#then again when I play dnd I don’t normally expect to bring up tiefling feet so I am unprepared for this

[ranger-crisis]

I know this is super weird to bring up, but why’re the feminine tiefling body type’s toe nails (claws?) so long. Like the masculine body type’s are also long, but not THAT long.

[coolcattime]

Letter from a Harpy

Authors Note: This story was written by me (@coolcattime​) and my friend @atlass-coat​. Both characters are used for a dnd campaign ran by Atlas and belong to us.

Moodboard also made by @atlass-coat​.

This story is about those characters and their friendship, it concerns the past of one of the characters and the tension that the people from that past can bring.

For more stuff about Medli (one of the characters in this story) check out her character dossier that I wrote: here.

Content Warning: Implied abuse, implied self-harm, implied school-related trauma.

Idric Ba’lor and Medli took their stay in a port town where their ilk ran through the streets. Although the outspoken adventurers and flamboyant merchants may be an annoyance to some, they made the duo feel at home. Well, as at home as a tiefling and water genasi can feel, especially when neither was interested in blending in.

The two have already been travelling together for quite a while, this town serving as just another in a short line of places they had travelled to. Upon arriving, docking Idric’s boat in the town’s port, they had started calling the local tavern their refuge.

This particular night had been spent telling tales and hearing the local fables, as well as more than a few drinks. The night had been another hectic one, ending with the two being the last of the guests to retire to their rooms.

Idric strolls out of his room just before the afternoon took hold. He walks up to the bar with a smirk while jostling his hair, and after a short conversation with the barmaid, he joins Medli at a table. She smiles at her friend, hearing the unique clack of his jackboots. She decides not to question the drink in his hand.

After half an hour of sitting in silence people watching, she chooses to talk rather than continue the quiet.

“Did you sleep okay?” She opens, cocking her head a little. She chooses to ignore her drink and the last scraps of food now her friend is up and about.

“Pretty well, I mean who doesn’t love a hay mattress, yourself?” He jokes, smiling before comfortably sipping his wine.

The conversation feels radiantly normal, a relaxingly regular set of pleasantries. It was a stark change from the high energy of the night before, but it still feels normal for the two.

“It wasn’t the worst place I’ve ever slept,” Medli giggles quietly. The comfort of the mattress didn’t really matter to her, so long as she got a full night’s rest and to talk with her friend. Actually getting to sleep soundly was usually far easier said than done but at least this night was safe.

“And it’s nice to be on dry land again, at least for a bit.” She finishes tentatively, realising how much time she’d let pass in her head. 

“I suppose the dorms in the cobbled hellscape that is Mistwalker can’t be great,” He amuses absentmindedly, rolling up his sleeves and tying them back to sit on his elbows. 

Medli shrank down an inch or two in her chair. 

“They could’ve been nice,” She speaks low with a frown, “they just need doors that lock.” She hadn’t even realised how common that was until she’d left the college.

Medli idly starts playing with her hair, mostly to distract herself but also because the quiet “whooshing” sound it makes, makes her smile. She isn’t really distracted but it stops her dwelling on the past so much, not that that was really fully possible.

“Sounds so damn safe, bet the nights were restful,” He laughs through his sentence but there’s a clear bite to it. Medli had truly suffered at that college, and though he understands that feeling, her lack of anger, or even blame towards those who caused it, never got easier to watch.

“Well,” She opens, unsure of the rest of the sentence. “At least I don’t have to go back any time soon.”

She ends her point with a smile or at least an attempt at one. The memories won’t go away on their own, but she can try to avoid them by switching into a less uncomfortable topic, “So… do you think we’ll get to do anything here?” 

“You never know what’ll come up – I’m sure something will be worth the trip,” He responds, more than happy to talk about literally anything. Idric also definitely wasn’t wrong, something always seems to come up, they would always manage to find a story worth telling.

The silence gave Idric a moment to collect himself, trying to decide how to broach the next topic and whether it needed to be done now. Before he could truly decide anything, he begins to speak.

“And you got this, the bartender says it’s from a college,” He tries to sound neutral but, he can’t help but sound invasive. He scrapes the letter across the table “So, what’s she want?”

She untied and unfolded the letter, paying little attention to its content, instead she watches her friend. His furrowed brow, scrunched-up nose, and crocked neck are pretty hard to miss.

Idric knew Clarissa was the sender but that wasn’t enough, he needed to know if his other guesses were right too.

Medli skimmed each line with bloodshot eyes, completely panicked. She spends the time she could’ve spent reading it to try and stop the blaring signs of being caught from showing on her face. This was not done well. 

“Why is there another one?” She witters under her breath, not even meaning to speak but being far too flustered to stop herself.

Idric’s face can’t decide between a scowl or a smirk, between anger or vindication.

“Exactly, oh exactly what I thought,” His theory had been proven correct, but now new theories about why this was kept from him start to swarm his mind. Meanwhile, Medli is frozen, doing her best not to scream or cry as her mind berated her.

He breaks the silence. 

“Walk with me,” Idric stands, trying to rub the tiredness out of his face. This is something best discussed privately.

He walks into his room under the stairs, Medli follows him, barely stopping herself crumpling the letter. As much as she wants to, she couldn’t bring herself to destroy it. She couldn’t destroy any of them.

After letting her into the room, Idric comes the door with a loud spin, unintentionally making Medli flinch.

Idric, in an attempt not to make another loud noise, confines himself to the bed, kicking his legs over onto the headboard and placing his hands on his knees.

“Right, so, Clarissa is doing what exactly?”

“She, erm, she…” Medli stumbles over her words, completely lost with what to say next. She doesn’t want him to be angry, even if she knows she chose to hide this from him. “She’s been sending me money.” Escapes her before going silent once more, digging her wrists into each other. 

“You’ve been getting gold in the mail!? From the Harpy Queen herself?” He can’t help but sound disgusted, the break in his voice only adding tension to the room. “And you didn’t think it relevant to your travelling companion? Your violin in crime? Am I just a set of strings to you?” Idric tries to laugh but the fire in his throat won’t let him form the sound. 

Medli feels her heart slamming against her ribs, it’s beat paralyses her, pinning her to the spot. “I…” She is barely able to speak, her voice shakes but her is body rigidly still. She tries desperately to get her words out, but nothing comes. She can’t help but think she’s within a drought, a very dangerous place for a water genasi to be. “I told her I didn’t want it, that we were— but the letters aren’t exactly nice…”

“Not exactly nice, how?” Idric over-straightens his back, interrupting her, remembering who drove this rift between them. He could sense there was something else, something she either didn’t want to tell him or just didn’t want to say.

She gnaws at her gum. For a brief moment, she considers lying her way out of this or just running back to her room, but Idric is her friend and whether he would figure out this situation or not, she can’t keep hiding things from the people she trusts.

More than a moment passes with neither sure of what to say before Medli composes herself enough to answer his questions.

“They all say that the gold is so I can get back to the college… when, I, um, I, come to my senses because you’re just going to…” Medli trails off into silence, choosing not to finish that sentence. The letters were filled with Clarissa’s usual language, the type that Medli learnt to expect would be bad but even that didn’t seem to make them hurt any less.

The question of if she deserves to hear them enters her mind with a wince before Idric responds.

“Wow, they really do not like me, do they? And gods, how low must they think of you, dear?” Idric starkly switches from guttural to a softer mumble between questions. 

He remembers feeling that kind of helplessness, anger isn’t the tool here. She needs her friend by her side, not at her throat.

“I mean, she doesn’t seem like she has a high opinion of you either,” Medli bites her lip again, trying to hold her nerve but unable to stop rereading each letter in her head.

“Apparently though, I can still corrupt your little mind with my evil devil powers, apparently,” He moves his hands in the spookiest fashion he can think of before jolting up onto his feet. His coat whips around with him, as he uses a simple bit of magic to create a gust of overdramatic wind, really selling the silliness of his words. 

He meets her eyes hoping for a laugh, or at least a smile, but only a tear-stared stare meets him. He exhales softly, trying to create a level of calm that they desperately needs. “You seem more scared than angry that I found out or embarrassed you’d been caught. That’s a hell of a plot twist, what’s this doing to you Meds?” He isn’t even sure if that made sense, but this room can’t lay silent any longer.

“Clarissa, she keeps,” Medli takes a breath of her own, attempting to push through a hive of anxiety. She needs to get her words out; she just doesn’t want to say any of it. It frustrates her. She knows exactly what she wants to say, she just can’t push through for long enough to pick the words.

“In all the letters, she said that you’re going to abandon me. I… I thought that if you found out you’d…” She doesn’t want to finish that sentence either. Everything feel like it’s in an ocean of anxiety, confusion, and a creeping certainly that Clarissa may have been right. She has always hated that thought, but she couldn’t let it silence here anymore, regardless of the outcome.

“No one’s ever stuck by me. Basically everyone at the college stayed away from me unless they were planning something that would make everything worse. I didn’t exactly make many friends before I met you.”

She finally looks up to face him, expecting anger or, at the very least, confusion. She finds neither. Idric instead produces a comforting smile, presenting a dimple she didn’t know he had. Idric had a look like this memorised from far too many evenings on the other side of it, that didn’t mean he actually knew how to help though.

“Before you met me yes, but my dear, this is after. A lot has changed and one of those things, potentially the best change, is that we are going to stick with each other,” He feels confident that would’ve resonated with him, so hopefully that’ll be enough. “I know everything’s all new but listening to the ramblings of a harpy can never be the solution.”

Clarissa’s words have done far too much damage, letting them do more is unacceptable. She will not cost Medli another friend, however clever the gaslight she holds. 

“But if I ignore them, then she’ll,” Medli shifts a little, still unable to let go of her fear, even if it felt ridiculous, she needed to give it a voice. “She’ll show up in person again.” Her whisper almost comes out as a scream, with each word laced with sheer dread.

Idric doesn’t miss a step in responding.

“Then we deal with that then, and we deal with it together,” He offers his drink with a sort of ‘half-toast’ before taking a drink. “Hence why we’re a team, I thought you knew what you were choosing when you got on my ship and not hers.”

He still can’t seem to shake her out her quivering shoulders and a winced smile. He is far from giving up, though.

“Though, if I may, I’ll remind you—” He takes a moment, stepping towards her silently, still offering a warm expression. “Clarissa’s reign is over. It’s just us now.”

She still doesn’t know how to respond. Neither of them had been here before, and she had no idea what to say. Offer gratitude and pretend it’s all fine? Start to cry? Keep ranting until he admits defeat? 

“What’s the worst thing she can do to us right now?” He tries to prompt her to speak, hoping to get her out of her own head.

“She…” Medli barely gets her first word out, too concentrated in watching her forefinger and thumb press and push at her wrist. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.

“I suppose you’re right.” She sounds hopefully insincere.

“I mean, you’re hanging with a literal devil darlin’, what’s she gonna do, tell Asmodeus we are being mean to her?” Regardless of what she’s hiding, now is a time for hope. They can face the rest of her story when she’s ready.

Medli feels the load on her shoulders lift, even if not completely, and looks up finally meeting Idric’s eyes. “It’s just… I don’t understand how she knows where we are. Every time we stop, somehow another letter comes. It’s like she’s still watching me.” Her voice sounds far less shook up, and her breath begins to catch up with her, but she still can’t seem to escape her nerves, or the ever-growing number of questions of how Clarissa could be doing this.

“We can definitely deal with that,” Idric speaks with confidence, beaming with the thought of a new plan forming. “I know a diviner or two, I’m sure they’ll know something or learn it quick enough.”

“I do love a crowd but she’s not even paying to see us.” He laughs to himself. 

“Well, I mean technically…” Medli interjects, unsure if a joke this early is okay. Idric seems to think so though, and the two share a quick laugh. 

“If we can’t figure this out though, I am sure we can deal with Clarissa the best way we know how,” Idric tries to conclude the topic with reassurance. 

“I’m sure she won’t see us coming!” Medli remains smiling, doing so properly for the first time since this mess started. Though, that smile almost breaks as the weight of the paper in her hand hits her again. “I suppose I should get rid of this.” 

“Give it to me? I want to see what we’re up against anyway,” His tone refuses to force the decision, instead he sits back on the bed, cocking his head in anticipation. She hesitates for a moment, having not sure what might be in this one; but hands it over anyway.

He reads it slowly, each of his features filling back up with anger. The second the last line is read, he sets the letter alight, attempting to burn away his seethe with the ink. Surprisingly though, it seems to work, and he smirks once more.

“That was certainly a read,” He begins. “I— I’ll go find an old friend of mine, and with their help, we will be able to go over some word choices and disputable phrases, then I am sure she’ll apologise, and we can be on our way.” Idric’s intonation falls into a level of clarity and over-pronunciation that only comes with the desperate need to hide one’s anger.

Medli, on the other hand, only has one thought.

“Do you think they will be able to find her?” Her lips can barely keep up as the words fall from her mouth.

“I’ve never known them to fail before,” He smirks reassuringly.

“Well, that’s nice at least,” She pauses, finally seeing the end of this. “Do you want me to destroy the other letters too?”

“Let me take a look at those too - if that’s okay? It’s important to know one’s public perception after all,” He lets out a singular chewed-up breath posing as a laugh.

Medli rushes off to their old table, she returns holding her bag and awkwardly begins to dig through it. She pulls out a tied stack of letters and hands them to Idric. He throws them into his coat, trying his best to not let the thickness and potential number take too much of his attention.

“You didn’t need to keep this from me, you know? We’re a team as much as you want us to be,” He offers with a soft gesture.

“I didn’t mean too. I was just scared when the first one came and by the time that I stopped being scared of that one, there was already three more and then that felt a lot harder to explain,” She almost says every word at once and can’t help but look relieved when realising they were in the right order.

“You’re a bard Medli, you’ll pick all this up as we go. Explaining the bizarre and traumatic is part of the job.”

Medli laughs a little.

“Can’t I just play violin?”

“Absolutely not.”

[sunflowerspectre]

Stranded | Dungeons and Dragons Commission Piece

This is a 5k commission piece for an anon with their DND characters.

Title: Stranded Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (DND) Summary: Neronvain never expected anyone to find him after he left his family, but here he is. On a stranded island after getting 'caught' twice by the same dragon slayer who is determined to do her job and get him back home to face his punishment only for their ship to get completely destroyed. Character(s): Neronvain, Algatharas, Original Tiefling Character (Desire) Rating: Teen  Warning:  Suggested depression/mention of wounds and tending to said wounds

Requested Word Count: 5k

Final Word Count: 5,856 

Read it on Archive of Our Own

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Stranded | Word Count: 5,856

Neronvain likes to think of himself as a strategist, a genius on his best days. He has seen the results of the impulsiveness of his brother, the folly of immaturity. He has prided himself on being smart - clever. Plotting out each of his actions, each possible route that he may take and thinking of all the different outcomes that can happen. He always thinks of everything.

It has saved his life as many times as it has almost doomed and condemned him, but he likes to think that the pros out way the cons.  But there are certain things that, try as he might, he cannot plan for… Things like Chuth still living, the cult of the dragon queen still keeping him ensnared… Desire.

That blasted woman is part of the reason that he has to deal with this in the first place. If she were smarter - meaner, without mercy - than she would have killed him instead of taking him back, just as the rest of so-called heroes had wanted to do. He would have welcomed it - he could have accepted it with grace, knowing that he deserved it, that this was the only way that everything could be put to a stop.

But her mercy has saved his life - she saved his life - just as much as it has ruined it. He is amazed that someone as reluctant to unnecessary kills as her has even managed to get this far. He knows that he couldn’t take her in a fight - he couldn’t otherwise he would never have even been on the mercy end of her sword in the first place - but still, just how strong is she that she’s lived this long? How skilled is that - that idiot? How did that buffoon manage to do this to him?

That damn woman had taken him back to the kingdom that despises him. His life has become a secret scandal - the black sheep of the family being shoved into a dark closet hoping that no one will look too closely to see it there. His family wanted him brought back alive, so he says let them deal with it. If they wanted him alive so badly, then they can face the backlash of the council. They can handle the drama of his ‘rebellion.’ 

He was fully prepared to accept the ‘punishment’ of being in his room for all eternity. It was a childish move on his father’s part. Grounding him to a room like an unruly toddler. It is more of a punch to his pride than a real punishment, but he will gladly accept the tameness of it instead of the snares of some rotting cell. After all, the glories of such a mild punishment is that he knows he wouldn’t be there long.

He had already planned it all out. All it would take is a few whispers sent through the wind here. A few rumors there. Well planted and watered seeds. Someone would find out what happened. Someone would ignite the fire that would unleash the flames that would set him free. 

Unlike him, his father never fully thought out his actions. Not the way he does. They fail to see that them hiding this all from the public lets him spin the public to his side. A chance to weave whatever story he wants the public to hear before his father can. Anything that his father would say after the fact would only condemn themselves. The public wouldn’t trust them, but he had the chance to make the public trust him. It would be perfect. 

But that blasted woman. This is all Desire’s fault. She is the reason that all of his plans are crumbled. If she had killed him when she laid eyes on him, then none of this would be happening in the first place. If she at least killed Chuth, like the ‘dragon slayer’ she’s supposed to be, then he would be free from the cult. Then the cult wouldn’t have even broken him out and he wouldn’t be stuck in an even worse predicament.

After all, what is he supposed to say to a dragon that thinks he’s on its side? No?

__________________________________

“We’ll bring him back,  Alagarthas,” Desire tries to keep her voice even - political - but her stomach turns. Hesitantly, she continues more firmly.  “I’ll bring him back.”

 Alagarthas paces frantically, looking more disheveled than she’s seen him. She eyes the destruction behind him, the remains of Neronvain’s room - his ‘jail cell.’ The ruckus wasn’t exactly quiet, far from discrete, but it is just minor enough for them to spin a story to tell the public to keep this all on the down low, secret. She hates all of this political nonsense - this drama. 

Her eyes glance over  Alagarthas. But it’s not so bad. He finally meets her gaze, his eyes glistening with worry. It makes her chest constrict - the idea that Neronvain is out there, doing whatever the hell all of this is, while he has family here that cares about him, worries about him. 

 Alagarthas gives her a ghost of a smile and takes her hands in his. The gesture takes her off guard - a deep flush spreading on her cheeks as she glances away from him, trying not to focus too much on the tingling sensation in her palms.

“I know that you will.” There is a full sincerity in his voice and she takes his hope in her to heart. “You’ll bring my brother back here, I’m sure of it, and I cannot thank you enough for it.”

“I - uh -” Desire sputters, she can feel her face getting warm, “-Don’t mention it.” 

Alagarthas gives her an understanding nod and just as fast as he came to her, he’s gone, giving her his goodbyes over a fleeting shoulder as he mentions talking to his father about raising her payment for this. She mumbles under her breath, kicking the rubble under her feet, before she makes the decision to head out and get this over with.

__________________________________

The sooner she can get Neronvain and bring him back, the sooner she can put this all behind her.

Neronvain is not sure if he can think his way out of this one, if he’s honest with himself. The exhaustion may be playing a part in it, but every time he tries to think of a possible plan, he is coming up blank - nothing, nada, not one tiny possible escape. Honestly, if Desire had killed him, that would be the best possible escape from all this nonsense, but he doubts that she will be strolling around again anytime soon. He’d be lucky if his family sends anyone after him again at all. 

And he never has been a fan of relying on other people to get him out of his mess either, which means he really is on his own this time. Each possible idea that he has, he can think of a million ways why it won’t work, why it would just get him killed, and if he is going to do this by himself, then he will be sure that he will get out alive. Just to spite them. With each failure, he begins to think that maybe he is not meant to get out of this after all. Maybe this is his fate and it’s time that he accepts that his hands will always be covered in blood.

“Heads up, you fucker!”

That sounds oddly familiar - why does it sound familiar? It certainly doesn’t sound like one of the members, the cult hardly speaks to each other as it is, so he has high doubts that any of them would be shouting at the top of their lungs especially with Chuth being so close by. 

As he glances outside, just to see what the ruckus is, he realizes with horror just why the voice sounds so familiar.

Desire.

Oh. Oh she is most definitely going to kill him this time around.

__________________________________________

“Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Desire can feel her headache forming as she glances toward her prisoner. Neronvain scowls at her as he awkwardly shuffles forward on the desk of the ship that she’s acquired. His hands are bound, expertly she may add. It is only because no one wanted to carry him that his feet aren’t bound tightly and are just loose enough for a few steps. She looks him over carefully this time - after going through all of this trouble, twice, she can’t see why this guy is so worked up.

He doesn’t look like a cult member or the type that would be interested in it. She’s seen that type - his other cult members fit the bill perfectly, with that deranged look in their eye. Usually quiet unless you catch them on some world-ending rant, when they start spewing some nonsense about ‘cleansing the world’ or ‘being reborn as so and so if they do this’. Neronvain, however, looks kept together. Sane. Clean pressed and almost elegant. 

She supposes that technically he is a prince so he shouldn’t look like the normal type of cult member, but still.

“Your family wants you alive,” Desire states simply, “...Your brother is worried about you too, you know?”

Neronvain looks away from her, almost in a huff. He doesn’t comment about his brother, instead shifting focus as he eyes the skies. He doesn’t like the darkening clouds in the distance, the thickness in the air. He can hear roaring in the distance. Something in his eyes shift, resembling almost fear - frustration. He tries to shuffle to turn toward her, but only manages it with little success. 

“What type of dragon slayer are you if you can’t manage to kill Chuth,” Neronvain spits out.

“You know, technically, my job is to get you,” Desire points out, “I’ll get Chuth eventually, but I gotta get you home first.”

“I wish you the best of luck,” Neronvain’s voice drips with sarcastic wit, “Considering we are heading right toward a storm.”

“We are not -”

Desire stops. The roaring in the distance is drowned out by the growing rumble of the thunder. The dark clouds on the horizon are starting to look much bigger. 

“Okay so maybe we are heading toward a storm,” Desire admits, “But at the storm will keep Chuth off our tails. Just - don’t do anything.”

Neronvain huffs, shrugging his shoulders to raise the shackles on his wrist as if to say what do you expect me to do? Desire winces, but doesn’t comment as she dashes off to prepare for the storm.

____________________________________________

No amount of preparing could have saved them - or their ship. The rolling waves only grow stronger and taller until their ship is encased in so much water that it threatens to break apart as the waves crash against them. Harsh sea water soaks them all as they struggle to salvage what they can, as if there is anything that they can do to keep their ship from falling apart into shambles.

Neronvain struggles to get back up on his feet each time a wave or the rocking of the ship knocks him to his knees. He spits up water and can taste the dirty salt on his tongue as his knees take a hard hit against the deck. He glances up with throbbing lungs to see Desire. She’s knelt down, looking panicked but still more kept together than the rest of the crew. 

“Do you know how to swim,” Desire asks desperately, and when Neronvain doesn’t answer, she repeats herself more frantically, “Do you know how to swim?”

“Yes,” Neronvain finally speaks up.

She looks relieved as she starts to undo the bindings on his hands. He watches her with confusion, the rest of the chaos blurring around them, his brows furrowing. She even hands him - him, the prisoner - the knife to do the ones on his feet. 

He makes frantic work of it, trying to recover from each wave that hits him fast enough that he will be free before the next one overcomes him. He glances up, almost prepared to return her knife, but she has already shuffled to somewhere else. He tucks the knife into his pocket. 

_______________________________________

Desire wakes up spitting sea water, surprised that she is waking up at all. She doesn’t bother moving, not at first. Taking a moment to take in the clear skies above her and the warmth that is beating down on her face; it makes it tempting to just close her eyes again, go back to sleep. Figure it out later.

She can feel sand underneath her hands, some of it getting under her still semi-soaked clothes. She coughs, turning to spit up a bit more water, and decides it is best to figure out where she is now then work from there. She sits up and slowly stands, stretching out her muscles as much as she can. 

The good news is that she did wash up on an island - not some sandy patch of land that’s only exposed during the low tides. An island can be good - means more resources, more land to explore and less likely that the rising tides will be a threat. 

The downside is that she doesn’t spot anyone else on the island - not yet at least, but if it was a well populated island then someone would have already spotted her. She starts to walk around the shore. She’s not sure how deep the trees go and she can’t risk getting lost. But walking around the shore, she can get an idea how big the island is and it is more likely that she will come across someone. 

She doesn’t even see smoke from any chimneys or fires or hear anything other than some sparse birds and insects. It’s all just trees and sand. Her hopes of finding someone start to dash as she gets the sinking feeling that the island isn’t as big as she first thought it was. 

She almost gives up the idea all together when she spots a figure in the sand in the distance and makes a fast beeline for them. The closer that she gets to them, the more familiar that they look. Despite wondering just what she did to deserve being stranded with her apparent ‘prisoner’, she still rushes to them to check to see if he is still alive. 

His eyes are closed and he looks in bad shape with bruises and cuts along his body. Unlike when she washed up, he is closer to the tides and she is sure that constantly being soaked isn’t helping his condition. She checks his pulse first - it’s faint, but still there. 

Mumbling curses under her breath and with the memory of  Alagarthas asking her to bring his brother back alive, Desire checks Neronvain over for any external head injuries or major wounds before she puts her hands under his arms and drags him away from the incoming tides. 

Alright one thing at a time, Desire thinks sourly as she tries to focus on what should be done first. She thinks that she will save drying him for last since eventually she’d have to make a fire and shelter. Hesitantly, she lays her ear against his chest and hears the rumbling, struggling breaths in his lungs. She eyes his still-unconscious form, the blue-ish tint to his lips don’t look good. 

Cursing, she does her best to pound his chest the best that she can without injuring him further. She takes a small break in between each beat to check on him. She prays that this works - she really doesn’t want to do mouth to mouth if she doesn’t have to. To her relief, he spits up the water and starts to take deeper breaths.

His eyes flutter open and look at her curiously before they flutter close again. She sighs with the realization that getting him better so she can fulfill her promise to  Alagarthas, will be harder than expected.

_______________________________________________

She starts each morning with the same routine - getting water from the creek, boiling it and splitting it between the two of them. She makes cups out of the coconuts that she finds - mixing their milk with the water in hopes that it will perk him up. She gets him to drink his first. It’s always slow, always barely enough, but it is enough. Then she drinks his water. She repeats the process with breakfast with whatever fish she can find - sometimes it’s a bird, but they’re faster than she gives them credit for. 

She’s hesitant when it comes to his wounds - at least at first. The knife that she has is dull and smaller than the one she usually has on her - the one that she used to cut his ropes was one of her better knives. But the small slightly rusted blade does its job at cutting away some of the fabric of his clothes to reveal his wounds. 

She uses the spells she knows. It helps to a degree, it at least stops the bleeding and keeps it from getting infected. She has to apply some of the spells daily on the deeper, darker gashes. But the makeshift bandages that she makes from the torn pieces of her own clothing, the pieces she cut off of him, and an odd combination of dried seaweed and leaves. 

There are a few times where he comes to - with fluttering eyes and mumbling elvish that is too soft for her to catch even if she did speak the language. Sometimes he acknowledges her presence. Most of the time he doesn’t. But he’s never conscious enough for her to talk to him and never long enough to ease her worries about him surviving. Healing him takes time - more time than Desire thought it should, to the point where a part of her wonders if she needs to start preparing for the worst case scenario. 

But as long as he is still breathing when she gets up in the morning, then she’ll keep trying. As long as there is a chance for him to survive, she’ll continue and refuse to give up.

_____________________________________

Neronvain has to admit, venomously, that Desire did a decent job at tending to his wounds - just as the shelter and food that she’s tending to is passable. Or at the very least the food is edible and the shelter keeps the rain off of them. 

He eyes the start of the rain just outside of their makeshift shelter and looks up. At least there are no leaks. His stomach rumbles and he huffs in annoyance and shifts, every bone in his body protesting the movement. 

“Why did you free me,” Neronvain’s voice speaks up as he eyes Desire nonchalantly, making no effort to help her maintain the struggling fire. 

There is no curiosity in his voice, nor sincerity. Instead, his voice is laced with mild annoyance and irritation. Frustration that he is still alive.

It’s not the first time that he wished that she would have finished the job off when they first met. But by now, she’s had multiple chances to simply finish him off. Feed him to the sharks for all he cared. To get rid of him. But each time, she has gone out of her way to keep him alive.

It’s annoying.

Desire’s brow twitches, her patience thinning at the constant nag from Neronvain. She expected him to be grateful that she saved his life, but she supposes that’s asking too much of the rebellious cultish prince.

“Considering that you’re no help, I wonder the same thing,” Desire spits out between grinded teeth before letting out a cheer as the fire starts to roar. “But I don’t make a habit of killing people that I already promised to bring back alive.”

She pauses and then adds, “-or you know, killing people in general. It seemed right to at least give you a chance.”

Neronvain scoffs, “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard. Bringing me back alive doesn’t benefit you - my family would pay you for even trying in the first place and it doesn’t take a lot to make some lie about my death.”

“I don’t make a habit of doing things just because they benefit me,” Desire spits, “It’s always a plus if it does, but I’m not going to just sit back and watch someone die when I can help - just like I don’t go back on my promises. I said I would bring you back alive, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You really think that you’re so much better than everyone else because you keep your word? Because you don’t bloody your hands?”

Neronvain’s words are laced with venom and anger that Desire has a hard time not matching as her shoulders tense, her voice rising to match his.

“Of course fucking not!” Her voice strains, “But when your morals are all you have, you tend to hang onto them, not that I expect you to know much about that considering I’ve had to drag your ass out of a cult twice! I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to make it a third time.”

A part of her hopes that that would be the end of the conversation as she works on rotating the meat that she obtained. The minor pause of silence that follows makes her breath a sigh of relief until Neronvain speaks up again. 

She is ready to bite back against whatever criticism he has to say, but stops short as he speaks.

“I wish you would have killed me,” Neronvain spits out venomously, his lips curling in a snarl, “It would have been easier on everyone involved.”

Neronvain doesn’t even look at her, just absently leaning back with his eyes closed. The anger that’s been boiling in her veins simmers as she swallows thickly.

“Don’t get your fucking hopes up. If I killed you when I had the chance then I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your company on a stranded island. Instead, I would have resorted to talking to a coconut.”

He goes quiet, the tension slowly starting to thin out in the air. He sits up without a word. She almost smiles, believing him to help her until he simply plucks a piece of the cooked meat off the bone and then sits back with his haul.

Dick.

_____________________________

Desire doesn’t question the odd barrel of liquor that she finds on the shore, nor the chances of it washing on the same abandoned island that they’re on. Instead, she is quick to check it over and after confirming that it is not water-logged and still tastes fine, she starts to make quick work of it. 

Neronvain has a bit of it, reluctantly and more out of boredom than anything. There is only so much boiled river water one can drink before getting tired of it. He doesn’t complain when Desire drinks more than her fair share, not particularly caring if she emptied the entire barrel herself. It’s almost amusing to see her stumble around, making a fool of herself. 

But his few drinks slowly start to add up and while he’s considerably behind Desire in amount consumed, he can feel the numbing, foggy effects of the alcohol starting to take hold.

“I have to ask,” Desire finally addresses him, her breath reeking of the liquor. She is uncomfortable close and Neronvain gently pushes her away with the tip of his finger with disdain. She looks down at his finger with confusion and bats it away, not taking the message. 

Irritated, Neronvain settles on huffing and giving up on trying to push her away. 

“You don’t look like a cult member,” Desire confesses, “All the other guys, sure. They ha- had that whole crazy look in their - their eyes. Wouldn’t stop screaming about the dragon and all that shit. But you - you seem - normal? Put together?”

“Not a crazy cult leader,” Neronvain offers and she nods frantically.

“Yeah! How the fuck did a prince like you end up so high up in a dragon cult?”

Neronvain takes a large gulp of the coconut shell that they've been using as their makeshift mugs. He mulls it over a minute. When he blinks, he can see himself arguing with his dad over the betterment of their kingdom, arguing for change, arguing to fix the broken system. He can still hear his father’s voice echoing in his eyes, stripping him of his title. Handing it over to  Alagarthas on a silver platter.

Documents. Plans. Blueprints. All gone to waste. Everything he had dedicated his life to - granted, he was still young at the time but still, that was his life’s dream - all for nothing. 

“My father abandoned me first,” Neronvain reasons, “So I abandoned him. I tried to change the kingdom so he named  Alagarthas the crown heir.”

Desire sputters, musing over his response and twitching her nose. She is all too familiar with politicians - old kings and dukes refusing to fix anything, refusing to change because if the system benefits them then what is so broken about it? Kings turning a blind eye to their people. She imagines that Neronvain wasn’t the favorite among any of them, even before all of this happened.

She thinks of  Alagarthas. Kind eyes. Nice smile. Soft hands. She imagines that he would be a good king - he seems to really listen, really care about his kingdom. The people certainly like him. The redness on her cheeks deepen, but she blames it on the drink. 

“For like what 100 - 200 years?” Desire presses, “ Alagarthas thought you were dead.”

“I may as well have been,” Neronvain sighs deeply, “The truth is, they were the first ones to listen to me - encouraged my ambition, no matter how misguided it may have been.”

Desire nods and to Neronvain’s relief, stops pressing and asking questions, leaning back away from him with a thoughtful look on her face.

“I understand.”

Her simple declaration takes him by surprise, but he masks it with a suspicious glare. Desire isn’t quite looking at him though, just staring into the coconut shell as she idly stirs the liquor it holds.

“We all make mistakes, get caught up in the wrong crowd sometimes,” Desire admits, “That doesn’t completely excuse what we did, but it definitely makes sense. I mean, if I’m - I’m not doing okay, then some guy says hey if you join this cult and worship this dragon then we’ll take care of you, I think I would have said yes too.”

She stops there, humming slightly as a melancholic understanding passes between them. She looks to him briefly and raises her coconut at him. He gives a curt nod and raises his shell to hers before they finish off the barrel.

____________________________________

Desire is the first one to spot the ship on the horizon. The setting sun basking its silhouette, distorting it like a heat-induced mirage, only made it harder to believe. It didn’t stop Desire from trying - standing ankle-deep in the tides of the shore with waving arms, shouting at the top of her lungs as if the gods themselves were going to come get her. 

Eventually Neronvain realizes that the distortion caused by the sun and distance is just a trick of the eye. That really is a ship that is starting to turn, toward them, sails fanning out in the wind. Desire’s shouting only gets louder, more frantic and hopeful. He looks on in disbelief, a sense of almost relief in his chest that turns to dread when he sees the colors of a familiar flag.

He sits back with a numbing sensation spreading throughout his body, his hands starting to tingle. His mouth starts to go dry as the realization that what is Desire’s saving grace is going to be his doom. The fact that his father really sent other ships out just on the off chance of getting him back home tells him all he needs to know about what they plan to do with him when he arrives.

The sand starts to feel comforting between his fingers - the grainy sensation reminding him that he is here. That this is real. That this is happening. He wasn’t sure what his punishment would be, but the chilling knowledge of what is going to be waiting for him now - an angry father eager to get him back to send a message - it makes him almost not want to leave the island at all. 

But he stands up, on slightly shaking feet. Desire offers to help him, but he stops her before the words out of her mouth. His eyes are dead on the ship as he rolls his shoulders and lifts his chin. For all his talk, he never really thought that this would happen. He never really grasped the belief that the kingdom would be finished with him when he got back - a very small part of him thought that for as much as they all hated him, that there was always a small chance for him to do better. He doesn’t want to die - and especially not by the order of his father. 

But he can’t deny it now. He feels it in his bones. He can feel the glistening in the corner of his eyes. He’s not sure if Desire mistakes it for the relief of being rescued or if she simply does not notice it, but either way, she doesn’t say anything as the ship starts to get as big as the idea of going back home.

______________________________

Desire is thankful that they’ve been rescued, really, she had fully expected to just survive on the island until she simply couldn’t any longer. She didn’t expect any ships to see them, but she supposes if she were as eager as the king to get Neronvain back and had the money to send out as many ships as it took just to get an answer, then she isn’t going to complain.

But the compliments - first from the ship’s crew, then as they find themselves back in the kingdom, she gets it from the maids, the servants, the politicians - the king. Thank you for keeping Neronvain in check until we arrived. I can’t imagine being stranded on the island for two months with that monster. You’re a hero for bringing him back to us, I imagine that it must not have been easy.

It makes her uncomfortable. Sick. It doesn’t feel right when she receives her payment from the king. It most definitely doesn’t feel right when Neronvain is taken away in chains and shackles that weigh more than he does. She glances toward  Alagarthas who looks close to biting his own nails out of anxiety. He meets her eyes and shares the same worried gleam in his eyes. He almost looks surprised to see it in hers too.

Desire sticks around, overstaying her welcome to a point, but when she simply claims that she still feels seasick, most people leave her alone. They give her a small, cramped, room to stay in until she gets better - claiming that it’s the least that they can do until she gets better after all the trouble she went through. She accepts it with grinding teeth and a locked jaw.

When she sticks to the shadows to overhear their plans - what punishment that they have decided - she expects to get relief that she did the right thing, but when the word execution is spoken, she feels fire under her skin. She has to bite her tongue, dig her nails into her palms, to keep herself from speaking out.

She doesn’t think that anyone is on to her until  Alagarthas pulls her into an empty closet. The close quarters makes her heart skip a beat and her cheeks flush as  Alagarthas puts a finger to her lips as a signal to stay quiet. 

 Alagarthas listens closely through the door before he takes a deep breath and removes his finger from her lips, seemingly oblivious to the way that she licks her bottom lip afterward.

“We have to save him,”  Alagarthas whispers, his voice frantic and desperate, “They want to kill him. They want to kill my brother.”

A cold chill runs down her spine, a single icicle hitting her right in the heart. She never really thought about what may happen to Neronvain after she brought him back, but she had figured that it wouldn’t be too harsh considering their first punishment was just locking him in his room. She thought that the king would have mercy for the firstborn.

She can see the way the colors of  Alagarthas’ eyes swirl together and she tries not to lose herself in them. 

“How do we save him,” Desire asks, meeting his gaze evenly as the butterflies in her stomach settle. 

“I have a plan - I think if we both vouch for him, if we make them see that he still has some good left, that they may consider rehabilitation. I don’t think they’re willing to put him in a cell after seeing him break out the first time.”

“You were stranded with him,”  Alagarthas looks at her pleadingly, “You didn’t know him very well, but you were stuck with him for two months. As an outsider who was stranded with him, your word on it has weight to it! I’m sure of it.”

Desire doesn’t think about it - not too long nor hard. She sees the desperation in his eyes, the pleading in his tone.  Alagarthas is grasping for something - anything - that he thinks may save his brother’s life.

“I’ll do it.”

___________________________

Desire is tight-lipped and uncomfortable as she takes her leave, her things gathered on her donkey. At least the castle stable has kept Carrot in good condition while she was away, she was sure that they would have auctioned him off by now. She gives a few pats to the mule’s head, but still hasn’t spoken a word.

What can she say? She didn’t expect  Alagarthas’ plan to work, at least to a degree. The council had more or less decided that if she was so eager to save the life of Neronvain, then that makes him her problem. All while under the disguise of ‘rehabilitation.’ There are conditions of course, but ultimately, they thought that if anyone can handle Neronvain then who better suited than the dragon slayer? The same one who had been keeping him in check for two months on an island without ‘dying by his hands?’ The same who brought him back twice. Alive and mostly unscathed. 

She isn’t sure if she can explain this one to the rest of her party - to her friends - when she finds them. 

She glances toward Neronvain. He refuses to look at her, looking more frustrated about this than she does. She imagines that considering he wasn’t thrilled about her saving his life the past two times now - that he is even less thrilled about being rescued a third time. 

“Well,” Desire finally speaks up, popping her mouth. She gives a cheeky, oops sorry smile to Neronvain. “I guess you’re stuck with me now.”