#warriors: i will swear an oath Right Here Right Now about how much i do

[mothfables]

♡ Bunny Flops ♡ - Part Three

Here we are at the end! I hope you all enjoyed this as much as I loved writing it <3

The third time it happens, they’ve found themselves in the Veteran’s home era. Several hours of walking mixed with dodging knights (making Sky and Warriors scowl) later and everyone is all too eager to crash at Legend’s house with its’ numerous soft blankets and pillows that the Vet insists he has no use for but keeps around anyway. Warriors teases him for being a hoarder but they all know how soft the seasoned hero is inside.

(Warriors also has the suspicion it also helps with Legend’s chronic pain and bad joints, but Legend would literally rather be hit over the head with a moblin club than admit such a thing. That’s fine. He’ll just ask Ravio.)

Finally, the house is in sight and Legend speeds up as much as his aching joints will allow. He can’t wait to see his orchard and his garden, to coo to Sheerow and talk with Ravio, to lay in his own bed and drink his own tea, to get up when he wants and not some ungodly hour of the morning, and and and-

And the door is opening and Ravio is there, dark curls catching the afternoon sun as he turns to see who’s coming up the road. Legend’s speedwalk turns into a half-hop, half-jog as he hurries towards his partner. Ravio gives a shout of delighted surprise and copies him.

(Legend is sure it must look very odd, to anyone who isn’t them, but they’ve always done this - since they first began to like each other as people, since they became actual friends, since they agreed to be partners, not just best friends.)

Ravi likes to joke that it’s just another bit of proof they’re each other’s mirror. ‘Rabbits in a burrow,’ he’d tease as Legend pouted.

Then Ravio is reaching for him, checking him over and tutting as he notices the newest accumulation of injuries and overall exhaustion. Legend simply leans into him, relishing in the sensation of his partner’s care. After a moment he jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the group still coming up the road behind him.

“Got room for eight more, Rav?” He smirks tiredly. Ravio titters, gently taking his arm and waving to the Chain as they make their way towards the couple.

“We’ll just be inside! You know where things are; make yourselves at home,” he calls. Then, more quietly, “Come on, bunny. Let’s get you off your feet, yeah?” Legend gives a token grumble for the show of it but follows Ravio’s lead as his partner tugs him through the door and into the house.

Once inside, Ravio leads him over to one of the plush chairs by the fireplace, waiting until Legend lowers himself into it before busying himself with lighting the fire and setting their beat-up old kettle on the stove. He pulls down Legend’s favourite mug: a slightly misshapen thing painted with apple blossoms. It had been a gift, given to him years ago, and something he treasures to this day. As the water boils, Ravio comes back over to check on his partner. Legend greets him with a tired smile before glancing at the fire, then at Ravio, hoping he’ll get the hint. He does; giving a dramatic sigh, the merchant gathers an armful of pillows and blankets and arranges them into a small - but cozy - nest before the fire.

The kettle whistles and Ravio scurries back to the kitchen, leaving Legend to drag himself out of the chair with a drawn-out groan. His limbs shake from the effort but before he can collapse Sky swoops over and catches him. The other hero helps him stumble over to the nest and down into it, then not-unkindly swats his hands away from where they fumble at the laces of his boots.

Once his boots are off Legend moves to get comfortable, rearranging the blankets to his liking as he scoots closer to the fire. At the same time, the rest of the Chain scatter around the living room as they finish settling in. Sky and Warriors sit near the nest, sharing a smile when their tired younger brother accepts their presence with nothing more than a glance and a roll of his eyes.

It doesn’t take long before Ravio reappears from the kitchen with a now-steaming mug in his hands. He hands it to Legend - making sure the other boy can hold it without trouble - before circling the nest a few times. He fluffs pillows and readjusts blankets before giving a happy hum and toes off his shoes to join Legend in the center of it.

Legend immediately leans into him, giving a contented hum of his own at the extra warmth. Ravio presses a kiss to his hair and the Vet’s eyes slip shut. “Ah ah, drink your tea first, love,” Ravio chides. Legend gives a tired whine, the sound pulling on Sky’s heartstrings. “I know, but it’ll help your joints. Come on, bunny, no falling asleep just yet.” Legend huffs grumpily at the order but complies.

Sky can see the stress and exhaustion leaving his little brother’s body as he sips at his tea. As he drinks, his eyes droop and he leans more and more heavily into Ravio. For his part, the merchant bears the added weight with ease, as if this is something that’s happened many times before. Sky gets the feeling it has.

His ear flicks at the sound of Wind’s pictobox. He turns to shoot a Look at the Sailor, who has the grace to look sheepish at his actions. (Sky will be getting a copy of that picture later, but now is not the time. He doesn’t want Legend getting embarrassed and forcing his aching joints to move because of it.) Luckily, the Vet doesn’t seem to notice. He’s done with his tea by now, barely holding onto his mug as he inches closer to sleep with every second.

Ravio reaches to grab it but Wars beats him to it. Gently taking the cup from limp hands, he gives the merchant a warm smile. “I’ll take care of it, you just let him sleep, yeah?” After a moment Ravio nods before turning back to the sleepy hero on his shoulder, leaving Warriors to stand and make his way to the kitchen unimpeded. He glances at the mug in his hands as he walks; it’s a simple thing that’s easy to hold and decorated in lovely pink blossoms. Apple blossoms, if he remembers correctly. It’s something that’s obviously been used and loved for a long time. The thought brings a smile to his face.

Returning to the living room, Wars is just in time to see Legend sliding off of Ravio’s shoulder to land face first in the mass of blankets, where he squirms for a moment to get comfortable before relaxing again. Ravio gives a fond sigh, slipping off the hero’s hat and placing it to the side to press a kiss to strawberry-blonde locks.

Legend purrs quietly at the action, and Ravio’s cheeks glow softly in the firelight as he beams. Turning to Sky, he whispers, amazed and proud, “Link almost never lets himself get so relaxed. He must really trust you.”

And if that doesn’t hit Sky like a shock arrow to the heart. From the sudden intakes of breath and muffled sniffling behind him, he’s not alone.

Warriors retakes his seat beside Sky with a thump. “We will do our utmost best to continue to deserve that trust,” he swears solemnly, and Sky catches the glisten in his eye. Ravio glances at him, startled, before catching his gaze, suddenly serious. The Captain holds it calmly. For a moment neither moves before the merchant nods and looks away.

Sky lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The matter settled, Ravio stretches his arms over his head with a sudden jaw-cracking yawn. He adjusts the blankets around them one final time before curling over- no, on top of his partner. Legend’s purring gets marginally louder at that; after a moment a second, deeper one joins in. A few minutes later both boys are fully relaxed, comfortable and warm and appearing near-boneless as they fall asleep curled up together.

The house is warm, and safe, and Sky lets himself drift off in the knowledge that his brothers are right where they need to be.

Click! goes the sound of Wind’s pictobox.

<<<<First : <<Previous

[leiawritesstories]

Random prompt that is actually very strange but just popped into my head randomly and whether or not it is written it needs to be shared.

Either Rowan or Aelin gets shrunken down reeaaalll tiny and the other carries them around in their breast pocket for the day.

wait this is actually adorable here have a quick little drabble :))

word count: 1k

warnings: some language

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The abandoned spellwork laboratory in the eastern wing of the Palace of Orynth had been empty for decades, and cleaning out the musty old space had been high on Aelin's to-do list since she'd taken her first in-depth tour of the palace after her coronation. And, because Rowan was both older and more magically experienced, she decided to delegate him the task.

He hadn't been particularly happy about it, but she had...ways of convincing him.

At first, the mating bond was a constant stream of grumbling as Rowan entered the dusty, messy old space, muttering about "nobody having used a fucking light in here since the Great War" and how "there wasn't a clean gods-damned cloth in sight" and other such trifles. He'd quickly found an ancient but still functional lantern, using its flame to illuminate the space, grabbed a handful of rags and a bucket of bleach water, and set about cleaning the space. His commentary trickled down after a while, only popping back into her mind to mention something particularly interesting he'd found or some unidentifiable half-baked experiment festering away in some cabinet.

By early afternoon, the bond had gone quiet. Aelin didn't think much of it, believing Rowan was just absorbed in his task (and probably studying the moldering old textbooks to learn about whatever he was discovering, he just couldn't help himself) and paying his silence no heed. She continued to work on the heap of papers on her desk, talking through all the things that needed to be done with her council and Elide and just generally getting a headache from all the flurry.

Then there was a muted crash down the bond.

Ro? A faint note of terror creeping into her voice. Rowan?

A beat. Then, I'm here.

Are you all right?

Silence.

Buzzard...

Still nothing.

Ro! Answer me! She knew she sounded just this side of desperate.

I'm all right, Fireheart. Was it her imagination, or did his voice sound higher-pitched? I swear, I'm all right.

I'm coming to see you. She didn't leave room for argument, striding out of her office and down into the eastern wing, pushing open the laboratory doors to find...no one? The fuck?

"Ro?" she called, her voice echoing around the half-cleaned chamber. "Hello? Anyone?" Why the fuck would he choose now to disappear?

I haven't disappeared. "I'm right here, Fireheart."

His voice sounded close to her right ear, yet her Fae eyes picked up no sight of her mate. "Rowan..."

A sigh. "Aelin." A tiny dagger of ice flew into her cheekbone. Yelping, she turned towards where it had flown from.

And shrieked.

"WHAT THE HELL?" she gasped, eyes goggling at the sight of her mate, whose broad warrior's body couldn't have been more than six inches tall, sitting on a table, scowling darkly.

"That was loud," he griped, his voice definitely higher-pitched than normal.

"Sorry," she murmured, cupping her hand in front of him so he could climb up. "Ro, my love, what happened?"

"Tipped over a godsdamned potion bottle," he grumbled. "Piece of shit still worked."

"Poor buzzard," she cooed, unable to resist the urge to stroke her finger over his doll-like head.

He grunted. "Need to find the reversal."

"Where d'you think it could be?" she asked, searching the nearby shelves for a potions book.

"That's the question," Tiny Rowan sighed, his irritation big enough to fill the whole room.

"Let's start looking, then," she decided, settling her tiny mate into her breast pocket so he could see around the space. "I know it's not what you want, buzzard, but this way you won't have to take a million tiny little steps."

He mumbled a string of oaths but stopped complaining.

In fact, once he settled into the rather comfortable pocket, he let his tiny hands wander, teasing his wife as they began to hunt for the reversal to this shrinking potion.

She pretended to swat him, grumbling about how she'd teach him to keep his hands to himself, but even he felt the shiver that raced down her spine when he shifted his position in her pocket, brushing against her nipple.

Several hours later, they'd found the potions book, the page with the shrinking potion conveniently labelled, and read the antidote on the following pages. And they were in a laboratory, one still stocked with ingredients that apparently weren't affected by time, meaning they could concoct the antidote right then and there.

They gathered the relatively simple components and the proper glassware, Rowan using his small size to carefully examine the glass for any hidden cracks and declaring it suitable. Aelin ignited a small flame to boil everything up and together, they made the antidote, grinning proudly at each other over the little flask of blue liquid, which looked exactly like the drawing in the book. Perfect. At least they'd got it right.

"You ready, buzzard?" Aelin teased, swirling the flask gently. "Or would you like to enjoy your tiny stature some more?"

"Aelin," he groaned, "please don't fuckin' torment me like that."

The poor male was on the verge of begging. How adorable.

"All right, all right," she acceded, petting him one last time before placing him on the floor, the glow of her flame illuminating the space so she could see him. "Hold very still."

With the utmost care, Aelin tipped the contents of the flask onto Tiny Rowan, making sure that the liquid hit him and nothing else.

There was a flare of blue light.

And Rowan stood before her, his usual broad self once again.

"I'm never going in here alone again," he swore, brushing himself off. "Fucking mad old magicians."

"Oh, don't be so grim about it," Aelin teased, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You're adorable when you're doll-sized, love. In fact, I think we should have a King Rowan doll made so the whole populace can enjoy just how cute you are." Giggling, she tapped his nose.

His bright green eyes rolled skywards, a wry laugh escaping him despite his best efforts. "Absolutely not, Fireheart."

She pouted. "You ruin all my fun, old man."

"Oh, I'll give you your fun, all right." He smirked down at her.

She smirked right back. "Do your worst, my king." A beat. "In our rooms, though. I don't need any part of you shrinking because you knocked over another old potion in here."

"I'm not that clumsy," he grumbled, leading her out of the laboratory nonetheless.

Her bright laugh chased him up the stairs to their rooms.

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers, Chapter 4

Fields of Wildflowers - a Sihtric x OC story.

Chapter 4

A/N: This chapter is pretty heavy. I really tried to work on having the dialogue along with the imagery of each scene flow well. Constructive, but respectful criticism is always welcome. 

Warnings: Discussion of rape and trauma surrounding rape

Word Count: 2,749

If you would like to read the earlier chapters of this story, find them here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen sat still. Very still. Her eyes bearing down on Eadith across the flickering flames. 

The faces around the fire were frozen as well, none knowing what next to say or how to handle such a shocking admission. 

Cwen had not meant to allow her companions to know this secret pain she bore. But after being in such close proximity to Eardwulf’s sister, a constant reminder of his roaming hands and lingering bruises, Cwen’s nerves had been a coiled snake ready to strike.  And then Sihtric… then Sihtric and his watching eyes.  It had been a long time since she had felt seen. Truly seen. And he saw her. 

Cwen’s face didn’t hold hostility. It didn’t hold anger or resentment. 

There was pain. And loss. 

After many moments of shocked silence, Finan spoke up asking “Cwen, are you saying…”

Eadith spoke over top of Finan’s words. She didn’t need confirmation. She knew what Cwen was saying her brother had done. And she knew her words held the truth. 

“I didn’t know…” she spoke softly. Her words trailed off not knowing what else to say. 

“Of course not,” Cwen sighed, finally dropping her gaze from Eadith’s face. She stared at her fingers twisting and tangling in the tie of her brocade. 

After a heartbeat, she brought her eyes up once more to find Sihtric’s stare.  His mouth was a firm set line and his jaw flexed as he met her gaze. 

The fire reflected in his eyes mirrored the rage swelling in his heart, knowing that his suspicions had been right. 

He saw the unshed tears brimming on Cwen’s eyes. He saw the panic set in on her face as she realized now that they knew. That he knew. 

She spoke in a frenzied haste, “I am sorry… Excuse me,” and she rose with her cheeks burning red and the tears she had tried to hold back finally slipping down her face, “I am sorry…” 

With that Cwen stepped past Young Uhtred, Stiorra, and Finan and walked away from the light of the fire. 

Sihtric took a breath then began to rise but Uhtred placed his hand on his brother’s arm.

“Give her a moment,” he spoke quietly but firm. 

“She has carried this weight alone,” he paused.

Uhtred stared into the flames. His memories bringing him back to the night Isuelt had rescued Hild from such a violation. 

“And now she has bared her soul. Give her a moment.” 

At this Uhtred turned to Sihtric, “but then go to her. I see your eyes watching her. And I see her smiles when she sees you watching. Be strong for her and be gentle with her.”

Uhtred shifted his gaze back to the fire and continued, “but first give her a moment alone.”

Sihtric nodded his understanding. 

As he rose he said “I will, lord.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sihtric took his time finding her. She had walked back past the tree where the children slumbered. When he did find her, she was crouched down, knees up, and back resting against a large elm tree. Her cheeks were streaked and her eyes red and swollen. 

But her tears had dried.  She looked up as he approached. No words, no smile, no sigh, or grimace. Just a look. 

Sihtric sat next to her, close but not touching her. He did not want to do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she might be already. 

He sat with his legs crossed and watched the trees ahead of them. The breeze blew leaves up in small gusts and brought Cwen’s hair to drift across her face in gentle waves. 

She brought her hand up and ran her finger behind her ear bringing the tendrils that had escaped her braid to rest out of her face.

They sat in gentle and soothing silence for a long time. 

“I suppose I owe you an explanation,”

But Sihtric cut her words off, “No, Cwen, you owe us nothing. Me nothing. Your pain is yours to share or not share with the world.”

Cwen turned her face just a fraction to be better able to see him. His face was still watching the trees. His jaw firm and his arms, resting on his knees were clearly tense. 

My pain brought him this anger, Cwen realized.

“I simply wanted to sit with you if you wanted company.” He added while bringing his eyes to meet hers. 

The truth was that Sihtric did want to see her pain.  To help her heal or cope or come apart and be lost.  He meant it when he told her it was her pain to share or not share, but he wanted to be there for her for any and all of it.  He had never felt such a need come over him before.  The need to be everything for this woman.  He saw her in all her strength.  And he knew even the strongest person could fall apart.  

“Thank you, Sihtric.” Cwen didn’t know if she had ever meant those words more in her life. 

The pair sat like that for a long while. Sihtric could feel Cwen’s body begin to relax and unwind next to him. He had so many questions and wanted to share her pain. But just as she did with him, he would not ask. If she wanted to share her past with him, he would let her do it on her own terms. His own childhood and past were not filled with joys. And he had plenty he had thought of sharing with her. But he still held back. He respected her entirely too much to not give her the same courtesy. 

But he did watch her. While they sat in silence, he found his face turned to hers and watching as she breathed and returned to the same calm and gentle spirit with whom he had become completely captivated. 

Eventually, Cwen lay her head back against the tree and let her knees fall to the ground. 

She took another of her deep and calming breaths.  

She takes those steadying breaths often, Sihtric pondered.

“Rape is not about sex.” She said quietly. And with a calm and firm voice. 

“It is about exerting power. About control. And those are two things that Eardwulf craves yet does not possess.” 

She looked at him. His face was watching her. Waiting for her to continue. Sihtric knew she needed to speak more.  He could feel it in her, ready to breath it into the world.

“I have spoken of this to no one before tonight.” Cwen admitted, turning her face back towards the forest. 

After several moments, Sihtric asked, “The Lady Aethelflaed does not know?” His words held no judgements. There is no blame laid upon her. He just wished to give her an avenue to talk if she so desired. 

“No. No one.” She said again. 

“I have had a lot of time to think on this. And at first I was ashamed and scared and in pain. Mostly scared. But the more I thought about him and the things he would say to me, the things he would...do to me…” Cwen paused and looked down at her hand again. She took a breath and continued. 

“I was of two separate minds. One was that if I spoke about it then it would make it true. It would make it real. And I desperately wanted to believe it was not real. That this agony was not being forced upon me. And the second was to keep the power from him. If I spoke of it and allowed myself to try and find solace and comfort from a friend, it would be giving him even more power. Power over me outside of the moments when he was violating me. So I chose to bear the pain in silence. And find my own peace elsewhere.”

She finished speaking and kept her eyes trained on the trees ahead.

They sat together quiet and still.  And the wind whispered through the leaves. 

An owl cried somewhere in the distance.  

Cwen dropped her head to look at the forest floor.

“I do not wish for pity.  I am scared now that things will have changed.  I will not be looked at the same.  You will not look at me the same.”

Sihtric took his time in replying to Cwen’s fears.  Gathered himself.  He shifted his weight a bit and picked up a fallen leaf near his boot.  

“I told you once that I abandoned my father to swear my loyalty to Uhtred.” 

Cwen shifts her eyes to find his, but he is now the one staring off into the trees.  Seeing images that are not really there.

“The truth is that my father abandoned the thought of me before I was ever born.  Maybe there was never any feeling to abandon in the first place.  My father was Kjartan the Cruel.  A feared and infamous Dane.  My mother was a kitchen slave in his hall.  She, like you, was treated with no regard by a man who lived to exert power.  As an object for his lusts and I was the result,” Sihtric paused  and looked down to the leaf in his hand.  There was nothing left but tatters after he had picked it apart.

“He tolerated my existence and when I grew he allowed me to train and be a warrior for him. And at one time, I wanted his approval. I put up with his abuses. The slaps and the name calling. And the way he continued to treat my mother. But  I wanted for him to call me son.  It was the misguided desire of a wayward bastard.  I look back on that boy now, as a man and feel disgust that I ever wished for anything from Kjartan.  Knowing that he abused my mother and countless others.  I feel shame.”

Cwen reached out and grasped his hand to still his fingers still trying to find pieces of the leaf to tear.  She interlaced her fingers with his and shifted her body to lay her head on his shoulder.

“A few months before I found Uhtred, Kjartan had my mother killed.  He burned her alive.”

Cwen gasped and lifted her head to look at him. He had his eyes squinted. An effort to keep his tears at bay. 

“ He claimed it was because she was found to be stealing food from the kitchens.  It was true.  She used to give it to the other bastards and orphans.  The urchins of Dunholm. And he killed her for it. And my heart was broken. My mother was the only person in my life who showed me real and true love. I had been slowly losing my desire to be counted among Kjartan’s favored sons but that was like a knife to my heart. But I had to continue on as his whipped puppy if I was ever to find my escape. And I found that in Uhtred. Someone worthy of my oath.”

Cwen began, “Sihtric, I …”

But her words were cut off when Sihtric said “I do not tell you for your pity. I tell you this because we all have a past. And most of us in this group have a pretty bad one. The others’ stories are not mine to tell you. But trust me that there is pain behind them as well. And I also tell you because it is possible to share your pain and still be seen as strong. I will share your pain, if you desire.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes now. Faces merely inches apart. 

“I do not pity you or find you weak, Cwen. I feel rage over what you have been forced to endure. We all have pain. But knowing that does not make me want to take yours away any less. And I will do all in my power to see you are never put in that pain or danger again. But know that this does not define you. You have not given him that power.”

With that final declaration, Sihtric brought his forehead to rest on Cwen’s own. 

The pair rested like this. In each other’s solace until Cwen finally declared that she needed sleep and to check on the children. 

They walked back to find the others nestled in the roots of the tree. All except Uhtred, on watch for the early part of the evening. 

When he saw them approaching, Sihtric’s arm wrapped protectively around Cwen’s shoulders, he spoke. 

“Are you alright, Lady?”

“No. But I will be, Lord. I am sorry to have caused..”

Uhtred raised his hand and gently hissed for her to be quiet. “Nothing to forgive. You spoke truths and shared your soul. We value that. And we value you. As I know Aethelflaed does. Rest now.”

“Thank you, Lord.”

Cwen nestled herself between the sleeping children and exhausted from reliving and sharing such trauma, she was asleep within minutes. 

Sihtric watched her for a while longer. He had meant all he had confessed to her. He would do anything in his power to keep her from harm. But he also knew all too well that sometimes harm came regardless of someone’s desires and efforts to avoid it. 

It was this thought plaguing him as he drifted to sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon waking in the morning, the group made ready for their departure. 

“Where is Ealfwin?” Cwen asked when she realized the girl was not still laying under the tree as she had been moments before. 

“She had wandered that way last I saw her,” Stiorra replied. “She was still in sight. But she must have just gone over that ridge.”

“We will find her, come on,” Finan said as the group spread out in the direction Stiorra had seen Ealfwin wander. 

Uhtred found her. Along with the sleeping forms of Mercian soldiers. And Eardwulf. 

Quickly and quietly, the warriors returned and found the others. Cwen wrapped Ealfwin in her arms as Sihtric rushed to her sidetaking her arm. 

“Eardwulf is here. Ealfwin nearly walked right into them sleeping. We must run.”

And they did. They ran as their lives depended on it stopping only for short minutes to catch their breath and check on the children. 

Ealfwin’s energy continued to fade. Her complexion grew paler and there was no denying that she felt warm to the touch. 

Afternoon found them at a slow moving river bed. Here they stopped to properly rest. 

Cwen sat cradling Ealfwin in her arms as Osferth and Eadith approached to offer the child some water and check on her well-being. 

“Thank you. Both of you.” Cwen said while meeting Eadith’s stare. 

“Osferth, will you sit with her a moment. I would like a word with Eadith.”

“Of course, Cwen.” Osferth replied. 

The two ladies walked several paces down the riverbed, near to a slow trickling waterfall. 

“I owe you an apology,” Eadith said with a start as Cwen slowed her pace to trim and look at her. 

“You do not.” Cwen sated plainly and gently. 

“It is not you who forced themselves on me. You are not your brother. And I am sorry that I have told you an ugly truth about him. But it is the truth.”

The two women looked at one another until Eadith turned her gaze to the water, “I know. I mean I did not know about this before last night. But I do know who he is. I am seeing him for who he really is more and more. And I know you speak truly. And I am still sorry. I did not rape you but I am sorry that you have been preyed upon. I am not unfamiliar with sexual coercion.”

Eadith turned her face back to Cwen. 

“You are tired of being controlled.” Cwen echoed her Eadith’s own words back to her. 

“Yes. And we deserve better.”

“You are right. And I believe we will find it.” Cwen stated. 

In that small moment at the stream’s edge, the women found kindred spirits in one another. It was a welcome thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued….

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[raeynbowboi]

How to Play as Link in DnD 5e (2.0)

With the release of both Mythic Odysseys of Theros and now the new big expansion in Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything, I figured now would be a good time to reexamine Link with the context of new subclasses, class features, and game mechanics that weren’t around the last time that I built him. While I won’t do this for every character I’ve built before, characters who have new options made available with these updates will get a new rebuild for 2021. If you want to compare and contrast this build to the original, I will link that build right [here].

The Spirit of the Hero

Link’s a Hylian and that’s just a fancy way of saying elf. His best racial options are either the High Elf, the Wood Elf, or the Half-Elf. Half-elf’s extra skills are tempting, but as Link is never given any parents or an ancestral family tree, we can’t really justify him as a half-elf. We’ll call him a Wood Elf for the extra +2 to his Dexterity and the +1 to his Wisdom as well as that woodsy vibe. But if you wanna go for a Half-Elf for the power build, I won’t tell anyone.

Link’s alignment is tricky. On the one hand, he is shown kneeling before the monarchy, defeating the forces of evil and darkness, and doing odd jobs to help the common people he comes across. However, he can also start forest fires, break into people’s houses, smash pots, steal people’s life savings or personal belongings, and attack the chicken population until they attack back. I’d wager he’s Neutral Good if for no other reason than his morality is highly dependent on the player.

My first choice for Link’s background would be the Folk Hero for Animal Handling and Survival. However, Link’s background is so inconsistent, it’s easier to just list out the skills he tends to have and tell you to pick a background that has those skills, or create your own: Animal Handling, Athletics, Investigation, Nature, Perception, or Survival. There’s a case to be made for other skills as well. Acrobatics works a little and his jumps did involve sick flips in Majora’s Mask, but Link doesn’t tend to balance or platform jump very often. Link can play instruments fine and danced in the Subrosian Dance Hall in Oracle of Seasons for Performance proficiency, but he’s usually playing instruments to activate effects, not to actually perform for a crowd. Link shows some Stealth skills in Breath of the Wild, but this hasn’t been a longstanding skill of his, so I didn’t lump it in with his main skill list.

Becoming a Hero

When it comes to his build, Link has made some use of spells in the past, but he’s nowhere near the spellcaster that Zelda and Ganondorf are. Link is definitely more of a martial fighter who augments himself with a wide arsenal of magical items. So when it comes to picking Link’s class, we have a few things to keep in mind.

BARD

Link is a talented young man, and he has had magical instruments in a few games over the years, as well as dancing in Subrosia, among other things. While I don’t subscribe to the idea of Link being a bard myself, I understand why people would come to this conclusion, as Link isn’t really bad at anything... except talking. And lying. And looking threatening. Or haggling. Yeah kind of hard to depict Link as a CHA caster who isn’t proficient in any CHA skill checks. 

Spirits (UA) This doesn’t fit for every Link, but especially for Breath of the Wild where Link gets help from the spirits of his fallen comrades, the flavor of calling on the dead works for Link. For a non-BotW example, maybe Link can tell stories of his past lives, and the memories he shares with each of them.

Valor This college has the downside of being built as a cheerleader, while Link really should be built for solo-combat since that’s how he approaches most fights. But Valor is better than Swords and also gives Link proficiency with martial weapons and shields, while Swords does not.

FIGHTER

While there are many martial classes, the Fighter differentiates itself by being the most down-to-earth option. It’s not beholden to rage, or smites, hunting, or sneaking. It is the simple skill of the blade, and this is a skill Link has in spades. From the earliest games, Link has been a master of the sword, the shield, and the bow.

Battle Master Link is a strategic fighter. He looks for weak spots, and he exploits them the best he can. Of all the fighter subclasses, none is more clever than the Battle Master. Its many maneuvers resembles the numerous sword techniques Link has learned especially in the later games. Even in Smash, Link showcases how clever he is by being able to combine his arrows with his bombs and shoot a bomb arrow. To my knowledge, none of the other characters can combine their abilities like this in Smash.

Cavalier The subclass is poorly named, and was better in its initial name as the Knight, as that is really what this subclass is. It is the idea of the knight in shining armor. They can also be flavored as bodyguards, a traveling sellsword, or castle guards. So Link does not have to be glued to Epona to make use of this subclass. The main reason to want this subclass is the Warding Maneuver, as giving Link the chance to either block or reduce all damage he takes is going to seriously improve how well he can tank a hit, and help keep him in a fight longer.

PALADIN

More than any other class, the Paladin actually stands for something. They fight for a value or a belief. They swear their life to a cause and are prepared to die fighting for it. Link works on a lore level as a Paladin. Especially when he’s dedicated multiple lifetimes to the same cause. Across every timeline and game over screen, Link has always returned and stood in defiance against whatever evil may come. 

Ancients This oath makes Link sworn to the forces of nature, such as the Great Fairy, and protecting the balance and harmony of the light, life, and love against death, decay, and darkness. The Ancients Paladin is all about protecting the balance in the world and valiantly opposing evil wherever it might arise. It also has a druidic or fey aspect, which kind of works for Link.

Crown With this vow, Link serves the Hyrulian Royal Family. This makes Link the princess’ personal knight, and an agent of lawfulness, order, and peacekeeping in the land. While 5e has backed away from typecasting Paladins as Lawful Good, this is probably the most Lawful subclass one could pick, as it places the authority of the royal family above all else.

Glory Instead of being sworn to the light or the law, the Glory Paladin is the harbinger of the goddesses. They are flavored as legendary heroes of destiny, possibly being demigods or the personal errand boys of the setting’s pantheon. This subclass is clearly focused on being a frontline warrior, and the features make Link a true force on the battlefield.

RANGER

Anyone who’s played Legend of Zelda knows that Link is very good at surviving. The games don’t tell you how to navigate the wilderness, Link just has to figure it out for himself. What’s more, Link may be willing to venture into the wilderness, but he’ll be hard-pressed to find many NPCs that far outside of settlements or cities. Yet what they fear, he thrives in. And it’s no wonder that this is the class most peole would assume for Link.

Hunter This conclave is the slayer of all things that threaten civilization. They can choose to be better at chipping away at one enemy, counter attack bigger monsters, or mow through hordes of minions with more ease by taking out multiple at a time. Especially at higher levels, this conclave excels at ripping apart Ganon’s forces with nary a golden curl out of place.

ROGUE

The rogue doesn’t need to be a wanted criminal on the lamb. They can be a clever fighter with a variety of skills and a knack for evasion. That speaks a lot more to Link’s skill set than one might assume at first glance. It’s not a perfect fit for Link, but it’s really not that inaccurate either.

Inquisitive This roguish archetype is defined by being clever in combat, looking for weak points to exploit. They’re also much more observant, making them better at discovering clues or secret passages, or telling when they’re being misled. At higher levels, their ability to look for weaknesses can even increase their sneak attack damage. This especially fits some of the older games where boss fights were focused on using items to exploit the dungeon boss’ weaknesses, rather than hacking away at their health bar. In these older titles, Link was less of a straight up warrior and more of a clever trickster pulling off strategic victories.

Scout The Scout Rogue has heavy Ranger vibes, as they get free expertise in Nature and Survival, enhanced mobility, the ability to disengage from fights more easily, and at higher levels become masters of ambushes. This fits well with Link’s sneakier sniper playstyle that can be done in Breath of the Wild, as Link can take out entire camps without ever being seen.

Thief While Link is not a standard cutpurse, Link is a treasure hunter, a dungeon delver, and the jokes about him robbing the people of Hyrule and breaking into people’s homes doesn’t exactly help. The thief also gets to use more magical items, allowing Link to use things such as enchanted instruments without being a bard.

WARLOCK

Link usually isn’t the hero of his own volition. He often starts his journey with Triforce of Courage, a source of power gifted by his patrons. It’s honestly a weak connection, but it loosely works, so I’m including it. 

Celestial While this subclass is geared toward serving something other than a god, I don’t see any reason why a Celestial Warlock couldn’t serve the Triple Goddesses of Hyrule or even Hylia/Zelda directly.

Hexblade The most obviously martial warlock option, this is a good choice if you want to incorporate Fi into your character.

Link’s Toy Chest

Hero’s Sword - Longsword (+1-3) Mirror Shield - Repulsion Shield Hero’s Bow - Oathbow Gale Boomerang - Storm Boomerang Fire Rod - Wand of Fireballs (requires spellcasting) Mastersword - Sword of Zariel, Holy Avenger Longsword* Hylian Shield - Shield of the Hidden Lord  Goddess Bow - Ephixis, Bow of Nylea Golden Gauntlets - Gauntlets of Ogre Power Zora Tunic - Cloak of the Manta Ray Pegasus Boots - Boots of Speed Hover Boots - Boots of Levitation Hook Shot - Rope of Climbing

SIDEKICKS

Sidekicks are a new edition from Tasha’s that let Link bring allies on his hero’s journey. Experts are skill monkeys who focus on Help actions, Spellcasters dip into the INT, WIS, or CHA spell lists, and Warriors are trained to fight and don’t have to talk, so they can be animals.

Epona - Defender Warrior Riding Horse Navi - Expert or Healer Spellcaster Sprite Sidon - Attacker Warrior Merfolk Sheik - Expert Noble (Elf) Wolf Link - Attacker Warrior Wolf

Theros Piety

The Piety System from Theros lets us be devout to a god and earn features from worshiping them. As far as I’m aware, this is an optional feature, and not every DM will make use of these, but if you’re able to, here’s a handy guide. These gods really stood out as the clear choices for Link to go with.

Iroas - God of Victory

Domains: War Virtues: Achieve a great victory, Overcome slim odds honorably, Defeat a foe in single combat, Perform a great feat of strength or skill Sins: Being a coward in battle, Beat an honorable foe through deceit, harm innocents Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Compelled Duel spell +10 Learn Crusader’s Mantle spell +25 For 1 minute, creatures cannot gain advantage on you +50 Increase STR or CHA by 2 to a max of 22

Keranos - God of Storms

Domains: Knowledge, Tempest Virtues: Solve a riddle or puzzle, defeat an unwise enemy, plan ahead for an upcoming challenge, build or restore a temple to Keranos Sins: Jeopardize others through foolishness, ignore a wise course of action, fail to plan for a challenge, give in to anger or self-destruction

Piety Bonus: +3 Add 1d6 lightning damage to melee attack up to INT mod turns. +10 Reroll a failed INT or WIS saving throw +25 Advantage on Initiative rolls +50 Increase INT or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Nylea - Goddess of the Wild

Domains: Nature Virtues: Help any wild animal, stop those who hunt for sport or profit, win an archery competition, slay an aberration, fiend, or undead Sins: Kill an animal without reason, Dedicate a building to or make a sacrifice for any god (including Nylea), protect a city from a natural disaster

Piety Bonus: +3 Learn Hunter’s Mark +10 Learn Speak with Animals +25 Attacking creatures must pass DC 15 WIS save or change targets. +50 Increase DEX or WIS by 2 to a max of 22

Cunning Tactician

Battle Master Fighter (12) Inquisitive Rogue (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Thieves’ Tools, Mason’s Tools

While Link is brave and strong, he is most defined by his clever mind and unorthodox solutions to boss fights. With this class split, Link has prioritized strategy and tactics over everything else. While it leaves him a little squishier, Link is still a very capable warrior. As a Battle Master, he got a free tool proficiency. Mason’s Tools allows Link to find secret passageways in stone walls, which most dungeons tend to be made of. On top of that, with his Feinting Attack, Link can give himself advantage, meaning he can use Sneak Attack even in a 1v1 fight, which fits his solo adventurer playstyle.

One-Man Army

Battle Master Fighter (12) Hunter Ranger (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Archery Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Hunter’s Prey: Colossus Slayer, Multiattack Defense Tools: Mason’s Tools

I used this build once in a level 10 campaign. 6 levels of Fighter, 4 levels of Ranger with a +2 Longsword, and let me tell you something. This build creamed the competition, which was the other PCs at the table, who were also built as level 10 characters. Link nearly defeated his first opponent in a single round, dealing around 70 damage between his four attacks. When I say this is Link’s “power” build, I mean it. I didn’t even sweat when an adult blue dragon showed up after the tournament ended, that’s how much faith I had in Link’s ability to fight. I honestly forgot to even use Link’s battle maneuvers, he was just dealing so much damage that it slipped my mind. You could swap Battle Master for Cavalier, but for me, the Battle Master is more accurate to Link’s favor of techniques over basic hack-and-slash.

RANGER SPELLS

1 Absorb Elements, Ensnaring Strike, Hunter’s Mark 2 Cordon of Arrows, Healing Spirit

The Hero of Hyrule

Battle Master Fighter (12) Glory Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Archery, Dueling Maneuvers: Brace, Disarming Strike, Feinting Attack, Parry, Precision Attack, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

As a Glory Paladin, Link is driven by a desire to be a legendary hero, and at least in the UA version, the Glory Paladin served the gods, as Link does. Like the two builds above, Link balances the brute might of the Glory Paladin with the tactile diversity of the Battle Master.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond

Oaths and Promises

Glory Paladin (12) Celestial Warlock (8) Fighting Style: Dueling Pact: Blade Invocations: Eldritch Smite, Improved Pact Weapon, Maddening Hex, Relentless Hex

The builds from here on are more for the flavor than necessarily Link’s character. As a Blade Pact Paladock, Link becomes a CHA-focused martial with some extra spell slots that turn his smiting sword strikes into a bokoblin slurry machine. This build focuses Link more as a servant of the gods than anything else. Just make sure he has the Hex spell, but you can replace Maddening Hex with Agonizing Blast if you want to use the Master Sword laser beam at full potential.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Divine Favor, Guiding Bolt, Heroism, Protection from Evil and Good, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Enhance Ability, Find Steed, Magic Weapon, Warding Bond 3 Blinding Smite, Crusader’s Mantle, Elemental Weapon, Haste, Protection from Energy

WARLOCK SPELLS

C Blade Ward, Booming Blade, Sword Burst 1 Armor of Agathys, Cure Wounds, Hex 2 Lesser Restoration, Misty Step, Shatter 3 Spirit Shroud, Summon Fey 4 Galder’s Speedy Courier

To Serve and Protect

Battle Master Fighter (12) Crown Paladin (8) Fighting Style: Dueling, Interception Maneuvers:  Bait and Switch, Brace, Disarming Strike, Goading Strike, Parry, Riposte, Sweeping Attack Tools: Mason’s Tools

Link is Zelda’s knight, bodyguard, and servant. So this build prioritizes features that makes Link the loyal emissary of the Princess of Hyrule. As such, this build changes Link’s role to be more of a defender to the princess than a solo hero. This build assumes that the princess or someone else who needs to be protected is joining Link on his adventure.

PALADIN SPELLS

1 Command, Cure Wounds, Divine Favor, Heroism, Compelled Duel, Searing Smite, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite 2 Branding Smite, Find Steed, Warding Bond, Zone of Truth

After all is said and done, I hope I gave everyone a lot to work with. Of course my suggestions are not law, and if nothing else, I hope it gives you an idea of how you want to build him. Last time I built Link, I gave one set build for him, but I still laid out other options. Recently though, I’ve been trying to show multiple builds at the end of my build posts to offer a wider idea of what building a character can look like. Happy 2021 everyone, and let’s hope this year goes smoother.

[heyitmelexie]

Falling In Love

Din Djarin x riduur!F!Reader

Word count: 3444 Warnings: mention of wounds and blood Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 9 of the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos​! ❤️

This was also my first time ever writing for Din!

I know it’s late but I’m currently pretty occupied with uni etc. Hope you enjoy anyway!!  ❤️

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The sweet smell of Bantha-butter pancakes tickles your nose and pulls you from your peaceful slumber.

As you open your eyes you see soft beams of sunshine creep through the window, illuminating your exposed legs and bathing them in warmth.

You smile and stretch, hearing the sizzling noise of the pancakes coming from the kitchen, accompanied by soft talking, gentle coos and occasionally one or the other clank.

The door is slightly ajar, but you can still see the domestic scene playing in the other room.

Din, in only his pants and with his hair still mussed, stands with his broad back turned to you. He’s making breakfast while quietly talking to your little green son, who sits on the counter right next to him. You see his ears occasionally perk up, followed by coos and little giggles, making you smile.

“Look, now you flip it. Just like this” you hear Din say, before (you assume) he tries to flip it with the pan. You expect to hear the loud sizzling again, indicating that the uncooked side of the pancake landed safely back in the pan. Instead, you hear a dull splash, like a wet fish falling onto tiles, followed by strings of curses coming from Din and a loud, hearty laugh from that little womp rat.

You laugh softly at that, getting out of bed to make your way into the kitchen.

Upon hearing your laugh coming from behind him, Din turns and looks at you, a sheepish smile playing on his flustered face.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, cyare” he says before quickly cleaning up the mess he made.

“Not really. I woke up from the smell of my favourite breakfast” you hum, before kissing your son’s wrinkly little head. He coos happily and then stretches out his arms to make grabby hands at you. You chuckle softly and then proceed to pick him up. He immediately snuggles against you, one of his little claws clutching onto your shirt.

Din smiles, before gently kissing your lips and then continuing to make the breakfast.

You take the time to go outside into your little garden with the child in your arms.

The sun immediately engulfs you in its warm light and you lay down in the soft grass between the flower beds. The little one moves to get comfortable on top of you, snuggling into your chest and cooing contently.

You smile at him and gently caress his big ears.

Din and you had built this little hut on Naboo together just about a year ago, finally deciding to partially settle down and have a somewhat quiet life. He would occasionally still go on a few hunts to get some credits for the three of you while you would stay home with the child. He would always make sure to not stay away for too long. Din had gotten really used to this simple life with you.

As you now lay there in the grass, admiring yours and Din’s handiwork, you think back to how you two met.

And what had made you realize that you had deeply fallen for this beskar-clad warrior (and honestly sometimes tin can dumb bitch of a man).

You grew up in a very small village that was hidden in the lush forests of Naboo. People there were kind and caring, always helping each other and even going so far as helping out strangers that desperately needed the help.

And that’s what had led to meeting him.

*

You were some sort of healer for the people of your village. Mixing concoctions, ointments, bacta gels, etc. Taking care of wounded and ill people. They trusted you with their lives and that had filled you with a great sense of pride.

One day, while you were collecting herbs in your little garden, you could hear a loud commotion coming from the marketplace. The noise steadily grew louder until five people stormed in, carrying a person covered head to toe in fabrics and metal, that was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in their lower abdomen. A pool of blood was very quickly forming on the floor and then on the bed once they put the person on it.

You dropped everything you held and rushed inside, immediately starting to cut off the fabric from around the wound to get better access to it, not even thinking about removing the armour and pants. You knew what that would mean.

You had heard about Mandalorians before. Strangers come and go; they spend most of their time at the small cantina. Many of them weren’t very social and would mostly just ignore the questions they were asked. But others, they would talk and then wouldn’t stop, much to the delight of the folks here.

That’s how one day you met a woman called Rook Cava.

She was unlike any other person you had ever met before. Just like this wounded person, she was covered in fabrics and metal armour, from head to toe. The specially shaped breast plate was the only certain physical indication for you that assured you she was a woman. The armour had been painted a very deep purple, the paint was already chipping away here and there. On the helmet, around the visor, there were golden, intricate symbols. She was mysterious and, even though you had no idea what she looked like, you thought she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She emitted such strength and power. The armour made her look bulky, but the fabric underneath laid snug against her skin and you saw her biceps. She wasn’t bulky, no, she was strong and muscular. You had never seen a woman like her before. She rendered you speechless and at the same time there were so many questions you wanted to ask her. But you didn’t want to overwhelm her, so you kept these questions to yourself.

So instead, you let her rest for a bit, she had obviously been travelling for a long time before taking a break on Naboo.

Rook was a step ahead of you though because the next morning she knocked at your door. She explained that she needed a few ointments and new bacta gel for the next few weeks of her travels and that everyone had told her to go seek you out for that.

Without hesitation you had let her in, offering her a seat and something to drink which she politely declined.

You sat in comfortable silence for a bit, while you collected the things she needed and also freshly mixed some of them so she could take a bigger amount with her.

Rook noticed that you held back your questions, always glancing at her, at her armour. She smiled under the helmet, amused and also astonished that you hadn’t drowned her in your questions yet.

She slightly shook her head in amusement and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms behind her head.

“What do you wanna know?”

Your head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Her question had caught you off guard and she had laughed at your shocked reaction, heat creeping to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“It’s fine. I know I’m not a very common sight. Go ahead, ask your questions” she said, her voice warm and friendly. The complete opposite from her fierce appearance.

“Uhmm… what exactly are you?” ‘What exactly are you?!’ You wanted to slap yourself across the face for such a stupid question. But Rook didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Have you ever heard of those?” You shook your head no at that and she nodded, showing you that she understood.

“To be clear, a Mandalorian is not a race. It’s a creed. You can be born by Mandalorian parents and grow up to become one yourself, or you could be a foundling. Those are children who lose their families at a very young age. They can be taken in by Mandalorians so they have a home and protection. They will grow up and become warriors as well, they will swear the oath. They will live their lives in anonymity, protecting their creed.”

You let that sink in and crush the herbs in your little bowl. Your eyebrows furrow and you take in her armour again.

“Anonymity… What exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I know your name. So, that isn’t very… anonym, is it?” She smiles, but you can’t see it.

“I decided to go by my name because I was just tired of everyone calling me Mando. I hated it. Some of my kind decide to keep their names to themselves, only revealing them to their loved ones and children. Others, like me, are okay with sharing that information. And, by the way, do people check if the name is real anyway?” You laugh at that. She was right. She could tell everyone a made-up name and they would believe it. Nobody checks.

“But, unless you are the wife of a Mandalorian, you will never be able to put a face to that name. We don’t reveal our faces to anyone but our families. If a Mandalorian takes off the helmet in front of another living thing, the Creed would be soiled, the oath you swore - broken. And we are nothing without our Creed. It’s our religion, it’s sacred, holy. It’s what makes us who we are. And we will kill anyone who tries to take that from us.”

“Is that why you declined the water? And why you asked for the food to be brought to your room last night, so you wouldn’t have to eat in the cantina? Because you can’t take off your helmet?”

She just nodded and you hummed in response, thinking about your next question.

“What happens when you get hurt and someone has to access, let’s say, your thigh. Do you just have to risk dying or are others allowed to see other parts of your body?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer.

“Technically we aren’t allowed to show any part of our body to anyone. But wounds are, let’s say, a little loophole. If the wound is dangerous and could possibly kill me, then we can let them assess it. Let’s take your example.” She taps one of her thigh plates.

“If I had an awful wound on my thigh that I couldn’t take care of alone and would need help with, I can take off my thigh plate. You can’t take off my pants but you can cut a hole into the fabric so you can access the wound properly. You couldn’t see much of my skin. My Creed would be intact and you can save my life.” A loophole.

This brings you back to your current situation.

“You need to take off his armour! And his clothes! How can you dress his wound like that?” one of the villagers says, not understanding why you just cut a whole into that person’s pants.

You assumed it was a man, his shoulders seemed to be too broad for a woman and his chest plate was quite flat.

“I can take care of his wound like that just fine” you say, telling them what you needed in order to close and disinfect the wound.

It took you a bit over an hour until you had finally finished stitching it up and wrapping gauze around his thigh.

He still wouldn’t move; the blood loss must have weakened him. You had checked his pulse just to be sure he was still alive and then bundled him up into blankets

Just when you finished cleaning the blood stains and tidying the room, he jolted awake, startling you.

He quickly scanned the room before pulling the blankets off of him and attempting to stand up. You saw his knees buckle slightly and rushed over to steady him, carefully pushing him back onto the bed.

“You need to lie down and rest for a while. You lost a lot of blood” you told him, getting him a glass of water and digging out a straw from your drawers.

You held the glass out for him to take but his visor was focused on your face.

“Who are you? Where am I?” His rough and rather deep voice sent a shiver down your smile that you tried to suppress. You just smiled and told him your name, gently pushing the glass into his hand but he didn’t drink yet, still looking at you.

“You’re on Naboo. A few hours ago you were brought to me because you had a very nasty wound on your abdomen, bleeding like mad. I took care of it, but you need to rest or the stitches will break open again and you’ll risk an infection. And you need to drink” you say, pushing the glass a bit closer towards his face.

When you turn around to put the trash away, he tucks the straw under his helmet and quickly empties the glass. He’s relieved to notice that he immediately feels a bit less lightheaded and puts the glass on the little table before lying back down. For some odd reason he feels like he can trust you.

“I didn’t take off your armour or your clothes. And especially not your helmet, so don’t worry. I must admit though that I put my hand under your helmet as best as I could to see if there would be any blood. But I looked away while I did that, I promise. I know it’s forbidden” you turned back to him, a gentle smile on your face.

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You felt relief wash over you, glad you hadn’t somehow done anything wrong or harmful, internally thanking the Force for sending Rook your way those few years ago.

The Mandalorian spent about a week at your house, resting and healing.

You had learned that he was hunting a bounty and somehow they had managed to ambush him. The wound on his leg was caused by a warspear the bounty had rammed into his thigh in a moment of inadvertence.

Din had to admit to himself that he… liked you. You were kind and caring. You weren’t one of those people that would ask him when the last time was he took off the helmet or if he’d ever taken it off in front of someone else. None of your questions or conversations were focused on his appearance or his life, which he was very grateful for. He trusted you, but he didn’t want to share such private information with someone he didn’t know well enough.

You simply took care of his wound, made him drink enough water and you would leave him alone whenever he needed to eat.

Not even the conversations with you felt awkward.

You willingly told him about your upbringing, what you had done so far in your life and you also told him about your encounter with Rook Cava.

He knew that he was lucky you had this knowledge of his Creed. What if you hadn’t known it and would have taken off his helmet? He figured that he must have killed the whole village then in order to somehow keep his Creed intact… That thought sends a shiver through his body, once again he felt lucky that he ended up in your care.

When he felt stronger and healthier again, ready to leave Naboo behind, the thought of you sitting in his co-pilot chair flashes through his mind.

He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t know why, but he wanted you to come with him and stay by his side.

‘I just need someone with her skills’ is what he tells himself.

And when he asked you to come with him, he was surprised at how quickly you said yes, agreeing to leave your home behind to travel through the galaxy with him.

As much as you loved the village, you really wanted to see other parts of the galaxy. So you quickly said your goodbyes and packed your things. You were excited to start this new chapter.

You ended up staying and travelling with him for the following 6 years, before you settled down last year.

During this time, your little green rascal became a part of your family, making you a clan of three. That filled Din with great pride and whenever he looked at his little clan, he felt happy and warm. You two were his entire galaxy and he would make sure that nothing ever happened to you.

One evening, you two had been ‘dating’ for about two years now, the kid was sleeping in his pram and you sat on his lap in the pilot chair, his arms around you. You had asked him a question that had floated through your mind for quite a while.

“When did you know you loved me?” You stared out of the windows, the stars just streaks of light during hyperspace. Din stopped caressing your back for a moment and seemed to think about this.

“Pretty sure it was the first time you smiled at me” he said, making you laugh softly and swat his chest.

“Sure thing, shiny” you giggled, making him smile at you under the helmet.

He held you closer to him and leaned his helmet against your shoulder.

“I think it was the moment I realized I couldn’t leave Naboo without you” he said, continuing to caress your back. “That whole week, you took great care of me and I’ve never felt this comfortable around anyone outside of my tribe before. For whatever reason I trusted you right from the beginning. That first smile you flashed me, if I didn’t already sit I would have probably had to sit down. I never felt like this before I met you. Your presence was calming and kind of made me giddy. I don’t know how to describe it…” You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his helmet.

“Like butterflies fluttering inside you? The constant urge to smile?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Grateful for his helmet covering his face because he was sure it was just as red as a tomato.

“The thought of leaving without you, it… it kind of hurt. I was imagining you sitting in my co-pilot chair while I would fly. I even dreamed about you… Back then, I didn’t know I was in love with you. I had never loved anyone this way before. You changed my whole life. To the better. I thought I would die alone. No family, no friends, nothing. But then you strut into my life with that stupid little smile of yours and you gave me hope.”

Your chest swells with pride at his confession, warmth spreading throughout your whole body.

You gave him hope. Home. A family, even before this little womp rat waddled into your life. You made the love of your life believe in a happy ending for himself and that was more than you could ever ask for.

“But what about you, cyar’ika? When did you know you loved me?” he asked, while gently putting a hand on your thigh.

“I think it was the first time I saw you straddle that speederbike back on Tatooine. That was pretty hot.”

He laughed at that, gently squeezing your bum and tutted.

“You are unbelievable.”

*

You didn’t realize you fell asleep again until a gentle hand shakes you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you look right into the face of your riduur. He smiles at you and kisses your nose, making you giggle before you gently kiss him.

After a moment he slowly breaks the kiss and sits next to you in the grass, a big plate full of pancakes in front of him and a bottle of chee-chee berry syrup in his hand.

Before you can sit up, the kid scrambles off your chest and goes to launch himself at the plate of pancakes, but Din is quicker. He scoops him into his arms and then puts him into his lap.

“They’re for all of us, ad’ika” he softly tuts, before taking a pancake and slowly tearing it into little pieces to feed him.

You smile and sit up, pressing a kiss to your riduur’s cheek and one to your son’s head.

The Force had blessed you with such a beautiful little family. And soon there would be another little one moving and kicking inside of you. But you had yet to tell your lover.

--------------------------------

@absurdthirst​ @dindjarindiaries​ @tangledlove27​

[deniigi]

obsessed with your characterisation of the armorer they are SO GOOD

MY GIRL MY GUY MY DUDE

I love them so much.

I’ve thought about their whole life story too much, I swear. I even did a mock up of what they look like in my head, but I hate it and now have to redo it because it’s not perfect and if its not I will perish.

Which is healthy as fuck, thanks for asking.

Anyways, they’re amazing and they’re such a good parent and a great spiritual leader. Have this little bit of a piece I did where Han and Leia are trying to decide whether to let Ben stay a jedi or become a Mandalorian.

------------

The Armorer appeared to live in the most rudimentary quarters in the covert. She had a small table with crates as seats and no bed to be seen. Presumably, somewhere behind the long length of draped fabric over the far wall there was a bunk or even a set of them for her and her daughter, but Han got the feeling that that space was off limits.

“The children have taken to your little one,” the Armorer said at her table. “The smaller ones don’t understand why he’s not in their courses.”

Right. About that.

“Ben feels at home with these kids, too,” Leia said. “But we’re not—we’re—”

“Jedi,” the Armorer said. “I understand.”

Leia looked up at her.

“I’m not a good mother,” she said. “I don’t claim to be. But if there is one thing I need to teach my son, it’s how not to become like my own father. Luke is as different from him as you can get, but he’s telling me that even that is not enough.”

The Armorer’s helmet seemed brighter somehow, even with only the single lantern to light it.

“You worry about his relationship with power,” she said to Leia.

“I myself am Force-sensitive, but I never learned the way of the jedi,” Leia said. “Luke’s taken on our family’s sins in a way that I don’t pretend to understand. He’s rebuilding a culture that our father nearly snuffed out. It only made sense to let him teach Ben.”

The Armorer tilted her head to the side.

“Your brother knows what it is to be powerless, though, does he not?” she asked.

“He does,” Leia said.

“Your son does not.”

“It’s not a matter of what is and what isn’t with the Force, if you feel deceived or betrayed, that’s enough to send you over the edge,” Leia explained.

“I see,” the Armorer said. “So you wish to teach your boy restraint.”

“Discipline,” Leia said.

The Armorer shook her head.

“Discipline comes with time,” she said. “Restraint first. Restraint can be brought forth by thinking of yourself as one of many.”

“Is it possible to become a Mandalorian without being a foundling?” Han asked.

The Armorer’s helmet’s eyes came up to settle upon him.

And then she laughed.

“You’ve mistaken us here for the zealots that Bo-Katan Kryze claims us to be,” she said. “Is it possible? Of course it is. Anyone who chooses to follow the Creed is a Mandalorian, no questions asked. Being a warrior is only one part of a larger whole, you understand? Din, for example, has always shown excellent prowess with languages and negotiating between cultures. It is his calling to make peace as much as it is to fight in battle. Shimmol is an artist and is interested in styles that I could not imagine to appear in our metals. We have mechanics, we have organizers, cooks and weavers and storytellers. What matters first is the Way, our commitment to the Creed and to each other. Here, in this group, anyways.”

Leia leaned her elbows on the table.

“What makes you different from Bo-Katan?” she asked.

“Besides a sense of humility?” the Armorer asked. “Not as much as she wants to believe.”

“Did you murder three people thirty years ago?” Leia asked.

“You do me wrong, it’s not been thirty yet,” the Armorer said.

Han didn’t know what he was expecting. The honesty was sort of refreshing, especially given the temperature of this place.

“Why did you do it?” Leia asked.

“Because I was not willing to use my hands to protect those who would kill my own people,” the Armorer said simply. “As long as Mandalorians continue to shed the blood of other Mandalorians, I will not build for them. The people at this covert all have their own reasons for staying here, poor and separated from clans, families, and old friends. They have taken an oath to support their fellow Mandalorians and their dedication is first and foremost to the tenets of the Way. For them, I will build whatever it takes.”

Leia pressed her lips together. Han felt for her hand under the table.

“Would you protect our son?” he asked.

“I would protect him now, no need for him to take an oath,” the Armorer said. “It is the Creed to protect children above all other costs. It is why we have come here to Zeffo. And it is through them that this culture lives on.”

Han swallowed. Leia’s hand was clammy in his. The Armorer must have read their anxiety. She stood up and gestured for them to follow.

“If you have concerns remaining, then bring me the child. I need his help to clarify things for you,” she said.

------------

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 30

chapter list / previous / next

In the afternoon most of the clan was sharing tongues, catching the rays of warmth on that especially hot day. Talltail looked around camp. His heart thudded in his chest with the certainty of what he was about to do. How should he go about this? He thought of announcing it formally, but the idea of having so much attention on him, facing everyone’s anger when they realized he had betrayed the oath he’d taken not even a full moon ago...He wasn’t strong enough. 

Would they even let him leave? Perhaps it would be better if he just vanished. It would be a shock, but then everyone would move on, as they always did. What was one more cowardly act on his growing pile? He already felt awful, it couldn’t get much worse. But he had to say something to the cats he had once been closest to, even if he had drifted away from most of them in the past few moons. He’d say goodbye to every cat if he could, but too many would start raising questions. 

Talltail decided he would part with one last gift. He’d gotten good at solo hunting recently, if nothing else, but he was going to have to catch a lot of prey to come up with enough excuses to speak to every cat he wanted to speak to one last time. 

Through the afternoon and into the evening Talltail went to every place on the moor he knew would have active rodents. It was a good haul for him, even on his best days, despite the heavy heat beating down making him drowsy. The edge of the territory near the woodland strip that bordered the pastures was still alive with field mice as it had been when he’d hunted there for Jake. He looked sadly at the treeline where a friendly orange barn cat had once waited for him. Another face he’d never see again. Who knows what the twoleg monsters had done to that poor cat they had tricked. He’ could be dead now. Another claw prick of guilt for the pile, wishing he had tried harder to convince Jake to leave them. But that was over now. Nothing good came from messing with outsiders. It took a couple trips to get all his prey in one pile.

He looked forlorn at the places he had loved most on the moor. It was all he had known and he could scarcely believe he wouldn’t see it again. The places he used to go to clear his head or cheer himself up. The feeling of flying unfettered as he ran full sprint down the Swift-Step Hills, the gorse speckled meadow where he’d once watched deer herds with Fallowspring and Fawnleap, flower patches where he’d helped Briarpaw gather herbs, the track he and Shrewpaw raced against each other at the start of newleaf, everywhere he’d trained with Dawnstripe. Times when he had felt slightly less lost. 

His pile of fresh-kill had grown to a decent amount. The hint of new purpose had perhaps made his mind sharper, less foggy, and he’d been able to focus effortlessly on every chase and every pounce. He was surprisingly less of a lousy hunter when he wasn’t feeling so distracted by directionless misery. Who would have guessed? Well, Dawnstripe did. She was good at that sort of thing, he thought with a touch of melancholy.

 He trailed past the collapsed warren where Sandstone had vanished, and sat there for a brief moment, staring at the disheveled earth. The plants he’d placed there with Woollycloud and Palebird had long since wilted and whisked away.

“I’m sorry,” Talltail said aloud to the empty air. “You were the best warrior WindClan had. I know despite everything, you just wanted to make me strong. But I understand now what I must do. You always said that action must be taken to right the wrongs in the world. If I was strong enough to right ShadowClan, or fix the tunnels, I would. But I know I can’t. But there is one thing I can do, so at least you can finally rest peacefully. I may have failed as a clan cat, but if it’s the last thing I do, this I will make right.”

I hope you can forgive me, He pleaded in his head. The wind started to pick up in a brief gust, it whipped at him and he ducked into the grass. Somehow it felt wrong to greet the Wind Runner’s embrace. He was a traitor to her, or would be soon.

He continued back with his catches, needing multiple trips to get it all there alone, and it was nearly past sunset when he finished. Plumclaw was nearby with Mistmouse.

“By StarClan, did you catch all that yourself?” Plumclaw asked. 

“Must have been a good day.” Mistmouse purred.

Talltail dipped his head, trying to appear natural. If I get worked up, they’ll sense it and ask what’s wrong. 

“Yes, feel free to help yourselves. Think of it as an apology catch.”

“Apology for what?” Mistmouse cocked her head

“Just for being a bit of a pain lately. You’ve always been so sympathetic to me Mistmouse.” he turned to Plumclaw, his ears drooped a little as he ducked his head “and for...all the trouble I caused in the tunnels.”

Plumclaw twitched her whiskers in surprise “That was moons ago. It really wasn’t just you that made Heatherstar close everything…” she perked up a bit, that determined light returning to her tawny eyes. “Besides, I haven’t given up. She just has a burr in her butt right now, but I’ll find a way to keep our skills alive.”

“I trust you will. You’re an incredible tunneler. The clan could learn a lot from you.”

She seemed a bit taken aback by his sincerity but a purr rose in her throat nonetheless. 

Mistmouse winked at him before he turned to leave. “That’ll go to her head you know.”

“No it won’t. It’s just the truth, after all. I’m great.” Plumclaw said. 

Talltail hid a smile as the two molly’s bantered behind. It eased him a little, knowing some cat was around who carried on his fathers’ skills.

He found Fawnleap and Ryewhisker lounging together in the fading sun. Fawnleap had set his head on his sister's foreleg and was complaining.

“--and Fallowspring’s off with Shrewclaw again, like she doesn’t even have time for me! It’s so unfair. I’m bored.”

“You poor wretched thing.” Ryewhisker crooned “It must be so hard without our sister to help you torment poor Cloudrunner for a day.”

“It is, I had this whole prank planned out!”

Talltail padded up to them a bit cautiously. Ryewhisker blinked, clearly a bit surprised when she caught sight of him. Fawnleap, unfazed as ever, waved his tail at him. Talltail dropped the mice he carried.

“I brought you this.”

“Oh is that fresh? Forget what I said before, I feel better now.” Fawnleap said as he greedily snagged up a mouse.

“Is there an occasion?” Ryewhisker asked coolly. “You haven’t spoken to me in a while.”

“Yeah. It’s an apology. Thank you for trying to be patient with me. I’d like you to pass that to Fallowspring, if she’d accept it.” He looked to Fawnleap, who had a mouse half way out of his mouth. “And for you, for just continuing to be...whatever it is you are, despite everything.”

Fawnleap blinked at him and nodded seriously, which looked even more absurd considering his mouth was still full.

“I appreciate it, Talltail,” Ryewhisker said. “And you know, Fallowspring isn’t really still mad at you. She’s never mad for long, or she would have long since disowned Fawnleap. She’s just… got a lot on her mind right now.”

Fawnleap scoffed, “And a lot of it has to do with hunting with Shrewclaw instead of me.” “Of course,” Talltail said, “I’m sure everything will work itself out.”

Next he found Lilywhisker, as he saw her tail vanish into the nursery. He couldn’t manage a rabbit for her, but he’d found a plump vole. He poked his head into the overhanging roots of the warm milk-scented den. It had been so long since he was in here. Talltail was momentarily worried he was intruding, but Lilywhisker nodded at him in a friendly way as she saw him, though she looked a bit tired.

“I caught this for you. And there’s more to bring to Meadowbreeze,” he said. 

“That’s very sweet of you Talltail.” she smiled

“I hope the kits are doing well.”

“They’re doing wonderfully!” Meadowbreeze chirped. He couldn’t believe the new mother still had as much energy as she did. “They all opened their eyes already. I still can’t make up my mind on names, but I’ll think of them soon.”

Lilywhisker gave a good natured exasperated sigh.

 “They are certainly going to be a pawful, I can already tell. And I thought your sister's lot in the nursery were energetic.” She looked at Talltail, “Meadowbreeze swears she won’t want a break, but we’ll see about that.”

“I’m sure they’ll be in good care with you. And….thank you for that. You spent a lot of time caring for me when I was young.” “Oh, don’t even thank me, Talltail.” Lilywhisker purred. “You were such an easy and well behaved kit, like I probably will never get again.”

Talltail dipped his head and ducked out of the nursery, making way for a frazzled Hazelnose who had more new soft grass in his jaws. He’s going to flood the place with soft grass. Some cat should tell him to relax, Talltail thought as the brown tom slipped past. The kits were lucky to have such doting and devoted parents. He was a bit sad he wouldn’t see who Meadowbreeze’s kits grew up to be.

As he began searching for Dawnstripe, the sadness in him felt like it was going to crawl up his throat and choke him. It would be the worst saying goodbye to her, after all she’d done. She had left camp with Appledawn moments ago. As he padded after her, he spotted Shrewclaw returning with Redclaw and Fallowspring. Shrewclaw almost looked happy as he chatted with Fallowspring. It was a surprise to Talltail, but he found that he felt relieved.

 He surprised himself even more when he called out to Shrewclaw. The three cats turned, looking a bit startled. Fallowspring whispered something to the others, then she gestured to Redclaw to follow her back into camp. Shrewclaw looked after them, as if he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Talltail wondered if it was a mistake to do what he did, but it was too late now. 

Shrewclaw narrowed his eyes, but he seemed caught off guard by the lack of hostility in Talltail’s face.

“...What?” there was a hint of defensiveness in his voice, but more so confusion. Of course, Talltail hadn’t said a word to him since their assessment. 

He was quiet for a moment. There was a lot lost between them. But it would do no good to get into it, and Shrewclaw likely wouldn’t want to. At last, all he managed to say was, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes. You have a right to hate me. I would, if I were you. I hope you can be happy again. I mean it.” he was surprised to find that he really did. Part of him wanted to hold onto resenting Shrewclaw, but if this was it, what was the point? He didn’t need it. And without the resentment, all he was left with was regret and sadness. Shrewclaw gaped at him. His ears flattened and perked up again between annoyance and surprise as if he truly couldn’t decide how to feel. They had never had a relationship where they spoke sincerely to each other like that, even during the best of times.

Eventually Shrewclaw looked away and grumbled into his chest, trying not to show how incredibly awkward he felt, and clearly uncertain whether he was ready to give up any of his cold demeanor to peer through the deeply rooted thorns between them.

 “Ok. Whatever.” he said stiffly. “Well. I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m going back to camp. Bye.”

“Bye Shrewclaw,” Talltail murmured. The temperamental tom would probably have still been hostile if Talltail hadn’t caught him so off guard. That was fine. Shrewclaw wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore anyway.

To his simultaneous relief and dread, Dawnstripe had not gone far yet. He padded up to her, and she greeted him warmly.

“You’re not going for another hunt again are you? I saw the haul you brought back earlier, it looks like you pulled two days of work in one afternoon,” she said.

“No, I was looking for you,” he said. It took everything he had to keep the grief out of his voice. He pressed his nose under her chin and held it there to hide his face.

“Oh,” she said, surprised, but not unpleasantly. “Everything’s alright I hope?”

“Yes. Everything will be fine. I feel like...I’ve never properly thanked you for all you’ve done for me.”

She purred in laughter. “You thank me all the time, Talltail.”

“Yes, but really thanked you I mean,” he pulled back. “I know I haven’t always been easy to put up with, but you never gave up on me, even when…” even when you should have, he thought, but saying it aloud would prompt her to disagree. He shook his head and rubbed his cheek against hers.

 “You are a wonderful mentor, and every apprentice you have after me will be lucky.”

She blinked at him when he finally pulled back. “That’s a lot Talltail, but...thank you, of course. Are you sure everything’s ok?”

“I’m sure. I just wanted to tell you is all. I’m going for a walk. Good luck on your hunt.”

He left quickly, sure if he stayed any longer he wouldn’t be able to contain his emotions. It wasn’t fair, to her more than any cat. She’d tried so hard for him, she trusted him, was patient and encouraging through everything, but he still didn’t really deserve his warrior name. 

He wouldn’t be able to stay much longer, or cats would start wondering about his behavior. He didn’t want anyone to try and stop him. Woollycloud was already too suspicious to risk. Who else was there? 

He knew before he’d really asked himself. Talltail climbed up onto Outlook Hill, the highest point on the territory to get a better look around, and to his surprise, there he was.

 Briarpaw was sitting curled up on a rock, watching the sun set below the horizon. Maybe luck was on his side after all. But what could he say to Briarpaw? His oldest friend would surely see through him. Something told him, somehow, perhaps he already did. Briarpaw looked up at him, with such sadness in his eyes when Talltail approached. 

“What are you doing up here?” Talltail asked tentatively. 

“It’s part of my training to listen,” Briarpaw replied. “Everything is clearest up here, so this is where I meditate.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Everything I suppose. Whatever speaks. The clouds, the wind, the gorse.” His eyes were fixed on the bright red clouds catching the rays of sunset, a mix of blazing orange and dark stormy blue. Talltail sat beside him. Knowing this was his last step was making him want to drag his paws. It might be the last time he saw the sun set on the moor, casting the sky in so many brilliant hues. 

“What are the clouds saying today?” Talltail wasn’t sure if he was trying to make small talk, but he was certainly stalling.

“There’s going to be storms. Bad ones, I think. The rains will be late, but when they come, it will be heavy and dark.”

It was hard to picture storms with all this blistering heat clouding Talltail’s head and seeping into his fur. The brilliant light shimmering on the edge of the horizon line was all he could focus on. He pondered for a moment how he may very well travel to that far horizon line, see the hills bathed in light up close. A goal far off in the distance to aim for. His paws were itching and restless even though at the same time he was horribly afraid to feel so lost and far away.

“It looks a bit like fire, doesn’t it? Reaching up on the horizon.” Briarpaw murmured, seemingly half to himself. He looked up at Tallpaw “You look like you're burning yourself, the way it catches your dark fur.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Talltail said carefully. “I’ve never seen real fire.” He’d of course been lucky enough to only know about it through stories. Talltail glanced at the medicine cat apprentice. “Has StarClan shown you dreams of what it really looks like?”

“I have dreamt of it before, yes.” Briarpaw replied. His gaze was still fixed on the distant hills. “It’s bright, flickering, and brilliant orange. A lot like the color of your eyes, actually.”

Talltail sniffed, “Well, I’ve never really gotten a good look at my own eyes.”

“I know. I think it’s hard for you to see any part of yourself very clearly.”

Talltail faltered a bit. “Well, I mean...There’s not a lot of clear still water nearby. The reflections are always murky.”

Talltail didn’t know how else to reply. Briarpaw was probably suggesting more with his words as he often did, but that didn’t make Talltail any more sure of how to address it.

Briarpaw shifted his paws under himself, and was silent for a long moment before continuing.

 “Do you remember the first time we came up here together? On your first day as an apprentice?”

“Yeah,” Tallpaw replied. “It feels like so long ago now.”

“Back then when I was with you, I started hearing something similar to what I hear now, though I didn’t fully understand it. Or maybe I didn’t want to understand it. I’ve been watching you walk around to everyone.” A deep grief glimmered in his golden eyes as he blinked up at his friend. “You’re really going to leave after all, aren’t you?”

Talltail stared at him, worried for a moment that Briarpaw had told someone, but Briarpaw looked so resigned.

 “...Yes. How did you know?”

“I dream about you a lot, Talltail. I always have. Of course, I dream about lots of cats, and always struggle to put the pieces together of what they mean.”

“Medicine cat stuff, I suppose,” Talltail laughed without humor. “Does StarClan want me to go?”

“No. StarClan doesn’t wish for things like that. StarClan can guide us, but these visions...I’m not sure where they come from or why they come to me. Perhaps they have no allegiance at all. There is so much in the world beyond what we know underneath our Silverpelt.” Briarpaw looked up into the sky, seeming suddenly far away. “...I’ve messed up a lot of visions. Hawkheart says it's normal for an apprentice, but it’s made me so afraid. Afraid I could steer a cat in the wrong direction. It’s led to me...being afraid to speak to you sometimes.”

Talltail blinked at him “You were...afraid? I thought...I thought you were just upset with me.”

“I’ve never been upset with you. I’m sorry... I was so unsure. I wanted to avoid the future I didn’t want to face. Even now part of me thinks perhaps I could have tried to push you onto a different path, one that didn’t make me face this. But I think...one way or another, it would have ended up worse for you. So here we are, and you’re on your path now.”

“You agree I should leave then?” Talltail didn’t know whether that made him relieved or sad.

 Briarpaw’s gaze drifted to the ground at his paws. “I don’t want you to go. And I hope that you’ll find the way back here someday soon.”

“I don’t think I will be coming back," Talltail said. “I...I don’t belong here. I have felt wrong for moons. Out of place. I feel inadequate, and there is nothing I can do to change the wrong here that weighs on me. There is one thing I feel called to do, and the only thing I’m sure of is that I can’t do it here, as a simple warrior. Everything I do here can be done by someone else, and let's be honest, I haven’t been great at keeping close friends.”

“I’m sorry you’ve felt that way,” Briarpaw sounded so sincere. “I hope you understand how many cats will notice your absence. By every cat you’ve spoken to and even the ones you won’t.”

It’s his job to say that. Talltail thought. He made cats uncomfortable more often than not, or plagued their minds with worry. Better to cut the tie and make them not have to worry anymore. “You won’t try to stop me then?” 

“No. But...you don’t have to go. I’ll help you. Dawnstripe will, and Woollycloud I’m sure...they’ll be heartbroken if you go.”

Talltail faltered. 

Perhaps they would. He looked down at the camp behind him, and then over across the moor he’d grown up in. He knew it all so well.

For a moment he did almost want to give up his idea. A thought crossed his mind, a flicker of hope. What if everything could be fixed, and he could find a way to feel accepted here. He could apologize and mend every bridge he’d broken. Dawnstripe and Woollycloud would stop worrying. He was a simple runner, but he could try to be the best one he could be. He wouldn’t have to leave his home, he wouldn’t have to leave the cats he came to care for. Maybe somehow it could be ok.

The thought warmed him as it flickered briefly through his mind. But as fast as the spark lit up, that little light of hope was smothered. That was just what he wanted to be true. That happiness wasn’t his to lounge in when there was so much wrong done in the world.

“I...can’t.” Talltail sighed. “They will be upset, after all the time they’ve spent trying to help me. But they will move on. The clan has moved on from so many losses. If I stay...I’ll go mad. I can’t ignore what I feel must be done any longer.”

The little hope that had appeared in Briarpaw’s eyes faded as his face fell. “If this is what you choose...you must choose it on your own. Now that you're here I can see that. No cat can stop you. I wish you had told the clan formally though.”

Talltail ducked his head. He was ashamed himself.

“I’m just...I’m just not strong enough. They’ll know soon enough. If StarClan has been showing you this outcome, then it’s what they think is best too.”

Briarpaw stood and faced him “StarClan wants you to be sure of where you put your paws. You are one of the Wind Runner’s children. You’ve always been worthy.” He pressed his nose to Talltail’s cheek, “I love you, Talltail. So many of us do. Even if you don’t come back, it will still be true. I hope someday you will know why.”

Talltail held his face against Briarpaw’s for a long moment. It hurt him deeply. But he had to go, before he could change his mind. This had to be done. He needed to rip the thorn out and leave, quickly. He stepped back, gave Briarpaw one last look over his shoulder and started at a run down the hill, to the south. He didn’t look back at Briarpaw again. 

As he ran, the greenleaf wind brought strong sweet smelling heat as it rushed through his fur. It seemed to be pulling him in every direction. Was he being chased out or held back? He couldn’t tell. He ducked his head against it as he flew through the darkening sunset. 

Before reaching the edge of the moorland, he stopped. As soon as he passed, there was no going back. 

He froze, and pricked his ears. Someone was nearby. 

There were two very pale amber eyes watching him, staring wide and questioning.

Palebird.

Talltail looked back at his mother. Why was she out here? He hadn’t even thought about going to see her. What would be the point? They had said everything they could say and rarely saw each other anymore. 

He looked at her for a long moment. Maybe you’ll go back to normal when I’m gone. Maybe you can cut your old broken life away and finally start a new one. He didn’t want to tell her that out loud. Palebird didn’t speak to him before, and she wouldn’t start now. 

But to his surprise, she did. She took the smallest step towards him.

“Talltail?” she mewed in her cracked and fragile voice. “Where are you going?”

He opened his mouth to reply. But there was still nothing to say. He was too afraid of what might come out if he really tried to speak to his mother. 

So instead, Talltail made the very last cowardly decision he would make in his home territory. He turned, saying nothing at all, and simply kept walking. She didn’t follow him, but he felt her eyes as he went. To the edge of the moor. To the dark treeline looming above him. The wind cut off here, blocked by the thick towering branches. It was quiet at last. 

He stepped into the shadows, and was lost from his mother's view.

chapter list / previous / next

[beautifulterriblequeen]

King Runaan of the Moonshadow Elves

This post will have several sections. They’ll be as follows.

Runaan is a king, and Rayla is his heir (this post)

Runaan had to confess his love first, because he is the king

Ethari’s entire skill set is now dedicated to keeping the king of the Moonshadow elves alive

Rayla's self-worth issues

Viren did invite the assassins just like he said Amaya accused him of. One assassin in particular

Aaravos and Viren may both want to spend Runaan in the future

1. Runaan is the king of the Moonshadow elves

Angst Rating: 1/10

This theory came to me with one specific image in mind, while talking theories with @kotikala​ yesterday. But it got anchored by two other things. Rayla’s grumpy face behind Runaan’s back in S1E2 when he called her the fastest and strongest of all of us, and the fact that Runaan has a 3D model with a post-battle torn vest, and another with no shirt. These three things. Plus a year and a half’s worth of theories--many of which I had lying around with no bigger picture in mind until last night--and rewatches. I feel simultaneously giddy and stupid as hell.

That one image was Runaan’s shoulder markings.

They are in fact like Aaravos’s crown shape, with a round moon instead of a second diamond,

but not because Runaan’s markings reference Aaravos. Because Runaan is royalty just like Aaravos.

This double diamond shape appears in Katolis, too, on the armor of the king’s army and even Callum’s scarf.

It’s also right there on top of Khessa’s crown, looking very similar to Runaan’s markings, with a round disc replacing one of the diamonds. In this case, it represents the sun instead of the moon.

Runaan doesn’t wear a crown anytime we see him. He might not have a crown at all, since he’s a warrior king who has “seen his share of hardship and war.” But he paints that symbol on his arms and wears his rank as king for everyone to see. He might never have had an older symbol on his arms at all, since he was born to this.

His face markings are the shadow of an assassin hood. He never needs to wear his because he’s internalized his duty so well. And he has probably had these markings since he was tiny, because there was never any question about his future.

Kings generally come with castles. This is Runaan’s castle. 

A thousand-year-old tree near the edge of the village. It was probably either planted or reshaped when the Moonshadows had to move eastward out of Katolis following the Merciful Compromise, and it’s been the royal dwelling ever since. Ah, tradition. This wasn’t Ethari’s home because it had space for a forge in it. It’s Runaan’s home, and his home is literally his castle. (How many levels does it have in there, and does anyone else live with them? I have such questions)

Moonshadow elves are forest elves at heart. Runaan lives in a tree, while his people live in ordinary houses. 

The tree house is the best and brightest home any of them could imagine. So Runaan’s tunic bears the symbol of a tree trunk on it. He is the stable trunk of his people, and they branch from him and the anchoring stability he provides. His tree tunic is his royal robes of office, marked with the symbol of his (literal and metaphoric) house.

The Moon Druid link has been pretty well theorized in general, if not in specific, before now, but here’s a summary: the Moon Druids of old used to live in Katolis’s forest, around the Moon Nexus. When the border was drawn 1000 years ago after the Merciful Compromise was suggested by the daughter of the Moonshadow ruler, the elves had to leave. They destroyed the Nexus, left a guardian, and settled/resettled in the Moonshadow Forest, reestablishing their rule in the east and taking up the dark and sacred duty of protecting Xadia from dangerous humans by assassinating them, so their merciful agreement to spare all the humans never brought disaster. 

When Runaan took his team back west, he performed the binding ceremony in an ancient grove with six trees and a moon-rune-shaped water border. It was his own people’s ancient grove.

The Moon Druids stood like this.

And so does Runaan.

His accent and Lujanne’s are the only two British voices among all the Scottish Moonshadows. One of them guards the Moon Nexus, where the Moon Druids used to live. The other is currently ruling from the Silvergrove.

The Silvergrove is the only place labeled in the Moonshadow forest. On a map, if you’re only going to have one city, you label the capital. I didn’t understand the relationship between the Silvergrove, the assassins, and the human kingdoms before. I thought it was a border village. But it’s deep in the forest, at its heart.

Runaan didn’t come to the Silvergrove to train to be an assassin. He was born there. The Silvergrove and the assassins were always the intimately connected. The Moon Druids became assassins to uphold their sacred duty. Wherever they live, that’s where the assassins train.

Runaan was once drawn younger in this outfit. It’s blurry but the white text reads “younger Runaan?”

It got morphed into someone else. But look at this dynamic. This is clearly a Moonshadow leader and his close ally—his son. His son the assassin.

The Moonshadow staff used to look like this a thousand years ago.

Then it got stabby.

Now it looks like this.

My heart for Xadia, indeed. That line might very well be reserved only for the ruler and his heir to swear.

Runaan’s bio says he “cares deeply for his people.” That means all of the Moonshadow elves. And he’s called, in full, Runaan of the Moonshadow Elves. That’s a title.

Rayla gave her name to Sol Regem in that format, too. Rayla of the Moonshadow Elves. Because Rayla is Runaan’s legal heir. He’s a gay elf and won’t be having his own kids. So he chose his best friends’ child to follow him in succession. He’s been training his own replacement since she could walk.

Rayla is the Moonshadow Princess and she has her own title.

I think part of the reason I didn’t see Runaan for the king he was, or even the prince I used to think he was, had to do with my assumptions that any Moonshadow ruler would preside over a community similar in setup to Khessa and Harrow. Big, obvious, powerful. Meant to be seen. But that’s not the Moonshadow way. Even though Runaan’s tree castle is literally all of those things. I just wasn’t speaking Moonshadow fluently enough yet.

Runaan’s rule, and the Moonshadows in general, really give me a Viking-era England feel. England was comprised of several small kingdoms before the time of Alfred the Great. They never covered too much territory, and they weren’t very centrally organized. You might get a handful of heavily walled towns, and if there was trouble, all the citizens outside the walls would scamper in for safety. (Imagine the Silvergrove’s moondome functioning like the dome over Wakanda’s capital city when Thanos’s minions attacked in Infinity War. Nice, huh?)

Runaan has that local-king feel. His position is a martial one. He leads from the front. He’s very focused on upholding his duty, not looking cool in furs and crowns or whatever. He either gave his own oath to the Dragon King and Queen, or he was already bound to a pre-existing oath, Oath of Féanor-style, and that promise rules his life. His life, but not his heart. So he lives in his quiet little village with his cute craftsman husband and all his people and his blood promise, and he trains with focused dedication to uphold his people’s honor with maximum efficiency and safety for his own assassins.

Things that hit differently now

Amaya hates Moonshadows the most because their king kills

Kings probably aren’t good cooks

Why no one spoke against Runaan when he said a teenager was coming on his mission

Of course they used the pool outside the tree house for the lotus ritual. That’s the royal pool outside the royal palace.

Of course Runaan had to ghost his friends. They were assassins, and he was their leader and king. He had to lead the ghosting.

Duty before love makes so much more tragic sense now

Literally yesterday I posted about Runaan’s biological legacy not being called into question regarding Rayla’s parents’ failure. But she is his heir, so his wisdom was being questioned.

“When Someone Great is Gone” from Devon’s Runaan/Ethari playlist

Runaan and Harrow are both kings bound by literal and metaphorical chains. Neither is free

“Justice will not be denied/Your justice will come later/Humans are liars”

“My heart for Xadia”

“You let him live, but you’ve killed us all”

Basically every word Runaan has ever said

part 2

[odisn]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃  𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄  𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐄  Æ𝐒𝐈𝐑  𝐊𝐍𝐄𝐖  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋 .

(      Thor Odinson’s undoing ,  Thor Odinson’s sacrifice .      )    

many will argue for years to come about Thor’s decision   -------------------   on the one hand ,  he should have ignored the history between Jötunheimr and Ásgarðr ,  removed arrogant thoughts from his mind ,  and led as a strategist instead of a warrior .    and on the other hand ,  the five doomed tasks were foretold ,  a closing chapter in Thor’s life as prince ,  king ,  or even leader of the realm .    without fulfilling that destiny ,  the nine realms would never be free of war and conflict . 

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 :  five years after Ragnarøkr .     Thor and the Asgardians have settled a few miles from Grundarfjörður ,  Iceland ,  Earth ,  and have successfully rebuilt their realm ,  with Thor leading as the King of this new Ásgarðr .

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 :     the conflict takes place in the depths of Jötunheimr .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 :     Útgarða-Loki ,  also known as Skrýmir ,  by which he will be referred to in the remaining text .

a giant's giant ,  a truly vast creature ,  the ruler of all of Jötunheimr ,  though legend has it he wasn't born on that icy realm ,  but came straight from Ginnungagap   ;   born of a point where mist ,  ice ,  and ash meet in those dark ,  gaping jaws .   he has and always will be Thor's greatest adversary ,  one that Thor hasn't been able to defeat ,  and likely never will .   the last time they fought ,  Skrýmir referred to Thor's mighty force ,  with the indefatigable Mjölnir ,  as a mere sensation of something falling from a tree ,  and landing on his body .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 :    Skrýmir is one of many creatures Odin   ---   through Thor   ---   wronged ,  hundreds of years ago .    a battle that was only initiated because of the Æsir’s long - standing hatred towards the giants ,  and one that seemed to escalate unnecessarily ,  leaving many Jötnar dead .    Thor’s battle with Skrýmir ended with Skrýmir shamed ,  throneless ,  and exiled for his remaining lifetime ,  until he found himself a chance at redemption .

Skrýmir learned of the death of Odin , and decided to take this opportunity to exact his revenge on Ásgarðr ,  but principally ,  Thor .      revenge not as a means to kill   ;  for killing the one who not so long ago saved so many realms from Ragnarøkr could initiate a war detrimental to the Jötnar .   but instead ,  revenge as a means to strip away title ,  a home ,  a people .

Thor has a dream in which Skrýmir summons him to Jötunheimr    ---   and initial deliberation confirms that this could be the setting for the fateful five tasks ,  the ones that may see Thor in ruins .    the king of Ásgarðr argues that not heeding to Skrýmir’s demands may be detrimental in and of itself ,  as it could lead to another war when Ásgarðr least expects it .     plus ,  on Midgardian soil ,  the humans could be the ones to pay the price .       he makes the decision to leave at first light for Jötunheimr ,  setting off with Loki ,  and two other warriors ,  Þjálfi and Röskva .    he fully expects to fight ,   as is the nature of the dynamic between the Jötnar and the Æsir .

at Skrýmir’s castle ,  Thor ,  Loki and the others walk through the vast halls   -------------------   and end up barricaded in by legions of Jötnar and monsters ,  essentially trapped in this room ,  to listen to Skrýmir's request .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃 :   I wish to regain my title at Jötunheimr's throne . I cannot do this while you ,  Thor ,  Son of Odin ,  remain King of Ásgarðr   ---   you are my undoing ,  my fall from power ,  as I intend to be yours .  

so here is my demand :  four challenges ,  of your choosing ,  in whichever feat you believe you can defeat either myself or a warrior of my choice .     if I win all of these challenges ,  I regain my rightful place on the throne of Jötunheimr ,  and you lose your place in Ásgarðr .    you're exiled from your lands until your dying breath .     if I lose but even a single one ,  you remain king ,  and i'll concede .

choose not to participate ,  and I will kill you all ,  and send my armies straight for your new Asgardian home .

relieved at the mention of four ,  not five ,  challenges   ---   and with conditions that seemed too easy ,  Thor agrees ,  and they swear an unbreakable oath ,  on Odin’s name ,  to the terms in this demand .

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 .

𝟎𝟏 .         Loki ,  understanding that these challenges could revolve around anything ,  challenges Skrýmir to ,  essentially ,  an eating contest  :    Skrýmir agrees ,  choosing a being named Logi to compete against the trickster god .   given meat to consume ,  Loki uses their sorcery to double the quantity on their opponent’s table ,  thus slowing Logi down ,  but to no avail .    unbeknownst to Loki or the other Æsir ,  Logi is not a normal being ,  but a physical manifestation of  FIRE ,  specifically of Múspellsheimr   -------------------   the very fire that ravaged the realm of  Ásgarðr during their doomsday .  and this fire cannot be stopped ,  cannot be slowed .   Logi defeats Loki with ease .

𝟎𝟐 .        Þjálfi decides on a race of speed ,  attempting to run a race against anyone Skrýmir chooses .     a being named Hugi competes against Þjálfi ,  and across three races ,  Hugi wins every time   -------------------   running so fast that he meets his opponent several times in the overlap .    again ,  beyond the awareness of the Æsir ,  Skrýmir cheated and chose an opponent that represented  THOUGHT ,  a manifestation of memory and idea ,  which no - one could possibly outrun .

𝟎𝟑 .         Thor opts for a drinking contest ,  claiming he can deplete any vessel within minutes ,  regardless of volume .   two horns are filled with water ,  but Thor finds himself exhausted after only three ,  massive gulps .    again ,  the giant cheated ,  having filled his horn adequately but connecting Thor’s vessel to the oceans of Miðgarðr ,  which kept the horn full no matter how much Thor drank .

𝟎𝟒 .         angered by his loss ,  Thor picks another challenge ,  spotting a small ,  cat - like creature in the corner of the room .    the challenge he opts for ,  strategically simple :   if he can lift the creature ,  he wins .    Skrýmir ,  amused ,  agrees   -------------------   but try as he might ,  Thor only succeeds in lifting a single paw ,  the pet surprisingly heavy ,  immovable .    under the guise of a cat ,  this creature was actually the serpent Jörmungandr ,  which had unlocked itself from its coil around Miðgarðr moments prior to Ragnarøkr ,  and now wandered free along the world tree ,  finding itself in the land of the giants at this moment .

it should’ve ended there ,  but the prophecy dictated five trials ,  one way or another   ---   and Thor ,  enraged ,  was eager to redeem himself and win back his title to the throne .   they only needed to win a single task to bring Skrýmir down ,  after all .      unanimous decision for a final trial seals their fate .

𝟎𝟓 .         Thor picks a challenge around his best trait  :   his strength .    he demands a fight with a giant in the hallway   ---   and is jeered in response by all ,  implying Thor’s too weak for such a serious battle .   he persists ,  threatens ,  and in the end ,  Skrýmir concedes ,  mockingly finding Thor the oldest ,  frailest giant in the castle .     it should be a clear victory   ;   but Thor finds himself struggling to best the opponent ,  and eventually falls to his knees ,  defeated .    it’s at this point Skrýmir reveals his tricks ,  and speaks about how Thor wasn’t fighting a giant ,  but instead a manifestation of  OLD AGE ,  which no soul in the nine can evade .

it’s with this bright flash of light the Asgardians are sent back to Earth ,  the immediate disappearance of a castle ,  of armies ,  and of Skrýmir ,  replaced instead with a feeling of loss ,  of dread ,  of defeat .     Skrýmir’s damning final words linger in the skies ,  the atmosphere around them  :

“  now ,  for your sake and for ours ,  leave Jötunheimr ,  leave Ásgarðr ,  and never come back .   ”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 :     having sworn an oath on Odin ,  Thor knows what he must do .   instead of returning home ,  he sets out across Earth   -------------------   but not before holding a council with Loki and their companions .   together ,  they decide to leave Ásgarðr in the hands of Brunnhilde .   (         verse dep.   this would be Sif’s rule ,  given she is the rightful queen of Ásgarðr        )         Loki will ensure the realm’s safety .

and Thor instead ,  loses title ,  and his right to the realm ,  and becomes instead a protector of Miðgarðr   -------------------   living in seclusion in a cabin in the forest ,  somewhere across the world ,  his location unknown to all but one or two people . 

initial stages of reaction are difficult to control  :   Thor finds himself perpetually enraged ,  saddened ,  and full of regret at his loss .   there’s talk of storms that blanket entire countries ,  deluges of rainfall bringing talks of the apocalypse .   he drinks more than he should ,  gains weight ,  and refuses to speak to others .

but over time ,  Thor grows to accept his fate ,  relieved at the fact that the prophecy cost no lives on either side ,  aware of the part he played in ensuring peace ,  even if it was at a cost to him .    he grows more attuned to nature around him ,  emerging into civilisation only to meet friends ,  keep the Earth safe ,  or to feel connected with the new home he’s made for himself .

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Seventeen

Link to Masterpost

It’s here! It’s finally here! This one fought me more than I thought it would, but I’m pretty happy with it now.

I hope you enjoy!

~*~*~

It had been three days since Aelin had killed Maeve.

For three days, Aedion had sat in meeting after meeting, being forcibly reminded of why he preferred to command through action. Their every move and every piece of evidence had been thoroughly analyzed by the dark-haired demi-Fae that appeared to be the de facto leader of the former blood-sworn, and it was more than apparent that he found it lacking.

He hadn’t even been able to check on Aelin, though Whitethorn’s absence implied that she had yet to awaken. Aedion sighed; he supposed he should get used to thinking of the warrior as Rowan, given his relationship to his cousin. That would take a great deal of adjusting.

Truly, he wished Aelin would just wake up. He understood that the amount of magic she must have used would take a great deal of energy from her, but the sooner she awakened and the sooner she could talk to the group of Fae currently interrogating him, the sooner he could return home to his family.

At that thought, he couldn’t help glancing over at one of the males across the table in particular. He had never expected that he would meet his father, and so he had never given much thought to what he would do should the situation arise.

Years ago, or perhaps even a few months ago, he would’ve been unable to respond to the situation with anything other than anger. A large part of him still was angry that this male had seen fit to just walk away from his mother, and hadn’t even bothered to make contact as she had been dying. But now that he had not only Lysandra to consider, but Evangeline as well, everything was changing for him.

He could still blame him for swearing a blood oath to someone he had to have known had a sadistic streak, but what if Aedion had already sworn himself to Aelin and she had threatened to use his connection to his family? There was very little he wouldn’t do to protect Lysandra; it had been that way for years now, ever since she had come to the palace. It was a little more surprising to realize how quickly Evangeline had carved herself a little spot in his heart right next to Lysandra’s.

Perhaps, he thought, he could understand the male’s position. Even if he couldn’t agree with the end result.

Finally, he glanced over at the irate demi-Fae leading the continued interrogation and belatedly realized he had been asked yet another question. “For the fourth and last time, I only have copies of the letters and the passage of the book Aelin was referencing. We agreed there was an inherent risk in bringing the originals to someone who would be interested in destroying them.” He resisted the urge to feign a yawn; the leader was already angry enough as it was. This line of questioning was so boring, though. It might have been a clever tactic on someone else, but Aedion had been questioned before and had questioned others before. They would have to try harder than this.

“Then where, exactly, are the originals?”

“That secret rests with my cousin. If you want to risk Whitethorn’s wrath and attempt to wake her, you’re more than welcome to do so.” In fact, Aedion would have loved to witness such a confrontation by this point. Anything had to be better than repeatedly answering the same handful of questions.

The demi-Fae male growled, and Aedion growled right back. He had played nicely for his cousin’s sake thus far, but he was quickly losing patience with all of this. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Rowan so carefully guarding Aelin until she woke up, he might have simply carried her out himself and booked the next ship across the sea, consequences be damned.

The other male—Gavriel—his father—finally glanced up from the copies he had presented to them. “He’s not likely to give different answers at this point, Lorcan. Perhaps we should focus on ensuring a smooth transition of power? Maeve had no heir, and evidently no legitimate claim to our throne, and we need to determine what that means for us.”

The leader grimaced. “Mab’s line goes through the Ashryver family. The direct female descendant is his fire-breathing bitch princess. Mora’s… Whitethorn will know which of his cousins has the most direct claim.”

“It’ll go to Mora’s line, then,” Aedion commented. “Aelin won’t have any interest in ruling a land she’s never visited before.”

“Won’t she?” The leader was suddenly furious, dark eyes narrowed and darker power surrounding him. “Perhaps that’s why she came, after all.”

“It would mean war if she did,” another of the warriors pointed out calmly. This one, to the extent of Aedion’s knowledge, had been absent during the confrontation itself, and had yet to speak. “And it doesn’t make sense for her to begin with Doranelle, were she to become a conqueror. The Wastes would be an easier target, or perhaps Adarlan.”

The demi-Fae whirled around to glare at the speaker, then quietly grumbled to himself. Aedion took advantage of their distraction to quietly slip away.

It didn’t take someone with Aedion’s heightened senses to recognize that another had followed him out of the room, and it didn’t take a particularly wise man to guess who it had been. For a moment he contemplated not responding at all, walking away without acknowledging his presence, but finally he sighed and turned to face his father. “She died, you know,” he said, surprising even himself. “She didn’t have to. The Fae could have healed her, but she wouldn’t go.”

Gods, he wished he wasn’t having this conversation alone. Aelin might know what to say, and Lysandra…

Best not to think about her, not right now.

His father had frozen still, and vaguely he wondered if he could have felled the male simply by tapping his shoulder. He didn’t reply verbally, but that was all right. Aedion didn’t need an answer from him. “I realize now she was protecting me. From you. From your queen. From all of it.”

The golden male winced. “Aedion—”

Perhaps he had expected to feel anger or rage at the sound of his name on his father’s lips, now after all these years. Perhaps grief would have been a more reasonable expectation, sorrow for all the years missed. Perhaps even joy, for having found the male his mother had never once spoken of.

Instead of any of those, Aedion felt empty. His chest was hollow, and his voice devoid of all emotion when he replied, “I can’t do this right now.”

He left his father standing in the hallway, staring after him as he retreated to the rooms he’d borrowed.

~*~*~

Rowan sighed and glanced once more at the bed where Aelin laid, wishing he would see that she had awakened but knowing she would still be sleeping. She had drained so much of her power, and so much of it had been for his sake that he still felt a twinge in his chest if he dwelled on the thought for too long.

The instant Maeve had exposed herself, Aelin had surrounded him with a ring of fire to keep the shadows at bay, dropping the protective shield only when she needed his power to finish what she had set out to accomplish. It was something he would have done for her, if his power had been of a sufficient threat to the dark queen, but a large part of him was embarrassed that he had been surprised enough to require the assistance.

He knew Aelin would never blame him, though, not after all of the revelations she had made that day.

Perhaps the others would believe it if he told them he had been so surprised by the reveal of Maeve as a Valg queen and not Fae at all. She had long been cold and cruel, but she had done such an excellent job of hiding the truth that he knew he would never have guessed. Aelin had, though, and when she woke up he would have to ask her what had given her cause to suspect.

It was likely to be equally believable that he had been stunned into silence and stillness by the gift of his own freedom. He had hoped, certainly, that she would find a way for them to see each other again. The thought of being parted from his carranam forever had been one that he had found unable to bear, and so he had avoided thinking about their inevitable split as much as possible. Perhaps, though, that should have given him cause to guess the revelation that had shocked him beyond all others, the single word that had caused his mind to fall completely silent for the first time in decades.

Mate.

Even as he had heard the word fall from her lips, though, he had known the truth of it. If he was completely honest with himself, part of him had suspected for quite some time, though he had always found yet another excuse, yet another reason to go on believing that he was wrong. Even now it was a struggle to believe that this could all be his.

Had Lyria ever been his true mate? Could Fae have more than one mate through the course of their lives? There was so much he didn’t know. He wasn’t certain if anyone in Doranelle would be able to tell him now. He supposed it didn’t matter now. Regardless of whether she had truly been his mate or whether he had been so terribly, terribly wrong, she was a part of his past that he couldn’t be rid of even if he wished to be. It was lucky, he supposed, that Aelin seemed to understand this, just as he understood the history that had led her to him.

As he had done so many times previously during these three long days, he strode over to the bed where Aelin lay pale and still, one hand reaching out to gently stroke her hair away from her face. This time was different, though, in that she made the softest noise in her sleep and her face turned to rest against his palm.

Rowan felt something within himself crack with the almost-painful joy that filled him with such a simple gesture, and soon he was sitting on the bed beside her. In response, she shifted again, and soon he found himself seated against the head of the bed with her face pressed against his hip and her arm thrown across his thighs. Another happy little sound fell from her lips, and a slight flush returned to her cheeks, and Rowan smiled down at her sleeping form. The movements and the sounds and the color returning to her were all signs that her magic had restored enough for her body to allow itself into a more natural sleep, and when taken together they indicated that she would awaken soon.

As delighted as he was that soon she would be awake, he also felt a small thrill of trepidation. After all, the last conversation they’d had before she left for Doranelle had gone so terribly wrong, all because he’d panicked. The brief conversation they’d had on the way here indicated that he had a lot to make up for. He intended to do so, but he wasn’t sure of the best way to start.

Her hand shifted higher up on his thigh, and he couldn’t quite suppress the resulting shiver. As much pleasure as even such a simple touch brought to him, though, he knew that if he allowed it to continue he would have little interest in actually talking to Aelin once she woke up. He carefully shifted her hand back down to its previous position, lingering for a moment to caress her hair once more before relaxing back against the head of the bed.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react to the movement beyond a tiny little sigh, and he allowed his mind to once more wander to what on earth he could say to her to counteract the way he had once frozen at her touch and then fled. Perhaps the best way to prove his intentions would be beyond what he could express with words, and only time would be able to show that he intended to stay by her side forever.

Aelin’s hand wandered upward again, and he gently caught it in his own, glancing down at her once more and immediately getting lost in turquoise eyes ringed with gold and dancing with wicked humor.

~*~*~

The first thing Aelin had noticed as she began to wake up was the comforting scent of snow-covered pines. For a brief moment, she had wondered if perhaps they had already returned to Terrasen, but as she had opened her eyes to an unfamiliar bed she’d finally recalled what had happened.

Gods, it was embarrassing to realize she had fallen asleep right at the most inopportune moment, though she supposed it was fortunate that it had been with Rowan. Of all people, he would understand the toll that magic could take.

It appeared that he had stayed with her throughout however long she had slept, for she was wrapped around one of his legs with her head pillowed against his hip. She shifted slightly, blushing faintly as the movement caused her hand to brush the inside of his thigh and quickly feigning continued sleep as he moved her hand to a more appropriate placement. It was only a few moments later, though, that she decided she would not be put off so easily. Not when everything had finally come out into the open, not now that they knew they were mates and she knew that he wanted her.

She had waited quite long enough for this.

The second brush of fingers across his leg was far more deliberate, and this time when he took her hand and glanced down at her she didn’t look away, holding his gaze and watching his expression change from bemusement to shock to something so warm she couldn’t help but melt at the sight. Rather than say something truly embarrassing, however, she grinned up at him. “Why, Prince Rowan, I must say this wasn’t quite what I had in mind when you said you were taking me to bed.”

“As much as I would hate to disappoint you, I was hardly going to bed an invalid,” he retorted, though relief was shining clearly in those beautiful green eyes. The rough amusement of his voice was belied by the gentle touch of his fingers in her hair, carefully tucking a stray lock behind her ear.

Aelin sat up with a groan. “How long did I sleep?”

“Three days.” He pulled her into himself, her back to his chest and her hips nested between his thighs, and she turned her head to smile up at him. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his fingertips brushing along her jawline.

“I’m feeling like there’s a promise my mate has yet to follow through with,” she teased, though the suddenly-serious expression on his face caused her own easy smile to falter. “Rowan…”

“How long have you known?”

She supposed that was the easiest question he could’ve started with, though she still drew in a deep breath before replying. “From the moment I fell into your arms after escaping Arobynn Hamel’s home and realized it felt like I was home,” she replied. “I was… I wasn’t certain at first, given that you’ve already been mated, but then the night before I left…”

He grimaced then, and it was her turn to reach up and touch his face. “I panicked, then,” he admitted. “I regretted it almost immediately. And then when I returned—to apologize, or to do something at least to try and make it right, and found you missing, it was like a piece of myself had gone with you.”

“I couldn’t tell you what I was doing,” Aelin said by way of apology. “You would’ve been forced to stop me, by the oath that once bound you.”

“I understand.” His fingers slid under her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “But next time you leave in the middle of the night, your only two options are telling me where you’re going or taking me with you. Am I clear?”

“So demanding,” she purred. “Luckily for you, I have no intention of ever being parted from you for any lengthy period of time again if I can help it.”

She leaned in then, determined to finally, finally kiss him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand pressing against her shoulder. “Aelin, I…”

“I know,” she said. “We can talk about it as much as you want later. But right now, I don’t know when we’ll next have a moment like this again, and—”

His lips were on hers then, and rather than attempt to continue the conversation she slid her hand to the back of his head.

She had thought she knew what it was to be kissed. She had done exactly that with Sam on countless moonlit nights, and then once again with Dorian. It had always been pleasant enough before, but Aelin was quickly coming to realize that kissing Rowan could hardly be described by such an inadequate word as pleasant. No, kissing Rowan was everything—his ice colliding with her fire, the sensation both taking her breath away and fanning a flame that resided deep within her core. It was better than she could’ve dreamed—and she had dreamed of this, she could admit it to herself now, had spent long nights twisted in her sheets and waking up gasping at imagined sensations.

He pulled back, just long enough to take a breath, and she couldn’t quite help the noise that escaped her then. Nor could she help the urge to crush her lips to his once more, an urge she succumbed to happily. She tangled her fingers into silver hair, holding him close to her, though he seemed to share her desire to remain close if the arm wrapped around her waist was any indication.

A muscle in her side twinged, and he pulled free of her once more as she winced. Before he could say a word, though, she turned in his embrace, straddling his thighs and resting one hand on each side of his face. “I’m fine, Rowan,” she reassured him. “Better than fine, even, unless you get it into your head to do something as stupid as stop—”

His lips brushed her jaw then, and she couldn’t contain the gasp that left her. She allowed her head to fall to the side as his hands skimmed up her sides, slipping under the fabric of what she belatedly realized was his shirt. “If that is what my queen commands, then I can only obey,” he smirked.

She shivered, and spent a dizzying moment wondering what she would need to do to ensure that he never stopped calling her my queen. “In that case, your queen commands that we not leave this room until we have no other option, or until I say otherwise,” she grinned.

He laughed, the sound all dark tones that resonated deep within her and made her toes curl. “I’ve spent three days wondering what words I needed to say for you to allow me to remain at your side,” he admitted. “But if you would rather I do my persuading with teeth and tongue…”

He nipped at her neck then, the sensation immediately recalling a day in the sparring ring what felt like forever ago, and Aelin moaned. “I think that sounds like a brilliant idea.”

~*~*~

Rowan wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t some sort of dream, even as Aelin leaned in to kiss him again. He had spent so long carefully convincing himself that this very thing wasn’t within the realm of possibility that he almost didn’t know what to do now that it decidedly was.

He wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass him by, however. Gods knew he had squandered enough chances by now.

With that in mind, he carefully flipped them so that Aelin was sprawled on the mattress, golden hair spilling across his pillow in a way he’d been longing to see for longer than he cared to admit. She glanced up at him, lips pursed in a blend of confusion and irritation, but before she could say a word he was kneeling over her and kissing that confused frown away.

Her skin tasted just as he remembered from that one time he had bitten her, all floral jasmine and simmering embers, and it was enough to drive him mad with longing. His hands once more slipped under the shirt that was covering her—his shirt, into which he’d changed her so as to prevent her from sleeping in riding leathers—and she rose to meet his touch, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

The shirt had to go, and it was only a moment’s work to tear it open, leaving her fully exposed to his gaze. He had seen every inch of her before, of course, stolen glances while working to heal her as well as that morning she had gone to look at her own scars. None of those moments compared to this, with her warm and wanting beneath him. The flush of her cheeks spread across her chest as well, accenting the curve of her firm breasts tipped with rose-colored peaks. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and as his fingertips swept up the plane of her toned stomach and along her ribs she let out a sound somewhere between a moan and a whisper of his name.

He had to taste her again then, and from there he allowed himself to kiss along the curve of her neck and her shoulder before dipping lower. A flick of his tongue over her nipple granted him a startled cry and a breathy please, and he obediently took the hardened nub of flesh into his mouth as his hand stroked back down her side to caress her thigh.

At the barest suggestion from his fingertips she spread her legs for him, and he slid his hand between them, tracing circles on her inner thigh until she was begging him for more with her words as well as her movements, the arch of her hips all the more appealing for its artlessness. Slowly, he allowed his fingers to wander ever closer to the slick skin awaiting him at the juncture of her thighs, not quite allowing himself to touch just yet. Her fingers twisted into his hair in response, tugging sharply enough to make him hiss and glance up at her.

She pulled him towards her once again, and he followed where she led eagerly, kissing her once again. As his tongue brushed against hers, though, he realized that perhaps there was one more thing he needed to say to her before this could carry on any further. “I love you,” he whispered into the skin of her neck, smiling as she shivered in response.

“You love me?” she asked, voice husky from their current activities.

He pulled back, just enough to look into her eyes as he replied. “To whatever end.”

She surged up to meet him then, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she kissed him again and again. “I love you,” she breathed between kisses, “and you are mine.”

It was his turn, then, to shiver at her blatant claim of him. “I am yours,” he agreed, “just as much as you are mine.”

And then he was kissing his way down her body, past her breasts and along her stomach. He had just reached her navel when she seemed to realize his plan with a gasp, her fingers returning to their position in his hair as he finally slid his hands up her thighs to part them further and lowered his head between them.

She tasted just as perfect here as she did everywhere else; perhaps even more so. Even more rewarding than her taste, though, was the sharp cry of his name accompanied by a tug on his hair as he flicked his tongue against her. He laughed against her skin as her hips rose to meet him, allowing his hands to slip under the curve of her hips to pull her ever closer.

Before long, she was alternately praising him and cursing him as he continued to tease the tiny nub of flesh tucked between her thighs, hips almost thrashing in his firm grip. “Please,” she begged, and Rowan glanced up at her to find her chest heaving and her cheeks red from pleasure and exertion. “Rowan, please, I need—”

Her head tossed back with another cry then as he slowly pressed a finger into her, curling it slightly to stroke against her from the inside. “More,” she begged as he licked over her once again, and he obediently added a second finger beside the first. Her hips rolled against his hand and his tongue in an undulating motion, her grip on his hair tightening further and her spare hand sliding up towards her breasts, then faltering and falling to fist in the sheets. Her moans and pleas rose in pitch and in volume, and soon her core was tightening around his fingers and her voice broke on a shout of his name.

He pressed one more kiss against her flesh before she was pulling him up again, and he carefully removed his fingers from her before allowing her to guide him back in for yet another kiss to her lips. Her hands slid down his back, pausing when she reached the trousers he still wore. “These have to go,” she demanded, and he grinned in reply.

“As my queen commands,” he said as his own hand fell to the first of the buttons that fastened the trousers around him.

~*~*~

Aelin was positive that she had died and gone to the Afterworld. It couldn’t be possible to love someone this much, to feel this much pleasure at their touch. She was already falling apart, already burning inside, and they had barely begun.

He definitely knew what he was doing—she had suspected as much, given that she was far from his first, but to believe that and to experience it were different things altogether. She knew that she was far from his level of experience, and though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it she knew she wanted to at least try to make him feel as good as he was making her feel.

It was this thought that emboldened her enough to wrap her hand around the length of him once he had bared himself for her, stroking once and marveling at the sensation of such soft skin over something so firm. He hissed in response, pressing forward into her grip, and she couldn’t keep a smile from her face. “That feels good?”

He nodded, elongated canines grazing her skin as he nuzzled his face against her neck. Before she could do anything else, though, his fingers encircled her wrist, halting the motion of her hand. “You don’t have to,” he began.

Aelin responded by arching one of her eyebrows. “And if I want to?”

“You wouldn’t rather save this part of yourself, in the event you need to make a more politically expedient union?”

Irritation flared in her then, and she instinctively leaned in and nipped at his neck. “I would rather make my own decisions, and I’ve decided I want to share this with my mate. Though if he keeps being a bird-brained idiot, I might change my mind.”

He laughed then, and she was about to unleash an irritated tirade on him when he simply said, “I suppose that’s fair.”

“I should certainly hope so,” she retorted, cutting off any reply he could’ve made by moving her hand along his length once more and reveling in the resulting gasp.

The minor argument had done nothing to diminish the arousal she felt, and judging by the weight of him in her palm and the lust shimmering in his eyes he felt the same way. She watched as he lowered his head to see the movement of her hand on him, and then suddenly he pulled her close once more in a kiss that stole what was left of her breath away.

His fingers brushed between her thighs once more and she moaned into his mouth, hooking one of her legs around one of his to tug him ever closer. “Please, Rowan,” she pleaded, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. “Please, I—”

Words failed her then, but he seemed to know precisely what it was she was asking of him regardless. In a smooth motion he braced himself above her with a hand beside her head. The other slid down her side and then moved away to help him guide himself into her.

Gods, and she had thought being filled with his fingers was perfection. This went so far beyond that sensation that she didn’t have the words to describe it even if she had found herself miraculously able to speak. Instead, she whimpered something that sounded vaguely like his name and clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his upper back ripple as he rolled his hips slowly against hers.

When he was fully inside of her his lips found hers again, and she kissed him back, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality. Then he began to move and she was lost.

Her head tossed back, baring her throat to him, and her fingertips dug in at his shoulders at the delightful friction of his thrusts. With a groan, he traced the curve of her neck with his lips and then his teeth, and Aelin slid one of her hands into his hair to keep him there, dragging the nails of her other hand down his back. He growled in response and his hips slammed into her, but his teeth at her neck remained so surprisingly gentle, and the dichotomy of it only fueled the fire burning within her.

She opened her eyes—when had she closed them?—and as she tugged on his hair so she could look into his eyes the fire within her rose up, as hot as the burnout but infinitely sweeter. Keeping her gaze locked on his, she deliberately arched her neck, giving him silent permission to do what he was so clearly longing to.

His teeth sank into the skin of her neck and release crashed over her like a wave, leaving her trembling in his grasp and shouting his name for all the world to hear. His found him soon after, and then it was her turn to hold him as he groaned into her neck and spilled inside of her.

She let out a soft whine as he eased his teeth from her skin and began planting soft kisses over her face and neck. “Gods,” she managed. “I never thought… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“I couldn’t have either,” he admitted, pine-green eyes softer and warmer than she had ever seen them.

A swell of affection rose in her at the sight, and she couldn’t keep it from spilling out into words. “I love you.”

He smiled, truly smiled, and it was like watching the sun rise. “I never thought I would have the privilege of hearing those words from your lips.”

She laughed softly. “It is a privilege, isn’t it?”

He nipped at her neck again, but she only laughed harder. “What would you say,” she asked, “if I told you that my first demand of you as both my mate and my blood-sworn was that we do this as often as we can manage it?”

He chuckled and rolled his hips again, and she gasped with the realization that he had hardly even softened. “I would say we would find it difficult to get any work done,” he replied, and soon after that they were both lost in each other once more and there were no more words.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows @thegoddessofyou

[cactuskate]

Chapter 3: This Can't Happen

an: sorry friends life got crazy! as a treat, I will be posting chapters 3 and 4 tonight so look out for them :)

Summary: Y/N takes a leap of fate and joins the Falcon's crew... on a few conditions. But the surly and sexy Han Solo seems to already be giving her a hard time, and she likes it?!

Warning: swear words, bruise injury

word count: 3234 (sorry not sorry)

----

You enter the Union headquarters sheepishly, trying not to catch the attention of the Sisters as you sit in the back for the daily briefing. After the last mission is handed out, and you are left unassigned, you know you are in for it. Sister Carrie stands at the front of the room, staring right at you through the crowd of Union warriors.

“Last night, Y/N and Estrella successfully completed their mission involving four war criminal stormtroopers. As of tonight, justice was served and all four men are in the custody of the Resistance. Unfortunately, one trooper came looking for our Y/N today, and they engaged in a round of combat that resulted in Y/N turning the trooper into Resistance officers sooner than anticipated. While this was the right decision, Y/N compromised the integrity of the mission so as a result of this regrettable action, the Sisterhood has decided a week’s probation will serve as punishment. That is all for tonight. You may be dismissed. Go forth and serve.”

You groan as the room turns to you, your face growing warmer by the second.

“Sister Carrie, may I speak with you for a moment?” you ask, hoping to deflect some of the stares from your peers. You approach the front to speak with the Sister. She looks tired, distraught even.

“You must know, we had to punish you to such an extreme. You had to be an example for the others,” Sister Carrie offers, somewhat apologetically.

“I understand, Sister,” you say, solemnly.

“You are one of the greatest warriors our Union has. It would be inappropriate to let your actions go unpunished. Although, I hear that this man had it coming, and it would be rude of me to not acknowledge the great service you provided to the community today,” Sister Carrie continues.

“So, I was caught on a technicality, then,” you state blandly, more than you ask.

“No, dear, it was more than just a mere technicality, and you know it,” Sister Carrie corrects.

You know she’s right. You didn’t have to say anything to him. You were right to fight back, you were wrong to reveal the details of the mission. You were so overcomed by the moment, by the trooper’s sinistry, that you couldn’t help yourself.

“I was offered a job, off-planet, as part of a cargo crew. I wasn’t going to take it. But I’m starting to think I should,” you say softly, as Sister Carrie looks at you with caring eyes. “I wanted to ask you about how it would work to be an interplanetary Union member. I think my skills would be valuable on more planets than just Tatooine.”

“My dear, I’ve been waiting for the day you ask me about this. I’m saddened it comes today, after such a difficult decision to place you on probation. Nevertheless, this is your path.”

----

“She’s not coming, Chewie,” Han sighs, pressing his drink to his lips. The two have been camped out all day in the cantina, hoping you would show up. It was late afternoon, and the clock was ticking. There was only about an hour left until sunset, two at most.

“Give her time,” Chewie urged, trying more to convince himself there was still a chance for her to show up than Han.

“Oh, get a grip. There’s not much time left, Chewie,” Han said, accepting defeat.

He wasn’t sure why he cared so much about someone he just met two days ago. Ever since he laid eyes on Y/N, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. The duo sulked in their booth, looking down at their drinks. If Y/N hadn’t sat down at the booth, they would have completely missed her.

“I have questions,” you stated, waving over the waitress to ask for a drink. Han and Chewie jolted up, startled by your presence. “Conditions, too.”

“Anything you want, you’ve got it,” Chewie exclaimed, happy you had decided to show. A wave of relief rushed over Han as he sat across from you, trying to convince himself that you were really there.

“Hold up, fur ball. Let’s hear her demands before we throw out bargaining altogether,” Han said, not hiding his excitement very well. You took a slow sip out of her glass, carefully catching their gaze - first Chewie, then Han. Han’s stomach started to churn. He was willing to agree to anything to get you on the crew, but he wasn’t ready to reveal that just yet.

“Okay,” you say, setting down your drink carefully. “First is responsibilities. I can do pretty much anything you might need a crewmate to do except pilot. I’ll cook meals, I’ll clean quarters, I don’t know the kind of wiring or mechanics the Falcon has but I’m a quick learner and have experience in repairs.” You look between the duo again before proceeding, making sure to note any changes in their expression. “I will not be joining in on your smuggling unless it is advantageous to me. I speak several languages. I am good at getting information from people - they tend to offer it to me. I would be willing to help on any job to that extent. Anything further, I’d need to consider. How does that sound?”

“Sounds fine so far, but I’m guessing there’s more,” Han said, shooting a knowing look at Chewbacca. You grab the base of your glass and spin it a couple times before taking a sip. Han tenses in his seat, watching your glass rise to meet your lips.

“Second, conditions,” you say, as you set your glass back down on the table. “I’d like my own private space on the ship. Preferably a room with a door, but I would take a corner if that was all you had. I don’t mind sharing other things, I just want my own space to sleep.”

“We have a spare room on board. No one’s slept in it in years, so it might need some sprucing up, but it’s yours,” Han says, agreeing to your first condition, wondering how many more you were going to introduce.

“Good,” you nod. “I’d also like some sort of allowance. It doesn’t have to be much, and it doesn’t have to be a share of your jobs. I’d just like enough to buy small items and maybe save some of it away,” you say, glancing between the two again.

“That’s a given. What’s your next condition?” asks Han, more seriously than before. There isn’t a single condition he wouldn’t agree to, same with Chewbacca.

“Final condition. I am not going to be sitting on the ship twiddling my thumbs when you two are out on a job. Of course, I’ll stay back when you need me to or if I have repairs to make, but I plan to venture out into whatever city we are in,” you say, pausing before you continue cautiously. “I need you to not ask questions about what I do or where I go or who I’m with, aside from emergencies or things I choose to offer.”

This was the most important condition. The answer to this would be the determining factor of whether or not you would be able to still work for the Union and live up to the oath. Han glances and Chewie, who gives him a nod.

“That’s something we agree to. But, I have to warn you, Chewie is so nosy, so that might not always be avoided,” Han says sincerely, clearly joking about Chewie, who gives him a disgruntled look.

“So we agree then, on everything?” you ask, making sure your arrangement is final.

“Yes. You are officially part of the crew,” Chewie grunts happily. Han gives you a smile and shakes your hand.

“Good, because Rella and Brendol are outside with my belongings and it would have been a pain to unpack everything,” you say with a smirk.

----

“So, that’s basically the lay of the land. Here is your room. I’m right next door, which you should be grateful for. Chewie is a big snorer, so it’s a good thing his room is next to the cockpit,” Han says, leaning on the doorframe, watching you as you take in your new quarters. “What do you think?”

“It’s great, thank you,” you say, placing your bags on the cot. The room had potential. Han was right, it definitely needs some major sprucing up. But it was all yours, and you couldn’t help but reel with excitement about your new adventure.

“Right, let’s get a move on,” Han says, turning to walk to the cockpit. “It’s going to take the better part of two days to get this delivery to Navarro. Once the cargo is delivered and we get paid, we’re going to have to figure out where to get a high paying job with the guild. They aren’t always too welcoming to smugglers.”

You buckle into your seat behind Chewbacca, carefully watching Han click on a series of buttons to prepare the Falcon for takeoff.

“I could help you find information about jobs on Navarro,” you offer. “If we can find a cantina the guild hangs out in, I’m sure I could find someone to tell me how to get a good job.”

Han turns slightly to look at you, then turns to Chewie.

“Not even an hour into being a crew member and she already is willing to talk to the Navarro guild,” he chuckles. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

After a few minutes of takeoff, the Falcon is ready to launch into hyperspeed. You have never flown at hyperspeed before. The one time you flew off-planet only required enough fuel to travel a planet over. Now, you are about to travel systems away. As the Falcon revved into hyperspeed, your eyes widened. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. With stars lighting up the cabin, Han and Chewie unbuckled.

“We can move around now,” Chewie informed you, clearly entertained by your amazement.

“This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, mostly to yourself.

“You get used to it,” Han said softly, tossing a rag into the bin under the main board.

“I doubt it,” you say, still in awe. After a moment, you announce, “I think I’ll go unpack.”

“I’ll take the first shift, Han,” Chewie says, much to Han’s delight.

----

After what feels like hours of cleaning and unpacking in your quarters, you venture back up to the cockpit to find Chewie.

“Will you tell me what all these buttons mean?” you ask Chewie, settling into the co-pilot’s chair for a better view.

Chewie explains each button, though you’re not quite sure what they all mean. He begins to quiz you on it when you are interrupted by Han.

“What are you doing up there? That’s my chair,” he grumbles to you, not trying to hide his annoyance.

“Stop being so weird about your chair, Solo,” Chewie grumbles back. “I was just showing her the controls.”

“It’s fine, Chewie,” you say, addressing the Wookiee, and ignoring Han. “I should get started on some of my tasks,” you say as you rise from Han’s chair and squeeze past him to leave the cockpit.

Han shoots Chewie a confused look as Chewie shakes his head in disapproval. After a moment, Han ventures out to find you. You are fixing one of the leaking pipes in the south bay when he finds you.

“Look, I didn’t mean to…”

“Be a jerk?” you offer, not meeting his eyes, still slightly annoyed by his childish behavior. This was the Han Solo you thought you’d get. The past two days of niceties were apparently a rarity. You felt him still standing there, so you looked up from what you were doing. “What do you want, Solo?”

“I apologized, I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Han shoots back, absorbing your annoyed mood as his own.

“I think I must have missed where you apologized,” you drone, putting all your effort into not showing any more emotion to him. “You don’t need to apologize, I just won’t sit in your chair anymore. Noted,” you say, poking your index finger on your temple. “And I’m not upset, I’m genuinely trying to do my tasks.”

“Fine,” Han says, still not moving. He watches you as you return your attention to closing the leaky valve. Though you struggle a bit, you eventually fix the pipe. He’s still there. Watching.

“What?” you sigh. You don’t like how much influence he has over your emotions. You’ve only known him for three days and it’s already so hot and cold with him.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” he murmurs. “It’s not easy.”

“Maybe that’s intentional,” you huff, placing the tools back in the metal box.

“I keep thinking about yesterday. What you said to that trooper. How you said he came back for a second round. You had planned to fight him in the cantina, or at least interact with him, didn’t you?” Han says, thinking out loud. “He was a target of some kind.”

Ugh. You were really regretting saying another word to that trooper. First probation, and now Han’s peaked interest.

“He’s a bully. I don’t like bullies. Simple as that,” you say, nonchalantly.

You pick up the toolbox and try to move past Han. He stops you from moving any further. His shoulders are so broad that he blocks the doorway without even trying. He is facing you straight on, your eyes meeting him.

“I don’t think it's as simple as that. Nothing about you seems simple,” he says softly.

He holds your gaze for a moment before finally moving to the side, letting you go to your next task. A pit grows in your stomach as you walk to the other end of the ship. It’s a feeling you don’t like to welcome often. You do your best to shake it off, and focus your energy into completing what tasks you can in peace.

----

You don’t see anyone until dinner, which consists of freeze dried leftovers. Not much is said - a result of a long three days. The quiet is nice; you never realized how quiet space could be. With no conversation or noise to distract you, you are keenly aware that your side radiates pain. Han and Chewie don’t seem to notice, which is just as well for you. You’d rather not think about your injury, let alone allow it to attract the attention of your crewmates. After dinner, Chewie goes to sleep and Han takes watch over the cockpit for the night. You return to your quarters for a bit, waiting until it becomes quieter before deciding to run a few laps.

Not even a day into probation and I’m already bored.

Running is exactly what you need, especially since you finished the majority of the maintenance work for the entire travel period in the first few hours. You sneak out of your room, careful not to make too much noise. Space is cold. You aren’t used to that. You look down at your side, which is now turning the same shade of deep blue as your top. Starting off slowly so as to not agitate the pain from your ribs, you quickly realize that the only time running inflames the injury is when you twist your torso. Otherwise, you can run just as well as you could before.

Immersing yourself in your workout, you lose count after a few laps around the Falcon. You are so focused on your breathing and your footwork that you don’t hear the cockpit door shoot open.

“What the hell are you running from?!” grumbles an annoyed Han. You stop short, sending a ripple of pain through your ribs, causing you to retract over your legs, hugging you side, moaning slightly.

“You scared me, oh my stars,” you groan, gently rubbing your side as you remain bent over your legs. Han stands there impatiently. As you stand back up, his face goes pale.

“Shit, Y/N. Look at your side,” he says softly.

The light from the Falcon illuminates your discolored ribcage, revealing an assortment of bruising colors. Han gently grabs the bottom of your shirt, lifting it gingerly to see the trail of color extend up to your chest. Before you can swat his hand away, he gently tugs the top of your waistband down to see the color continues down towards your hips.

“Solo, stop,” you wince, carefully taking a step back until he releases your garments.

The soft snap of your waistband on your skin sends a ripple of pain through your bones. Han quickly walks to the common room and you follow.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as he grabs a bag from under the couch. He unzips the bag and pulls out a syringe. A bacta shot. “No...Solo. I-I don’t want that,” you refuse, already realizing what he’s going to try to do.

“Y/N, you need it. Please let me,” he says, insistently, his eyes growing with worry. “I haven’t ever seen a hit get this badly bruised,” he says quietly.

“Solo, that’s your last bacta shot. You need to save it. I’m fine… That bastard just hit me in the same spot twice,” you say, wincing as you remember the blows. “It’s just a bruised rib - worst case scenario it’s broken. Most people with this injury don’t do anything but give it time. It’ll heal in a few weeks and the bruising will go down in a couple days,” you say sincerely, trying to put on a convincing face.

Han frowns, but he puts the syringe back in the bag and zips it up.

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You look at him confused. “What the hell were you running from?” You roll your eyes.

“I was jogging, trying to pass the time. I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you say, searching his face trying to get a better read on him. After a moment with no response from Han, you continue. “Luckily for you, I’m going to sleep.”

You start to walk to the door of your room when Han’s hand catches your arm. He turns you around and you meet his gaze.

“You tell me the minute you change your mind about that shot. I don’t like seeing you in pain,” he says seriously. His rough hand firmly gripping your bicep sends shivers down your back. Just as quickly as he grabbed your arm he dropped it, walking back to the cockpit, leaving you feeling a way you haven’t felt in a long time - aroused.

That night, you toss back and forth, convincing yourself that Han is off limits, for many reasons. Well, for two big reasons: he’s your crewmate, and you took an oath to the Union.

Yet, you find yourself getting more flustered by the moment. You relive the past three days, and all the times he’s watched you with those piercing brown eyes. Those things he told you in Brandol’s shop - how you deserve more - what he told you today in the bay - that there’s nothing simple about you. You try to shake the thoughts from your mind, but it’s no use. It’s nothing, this infatuation. Han Solo is arrogant and rude. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of liking him in any other way but professional.

This. Can’t. Happen.

[valhallasubstitute]

Fealty

--Sihtric x reader

You’re not entirely sure what you mean to Sihtric. After spending another night together you finally get some answers after trying on his jewellery.

It was common that once a Viking boy came of age he would receive an oath ring, he’d swear fealty, loyalty to his earl/lord. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that Sihtric’s arm bands are his oath rings. 

AN: And here children we can see Inga’s obsession with Arnas Fedaravicius’s arms ever clearer.

WARNINGS: Fluff,  Dane boy who looks like a rat being very soft

wc: 958, short but sweet

Sihtric’s arm bands had always been a point of interest for you.

When he had first come into your life his arms alone had had most of your attention but as you had gotten to know him even the smallest detail wasn’t enough.

It hadn’t taken long before he had found a way into your heart and you into his bed.

And that is where you found yourself tonight. 

He lay with his arms behind his head, propped up on the mountain of pillows you insisted upon having, not that he was complaining. He was comfortable, freshly fucked and enjoying the view.

As were you.

He was half naked, muscles on full display, his tunic covering your body rather than his and the marks you had left on him had not yet begun to fade. But it was Sihtric’s face that you enjoyed most. He looked relaxed, happy and ever so slightly amused. 

Not only had you donned his shirt but you were in the process of “pillaging” his jewellery. His rings were far too big for you, slipping off your fingers just as quickly as you had slipped them on but you liked the intricate designs.

Each one you would hold up to the candle light and admire the way it shone, and if it didn’t you would polish it until it did. You would ask where he had gotten them and he would tell you each story without argument.

He had hesitated the first, second and third time you had inquired about his exploits, much more interested in exploring the physical aspects of your relationship, and he did not wish to scare you away. It had taken some convincing but now he did not hesitate to tell how he had gotten each ring; from winning a drinking contest to taking it from a enemies corpse. 

He loved to watch the way your eyes would light up as he spoke, your attention flitting between him and the ring you held in your hand. If only he knew it was because you couldn’t decide which was prettier.

He was laughing by the time he had finished his story. While the sound was gentle his whole body shook and you found yourself drawn to him, just as you always had been. You placed his rings back on the table and instead filled your hands with his arm bands.

You sat on the bed, enjoying the way his touch immediately found you. You held both pieces of gold in one hand and with the other you laced your fingers with Sihtric’s. They were warm and rough.

 ‘And what are these for?’

‘Do they appeal to you more than my rings?’

‘I will not deny my curiosity.’ He smiled at you and your stomach flipped. He was too handsome for his own good, the bastard. He sat up, his body shuffling towards you. Sihtric took one of the bands and placed it on your arm. The metal was cool against your skin and it fell off as quickly as the rings had. Sihtric did not remove it, preferring to toy with it settled between the crook of your elbow. 

‘There is a tradition, from Kjartan’s homeland. When Danish boys come of age they are given a band to show their loyalty. Oath Rings.’ He picked up the gold band that usually sat on his right arm, his thumb running lightly over the ridge of it. ‘This one is for Uhtred and my fealty to him.’

‘He is lucky to have you Sihtric.’ A proud smile bloomed across his face, his eyes dancing in the low light. You wanted to kiss him but more questions lingered on your tongue. ‘Whose fealty does this belong to?’ You could not fathom the answer. It would not be for Kjartan, Sihtric had mixed feelings towards his late father but loyalty was not one of them. Uhtred was and always would be his only lord.

Sihtric looked at you for a long time and for a moment you feared you had asked too much, that he would take back his shirt, his soft touches and whatever feeling you hoped he might have. He must have seen the fear in your eyes, you watched the softness return to his gaze and he placed a large hand onto the back of your neck. 

Sihtric opened his mouth but closed it again almost immediately, optioning to bring his forehead to yours instead. His scent was calming and you breathed him in deeply, your courage returning. 

‘You do not have to answer, it wasn’t my intention to pry-‘

‘No… No, you do not over step. I-‘ He laughed lightly, his other hand coming to your hair, his fingers gently playing with the loose strands.  ‘It is more decoration than anything but …’

‘But?’ You couldn’t tell if it was the low lighting or if he was blushing, you hoped he was blushing. 

‘If I were to swear fealty to another, anyone other than Uhtred, it would be you Y/N.’ 

‘Me?’

‘You. The woman I love. You alone have both my sword and my heart.’ He said it fast and finished with a sigh, his eyes were wide and the vulnerability in them was plain. You felt although your heart had stopped, doubled in size, melted and burst all at once. You kissed him then, his soft lips becoming flush with your own.

 You could not contain the wide grin that spread across your face. How were you meant to kiss the warrior in front of you when your own lips refused to do anything other than smile? His expression mirrored yours, and you knew then that he loved you.

‘I accept your offer of fealty Sihtric Kjartanson. With pleasure.’ 

[sif-the-tsunami]

Hello friends,

This is a small sample of the fantasy series I’ve been working on for a few years. I would love to get some kind of feedback. Positive, negative. Lay it on me. I want to know what you think.

This is a rough draft, barely edited. 

Summary: A young warrior starts the path to her destiny. 

Rated: PG-13, this will probably read like YA but there wont be any sexy times. Just talks about violence and death (this doesn’t mean that people under 18 can start interacting with my blog. I mostly post smut.)

The attack on Dawnforge came without warning. Raiders, dozens of them, descended upon the small community surrounding a rural temple. The invaders poured violently out of the woods. In the cool shade of the temple’s grove, Ellisif Thrace’s mossy green eyes shot open from her late afternoon nap when she heard the Keepers sound the alarm. The war horns had only been blown ceremonially for as long as she could remember. The second blast echoed off the stone walls and summoned her to action. The young woman sat strait up, and listened for another moment to see if she could find out what direction the alarm was coming from.  She thought she could hear the Keepers shouting towards the east although she couldn’t make out what they were saying just yet. Always eager to be of assistance, Ellisif picked up her belongings and started running towards the commotion. Ellie, as she preferred to be addressed, had been learning defense and fighting techniques since she was strong enough to pick up a sword. Her father had been a knight errant and thought it was important that his children should know how to keep themselves safe.

Another blast of the horn let her know she was running in the right direction. Soon she heard the sound of weapons being thrown and bashed into the thick wooden gate. The Keepers were directing the villagers to leave the area, a man that Ellisif thought was named Erik told her to go home. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, his skin was sun kissed, with a little pink on his temples and cheekbones. Erik looked scared, brushing his reddish blond hair out of his face.

“I’m here to help, give me a sword!” She shouted.

“Little Sister, you need to go somewhere safe.” Erik ordered. As he was saying this, the Commander put his hand on her shoulder.

“Erik, Ellie is to join the Order at the Feast of Lyria. Let her pick up a shield, if they make it through our defenses, she knows how to handle herself.” The older man told Erik. He handed their recruit a wooden shield with metal studs, “Ellisif, make your father proud.”

Erik rolled his eyes as the Commander went to go hand out more tools. “They are going to break through in a matter of minutes. Take an ax. If they make it past us, cut the fuckers down. And don’t you dare get killed.”

Ellie pulled the cord she had on her wrist to tie her hair back. Her thick dark chocolate brown curls were pulled back out of her face and she said a small prayer to her favorite Goddess. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but if I do, please let me do it quickly. Her heart pounded in her throat, her trepidation rose with every new crack emerging from the gate. The wood finally gave way, and she watched the horde of mismatched heathens break into her town. The Keepers had set up as much of a barricade as they could. Carts where pushed on their sides trying to create a funnel and direct the invaders to the villages best fighters and war priests. The Archers were doing what they could to thin out the herd. Ellisif inched closer to the battle, she tightened her grip on the handle of her ax just in time for a raider to jump over the stack of crates that had been near where she was standing. She raised her shield to the long sword he was swinging at her and it became stuck in the hard wood. Then it was as if her brain shut off and her body took over.

The warrior would never truly be able to recall everything that happened that afternoon. The surviving Keepers would tell her that she was brave, surgical with her actions and moved like she had been doing this all her life. In her state of shock, she would just say she had really good teachers. They would congratulate her for surviving her first battle. They thanked her for saving lives that day. Not a single invader made it past where she stood her ground.

Ellie looked up at the white stone buildings that were beginning to glow pink with the setting of the sun. What would they do with the bodies, she wondered vaguely. She leaned against the warm stone wall and slid down. What should I be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the sickness in her stomach go away.

“Where is she? Where is my sister, where is my Ellie?” a familiar voice was shouting. A couple of the Keepers pointed towards where she sat with her knees tucked to against her chest, her head resting on the wall behind her. Sarah thought she look more pale than normal.

“I’m right here.” Ellie croaked. Her throat was so dry. The healers had looked at her briefly, said she would be fine but to be prepared that she would probably have some pretty bad bruising on her forearms.

“Oh my Gods, why are you covered in blood? We’ve been so worried! Mama is going to skin you alive. Are you hurt? What were you thinking?” The thin woman stammered together as she fretted over her younger sister.

“I’m fine, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think so.” Ellie said, “What was I thinking? I was thinking that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to run toward the fight. Do you have your water on you? I need a drink...”

The Commander strutted over like the fine peacock he was and pressed a bottle of ale into Ellie’s open hand and said something about how proud he was. She didn’t care. Ellie just wanted to be able to swallow without her throat feeling like sandpaper. The strawberry ale was sweet and warm, it made swallowing a little easier but after the third mouthful it became clear that the ale was doing nothing for her nausea. There might have been something said to her about how he was looking forward to seeing her take her oath, he chuckled and walked off. Sarah started trying to clean the viscera from her sister’s face but before she got too much grime off of her face, Ellisif turned her head and wretched.  She groaned, “Let’s go home.”

They walked home, arms wrapped around each other. It wouldn’t be until they reached their little home that Ellisif would start talking. The words slipped out of the young woman, still dazed. She looked down at the ax she was still holding onto with white knuckles and whispered “The one who gave this to me, Erik… I don’t know. He was killed. I killed someone today, Sarah. I killed several someones…”

Sarah, as gently as she could, wiped the tears off of her sister’s face, “You did what Daddy taught us to do. You helped keep our family safe, you kept or town safe. Lyria would be proud. She would be thrilled to know you will be defending her temple. Daddy would be so proud too.”

The older sister took her partner in crime into their house, and tucked the battle wary woman into her bed. The ax fell to the ground with a sickening thunk, and Ellie rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sarah went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to brew some tea. Their mother, Kyra, had gone to the temple to help bandage up wounds of the Keepers and anyone else who took up arms. She eventually grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread from the pantry and slather it in homemade butter, pulling out her book of herbs. If Ellisif was more athletically inclined, her sister was definitely more well read. Sarah propped the book up and began plaiting her silky hair as she read the well loved tome. The front door opened quietly, the family’s matriarch came back after a long night of bandaging up injured young people and comforting the loved ones of those they lost.

“The Pale Mother now has a few more attendants now,” Kyra sighed, she and Sarah’s looks were similar, though she had more silver in her hair now. They both had dark brown eyes, almost black.  “Those poor souls. The Council and the High Priestess has asked that we all gather tomorrow at the Temple. They found their leader and they are interrogating him. He seemed to not understand that the forge our town was named after has been closed for generations, thought he could arm his merry band of miscreants. I heard Ellisif did her duty. How’s our girl doing?”

“She might have gone into emotional shock. I put her in bed, she’s going to need something strong in the morning. I was just reading up on something that will sooth her nerves, she was covered, and I mean covered, in blood. Evidently none of it was hers, which is good. Daddy taught her well. The Keepers were saying she showed a lot of potential.”

“Your father was the best knight I have ever seen wield a sword, I can only imagine what he taught her. The Temple will have never been safer if she is half as good as he was.” Kyra grabbed another hunk of bread and helped herself to some cheese. “I wish you could have seen him. I’ve never seen anyone burn with righteous fury like he could. When he would swing his sword in the tourneys he fought in, I swear that it looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Ells has that same spark. When she was little, I saw it in her too.”

“I told her daddy would be proud.”

“He would be. He would also be profoundly sad for her. Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very long.”

Ellisif slept until nightfall the next day. Siggy and Kyra left her to her mild unconsciousness to attend the meeting at noon. The temple slowly filled with the mourning villagers. More than a dozen Keepers had died that afternoon, it had been a decade since there had been any attacks on Dawnforge like this. It would be weeks before the damage the raiders did to the town could be repaired. The surviving raiders were told they could bury their dead on the other side of the ravine outside of the walls and then to assist the town in its repairs to try to make amends. The Thrace women where given the instruction on how they could help by the High Priestess. As soon as they where able to, Sarah and her sister would be going to the schoolhouse. They thought that having a couple extra adults around the kids would help make them feel safer.

Most of the school age kids knew Ellie. Two years ago she had won the combat tournament on the Feast of Seraphina, the Scarlet Mother. Usually the winners give the bouquet of fire Lilies to their significant other, she instead pulled out individual flowers and gave one to every little one who was around the ring that day. Her father had done the same thing the last time he had won the tournament. She enjoyed being their hero that afternoon, Sarah remembered as she and their mom walked home with their orders. The night of the feast, Ellie was asked attend the dance that was be held in the town square. Sarah had never seen her sister so happy as when she came home giggling, barefoot and a little in love.

When they made it to their home again, they saw evidence that Ellie had been up and moving but she was no where to be seen. Kyra suggested that they leave her be for the time being, they were kind in letting the young woman try to recover at her own pace. After a few days of her sleeping more heavily than she ever had, Ellisif needed to be in the forest behind the temple. She wanted to feel the presence of the Green Mother and ask her for guidance. There was a small clearing there, where a large stone acts as an alter for Lyria. It was a large piece of granite that always seemed to be covered with moss in all the directions, not just north. On the morning of Lyria’s feast day, the sun would align itself with this slab perfectly, and that is where she would be taking her vows to join the ranks of the Keepers. They were originally called the Temple Keepers, as the community grew, the area they kept safe grew with it. Once Ellie joined, she would be binding herself to the fate of the town. She could get married and have a family if she chose, but traveling would be almost impossible. If the Empire of Oril ever declared war on any of the other kingdoms, they were almost always the ones that were conscripted.  

While Ellie had wanted to become a Keeper for as long as she could remember, as of this morning, the idea of joining gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had always talked about how even masters of their craft could have their confidence shaken if the seeds of doubt had taken root in their minds. Was this a seed a doubt she had been warned about?

“Lyria, divine mother, I come here to beg you for forgiveness. I never wanted take someone’s life. I thought they would yield if they got hurt. How could I have been so stupid...” and for the first time since the attack, Ellisif’s strength gave out. There she spent the rest of the day sobbing and trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her body shook violently as the waves of emotions crashed over her. In the back of her mind, a small notion crawled its way forward, seeping into her thoughts likes a strong tea in hot water. Devoting herself to the temple may not be the right choice. Ellie cleaned her face of the mess that the sobbing caused. The moon had risen, her family would be worried.

She made it into her home moments before they would begin searching for their missing member. There were hugs and more tears. They remained silent as Ellie made her way to her bed, she prepared herself for the night.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Qiyana, Empress of the Elements build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Aley Ghallan. Made for Riot Games.)

So it turns out I was wrong about Evelynn: there is another champion who doesn’t have “the” in the title! Leave it to Qiyana to be special. Anyways: after making this post my brain decided to hype fixate on a potential Qiyana build and then... oops. It suddenly got made. Truth be told I still haven’t got a goddamn clue how Qiyana works in-game.

GOALS

Not my fault; they should have bowed - Qiyana’s an assassin which of course means we need assassin damage.

Let us throw rocks at them and laugh - The Empress of the Elements needs elements to control! Earth, Wind, Fire, and Air!

Why are you in my space? - Riot sort of just... decided Qiyana should have two dashes in her kit? I guess?

RACE

Qiyana is clearly human but the Ixtali have some innate magic to them, so for control over the primal magic of (area with trees) go for a Half-Elf for Fey Ancestry to resist charms and sleeping.

But we won’t just be going for any Half-Elf. You know me I use Dragonmarks way too much, but it works since the Dragonmarked houses are above the rest. We’ll be going for a Mark of Storm to control both the oceans and the river! As a Mark of Storm Half-Elf your Charisma increases by 2 (as per usual) and your Dexterity increases by 1. You have Windwright’s Intuition to add a d4 to any Acrobatics checks you may make (as well as Navigator’s Tools which is slightly less important), and the Storm’s Boon to resist Lightning damage. "I see you have mastered the element of wind."

Of course what we’re mainly here for is Headwinds for a bit of elemental manipulation! You can cast Gust at will, and at third level you can cast Gust of Wind once per Long Rest as a very shitty version of your ultimate! You can also learn a language of your choice and Primordial would let you speak to the earth; it’s up to you to make sure it listens!

IF DRAGONMARKS AREN’T AN OPTION: Both Drow Half-Elf and Wood Half-Elf work very well for Qiyana. Drow gives you more spells while Wood makes it easier for you to hide. You’d also get more ASIs by going for a regular Half Elf (as opposed to a Dragonmarked race) so put the +1 you’d get into Strength.

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - Qiyana is a master of acrobatics, doing flips and kicks as she so desires.

14; CHARISMA - A ruler is meant to be attractive... and imposing.

13; STRENGTH - That ring you carry is heavy. Also it’s a multiclassing requirement.

12; CONSTITUTION - Qiyana is squishy in League but that doesn’t mean she has to be squishy for this build.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You must know your legacy in order to rule, and while your magic is a natural gift it’s good to know your way around Arcana.

8; WISDOM - So what if you have a hot head? You can shape the river to cool yourself off!

BACKGROUND

And here you were thinking I’d use Noble... Not many know of the Ixtali people, so you’re more of a Far Traveler than anything else. You get proficiency with skills but they don’t really fit you to be honest, so take Arcana and Nature proficiency to know your natural magic. You also gain proficiency with a musical instrument or gaming set of your choice (pick your fancy) and a language of your choice (also pick your fancy!)

But most importantly you know that you have All Eyes on You. Everyone knows you’re from the great land of Ixtal, and some will offer you service to know of the history of your great land. Won’t they be excited to know they’ll be joining your kingdom too?

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuestling. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - ROGUE 1

You are an assassin, and an empress needs as many skills as she can get. Take proficiency in Acrobatics (obviously) and the three big Charisma skills: Deception, Persuasion, and Intimidation. You could get Performance instead for some TRUE DAMAGE, but trust me when I say Performance barely ever comes up in standard D&D. You also get Expertise in two skills: Nature and Arcana are kinda your thing, so...

As an empress you know just the right way to word your phrases to sound like Thieves’ Cant, and can understand any roguish discussion of those trying to overtake your throne. But of course as an assassin you’re expected to build lethality and Sneak Attack, doing an extra d6 to any enemy who mispositioned. 

LEVEL 2 - ROGUE 2

Second level Rogues get their Cunning Action, allowing you to have the Audacity to Dash, Disengage, or Hide as a Bonus Action. It’s really nice when I can recreate League of Legends dashes as just... the Dash action.

LEVEL 3 - ROGUE 3

Third level Rogues get to choose their Roguish Archetype and Swashbucklers can move from enemy to enemy with ease and taunt them all the while. As a Swashbuckler you get two features but it’s more like three features: Fancy Footwork lets you dash away from a foe you’ve just hit without taking opportunity attacks.

Rakish Audacity meanwhile lets you Sneak Attack anyone who doesn’t have bodyguards, and has the added benefit of letting you add your Charisma to initiative rolls! "Some wait their turn, and some take what they deserve." Speaking of Sneak Attack: your Sneak Attack also increases to 2d6, and you also get Gust of Wind from your race now!

LEVEL 4 - ROGUE 4

4th level Rogues get an Ability Score Improvement: Dexterity kind of controls... everything that you do at the moment? So a +2 increase to DEX will go a long way.

(Artwork by eollynart on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 1

Did you swear an oath to Ixtal? Well it doesn’t matter. As a Paladin you have a Divine Sense to know the lay of the land: if there are any Celestials, Fiends, Fey, or Undead walking through your river or if the land is Consecrated or Desecrated. The ability does have a limited number of uses and a limited range however, so be mindful.

You can also heal yourself (or others, I guess) with a Corrupting Potion thanks to Lay on Hands. You can even cure Poisons or Diseases with 5 health points, because no one is assassinating this empress!

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 2

Second level Paladins get to choose their Fighting Style: while it may not be the most effective you need to control the elements, and Blessed Warrior will give you some more minor control over the world around you. Thaumaturgy is the main one we’re here for because we can’t get Prestidigitation, and while it’s perhaps not the most in-character Guidance is still always useful to have, if only to use it on yourself.

Now would also be a good chance to talk about your Ring Blade ohmlatl: I actually think opting for Two Weapon Fighting with Qiyana works quite well to recreate her weapon! I’d opt for two Scimitars but Shortswords obviously work well too. Alternatively a Rapier and Shield would still let you Sneak Attack while also letting you block attacks.

Of course you don’t just get cantrips: you get actual Spellcasting! You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level (rounded down.) Divine Favor will let you use your passive to get more damage and Thunderous Smite will let you knock a foe down as if stunning them with an icy blade.

Other than that? Command suits you well but there are few other spells we really need. I’d recommend you ignore all of that and concentrate on Divine Smite, turning magic into raw damage with your blade! "I command you to die!"

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 3

The magic of Ixtal is ancient and to bend it to your will look no further than the Oath of the Ancients. You learn both Ensnaring Strike and Speak with Animals as Oath Spells (one of which is far more in-character than the other, but hey the birds can bow to you too), and you get two Channel Divinity options:

Nature’s Wrath will let you ensnare a creature within 10 feet of you. (It’s supposed to be flavored as vines but I’d reflavor it as ice from the river.) They can make a Strength or Dexterity saving throw or get free, but if they fail they will be restrained until they break out. Yeah there’s no max duration on this! Yes they can repeat the save each turn but the point still stands!

Turn the Faithless meanwhile is your standard turning effect, only this affects Feys and Fiends. The jungle natives know to bow to you, and usurpers shall be made to bow!

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 4

4th level means another Ability Score Improvement but I don’t think we’ve hidden in the grass enough. The Shadow Touched feat will let you increase your Charisma by 1 and will also give you the Invisibility spell for when you need it. You can also learn a first level Illusion or Necromancy spell like Disguise Self to change up your wardrobe as necessary. You can cast both these spells once per Long Rest without using a spell slot, but can then use your spell slots to cast them some more.

Speaking of spells you can prepare more of them. But again: not much I really want. I’d recommend waiting for...

LEVEL 9 - PALADIN 5

5th level Paladins get an Extra Attack, allowing you to attack twice in one turn for more chances to Sneak Attack, Smite, or both!

Additionally you get a lot of good stuff at this level! You can learn Misty Step and Moonbeam as Oath Spells to recreate Flash and what we’ll call your ultimate for the sake of this build. You can also prepare Branding Smite for more Elemental Wrath and uhhhh... oops that’s kinda all I want. I mean Lesser Restoration is nice in a pinch. Truthfully it’s 3rd level where the true Qiyana spells come in.

(Artist unknown. Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 10 - PALADIN 6

6th level Paladins can evade any danger with their natural beauty. Aura of Protection grants a saving throw boost equal to your Charisma modifier to yourself and anyone within 10 feet of you, so their empress can lead and put those who oppose her in the dirt.

LEVEL 11 - PALADIN 7

Oh did you think a bonus to saving throws wasn’t enough? Well as an Ancients Paladin you get Aura of Warding as well, giving yourself (and your allies) resistance to magic! This means that if you succeed on a saving throw against a spell you’ll take a quarter damage total (half of a half), and even if you (somehow) fail you’ll still only take half damage! "You are right to fear my greatness."

LEVEL 12 - PALADIN 8

8th level means another Ability Score Improvement: cap off that uneven Charisma score as well as your uneven Strength, because a +2 modifier is nice even if you aren’t really using it.

LEVEL 13 - PALADIN 9

9th level Paladins can cast third level spells which means oh boy: I get to tell you all the spells you should prepare to be in-character for Qiyana that you’re never going to be able to cast with your limited spell slots! Regardless Ancients Paladins get Plant Growth and Protection from Energy added to their spell list, to manipulate the elements to their liking. But with four other spells to prepare what should we take?

Elemental Weapon is the “yeah duh” spell, letting you invoke Elemental Wrath and really get value out of your passive. (It also makes your weapon a +1 which is helpful.)

Spirit Shroud is like Elemental Weapon but objectively better except for the fact that it doesn’t deal elemental damage. (Well it can deal Cold damage.) But instead of a d4 extra damage you’ll do a d8, and you can also slow those near you!

And again: I don’t really want any other spells. Almost like Qiyana is an AD champ masquerading as a spellcaster. You are allowed to take Cure Wounds you know? Just saying.

(Artwork by Mavoly on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 14 - ROGUE 5

Hey aren’t you an assassin? Shouldn’t we be concentrating on like, assassin stuff? 5th level Rogues get Uncanny Dodge, letting you spend your reaction to halve the damage of an attack against you. This would affect attack rolls from spells like Shocking Grasp, meaning it would stack with Aura of Warding, but you can’t Uncanny Dodge a spell to only take an eighth of the damage.

Oh and your Sneak Attack (finally!) increases to 3d6.

LEVEL 15 - ROGUE 6

6th level Rogues get Expertise in two more skills. By this point you should probably be at peak performance with Acrobatics. After that pick your poison for one of your Charisma skills if you want to deal in public relations, subterfuge, or pop music.

LEVEL 16 - ROGUE 7

Are saving throws still (somehow) getting you down? Well Evasion just makes it so you take 0 damage if you succeed on a Dexterity saving throw, and only half damage on a failure! It’s probably worth mentioning that you currently have a +13 DEX save. To put this into perspective Tiamat’s breath weapon is a DC 27 DEX save; meaning that you have a 30% chance to take zero damage from an attack from Tiamat.

Oh and your Sneak Attack increases to 4d6, so you can then destroy Tiamat with a Supreme Display of Talent.

LEVEL 17 - ROGUE 8

8th level Rogues get another Ability Score Improvement: Dexterity still controls our AC and attack rolls (along with many other things) and it still isn’t maxed, so capping it off at 20 would be a good idea. "Jaw-dropping, I know."

(Artwork by LittleKumaArt on DeviantArt.)

LEVEL 18 - PALADIN 10

Rounding this build off with a final few levels in Paladin: level 10 Paladins get Aura of Courage, because if you’ve lasted long enough to hit level 18 why would you be afraid of anything? "So basic."

LEVEL 19 - PALADIN 11

11th level Paladins get Improved Divine Smite, letting them add a d8 Radiant damage to any hit with your weapon (not just hits with Divine Smite, despite the name.)

But I’m going to be honest: what I really wanted was the extra third level spell slot. Not that an extra d8 every attack isn’t good though! Show off that Royal Privilege!

LEVEL 20 - PALADIN 12

12th level Paladins get our final Ability Score Improvement: cap off your Charisma for a +5 Aura of Protection, and also more spells to prepare. "If talent were an element, perhaps I could throw some at them."

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Smash these idiots, won't you? - It may be a surprise to you but Rogues and Paladins are both very good at doing damage. 4d6 of Sneak Attack damage is never a bad thing, and that d8 from Improved Divine Smite helps too. And if they’re still standing then a regular Divine Smite will quickly force them to bow. What’s really nice is that unlike other Rogues you are practically guaranteed the Royal Privilege of Sneak Attacking your foes!

I would say “watch and learn,” but unfortunately you cannot learn this - Having a few spells in your back pocket never hurt anyone, and even your weakest spells pack quite a punch. Divine Favor stacks up over a long combat, and Ensnaring Strike can set an enemy up for failure.

Some people are just born better - I swear this happens whenever I make either a Rogue or a Paladin but it turns out that Rogue and Paladin are both extremely good at resisting damage. Evasion combined with Aura of Protection is huge but the biggest factor that makes this build so crazy is Aura of Warding. Ancients Paladin is one of the best Paladins in the game specifically because you take half damage from magic. Add this all onto a Rogue who can dash as a Bonus Action every turn, essentially got the Mobile feat for free, and has 135 health? You can be everywhere at once and you foes can’t do anything about it.

CONS

It is exhausting to crush you so much - While all your spells are amazing they’re also very limited. 3 spell slots for your best tricks means that you won’t pull them off too often. It also means that your Smiting abilities are a little limited overall.

That was no crushing; that was merely a squeeze - Multiclassing does give you a taste of everything but it also means that you miss out on the best of both worlds. Your sneak attack could be higher, and you didn’t get any of the particularly powerful Paladin features. 

I'm extremely good... at everything - Well except for one thing: Wisdom. While Aura of Protection helps you somewhat with Wisdom saves +4 means nothing against higher tier spells. And of course a -1 to Perception and Insight never helped anyone.

But your greatness far overshadows your flaws. Show them that greatness and let the nature around you help magnify your magnificence. It is your right to conquer above all, and subject those beneath you for the glory of Ixaocan. Don’t let silly things like “sisters” or “birthright” or “hard CC” stop you. Go fight that 1v5 and prove how great you are!

(Artwork by Jessica “OwleyCat” Oyhenart. Made for Riot Games.)

[gaytrojanshit]

wrote this a bit ago, scamandrius is helenus, he just hasn’t been renamed yet

Scamandrius had always been gifted, was what his mother told him. Gifted in academics, gifted in archery. It was these qualities that made Priam encourage the boy to become a priest of Apollo, to serve Troy’s chief protector. Scamandrius was only 15, but it seemed to be something he could be interested in. The temple was empty at the moment, allowing the young prince to quietly slip into to thoroughly look around. It was fine, he told himself, the priests had allowed him to wander around the temple, and he wasn’t here to cause trouble. He’d been here plenty of times, but now that he was here with the intent of becoming a priest… it felt different. What hadn’t changed though, was the looming statue of Apollo that seemed to stare directly through his soul. There was a smaller one outside, but standing next to this one made him feel incredibly small, and like he could be struck down if he so much as breathed wrong in its presence. That was probably the intent of course, but still. With a sigh, he walked farther into the temple, behind the statue. There wasn’t much of interest here, but when Scamandrius turned around to head back, he saw… him.

A tall stranger, leaning on the back of the statue with a snake wrapped around his hands. His braided hair was almost golden, and his very presence seemed to radiate warmth. Scamandrius admittedly jumped a bit when he saw the man, not quite expecting to see another person here at this hour. “Oh! My apologie-” It was then that the man looked up, allowing the prince to see his eyes. Golden, inhuman pupils. A shaky gasp escaped him as he came upon the realization that this was no mortal man- this was Troy’s protector himself. But why had Lord Apollo visited him? Scamandrius was no great warrior, nor destined to be a king. He was a prince, sure, but there wasn’t anything special about him to prompt a divine visit. “No need to look so startled, princeling. I do not wish to harm you- in fact, I come with an offer. A trade, if you will.”  A trade? This piqued Scamandrius’ interest, but he was still rightfully quite wary. The gods had their ways of manipulating mortals to get what they wanted, and Scamandrius didn’t quite want to end up in some stupid arrangement. He had to be smart. “And… what would you be offering, as a part of this trade?” He carefully inquired, looking up at those golden eyes.

Surprisingly, Apollo let out a soft chuckle. “I offer you the gift of foresight, young Scamandrius. The ability to receive visions and hear whispers of the future. But beyond that, this ability would bring you status. You would have influence, as Troy’s chief augur. People would seek you out for help, and you would have power. But of course, there is a price.” Apollo had slowly come closer to him, stretching out his free hand to gently brush against the boy’s jawline. Once he’d finished speaking however, he moved away once again, leaving Scamandrius feeling… odd. But, what the archer had just said enticed him. Though, for a gift so great, surely there would be a price that matched its value? “And… and what is the price you ask of me, Phoebus Apollo?” He was trying to remain calm. But the sheer presence of a god along with the golden eyes boring into him didn’t do anything to help his nerves. “The price? Oh princeling, the price is you. In exchange for being able to see all that the future may hold, I want your love. If you decline, then I shall leave you and your insignificance in peace, and we shall never meet again. But if you swear to accept… then your destiny will be far greater, and you will be under my protection. Choose wisely.”

Why would Apollo want him? He had plenty of much more attractive brothers, who had certainly earned this proposition far more than he. Scamandrius didn’t have any half decent romance skills either, which was clearly shown in the fact that Andromache hadn’t chosen him, and would never choose him. And he didn’t even have the sexual experience that Apollo wanted, so why him? He knew the stories of how Apollo’s lovers had usually suffered terrible fates, but the offer… The offer he was being given had truly intrigued him. Even if he did die, then maybe he would be remembered as more than just a prince. So, thinking impulsively, he would say the binding words. “I accept. I swear I will pay the price you’ve given me.”

Apollo then offered up a radiant smile. “Good, good. If you break your oath, then my vengeance will come swift. I will be generous, and allow you a year to get used to your visions. And once the year is up… I will come to collect. I will be in touch, Scamandrius.” The god himself would disappear in a flash of golden light, leaving the snake from earlier. For a moment, Scamandrius didn’t quite know what to do, right up until the snake began crawling up his leg. Then, defying gravity, further up his torso and chest, until it finally reached his shoulders. It curled around his neck then, and began to lick one ear clean. It felt odd, almost disgusting, but the boy kept still anyways. Once it was apparently done, it moved onto his other ear, and did the same. Once it had finished, it would disappear in a similar manner to Apollo, leaving the young prince alone. And for a moment, there was nothing. But then, came flashes. And what he saw terrified him. Fire, engulfing everything in its path. The clanging of swords. And a woman’s scream.

[tolkienhorror]

In Sauron’s Lab: File #5

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Fingon/Sauron, Audience, Crying, Collaring, Public humiliation

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I asked for a King to replace the one you lost, Lieutenant, and all you bring me is this, Morgoth had told Sauron when the orcs had dragged Findekáno into the throne room of the enemy’s base.

You have a week to break him, the Dark Lord had told his minion, interrupting Sauron’s almost nervous sounding explanations about how very useful the son of the new High King would be in their hands for their cause, black eyes uncaring, greyish skin glowing like the destructive flash of lightning in the shine of the Silmarils wrongly crowning that terrible, hollowed face. You make him kneel for me, or you can go right back to that mountain I pried you and feed another of your bodies to the crows.

  Then they’d taken him away, and Findekáno remembered wondering if it would even take him a week at the mercy of someone who’d long given up on all empathy along with his sane mind, only to serve this monster who didn’t even bother caring about him in the presence of a prisoner, before he would wish for death. For a quick end, rather than clinging to the foolish hope that someone would come to find him here.

  No one would. No one even knew he was here and they wouldn't for several weeks, not before he was expected home from his journey to Himring to surprise his husband. By the time, they would start to wonder in Hithlum, it would be too late.

  Maitimo would probably learn last, and even he would not come. Findekáno had made him promise, made him swear on everything safe for what would have bordered on an oath that neither of them needed another one of. More than that, Maitimo would know, better than anyone, that Findekáno had been lost the moment his escort and he had been overwhelmed with the help of countless black arrows and half a dozen of fiery whips from behind. A year, he had once told Findekáno. If you could hold on to your will to live or your sanity or both for a year of being a prisoner in Angband, you were counted among the lucky ones.

  As it turned out, for Findekáno, it was two days before he started to regret that he hadn’t tried to bite through his own wrist arteries in these few minutes that he’d spent alone in a pitch-dark, moldy cell, damned to wait for whatever what was to come. And that was before anyone had even touched him.

  Findekáno had no doubt that a lot of them wanted to. Two of the boldest creatures reaching out for him had died already when another of Morgoth's highest ranking Lieutenants had dragged Findekáno from his cell to lead him towards a huge hall at the end of the dungeon wing that had already echoed with the screams of more than one of his people at that point. And dozens orcs more were very clearly waiting for their chance, lurking in the corner of that torture chamber, scarred faces distorted into sneers. The scornful whispers about all that they would love to do to their most precious prisoner given half a chance were only interrupted by the occasional brawl or by the sounds of two or more of those despicable bastards starting one of their perverted, brutal mating rituals, high on watching their master use his songs and evil instruments and cruel skill on yet another elvish prisoner.

  But they would not be allowed to approach. And the one person Sauron would not lay hand on, was Findekáno himself. The former maia might long be beyond a sane mind, but if there was one thing he was not, it was stupid. Very well aware of Findekáno's relationship to the prisoner that Findekáno had robbed him of under his very nose not too long ago, not least thanks to everything Sauron had seen in Maitimo's mind in decades of not only physical but also mental torture, Sauron must know that there was very little he could have threatened Findekáno with that he didn't expect. Spending night after night with talking Maitimo through his nightmares and memories had made sure of that. Repeat performances were very obviously not among the maia's twisted preferences. So he chose to confront Findekáno with the only thing he could truly hurt him with: the suffering of his own soldiers. Which would have been bad enough on its own, but it still wasn't the worst.

  Findekáno would gladly have borne every pain, every humiliation if he could have saved any of his warriors by that, even if it was only by the blade to their throats. The uncertainty of what would come for exiles like them afterward was better than even an hour under the clawed hands of Morgoth's lapdog. If they'd let him, Findekáno would have taken the place of every single of the elves and she-elves he had to watch scream their lives out and yet not being allowed to die in the first days of his captivity; and that, too, was something Sauron knew, of course. The worst was that being the only choice Findekáno could not make. This was the promise he had given his husband in return. That he would not give in. That he would not trade his soul for a couple of lives that were forfeit anyway, weakening his own mind by letting the cunning spirit of the maia enter it to rip it wide open and put into it whatever Sauron thought suited to bend Findekáno to his will. They could not have him as long as he did not give himself to them, they said, Maitimo said, so he would endure. For he knew, if his mind would no longer be his own, if he would go back to his people in the fashion Morgoth doubtlessly wanted him to, no longer himself but merely a vessel … A vessel like they had had to eliminate so many who had allegedly escaped their thralldom, coming to either his father's or Maitimo's doorstep for assault rather than refuge … Then the first person they would set Findekáno to kill would be his own husband. By refusing to give his enemies this chance, therefore trading the life of the person he loved most for the one of dozens – almost a hundred, in the end – other elves, Findekáno thought, maybe he had actually sold his soul already.

  A high-pitched yell, quickly cut off by the choked gurgling of blood blocking the throat it had emerged from, tore him from the useless circle of self-hate that was his mind.

  "As I was saying before you so rudely started to disassociate," Sauron sighed in that honey-laced voice of his while throwing the tongue he'd just cut from his victim's mouth in a bowl nearby, "I'm starting to think, that useless husband of yours made the wrong choice, relinquishing his claim to the throne. If all people from your side of your kin are as breakable as your unit, Your Highness, the Noldor might have been better advised living even under those kinslaying, crippled hands of your lover. Or rather, the one you haven't cut off when you were too weak to break a single shackle, that is."

  Findekáno still did not give the bastard the satisfaction of an answer. He hadn't addressed the maia a single time since they'd taken him and very carefully avoided even regarding that black-clad, delicate shape with more than a fleeting glance from the corner of his eyes. It was better, not staring into those flaming eyes for too long, Maitimo had used to tell him, for you never knew what might stare back at – into – you. Besides, he was too busy, trying not to throw up when his torturer yanked the head of that elf who was firmly chained to a narrow wooden table, to the side by his red-matted blond hair, catching the streams of blood from the victim's mouth in that same bowl before handing it to one of the orcs without even looking twice, leaving the delightedly screeching creatures to fight over their breakfast. Once more, Findekáno wished he could have told the elf – his captain – that it would be over soon, at least, but judging by the last three scenes of this kind he'd already had to watch, chained to a chair of metal himself in a way that left no inch of a room to try and free himself, that would have been a blatant lie.

  Sauron hated being distracted by too much talk when he was working but he very much enjoyed hearing his victims scream, that was all. So this was always how he started. "Let's see if we can get a little more fight out of this one, shall we? It would be a shame if you had to do without the leader of your escort once you'll promise yourself to the Lord of this world."

  The Never was on the tip of Findekáno's tongue, but it never came, and maybe not only because he refused to acknowledge the numbing poison that was Sauron's words with anything but a blank stare. It was hard, holding on to resistance when you had to watch your enemy reach for a diamond-sharp knife and put a first clean, deep cut to his newest victim's body, right around the wrist, in front of the broad shackle holding the captain's arm in place, and then start to peel off the first layers of skin inch by inch, finger by finger, more patches of flesh and skin carelessly thrown towards the drooling audience. It was a mercy, one that Findekáno shouldn't be half as thankful for as he was, that the elf's voice was soon too sore from screaming to produce more than a hoarse noises, hardly even able to drown out the mirthful whistling on Sauron's lips that was a most basic healing spell to keep blood loss and infections at bay. And it was an irony that wasn't lost to Findekáno, that he'd spent almost two years, trying to convince his husband that he had no reason to hate himself for what he'd seen and been forced to do during his own captivity, and that he could feel the same blackness of loathing wash over his own soul now; thick acid trying to bury every memory of light and love and friendship especially to these people he had to see suffer right in front of his eyes, maybe never to be revived. It was far easier to believe in innocence when you weren't the one watching silently. That heaviness of shock and any missing rest for days, that had started to take hold of his soul, was spreading, creeping over his skin in droves and leaving it numb, so that he did not realize, there were tears rolling down his cheeks, until Sauron was suddenly standing right in front of his chair and grabbed his cheek to slowly lick the salt off his face with his forked tongue, laying hands on him for the first time. The nausea grew instantly, a gagging sitting in the back of Findekáno's throat that he didn't want to let his enemy hear either, so he just jerked his head away and bit his tongue bloody to keep silent.

  "You taste sweeter than your lover, little Princeling," Sauron murmured huskily, blood-covered, spidery hands brushing through Findekáno's messy hair. "You might want to rethink your priorities. You could have a life so much better by my side than being the useless son of a lesser King. The only thing you're doing right now is hurting everyone in this room." Findekáno's ongoing silence seemed to be loud enough, because he backed away with a shrug. Ridiculously gentle for what he'd been doing to every of Findekáno's soldiers for a few days now, he tugged two of the golden ribbons from his braids and went back to his current victim. After handing his minions another bowl full of red to slurp that had been filled by that skinned hand of a barely conscious elf in the last few minutes, he wrapped the ribbon around the mess of twitching, bared muscle and pressed the captain's wrist down against the table with his elbow while reaching for a long nail and a hammer. "Now, now." An admonishing noise came from Sauron's cherry-red lips when Findekáno turned his head away, unable to stand the sight of that nail being pressed right in the middle of that ruined palm, with only the fabric of the ribbon between, the sight of a usually so proud, brave warrior arching up against his chains in fear. "Is that a way to honor your people's sacrifice for you, Your Highness? You won't even look at them while they're suffering for you?"

  A sob that he could no longer hold back came from Findekáno's lips but could never make it past the echo of the new, broken scream from one of his oldest friends when the hammer drove the nail through his flesh in a single strike.

  It didn't last long, because the elf had finally blacked out which didn't stop Sauron from repeating the same cruel process on the other arm so that his victim came to even more inhuman pain. With the second nail in place, the chains were no longer necessary to hold that marred, infection-weakened, writhing body in place as Morgoth's butcher reached for his knife once more. "Did you know, my precious Prince," he said calmly while he put the blood-smeared tip to the elf's left side, right under the ribcage, "there's at least four organs a Firstborn body can survive without? And a dozen others of which you can take at least half away before you need to sing the rest back together to function? You should know. I've fed a couple of your husband's parts to my wolves. I think they might get some more elvish dinner tonight." The knife started to cut. With a disgusting, meaty sound, a mess of red and yellow was dropped in a bucket below the table.

  But this time, it wasn't the captain's scream that filled the room the loudest but a sound Findekáno hadn't known he was about to make before it came, his resolve shattered into pieces.

  "What was that?" Now it was Sauron, not even looking up but reaching for needle and thread instead to close the crude cut he'd just made before his victim could bleed out on him. "Anything you want, my precious Princeling? All you have to do is ask, you know."

  "Please." This time, the word came quietly, but clear and unmistakable. Apparently, after all this time that Findekáno had thought he would be the rock in their relationship, had to be, because Maitimo didn't have the strength anymore, it was time to admit, that his husband had been the stronger one between them from the start. Perhaps, when it came to it, if Findekáno would only ever leave this fortress again an enemy of his own people, no longer the master of his own mind and thoughts and will, his husband would even be strong enough to kill him before Findekáno could beat him to it. "Stop. If it is me you want, release my people."

  "Is that an order, Your Highness?" Wholly unimpressed, Sauron moved to his victim's other side and caressed the quickly, panicked heaving chest with just the tip of his knife, as if trying to make out the best spot to continue his gruesome work. "I do not need more food for my troops and beasts. I need a servant loyal to me and my master. Is that what you want, Prince of the Noldor? To serve the Dark Lord?"

  "Yes." It became easier, Findekáno found dully, once you had given in to your fate. He did not even shy away from that triumphing, flickering stare of his enemy any longer. Maybe it would hurt less if he let himself fall for it quickly.

  "Yes, what?" His hand wandering lower, Sauron thrust his knife deeply into his victim's loins, spearing a kidney, impatiently wiping blood of his cheek, both from the new horrible wound and from the captain's mangled hand, from its useless, mindless attempt of freeing itself from the nail crucifying it.

  "Yes. Master." Findekáno never lowered his head. There was no use, trying to look away now.

  "Better. We're getting there." Sauron just left his tool right where it was, impaling his victim's body in a third place, and went to the back of a room to open a silver box with the symbol of his eye on it that had been waiting there from the first hour on. A flash of gold and obsidian shone in the bright candle light as he slowly approached Findekáno, dangling from a lazy finger a broad collar with sharply carved tips at the top and the bottom. In the hand of a fire maia, the horrible adornment quickly started to heat, a dangerous orange glow matching the hair of Findekáno's torturer, pulsating right in front of his eyes when Sauron stopped by his chair and grabbed his chin, forcing him to surrender to that black stare again. "Ask for it, my sweet little pet, then I might think about allowing your incompetent captain over there to die."

  The last of tears dried on Findekáno's skin as he left a part of him behind that he knew would not return, no matter how his life would look from now on and for how long. I'm sorry, Russo. "Please, Master, put your collar on me. Let me serve you."

  "So easy." With a lazy snap of fingers, the chains holding Findekáno clicked open, allowing his knees to give out under him all by themselves when an ice-cold hand was wrapped around his braids, shoving him off the chair.

  He thought, he could fight, for a moment. But he'd also thought that when they had first brought him into this room, and the rest of that day, he'd spent watching fifty orcs raping one of his best friends to death, so that spark died down as quickly as it had come. It had been too late to fight the moment he'd let himself be foolishly raided from behind instead of securing the area well enough.

  "Your father should thank me that I'm taking the weakling that calls himself his firstborn from him," his enemy chuckled, a clear hint of arousal mixing into the purr of triumph in his voice as Findekáno winced and gasped for air, in vain, as the collar was closed around his neck. Melted into one by a single hummed tone, the heated metal was scorching his skin, the first exhausted attempts of breathing, of swallowing leaving marks and cuts on him. "This does look a lot prettier on you though than on your lover, my new favorite pet. Why don't you show me how you like to please him?" Under the approving cheers and leering of the orcs, laces were opened without haste. Thick, crooked hardness brushed Findekáno's tight lips, with ridges and barbs adorning the misshaped appendix that he knew he would soon feel somewhere entirely else and be forced to pretend and love it. If nothing else, at least Sauron was predictable.

  But Findekáno didn't move, not yet, ignoring that hand in his braids that was grabbing him harsher by the second. His eyes wandered to the table in the middle of the room that was dripping blood on the ground in a slowly growing pool.

  The sounds of searing agony from there still hadn't fallen silent.

  Sharp fingernails scratched over his cheek, prying his mouth open with ease, the first brutal bump of hardened flesh against the back of his throat cutting off any protest before it could come. "If you worry about him so much, I suggest, you hurry to please your master, pet. It's only up to you how much more your people will have to take before I let them go."

It was another lie, of course, but one, Findekáno thought, he could live with. None of his soldiers would leave this fortress alive. If he could keep Sauron's filthy paws off of them for the rest of what was their ruined life, he would, at least, have done something right in the mess that his life had become. Findekáno had given up.