#until she stumbles across the sword and suddenly this whole thing is thrust upon her and she's never held a sword with the purpose of battl

[peachssodapop]

Finally started thinking about a role swap au

Zelda who just been a scientist apprentice until she stumbles across the sword and has no idea how to use it

and Link a prince who despite unlocking his powers as a young child will not stop working himself to the bone to ensure he is powerful enough to face this ever looming threat

[littlekatleaf]

The Dreams in Which I'm Dying

Well wtf, it's a new fandom for me. Unexpected! I started watching D/imension20 RPGs and fell in love with F/abian Seacaster and G/arthy O'Brien from F/antasy H/igh and P/irates of L/eviathan. This takes place 20 years after the events of the games.

And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I’m dying Are the best I’ve ever had. ~ Tears for Fears, Mad World

It begins with nightmares - dark, heavy things Fabian doesn’t remember on waking. At least, not the first few nights. He’s left with nothing more than vague shadows and a lingering sense of unease. Everything seems wrong - his apartment simultaneously too big and claustrophobically small. He’s suffused with restlessness. He knows something’s coming, like a squall brewing just beyond the horizon. He might not be able to see the gathering clouds, but feels the barometric pressure plummeting.

At first he attempts to dance out of the way - to dodge and evade - but the dread wraps around him like his own battle sheet, tangling him tight. He tries to ignore the tension singing along his shoulders, the constant twist in his gut. It’s nothing, he tells himself, less than nothing. There’s no time for it to be something. Rumor has it the ship carrying one of the last pirates of the Crimson Claw will reach the mouth of Leviathan in mere days. If he’s going to meet it, he needs to pull together a party. Barely enough time remains to cement plans once he knows the group’s strengths and weaknesses.

As he paces his living room, trying to outrun the apprehension, Fabian’s eye is caught by a piece of red string, like Riz always used in his conspiracy boards. In that instant he longs for them. The Bad Kids. No matter how many years passed since any of them were kids, it’s still at the heart of who they are. (Isn’t it?) They fit together in their roles. Like that movie Kristen made them all watch once - a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a criminal. The others had bickered good naturedly over roles that night - specifically who was the basket case. Kristen joked it was Gilear. Ragh said it was her. Fabian didn't need to argue because he knew the truth - Riz was the brain, Gorgug the athlete, Adaine the princess, Fig the criminal, Kristen the saint. Himself the basket case. Even in all the intervening years, he’s never found a group that connects as well as they had, before they all went their separate ways. Even if they hadn’t lost touch, none of the others adventure anymore. In their absence he needs to choose alternatives, like he always does, attempting to fill the holes they left behind - and failing.

He picks up his crystal, turning it over in his hands. The group chat is saved, they are all still members, but no one has used it in years. Maybe he’s wrong; maybe he needs to let them go.

He knows there’s no time for self-indulgence. But he still stalls, the trepidation casting a fog of doubt over every option. He cannot decide on even one person to trust. Perhaps this time he should go alone. He can defeat one single pirate himself. The rest - crew and spoils alike - is irrelevant. The Maelstrom’s Maw will likely bring in the boat and then he can attack. He rubs his forehead against a growing headache and puts the decision off again.

Two nights pass, with only the lightest veil of sleep and even that torn by disquiet. The intervening days feel equally foggy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. Fabian drags himself through the necessary tasks by his fingernails until he’s done everything he can without a crew. A crew on which he still has not managed to settle. In the midst of circling the problem for the five hundredth, or five thousandth, time his crystal flashes an alert. The ship’s been sighted just a few nautical miles off Harroway Bay and will reach Leviathan before dawn. He’s waited too long, he realizes. It will be a solo adventure, then. Nothing else for it.

Fabian knows, almost from the moment he engages, that he’s made a deep mistake attempting the attack this way. Though he comes upon the pirate in the dead of night, alone as planned, he hadn’t considered that the pirate’s shipmates might still be within earshot. His blade only crosses the pirate’s once before he hears heavy boots closing fast.

The pirate thrusts and he manages to parry, but only just. His body feels strange and disconnected, as though he’s a half-beat behind in the dance, perpetually off-step. The pirate presses his advantage; Fabian retreats. Suddenly there’s a flash of light on another drawn sword and several more pirates surround him. At his best he can handle eight, maybe ten. He is not at his best, and light from the streetlamp falls on fifteen.

The pirate grins. “Yer goin’ down, boy.”

“Not a boy anymore.” At least he’ll die in battle, and if he’s very lucky he’ll take this scourge to hell with him. Make his papa proud.

“That remains to be seen,” another says.

The battle is fierce. Swords clash, lunge and dodge, strike-parry-riposte, movements Fabian knows in his sleep, but something is wrong. His body won’t obey. His lungs ache and he can’t catch his breath. Sweat drips into his eye, burning. And then - an opening - the pirate attacking leaves his flank unguarded and Fabian darts in fast - too fast to pull back when he realizes it’s a feint.

I’m fucked, he has time to think, as the pirate whirls. A sharp blow cracks across his elbow, his fingers go numb and his sword falls, clattering to the cobblestone. One of the crew kicks the back of his knees and he stumbles forward and drops. He grabs for his sword, but just as his hand closes around it, the point of the pirate’s sword is at his throat. Should have known it would end this way. Alone. On Leviathan. Fitting for it to be here, tonight - on the anniversary. The way it should have ended if he hadn’t run like a coward, abandoning Alistair to Captain James. Fabian fumbles in his pocket for his crystal, wishing for just enough time to send a last message to the Bad Kids. “Do it,” he says from between gritted teeth.

The pirate barks a laugh, but shakes his head. “Ain’t worth the world o’ hurt that would bring down on me head, boy. Chungledown Bim’s a right devil and yer marked as his. Can’t let ya follow for another go at me, though this has been a delight.”

A brilliant flash of pain blinds him. The crystal slides through his fingers. He falls… and falls… and falls…

through ropes that burn his skin and do nothing to slow his speed and his body hits water that closes over his head like he’s been swallowed whole and still he falls through freezing darkness until the ocean parts and he falls through fire and the flames crackle and whisper - What will you tell the Captain when you meet him in Hell? Have you written your name on the face of the world, Fabian? No, you have written nothing. Nothing to be remembered by. Even your friends have forgotten you. How does it feel to be a failure of a pirate and a failure of a friend? the whisper turns to choking smoke and

Fabian coughs himself awake, lungs aching like he’s been breathing water and smoke, but he still lays where he’d fallen, in some Four Castles back alley. His body’s not been hijacked. Not dropped here by imps. He blinks up at the sky for a long moment, struggling to orient himself. The sky is heavy with clouds, hiding even a sliver of moon. Fat drops of rain pelt down, edged with ice. He blinks the water from his eye and pushes himself to his feet. Once again he staggers through the streets of Leviathan, shivering hard enough to rattle teeth. This time, however, there’s no Cathilda to wrap him in a blanket, no Hangvan to disappear into. No Kristen to slap sense back into him. He wraps his arms around himself, but the rain soaks his shirt and finds no warmth.

Those he passes take no notice of him, perhaps assuming he’s nothing more than another drunken pirate. Even so, he needs to find a place to lay low. Given enough time someone will roll him just to see if he has any coin. Or simply for the fun of it. He’s not even sure, at this moment, that he could defend himself against a single assailant. His head aches where the pirate hit him and his throat is unaccountably raw. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he sneezes. Once, twice, thrice, smothered in the sleeve of his shirt. He always sneezes in threes. Riz teased him mercilessly about it.

“If you’d just sneeze like a normal person, instead of those pinchy things, you’d be done in one, Fabiahn,” Riz would say, drawing his name out like his elvish grandfather did.

“It’s called being polite, The Ball,” he’d reply. “And what do you know about normal?”

“About as much as you.”

They’d laugh together and Fabian’s embarrassment would ease. He would give anything for Riz to be laughing with him now.

Suddenly a door slams open and a wash of warm yellow light spills over the ground in front of him. He glances up. Maybe Kristen sent Cassandra to watch over him, because his meandering path has brought him to the Gold Gardens. The exiting patron brushes past with a muttered curse, but Fabian barely notices. As the doors swing shut, Bob’s voice slips through, full of dream and promise. Fabian checks his pockets and breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting feel of coin.

He stands straighter, raises his chin, allowing the light to fall on his face, scars and eyepatch and all, as the Goliath guard regards him suspiciously. Though it has been some time since he’s been on Leviathan and longer since he’s sought refuge at the Gold Gardens, he trusts the reputation he’s built in the intervening years yet holds. “Good evening. I find myself in need of a room for the night,” he says. “I have payment.”

The other guard, a half-orc he vaguely recognizes from previous visits, turns to him. Her face betrays no reaction to his disheveled state. It’s likely that she’s seen worse. “Ah, Master Seacaster. Garthy O’Brien has made it known there is always room for you here. Please, enter.”

Fabian sketches a small bow. The doors swing wide and the heat that flows out and envelops him is nearly as heavenly as Bob’s voice. But the change in temperature makes his nose run. He sniffs, presses the back of his wrist against the tickling itch, but can’t stop the inevitable. He’s barely inside before he’s sneezing again and wishing for something other than his sleeve to cover with. “H’tchsh! Chh! H’tsh!” He hopes the music and general merriment of the patrons is enough to hide the slight sound, but of course he is noticed.

“Blessings, Fabian, darling. Are you ill?” Garthy touches his shoulder gently and before he can stop himself, Fabian flinches away. His skin feels too tight, even the light pressure too much sensation. They take a step back, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Garthy,” Fabian says, attempting his usual charming smile. He’s not sure he pulls it off, because a small frown of concern still lingers between their brows. Somehow the expression does nothing to mar their beauty; the proprietor of the Gold Gardens is exquisite as always, the few silver threads in their black dreads the only indicator of years passing. “I’m fine. Just a little chilled from the rain. And you, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes. Eye.” His mouth quirks. “Might there be a room for a traveler seeking shelter from the storm?”

Garthy considers him for a long moment, gaze intent. Fabian resists the urge to look away, to avoid scrutiny. It’ll only make them more suspicious. He concentrates on keeping his expression vaguely flirtatious, his stance loose and easy. At last Garthy gives the smallest nod, allowing him his ruse. “I have told you before, lovey, you are always welcome here. You and yours. Come.” They turn down a hallway and Fabian follows.

Bob’s voice, the rattle of dice, the din of too much conversation fade and Fabian releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The Bad Kids always stayed in a room just off the main parlor, right in the midst of the action. Fig and Gorgug would take over for the house band and practically blow the roof off. Kristen would try to outdrink that biggest pirate she could find, and usually ended up drunk-best-friends with everyone. If Tracker had to pull her out of a fight or two, well, that just kept things interesting. Ragh and Fabian would drink too much mead and take too much snuff and Ragh would challenge the wrong people to wrestling matches and Fabian would beat the wrong people at dice and sometimes fists would be thrown. Good naturedly, of course. Adaine would watch them all over the spine of a book from the Compass Points and shake her head. Sometimes she had to heal one or another of them, but she never seemed to mind. Riz would disappear into the crowd for indeterminate amounts of time, only to suddenly appear at their table with a sharp-toothed grin and clues to whatever mystery they were trying to solve that he’d gleaned from overheard conversations. Fig and Kristen, especially, never wanted the nights to end. Sometime around dawn, though, Kristen and Tracker would peel off, followed by Fig and Ayda. The rest of them shared a room, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug, and Ragh all sprawled on a huge bed while Adaine tranced on a chaise nearby. Somehow Fabian slept better those nights than before or since, even though the room was never peaceful, or silent. Ragh and Gorgug snored. Adaine muttered to herself in her trance. Riz, when he slept, was restless, taking up more room than a three and a half foot tall goblin should. When he didn’t, his pen would scratch across his notebook for hours. None of it ever bothered Fabian.

A door creaks open, startling Fabian out of his thoughts. The room Garthy offers is a small and simply furnished space, just a bed, desk, and fireplace. Fabian crosses the room to a large window and looks out over the edge of the city to the black ocean beyond. It’s still raining, drops pattering against the pane. He should say something to Garthy. Thank them for the room, make a joke about another Leviathan brawl gone badly. He can’t find the words. Any words.

“Would you like something to eat? Or perhaps a warm drink?” Garthy’s voice is quiet, as though they might be intruding.

“No, thank you,” he says. Kippers, Master Fabian? Cathilda’s voice in his head. I don’t deserve kippers. He didn’t. Doesn’t. Twenty men dead. Twenty innocent men. Worst of all, Alistair Ash. Still a child. Dead because he needed to prove that he was a true pirate, heir to his father’s fame. That he is worthy. Instead he left Alistair to the fate that should have been his. He rubs his hand over his eye as though he could rub away the ache. The failure.

Garthy whispers something Fabian doesn’t catch, and flames rise in the hearth, hot and bright, crackling cheerfully. “At least let me take your wet things,” they say. “You’re shaking.”

He hadn’t realized how cold he still feels, despite being out of the wind and rain, until Garthy points it out. He takes a breath to declare, again, that he’s fine, but a chill cascades over him, followed by several sneezes, instantly proving him wrong. “H’ngxt! Fuck. H’Ntch! Ngxt!” He straightens and Garthy offers a handkerchief. Abashed, he takes it, blows his nose. “Pardon me.” Before he can gather himself, he’s overtaken again. At least this time he has a handkerchief to mute the sound. The sneezes shiver through him hard enough to send drops of rain spattering from his hair.

“Bless you, darling.” Garthy draws him closer to the fire. With deft fingers they undress him, peeling sodden clothes from his body, then wrap him in a thick robe. He doesn’t resist, suddenly beyond exhausted. Everything feels like it’s happening at a distance. Or maybe through a pane of glass. “Come, have a lay down. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

Fabian nods, even though he’s certain things will look just the same. He barely slides between the sheets when his eye drifts closed. He feels the bed dip slightly as Garthy sits beside him and, seeking warmth, he curls close. They smell spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and sandalwood and orange blossoms. Garthy curves a hand over his forehead. It’s strangely comforting and he wants to bury his face in Garthy’s hair, but instead he drifts out and out and…

floats in a strange grey emptiness. He can only identify his surroundings by absence. No color. No sound. No touch. He thinks he lifts his hands, or tries to lift his hands, or what should be his hands, but there’s nothing. He tries to look down, what he might assume is down, only to find no body. Nothing. It’s like the Nightmare Forest, but worse because they defeated the Nightmare King. They defeated Kalina. Which means this must be real. This nought. Of course no one reaches out… you don’t exist.You never existed. You are not even memory. You are a nonentity. A nullity. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no mouth, no vocal cords, no lungs, no breath. No words. No thoughts. Just deep, endless cold. Bone aching cold, if he had bones.

“...safe…You’re all right. Wake up, Fabian, love.” Garthy’s voice coalesces from the cold, at first sounding sharp as ice breaking. But they know his name, beckon him back into form by shaping the word. “Come on, darling. You’re dreaming.”

“Should’ve left me; felt better there. Nothing hurts when you don’t have a body,” he mumbles, and even though he has vocal cords again, he sounds nothing like himself. He clears his throat, sniffs.

Garthy laughs, low and kind. “Let me help you feel better, here in your body.” They cup his cheek gently, then urge him up and through a door to a bathing chamber.

A large bathtub stands in the center of the room, steam rising in soft curls. It is surrounded with dozens of candles and in their light Garthy glows, irises and tattoos molten gold. Fabian reaches for them, hesitantly. As if touching them might dim their shine. They smile tenderly, allowing him to trace the Zajiri script, the flowers and leaves with one tentative finger. He wonders what the writing might mean. Their skin is soft under Fabian’s own calloused hands. He longs for Garthy to wrap their arms around him, to hold him close until his shivering stops, until he’s finally warm. He doesn’t know how to ask.

Instead he moves back, putting a bit of distance between them. “I’m not w…” he starts to say, but an unexpected set of sneezes interrupts and he only just manages to pull the handkerchief from his robe pocket. “Ht’ngxt! Heh...ihh… Nxgt! H’tchh!”

“Not well?” Garthy suggests, steadying him. “Blessings.”

Heat rises in Fabian’s cheeks and he coughs a laugh. “That either. But no.” He gestures broadly, including the room, the bath, Garthy themself. “Not worth this.”

Garthy tilts their head with a puzzled frown. “Oh, lovey, of course you are.” They press one finger to Fabian’s lips before he can continue arguing. “Shh. It’s all right.” They take Fabian’s elbow, guiding him into the bath.

Fabian sinks into the heat with a deep sigh as his muscles begin to relax. He slides down, submerging himself completely in warm darkness. The water closes over his face; he rests his head on the bottom of the tub, and the only thing he hears is the thump of his own heart in his ears, still beating, beating, beating. At last his breath runs out and he surfaces with a gasp.

Gathy’s pulled a stool up beside the bath and as Fabian wipes water out of his eye, they wet a cloth and begin to wash his back, humming quietly. The soap smells of eucalyptus and peppermint, cool and clean. Fabian shivers once, and only slowly eases into the touch, closing his eye as Garthy washes his hair, gently working his fingers over his scalp. A memory rises, unbidden - himself, in the bath, he can’t be more than five and he’s sobbing. His papa is away, his mama asleep in her room even though it’s not even dark outside and he’s sick and scared. But then Cathilda’s there, as she always is, and she’s cleaning him up and humming a lullaby. Tears rise now, before he can stop them, dripping into the water.

“What’s distressing you, love?” Garthy asks.

It takes him several minutes to gather his thoughts; they feel ephemeral as clouds floating through his mind. “It’s been twenty years, Garthy. Shouldn’t it have faded?” He coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I still see them, you know. My father’s warlocks.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. Breathe, he tells himself.

Garthy hums a listening noise.

“I shouldn’t have gone alone that night. I just wanted a moment in Crow’s Keep - we’d gone there together, my papa and I. When I was little. It was the one time Mama got angry at him, for bringing me to Leviathan, when he wasn’t supposed to be interacting with pirates. But he’d taken me up to watch the sun rise. He said he’d bring me to the top of the world, that we could touch the clouds. If I was lucky, I might even bring some home in my pockets…

“He gave me cotton candy, told me it was one he’d harvested himself. I’d never imagined clouds tasted so sweet…” he licks his lips, remembering how the candy had melted on his tongue, just like a rain cloud.

“I thought, maybe… somehow… if I spoke to him from the top of the world, he might hear me.” Fabian laughs at himself, coughs on a sob but manages to swallow it back. “Of course, Papa wasn’t listening. He was busy taking over Hell and selling spells to pirates. Always on to a bigger adventure, even in death.

“When the warlocks came, I let myself get swept up. Figuratively, as well as literally. I told them about Papa. About what I’d done… and it wasn’t enough. I killed him and it wasn’t enough.” He takes a ragged breath and Garthy rubs his back in slow circles. “I thought we could take Captain James. I thought I could take Captain James. It would make up for… everything.” He sucks in another breath, on the edge of desperation. He can’t get enough air. When he blinks, he feels Whitclaw’s tentacles on his face, cold fingers gripping him tight, raw hatred pulsing in the air between them.

“It went so fast. So fast. If I didn’t run… if I didn’t… he would have killed me… with the others. I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t even grab Alistair and he was fighting for me. I abandoned him… and I didn’t die, but he did. Because I fucked up.” Fabian sits in silence for several minutes, jaw clenched, struggling to breathe and not cry.

“I thought the guilt would fade,” he finally says, voice rough and not much above a whisper. “I thought the good I’ve done since would make up for it. I thought the adventures I had with the Bad Kids would make up for it. But it hasn’t. It doesn’t. And they’re gone… I thought killing the last of Whitclaw’s men would be penance. But I fucked that up, too.”

The only sound for a long moment is the rain on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. Then Fabian takes a breath like he’s about to dive into the ocean and turns to face Garthy. “Am I forgivable?”

“Oh my darling Fabian. Of course you are. You are already forgiven.” They lean forward and brush the lightest kiss across his lips. “Yes, dire mistakes were made. And you have repented of those mistakes, and made reparations. You did not follow in your father’s footsteps; you found your own way. You have made a good man of yourself. You help those who are in need. You do not take advantage of anyone. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. Tales of your deeds are not spoken of as widely as Captain Bill Seacaster, but I have heard them nonetheless. Be proud of who you have become, Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And you should know that Alistair Ash lives again.”

A warm breeze whirls through the room and the candles suddenly go out. It’s as though the light has been transmuted into a seed of hope in Fabian, gold as the irises of Garthy’s eyes. Back in bed, Fabian curls into Garthy and they wrap their arms around him, holding tight until his trembling passes.

[a-blue-secret]

CHAPTER XVIII

BACK TO MASTERLIST

Chapter XVII | Chapter XVIII | Chapter XIX

GENRES: royal au; fantasy au; magic au; friends-to-enemies-to-lovers; king!beomgyu, vizier!taehyun

PAIRING: taegyu

WARNINGS: swearing, slight homophobia and transphobia

WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

AN: So! If you thought that the last chapter was a rollercoaster ride, then you'd better sit down for this one. I spent ages on this chapter, and I have to say I'm really happy with how it turned out. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: Best friends turned enemies, Kang Taehyun has managed to trick Choi Beomgyu into his service, and to rule for a year and a day, until his youngest brother would be old enough to take the throne. Choi Beomgyu has no intention of being obedient however, and tries to thwart Taehyun’s orders at every turn. With a growing amount of distrust and lies within the court, will Taehyun manage to keep the kingdom of Gojongja from falling apart?

"Stop being such a fucking coward," Taehyun whispered, voice shaking. With either anger or unbearable sadness, neither were sure.

Beomgyu closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was a look of resignation within them. He raised his sword. "Brains before beauty," he said, and Taehyun did not hesitate.

.・゜-: ✧ :-

Taehyun lunged and thrust out his sword with such force that Beomgyu had to whirl out of the way at the last minute.

Surprised at the vicious attack, Beomgyu gave a startled laugh. “You hate me that much, huh?”

Taehyun didn’t answer, and advanced upon Beomgyu, slashing his sword ferociously. Beomgyu staggered back, deflecting Taehyun’s attacks with his sword.

“Why are you doing this, Taehyun? Do you really hate me?”

Taehyun gritted his teeth. Truth be told, he had no idea now. He thought he did, because what else could this intense emotion inside him be?

He could see Beomgyu open his mouth again, probably to tell Taehyun to stop, but he didn’t want to hear Beomgyu at that moment, so he spoke first.

“Of course I hate you, idiot! Why else would I betray you so much?” He punctuated the statement with a fierce lunge, as if to prove he really did hate Beomgyu. He didn’t know who he was proving it to, and he didn’t even know if it was working.

Beomgyu couldn’t answer, too busy fending off Taehyun’s attacks. Taehyun suspected that Beomgyu wasn’t really trying. As the son of a swordmaster, Beomgyu’s skills ought to have rivalled that of the former prince’s, but his play was infuriatingly ordinary. It was almost like he wasn’t trying… as if he didn’t want to hurt Taehyun. For some reason, the thought made Taehyun angrier, and he attacked Beomgyu harder and faster. But the King just calmly flicked off Taehyun’s sword with his own, spinning out of the way in an almost relaxed manner. His face, however, was anything but relaxed. Distress, hurt, panic, and anger warred across his facial expressions, as if he had no idea what sort of emotion he should be feeling right now.

“Is there anything else you lied to me about?”

Beomgyu caught Taehyun off-guard by suddenly asking a question, and the vizier almost tripped. Beomgyu stepped away quickly, lowering his sword. Taehyun thought he saw Beomgyu offer a hand out of the corner of his eye, but when he straightened, Beomgyu was just standing still, waiting for Taehyun to come at him again. Taehyun narrowed his eyes and lunged.

“Yeah, there is. You remember the sister, right? The sister whose life I swore upon when I came to you with the contract, before the Crown Handing. I lied to you about her. She was my sister: my real blood sister from the Jeo clan. The Jeo clan has no surname branches, right? She and I were the last of the Jeo clan. Said sister died when she was born, just two years after me. I’m the last of the Jeo clan.”

Beomgyu sucked in a breath, almost forgetting to block Taehyun’s attack. The sword came down and slashed a long cut in Beomgyu’s coat but he didn’t even register it, staring at Taehyun in sadness and disappointment. “So you really did lie to me about something else. Wow. I… I should have known.”

Beomgyu’s disappointed tone made Taehyun feel even worse, and gritted his teeth, coming down even harder on Beomgyu.

“What can I say? I really do hate you.”

“You know it’s better to talk things out rather than fight, don’t you? Taehyun, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do this?” Taehyun scoffed, never taking his eyes off Beomgyu’s sword. “This is long overdue, Beomgyu. This hate I have for you: it’s mutual, isn’t it? Don’t deny it. Surely you must hold hate over me.” He advanced on Beomgyu, almost pushing him into a corner of the room.

“It’s not mutual,” Beomgyu insisted. “It really isn’t. Believe me, I know my feelings, and this emotion I have for you is not hate. And why does it have to be talked about like this? Taehyun, please. Why can’t we just sit down and talk normally?” Beomgyu ducked under Taehyun’s arm, freeing himself from becoming trapped.

“Stop being a coward, Beomgyu,” Taehyun hissed, once again going after Beomgyu. His sword came crashing down on Beomgyu’s, and Beomgyu struggled to prevent Taehyun’s sword from touching him. “You’re always running away. You know that, right? You’re such a coward, always running away to avoid things. You’re always running away from things even remotely related to me. You ran away from court, you ran away from your duties. You’re running away right now. When will you stop running away and just face me ?”

At that, something in Beomgyu snapped. He stopped trying to back away from Taehyun, and threw off Taehyun’s sword with sudden strength, this time advancing on the vizier.

“Me, running away from you? Are you being fucking serious right now? Taehyun, I’ve never run away from you. Never!”

Taehyun was taken aback by how quickly Beomgyu’s mood had switched, scrambling to deflect Beomgyu’s blows.

“You were always the one running away from me, Taehyun. I asked you to face me, but you’re the one who avoided it. You avoided me in the first place, you know that right?”

Taehyun scoffed. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Beomgyu snapped, sword just silver blur in the lights. “When I came out to you, you avoided me. Hell, even before that! When Jieon revealed himself as gender fluid, you avoided me!”

“Well what was I supposed to do?” Taehyun yelled back, slashing his sword with even more vigour. “I had a reputation to protect, you know!”

“Your reputation was more important than your best friend and his brother? Seriously?” Beomgyu said. “Wow, I never thought you’d sink that low!”

Taehyun made a noise of indignation, swinging his sword at Beomgyu. The other deflected his attacks easily, and Taehyun struggled to defend himself.

“Why shouldn’t I worry about my reputation?” Taehyun fired back. “I was the prince, Beomgyu. In this homophobic Kingdom, being seen with you two wouldn’t be beneficial to me at all.”

“You could have at least helped, Taehyun!”

“Helped what? What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu stepped back, and Taehyun stopped too. He stared at the vizier in disbelief.

“What are you talking about?” Taehyun repeated.

At that, Beomgyu flared up. Taehyun genuinely had no idea?

Taehyun, tired of waiting for Beomgyu, attacked again, but didn’t get far before Beomgyu’s sword started to swing harder and faster. There was a look of pure heartbroken rage on his face.

“Jieon died, Taehyun! He took his own life.”

At those words, Taehyun stumbled. “What? I– I thought he just ran away.”

Beomgyu scoffed, angrily brushing away a tear. “You’re so ignorant. Didn’t you notice that I was wearing black for a whole month? Oh– that’s right. You were too busy avoiding me.” Beomgyu lunged, anger fuelling his movements. “Jieon was all I had! When Mother ran away when I was five, and Father was too busy with his Lord duties, Jieon was the one who looked after me. You could have stopped the bullies, Taehyun! You could have stopped them from taunting him, pushing him to kill himself! But you didn’t. You did nothing to stop them, Taehyun! Nothing!”

“Well I didn’t know, did I?” Taehyun shot back, sword slashing furiously to block Beomgyu’s attacks. “How can I do something if I don’t know what it is?”

“‘Tranny’, ‘fake man’, taunting him and calling him ‘it’... They dehumanised him so many times, not even caring when he informed them that he felt like a ‘she’ or a ‘they’ or a ‘he’ at that time! Do you know how hard that must be, Taehyun? To see people just not care?”

“So then why are you calling him ‘he’?” Taehyun retorted.

“Because he was a ‘he’ when he died!” Beomgyu snapped, tears and sword glistening in the light. “I still see his face, that look of helplessness… I felt so fucking useless in that moment. I couldn’t stop him, no matter how hard I begged. No matter how hard I cried and begged him to stay, he still jumped.” His watery glare honed in on Taehyun again. “But you could have stopped them! You could have done something, and yet you did nothing! And don’t give me that ‘I didn’t know’ bullshit, because this was huge back in court. You knew, Taehyun! But you did nothing!”

“At least I didn’t join in!” Taehyun defended himself, both with his voice and sword. “Unlike all those others!”

“But you didn’t stop them, Taehyun!” Beomgyu yelled, tears choking his words. “Because you did nothing, it makes you as bad as them!”

Taehyun stood there, stunned. He didn’t even notice Beomgyu’s sword coming at him until the last minute, and he spun away quickly. The sword impaled itself in the stone wall, vibrating slightly from the force which Beomgyu had used. Judging by how deep it was lodged into the stone, Beomgyu had added his wind strength to drive the sword harder. Taehyun stared at the sword in shock.

Beomgyu was sitting on the floor, sobbing hysterically.

“I never hated you, Taehyun. It sounds like I hate you, but I don’t. Not you. I may have hated what you did, but I could never hate you. Never you. To me, you would always be the kind, loving Kang Taehyun, the Taehyun I knew since he could barely walk. Because I knew who you truly were, I couldn’t hate you.”

Taehyun’s sword clattered to the floor. Beomgyu didn’t even look up at him, face still covered by his hands.

“Though I may have gotten mad for what you’d done, I could never hate you. I tried to, I swear I did: I tried to hate you when you rejected me for being homosexual; I tried when you betrayed me and landed me here, and I’ve tried several times these past months. But I just can’t,” Beomgyu sobbed, now hiccuping because of the force of his tears. “I could never hate you, no matter how hard I tried. It drove me fucking insane, Taehyun. Do you want to know why I could never hate you? How, despite everything that happened, I never hated you?”

“No,” Taehyun said. “I don’t.” I do. I want to know why you could never hate me, the person who betrayed you over and over again.

Beomgyu ignored Taehyun, and continued talking. “Forget what I said about ‘loved’, past tense,” he said through tears. “I still do. I fucking love you, Kang Taehyun!” he screamed, suddenly becoming hysterical. Taehyun took a step back, wide-eyed, as Beomgyu scrunched his fists into his hair, still sobbing.

For a few minutes, he wasn’t able to form proper words, his tears choking all coherent sentences he could make. He cried and hiccuped, his hands doing little to wipe the tears that kept pouring down his cheeks. Some part of Taehyun told him to go help Beomgyu, but all he could do was stand there, hands swinging uselessly by his sides, as Beomgyu rubbed at his own eyes. Eventually, it seemed his eyes grew tired of constantly watering, as his tears began to die down, until he was just giving the odd hiccup.

“I love you so much,” he whispered, wetness still glistening on his cheeks. “You could hurt me a thousand times, but I’d never be able to hurt you, not even once. I can’t. You can roll your eyes and sigh and push me away like an annoying child, but I’ll still come back like an obedient puppy. Even if you scream and glare and tell me you hate me, I can’t hate you. Because the Taehyun I know could never truly hate me, either. The Taehyun who smiled and laughed and who I spent my most precious moments with. The Taehyun who called himself the moon to my sun, who lit up my darkest nights. The Taehyun I fell in love with long ago, who I still believe is inside you. Call me stupid, call me an idiot. But I can never hate you when I knew what kind of person you truly were.” He wiped at his cheeks, looking sad and tired and so heartbroken it made Taehyun’s heart hurt.

“Then why?” Taehyun whispered. “Why did you say you hate me?”

“It was easier than explaining how I truly felt,” Beomgyu said. He looked up at Taehyun, eyes bloodshot and teary, but still bright and beautiful. “I love you, Taehyun. It may sound abrupt, but I really do. I’ve loved you for so long, I can’t remember what not loving you feels like.” He gave a tired, watery smile, all the anger and fury drained out of him. “You probably don’t feel the same. I knew you didn’t anyway, the moment you walked out on me, three years ago. It’s okay. But I just want you to know that it was never hate I felt for you. It was love.” Slowly, he stood up and reached out his hand. Taehyun flinched, thinking Beomgyu was trying to reach for him, but Beomgyu’s sword just flew out of where it had been impaled in the wall, back to Beomgyu’s hands. He placed the sword by Taehyun’s feet, and stepped back: a traditional sign of surrender. A sign used when a soldier recognised a more skilled, more powerful opponent that he could never be able to maim. Normally, it would be used when a soldier couldn’t hurt them; here, Beomgyu used it to show that he wouldn’t hurt him.

After placing his sword at Taehyun’s feet, he straightened, and stepped back again. The action was sad and defeated, and it made Taehyun’s heart clench uncomfortably.

“Ah, right. I came here to apologise, didn’t I? Well then, here is my last apology: I apologise for being here in your life, Taehyun. I apologise for all the pain and frustration I’ve caused you. I never intended to be someone that you hate, and I apologise for that.” Taehyun didn’t say anything, so Beomgyu hesitantly bowed again. “I’ll… I’ll get going now.”

Despite those words, he stayed where he was for a few more seconds, as if hoping for Taehyun to say something. The hope was evident on his face, too. But when Taehyun just stared blankly at him, he sighed – a small, barely-there sigh. But Taehyun heard it. And yet again, his heart clenched. Still, he didn’t move. He only stood there and watched as Beomgyu slowly trudged away, footsteps loud and echoing in the large gymnasium.

Something in him stirred: a desperate, intense emotion that persisted within him. With every step Beomgyu took, it felt as if he were stamping all over Taehyun’s heart. As he watched Beomgyu gradually move further away, he felt a strange urge to call out to him, to prevent him from leaving. It was strange in the fact that he’d never felt something as intense as this before, and it only came when he was around Beomgyu. He gave a gasp suddenly, as he realised. He finally realised, after all this time, what the intense feeling was. And it wasn’t hate.

“I don’t hate you.”

Beomgyu paused. Slowly, he looked back, and there was a small, sad smile on his face. “There’s no need to pity me, Taehyun. I know that what you feel for me is far away from love. It’s alright. I’ve learnt to live with it.”

“I don’t hate you,” Taehyun repeated. “I don’t hate you.” Finally, he began to move, walking towards Beomgyu. “I don’t. Just like you, I pretend I do, because it’s easier than admitting what it actually is. And what it actually is… is something other than hate.”

Beomgyu was already shaking his head before Taehyun could finish. “No, Taehyun, don’t. Please don’t give me hope. Hope is a flimsy, foolish thing. I have been misled by hope one too many times, and I will not be led astray again.” Beomgyu retreated again, but Taehyun reached out a hand and grasped his wrist, holding him in place.

“Please, just listen,” Taehyun begged. “Listen, and believe me. Even though I didn’t know it myself until just seconds ago, I’m sure that my feelings are correct. Surer than anything.”

The other didn’t say anything.

“Please.”

Beomgyu closed his eyes and looked down, inhaling a shaky breath. But he didn’t remove his arm from Taehyun’s grip. “Go on then,” he said in a small voice. “Since it looks like you really want to. Give me hope.”

Taehyun breathed a sigh of relief, his body relaxing. But he still gripped onto Beomgyu’s wrist tight, as if it were his lifeline.

“You were right,” he said. “I was always avoiding you. Always trying to stay away from you, to stay away from the feelings I felt. Because when you were around, all I could focus on was you.”

The hand which Taehyun didn’t have a grip on was curled at Beomgyu’s side. He clenched his fist, head still bowed and eyes squeezed shut, as if he didn’t want to look up at Taehyun.

“That day… I walked away from you because it made me realise that I might feel… that way about you as well. The– the thought scared me, because it was so different, so sudden, that I didn’t know what to do. So I freaked out, and walked away.” Taehyun sighed. “I know, I know. It was an asshole move. I know that now, and I’m really, really sorry.” He gave a weak smile. “You’re right, you know. I’m the coward. I was the one who avoided you because I didn’t know how to handle my feelings. Because I was so scared, I convinced myself I was repulsed and hated you, to explain away the intense feeling I felt. I ran away from my feelings. I ran away from you. And I’m sorry. I really am. You’re not the coward here, Beomgyu. The coward here is me.”

Taehyun bit his lip, hesitating.

“I really am just the moon, Beomgyu. Timid. Pale. Relying on you to be able to live. I only come out in the darkness, while you’re going to sleep, because that’s when I feel most confident. Because I’m just a scared, shy moon who relies on their bright, happy sun to be able to feel some warmth.

“When– when I lost you, when you left court, you have no idea how cold I felt. When you left, I realised what a huge mistake it had been to let you go. But I was prideful: I didn’t want to admit my mistake. And so I let you go, even though it hurt me to do so.

“When you were gone, I felt more confident about myself, since your light wasn’t with me. Your bright, beautiful light which shone even on sunny days. My life had been plunged into darkness, and in that time, I was the brightest light. There was no sun with its light guiding the way. It was just me, on my own. In that darkness, I slowly forgot how bright your light was, convincing myself I didn’t need you. That I was bright enough to shine. I told myself I didn’t need you, didn’t have to need you anymore. I tried to convince myself that I didn’t want you. Until… until I did. But when you came back into my life, it wasn’t with the tirelessly optimistic brightness you normally had. Your light had dimmed, and saddened, and that just made me feel even worse. Because I did that to you. I turned my back on you, and I hurt you.”

Slowly, gingerly, he slid his hand down Beomgyu’s wrist, loosely intertwining their hands together. Beomgyu offered no resistance, and even gripped Taehyun’s hand tighter. But still, he didn’t look at Taehyun.

“When I realised that, it made me feel even worse. I was meant to be your moon, the rock always by your side, but I abandoned you, because I was too scared to own up for my own feelings. And because I don’t want to see your light die further, I’m doing it now. I don’t hate you, Beomgyu. No matter how many times I tried to convince myself, it never fully worked, even though I tried to believe it did. Because for as long as your light shone, so did mine, and I could never hate you for being there, helping me live. I truly don’t hate you.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but please,” Taehyun begged, voice wavering with the amount of emotion he felt, “please, believe me. I don’t hate you. Far from it. It may seem like I’m only saying it, but I mean it too. When… when I thought I was going to lose you just now, that’s what did it for me. It’s what made me realise that I really do care for you, Beomgyu. I couldn’t lose my light again, because of yet another stupid mistake of mine. I know I’ve lied and betrayed you so many times, but I’d never lie about this. I care about you more than you thought. I care about you more than I thought. I really do.”

Beomgyu squeezed Taehyun’s hand tighter, fingernails digging into the vizier’s skin. Taehyun’s hands were damp with sweat, but still he clung to Beomgyu desperately, begging the other to believe him.

There was a tense, desperate silence between them. Beomgyu didn’t respond, and Taehyun didn’t add anything further to his confession. He couldn’t– it felt like his throat had shrivelled up, and his tongue had forgotten how to form words.

Beomgyu took several slow, shaky breaths, before finally lifting his head to look at Taehyun.

“Taehyun, please, don’t do this to my poor heart,” he whispered, voice cracking desperately. “You can’t do this to me. I’m weak for you. I’ll believe every word that comes out of your mouth so please, please don't lie.”

“I’m not lying,” Taehyun said, holding Beomgyu’s hand impossibly tight. “I really am not. Truly. No, Beomgyu, please.”

Beomgyu was messily trying to extricate himself from Taehyun’s grip, but the vizier kept on clinging to his fingers, not wanting to let him go.

“I can’t,” Beomgyu said, voice quivering. “I– I can’t do it, Taehyun. I love you, a lot, far too much to risk believing you. I’m content with loving you alone, and not getting the love returned. I never would have imagined this, so please, don’t lie. Please.”

Still, Taehyun tried to hold onto Beomgyu. “I’m not lying, I’m not, truly. No– please, Beomgyu, no, no…”

With several tugs, Beomgyu managed to extract himself, stepping away. When Beomgyu finally pulled away, Taehyun let out a small sob. He didn’t even notice, but tears had begun to form in his eyes. His eyes were bright with desperation, brimming with liquid. Now, a single droplet fell down his cheek, and he didn’t even bother to wipe it away.

Tears had formed in Taehyun’s eyes countless times before, but it was today, the first day in years, that he let them fall.

Beomgyu watched in shock as the tear trailed down Taehyun’s cheek. His face crumpled briefly, distraught at the fact that Taehyun was crying because of him. Still, he took another firm step back. And, with some difficulty, another. But the raw pain in Taehyun’s eyes made him stop, his own eyes beginning to water again. Beomgyu wanted to believe Taehyun. He wanted to believe him more than anything. But he also didn’t want to get hurt. Because that’s all that Taehyun had done in years – hurt Beomgyu again and again.

“Beomgyu, please, I can’t lose you, not again–”

“If you’re my moon, then it’s best to stay away, right?” Beomgyu said desperately, not wanting to hear Taehyun’s broken voice. “As the sun, stay with me too long and I’ll only hurt you. I’m too fiery, brash, immature: I could hurt you–”

“But you never have,” Taehyun said softly, the tears in his eyes making them shine like stars. “You’ve never hurt me, only showed me the truth. I was the one who hurt you with lies, and betrayal. You never hurt me, Beomgyu.”

Tears were now slowly tracing their way down Beomgyu’s cheeks again. “You just said it yourself,” he said. “You’ve only ever hurt me.”

“I know, and I’m so, so sorry,” Taehyun whispered, reaching out to hesitantly wipe away the tears from Beomgyu’s face. His hand lingered on Beomgyu’s cheek, reluctant to move away.

“How do I know you won’t hurt me again? How do I know you aren’t lying to me right now?”

Taehyun hesitated, and Beomgyu removed his hand from his cheek.

“I don’t, do I?” he said rhetorically. “Then I can’t. I can’t become a fool for you again.” He stepped away, quicker than he’d done before, before he could be persuaded yet again to stay.

He strode away almost desperately, looking like a man fleeing from temptation. Which, it could be supposed that he was. He was pulling open one of the huge, gymnasium double doors. He was leaving. One more millisecond and he would be out the door, and would never be the same way around Taehyun again. He wouldn’t be able to so much as look at the other anymore. Their relationship – their twenty four year relationship as friends-but-something-more – shattered, just like that.

But Taehyun was already at the doors, slamming them shut, a hand over Beomgyu’s on the doorknob to prevent him from leaving, pushing Beomgyu against the door.

Beomgyu’s eyes were wide, lips already parted to try and say something.

But before he could even get a word out – before he could even begin to form a syllable – something soft and warm pressed itself against his mouth, and all his protests withered like flowers in his throat.

After all, who was he to complain when the love of his life was there, right in front of him, kissing him in the gentlest way imaginable?

His eyelids fluttered shut, transfixed by the sensation of Taehyun’s mouth on his own. The hand covering his came up to rest on his cheek, pulling Beomgyu even closer towards Taehyun.

He was melting. There was no other way to describe it. Beomgyu was melting under Taehyun’s touch.

Taehyun was the only thing taking up all of his senses– his intoxicating, slightly sweaty, Taehyun-like scent, his feather-light touch, his comforting, familiar presence: fuck, Taehyun was even the only thing he could taste in that moment. His soft, plush lips, pressed ever so gently against his own, making Beomgyu’s insides melt from the softness.

Ever so slowly, in a sweet, unhurried manner, he began to kiss Taehyun back, adoring the fact that Taehyun was here, right here, kissing him in the gentlest way possible, his touch as sweet as honey. It was like Taehyun was the flower and Beomgyu was the honey bee: he was completely taken by Taehyun, and couldn’t get him close enough.

Eventually, in an almost reluctant manner, Taehyun pulled away, still holding Beomgyu’s face in his hands. He licked his pinkened lips nervously, staring up at Beomgyu.

“I don’t want you to ever think I’m going to hurt you,” he said softly. “Because… I like you. A lot. I– I don’t know if this feeling is love, but if it isn’t, then it’s pretty damn close. I would never intentionally hurt you. Not again. Not anymore. Not now, now that I know how I feel for you.”

Beomgyu was silent for a tense minute, and Taehyun grew more anxious. Perhaps Beomgyu didn’t believe him? Perhaps he thought Taehyun was lying?

Taehyun opened his mouth to add onto what he had just said. “You might not believe me, but it’s true. Even if you don’t believe me, could you think about it? Give me a chance? I know I haven’t been that forthcoming with you, and I’ve hurt you so many times, but everything I just said… I really did mean every word.” Beomgyu just stared at him. The tears were building up in Taehyun’s eyes again. “Please, Beomgyu, could you believe me? Please. Hell, the longer I think about it, the more it seems to be true. Beomgyu, I l–”

Beomgyu took Taehyun’s face into his hands and pulled him into another kiss. And, though it was muffled by Beomgyu’s lips, Taehyun gave a soft gasp, letting out a surprised oh.

This kiss was more desperate, more determined than before. Beomgyu’s lips moved against Taehyun’s almost feverishly, as if he couldn’t get enough of him. His touch was firmer, more sure of itself. Taehyun staggered back, surprised by the force of the kiss. One of Beomgyu’s hands came down to Taehyun’s back, guiding him to one of the pillars by the door.

This kiss was passionate, full of raw emotions. Taehyun’s hand weakly rested on Beomgyu’s waist, overwhelmed by the fervor with which Beomgyu kissed him.

Though he hadn’t said a word, Beomgyu’s message was clear.

I believe you, and I love you. I love you, so so much. I love you.

Those three words echoed in Taehyun’s brain as they kissed, over and over again. It was all that filled his mind as Beomgyu’s lips moved against his, soft and yet passionate and oh so wonderful.

He loves me. Beomgyu loves me.

Suddenly, he began to cry.

During their first kiss, Taehyun had been too overcome with fear, anxiousness, and desperateness to make Beomgyu stay that he hadn’t fully registered what was happening. But now, feeling Beomgyu of his own accord pull him in, attaching their lips together… the thought that someone loved him enough to do that was overwhelming in itself, but to hear it loud and clear, the ‘I love you’ evident in Beomgyu’s actions: it was all too much for Taehyun to take. For someone who’d bottled up his emotions and detached himself from his feelings for years, building up this facade of a curt, cold, unapproachable person– this obvious display of love made him break down into tears.

He was crying: harder now, so hard that Beomgyu pulled away, fearing he’d done something wrong.

“Taehyun? I– I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

Taehyun grabbed onto Beomgyu’s wrists to stop him from moving away, sinking to the ground. He held Beomgyu’s hands, pressing his lips against his knuckles. “I love you,” he managed to whisper through sobs. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Understanding the situation, Beomgyu’s face melted into a gentle smile, coming to crouch down next to Taehyun. “It’s alright, it’s alright… I love you too.” Taehyun began to sob harder, and Beomgyu pulled him against his chest, letting the younger cry into his shoulder.

He pressed a soft, loving kiss onto Taehyun’s hair, wrapping his arms more tightly around his shaking shoulders. Taehyun continued to cry, pressed securely against Beomgyu’s chest, still whispering ‘I love you’s repeatedly.

The afternoon sunlight continued to stream in through the gymnasium windows, before darkening to the richer, warmer evening light. The pink sunlight reflected off their swords, lying discarded in one corner. The light slowly faded, before disappearing altogether, a navy sky studded with small lights replacing the orange and pink canvas. And still, the two of them stayed there, in each other’s embrace, exchanging words of confession and soft, shy kisses under the gentle, serene light of the moon.

And for the first time, the first time in many years, they were happy. Together.

[randomfandomimagine]

Not A Hero (Geralt x Reader)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Fandom: The Witcher

Tags: Reader Insert,  Female Reader

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, violence and attempted abuse. Nothing explicit.

Requested by anon: I would like to request something with Geralt please! After a rough fight he comes across a cottage where the f-reader lives, she patches him up and invites him to stay the night. He asks her if she’s alone and she says no, she’s trapped there by a twisted wizard that wants to ‘do things’ with her; and she wants his help to set her free. (She fights the wizard along side him. Oh! This is a scenario! Almost forgot to add that.) 

You carefully stepped outside of the house, testing the magical barriers. When you reached the fence, you felt an invisible force pulling you back within the limits of the plot. That wizard hadn’t been lying when he said you would not be able to leave, even in his absence.

Sighing in resignation to your fate, you resolved to picking up the clothes that had dried out in the sun. At least you thought that would keep your mind busy. 

Your hands moved on their own, working automatically as your mind drifted despite it all. About how you ended up in that predicament and how you wouldn’t be able to outsmart him much longer. You shivered at the thought that the day would come that he might get his hands on you. 

You mentally prayed for an angel that would end such cruelty. For a knight in shining armor that would rescue you, a gallant hero that could save the day.

Startled upon hearing footsteps, you were brought back to reality. You looked, frightened to see that twisted wizard had returned. Only to find with a different figure staggering as he made his way towards you.

You watched in shock, seeing as the strong burly man stumbled. Although he suffered from a clear injury that he clutched on his stomach, there where blood seeped through his clothes and onto his hand, there were no signs of pain in his neutral expression.

“Sir” You uttered, shivering slightly when your eyes locked with his strange orange ones. “Do you need help?” 

The man paused, looking you up and down. You observed him as well, noticing his long white hair despite his apparent young age and his serious demeanor. The hilt of two swords were visible from behind his head. That man had to be a witcher.

“No” Came his deep grave voice as he continued walking.

Desperate to have some company to end your torturous loneliness, you tightly held on to his arm. He glared at you as all response, but didn’t pull away nor complain.

“But you are injured!” You exclaimed, worried about his tired and weak appearance, that you assumed was a rare occurence for him. “Please, allow me to help you. Do come in, rest for a while” 

The witcher looked to the empty house, all doors and windows wide open. What he didn’t know was that, despite its openness, you were trapped in it. 

In the end, he heaved a tired sigh and reluctantly nodded his head.

-

Geralt, as the witcher had introduced himself, kept staring at you even after you were done patching him up. The wound on his rib was nasty and would adorn his torso with yet another scar. Nonetheless, and despite your careful cares, he kept his swords close to him in the bed he was sitting in.

“Are you not afraid of me?” He suddenly asked you, lowering his shirt once more after you were done healing him. 

“No” You frowned as you looked up at him, but he averted his gaze with a frown. “Why should I?”

“I’m a witcher, are we not mutants and freaks?” 

“Perhaps you are different... Yet that doesn’t make you evil” 

Geralt scoffed, but his hand finally lifted off the sword it had been resting over.

“It’s quite funny, actually” You smiled a little, gathering his attention once more. “I... was hoping someone would save me, that a hero would come... and then you appeared”

He cocked an eyebrow, seeming more fascinated by you than any human could ever be by a witcher. You sighed and stood up, cleaning up what you had used to patch him up.

“I’m not a hero” Geralt suddenly pipped up, startling you a little as his raspy voice echoed in the silence of the afternoon.

You didn’t reply, only shrugged. Nonetheless, you felt in your heart that he was not evil. Perhaps not entirely good either, but certainly not as awful as people thought witchers were. 

“If not of me” He stood up as well, although letting out an involuntary groan because of his fresh wound. “What are you afraid of?” 

Just then noticing your shoulders had been tense, you relaxed them. Every single noise was a threat, every slight movement a warning. You had learned to be alert for weeks and could not help those small gestures any more. 

Paranoia struck you as you wondered if the wizard was somehow watching you. Oblivious to the extent of his power, you felt too afraid to speak up your fears.

“Are you alone, Y/N?” A sudden softness came to his voice, addressing you by your name for the first time since you both introduced yourselves.

“No” Your voice was barely a whisper, hoping that way the wizard wouldn’t hear. “He’s out but... will return soon”

You jolted up and yelped when Geralt wrapped a hand around your arm. The gesture wasn’t aggressive, but definitely urgent. Gulping as you gathered your courage, you turned around to face the witcher once more.

“Tell me”

“He might hear...”

“Who?” 

“The wizard” 

“He will not”

“I’m afraid that...” You licked your lips, suddenly feeling your mouth dry. “He will do... bad things... to me...” 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be lucky for. How many more times he would fall for the inticing taste of the wine you offered him until he was too drunk to stay conscious. How much time you could buy yourself.

Geralt watched you without blinking, being so still that he resembled a statue. Finally, his eyebrows knitted slowly. His hand around you tightened carefully before letting go.

“Bad things...” He repeated, moving so suddenly that you cringed again. The witcher went back to the bed and lifted his sword. “Let him return” 

The mixture of relief and anxiety that filled you was confusing. Despite his coldness and careless nature, he was willing to protect you. That moment you had been waiting for had arrived, you finally had a chance. Yet what would happen terrified you.

-

Geralt had wanted to comfort you as you expected his return, but didn’t know how. The wait was unbearable. The wizard had come back eventually. Chaos had ensued upon noticing the the presence next to you and how the witcher’s magic had broken through the barriers. Geralt wanted to rid you of that curse for good. First came a warning thrust of his sword that cut the wizard on the chest. When that wasn’t enough, there were stabbing motions that you found yourself participating in. Until the magic was lifted off you and the land. Forever.

Your heart was still beating frantically as you stepped out of the plot. After so long, your feet were touching grass and not the usual dry earth under your shoes. Your chest felt lighter when you breathed in fresh air that was not contaminated by the wizard’s magic.

Your whole body was shaking in excitement and fear of what might happen next. Of what had already happened. As Geralt helped you mount his horse, Roach, you couldn’t help looking back at the now abandoned house. At your hands that still hurt from how tightly you had clutched one of the witcher’s swords. At your clothes stained with the wizard’s blood. Despite it all, you were now free. 

You stared at Geralt’s back when he urged the horse on and you started moving.

The witcher just couldn’t understand how you had trusted him enough to invite him in. How you had been kind enough to treat his wounds when anyone else might have thrown him out merely for being a witcher. How you had hoped he would help you. And even if he did, he could not believe your words. He was not a hero. But he trusted you, and was willing to return the favor.

Tag list: @kylosdankdealer // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, let me know!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[hms-chill]

The Two Princes

Summary: An AU based on the podcast The Two Princes. When Prince Henry sets out to break the mysterious curse that’s destroying his kingdom, he’s ready to face whatever dastardly villain or vile monster stands in his way. What he isn’t prepared for are the bewildering new emotions he feels when he meets the handsome Alex, a rival prince on a quest to save his own realm. Forced to team up, the two princes soon discover that the only thing more difficult than saving their kingdoms is following their hearts.

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Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time

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Chapter 2: Prince and Thief

The next morning finds Henry beating his way through trees with Shaan’s sword, tired and hungry and scratched all over. What sleep he’d managed to get was interrupted by falling branches and a rustling that never stopped, not once, and had him jolting awake every time his eyes closed. He is just so sick of this forest, and its stupid trees, and its stupider vines. It’s just trees, and trees, and more trees, and they all look the bloody same. He hacks through a final vine and stumbles into a clearing, and suddenly, there’s something vaguely familiar. He digs through his bag for a minute and pulls out the map Shaan gave him, and it clicks. If that oak tree in front of him, with branches shaped like a skull, is the same skull tree as the one on his map, then he knows where he is. Sort of. If he can figure out which direction is north. Then he’ll just--

There’s a cracking nearby, and Henry pulls out Shaan’s sword, turning toward it. “Hello? What was that? Is someone out there? If so, I warn you, I’m armed!”

There’s nothing there, but he holds the stance for a breath. Two. Three. He sighs eventually, then sheathes the sword. It’s probably nothing. Just because everyone back home thinks the forest is full of monsters doesn’t mean it’s actually haunted. He’s just decided that there can’t be anything too much worse than what he’d have dealt with at home when a massive wasp dives straight for his head.

He lets out a decidedly unprincely squawk, diving away with his hands over his head as it turns to hover in front of him. Its buzzing fills the clearing, and when he gets a full look at it, it’s enormous. He’s just starting to wonder about how it stays airborne, and what it eats, and how something like this can have lived so close to the Kingdom of the West when it dives again, and he’s sent scrambling out of its way. It turns again, and he draws the sword.

“Okay, look. I don’t believe in violence, but the last twenty four hours have been an exhausting combination of the last seventeen years. So if you want to fight, let’s fight. I’m done being Mr. Nice Prince.”

The wasp gives no indication that it understands his words, diving again, stinger forward. Henry blocks it with his sword, shoving it back. It comes again, and he swings wildly, not sure what else to do. It squeaks and chitters, and he slashes at it again, then again, dodging its stinger and letting his instincts take over until one particularly hefty thrust is met with a squishing sound he never wants to hear anything like again.

The buzzing stops, and the forest is quiet. Henry looks down at the sword to see the body of the wasp impaled on it, limp. He shakes it off quickly, then brushes the sword in the grass, trying desperately to get all the bug guts off it before the reality of what he’s done sinks in, and a grin creeps over his face.

He’s just defeated his first monster. He is amazing. Sure, it was more bug than monster, but still. He’s faced a monster from the cursed forest, and he came out on top, because he’s an amazing prince, and he is more than ready to face anything this forest has to throw at him. He’s turning out to be quite the natural hero.

That is, until the buzzing starts up again, louder than before. Henry turns to the bug, but it’s still there, dead as ever with a black ooze seeping from the cut in its abdomen. Then he turns to look behind him, and there are more wasps than he can count, and suddenly, Henry remembers that wasps build nests. Nests that house up to 10,000 wasps. And even if he’s sure he’s a great hero, every great hero he’s ever read about knew to pick their battles, and this doesn’t seem like one that it would be particularly wise to pick. So he starts to back away, debating if it’s wiser to try to run but turn his back on the bugs or just back away slowly. His decision is made for him when the first bug swoops down, and he has to bat it away with his sword.

“I’m sorry I killed your friend, but in my defense, he totally deserved it,” Henry tells the bugs, swatting at them frantically. “I really am the biggest nature lover; you can ask anyone back in the West and they’ll--” He takes another step back, and his foot goes straight through whatever foliage covers the forest floor. It’s too late to stop himself as he goes tumbling backward, a scream following him down.

He lands in a pile of leaves and mushrooms, and after a minute to get his bearings and make sure he’s all in one piece, he realizes he’s surrounded by the worst stench he’s ever smelled. It smells like it might be rotting cabbage, or maybe David’s chamber pot. Whatever it is, it’s foul, and he realizes that the mushrooms he’s landed in are sticky, and if that isn’t just the tip of the iceberg of what an awful day this has been he’s not sure what is. He is going to need a bath, and probably to sleep for the next year when he gets back home.

Still, as he gets up and tries to brush whatever mushroom gunk he can off of himself, he realizes that it’s not as bad as he’d thought. The scent is less rank now, almost pleasant, something closer to a garden than he’d have thought. He’s somehow unsure what he was complaining about as a lightness spreads over him, and he looks around at the flowers spreading out before him with a bit of a laugh. Maybe he’ll build a house down here, and he’ll live in this nice floaty feeling. Maybe he should invite the wasps-- the wasps seem to have disappeared, but before he can process that, there’s a woman’s sing-song voice echoing around him.

“Oh Darling,” it calls, and Henry turns to notice a tunnel lined with flowers.

“What? Who, but… who said that?” Words are harder to string together now, but he finds them eventually, because he is a brave, heroic prince.

“I did. Is that you, my darling?” The voice calls, and Henry feels a dopey grin spread across his face.

“Maybe, I mean, yeah, I could be someone’s darling.”

“Where are you, darling?”

“I’m… at the bottom of a pit,” Henry says, just now realizing that he might not know the best way to reach whoever this is, “where are you?”

“I’m here too. Further down. Come find me, darling.” He might be imagining it, but Henry could swear the vines in front of him seem to part and shift, beaconing him down the tunnel before him. “I’ve been waiting for you for so long.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry. Wh-- How do I… How do I find you?”

“Just follow my voice, darling! Then we will be together forever.” The vines in front of him shift a bit more, and he realizes her voice is coming from there.

“Mmm, together. That sounds nice.” And it does. It would be nice to be with someone; he’s spent quite a lot of time alone, and having a friend to spend time with sounds good. So he follows the vines and her voice, the smile still on his face as she starts to sing.

“This is the song that I sing to my love Aren’t I lucky you fell from above When we’re together, my cute little pup I’ll hold you and squeeze you and gobble you up.”

Something about that feels wrong, and after a minute, Henry says, “wait, gobble me up?”

“Metaphorically speaking,” she says, and his whole body relaxes again, the nice peaceful joy retaking his brain.

“Oh, well, that’s okay, then.”

“Life without love, like a life without food Is empty and barren and terribly crude But you came along dear, to fill up my heart And also my stomach--”

“What?”

“Forget that last part.”

“Hey, I think I see a light up ahead. Is that you, Lady Voice?” It’s a beautiful light, a nice warm green that seems ready to fold him into a nice, safe hug and protect him from the forest’s monsters.

“That’s me, darling, keep walking. You’re almost there, just a few more--” And then he’s pushing aside a curtain of vines and he’s in a cavern, and he interrupts with sounds of awe.

It is the most incredible place he could have ever imagined. Flowers cover every surface, vines creeping up the walls and shorter plants carpeting the floor. “This place is incredible; I’ve never seen so many flowers. Where am I?”

The voice is closer now. “Where you’ve always been headed, and where you’ve always wanted to be. The Garden of Delights!”

“The Garden of Delights? Well that sounds… delightful!” He says it with a little giggle, and she giggles, too, but there’s still something nagging at the back of his head. He frowns, trying to concentrate, trying to pull the pieces of what he remembers through the fog of his brain as he says, “but I actually think I was headed somewhere else… Somewhere called the… the Hollow of… You know what, I can’t actually remember. Why can’t I remember?”

“Don’t worry about it. In fact, you don’t need to worry about anything else ever again.” The woman in front of him seems to have just appeared, stepping out from between the vines as naturally as if she’d grown there. The green of her dress shimmers as she smiles at him, reaching out a hand

“Who are you?” He asks, trying to take her all in.

“I’m Flora, of course. The goddess of love.”

“Wow. You are… really beautiful.”

“I am. And what’s your name, Darling?” She croons, and Henry has to stop for a second.

“Oh, I’m… I’m uh… Hang on, I know this. I totally know this. I’m um, um, uh, Hen.. Hen… Henry. Yeah, I’m Henry. That’s who I am. Henry.”

“I’m so pleased to meet you, Henry. But won’t you come a little closer?” she asks, reaching out both arms to him. “You’re still so far away.”

“Oh, sure. Although, I feel like I should let you know, I’m not looking for anything romantic right now, I just wanted to be up front about where I’m at emotionally, just so there are no hurt feelings--”

She shushes him with a sound like wind through the trees, and Henry shuts his mouth, all but floating toward her outstretched arms. “All I want to do is sooth your troubled brow and lift the weight of the world from your weary shoulders,” she croons. Vines start to snake out from the walls behind her, and Henry takes a step back in alarm.

“What are those?”

“Those are my tendrils of love. Don’t be frightened, darling, they only want to caress you,” she reassures him. They curl around him, nice at first, then pulling tighter, squeezing him in.

“Yeah, they’re… they’re actually a little constricting?” He tells her, trying to pull himself out. She laughs.

“Only because you’re struggling.”

“Um, look, could we take a pause for a moment? You’re really nice, but I think I need some fresh air,” Henry says, suddenly realizing how long it’s been since he took a deep breath. “It’s kind of hard to breathe down here, and hard to think, it’s the smell, it’s just, there’s something about it, it’s--”

“Full of love?”

“No, it’s just… it’s too sweet, I can’t… I can’t focus…” He tries to think back to how he got here, to where he is, and how and why he ever left home.

“You’ll feel better soon, I promise, just come a little closer,” Flora croons. The vines pull him forward despite his struggles, squeezing tighter and tighter.

“No, something’s not right, I should go…”

“But darling, no one ever leaves the garden of delights.”

“Please, tell your tendrils to let go of me!” He’s begging now, trying harder and harder to get air into his lungs that’s not tinged with the awful sickly-sweet smell of flowers.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can, now let go of me!”

He’s finally getting some of the tendrils off when Flora rears back, suddenly blocking the light from above and plunging the cavern into an emerald darkness as she roars, “stop fighting me, mortal! I told you, no one ever leaves the garden of delights! Now, come closer.”

“What are you?! You’re not a goddess,” Henry fights back the scream, but the mouth in front of him cracks into a wide smile, one lined with thorns, and he doesn’t want to find out if they’re as sharp as they look.”

“No, I am a very hungry plant, and it’s been ages since I’ve had a meal as big and scrumptious as you.” Her laughter echoes around him as he struggles, clinging to whatever plant matter doesn’t seem to be connected to her as she pulls him to her mouth.

“No, let me go! Please, somebody help me! Help!” His scream echoes around the room, but he knows that no one is coming. The forest is forbidden; no one comes here. It’s a death trap, and he’d known that, and he’d wandered blindly in anyway. He’s just wishing he’d told his mother where he was going, or given David a last pat, when a voice rings out around him.

“That’s enough, monster!” There’s the sound of an arrow being let loose, and the plant drops Henry to the ground, screaming.

“My eye!” She’s shrunk down enough to let light filter in through her leaves, and in the false twilight, Henry sees another figure in the room with them.

“Who are you?”

The man turns to him, but instead of a greeting or explanation, he gets, “head back the way you came; you’ll find a rope you can climb to the surface. I’m going to take care of this overgrown fly trap. Now, go.” The other man draws his sword as the plant rears back up, a sickly looking flower growing over where her eye used to be.

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb, you filthy, stinking human,” she fumes, and the other man just laughs.

“Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.” He shoves Henry toward the door, and Henry runs, followed by the sounds of sword on vine. He’s halfway up the rope when it starts to move below him, and he looks down to see the other man climbing, too. They clamber to the top together, and Henry flops onto safe ground, overwhelmingly glad to be able to see the sky.

“That was intense. What was that thing?” He asks, still trying to get his breath back. The other man stands up beside him, brushing his hands off and pulling up the rope.

“I don’t know what they’re called, but the forest is full of them.”

“Wow, I’m really glad you came along, thank you.” The other man holds out a hand to help him up, and Henry sees him in full for the first time. He’s not wearing a helmet, but he is shorter than Henry, so the first thing he notices is the tousled hair, a sort of effortless beauty to it even as it’s full of leaves and twigs. Then he sees the other man’s face, and he is, undeniably, the most beautiful thing Henry has ever seen. His brain is telling him to ignore it, but the command gets muddled somewhere on his way to his mouth, because Henry just keeps talking through his realization. “Thank you for rescuing me, and for… for being so beautiful.”

“What?” he’s turned his attention to coiling the rope, but the other man looks up at being called beautiful, and Henry’s brain finally processes what his mouth said. He has to fix it.

“I mean brave. Thank you for being so brave, not beautiful. Sorry, that was weird, I don’t know why I said that. I think some of those toxins must still be messing with my head, making me say crazy things. I don’t think you’re beautiful.” The other man frowns, and Henry rushes to correct himself. “I mean, not that you’re ugly. Obviously you’re not ugly. I just mean if I had to choose, you know? If you put a sword to my head and said ‘am I attractive or ugly, pick one’ I’d have to say attractive because objectively that’s just a fact, but it’s not like you’re so attractive I can’t stop looking at you.” He is so attractive Henry can’t stop looking at him, but that’s the point where his brain finally catches up with his mouth enough to ask, “am I talking a lot? I feel like I’m talking a lot.”

“You are.” The other man is now thoroughly unimpressed, and Henry sighs.

“So, anyway, what I meant to say was, thank you. Thank you for… saving my life. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along.” He’s studying his boots, just noticing how stained they’ve gotten after just a day in the forest.

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve been following you.” That gets Henry’s attention, even if the other man is still busy doing something with his rope.

“What? You’ve been following me?”

“For the last hour.” He says it like it’s something Henry should have noticed, so Henry nods.

“Ah, I thought someone was watching me.” Then he realizes a point where his plan to play along falls apart, and he asks, “wait, why were you following me? Also, what’s with the lasso?”

“I have some questions, and since I don’t know or trust you, I feel like you’ll be more inclined to answer them if I tie you up and dangle you from a tree.”

It sounds like a good plan, and Henry’s nodding and agreeing that it makes sense before he realizes what he’s saying enough to be scared. By that point, the rope is already around his legs, and they’re already being pulled out from under him, leaving him to dangle upside down from the nearest tree. “Hey, no, let me down from here, I thought we were friends! This is so not necessary.”

“Now then, who are you, and what are you doing in this forest?” The other man asks, ignoring Henry’s pleas.

“Me? I’m no one; no one at all. I’m literally just passing through.”

The other man just circles him, studying him closely. When he speaks, it sounds like it’s more to himself than to Henry. “Your clothes are filthy, but clearly Western, and your sword is… engraved with royal insignia.” He draws his own sword, holding it under Henry’s chin to ask, “do you work for the royal family?”

“What? No, no, no, definitely not. I definitely do not work for the royal family.” Because, technically, he reasons with himself, he doesn't.

“So you’re alone then? No one from the royal family is with you?” The other man demands, and Henry nods as best he can.

“Yeah, no, yeah, totally alone, no one from the royal family, I swear.”

He puts his sword back, and Henry takes a deep breath as he says, “sorry, can’t be too careful in this forest.”

“Yeah, no, no, no, totally understand.”

“My name is Alex,” he continues, apparently not having heard Henry’s agreement. “Prince of the East; no doubt you’ve heard of me?”

“Uh… not really.”

“I’m the son of Queen Ellen, Heir to the Eagle Throne, Defender of the Stonewalled Realm...” He turns to Henry, who just shakes his head.

“Sorry.”

“Hero of the Unstained Blade. Protector of the Rainbow Flame, Champion of Justice for All.”

“Wait, what was that last one?”

“Champion of Justice for All.” He’s dropped the presentory tone, and Henry pretends to take a second to think before shaking his head.

“Yeah, no.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sorry, we don’t really get much news about you guys in the West. We weren’t even sure there was anyone left in the East to be totally honest; we thought maybe the forest had finished you off.”

“Oh.” Alex’s shoulders seem to slump a little, and even if he’s just imagining it, Henry can’t have that. Especially not when Alex still has him hung from a tree.

“But, it’s so great to meet you! I’ve never met anyone from the East before, and now that I have, I’m like… woah, you people are awesome. I don’t know why we ever went to war with you, so can you maybe like… let me down now?”

Alex’s princely persona is back, and he steps closer to Henry. “You haven’t told me who you are or what you’re really doing in this forest.”

“Me? Um, I’m… my name is… David.” It’s the first thing he can think of, and the minute it’s out of his mouth he wants to cringe, but Alex is nodding.

“David?”

“Yeah, everybody calls me David.” Shit, he’s just told Alex he’s alone. “Not that I know many people, because I live here. By myself. Just… totally alone.”

“You live in the forbidden forest?” There’s a hint of genuine curiosity to Alex’s tone, and Henry nods.

“Yeah. I’m on the run, you see, from the royal family of the West. Whom we both hate.” That’s true, too, even if he wishes it weren’t. Alex nods, then frowns.

“Why are you on the run?”

“That is a… great question.” One for which he has no answer. “I am on the run because I… am a thief.” Which, again, technically true.

“A thief?”

Henry finds himself nodding. Now that he’s committed to the story, he has to stick with it. “Yeah, uh huh, I’m a thief! I mean, how do you think I got that sword? I mean, not to brag, but I’m basically the greatest thief in all the West.” He’s pretty proud of his lie, and Alex nods along, then frowns.

“Great. Just what I need. A vagabond with no concept of honor! Oh well; the forest can deal with you.” He stands up, and Henry starts to struggle again.

“Wait, what? Where are you going; you can’t leave me like this!” he protests, but Alex shakes his head. Every bit of personality Henry got a glimpse of is gone, Alex’s chin out, his chest up.

“I also can’t have a confessed criminal running around this forest.”

There’s a steady stream of swear words running through Henry’s head, but he finds another lie somewhere between them. “No no no; you don’t understand. When I said a thief, I meant like… a Robin Hood situation, steal from the rich, give to the poor. That’s why the royal family hates me! I’m too good. I mean, where I’m from, I’m basically a hero--”

“A hero?”

“In… the loosest sense of the word.”

“How long have you lived in this forest?” Alex is dropping bits of his princeliness now, leaning in to get a closer look at Henry. Henry hopes Alex can’t see any of his stress about lying.

“Uh… years. What, well, like… forever.”

Alex processes that, then says, “and yet, you nearly got eaten by a talking plant less than ten minutes ago because you wandered blindly into her lair.” Henry just nods, still trying to think.

“Yes. But, that’s the first time something like that has ever happened to me in all the many years I’ve lived here. So in terms of navigating the dangers of this forest, that’s actually a point in my favor.”

Alex hums, then pulls his sword out again, slicing through the ropes holding Henry up. Henry tumbles, groaning as he sits up and rubs his head. “Thanks, but next time? Give a guy a little warning before you cut him down.”

“I’ll make you a deal, Thief.”

“You can call me David,” Henry offers, getting to his feet, but Alex doesn’t acknowledge him.

“My first night in this forest, my horse got spooked and ran off with my map. Since then, I’ve been--”

“Hopelessly lost?”

“In need of directions.”

“Ah.” Of course; a perfect prince with a million titles like Alex could never be lost.

“If you can take me where I need to go,” he says, “I promise I’ll spare your life and set you free when my quest is over.”

“Uh, sure, yeah, okay. Where do you want to go?” Henry’s not sure how good of a guide he’ll be, but he has his map, and at this point, he’ll do anything to get down and he can move from there.

“The Hollow of the Kings.”

“The Hollow?” The Hollow Henry’s trying to get to, too? The one at the center of the forest; the Hollow of legend?

“You know it?”

“Uh, yeah, of course, but why do you want to go there?”

“That’s none of your business. All you need to know is that it’s imperative I get to the Hollow as soon as possible. Now, do we have a deal, or should I get my rope?” Of course he won’t say anything. But still, Henry’s going to the Hollow anyway, and he’d love to stay out of a tree.

“No! I mean, yes, yes, I’d love to take you to the Hollow.”

“Good, then it’s a deal.”

“Absolutely. Shake on it?” Alex just huffs, looking personally offended at Henry’s outstretched hand.

“A prince, shake hands with a thief?” Henry pulls his hand back automatically, trying to disguise his offer of a handshake with trying to rub his arm.

“Okay, or not. Not shaking also works.”

“Good, then let’s get started. Now that you work for me, you’ll carry my things.” Alex tosses a bag at Henry, and he catches it just before it hits the ground.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, sure, okay, no problem buddy.”

“Don’t call me ‘buddy’.”

“Okay, no problem, Boss.”

“Your Royal Highness is fine.”

“Got it.”

“Also, from now on, please only speak when spoken to. You talk a lot, and your accent’s giving me a headache.” Alex is already on the move, though Henry’s not sure where he’s going if Henry’s supposed to be his guide. So he hurries after him.

“Oh. Really? We could be walking for a while, and not talking could make it hard to get to know each other.”

“Exactly. Also--”

“Ugh, how many rules do you have?” Henry asks, but Alex turns to look directly at him for the first time since they’ve met.

“If I find out you’re lying to me, about anything, I’ll feed you to the nearest plant. Got it?”

“Got it,” Henry says, swallowing a lump bigger than the multitude of lies he’s told in the past two minutes.

“Great. Well then, what are you waiting for? Lead me to the Hollow!” Alex claps Henry on the shoulder, the closest thing they’ve had to camaraderie yet. And Henry pulls out the map, hoping he hasn’t gotten himself into something he won’t be able to get out of.

--

On AO3

--

Notes:

And we meet Alex! And watch Henry be a mess!

--

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[gameofcleganee]

The Wind (pt 2)

Pairing: Sandor Clegane/The Hound x reader, Arya Stark

Summary: You, the assassin known as The Wind, continue your journey towards The Twins with Sandor and Arya. You run into some Lannister soldiers that you have to deal with. Sandor later runs into you having a wash.

Warnings: language, injuries, murder

Set: Season 4

Notes: Sorry I’ve been really slow lately, I’ve been feeling really burnt out due to school, etc. But now it’s officially summer break, so I’ll have plenty of time to be active:)

Also, I have more to write for a part 3, so if anyone wants that, please let me know. And if anyone has any ideas for situations or things you’d like me to include in the next part of The Wind, let me know! The bathing part in this one, for example, was requested:)

PART 1

Feedback is appreciated x

The morning air was cold and crisp. One thin, big cloud was covering the whole of the sky, making you expect a bit of rain at some point during the day. You had gotten on your way from where you had spent the night, packed your things and readied yourselves. The three of you on your two horses, getting on with your long trip to The Twins. You hadn't exchanged many words this morning, just making sure everyone were on board and ready to leave as soon as the sun had risen.

"You ready?" Sandor had asked you, almost whispering, making you think he didn't want Arya to hear him for some reason.

"Yeah," you muttered and nodded your head, giving him a slight smile.

You were steadily riding on your horse behind Sandor and Arya. It took you a while to realize that your eyes were pinned on the back of the big man in front of you. You couldn't help it. His big complexion was mesmerizing.

After a while, you stumble upon an inn.

"I'm starving, let's go in there," Sandor says. You stop your horses and look at the inn located before you. Arya looks at you.

"You're paying," she said. "Your money bag looks heavy enough," she nodded her head towards the bags hanging off the saddle on your horse.

You just scoff at the girl. "As you wish."

You got off your horses and went to check the place out. Approaching the inn, you see five men inside. You stop behind a bush to observe for a second.

"We could kill them off, have all the food for ourselves," Arya suggested. You gave her a look of disbelief.

"Why do you think that would be a good idea?" you said. "That's not necessary." Just as the words left your mouth, two men came out of the inn to relieve themselves.

"I know him. That's Polliver. He's a Lannister soldier. He took my sword, and he killed Lommy," Arya said, her voice stern.

"What the fuck's a Lommy?" Sandor said confused. You chuckled at him but quickly covered your mouth to not draw any attention to you by the men a few meters before you. Sandor just glanced at you in confusion.

"My friend, he killed my friend," Arya answered annoyed. You looked back at the guys as they walked back inside the inn. Suddenly Arya gasps. "He still has Needle!" She ran out of the bush towards the men. Sandor was quick to run after her, grabbing her arm, trying to stop her, but it was too late. A man in the doorway had seen them. You went after them.

The man observed the three of you, giving you a good look before Sandor looked at you and nodded his head towards the door. You headed inside.

The inn was noisy, the rest of the Lannister soldiers were having their way with a  young woman, throwing her between themselves and laughing.

The three of you sit down at a table at the back of the inn, away from the rest of the people. You sit down opposite of Sandor and Arya, with your back to the Lannisters.

You knew the Lannister soldiers, they were a bunch of cunts. They trotted their way through all of King’s Landing, doing what they felt like, just because they were wearing the King’s colors. No one dared to fuck with them because they knew they were the King’s men.

Mere seconds after sitting down, Polliver comes over and sits down beside you. You could feel him looking at you, but you decided not to look back at him, not wanting to give him that satisfaction.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him move his head to look at Sandor sitting across from you.

"You're the Hound!" Polliver said. "The King's guard. What are you doing in the Riverlands?"

"Could ask you the same," Sandor said. 

"Just keeping the King's peace. As are you, I imagine."

"Fuck the King," Sandor said with a stern face. The noise from the other Lannisters at the inn died out. You knew this wouldn't end well. "I'm hungry. Bring me one of those chickens," he continued.

Polliver scoffed. "You need money to pay for that, Hound."

"I don't have a single penny."

Polliver grew silent for a while before turning his head towards you. "Pretty lady you've got," he said. "How much did you pay for her to follow you around? Imagine you spent the rest of your money on her. Doubt it's on her own free will by the looks of you, Hound. She any good?"

"You ought to keep your cunt mouth shut before I smash your face in," Sandor said, his voice low, giving you chills. "Now, bring me some fucking chicken."

"Right. Tell you what, we'll trade you. One of your little chickens for one of ours. Give us a go at your pretty little friend," Polliver said slowly. He turned his head towards you. You could smell the ale on his warm breath next to your face.

You slowly turned your head to face him, looking him dead in the eye.

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" you said and smiled. Your face then fell stern. "It's not gonna happen."

Polliver scoffed, he looked offended. He moved his face closer to yours. "Are you gonna die for some bloody chicken?"

"Someone is," Sandor answered, snapping Polliver's attention back to him. You could sense the tension between them. You sat in silence for what seemed like minutes, but what was probably just mere seconds.

The two men quickly stood up from the table and drew their swords. Polliver stood himself behind you, put his hand on the top of your head, pressing you against his chest and put his sword against your throat, still keeping his eyes on Sandor standing across from him with his sword in his hands, ready to attack.

"One move from you and I'll slit her pretty throat,” Polliver spat.

He obviously hadn't noticed you had a dagger on your waist. He had assumed you were a whore after all, not an assassin. You quickly drew you dagger and stabbed him in his thigh. He screamed and dropped his sword in your lap. He was still standing up. You thrust your elbow with all your power into his wounded thigh, making him scream again and fall to the floor. You quickly grabbed his sword and turned around to face him. He was wrenching in pain on his back on the dirty floor. You pointed his sword at him.

"Dirty scum," you spat at him before slicing his head open with his sword. From the corner of your eye, you could see the rest of Lannisters soldiers on the other side of the room standing up and drawing their swords. You looked over at Sandor.

"Get ready," you said. You bent down and grabbed Arya's sword, Needle, from Polliver's waist and threw it to her. She grabbed it and stepped back, not looking very ready to fight off a bunch of Lannister soldiers. Before you could draw your own weapon Sandor was already fighting off the men.

He was quick to fatally stab one of the men in his guts.

You killed one of the guys by stabbing his temple with your dagger, the blood splattered on your face, making you flinch.

Looking around you, you saw Sandor fighting another soldier. After exchanging a few hits, he managed to kill him.

You saw the last one of the guys throw himself at Sandor who was catching his breath with his guard down for a second. You quickly ran up to the Lannister, grabbed his hair and sliced his throat before he had the chance to attack Sandor. Sandor heard a body thud behind him and turned around to see you standing there covered in blood.

"Bloody hell," he said panting and looked at you. "You look mad. Not very assassin-like of you." You looked down at yourself; you were covered in blood.

"I usually don't get this messy," you said and sighed. "I'm gonna need a bloody bath."

"I want my chicken first. Didn't kill all of these men for nothing. Fighting makes me hungry."

The three of you sat down with one chicken each, your mugs filled to the brim with ale. Arya hadn't touched her ale, so Sandor was quick to grab her mug as soon as he had finished his own.

After eating as much chicken as she could muster, Arya left the table to relieve herself, leaving you and Sandor alone. You took the opportunity to ask Sandor a question.

"Why did you decide to fight them?" you asked. Sandor looked up at you. "You were the one to draw your sword first. I have money, you know I do, I could have paid for the damn chicken."

Sandor took a sip from his ale before answering. "They were gonna use you," he said. He took another bite of his meal. You didn't say anything, you just looked at him. Did he really fight them to keep you safe? "I know guys like them. They weren't gonna give anything up until they've had their way with you. Nothing could have stopped them." Sandor didn't look at you, he kept his eyes on his food.

"So... you did it to save me?" you said slowly.

"Don't say it like that," Sandor spat at you. You just smiled at the thought of Sandor risking his life to save you from being abused by the Lannister soldiers.

You finished your meals and got on your way back to your horses. Outside of the tavern, there were five horses. They had belonged to the Lannister soldiers, who weren’t gonna be needing them anymore.

You stopped by the horses. “Arya,” you said and pointed to the horses. “Take one.” Her eyes lit up as she ran over to one of the horses. Sandor looked at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he said.

“Let the girl have a bloody horse. What’s she gonna do, run off? From us?” you said, proving your point. Arya would have no chance if she was to run off from the two of you. And she knew that. You walked over to Sandor and patted his arm. “It’s fine. Relax a little.”

You had spent more time at the inn than you had anticipated, so as you got on your way you were on the lookout for a place to spend the night, hopefully somewhere by a lake so you could have a bath to wash all the Lannister blood off of you.

You had been riding for a few hours when you spotted a lake not too far from the path you were following.

"Hey!" you shouted at Sandor. He turned around to look at you. You pointed in the direction of the lake. "That's a lake over there, could we camp there? I desperately need a bath.”

He didn't say anything, he just turned his horse to walk through the forest towards the lake.

Arriving at the lake, it seemed like a good place to camp, as well as a superb place for a bath. The water was quiet and it looked as welcoming as ever. Getting off your horses, you set up a fire and set up your small camp around it.

"Right, I'll go wash," you said and walked off. You found a nice intimate place where you thought not too many people were to see you if there were to be people around. You slid out of your bloody clothes and walked into the still water. It wasn't as cold as you'd expect, but cold enough to give you slight goosebumps. You walked far enough out into the lake for the water to completely cover your body. You ran your hands over your skin to remove the blood. You scooped water into your hands to wash your face, repeating it to try to properly remove the now dry blood. Dry blood was a pain in the ass to remove.

From the corner of your eye, you could see movement in the woods behind you. You slightly turned your head to see what was moving, without making it obvious you were looking, as to not make them run away.

You looked for a while. It was a man. He was big. He stood there for a while. You turned your head just a bit more, making you realize it was Sandor. You could just see his back, he was walking away. Had he been looking at you? For how long had he been there?

You brushed the thoughts out of your head and finished up washing before walking out of the water. You put your non-bloody clothes on and decided to try to wash your bloody clothes. You dunked them in the water and rubbed them together in order to remove the blood. It took a while, but in the end, you had somewhat managed to clean them.

You walked back to the camp with your wet clothes in your arms. Arya was sleeping and Sandor was sitting by the fire in silence. You hung your wet clothes up on a branch to dry. You then sat down beside Sandor to warm yourself by the fire.

You could feel Sandor looking at you, making you look up at him. He pointed to his jaw. "You've got some blood..."

"Oh," you said and ran your fingers across your jaw in an attempt to remove the blood. "There?"

"No," he pointed to his jaw again, but you still couldn't get it. Sandor scoffed and scooted closer to you and put his hand up to your face. He ran his thumb along your jaw. He was warm against your chilly skin, giving you chills. You looked at each other for a second before Sandor pulled away and cleared his throat.

"Thanks," you whispered. You couldn't help but smile, making you turn your head away. You sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth from the fire. "I saw you, you know," you broke the silence. You kept your eyes pinned at the fire. "When I was bathing."

"I was taking a piss," Sandor said, his voice low, almost sounding mad.

"Sure," you said, teasing him.

"I didn't know I'd bump into you."

"It's fine," you said and raised your gaze to glance at him. He was looking at you. You just smiled at each other and scoffed, moving your glance to look back into the fire.

Taglist:

@lavieenrosetta @marceylina @arealmoth

[onwesterlywinds]

Strong and Unified

This piece features prose contributions from @onwesterlywinds​, @thelegendofivalice​, @ivaan-ffxiv​, @red-dlai​, @thinkofduty​, and @reflectionsofacreator​.

Even amid the fog, Edge Marbrand looked out across the city that was his birthplace for the first time in twenty years. He found himself clenching his fists, found words springing to the forefront of his mind as his wife led the charge across Anshelm March.

"O come ye wayward brothers, bereft of hearth and home..."

He would see them both safely through. He would see their homeland freed.

"Riskbreakers are filtering into the city," Nive said into her linkpearl as they rounded a magitek-enforced barricade.

"Be safe, everyone!" Edge called out, not only to the Riskbreaker vanguard but to the company as a whole. "Our team will clear a path to the palace!"

Crimson Bull responded with a harsh bark of laughter as he hefted his mother's axe across his shoulder. "They can follow our lead!" From ahead, an even larger force of Garlean troops spilled in from higher up along the main road. "LET'S DO THIS!"

Yalms beneath Ala Mhigo, a map of magicked tendrils lay intertwined across a heavy gate. They stretched like vines across the iron surface, glowing a faint blue only when observed out of the corner of one's eye. They were the only feature to be seen amid the otherwise empty stone tunnel, and yet they gave the impression to any would-be viewer that they very much belonged there - that they alone would determine when and for whom the passage leading up into the palace wine cellars might be unlocked.

The sigil cracked at Ashley Riot’s approach. The magicked vines writhed and withered and unraveled until the gate stood bare for his use, as though they had been waiting specifically for him for nigh on twenty years.

He did not need to borrow his daughter's senses to take measure of the battle waging above him. He could feel the baritone rumble of every cannon tremble the Undercity all around him, could somehow even take note of the occasional shout.

Were he to pass through the gate and emerge through to the other side, he would end up at an unmanned location deep within the heart of the palace - an ideal point for an infiltration.

Instead, he turned and retreated back down the tunnel the way he had come.

Ashelia had her own matters well in hand. He would see to the remainder of the Undercity.

The city comes to life with the cannonblasts.

The cache had had rusted weapons and even shields hidden in its depths, and that was good enough to outfit Orella and Ingvald both, though a far cry from the arms and armour they were used to. Even the imperials had outfitted them better than this.

One glance between them, jaws set, brows drawn, and they advance into the city.

Citizens not knowing where to flee to. Garleans, as confused as the people they try to herd. Mothers and daughters. Fathers and sons. Neighbours. Lovers. Enemies.

Everyone scrambles to find a place of safety, finding none, finding nothing but steel drawn and harsh voices and confusion everywhere, and-

Orella steps forward, blade drawn, blade high.

"Corpse Brigade," she yells, and the fuss quiets, "Coming through."

It struck Ahtyn suddenly that somehow she had always known it would come to this, ever since she had first stumbled into the refugee camp of Little Ala Mhigo as a fledgling adventurer for Ul'dah. She had felt so out of place then, hyperaware of her own means and privileges and naïveté.

She had met Wilred Glasse and Ilberd Feare and Lyse Hext and had known somehow that she would share in each of their destinies, one way or another. And if she were to die here, as so many others had to reach the moment of Ala Mhigo’s liberation, she would consider her life and all of its countless possibilities well spent.

Beside her, the commander had taken up a cry to all her comrades, and she echoed the words as far as her lungs could carry them:

"Liberty or death!"

Some fought in the streets, others went beneath the city. Ivaan Arkwright had taken to the sky above, as the first airships began to assail the forces of the Eorzean Alliance at the gate. The Doman air support joined him in short order, with Garlean guns clashing with talons of the great birds of the eastern steppe as the fighting broke out across the city. Never in his life would Ivaan had thought to see this moment, a child of the Twelveswood fighting to liberate what he had grown up believing an enemy of his homeland. Yet here he was, standing atop of a Garlean airship, running its pilot through with the spike of his halberd. These past months, everything the Riskbreakers had witnessed and survived, or hadn’t, reaffirmed his hatred for everything Garlemald represented. An attack from Garlemald on any people was an attack on all of Eorzea. That was something Ivaan would not suffer, never again.  

Using the polearm skewered through the man as an improvised anchor, Ivaan knelt down and seized the control stick with his other hand to steady the craft. A quick sweep of the fighting below, and Ivaan found his next target. In the streets below, an Imperial gunner crew was hastily reloading their weapon, their officer barking out orders.

“We have those savages boxed in! Load faster, damn you, give me five rounds rapid!”  

“Sir! Above us!”

The men dropped the cannon shells in their arms and ran. The Garlean officer turned just in time to see an single-man airship in a nosedive straight towards their position. A an azure-armored figure atop the fightercraft jerked a polearm free of the pilot’s corpse and soared skyward. The last thing the man heard before being obliterated in a blaze of fire and twisted metal was a cry from above, “For Sylvan Rain!”

Aidea's voice crackled in over the linkpearl. "Kill him! Do it now! Everything that's happened to me and my brothers and sisters is his fault! Kill him now!"

"My," Aulus murmured at the sight of the infiltrating party. "You've come at last. Let's see what we can glean from the lot of you, shall we?" He cast his sinister smile across the group - and when his eyes settled on Ashe, he tutted a sigh. "Oh, but what a shame, my dear Seraph - you've lost all of your beautiful white hair."

For only a moment, Ashe broke through her battle-calm, her blank expression giving way to one of wide-eyed terror.

"DAMN YOU!" Edge shouted. "DAMN YOU ALL TO THE SEVENTH HELL!" He disappeared from his wife's side, only to reemerge behind the medicorum and throw a shuriken into his back.

Some Garlean pockets yet remained in the Ala Mhigan Quarter, and they fought as mercilessly as anyone would have expected. Tia found herself blocked off with a larger group of Ala Mhigans along a street adjacent to where Boris Marbrand's carpentry shop had once stood. Resistance uniforms were nowhere in sight. There came instead plenty of shouting in some Ilsabardian dialect, then a scream as a Highlander woman was grabbed by one arm and pulled from her burning home. A child wailed from somewhere in the near distance.

"WEAPONS DOWN!" a Garlean officer shouted in Common. He pulled himself and his captive up onto a crate, so as to be in full view of the cornered Ala Mhigans below. "WEAPONS DOWN, OR THE SAVAGE GETS A BULLET IN HER GUT!"

Some of her people stared up, while others glanced over their shoulders as if to search for aid. Others still began to raise their hands in a tentative surrender, or to crouch to relinquish whatever meager tools remained to them.

What are you doing, you imbeciles.

She heaved a tired scoff and moved among the crowd with easy grace for a woman who had been on the pipe only a year ago. She wound her way through the gawping bodies and the first to notice was the one who had claimed the young woman - more a girl, really - for a captive. The prisoner’s eyes widened in fear as Tia's skin came alive with the glow of aether. Soon she was a living beacon, enwreathed in not in flame but in purple lightning, and not even the Garleans knew whether or not to fire upon her until it was far too late.

She raised her right arm and the gathered currents arced from her hand, calling down Rhalgr's might upon every Garlean before her.

A'zaela leapt across the roof of the royal palace. There had been some sort of trouble with the others as they'd entered the palace - someone named Aulus, someone Ashe had seemed to recognize, had triggered something that had done some sort of harm. They seemed shaken, even now that the battle was over and done.

"Next is Zenos," Edge said into his linkpearl. It was a calming voice, A'zaela thought. "So he can't act on any of those experiments."

She could not focus wholly on trying to make sense of their fight. She had two cannons left to disable.

She vaulted up and soared through the air as she always had, tasting salt on the wind. Her trajectory brought her over a massive steel-wrought artillery device, still in the process of firing rounds upon the city below. She angled the point of her spear downward and thrust every last onze of her momentum into its ceruleum pipeline. Perhaps it would not destroy the machine entirely, but it would damage it thoroughly enough for it to be useless without heavy repairs.

“OVER THERE!” a soldier shouted. There were others along the rooftops, clad in Garlean black, but her spear would not come free from the rent steel. She kicked one and he staggered from the battlements with a scream, but the other thrust his sword at her shoulder-

She let out a cry. Though her armor had absorbed most of the damage, the leather was run through and she could feel a hot and painful gush of blood from beneath her collarbone. She had to persevere. Countless lives, both below and within the palace, depended on depriving the Garleans of their firepower.

With a desperate tug, the spear broke away from the metal, but not quickly enough for her to reconfigure the point in the required direction. As the Garlean stepped closer for another thrust, she twirled her lance around with such force that the shaft connected with the side of his head, rendering him unconscious before he could finish falling to the stone roof.

The thought of all she’d lost came spinning into her head as she grasped for her shoulder. Everything she stood for, everything she stood to lose if she didn’t get running.

For those I have lost. For those I can yet save.

She wasn’t scared. Even with her own blood dripping through her fingers, she wasn’t scared. Her eyes locked on the Garleans that remained, pushing in ever closer. She’d take them out, then disable the last cannon.

While I still live, I will fight. And I will no longer tremble at the sight of the Empire.

She took out the men that had once cornered her, then focused her eyes to the next cannon. Toward the horizon.

Her hand fell over her shoulder, which still ached from battle.

They have taken many things from me, but not this. Never this.

She crouched into position, then jumped toward the next area.

Her father was right, Ashe realized as she beckoned her party behind a false wall in time for a magitek vanguard to pass them by without incident. Despite never having set foot in it before, she did know every ilm of the royal palace.

It had been so much like this; that day, the sun had shone just as brightly. Even the battle rang out much the same as it had, despite the presence of soldiers from every corner of Eorzea now fighting in his vicinity.

He and Orella still fought the Garleans in perfect tandem, with each shared blow a masterstroke.

But he was tired, and the same fatigue registered on her face in a thick sheen of sweat and a heaving of her chest. She was older, leaner, angrier, and the sword she wielded now was at least twice as large as the kilij she had favored as a knight.

Briefly he considered the possibility that they might be swept away by the fight at hand, that they might be overrun back to the same royal chambers where they had made their stand together twenty years ago and sealed their fates. Then Orella shouted something he did not understand, only he knew he needed to return to his senses if he did not want to meet his end. He responded with a hastily muttered word, which sent a harsh blast of air to the end of the tunnel that propelled several Garleans into the nearest wall. Orella cleaved them in two with a single slash-

“DO YOU HEAR ME, BLOODHOUND?!” she cried, audible at last over the din. “TAKE TO THE MARCH! I’M GOING ON AHEAD!”

He froze in fear, and that would have spelled his death if they had not dispatched the last of the invaders where they stood.

Don’t do anything stupid, he wanted to say, but he knew such words to be useless for Orella of all people. As vain and inadequate as would be reaching over for a last kiss in the midst of the fight for their home.

Their lips met regardless, if only for half a second - and at last, his clarity was restored. There would not be long before the next wave, and less time still if Orella meant to secure the Noble District on her own. “Fight well,” he said, and left it at that.

Enea steadily rode the shoulder of the magitek colossus as it came crashing down into the floor, her greatsword embedded into the side of its neck. Purple and red aether surrounded her; she retrieved her sword and looked back at her allies.

“The throne room is behind this door,” Ashelia assured her.

The Miqo’te took one last look at the necklace wrapped around the hilt of her sword - the one she borrowed from Sylvan’s room - before heading into this last battle. She walked forth with equal parts rage and sadness weighing in her as she pushed open the door to the throne room for her comrades behind her.

“Liberty…” she said to no one, but couldn’t finish the phrase. Ahead, Zenos yae Galvus sat on the throne. “Let’s end this.”

A godsdamned reaper in the Noble District.

But she is not alone, even when she is on her own. There are men - Ala Mhigan men as old as she, with anger in their eyes.

At least one of them recognises her, and opens their mouth, but she cuts him off before he can talk. "I'm taking it down, with or without you. You want to help, you shut up and listen. You want to live to see the morrow, you get inside."

They share a look, and not one of them moves.

"Take the side paths," she instructs. "Go around them. Kitchen knives. Hatchets. Any and everything you have. Bare hands, if you don't. Get the soldiers. I'll take the magitek."

"You'll die," one of them says, and she grins.

"Once I count to two hundred, I charge," and she salutes the group the same way she'd once saluted the king. "Rhalgr watch over us all. One. Two."

The men scatter.

The legatus of the XIIth Legion cast his unfeeling gaze over the newcomers to the throne room. "I remember you," he said. "From the Reach. Champions of the Savages." His eyes lingered first on Bull, then Enea, then Ashe.

The sight of him was enough to make Bull tremble with rage as he remembered all that had come to pass since that day. "Everything that's happened, everything we've been through..." he snarled. "It's all because of you and your kind." He tightened his grip on his axe. "For EVERYTHING you've done to the Ala Mhigan people, I WILL BURY YOU! I WILL PUT THIS AXE INTO YOUR NECK AND MAKE YOU SUFFER!"

“I freed Doma from you!” Edge shouted from beside him. “Ala Mhigo’s next!”

“Remember,” Ashelia said in a quiet voice, “what happened to Ala Mhigo’s previous viceroy.”

A’zaela touched down from some rampart far above; a clink of armor from over his shoulder signaled Ahtyn’s arrival. And there were others at their backs, Riskbreakers all - more than he had seen assembled in Ala Mhigo at once, even with Master Sylvan gone.

“ENOUGH TALK!” Bull screamed. “LET’S RUMBLE!”

“FOR ALA MHIGO!” Ashelia cried, and the group behind her echoed the call.

"Have you the strength? The power... to transcend...?"

Ahtyn dove in front of her allies, in front of Ashe and Edge and Bull trying to cover them both, and a burst of aether crystallized behind her like wings as the legatus brought his katana down onto her shield.

“The dragon, where is it?! I’ve felt it in the city, seen the people tempered by it!” Nive’s voice rang sharp and clear in the throne room, nearly swallowed up by the silence of the battle against the crown prince coming to an end. Riskbreakers were at her sides and back, panting with exertion, their wounds knitting together under Nive’s spells.

“Come!” the prince shouted, his katana raised to the sky. “This is no place for our final contest. The heavens themselves shall bear witness to our dance!”

At that moment, the prince’s aether was overwhelmed by a being far stronger, and Nivelth Ajuyn nearly collapsed to the ground. The dragon that had nearly laid waste to the realm was in the palace, not far away, and was resonating with the fighting going on around it. The primal had been made of pure violence, moons ago, over Balesar’s Wall, and the war in the city only served to wake it up from whatever stasis Omega had placed over it.

The prince vanished away from the throne room, and before she knew what she was doing, Nive had her grimoire out and was just about to head after him. The voices of the Riskbreakers jolted her out of her near trance, and she turned to face them.

Edge shook his head - he only had the protection of the Echo when his cluster was near.

Ashelia had set down her axe to support herself against her husband’s weight, but she leaned down to retrieve it once more. "I have to go in there. Even in this state."

“We’re going to win,” Crimson Bull said, punching his hands together. “We have to. There’s no other option.”

Nive’s fists clenched, and she looked to the open door where Zenos had escaped. “I have to go in there. I am a summoner, and that is a primal. It’s my damned responsibility, even if I don’t have the Echo, and I won’t let a thing like that stop me.”

It was brilliant beyond reckoning, the great wyrm’s plane. A time out of time, a space forever etched into the cosmos, a torn glimmer of Hydaelyn’s myriad reflections. There could be no describing such sights to those who were not present for the contest of wills - no way of explaining that for all of Shinryu’s majesty, for all the creature’s unparalleled might, this contest of wills was but one of countless battles to define an era.

And as a crimson dawn rose high across the Lochs, the people of Ala Mhigo broke into a song that rang out from the ramparts of Cotter Tor. The Riskbreakers joined in the chorus, each of them understanding the words to be the truth of how they had come so far-

Above the churning waters we stand strong and unified.