldn’t have- shouldn’t even consider at all, really- because how could he be lonely, surrounded as he was by the Lin Kuei? By his family? By the bustling life of the temple and its nearby surrounding villages?

He wasn’t some isolated outcast, shunned and forgotten by society. He interacted with people every day. He studied with his masters, sparred with the other students, listened to his elders- he was one of the sons of the Grandmaster, for the gods' sake. People knew him. Took advice from him. Respected him. Feared him.

And still, here it lay, deep beneath the surface. That gnawing, hungry emptiness he couldn’t quite shake, no matter how hard he tried- and believe him. He tried.

A silent killer- it crept in during the quiet moments. Moments where he was supposed to be relaxing, away from his life as the Grandmaster’s heir. Moments where he was supposed to be happy, living as the boy he was, not as the man he was expected to become. Where peace and joy were supposed to overtake everything in his soul.

When the echoes of his footsteps, and the whispers of his breath were the only sounds of the night. When the only noises were the whistles of the wind, and his fingers flitting through the pages of his books. When he meditated, when he ate, when he lay down to sleep. That’s when it would sneak in. It always knew exactly where to find him, to hurt him most. Wrapping itself tight around his heart, turning the featherlight moment into something suffocating and heavy.

“You’ll always be different. You’ll never fit in.”

“No one could ever love you, you know.”

It gnawed at him, quiet and persistent, gently unravelling the threads of his calm until all he could feel was frustration and doubt. Where he could no longer meditate, or read. Where he could no longer stand the silence that he would crave at any other time in his hectic life.

He didn’t understand it- this inexplicable sense of isolation that lingered even when he was surrounded by his clan. It made no sense. He wasn’t alone, so why did he feel like he was? Why did he feel so distant, so disconnected from everyone around him?

“You will never belong.”

Maybe this was one of his weaknesses. The ones his master spoke of, constantly chided him about. Maybe this feeling inside of him was proof of his failure to overcome. Proof he wasn’t as ready to fulfil his destiny. Proof he was not as ready as he thought he was.

“You’ll never be ready. You’ll never be enough.”

The thoughts twisted in his mind, feeding the guilt that already festered deep inside. He was supposed to be better than this- stronger, colder, unfeeling- unyielding like the ice he so graciously commanded. He was supposed to be the future protector of Earthrealm, the future leader of the Lin Kuei, the future Grandmaster himself. But instead, he felt adrift. Lost in a sea of emotions. Emotions he should. Not. Be. Feeling.

Something soft and wet landed on the skin of his hand, startling him out of his own head.

He blinked, gaze darting downwards to look at the watery droplet on his hand, and then upwards at the sky high above him. It wasn’t raining. The night’s clouds were sparse- even the few he did see were light and wispy, not dark and heavy with… Oh.

He scrubbed a hand over his damp face with a shaky huff, breathing thickly into his palm. Weak. Weak, weak, weak.

“A Grandmaster does not weep, Bi-Han. He does not shed tears. He is the foundation of his clan, the stones upon which his people walk.”

He shakily exhaled, hunching his shoulders as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He’d never be good enough. He’d never feel content. He’d never feel happy. He’d never feel loved. He’d never-

“Bi-Han?”

A voice startled him from the storm raging inside his mind. It was quiet, muffled, almost overshadowed by the wind. Any normal person wouldn’t have even heard such a small mutter of a noise.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small figure standing at the edges of the courtyard, watching him. Their little hands wrang nervously against one another, ghostly pale eyes peeking out curiously at him from behind wisps of grey, smoke-curled hair.

Tomas.

Panic and shame surged through Bi-Han. How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?

He quickly straightened, hastily scrubbing a hand across his face as he went, praying it erased any lingering traces of his vulnerability. Tomas couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t allow him to witness his failures. What kind of older brother would he be if he did that?

Tomas knew him as a brave, fearless warrior, he couldn’t see him as a scared, weeping child. Tomas looked up to him- relied on him. Needed him to be strong. Tomas depended on him to be a protector, a warrior of unyielding ice, the Grandmaster he was destined to become.

The whole world did, really. Whether they knew it or not.

“Tomas.” He called out to the boy. His voice was rough and scratchy, edged with an iciness that he hoped sounded commanding. He inhaled once more, forcing his shoulders back, attempting to regain his lost composure. “What are you doing out here?”

Tomas wasn’t allowed in the training yard, by orders of their mother. That much Bi-Han knew- and while technically, Tomas wasn’t in the courtyard, the little boy standing just on its outskirts, his small face peering in past the entrance archway, it was good enough. It gave him something to focus on rather than the uncomfortable coiling in his gut.

The child didn’t respond right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to the ground, clearly eyeing the fine-line between outside and inside the yard. His tiny teeth gnawed at his bottom lip, awkwardly shuffling from one foot to the other. He looked so small, so… innocent.

Bi-Han briefly wondered if that was what he himself looked like, when the elders scolded him.

“I just… uhm.” Tomas’ voice was still whispered, still that timid, uncertain tone. “I saw you sitting all by yourself.” The wind ruffled his grey curls, the hair swirling like smoke from a fire. “You looked… sad.”

Bi-Han’s heart tightened uncomfortably in his chest. He forced himself to remain stern, to keep his voice steady. This little interaction would be over soon, and then he could go back to… whatever he was doing before this. “You should be inside.” He started, “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Usually, Tomas would take that as his cue to dart away, lest he faces his eldest brother’s infamous icy lectures. To run right for his room and right to bed, as suggested. But Tomas didn’t move- at least, not to leave he didn’t.

Instead, he took a step forward. Into the training yard.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han warned, voice low.

Tomas took another step. Then another. Then another- his bright pale eyes never leaving Bi-Han’s own dull brown ones. Small, milky-white teeth still worried the skin of his bottom lip, his tiny hands playing with the dulled, yellow seams of his hand-me-down jumper. This was unusual of the kid- Tomas never defied any rules set for him, even the ones that Bi-Han himself deemed silly and pointless. He found himself silent, watching him wander closer, and closer, until the boy was mere metres away from him.

“Are you…” The seams of Kuai’s old jumper were falling off in little chunks, now, torn away by fumbling little fingers. “Are you… okay?”

Bi-Han almost outright flinched at the question.

His mouth instantly opened, ready to scold, to fight- to push Tomas away. To protect his image, to reverse whatever memory Tomas now had seared in his mind of his elder brother, weak and crying right in front of him.

But nothing came.

He couldn’t do it.

Something in Tomas’ gaze- the sincere, too-real understanding. The ghostly eyes filled with concern- it made him hesitate. The harsh words he wanted to say, willed himself to say, never came. The words intended to scare the child away from ever attempting this again couldn’t form. His cold tongue turned soft.

Tomas took another shy step toward. His small, soft hand reached out to gently touch Bi-Han’s knee.

“It’s okay.” The little boy whispered. He sounded far too old for the age he really was. “It’s okay to cry. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

His throat tightened. Those words, such simple, stupid words, and yet- yet it hit him. Hard. Harder than any of his master’s criticisms ever had. Bi-Han’s lower lip was trembling, his vision blurring with those god-forsaken tears again, his so-carefully built walls crumbling easily under the watchful gaze of a mere child.

He didn’t know what to say- how do you respond to something that sincere? That honest and truthful? Such pure, disarming kindness? He wasn’t used to it- he wanted to squirm away, run for the hills and never look back- and yet he didn’t. He found himself just… nodding. A small, almost imperceptible motion, but Tomas caught it. Tomas saw it. Saw him.

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Tomas’ mouth, a soft, gentle expression that seemed to warm the frigid air around them. A boost of confidence that set the toddler aiming further. Higher.

Without much hesitation, his littlest brother clumsily climbed up onto the bench beside him, his small hand never leaving Bi-Han’s knee, using it instead to boost himself up with a soft oomph until he was safely onboard the wooden contraption, his own knees dangling off the bench’s edge.

Bi-Han watched him with a mixture of surprise and something else he couldn’t quite name. It was unfamiliar. A warm feeling that spread from where Tomas touched him, seeping through his bloodstream to his cold, icy heart.

Hope, maybe? Love?

Tomas settled beside him, shuffling so he was close enough that he could rest his head against Bi-Han’s side, his other hand curling around his arm, clutching on tight. The toddler didn’t say anything else- he didn’t need to. The message was clear.

“I love you.”

“You belong.”

“You’re enough.”

For a long while, they sat like that. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but soothing, and gentle. The heavy weight in Bi-Han’s chest seemed to lessen, just a little. As if Tomas’ presence was enough to shave away some of the thick burden that he carried. He could feel the toddler’s fingers tiredly tracing the swirling gold pattern on the sleeve of his hanfu. Could see his eyes were half-closed, cheek smushed from where it was pressed against him. He really should be in bed by now.

“Tomas.” Bi-Han’s voice was croaky from disuse, though softer, that icy edge from before long gone. “Why exactly were you out here- in the first place? You know you shouldn’t be.”

Tomas lifted his head sleepily, blinking up at Bi-Han with those almost glowing pale eyes. “I saw you from my bedroom window.” He said quietly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” He snuggled back in, sighing warmly, eyes beginning to close once more, voice drifting into an almost silent murmur. Words that felt like they weren't for Bi-Han’s own ears to hear. “I know what it’s like to be alone.”

Bi-Han’s heart twisted at that. He unravelled his arm from out of Tomas’ grip, instead curling it around the boy himself, drawing him closer, into something that somewhat resembled an embrace. His fingers touched soft, smoky hair. “Thank you.” He murmured, the words thick with emotion, “I… I needed it.”

Tomas smiled up at him again, his face tired, but his eyes shining with joy. He pressed closer, little grey hair tickling Bi-Han’s chin as he wormed his way further into his brother, as if he was attempting to merge their bodies together. Bi-Han simply let him.

“Don’t worry.” The little boy whispered, after a brief moment of silence. “I won’t tell Kuai.”

A small, unexpected smile tugged at the corners of Bi-Han’s own mouth now. “Good.” He found himself replying lightly, nodding. “You know I’d hate to lose my reputation as the cool one.”

Tomas giggled softly, yawning. “You’ll always be the cool one. Kuai’s the fiery one, remember?”

They sat there in silence for a little while longer after that, the quiet evening wrapping around them like a protective cocoon. Bi-Han found himself staring out at the empty courtyard, watching the shadows deepen as the night finally fully set in. Normally, this would be the time where that loneliness crept in. Reared its ugly face at him, reminding him of all his fears. All his doubts and insecurities. But tonight was different. With Tomas here- though asleep as he was now, drooling on the side of his very expensive hanfu- it was different. The silence wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t debilitating. It was bearable. Enjoyable, almost.

It was no longer an enemy, but the companion it should have always been to him. One that allowed him to breathe, to simply exist as himself. Not as the future protector of Earthrealm- not as the future leader of the Lin Kuei, not as the future Grandmaster, but as Bi-Han.

He could be just Bi-Han today. And that was okay. It was okay because people wanted just Bi-Han. In whatever shape and form he came in- broken or unbroken.

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wellwhatnowlove · 1 year

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“He looks down at his feet, searching for words. When he finds them, he looks up at me with the raw emotion of his father, but without the anger or the pain. “Mother, your inheritance was guilt. Father’s was surrender. Because of you, because of Father, mine is struggle. That is better than guilt. It is better than surrender. I do not blame you. I thank you. You never pretended the world wasn’t broken, even when a broken world favored you.”

Light Bringer, pg.144

I GOT TO THINKIN TODAY ABOUT WHAT PAX SAID ABOUT HIS PARENTS’ INHERITANCE AND I HAD A REVELATION. okay sorry VERY LONG WINDED ESSAY BELOW. (Light Bringer spoilers too)

If Darrow’s inheritance has always been surrender and Virginia’s has always been guilt, then Light Bringer is a study in how they’ve swapped those burdens, and both grew immensely because of it. Virginia is forced to face the reality of surrender to keep Mars from falling. She must learn to sacrifice lives on an unimaginable scale. She literally has to surrender Phobos in order to hold Mars and save lives from a bloody battle over pride. She routinely seeks out the injured and dying to confront those she sacrifices. It’s heart breaking and hard to read at times, but not once did she not feel like the character we grew to love. She stays true to herself while mentioning multiple times that she now understands Darrow’s plight more than ever from the last decade.

Then on the flip side, Darrow is forced to reckon with his insurmountable guilt when he is put on trial before the daughters in the rim to answer for betraying them in order to secure a victory for the core rising/republic. He talks about how that guilt put a wedge between him and his family. That guilt made him feel unworthy of love, and, therefore, unable to properly express his love to those he would give everything for. This mirrors Virginia’s past struggle with one particularly potent example being her inability to believe that Darrow could love her after he reveals his true identity as a red in the tunnel under Lykos at the end of Golden Son. She says

“They are my family!” she shouts, face collapsing into grief. “My father hanged your wife. He hanged her. How can you even look at me?”

I think it’s this guilt (and probably some feelings of utter betrayal, panic, and overwhelm) that led her to leave Darrow in that tunnel and indirectly led him into the Jackal’s trap. Which I’m sure she also feels immense guilt for. But I think a large part of her journey off page and into morning star is her coming to terms with that guilt. In confronting it she learns to be vulnerable with Darrow again and comes to accept that he loves her despite the insane complexity of their history. This culminating with her leaning into her understanding of her part in the society and realizing that it puts her in a place to make a true change. All of this accomplished with an education in immense humility, flexibility, and compromise. Which is the lesson Darrow grapples with and I think truly leans into throughout this book. In a way, he is forced to reckon with how his guilt drove him away from Virginia and Pax and even veered him away from Eo’s dream.

I think on a character based level, this will exponentially strengthen their relationship when (please please Pierce) they finally reunite, and will make them a more formidable pair than even before. They now understand each others struggles in such intimate ways that idk if anyone can stop these two.

Then, on a plot based level it speaks to the larger themes of resilience, understanding and the fight for humanity. Virginia finds strength in surrender and Darrow finds redemption in humility and compromise.

Then, add in some struggle, grit and pixie dust (and a cool head tattoo I guess. WE SEE YOU OVER THERE PAX AKA ADEPT AUGUSTUS. HELL YEAH KEEP IT UP BABY WOO) and the rising might just have a true shot. Not only at victory, but at redemption and continued effort in the name of what is just and good.

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melodicbreeze · 10 months

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What's your favorite Venti lore/references?

For me it's him guiding souls after death and being connected to istaroth. Also the whole prodigal son thing, What do you think it means for him? (Hope you don't mind getting asks like this, i couldn't help but be curious)

CRACKS MY KNUCKLES. ALRIGHT FOLKS, BUCKLE UP.

DEATH

First off, I absolutely love his ties to death! Usually in media, when gods deal in the realm of death, they're all dark and dreary and either sad or evil. Venti, on the other hand, embodies more of the aspects of comfort. A final rest after a life well lived. Barbatos is said to guide the souls of the deceased to the afterlife on a wind, yes, but he also lets them live on through song! There is a belief that someone isn't truly dead until their name has been spoken for the last time, and Venti places importance of using names in his songs, as seen in the manga when he asks Venessa if he can use her name in a song.

There's also how heavily anemo ties into the concept of loss (gestures at the dead friend gives you an anemo vision joke), and the anemoi wind spirits from myths were also once a guide of souls to the afterlife.

There's also the post I made last night- "Not death, but his brother, sleep" (shout out to The Ra.ven Cycle book series). In Greek mythologies, which Venti does have a few ties to, Death and Sleep are brothers- and we all know of Venti's ties to sleep. Aside from his times of sleep, he was also seen singing the guards to sleep when going to free Venessa.

ANYWAY all this to say I think along with the wind, freedom, and hope, death is one domain that Venti falls into. (Which just makes him and Hu Tao even better buddies).

ISTAROTH

This is where I can more theory crafting rather than reflective. We've learned the the Thousand Winds were the Thousand Winds of Time. Now, I do not think that Venti is a son in the traditional sense- rather, I think that the Thousand Winds of Time form one being- Istaroth.

Venti also called himself a single breeze/wind, so I believe he was one of the thousand that made up Istaroth, only to rise up above the others in terms of power during the rebellion against Decarabian, and then becoming a god in his own right.

Do I have much evidence for this? Not at all! It's just my thoughts.

(Also, apparently prodigal means wastefully extravagant, which while I admit my first thought is his indulgences in drink and revelry, also make me wonder if it is perhaps that he has made Mondstadt into a home where people can act as such if they please- free to do so.)

OTHER THOUGHTS

One of my favourite bits of lore comes from the Wings of Shimmering Galaxy lore. It's spoken from the perspective of Venti post Archon War! It goes to say,

"For he knew that someone must heal the hurts of the world, and thus someone needed to find a way to communicate with them."

From Zhongli's character stories, we know that Venti went to visit, bringing a gift of wine- and that that led to the 7 all meeting together regularly. He is a bard, and the god of the wind- music and poetry flow like the wind, after all. Of course he would facilitate communication! HOWEVER, this didn't work for a long, long time. In fact, the glider lore continues,

"But the poet knew this would happen. (...) Still, the poet did not give up, though not because he believed or anything. This was just the way he was."

Despite being called the god of Hope by Neuvilette, Venti didn't have any hope. He just... didn't know what else to do.

Anyway, I should end it here, before I ramble on for many more paragraphs about all the things I love about Venti.

#headcanon;;#about;;#anonymous #lost post #MAN I RAMBLED

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jasmyluv · 2 years

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016. Delicate

wc: 0.7k

“Scara, hi!” You greet the man in front of you.

“Hi, [Name].” He greets you back, putting his phone in his pocket. He looks you up and down, observing your outfit.

“You look nice.” he so casually compliments you. You must say, you could feel your cheeks warm. What a strange occurrence.

“Thank you.” You utter, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Where’d you want to go? You ask him, looking at him with interest, waiting for his response.

“It’s almost sunset, I know a place.” Before you can reply, he takes your hand in his and starts speed-walking on the sidewalk. If others were to see this, they would’ve thought you two were dating, hm.

“Damn, why are you walking so fast?” You ask him, panting. Even if you two were hand-in-hand, you had a hard time catching up with his speed, he’s a bit too swift for his short height.

“To catch the sun set, duh.” His cockiness didn’t seem to change. What a shame.

You both ended up at an abandoned parking lot with many floors, how’d he find this place? If you were being honest, you were frightened by this setting, cobwebs and cockroaches everywhere, ew. There isn’t any trash anywhere, that was a relief.

“Here.” You suddenly hear Scaramouche’s voice. You walk beside him by the edge of the building, you were both staring at the mild orange sky at the top of the car park.

“Wow…” You’re awestruck, it was the first time in a while that you breathed so freely. As if you didn’t have a shit ton of pressure put on you to always be number one, to always be perfect. It’s just you, him, and the fresh air that surrounds you.

“Sit.” Scaramouche interrupts you looking at the sky to invite you to sit down at the edge of the building, your legs dangling.

“How’d you find this place?” You ask quietly, almost like a whisper escaping in to the wind.

“I was out with Childe and Signora. We saw this place while looking for a place to sit down.” He briefly explains. “Ah.” You respond, continuing to look at the view in front of you.

“So… Tell me. How’s you know, your life?” You ask him. Truth be told, in the few weeks he’s been your friend, you haven’t heard much about his life.

“Well, me and Ei still live together, surprisingly. She’s dating Yae, they’ve been hanging out a lot, thank god.” You’re rather surprised he still lives with his mother, you thought he would’ve run away.

“Oh? Auntie’s dating someone? Good for her.” You say, seeing the sun slowly lower as the moon rises.

“So, what about you?” He asks you this time. You sit there thinking about your life. It’s been, more or less, the same since he left.

“Uh, it’s fine, I guess. I have some new friends, my mom’s still pressuring me, it's been driving me crazy. I also have you in my life again.” You didn’t mean to let that last part slip, oops.

“Hm, well. You can’t always wish for everything to go your way, it’s triggering, but you just have to accept it. All you can do is just do it, and hope for the best.” He says, looking at the auburn sky he came with you to see.

“You’re right. But, I can’t accept it. It’s been years since I’ve felt true happiness. Even with my friends, some part of me felt empty. I can’t point it out, nor can I even fill the void.” You sigh, remembering the times you felt this “true happiness”.

“I’m sure you’ll find it soon, [Name]. You’ll never know when you meet the person that will crowd the empty hole.” How is he always right?

“... Thank you, Kuni. I’m glad you’re back in my life. You were the only person I could trust. Everyone seems to suffocate me. But when I’m with you, I can breathe freely with no limitations.” You express. You truly were grateful he’s there again.

“You’re welcome, [Name].” He says, sitting closer to where you were at. You lay your head on his shoulder, admiring the moon’s glow and the many stars that surround it.

It's been years since you've last talked like this. Though he was prideful and cocky, he's still the Kuni that was there for you, through your ups and downs.

That night, you both talk and talk, laughing at every pun and joke you made, thankful that this moment is happening.

previous :: MASTERLIST :: next

Of All People… - scaramouche x fem!reader smau

SYNOPSIS When you, a student who finds her best friend admits the terrors of high school. A best friend who've you'd hated ever since he left. Of all people, why was he the one to make you swoon, a person you swore to hate?

Fun facts!

Scaramouche is very observant. Ergo, he will notice every little thing about you. From your change in style to the way you hold your bag.

You're surprised he still lives with Ei because he always used to talk back and disobey her.

Ei is girlie pop!!

Scaramouche is a natural at giving advice that digs deep down your mind, it stays with you for weeks

Tag list; Open!

@viridescent-ivy @sakiimeo @ttoshiiroz @lxry-chxn @stopandget-help @r0ttenhearts @h-8chi @thenightsflower @killuixz @linn-a-a @vodkistt @raideneiari @yuyan @layla240 @barbatosfavouritenun @plinkuro @taikabae @beriiov @ghostxrism @rifran @elakari @kairxse @belovedxiao @alwaysmentallyill @mellowknightcolorfarm @xingyunclouds @scooofyaei @nambii @scaraapologist @samyayaya @kunikuzushisbeloved @dee-zbignuts @kaekazuha04 @monochromaticelliot @erosdevil @wisteriarain @kaoyamamegami @dazaiswifenicole @phoenix-eclipses @vivinsoul @vuvulia @r4yyyyy @cinnamontimecrunch @whatamidoing89 @aludicpoet @cindywasneverhere

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menacewithawolfcut · 1 month

Text

a pastoral short story, or a confession between lovers near a fishing village in the summer

pairing: taigen x transmasc!mizu

rating: mature (16+) [non-explicit sexual content]

tags: third-person pov, he/him pronouns used for mizu, headcanon, plot? don’t know her/kicked her straight out of the window, aftercare, odaxelagnia/biting kink, author’s sleep schedule is fucked up so don’t mind him mildly losing his marbles progressively

a/n (post-upload): so, i apologise, but i'm a dumbass, and it has just occurred to me that events in that episode were taking place in spring, but i'd prefer not to change the title and the setting, so yeah, sorry again

summary: post-wrestling scene, but it went *slightly* differently

word count: 729 words/4127 characters

“Hey, Taigen…”

Mizu spoke softly, reaching out his arm, almost touching Taigen’s shoulder. “May I?”

The latter silently nodded, still looking away.

After the moment of quiet and Mizu’s gentle, comforting strokes across his companion’s back, Taigen cleared his throat and faced him.

“I think I must tell you something.”

“Hm?”

“I think I might find you… attractive.”

Mizu’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat and started pounding, and he slowly reciprocated the eye contact.

“How long have you been feeling this way?”

“For quite some time.”

The temporary silence was filled by the call of a cuckoo bird from the sunny forest outside.

“I’ve been thinking about you, too, Taigen. Quite a lot, actually. So, I think you should know that the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh…” Taigen felt heat rising to his face and looked away.

“So, what do we do about it?”

“That might be the craziest thing you’ve heard from me so far, but,” Taigen looked into Mizu’s piercing blue eyes, which had already been looking at him intensely. “What do you think if we… *wrestle* a little bit more… To release some pent-up energy… But please, don’t feel pressured, though, I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable in any way.”

The heat radiating from the fireplace near them became more intense.

“I would love to. But then, you should close the door first. Unless you want to look awkwardly in the villagers’ eyes tomorrow as you go there to buy some food, and mind you, Kohama is a little bit far from here,” a smirk ran across Mizu’s face.

He took a moment to take a sip of tea, soothing the dryness in his mouth, as he watched his now slightly bashful rival fulfil his request.

“And I have only one condition: my clothes stay on me. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” Taigen nodded.

“Good. And I think I already have an idea of how we can work with that,” Mizu tilted his head to the side while meeting Taigen’s gaze as they both laughed light-heartedly. “I will wipe that smug grin from your pretty face and replace it with something else; you know that?”

***

Taigen collapsed on the floor, desperately trying to catch some air. A warm, soft hand touched his cheek as he continued panting, his eyes looking love-drunkenly and tiredly at the man before him.

Soon, both Mizu’s hands explored his upper body, taking regular stops to caress and take a better look at hickeys and bite marks all over him. Finally, they moved down and rested on Taigen’s stomach.

“Perfect. Do you feel like your body is the most beautiful painting in the world right now?”

His chest rose and fell sharply as he let out a chuckle.

“Oh, quit with your lovey-dovey shit,” Taigen raises his hand to stroke Mizu’s cheek.

He cupped it with both hands, carefully guiding them towards his lips and kissing it. After that, Mizu leaned above him, gave him a few short-lived pecks on his lips, cheeks, and neck, and finally embraced him.

“Are you feeling all right? Maybe you’d like to drink some water?”

“Yeah…” I’m feeling *more* than all right... But I think I could use some water.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Taigen laid back in the same spot he had before, listening to the occasional muffled sounds of the leaves against the winds and some birds exchanging their songs. The afternoon heat was finally vanishing.

Mizu eventually came back, carrying a small bucket. He kneeled down, scooped some water with a ladle, and, by carefully holding it, helped Taigen quench his thirst. Then he put the ladle down and started examining marks over the latter’s body once again.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

Taigen shook his head.

“Not that much.”

“Hmm,” he was inspecting for any signs of broken skin and failed to find them. “Seems all right.”

Mizu leaned in and kissed Taigen once again before helping him put his clothes back on and getting up.

He walked up to the door and took a peek. The peaceful, pastoral-like evening outside the house was nearly quiet.

“I think we’ve still got some time,” Mizu closed the door, returned to the previous spot and laid down. “Come over here.”

Taigen joined him, and the other one cuddled up to him, hiding his face in the crook of the former’s neck.

. . .

I'm not good at writing in prose but I wrote this anyway, and now you have to suffer with me /lh

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tribbetherium · 1 year

Text

The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

United We Stand: A Second Encounter

The two suns had begun to fall upon the western horizon, and Wildwind began to prepare.

She was one of the highest-ranking members of the Firethieves, the clan of Outlanders led by none other by the dreaded Ashfall himself. She held more sway, more power over most of the rest of the pack, with even the fiercest of them drooping their ears and tails in submission in her intimidating presence.

Yet she was but second-rate.

For she was Ashfall's second mate since the death of Wind-Storm, the late Whitesmoke's mother. She fought by his side, laid waste to their foes in tandem, and, some time past, bore two pups from him: pups that sported the pale white marks on their faces and upon their backs, like their father had.

Yet she was but a replacement.

She was a competent leader, a fierce but nurturing mother, a trustworthy partner, but she never seemed to be enough. The great leader mourned his lost mate, and now lost son, and Wildwind was eclipsed by the shadows of the dead.

"We come now, Mother?" asked Darklight, the male of her two pups. He perched upon a small outcrop of rock, watching the small specks of the shore-people, the Them, moving faintly in the distance, blissfully unaware.

"Tonight. When dark. We have light. Not Them." Wildwind replied.

The Firethieves and their stolen flame gave them an upper hand. There was darkness, and they could force it away with their light. The enemy were shrouded in it, and would be consumed in the blackness.

The pack of the shore-people were sure to fall, she thought.

One of them had slain Whitesmoke, had not they? The beloved eldest of Ashfall?

Perhaps with their destruction, and thus Whitesmoke avenged...she would finally be enough for him. Worthy of the devotion of the Half-Spirit, the great leader, the mighty warrior who would lead them to victory.

"We go soon," she said, as the last tangerine sliver of the yellow-sun slipped beneath the horizon, swallowed by the dark, inky sea.

-----

"What for?" asked Threestripe, the female of Wildwind's pups, as, under cover of night, the Firethieves began to mobilize.

"We kill them who kill brother!" Wildwind snarled. "We destroy the Them for Ashfall-father!"

Threestripe silently twitched her folded-back ears in resigned agreement. She was but eighteen seasons old, and cared little of what ideas he spoke to all the pack. He was barely a father to her. Whitesmoke was barely a brother to her. They were almost strangers.

And she didn't know why she was now to rush to war, to kill, and probably die, for them.

The Firethieves began their march, slowly, in single file. Back across the same path they had taken not long before, along the coast by the sea. Their paws trod across accursed ground, ground where blood was shed in their fateful defeat, ground where Whitesmoke had been struck down--where, had they taken a closer look had they passed, only small, scattered bones remained: the rest of the once-proud Outlander long since disposed by the wind, the earth and the many small, ravenous creatures that returned death back to nature. Forgotten, consumed and dissipated, like he never were.

Yet while his flesh had long rotted to oblivion, his memory endured in the darkest of ways.

"Here coast-folk home?" Wildwind asked another Outlander.

"Not no more," came the reply, with a sniff of an old, empty cave. There was the faint, old, distant smell of the Them. But the cavern was barren and abandoned.

"They move. We too must."

"MOVE!" howled Wildwind, an urgent command to the rest. There was but one place they could flee, to the north, where the Outlanders had not reached, and she was determind to find their trail.

The suns would not rise with the coast-folk still living.

--------

In the quiet, seaside cove, shaded from the sky by a rocky outcrop, Sharpstripe arose from a troubled sleep.

Beside her, her two youngest pups snuggled close to her warm body. Her three middle pups, Sunbeam, Brushtail and Shade, curled up further back near the cliff wall, while her eldest, Switch-Eyes, lay next to his father Strange-Eyes together to keep watch if anything happened. Tonight, it seemed safe, and both slept-- but lightly.

She, too, felt a sense of unease.

The recent couple of seasons and their unpleasant turn of events had been much for her to bear. She had been lost, confused and afraid. She wanted the best for her pack--but in doing so, had become what she despised.

Almost.

She glanced around at the cove, where nearby, other packs slept, together. On one side was Narooo-a and her plains-folk, gathered warmly around the gently crackling fire-pit, with at least one always awake to keep the fire burning, and on the other side, Star-Watcher and his dark-ears, huddled tightly together in an affectionate pile, packed so densely it was hard to tell where one dark-ear ended and another began.

Her tail began to wag in an expression of joy.

She had once feared them. Hated them, for no reason.

Yet their packs, their differing peoples, had plenty to learn from one another. They had taught her many things, from the tongues they spoke to the manners they lived. And she taught them many things in return.

In time, her mind and heart became more open.

Different ones weren't always to be feared.

Slowly, as days went by, stories were exchanged, and friendships formed, blossoming in the union as young pups learned each other's dialects, the three peoples had gotten closer. They were no longer visitors, but neighbors. And perhaps, even more than just that. They began to feel like extensions of Sharpstripe's own pack.

They were like family.

Sharpstripe's gentle contemplation was suddenly ground to a halt when at the corners of her eyes, she saw something moving. Slowly, but steadily, along the distant, meandering coast.

A light.

A faint, orange light that stirred terrible memories.

She felt the hair along her mane stand on end, but tried to calm herself. Perhaps it was only more plains-folk? Friends of Narooo-a, maybe? She had judged them too soon before, and she had been wrong.

But this time, she could hear the distant cries. The calls of war.

The chants of fury.

The cries of rage.

And this time, her hunch was true.

"OUTLANDERS! OUTLANDERS!" she shrieked with a piercing yelp that brought Strange-Eyes and Narooo-a and Star-Watcher to their feet, interrupting their tranquil slumber. They rushed to rouse the rest of their packs without further delay, and began to arm for battle.

They were asleep, but they were not unprepared. They had awaited, with bated breath, for the unexpected and unwelcome return, for many seasons.

History had repeated itself, in more ways than one, in a smaller scale and in a far greater one, as a force of hatred and violence that wrought fire and destruction rose from the darkest of thinking minds to crush the weak.

But this time, it would not strike unopposed.

As the young pups were herded to the safety of the cove Sharpstripe bounded to the front line, bearing her wood-tooth, honed sharper than before this time for war and not food, joining Strange-Eyes, Switch-Eyes, Narooo-a and Star-Watcher in defending the cove from a familiar evil.

She would fight without hesitation to defend her family, as she had before.

But now, her family was far bigger than it ever had been.

--------

"LET THE FOLD-PAW PUPS NOT GROW!" roared Wildwind, leading the charge. The foul stench of the Them's grew ever stronger, and as they neared the small cove the sound of their panicked scrambling became louder.

Good. They were afraid.

At her side she was flanked by Darklight, her eldest pup, next in line to be his father's second-in-command. Darklight gritted his teeth in determination. He was the son of the legendary Ashfall, after all. Whitesmoke was weak, Whitesmoke was foolish, but he would not be. He would be a worthy successor.

And at the back, trailing behind, was Threestripe.

She did not want to be here.

"DESTROY ALL! KILL!" Wildwind howled as the Firethieves rounded the edge of the cove and poured into the bay's coast like a blazing tide. The panicked scampering of the Thems had fallen silent. They were trapped, cornered like flyer-beast pups in their nest, waiting to be devoured by scaly-creepers and hunt-beasts. They were helpless. This would be an easy victory, for the glory of Ashfall and the memory of Whitesmoke--

She rushed headlong into the fray, expecting to see them cowering, or at the least, vainly putting up a pathetic resistance--

--but instead, found herself face-to-face with the most terrifying sight she would ever see in her life.

A wall of Thems, standing in defiance. Numerous. Powerful. Unafraid.

They bore torches that burned brighter, fiercer, than even those the Outlanders sported. By their smell, she could tell that the torches were fueled by the greasy fat of grazer-beast innards. Yet coast-folk did not know that! That was knowledge of the plainsfolk! The plainsfolk--

--the plainsfolk that now stood among the coast-folk, their unmistakable speckled coats and three-toned tails visible in the brilliant light of the grease-torches.

Grease-torches affixed to the blunt ends of the coast-folk's wood-teeth, some held to one side and some to the opposite side, all ready to cover one another in any direction.

A cry of command broke forth from the foremost of the coast-folk, one whose eyes gleamed with the brownness of the earth and the blueness of the sea, and the Thems, coast-folk and plains-folk alike rushed forth to defend, in numbers easily almost twice that of the Outlanders' forces.

Wildwind was taken aback, but she was no coward.

She had something to prove.

"FIGHT BACK! FIGHT BACK!" she demanded, and the bloodlust of the Outlanders toward the Thems for the moment drowned out their fear and reason.

They sieged forth with fangs bared, but their stealth and ambush were left null by the brilliant gleam of plainsfolk's torches. They were exposed, and visible. Their main tactic was foiled.

They darted low to the ground, in near silence, yet their fur gleamed in the torchlight. And the defenders took notice.

There were gaps in the wall, but those quickly closed as they approached. The defenders could see them!

With stealth left in vain, they switched to what only else they knew--brute force.

Some Outlanders pounced at the throats of their enemies, sinking their teeth into their soft vulnerable necks, only to cry out in pain as they realized too late that their foes were not only prepared in offense, but defense as well. Their bleeding jaws instantaneously loosed their would-be lethal grips upon the necks of their enemies, which were defended by strips of dried, leathery grazer-beast gut, armed with barbed thorns.

But they could not know that, either!

That was a tactic of the snow-folk of the south!

Snow-folk--

--snow-folk who, at a closer look, stood among the crowd, their great shaggy forms towering above the stocky coast-folk and the lithe plains-folk, yet standing by their side.

"THEMS FIGHT AS ONE! THEMS FIGHT AS ONE!" cried a frightened Outlander voice amidst the paltry forces of the invaders, as the defensive wall of defenders began to slowly march forward, jabbing away at any who dared rush in to attack.

Some were struck down as they lunged, as the proceeding column stood their ground, more well-armed than anything the Outlanders have ever fought.

Their weapons were one-sided, and some Outlanders tried to attack torch-side, only to be struck by another defender, who carried their wood-tooth torch the opposite way.

And even those struck by the torch-end hurt, as the blazing grease stuck to their fur.

It was the Firethieves' worst nightmare, and one they never expected to see.

The fiery light of the plains-folk, that left the former advantage of their own fire useless. The collars of the snow-folk that made them harder to kill. The lethal stabbing wood-teeth of the coast-folk to round it all off.

What tactics did they have left, to fight all three, at once?

Why were they united? They were enemies!

To the Outlanders, who divided the world in Us-es and Thems, such an alliance was impossible. Improbable. Utterly incomprehensible.

Yet it stood before them, a testament against their very ideals.

Let the fold-paw pups not grow, they had chanted.

And now it had grown too big indeed.

Bigger than they could have imagined.

"FALL BACK!" cried the Outlanders at long last, some wounded, some smoldering, bailing out on an unwinnable outcome. They dropped their torches and fled. They were not prepared. They were not ready to face the wrath of a foe the likes before they had not seen, and chose their well-being over their leader's agenda--

--save for one.

"COWARDS! WEAK STUPID! RETURN! RETURN!" urged Wildwind, standing her ground, as the morale of her troops began to falter. But she refused.

She would prove her worth, still!

Ashfall will see her as great as his equal!

Whitesmoke would still be avenged!

In the chaos Wildwind tried to find an opening, where she could perhaps steer around, strike from behind, confuse them, break their ranks--

--but found herself being intercepted by a coast-folk with a wood-tooth, her eyes pointed and fierce, and before Wildwind could properly respond, the sharp point pierced deep into her shoulder and locked in tight.

Wildwind cried out in agony and struggled defiantly against the wood-tooth--

--until, with a sickening crack, the tip broke, and she too fled yelping, limping, the broken end of the wood-tooth still embedded in her bleeding shoulder.

As the leader of the charge turned tail, whatever remained of the Outlanders' courage slipped away in an instant, and they bounded off into the darkness, dropping their torches along the way, bloodied, bruised and broken, and defeated once again.

------

"They running. They running!" Narooo-a whooped in joy.

"Safe now?" pondered Star-Watcher, huffing from exhaustion.

"Not sure," Strange-Eyes replied. "Might return. Ready."

A chorus of weary cheers and howls of victory echoed through the cove, and with it the terrified pups of the three packs slowly clambered from their hiding places and were once more met with the gentle, reassuring licks and nuzzles of their elders. Gestures whose message to the young pups was clear.

"You are safe so long we are around."

They had learned much from one another, and stood stronger as one. They had all fought the Outlanders alone before with what they had, and barely survived. But with their skills combined, they had become a nigh-insurmountable force obstructing the Firethieves' path of devastation.

Even the young adolescents, Shade, Brushtail and Sunbeam, who, even in their youth, were no strangers to war, at this point.

A thought that saddened Sharpstripe. They were but children.

The defenders watched as the attackers disappeared from sight, the few torches they managed to carry with them flickering away in the distance like stars waning in the dawn light.

Yet they could feel it wasn't over.

Sharpstripe paced up to the huddle of the victors. "Wood-tooth broke," she said in dismay, dropping the destroyed weapon forlornly in the sand.

It had been one she'd used for a long time.

Strange-Eyes gave her a reassuring lick to the face. "Just stick," he said. "We find make new one."

Today was a victory Strange-Eyes and his pack could truly celebrate. For this time, no lives has been lost. He paused, momentarily, in recollection of his father, Pale-Beard, and of that bitter day. But this was not that day, and all of them were to see the suns rise once more.

All on their side, at least.

On the sand, drenched in fresh blood, several bodies lay, motionless and still warm. Pierced by the wood-teeth, or choked by the collar-thorns that had broken off in their mouths.

In the flickering yellow light, Narooo-a gazed upon them in sadness. They were enemy. But still, the grim aura of death cast itself over the victorious celebration.

Star-Watcher was forced to agree.

"Had to. Must do." he said, his deep, throaty voice tainted with sorrow. For while it was a death borne by necessity, a death of one who sought harm, it was still an ugly thing to behold.

A faint, coughing whimper rose from one of the fallen bodies.

"This one...still alive." Narooo-a remarked, stepping back warily as the wounded Outlander gasped and struggled to rise.

"My turn."

It was Shade, one of Sharpstripe's middle children, with a short, but sharp, splinter of her mother's broken wood-tooth.

Shade, the young, yet hardened fighter.

Who had seen great evil at such an age.

Who had been maimed and scarred for life by the Outlanders in their first encounter, scars that pained even now.

Who had watched, eyes wide with horror, as her grandfather Pale-Beard breathed his last.

Who had witnessed first-hand how her brother Switch-Eyes gave their pale leader his inglorious and well-deserved end.

"My turn."

The wounded Outlander yelped, pleading in a foreign tongue that Shade did not understand and would not have cared to listen. She paced toward him, eyes fixed and unblinking, stride unfaltering.

He struggled to rise, but his back had been broken, his rear legs limp, and he was powerless to resist as, to the shock of those around to witness, Shade threw herself upon the fallen enemy, pinning him to the ground, piercing him again and again with vicious snarls, even as he screamed in terror and pain, even as he went limp, even as the glow faded from his eyes.

She struck for the murdered Pale-Beard.

She struck for her pack and her lost home.

She struck for her newfound family that had suffered under the Outlanders.

She struck against the wounds she suffered in her face and in her spirit.

She struck again and again and again, until she was too exhausted to strike any more, until she was showered in the vile Outlander's foul blood, until the panicked cries of Switch-Eyes finally reached her ears.

Panting, she dropped the splinter of wood-tooth next to the still-spasming body of the Outlander, and looked up to meet her brother's wide, asymmetrically-hued eyes.

Frightened eyes.

"...Why?" was all Switch-Eyes could say.

He had slain Whitesmoke long ago, but it was not something he took joy in.

It felt sinful and apalling, even to this day.

"They Outlander," replied Shade, breathing heavily from the exertion. "Deserve to die."

And an uneasy chill ran down Switch-Eyes's back with the satisfaction he heard in her voice.

------

The yellow sun began to rise in the dawn, obscured and hazy in the morning fog as it cast its warm light onto the spectacle of defeat, both impressive and horrific.

The wounded survivors of the Firethieves slowly, painfully, hobbled back to the valley that had once been the highbrows' home. Now the Outlanders had conquered it and driven them away, and had been feeding well the past days upon the plentiful stolen grazer-beast herds, which Ashfall had fiercely rationed to keep enough to breed more next season.

The great leader himself arrived to the lowlands to meet the returning forces, expecting news of victory.

Only to be greeted by a dreadful and crushing sight.

His fighters came back gravely wounded, some with bleeding mouths and tongues embedded with thorns, some with grisly pierced wounds caked in dried blood, even a few with marks that appear to have had been burns. Amidst them, the wounded, was his second mate, Wildwind, and their two young.

And some had not come back at all.

"What happen? Why hurt?" urgently asked Ashfall with great concern.

"...I am enough good for you, now?" Wildwind replied, given a small bit of joy, in spite of her predicament, at the rare treat of genuine concern Ashfall now finally showed her.

"WHAT HAPPEN?" Ashfall demanded.

"Too many. Too strong," Darklight answered weakly, gazing up in shame at his father with his one good eye, the other injured and swollen shut.

"Coast-folk. Plains-folk. Snow-folk."

"Together."

The last part struck Ashfall like a wood-tooth, piercing him to his very core.

"Not be. NOT BE! Them...enemies! Not just us but each other! Why together?"

Ashfall could not believe the words, and for a moment, he wanted to think that perhaps they were but cowardly, making excuses.

Yet he saw the thorns that the wounded Firethieves were gingerly pulling from each other's mouths. Unmistakably, from the collars of the snow-people, which he had been told could only be attacked from behind.

He saw the burns on the bodies of some, deep charred gashes like if something sticky and on fire had stuck to their coats, burning through the hair and reaching the skin. Like the grease torches of the plains-people, even if they never used the torches themselves for war.

He leaned in to Wildwind's aid, pulling out the embedded wood-tooth tip from her shoulder. She cried out in pain, and Ashfall dropped the tip to the ground.

As he nursed Wildwind's wound with a few gentle licks, he looked at the broken tip, noting its even, serrated edge, like it had been gnawed into shape and given small notched barbs with precise bites--ideal for spearing small prey in shallow water.

The unmistakable mark of the coast-folk.

Ashfall couln't believe it, wanted to deny it, yet all the evidence was there, before his eyes to see. His troops spoke the truth, that they had fought all three at once.

United like never before.

He surveyed another long look at his army. The devastation wrought upon them. He feared the Them, for the threat they could pose. He waged the war for the sake of his Us, or so he thought. Or so he believed.

And for the first time, in a very, very long time, Ashfall felt truly afraid.

From a distance, Dungstain glared at him with contempt, as he often did now. Yet this time, he chose to keep quiet, for the sake of his self-preservation.

Still, he knew all too well what dreadful mistake the foolish, arrogant Ashfall had wrought. He feared the Thems, and attacked them all with reckless abandon.

Now he had given them all a common enemy.

Behind her mother, Threestripe gazed fearfully at Ashfall, as afraid of him as she was afraid with him. She had stayed behind in the battle, and watched from a distance. She didn't want to join the chaos that unfolded. She didn't know why there even was a war.

All she knew was she wanted none of it.

Ashfall gazed into the distance, in horrified realization, as the knowledge of the Them, now too powerful, now more of a threat than ever before, sank in. The rest of the Outlanders crowded around him, equally uncertain, equally anxious, in visible unease and with tails tucked beneath their rear legs. Despite the failure, he was still a leader most looked up upon for direction.

Most.

"What now?" asked one Outlander.

"More."

"Need many more. Too few," Ashfall concluded, after a tense and silent pause. "If together Them fight. Us...need more."

"Where get more?" others asked. "Us...not many."

"Them." he replied, pondering his last resort.

"Other Them. Make fight."

"For Us."

----------

#speculative evolution #speculative biology #spec evo #speculative zoology #hamster's paradise #the calliducyon saga

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alpydk · 4 months

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Eclipse (Part 8) - "Speak With Dead."

I just want to post part 9 before I move next week, Still expected Tue/Wed depending on the internet here...

Thanks to everyone reading <3

I will be but an illusion. The words rang out to him, and he wished for a moment that Elminster could access the tadpole that wished to share. Words he didn’t remember ever speaking, but with them a deep emotion long since buried stirred in him. A gentle arm wrapped around him, shadows of a time never passed, and Gale considered speaking for a moment before he looked over to see Elminster preparing to leave, another demand sent from their former lover.

Ao3 Link

“As you embark upon your journey to reunite with Gale, may the winds of fortune guide your steps, and the wisdom of ages illuminate your way.”

Elminster had genuinely meant the words he’d said as he had left Tav’s home. He was thankful for the outcome, especially as he thought of the day when he had been there ten years ago. Seeing Gale’s face in the glass of the crystal ball had given Elminster a deep sense of relief and though he had instantly wanted to leave to find Gale, he had held back; instead, watching over the young wizard’s condition and how the orb worked. Mystra may not have been willing to aid in Gale’s situation, but Elminster was not so pessimistic when it came to the lives of mortals.

The Shadowlands were as bleak as ever as he stood watching the ethereal tendrils rise from the vines that stretched out before him. He had tracked Gale’s movements and knew in a few short while the party would arrive, their journey now entering one of the most perilous stages they would face.

“Elminster?” Gale’s voice spoke out to him.

Elminster felt as his heart rate quickened. Despite the centuries of adventure, near-death experiences, and even conversations with the gods, hearing the voice of his old mentee brought a sense of nervousness to him. He worried that if he looked to the voice, then maybe the spell would be broken, and his friend would be lost to him again. He breathed deeply before turning around. “Gale, m’boy. It has been some time…”

As much as he wanted to hug his friend, he gripped hold of his emotions, time having aided well in the need for concentration. He stood by as they prepared a small camp where they could discuss matters further with little worry about the darkness of the surrounding lands, and he made up lies of being hungry and weary after travelling, knowing that after this day it would be unlikely that he would see Gale again. For now, all Elminster wished for was to spend some time with the young man whom he had practically raised from a boy.

---

“We have indulged your need for food and rest, Elminster. What brings you all the way out here?” Gale spoke in an impatient tone. He had heard nothing from Mystra nor Elminster in the year since the incident with the orb, despite his prayers or messages sent, and now to see his former mentor standing so freely in front of him gave him almost an anger at the fact that he had been ignored for so long.

“You know why Gale. She sent me. You know of whom I speak.”

After all this time, Gale had to hold back from shouting, remembering who it was he was facing. Elminster had never wronged him and now would come with the answers he sought. “Then we must speak alone, away from prying ears, for there is much to discuss.” He gestured to a small area near the camp; silence spells set up and lights protecting them from the curse that burdened each one of them.

“I stand before you bearing tidings of the orb, a matter of great import from the realm of Mystra herself. She knows of your strife with the Absolute, the most insidious of evils, and has sent me here to charge you, Gale, with its destruction.” He spoke with a grave tone conveying his meaning without speaking the words; that the orb was to be the catalyst for their end.

So much time had passed between them both and Gale could not help but be disappointed at the outcome. This was not a matter of forgiveness for his failings, but an ultimatum for continuing to live after acting so recklessly. He understood why Mystra would not aid him in this time; he simply did not deserve to live. The guilt ate away at him like that of the orb and, as Elminster explained the stabilisation of the device; it brought him little comfort.

---

Elminster looked over at Gale, resisting placing the comforting palm on his back. “It brings me no pleasure saying this, my friend, but such is Mystra’s will.” He thought over the words that she had given him and bit his tongue at the venom that rose in his throat. Just deal with the problem. It was one thing to make these kinds of commands, but a completely different matter to carry them out and for a moment he considered just giving Gale the truth; of all that had occurred the last ten years of Tav, Lúthien, and Gale’s demise.

He watched as Gale nodded and then seemed lost in thought, the dark eyes closing in acceptance of the magic bestowed upon him, and Elminster longed to say more, to spend more time with his friend and speak as they had so many years before. He heard the ever-present whispers of Mystra calling to him, another potential in need of guiding, another catastrophe to be averted at her bidding, and so he gave his farewell, not knowing if he would ever see Gale alive again.

---

Gale had wanted to ask so many questions before Elminster had vanished as quickly as he had arrived, his reasoning being that he had Mystra’s duties to carry out. The young wizard had wanted to ask of his memories, of the year in his tower that now stretched out into nothingness in front of him, of Mystra’s symbol that seemed to have changed without his recollection. Be a moon unto yourself. Words spoken not as Elminster left but under stars; emotions mixed between elation and anticipation, and the knowledge that something close would soon be lost.

Even with the orb stabilised, the thoughts in his mind fractured as if he were losing pieces of himself each day and he truly started to believe that the stress was tearing him apart, that he was going mad and soon would be but a shadow of the man he once was. Astarion’s arm around him very nearly broke him in that moment, as he faced an uncertain future, seeing nothing but his own death lying ahead of him, and also in the distant past.

---

You watched as Elminster spoke with him, as the orb was calmed, and a glimmer of relief passed across Gale’s face before again descending into darkness; the gloominess of the surroundings draining on all your hearts. You wondered why neither had spoken of you, why Elminster especially had only talked of the orb and Mystra’s will. The rage that had overcome you was immense as he explained Gale’s fate to him, of the sacrifice that was due to be made and you had to bite your tongue from shouting the sending messages at Elminster for his betrayal to you; for him to utter the words of hope at your reunion, only to then swiftly dash them. Your spells instead would be saved for Gale, to provide him comfort in this time; something Mystra had never and would never give to either of you.

Gale looked so abandoned as Elminster left and you uttered the spell, only to watch as Astarion approached slowly before placing his arm around his friend in solace. You wished it could be you instead, holding your love closely just as you used you. You remembered a time when you were both younger, shortly before Gale had left to be with Mystra, when he had confided his worries to you. He believed he would fail, that even with his natural abilities and talents with the Weave, he still was not good enough. He felt all he could provide Mystra was an act, an illusion of the man he wanted to be for her, and you had watched as the confident mask had cracked momentarily. Holding him had been the only solution you could provide after so many years of preparation for the moment of his departure. There was no turning back for Gale after he had been claimed as her chosen; there was only what she commanded.

As he retired to his tent alone, you watched him as he wrapped himself in his tattered purple robe, trying to find some comfort against the torments of the night. If you had been there, you would have placed an arm around him, whispering words of love; words that you knew could do little other than show that he wasn’t alone. You spoke your first sending spell tentatively, afraid of what the response would be if anything.

“Gale, it’s Tav. I saw what happened and I’m sorry. I didn’t know her plan at all. How she would take you from me.”

He stirred and wrapped the blanket tighter around him and you thought for a moment that he was going to ignore your words; that all you were doing was creating further pain for him in this difficult time.

“Am I going insane? Are you the tadpole devouring my mind? Who are you to say you love me so?”

Your heart broke hearing his voice in this way. He sounded so fragile, and you worried that speaking the next words would only cause more harm, but you only wanted to give him hope, you wanted to help him in a way his friends close by could not. It was a hasty decision, but you wondered if it would work, if fate would be on your side, if Mystra would even allow it.

“I’m real. I’m in Waterdeep. Will go to Baldur’s Gate. I wish you could remember me. We were due to be married. I love you.”

Minutes passed as you watched him, as he closed his eyes, turning away from where your invisible sensor lay. You whispered to yourself out loud, wanting him to turn back to you. “Please Gale… speak to me.”

“Baldur’s Gate. I will aspire to meet you there. You are the shadow of my recent memories, are you not? Under the stars? The library?”

Your heart pounded as you heard the words, the memories you had clung onto in recent days. He remembered you, at least in some small way, even if not completely, and he would try to meet you in person. Maybe on seeing your face, it would all come back to him. Everything would be like the fairy tales you read when you were young; love at first sight, and a reunion so spectacular that the world would disappear around you. Sleep drew you ever closer, but you watched over him as he lay restless in his tent for hours to come. The events of the day weighing heavily on both your hearts.

---

Be a moon unto yourself. She believed he spouted such nonsense; words to sway the minds of mortals from their fates, hope that there was little point in providing. Mystra gazed over the moonlit skies above the happy couple and her loyal chosen, sighing at the sight that lay before her.

“We will be wed in the Winter, should Mystra allow it.” Gale’s naïve optimism shone through, and she rolled her eyes in contempt of his actions. To be wed would certainly not happen whilst he was under her, at least not until he was on his way to serving her as Elminster did. Possibly the two young lovers could be married in a few mortal years, providing the young girl survived or even accepted the idea of the relationship once she came to realise that Gale would outlive her considerably.

Elminster had approved of their choice and congratulated them before taking Gale’s hand and leading him away; the moment of their departure having now arrived. Mystra would wait for them before claiming Gale as her own, before making the bright-eyed woman beside him seem like nothing but an illusion when compared to the goddess and the love that only an immortal could provide. Fate was not something which could be broken or bent; it was nothing but the whims of the gods and the games that they played for amusement. Elminster’s words were nothing but the lies he told to lessen the ache of her delivered orders.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #bg3 fanfiction #gale bg3 #galemance #eclipse8

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 years

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The Silver Dragon (43/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 18,112 (OOPS, but not really)

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond return to King's Landing. Arianwyn tells the Vale the truth.

Warnings: self-harm

Author's Note:

So sorry for the delay! After seeing some new BTS from episode 10, my brain sprang to life with some new things I could incorporate here. And my beta is on vacation, so if you saw any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, please let me know so I can fix it!

We are now officially leaving show canon behind...

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99 @dc-marvel-girl96 @henriettadreaming @multiple-fandoms-girl @gyuxmilk @somemydayy @kittykylax @whore-of-many-hot-men @slavicvvitch @crazymusicgirl104

(Please let me know if your tag isn't working, and I'll do my best to correct it! And if you would like to be added to the list, just shoot me an ask!)

Three Days, Part III

On the 25th day in the ninth month, 136 years after Aegon’s Conquest…

The moon was tauntingly full and bright, and the clouds had long since dispersed. There was nowhere to hide. Anyone who looked toward the sky could clearly see the monster flying above them.

The monster, and the dragon he rode.

“Skoros emagon ao gaomagon?” Aemond whispered, far too quietly for Vhagar to hear over the roaring wind lashing at them as they raced back to King’s Landing with a speed he had never seen. What have you done?

He did not know if he was asking her or himself.

He was not sure if he had actually said anything at all, or so much as moved his lips. His throat was painfully raw from shouting through the storm – he may not have been able to produce a sound even if he wanted to.

But he must have said something, for Vhagar responded with a proud twist of her head and a victorious roar.

Gods save him. There was still blood on her teeth.

The blood of that poor young dragon whose name Aemond did not know. And…

Luke’s blood.

The pain that had been steadily growing within Aemond’s skull suddenly burst forth like a mighty wave crashing through a dam.

Even the sapphire – Aria’s sapphire – felt like it had come alive and was trying to claw its way out of his skin.

The vision in his good eye went blurry, and it was only thanks to the dozens of straps and chains tying him to the saddle that Aemond did not fall off Vhagar’s back and plummet to his death on the peaks of the mountains below.

He wanted to cut the straps away, break the iron chains with his bare hands. Anything to get away from the beast he was shackled to in body and soul, even if it meant his death.

Would it be anything less than he deserved?

But the pain was too great for him to wrap his hand around the hilt of his dagger.

Each beat of his heart brought on a new pulse of pure agony. With each surge, his muscles tensed until he was sure they would snap.

The only thing he could manage was to cradle the burning scar.

His eyepatch was not there, though he did not remember removing it himself, nor it falling off in the wind.

It was just… gone.

When another wave washed over him – the pain more intense than when he was first given the wound – he pressed into his hands, desperately seeking relief.

But it did not come.

The sapphire was as cold as ice – colder than anything he had ever felt. So cold that it burned the skin of his palm.

Aemond shrieked at the pain.

Vhagar echoed the noise, nearly coming to a halt over a mountain peak. But she recovered faster than her rider and began to fly faster still – so fast Aemond could not believe it – towards King’s Landing.

Towards home – to Aria.

Aemond collapsed against the saddle, not caring when the leather and chains bit into his skin as he strained against them.

His next cry came not from pain, but realization.

It wasn’t his scar that was hurting him so deeply.

It was the sapphire.

The jewel – the purest expression of Aria’s love he ever possessed – was fighting against him.

Burning him.

Hurting him.

Rejecting him.

He was unworthy of such a gift. Unworthy of Aria’s love and the protection her Runes offered.

She was so good, so pure, so perfect.

He was a monster.

Worse, a kinslayer.

Wearing her gift was an affront to her, the old gods, and indeed all gods and men. He could not be allowed to possess it any longer. His very touch marred its goodness irreparably.

He pulled his hands away from his face just enough to curl his fingers into claws – the same claws Vhagar bore.

Skin broke on the first strike.

Then again.

And again.

Over and over until his hands, and the sapphire that now sat within them, were coated in hot red blood.

Aemond squeezed his eye shut, unable to bring himself to look as he opened his hands and let the sapphire fall.

Then he screamed anew.

And he did not stop.

Sleep, restful sleep, had eluded Arianwyn, leaving her bleary-eyed as she watched Emrys bristle in the garden below. Her poor dragon was quite upset that his first-ever adventure had been ruined by the arrival of Vermax – almost as upset as his rider was by the arrival of Jacaerys.

Had it not been for the arrival of her stepbrother, they would currently be preparing to leave, if they had not left already.

Instead, Arianwyn was tugging half-heartedly on the satin belt of her dressing gown, wishing it was the leather lacings of her cuirass – freshly replaced after Aemond ripped them only days ago.

Emrys –just as averse to early mornings as his beloved rider – was not stretching his wings in anticipation of their long flight, but folding them tightly over his head to block out Vermax’s unceasing chirrups.

As she loosed her robe and sat at the end of her bed, Arianwyn bowed her head in prayer. “May the Crone guide me this day, that I may speak with wisdom and grace. If it is the will of the gods, allow my petition to be successful. And if it is not…”

She opened her eyes and gazed out into the gardens, where Vermax was excitedly sniffing at a large rose bush. If she ignored who the little green creature was bonded to, she could almost let herself be amused by the sight.

But she couldn’t ignore it, nor how Emrys was slinking closer and closer to her window, examining its stone walls as if trying to figure out a way to slip inside. It would never work, of course. He was so large that he couldn’t even fit his whole snout through.

When he finally figured it out himself, he dejectedly rested the tip of his chin against the windowsill and whined softly.

Arianwyn rose from the bed with a sympathetic smile and stroked his nose. “Nyke gīmigon, byka ossȳngnon,” she cooed as he leaned into her touch. “Lo jaelā naejot jiōragon qrīdrughagon hen zirȳla, kostā jikagon sōvegon ondoso aōla. Vermax iksis byka, se daor olvie adere, kessa daor gaomagon bē.” I know, little dread. If you want to get away from him, you can go fly by yourself. Vermax is small, and not very fast, he will not keep up.

Emrys snorted solemnly in reply, sending a small burst of smoke into the bedroom. No, he would not leave her now. Never when she was so upset.

“Kirimvose, dōna mēre,” she said with a kiss to his warm scales. “Avy jorrāelan.” Thank you, sweet one. I love you.

She could almost swear that as Emrys grumbled, there was a voice speaking in the back of her head that sounded eerily like that grumbling. It told her it loved her too.

“Kostagon jān arlī naejot ñuha jorepnon sir?” she asked playfully. Can I go back to my prayer now?

Emrys blinked and, with some difficulty, removed his snout from the window. Vermax immediately noticed the movement and began to approach the older dragon.

Arianwyn laughed as Emrys slumped against the wall, wrapped his wings around his face again, and pretended to fall asleep.

“Sȳz biarves,” she called. Good luck.

She did not return to her prayer immediately, for she did not know what to say next. So instead, she took off her nightgown and began to dress for the day. Jeyne had offered to send a maid, but Arianwyn found she enjoyed managing alone for a few days. Besides, she did not want to have to explain to someone new how to deal with her mass of curls.

When Brynna told her she had packed five dresses for the journey, even though it was supposed to take only three days, she had thought her maid foolish and unreasonably over-prepared.

But now, she was grateful to have options to choose from. It made her feel like a knight selecting which weapon to carry into battle.

She had already worn two of the gowns, leaving her with three options:

First, there was a heavily structured dress of deep blue silk – Arryn blue. The shoulders bore embroidery reminiscent of wings, a nod to the sigil of her godsmother’s house. But to wear something so obvious would feel dishonest. Too much like begging.

Arianwyn was not an Arryn. She was a Royce – and a Targaryen. She would not pretend to be anything else.

She would not rely on her connections to the Vale or the throne to make her argument. If she was to win Jeyne’s allegiance, it would be her logic and the brutal honesty of her story that won it.

So, the black and bronze gown – the one she had worn her first day back to King’s Landing – was also rejected.

There was only one option left.

A surcoat and linen underdress, like the one she had worn during the little game she and Aemond played the day before they left.

But this was far simpler than that one. The coat was made of soft, undyed wool, with voluminous sleeves to protect her from the cold mountain wind.

Its only decoration was the embroidery along the edges – intricate depictions of the beautiful flowers that graced the fields of Runestone. Campion and marsh. Cornflower and primrose. Foxglove and snowdrops. And Arianwyn’s favorite – meadowsweet.

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she felt perfect. Soft, but regal. Stately, yet not too imposing. She was every bit the Princess and Lady she now was, but she was still herself.

All that was missing was a ring on her finger and her husband on her arm.

Suddenly, she knew how to end her prayer.

“I know that I am on the right path, and my cause is just,” she whispered aloud, feeling that the words were too important to keep inside. “But the path you lay out for us is not always so clear. If I am to fail today, I ask only that I be allowed to return safely into my husband’s arms, that we may face whatever is to come together.”

The very earth trembled as Vhagar landed just outside the King’s Gate. She had flown so far and fast that, by the time she started her descent, she was too exhausted to land well.

The talons at the tips of her wings and her claws had caught the stones of the city wall as she tried to slow herself, sending broken shards of brick raining down on the gold cloaks standing guard at the gate. She had landed with such force that her back legs dug deep rivets into the ground below her.

It hadn’t helped that as soon as the city was in sight, Aemond took up the reins for the first time in hours to try and steer her directly toward the Red Keep.

“Skoriot issi ao jāre?” he had rasped when she pulled against his commands. His voice was practically nonexistent after hours of ceaseless screaming. “Gūrogon nyke lenton.” Where are you going? Take me home.

Vhagar ignored his commands. She knew there was nowhere she could land in the city itself that would not result in the injury or death of some innocent. After how he reacted to the righteous death of that little dragon and its rider – the same hateful boy who had maimed her Aemond on the night they claimed each other – who dared to threaten him, she would not put him in place to be hurt again.

In the years she had spent making him fierce, she had never thought him soft. None of her other riders had been so.

Thankfully, he was far too weak from the flight, his self-inflicted wounds, and whatever demons were roiling within his mind to fight against her in any meaningful way. Not that she would obey, even if he could. She would follow no order which might put him in danger.

“Kostilus,” he begged hoarsely as she turned toward the tourney grounds. “Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon lenton. Nyke jorrāelagon naejot jikagon naejot zirȳla. Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla.” Please. I need to go home. I need to go to her. I need her.

She let out a sympathetic growl but continued to descend on the great stretch of grassy fields outside the city, frightening the smallfolk for how close they came to their roofs.

Aemond was not surprised by her disobedience. He had begged her to stop when she began to pursue Luke on her own after that dragon – barely more than a hatchling – had loosed a weak burst of dragonfire on her. And she had disobeyed.

Of course, she had. Who was he to command the Queen of All Dragons?

Compared to the paragons of his house who had ridden her before him, Aemond was nothing.

He was not an almighty conqueror like Visenya.

He was not a brave and beloved Prince like his grandsire, Baelon.

He was certainly not like Laena, adored and admired by all.

No, he was only a wretched, monstrous, broken excuse for a prince – for a Targaryen.

He had never been worthy of any dragon, much less Vhagar.

Allowing him to claim her had been some cruel, cosmic joke. A way for the gods to amuse themselves by watching him fail so miserably. Or a punishment, perhaps. For the darkness that had always lived inside his damned soul.

Oh gods.

He was damned. As a murderer, a monster, a kinslayer.

All because of the dragon – the abomination created by his Valyrian ancestors with their infernal blood magics – that he had bound himself to.

He had to get away from her.

The moment she came to rest in the middle of the road leading out of the city, Aemond began frantically removing each of the restraints keeping him in the saddle. It took him longer than it should have, as his bloodstained hands still trembled. His chest was heaving painfully with each panicked breath, and without the chill of the wind to numb it, his empty clawed-open eye was starting to burn again.

When he was finally free, he scrambled down the rope ladder on Vhagar’s side quicker than ever before, despite the pain circling his legs. Somehow, on the flight back, he had pulled so hard against the leather straps and chains that they had dug into his skin. He had no doubt there were bruises, and knew it was more than likely that blood had been drawn.

But he didn’t care. He just wanted to get away, to run back to his rooms and into the awaiting arms of his wife.

He didn’t want to acknowledge Vhagar at all. But when he began toward the guards at the King’s Gate, each of whom was staring with wide eyes as the fact of who was limping toward them and covered in his own blood sunk in, she let out a low, pleading whine.

His exhaustion and devastation faded instantly, replaced with an enormous, unquenchable rage.

“Gaomā daor jiōragon naejot sagon zūgagon syt nyke!” Aemond shouted as he whirled on her, causing his left leg to buckle. He only just caught himself before falling into the upturned dirt. “Emā ojūdan bona paktot.” You do not get to be worried for me! You have lost that right.

Vhagar shied away from his anger, her orange eyes wide with bewilderment. How could her dear rider treat her like this after all she had done to protect him?

“Gaomagon ao sesīr gīmigon skoros emā sepār gaomagon?” he asked, ignoring the calls from the guards offering him aid. Do you know what you have just done?

The dragon only whined again – a feeble, wounded noise.

“Ao ossēntan zirȳla! Nyke mērī jeldan naejot sȳngagon zirȳla – hae ziry istin gōntan naejot nyke. Yn ao ossēntan zirȳla!” His voice cracked like a raging fire as he roared, his throat raw and aching. You killed him! I only wanted to frighten him – as he once did to me. But you killed him!

“Īles iā riña! Īles ñuha lentor, se ao ossēntan zirȳla!” he shrieked as pain began to well once more in his empty eye – the result of the salty tears pooling within and stinging the open wounds he had inflicted himself. He was a child! He was my family, and you killed him!

He almost collapsed as each one of his wounds began to throb as one. “Emā vēttan nyke iā letnor sēntys! Se syt bona iksan qrimbrōstan! Ñuha gīs kessa zālagon isse se trūmāje hen Sīkudi Nopāzmi ēva se mōris hen jēda… se kesan gūrogon ziry.” You have made me a kinslayer! And for that I am cursed! My soul will burn in the deepest of the Seven Hells until the end of time... and I will deserve it.

Vhagar dropped her chin to the ground and moaned, her best attempt at appearing innocent and coy. But Aemond could still smell the sharp tang of blood on her breath and see the faint traces of rusty brown embedded between the scales of her snout.

Another pang had Aemond stumbling into the dirt, the impact sending licks of fire up his injured legs. Several guards at the gate began to run for him, but reeled back when Vhagar, too, surged toward her rider.

“Daor!” Aemond ordered with the last of his remaining strength as he fought to try and stand. “Umbagon qrīdrughagon!” No! Stay away!

The massive dragon winced at the sheer fury contained in the command and began to slink away like a scolded pup. As she retreated, the guards once again began to cautiously approach the Prince.

“Eminna daorun tolī naejot gaomagon lēda ao,” Aemond spat with a fading voice between shaky breaths. “Jaelan ao naejot henujagon. Skoriot jā daoriot jemagon. Hēzīr, iksā daorun naejot nyke. I will have nothing more to do with you. I want you to leave. Where you go does not matter. From now on, you are nothing to me.

He did not look at Vhagar as he finally stood, turning to the three gold cloaks now surrounding him. They looked at him like they had happened upon an injured shadowcat – something at once pitiful and deadly.

“My Prince…” the eldest among them said sheepishly. “Are you alright?”

Aemond did not so much as glance at the man as he began stumbling toward the gate. He could feel his mind, which he had only just regained as he came back to solid ground, begin to slip away again. If he looked at the man’s simpering face, no doubt full of pity, he might very well lose it again.

“I need a horse,” he growled.

“Of course,” the guard said, running ahead of him to the guardpost. The other two fell into an awkward formation behind the Prince.

It took a humiliatingly long time for Aemond to actually arrive at the gate, by which time a horse was saddled and waiting. Mounting the damned thing when every muscle he had screamed in protest was one of the most challenging things he had ever done.

As he gripped the horse’s reins, Vhagar made another woeful noise – a last attempt to try and ply him.

With the sound, he felt the last remaining dregs of his consciousness begin to melt away. He had to return to the Keep quickly, before losing himself entirely. Indeed, it was already becoming hard to focus his vision on anything beyond his horse’s ears.

But he still held to his anger at his damned dragon.

“Lo nyke mirre ilagon laesi va ao aril…” he hissed, his lone violet eye bloodshot and filled with disdain. “Nyke dōrī jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao arlī. Mirre.” If I ever lay eyes on you again... I never want to see you again. Ever.

He did not wait for her reply before driving his heels into the horse and setting it galloping through the King’s Gate and into the bustling streets of King’s Landing.

Vhagar’s doleful wails were heard by all within the city’s walls, save for her rider. His mind had already begun to pull him away from reality. All he could hear was the pouring of rain, the cracking of thunder, and the horrible crunch of bones between Vhagar’s teeth.

If Arianwyn had thought hours of listening to the old men of the Vale debate over dams and crops and visitation schedules was miserable, having to stay still and silent and keep her face neutral as she listened to Jace speak on behalf of Rhaenyra was surely a punishment from the gods themselves.

It certainly didn’t help that he looked at her with that stupid smug smile whenever he thought he made a good point.

Perhaps she should have prayed more for the strength to endure her stepbrother rather than just for the success of her own petition.

Jace had begun with a rather monotonous history lesson detailing the Targaryen family line from Aenar to himself. But, of course, he had incorrectly listed the late Ser Laenor Velaryon as his father.

Arianwyn had let her impassive façade slip for a moment when a few disbelieving chuckles and jeers echoed through the hall at the assertion. But the ever-watchful Gerold had spotted her slight smile and quickly corrected her with a gentle pinch on her elbow.

To his credit, Jace had not let it deter him. Instead, he smoothly transitioned into detailing how and why Viserys had named Rhaenyra his heir. Then to a fumbling and faulty explanation of the Widow’s Law and how he thought it supported his mother’s claim.

Arianwyn listened closely, making a note of each inconsistency, vaguery, or inaccuracy – whether it be intentional or not. While the bulk of her argument would rely on the revelation of Daemon’s character and past crimes, she had to first counter whatever Jace said.

There was ever the possibility that some, perhaps many, would not believe what she had to say about her father. If they did, she would still need to say whatever she could to convince them.

“There is little more to say, my Lords,” Jace proclaimed. The self-righteous lilt in his voice grated on Arianwyn endlessly. “It is clear that by both law and my grandsire’s wishes, my mother Rhaenyra was always the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, whatever the would-be usurper may say.

“I never had the good fortune to meet my mother’s mother, Queen Aemma, but I have been raised on stories of her goodness. I am proud to bear her blood, her Arryn blood. Though I have been here not yet a day, I can feel the land here call to me, as I am sure it does to my mother as well.”

Arianwyn considered her restraint in not rolling her eyes at that to be nothing short of miraculous. She would have to commission a bard to write a song commemorating the feat.

Jace turned to Jeyne and gave a short, almost solemn nod. “Rhaenyra is not only your cousin and your Queen, my Lady, but your peer. Those who would try to usurp her throne do so for no reason other than that she is a woman, and for that, they consider her unworthy of her birthright.

“I ask only that you honor the oath you took some twenty years ago by acknowledging my mother as your Queen and pledging your support to her cause. With good fortune, this farce will not come to bloodshed. However, I cannot deny that having you declare your support for the Queen, with the might of your armies behind you, would do much to dissuade my usurper uncle from pursuing this any further.

“But I am willing to wait to receive your answer,” he said, turning once more to look at Arianwyn with a smile almost too genuine. “For my sweet sister has come to speak on my uncle’s behalf. I find myself quite curious as to why she has done so, seeing as she is, herself, a ruling Lady. Nevertheless, my affection for her is nearly as great as my respect for her intellect, so I will humbly stand aside and allow her to speak.”

Another subtle pinch from Gerold signaled Arianwyn to bow her head in thanks to her stepbrother and give him a grateful smile. Though she would never admit it, she was surprisingly touched by his praise, underhanded though it was.

“I commend you for your eloquent speech, Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne said from the throne as the light smattering of applause, led by Lords Sunderland and Corbray, finally quieted. “It is true that I have found myself in a similar predicament to your mother. Thrice have mine own kin sought to replace me, and thrice they have failed. My cousin Ser Arnold is wont to say that women are too soft to rule. I have him in one of my sky cells, if you would like to ask him yourself, or simply meet another long-estranged cousin.”

The gathered crowd laughed with her at that – including Arianwyn, despite her nerves.

Jeyne’s held up a hand to quiet the room once more. “As Jacaerys says, there is another here to speak to us on this matter. While she is not my blood as Rhaenyra is, she is my family in both the eyes of the gods and in the affections of my own heart. For this, and for her place as the Lady of Runestone, I now invite her now to make her petition on behalf of her good brother, Aegon.”

The silence in the room was so heavy that as Arianwyn walked to the center of the hall to stand before the Weirwood thrones, she felt as though she was moving through sand. But she swallowed her fear and willed her racing heart to calm.

Otto Hightower would not have sent her here if he did not believe her capable of succeeding – nor would any member of the Small Council, even Aegon. She reassured herself that she had not only their support, distant as it was, but that of the law, the gods, and her husband. With all that behind her, how could she fail?

“Lords and Ladies of the Vale, it is an honor to speak to you today,” she began, pleasantly surprised at the strength of her voice. “I ask that you please be forgiving should I not be particularly eloquent. I have never addressed a court before nor had any real oratory experience, and I find myself quite nervous to do so now.”

She laughed slightly, expecting others to laugh with her, at least out of pity, but none did. So, she took a deep breath and continued. “I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting most of you personally, so I will begin by introducing myself. I am Lady Arianwyn Targaryen.”

“Princess, my dear,” Gerold reminded her with a grimace from where he stood by the base of the throne.

Arianwyn winced. This was precisely why she had prayed this morning. She did not possess a silver tongue. Indeed, at the moment, hers felt much more like lead.

“Yes, forgive me,” she stuttered. “I am still not used to that title yet. It was granted to me only seven days past – or eight, maybe? I actually do not know what day we were wed. It was around midnight. But I am not quite sure whether it was before or after.”

“Aria?” Gerold’s call was unsubtly covered with an obviously false cough. When she looked at him, he widened his eyes to let her know she had already begun to ramble.

She swallowed, taking a moment to straighten her skirts and gather her thoughts. “My apologies, again. I, um… I became a Princess only days ago when I was wed to Prince Aemond Targaryen. Naturally, as it comes from my husband, the title is quite dear to me. However, dearer to me is that which I inherited from my mother, who was well known and, I hope, well-loved by all of you: Rhea Royce, Lady of Runestone.

“That title was given to me on the day of my birth, as it was also the day my mother died,” she fell silent then as all those gathered in the Throne Room bowed their heads in remembrance. Much to her surprise, Jace joined them.

“I am here to speak on behalf of my good brother, King Aegon, Second of His Name,” she looked to Jace then, copying the smug smile he had already given her several times that day. Perhaps it was cruel of her, after he had just offered respects to her mother, but she could not help herself.

“Five days ago, Aegon was crowned by Lord Commander Criston Cole of the Kingsguard in accordance with the laws of the realm and his father’s dying wish. Of course, there are those who would point to the Queen being the only audience to the proclamation as proof that it is untrue. But I have heard the tale from the Queen herself, and I believe with absolutely no hesitation.” She could sense, more than see, the sour expression on Jace’s face at her words.

“It is no secret that King Viserys was long ill,” she continued. “As such, he was often confined to his bed and unable to govern the realm himself. In his absences, it was Queen Alicent who most often sat the Iron Throne in his place, where she proved herself to be wise, kind, and above all else, honorable.

“It would have been well within her right to dispute Rhaenyra’s position as heir from the moment Aegon was born, but she did not.” At least, not publicly, Arianwyn thought. She had overheard more than one conversation suggesting Alicent had brought it up to the King privately. “For years, she steadfastly supported the King’s attestation that Rhaenyra was his heir, despite its dubious legality. I can offer no better proof to the veracity of the King’s change of heart than that.”

A slight nod and a half-smile from Gerold indicated that she had made her point well.

“However, it must be understood that despite the King’s insistence in Rhaenyra’s place as heir for many years, despite whatever oaths he had the Lords of the Realm make, she did lose that position when Aegon was born.”

This was the part she was most nervous about.

“The ruling of the Great Council was clear: a male heir is preferable to a female. Even before the Council was called, this was well understood by law and men. It is why Princess Rhaenys was passed over in favor of my grandsire, Prince Baelon, following her father’s death. And it is why the Great Council voted so overwhelmingly in favor of Viserys’ claim.

“According to the very precedent that gave Viserys his throne, Rhaenyra stopped being the heir from the instant Aegon took his first breath,” she declared.

A murmur made its way through the crowd, and Arianwyn was gratified that most of them seemed to agree with her. However, seeing the dejected expressions on several Ladies’ faces pained her, knowing she had likely just affirmed their deepest insecurities and fears.

She avoided meeting their eyes and instead looked to Jace. “My stepbrother has brought up an interesting point in his interpretation of the Widow’s Law. He is correct that it prevents a man from disinheriting his children from a first wife in favor of the children born to a second wife, but I am afraid it is not actually applicable to the current dispute.

“The purpose of the Widow’s Law is to prevent rightful heirs from being cast aside in favor of their younger half-siblings. But a man’s eldest son, regardless of whether his mother was a first, second, or any other later wife, is the lawful heir before any daughters. Nothing can pass to the daughter so long as there is a son. Therefore, a younger son from a second wife inheriting instead of an elder daughter from a first wife is not a dispossession.”

Arianwyn paused to see Jace’s reaction. He stayed silent and watched her carefully and with more than a little contempt.

According to the plan she had made with Jeyne the day before, she should now tell the court of the dangerous precedent that would be set should Rhaenyra insist that Jace – a bastard – was her heir.

She shouldn’t feel bad about it. It was true, and everyone knew it – even him.

So, why was she now hesitating?

Perhaps it was because many of the Lords in the room were already nodding along as she spoke. If they already agreed with her, she would not have to bring it up. She would not have to hurt him, Luke, or sweet little Joffrey to win the day.

For a heartbeat, she thought she might not even have to speak of Daemon.

But as she examined the crowd to assess how many were already with her, she found there were still more than a few who looked doubtful. It was to win them over that she swallowed her fear and continued.

No, she had to this for more than just winning the Vale. She had to do this because it was, and always was, the right thing to do.

“Of course,” she said with a sweet, placid smile, “you are all wise and intelligent men, with far more political experience than my stepbrother or me. Everything I have said thus far is only a repetition of what I am confident you already know.”

Arianwyn bowed her head and took a deep, steadying breath. “There is one thing more I must tell you before I end my appeal. Something that you do not know. Something that, until now, you could not know. Something concerning my mother and my father.”

Anyone whose interest in the proceedings had waned was suddenly brought back to attention.

“I imagine you all know the story of my mother’s injuries that led to her unfortunate death,” Arianwyn said as she looked around, but none met her eyes. Of course, they did not want to be reminded of something so terrible. “Perhaps some of you even saw them. I must admit, I do not envy you if you did. The descriptions I have been given are enough to curdle my blood, so I will not repeat them here. But I will tell you the story of how she was wounded. For the truth of it is far different from what you have been told, I am afraid.

“That day, my mother set out by herself to hunt, as was her habit. Ser Gerold tells me that she savored the time she spent alone. How she was never happier than when she was in the hills and moorlands of Runestone. Words cannot describe how much it pains me that what happened to her – no, what was done to her – was done in the place she loved so well.”

Arianwyn took another pause to calm herself as a flurry of whisperers flew through the crowd at what she was suggesting with that one little word.

“You were told that her horse startled and fell upon her, leaving her paralyzed and injured. And that it was a miracle that my father happened to be flying nearby when he spotted her, rescued her, and brought her home. That she was so charmed by his heroism that she finally consummated the marriage and fell pregnant with me. I do admit, it is a good story. Like something that I would read in my books.” She laughed slightly – a light, blithe chuckle entirely out of place amongst her solemn words – though she did not know why.

“But that was a lie. My father did not save my mother. He killed her.”

Arianwyn tried to continue but stopped when the clamor rising amongst the crowd grew so loud that she could hardly hear her own voice. She looked frantically to Lady Arryn and Gerold for help, but neither seemed as concerned as she did – they did not seem concerned at all. Rather, they seemed more than happy to let the Lords and Ladies have their moment of panic.

It wasn’t until Arianwyn again looked to Jace that she understood why.

His face was twisted with shock and rage, all directed at Arianwyn. She had just accused the man he so admired of the vilest of crimes – kinslaying. The gravity of such an accusation was not lost on him.

Nor was it lost on the Lords and Ladies of the Vale. Those standing near Jace were now shuffling away, as if the crimes of his stepfather had tainted him as well.

Arianwyn did not pity him.

Why should she? For years, he had ignored Arianwyn’s fear of Daemon, even when it was abundantly obvious.

It was clear in how she blanched whenever her father would look at her. How she would avert her gaze and stand to the side when she encountered him within the castle. How she flinched every time he raised his voice or slammed a hand on the table at dinners.

What did Jace think happened when Daemon dismissed them all from dinner only days ago to speak to his daughter alone? Was he truly so blind he did not see her fear the next day? Had Daemon so thoroughly deluded him that he actually thought her bruises were the work of Aemond’s hands?

Even Jace could not be so stupid.

“Silence!” Jeyne called from her throne. But even she could not wholly calm the chaos that had erupted. “You will all be silent and let the Princess speak!”

Eventually, the room was silent again, as all assembled decided their desire to hear more outweighed their instinct to rage at the accusations.

“I confess I do not know his motivation,” Arianwyn said when she finally began again, “but my father came to the Vale that day to kill my mother. In his cruelty, he apparently decided he would rather her die slowly and in agony than kill her quickly. Raping her was just another insult. He never intended for his seed to find purchase or for me to be born. Indeed, he has made it quite clear to me that his only regret is that I did not die alongside my mother in the birthing bed.”

She went on until she had told them everything.

How Daemon never acknowledged her until Lady Laena’s funeral. The cruel words he had said to her then. How he had taken her to Dragonstone not out of fatherly duty but to punish her for fighting with his other daughters. The neglect she endured on the island and the threats he made against her there.

The details of how Jace and Baela had treated her, she left out. It would serve no purpose to share them. And besides, he knew as little of this story as the rest of them – that much was clear from the abject horror growing on his face with every passing moment.

But she did speak of Rhaenyra. How she ignored Arianwyn for years, even after she became her stepmother. What she had said in the garden at Dragonstone, revealing that she knew what Daemon had done while belittling it and calling it merely “regrettable.”

How the would-be Queen had only stood there when Daemon wrapped his hands around Arianwyn’s throat. How she said nothing when he called her a ‘whore’ and a ‘virgin cunt’ to be sold for his own advantage. How she had stared blankly when Daemon threatened to kill Arianwyn.

Just as she had in the Throne Room while Daemon spun his horrible little story about Aemond, trying to pass the blame for his own attempt on Arianwyn’s life to her new husband.

Rhaenyra had only stepped in when it became clear Daemon was coming dangerously close to exposing himself – and her.

Arianwyn fell silent then. She could have continued, released all her anger in one fiery burst, and shouted so loud the gods could hear that Rhaenyra was unfit to be Queen and that Daemon was an even worse choice for King.

But she did not.

Revealing the story to the world, at last, had exhausted her body and soul. Besides, there was nothing she could say that could possibly make her case more convincingly than the simple truth.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jeyne broke the silence. And with it, the spell of horrified shock that had enveloped the High Hall – perhaps the entire Eyrie.

“I will offer only one correction,” Jeyne said, her voice as raw as though she had been crying. Perhaps she had, and Arianwyn just had not noticed. “There was a miracle, dear Arianwyn. It was a miracle that Rhea survived long enough to deliver you.”

“Where’s Aria?” Aemond grunted as he slid off his borrowed horse once he was in the courtyard of the Red Keep.

Faintly, he could hear servants working, people chattering, and even the low bleats of sheep. But his ears were still echoing with the sounds of the storm.

He stumbled as he stepped away from the horse, cursing his mind for abandoning his body like this. Thankfully, someone was there to catch him.

“Aria?” he sighed in relief. That was Rune-etched bronze armor before his eyes, perhaps the most comforting sight in the world.

But the voice that came from his rescuer was deep and gruff.

Not Aria, then.

Aemond couldn’t make out what the voice was saying. It sounded as though it was coming from behind a thick wall of stone.

“Take me to Aria,” he commanded, pushing away from whichever of his wife’s guards had caught him.

He stumbled again as he climbed the steps into the Keep but caught himself before he fell. It would not do to let the servants and courtiers see him in such a state, to see him weak.

He was Prince Aemond Targaryen, son of King Viserys and brother to King Aegon II. He was a warrior. A scholar. The rider of the largest dragon –

Dammit.

The thought of Vhagar brought another bout of pain and nausea coursing through him. He dove into the first alcove he saw and doubled over, emptying what little was left in his stomach onto the stone floor.

An armor-clad hand came to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “My Prince?”

Aemond shook it off, growling. This time, he caught a glimpse of brownish hair – the guard had removed his helmet. Still, he couldn’t tell who it was. His vision was too blurry.

“Do not touch me,” he moaned half-heartedly. Then, summoning all his strength, he stood once more.

Every step towards his apartments took the whole of his concentration – every remaining drop of his strength to hold whatever was left of his mind in place.

He likely would have failed had each beat of his heart not whispered to him: “Aria. Aria. Aria.”

All he needed was to reach her, collapse into her arms, and all would be well. She would make everything alright again. She could wake him from this nightmare and banish the darkness from his heart.

He just needed to get to her.

After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the dark wood door to their chambers.

The Runes he and Aria had carved into them years and years ago seemed to be lit from within, as worn as they had become over the years. Aemond ran a hand over them, and with each line, his resolve seemed to strengthen.

He was so close. She was right behind the door.

The metal of the door handle was cool, just like her touch – the touch that would soon soothe him.

But as the door creaked open, his heart sank, and his stomach roiled.

The hearth was empty. The fire unlit. The curtains drawn. The room dark.

Aria was not there.

“Where is she?” Aemond hissed as his weak, traitorous, broken body began to tremble and shake. “Where is my wife?”

He turned slightly to the guard that had followed him here – or guards? There appeared to be three of them now. Or perhaps his vision was multiplying.

“The Princess has not yet returned, my Prince.”

Aemond’s body went unnaturally still at those words, as his mind returned to him for only as long as it took for his world to shatter.

A small but not insignificant number of Lords had immediately made an impassioned plea – or, more accurately, demand – for Jeyne to declare war upon Rhaenyra and Daemon, not for their false claim to the Iron Throne, but for the rape and murder of Rhea Royce, and for the mistreatment of her daughter.

They had flocked to the base of the Weirwood throne shouting their demand the moment Jeyne finished speaking, forcing Arianwyn to retreat back to her place by Gerold’s side.

“Is this… good?” she whispered, staring wide-eyed at the display before her.

Gerold wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “I think this is perhaps the best outcome we could have hoped for, my dear.”

“So, you aren’t upset with me for telling them?”

He laughed as they watched one of the Lords surrounding Jeyne, a man who looked as old as time itself, start brandishing his cane like it was either a sword, a magic staff, or both.

“No, Aria,” he assured her. “I was quite nervous about what it would prompt Daemon to do, but I cannot deny its effectiveness. And if he does seek reprisals against you, I think all we must do is send Lord Upcliff to defend you. Gods, I thought he could hardly walk any more – just look at him!”

Indeed, the once doddering old man looked as though he was ready to lead the Knights of the Vale into battle himself.

As amused as Arianwyn and Gerold were, Jeyne’s smile at the reaction from her men had long since faded.

“My Lords!” she shouted again as her guards tried to pull the men away from the throne. “There will be no war today! So please – calm down!”

While the guards continued dispersing the irate Lords of the Vale, Arianwyn let her eyes drift across the High Hall to Jace.

He had said nothing since she revealed the truth. He had not even moved. His eyes were wide with shock and horror, his mouth hanging slightly open, and his brow furrowed. When he met her gaze, his expression hardened into one of anger.

Not at Arianwyn, as it had always been, but for her.

She could not bear the weight of that look, yet she could not turn away from it.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Jeyne called, breaking him away from his ceaseless staring. “You are the only representative present from Dragonstone. In the interest of justice, I here offer you the opportunity to defend your stepfather against the accusations levied against him. Have you anything to say to the court?”

Jace’s mouth opened and closed, words forming and then dying on his lips. Finally, after a moment of fruitless scrambling for something to say, he glanced back to Arianwyn, and his face crumpled.

“Nothing, my Lady,” he whispered as he looked down to his feet, weakly shaking his head.

“Then I think we can forgo any further debate or discussion,” Jeyne declared. “As well as the lengthy process of a formal vote on this matter. I feel that we have heard more than sufficient evidence to know what we must now do without a doubt.”

Jeyne pursed her lips before looking back to the Lords suspiciously. “But, of course, I have the utmost respect for our laws and traditions. So, I will tell you what I propose we do. And should any of you wish to disagree with me, I will allow you to explain why before I ignore you and do what I believe is right anyway.”

Arianwyn almost laughed aloud while Jessamyn sighed and rolled her eyes. But no one else acknowledged the humor, so they both remained silent.

“It is my intention to declare my support for Aegon Targaryen as King,” Jeyne proclaimed, her voice once more that of the Lady of the Vale. “While I have always believed that in this world of men, women must band together, I cannot reconcile myself with Princess Rhaenyra’s abysmally poor choice of consort.

“Even if the law were on her side, and the Iron Throne was hers by right, it is my belief that her willful association with Daemon Targaryen renders her unfit to rule. It is most unseemly for a woman to stand by a man who has mistreated women – women I love – as severely as Daemon Targaryen has. I cannot forgive her complicity in his crimes. That is in the hands of the gods, though I have my doubts that even the Father himself would pardon such sins.”

With a deep, steadying breath, Jeyne braced her hands on the arms of her throne and looked imperiously over the men she ruled. “Is there any who would oppose this decision?”

Lord Sunderland began to speak but swiftly changed his mind. Then, though it obviously pained him, he bowed his head in acquiescence.

“Then it is decided,” Jeyne proclaimed with a wide grin. “The Vale and all its people hereby recognize Aegon, Second of His Name, as the rightful heir to his father, King Viserys, and as the one true Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She paused to allow applause – louder than it had been for Jace’s petition – to again sweep through the room as her steward led chants of ‘Aegon the King.’

But she did not move to dismiss the court. Instead, she turned to her godsdaughter. “Princess Arianwyn?” she called, only continuing when the girl was again standing before her. “You have presented yourself well today. You should be proud.”

Indeed, Arianwyn was filled with such pride and relief that she felt her chest would burst for it. But she tried to remain humble as she bowed her head. “Thank you, godsmother.”

“You are very welcome, my dear,” Jeyne cooed fondly before slipping back into her more regal demeanor. “But your mission is only half-accomplished, is it not?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Arianwyn said quickly. “The King has asked that I negotiate for the support of your troops, should they be needed to defend his crown.”

“I do not think ‘negotiation’ is necessary,” Jeyne laughed. “I have only two requests of our new King, and I do not imagine he will object much to either. Will you hear them?”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“First, I ask that he use every tool at the Crown’s disposal to bring Daemon Targaryen to justice and ensure that he is punished in accordance with the severity of his crimes.”

Arianwyn nodded eagerly, too overwhelmed by the ferocity with which Jeyne spoke – a ferocity which suggested she would tear Daemon apart herself if given the chance – to say anything.

“My second request may be somewhat more difficult, I am afraid. Should war break out, it will be fought with dragons. Now, I have no fear of armies. Many and more have broken themselves against my Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie is known to be impregnable. But you,” she nodded to Jacaerys as well, “the both of you, have descended on us from the sky, as Queen Visenya once did during the Conquest, and I was powerless to halt you.

“The decisions I have made today, and truths that were revealed in my keep, will no doubt reach Daemon’s ears. Should he come seeking retribution, I must not be powerless to defend myself and my people. Send me dragonriders.” There was a flicker of genuine fear in Jeyne’s dark eyes as she spoke. Fear that her people would suffer the consequences of her actions – however righteous they were.

Arianwyn understood that fear. It was the same that had kept her and Emrys from escaping Dragonstone for all those years.

“I will do what I can, my Lady,” she said, hoping it would be enough. “I have little involvement in matters of war, but should it be necessary, Emrys and I shall come and defend the Eyrie ourselves.”

“Nothing would make me feel safer,” Jeyne agreed. Then, with a dramatic sweeping of her skirts as she stood, she descended her throne to take Arianwyn’s arm and begin leading her from the High Hall. “Speaking of your delightful dragon, I believe you are past due to fly home to your equally delightful husband...”

“Where is she?” Aemond demanded. His body had begun to shake again, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Only one thing mattered.

Arianwyn.

He felt the uncomfortable sensation of hot, salty tears pooling in his empty eye.

Oh gods. The sapphire was gone, as was the patch.

How many people had seen his true, monstrous self?

Aemond’s feet began carrying him to the bedchamber before he heard the guards reply – if they had replied at all. He pushed open the door so hard the wood cracked, but he did not stop.

Not until he reached the mirror.

The one he had set into the eastern wall. So that he could see his sapphire every morning and think of Aria. So he could see himself as she would – as she did – as the man, not the monster.

There was nothing left of the man in his reflection now.

His skin and hair were stained with his own blood, only interrupted by the clean tracks left by his tears.

His one eye was wide, wet, and bloodshot – the eye of a cornered, feral beast, not a civilized man or Prince.

His lips were so dry they had begun to crack and bleed, and the remnants of his sick were still at the corners of his mouth.

The wounds he had inflicted on himself were savage and deep. They would likely scar, but he did not care.

Aemond recognized the monster reflected back at him.

It was him, as he truly was, behind all his masks and lies.

“Where is she?” he asked, though he did not know whether the guards had followed him. “Why isn’t she here? I need her.”

He needed her so badly.

He would die if he did not find her.

He would die and go to the deepest hell, where he belonged.

He would never see her again.

She was good. Her soul was pure – she would not be sent to the hells.

While he suffered for eternity, she would live in bliss alongside the gods.

She would forget him, the broken man she had felt enough pity for to shackle herself to him in life.

Aemond hoped she would forget him quickly. He did not want her to suffer on his behalf.

He did not want to shadow her beautiful soul with the darkness that lived in him.

He screamed, the harrowing sound coming from the very depths of his broken soul, as he threw his fist into the mirror with all his might.

It shattered into a million tiny shards of pure silver, exploding throughout the room.

Each new cut on his face and each sliver of glass embedded into his hand at once anchored Aemond to reality and pulled him further into his distant, dark soul.

Suddenly, a hand brushed his shoulder.

He was so entirely consumed by the monster staring back at him that, even through the mirror, he had not noticed anyone approaching.

His training kicked in, and he moved on instinct.

He shoved the hand on his shoulder away as he turned, reaching for his assailant. Finding another arm, thin and fragile, he seized it with all his strength and twisted, twisted, twisted. Until he heard them scream in pain.

But he knew that scream.

Kirin.

At once, Aemond’s mind came racing back, and he was what was before him – what he was doing.

His hand was wrapped around Kirin’s arm – his bad arm – bending and pulling it past its natural limits. His manservant’s face was distorted in pain as he screamed, but his blue eyes were filled only with concern for his master.

Aemond pulled away the moment the guards burst into the room. Ser Conin and Ser Christor grabbed Kirin as he fell, immediately rushing him out of the apartments. To the Maesters, no doubt.

Ser Warren remained behind, his dark gaze fixed on the Prince, assessing him as a threat. But then, the old man saw the wounds on his face, the tear tracks through the blood, and the fear in his eye.

“My Prince,” Warren said, his voice soft and careful, as though he were trying to soothe a rabid dog. “Princess Arianwyn has not returned. She is expected tonight. Is there someone else I can summon to… help you?”

Aemond took a step back into the broken shards of the mirror, wishing that one of them would break through the leather of the boot and cut him. He needed more pain, worse pain, anything to anchor him to reality until Arianwyn was back.

“Get out,” Aemond whispered, his voice too broken to shout again, as he wanted to. “Get out. Leave me alone. If anyone other than Aria comes in here … I will kill them.”

Not a threat, exactly, but the expression of genuine fear. If he could hurt Kirin – his trusted servant and friend – he was capable of hurting anyone.

Except Arianwyn. Never her.

Ser Warren nodded and left quickly, muttering something about stationing guards at the door.

Aemond staggered through the rooms to the door, falling against it and ensuring the lock was turned. Only Arianwyn held the key to unlock it – only she could free him from this cage.

Or perhaps she would leave him in here. It would be safer to keep the monster contained, where it could hurt no one.

But she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t even see him as a monster.

For once, the thought brought him more pain than comfort.

He didn’t want to be anchored to reality, he wanted to escape it.

He stumbled across the room once more. Not to the bedchamber, but to the cabinet he knew had been recently stocked with Arianwyn’s favorite wines. Flavored with fruit and flowers, their taste was as delicate as the woman who loved them.

His body was so out of his control that he ripped the door off the cabinet rather than opening it. It didn’t matter. He had what he needed.

He had always hated that loss of self and control. It was why he had always avoided wine for so long. And it was precisely why he needed it now – to hasten his mind’s retreat and keep him far away from reality until Arianwyn was here again.

Aemond grabbed the first bottle he could reach, ripped out the cork, and began to drink.

Jeyne, Gerold, and Jessamyn were the only ones to accompany Arianwyn to the gardens to say goodbye. Emrys, who had fallen asleep too quickly the night of their arrival to greet anyone, was thrilled to see Gerold again, and even more so to meet his rider’s godmother and her companion.

While Gerold was already acquainted with the dragon and knew how to approach him, Jeyne and Jessamyn wore twin expressions of equal delight and terror as they strode toward the great beast. Thankfully, Emrys was one of the friendlier dragons in Westeros, especially when the new people he met approached hand-in-hand with his rider.

Still, Jessamyn’s knees buckled when she first touched his smooth black scales, requiring Jeyne to catch her before she fell. Emrys immediately swiveled his head to check on her, prompting an outpouring of laughter from everyone.

Laughter that ended the moment Arianwyn spotted Jacaerys enter the gardens, lock eyes with her, and begin to walk her way.

“I’m leaving,” she hissed to Gerold as she started to climb into the saddle. “Right now.”

“Arianwyn,” Gerold scolded, grabbing the back of her armor to halt her. Even when he had not been training for many months, he was still much stronger than her, allowing him to hold her still despite her protestations and wriggling. “If he wants to say goodbye, you should let him. He is your cousin and stepbrother. And you all but humiliated him today. You owe him this.”

Looking to Jeyne and Jessamyn for support was useless, as they both muttered their agreement with Gerold.

“Please?” she begged pathetically as Gerold hoisted her from the stirrups and set her gently but firmly back on the ground, making her feel like she was no more than a ragdoll.

Again, it was to no avail. Jeyne stepped forward to tuck away a few strands of hair that had already come loose from Arianwyn’s braid as she whispered, “You have proved yourself a skilled diplomat today. Consider this but one final test, yes?”

“Will you stay with me?” Arianwyn asked, leaning into her godsmother’s touch.

Jeyne sighed and kissed her godsdaughter’s forehead. “No, my dear. I think you need to do this alone. There is more between the two of you than what happened today. If war is coming, you should make peace while you can.”

Arianwyn could not quite see the logic of making peace in preparation for war, but reluctantly agreed. Not wanting to show weakness, she held back her tears while she said goodbye to her cousin, godsmother, and whatever one calls their godsmother’s secret lover.

Then they left, passing Jace on their way back into the Eyrie. Jeyne and Jessamyn only politely dipped their heads to the Prince as they walked by, while Gerold stopped and grabbed his arm to whisper something to him before moving on.

Emrys growled as he approached, angling his head and wings to hide Arianwyn as best he could. At least he supported her.

“I want to talk to you,” Jace pled after several minutes of trying and failing to outmaneuver the dragon.

“And why should you ever want that?” she hissed, her voice muffled through the membrane of Emrys’ wing.

“I think after what you just said in there,” he huffed, “I deserve some answers.”

“Mmm,” Arianwyn hummed, fastening her bag to Emrys’ saddle a little too tightly. The dragon grunted, though he directed his frustration not at his rider but at the bastard Prince that was upsetting her. “I didn’t think I left any room for questions.”

Jace groaned in frustration. “Aria…”

“Do not call me that!” she shouted, abandoning her preparations for departure and bursting from beneath Emrys’ wing to round on her stepbrother. When she reached him, she shoved him as hard as he could. “You do not get to call me that!”

He stumbled back but did not move to retaliate. Instead, he held out his arms to try and dissuade her from attacking again. And to placate Emrys, who was viciously baring his teeth.

Arianwyn was disappointed. For a moment, she thought she might get to use the dagger Aemond gave her, now strapped to the belt of her riding leathers. She did have a better record with live targets, after all. But whatever her desires, she would not attack unprovoked.

She rolled her eyes as she stepped back to Emrys. “You may speak until I am ready to depart. I would be quick about it if I were you – I am anxious to return home.”

Jace scoffed as he took a cautious step forward, “To your one-eyed beast of a husband?”

That was provocation enough for Arianwyn.

She drew her dagger and whirled around. Rather than try and bring the blade to his throat, she grabbed his collar and pulled him to the blade. It worked much better than the lunging attacks Aemond had forced her to practice. She did not press hard enough to cut, only to apply enough pressure for him to think twice before talking again.

“My ‘one-eyed beast of a husband’ taught me how to use this,” she spat. Only partly true – he had taught her how to hold it. They had not had much success past that. But she understood the concept of the dagger well enough. She did not need much training to know which end would cut. “Would you like me to show you, bastard?”

At the pain that went through his dark eyes at the word, she almost regretted the insult. She had never used it before – she always thought she was in no place to judge someone on their parentage.

But she would not endure insults to Aemond. Especially not from Jace.

He and his brother were the cause of so much of Aemond’s pain. What was a single cruel and undeniably true word against what they had done to him? To what he had said to her on Driftmark over the past six years?

She could not decipher the expression on his face as he pulled as far away from her blade as he could. His eyes were sorrowful, but his mouth was curled in a sneer. “Do you really hate me that much?”

Arianwyn was taken aback, so much so that she released his collar and let him stumble away from her dagger. “What?”

He looked to be almost on the verge of tears as he looked at her beseechingly. “Do you hate me, Arianwyn?”

She expected him to accuse her of lying about her father and his mother. To demand she recant all that she had said. Or even to try and stop her from leaving.

But, true to form, he had asked her another stupid question.

“You spent our entire childhood making Aemond miserable,” she said, her voice thick with anger and confusion. He moved to refute or argue with her, but she raised her blade again to stop him. “He never did anything to you, yet you took every opportunity to torment him – whether Aegon was there or not. It was you who brought the knife to that fight!”

Jace looked away from her, lips thin with anger. But he said nothing as she continued her tirade.

“You had to know it was him.” she dropped the hand holding the dagger to her side as tears welled in her eyes. “When you came to the tunnel. Rhaena was with you, so who else could it have been?”

She began to laugh as her tears fell, and she waved her hand, in which the dagger was now only loosely gripped, as she spoke. “You saw Vhagar and knew it was Aemond. And you were not as desperate or ill-educated as Rhaena. You knew that he had not ‘stolen’ her,” she spat, the word that had long caused her animosity with her youngest half-sister disgusting her still. “You knew it was his birthright to claim a dragon.”

Arianwyn had never intended to say so much to him, having responded to his taunts with as few words as possible for so long. But he had somehow unearthed a rage buried deep within her, feelings toward him that she had not known were there.

“It had been his birthright to have an egg to warm his cradle – as you and I both did – but he was denied that, as he was denied so much by his father,” she laughed again. “But what would you know about that? Viserys always loved you and your brothers so well. And you have been blessed with an excess of fathers: Laenor Velaryon, Harwin Strong, and now Daemon.”

Her laughter faded, and her bitter smile fell. “It’s disgusting, you know. How you follow Daemon around like a dog, begging for his attention and praise. What is it you expect from him? You don’t really think he’ll let you inherit anything, do you? He has two trueborn sons with Rhaenyra. Not even you can be so foolish as to think he’d let a bastard take the throne before them.”

She took a heaving breath, fully intending to continue her tirade, but then Jace moved. He snatched the dagger out of her hand, sending it clattering across the flagstones and into the bushes. When her silver gaze finally left him to stare at it in disbelief, he grabbed her but the shoulders.

“Arianwyn,” he gritted through clenched teeth, “I just want to know – ”

“Why did you bring that knife?” she screamed with all the breath in her lungs, then fell silent.

She had not known it, but that question had burned in her mind for more than six years. It had fueled every frustration she ever held for him. It was the reason his every word grated on her – why she had always bristled under his gaze.

Luke’s hand had stolen Aemond’s eye, but Jace’s knife made the cut.

Jace did not answer, though he did let go of her. As she glared at him, he could not meet her eye.

“What did you plan to do to him?” She asked, as still as the stone of the mountains surrounding them. “If I hadn’t been there, what would you have done?”

“Nothing,” he sighed, his lip curled in a scowl. “I just… I wanted to scare him.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not like him.”

“He had never done anything to you, or anyone,” Arianwyn said, still not understanding. “He is your uncle – he wanted to be your friend. At Laena’s funeral, he tried to tell you he was sorry about Ser Harwin’s death. Why did you dislike him so?”

Jace released his grip and turned his back on her, so all she could see was his dark hair blowing in the breeze as he looked at the statue of Alyssa Arryn, only steps away.

“He had you.”

Arianwyn had never felt so lost. Her mouth hung open as she stared at him, desperate for him to say just one thing that made sense. “He ‘had’ me? What does that even mean?”

“You were always with him!” he shouted as he whirled around to her again, though he never met her eyes. “At meals and parties, in your lessons, in the library. Seven hells, you even came to watch him train even though you hate fighting!”

“He was – and is – my best friend. I was always with him because I liked being with him,” she countered, brow furrowing tighter. “Just like you were always with Luke and Aegon.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Jace said, laughing darkly and shaking his head.

Arianwyn scoffed, “I don’t even know what the ‘thing’ is!”

“It – ” the muscles in his jaw were so tight they seemed about to snap. “It was… frustrating to me. That I could never talk to you without him being there.”

“Still, it never seemed to stop you,” she said, crossing her arms. “Or Aegon.”

He had the courtesy to look mildly regretful. “That wasn’t talking.”

“No, it was ridicule.”

“And it wasn’t you that we were – ”

“It might as well have been.”

“Can you please just – ”

“What do you want from me, Jace?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you, dammit!” he roared.

Arianwyn felt as though she had woken suddenly from a nightmare. She stumbled back until she hit Emrys’ scales, then slid down until she was slumped against him with her head in her hands. “Tell me this is just another of your stupid jokes, or I am going to vomit.”

Jace grimaced and kicked the tip of his boot against the side of a loose flagstone. “I’m sorry.”

While she didn’t vomit, Arianwyn let out a miserable, guttural groan that sounded quite close to vomiting. “How can you love me if you don’t even like me?”

“I do like you,” he answered, still not daring to approach her or her angry dragon. “I’ve always liked you.”

Arianwyn finally raised her head, leaning against Emrys’ hot scales as she looked up at her stepbrother. “You don’t treat people you like the way you’ve treated me. You’re cruel to me.”

“No,” he sighed, stepping toward her just enough to earn a warning growl from Emrys. “It’s not cruelty, I promise. It’s jokes, teasing – that’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

“But we aren’t friends, Jace,” she countered, hating herself for feeling badly when he looked hurt by her words. “We never have been.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t nice to me!”

“You wouldn’t talk to me if I was nice to you!”

“How do you know? Did you ever try?”

Jace opened his mouth, but what came out was more of a quiet squawk than an actual word. Arianwyn could do nothing but look at him in bewilderment as he recalled their every interaction. His face scrunched like he was trying to solve some great mystery.

“You didn’t,” she answered for him, lacking the patience to let him figure it out for himself. “Even once I was on Dragonstone, where Aemond couldn’t ‘have’ me, you were never nice to me. None of you were, except Rhaena. She’s the only one who ever apologized to me for what you did on Driftmark.”

He stared blankly at where Emrys had wrapped the tip of his tail around Arianwyn. A gentle touch of comfort, protection, and possessiveness from a beast capable of such awesome death and destruction.

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine that the touch was not Emrys but Aemond. That it was his warmth she was feeling. But if Aemond were here, if he heard what Jace was saying to her…

Perhaps it was a good thing her husband was so far away.

“So, you do hate me,” Jace whispered as the revelation finally came to him, “and… I deserve it.”

Arianwyn rolled her eyes, prepared to say something cutting, but then she saw the devastation and self-loathing on his face. She swallowed the retort, along with the slight pang of guilt in her chest. “Well, maybe not ‘hate,’ exactly. Just… very, very strong dislike.”

“That is the definition of hate,” he replied with a sad laugh.

“I’m sorry,” Arianwyn said, and despite herself, she meant it.

He shook his head, shoulders drooping. “No, don’t do that. I should be the one to apologize to you. For how I’ve treated you, for the things I’ve said, and for… everything with Aemond.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. It was not forgiveness, for that would require more than a simple apology. All she would – could – give him was acknowledgment. That she had heard his words, that she understood him. That, perhaps, forgiveness was possible.

Sensing the tension disappear, Emrys rose from his protective crouch and flexed his wings. He stretched a bit, testing the weight of all the saddlebags – and the sword, Lamentation, carefully attached to the side of Arianwyn’s seat. There had been a place for a weapon built into his saddle, but it had never been used until now.

“I think he’s ready to leave,” Jace sighed.

Arianwyn stood and looked back to her mount. He certainly was. She could tell by how he leaned down on one side – his way of asking her to climb on. She smiled, stroking his side before gripping the first handhold of the saddle.

“Can I…” Jace started, making her stop her ascent for a moment. “Can I ask you one more question before you go?”

Emrys bristled at the further delay but did not make any other attempts to intimidate the boy. Arianwyn didn’t respond until she was settled in the saddle with the leather straps around her thighs fastened. “You may.”

Jace looked up at her, brown eyes pleading and shoulders squared. Arianwyn knew that whatever he was about to ask, the answer was monumentally important to him.

“If things had been different,” he began, never breaking his gaze from hers for more than a blink, “if I had been different – been better… could you ever have loved me? Chosen me, instead of him?”

Arianwyn froze. He had just given her the power to break his heart.

She knew she should think about her answer, should try and imagine a world where Jace had been kind and sweet. One where it may have been him to spend those long days in the library with her. Or one where, once they were on Dragonstone, he changed to her and became the Prince to rescue her from her tower.

But none of those imaginings could even begin to form in her mind.

For each time, her mind instead conjured an image of a story she’d so often been told. Two white-haired babes – one swaddled in green, one in bronze – meeting for the first time. Smiles breaking across their still-pink, chubby cheeks as they reached toward each other with clumsy arms.

They had never stopped reaching for each other. And they never would.

“No,” she said. She knew it was the answer he was dreading, but no matter what he had done, he deserved the truth. And this was a truth etched into her heart, her soul. “It was always Aemond.”

Though his eyes began to water, Jace smiled tightly as he nodded. “I am very happy for you, that you are so happy. And… I will try to be happy for him as well.”

Arianwyn knew that ‘try’ was the most important word in that sentiment, but she smiled back anyway as she grasped Emrys’ reins. “Thank you, Jace. I will pray that you and Baela can find the same happiness in your own union.”

She meant it. When the betrothal was announced, she saw how excited Baela was. How her half-sister had looked so deeply in love the night of the dinner. If Jace would allow himself to, they could find genuine love together.

He pursed his lips in a way that usually meant he was about to make some snide comment, but he bit it back with a twitch of his head. Then, he stepped away from Arianwyn and Emrys, giving the dragon ample space to take flight.

“The next time we see each other,” Jace called, his voice sodden with regret. “We may very well be true enemies. It will be my duty to hurt you. Or kidnap you. Or...”

“I think it is more than likely, I’m afraid,” she agreed.

Jace was silent for a moment, looking down at his shuffling feet. “Aria?”

Though she still bristled at hearing him call her that, she did not comment on it. “Yes, Jace?”

He took a deep breath and looked directly into her eyes. “Promise me that whatever happens, you will stay far, far away from Daemon.”

So, he did believe her story.

To her surprise, she felt no instinct to gloat. On the contrary, she was touched by how worried he was about her.

“Don’t worry,” she said in consolation, allowing herself a slight grin. After all, she was most comfortable around Jace when she was teasing him. But now, her tone was far more playful than spiteful. “I was planning on doing that anyway.”

Then Emrys took to the sky, hollering in delight that he was finally going home –where Arianwyn knew her husband would be waiting for her.

Aemond waited.

And waited.

Still, Arianwyn did not come.

How long had he been sitting on their bedroom floor amongst the shards of shattered glass, just waiting?

Minutes?

Hours?

Days?

Years?

An eternity?

He blinked slowly, his eye dry and heavy. And far too blurry to see where he had put his bottle.

So, he reached out blindly, discarding the empty bottles he found and savoring the clattering sound they made as they rolled across the floor. The pain it caused his aching head reminded him that he was alive and served as the beginning of the punishment he deserved.

Finally, he found a half-full bottle and brought it to his lips. Then, after another long gulp, he rested it against his heaving chest.

Night had fallen – or fallen again, if he had indeed been here more than a day. Moonlight shone through the window, reflecting off the pieces of mirror sprawled on the floor as it had once reflected off his sapphire.

But Aemond did not look at the moonlight. He could not appreciate its strange beauty.

He could only stare at the impenetrable darkness in the corner of the room.

It seemed to have emerged from within his broken soul.

And from within, staring at him like a wolf in the night, was the horrible, simple truth that he felt infinitely more guilt for hurting Kirin than he did for killing Luke.

It was that truth that made him a monster.

“Aria…” he whispered, his voice hardly more than a breath. Even as he drank, he did not dare look away from the darkness as he called out for his wife.

And he did not stop.

Next Chapter

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