#weeping monk squirrel

[beginning-writer]

Wip Thursday! (even though it was suppost to be wednesday!)

Thanks for the tag, @lancedoncrimsonwings! And actualy i'm gonna share a whole chapter from my first fic, which also was a Lancewain, Weeping monk x Green knight fic. (yes, i've been obsessed on them for years, no judment allowed)

I'm tagging @holy3cake again because fanfic appretiation is everything, and @warlocklawyer666 @the-tav3rn-0wner for the game!

It's a pretty average fic, not well-structured and I still didn't know how to write a story properly. I deleted it from Ao3 because I was ashamed of it and of writing fics, and my chronic anxiety only made the situation worse. Today I'm proud to be a fic freak and I admit that to anyone who asks, and of course I laugh and am proud of my origins in this world. And in fact I'm considering reposting it as a "personal monument" on Ao3 again.

The following post is 5,329 words long. Read if you fell like it and please do so without judgment. The personalities aren't entirely accurate, there are medical errors that when I reread them made me wonder if I really knew how broken bones worked, and the narrative switches characters halfway through and then back again.

Chapter 1: Not firendly, but a start.

Three hours.

Had been exactly three hours since Lancelot betrayed the church. Three hours since he killed the trinity and saved a fae child. Three hours since he was brutally bruised to save the life of a reckless boy who hated him. Everyone hated him. This was something he was sure.

It had been three long hours since he abandoned everything he was raised to fight for and believe in since the moment he were considered useful to the church. But… abandoning everything because of a single moment with the Green Knight? No. This was not what happened. In fact, that was so far from what had in on his mind.

Lancelot was not emotional or foolish enough to let his world fall apart just for the sake of a moment. But it was not even for the moment, it was just a sentence. Either way, that was not why he fell. That was not why he let himself fall.

He did this because the Green Knight didn't smell like lies. He was not bad like the horrible demons, that he called his church brothers, that he's living whit since he has ten years old. No. He was good and kind. Even though the former monk was lost, he still considered him as a brother, because of course they are all brothers, but it did not smell like a lie when it came out of his mouth.

The boy, Percival, or Squirrel, as he preferred to be called, were just a small and more inconsequential image of someone he knew as a child at his vision. Maybe a little like the Knight, but much more like someone else.

Lancelot could not let all the atrocities that happened to him happen to another child. The idea that this could ever happen had always made him queasy.

Even though he was denying it, he really did not want, never wanted in fact, to hurt the boy or any other child. But especially never him. He was special, and he knew it from the moment he saw him for the first time. It was impossible to look at him and imagine his body on the brink of death without hurting himself by doing it, and feeling such a bitter taste in his mouth that it made him want to vomit.

The boy could be anything, but like other people he certainly was not.

Oh, how his brother would have loved him. This was a recurring thought in his mind during the ride.

The fight brought serious consequences. By now, the designated person should have read the letter he left. He could never come back. All that left for him was to accept what he had done and take care of the boy who was strangely quiet.

The fight was not bad just for the church. He was not feeling well either. His body was full of blood and had new wounds. But it could have been much more. It could be death. Which somehow did not seem so bad. Because now, death seemed just like an old friend who visited him often. Its cold smell of wet oak was very comforting and very strong too.

His body was aching and collapsing in on itself, but he still tried not to lean too much on the boy. Putting the full weight of your body on him felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, just as everything hurt. Both things had been going on for too long for it to become unbearable.

The guilt, uncertainty and pain finally meeting in your mind making your head pound and making everything worse.

Yeah, death definitely did not seem that bad right now.

The ribs was the most damage. It was worse, but the blood had hardened, limiting blood loss from some of the newly wounds. Due to the broken ribs, his lungs also hurt a lot. Each breath was torture, as if a thousand needles were pricking his lungs every time he tried to breath. The hot air going in and out of his nostrils made his lungs burn.

Apart from the large opening, the shoulder only appeared to be dislocated. The cut was deep, but it did not look like anything he could not fix on his own. Just a few bandages would be enough. If he did not use his arm too much he could recover easily in a few weeks, and even if he had to use it, he would still recover faster than normal people would.

He could handle it. He could handle a lot. Considering he was raised for this.

Percival was quieter than usual. Probably trying to understand what happened a few hours ago. Or maybe he just didn’t want to talk to the person responsible for killing everyone he knew and loved, including the one he admired most, the green knight.

The Green Knight. He was the greatest hope of all the fae and an image to be followed by children and teenagers. The figure who brought peace and even without a word said that they could sleep peacefully. And the monk killed him. This was definitely something he could not forget or ignore.

He had not said a word after they left the camp. His thoughts were too confused to form a sentence, and the proof of this was that the monk who had spoken for the first time asking his name. But now the monk, or Lancelot, as he would have to get used to calling him now, did not seem that different from his situation, since he also had not spoken a word since they both said their real names.

It was strange to being so long without talking to someone. Squirrel was used to being the most talkative, the person that others asked to calm down when he talked too much, something that was not very difficult for him to do usually. Squirrel always liked to talk and that was good, it was not a defect, so it did not need to be hidden or resolved.

A lot had happened in a short time. The paladins captured Gawain and tied him to a chair to be tortured, he tried to rescue him, but the knight refused the help because he knew he was on the verge of death, and also for Percival's own safety. While was running out of the camp he was caught and taken to be tortured, and almost was if the former monk hadn't saved him. Lancelot took him out of the torture chair and saved him, but got caught taking him out of the camp, then fought against the trinity so that he would come out alive, abandoning everything he knew and fighting only for him. And above that. He discovered that Lancelot, the Weeping Monk, responsible for the nightmares of many and the deaths of hundreds more, was, in fact, a fae.

Lancelot was not just a fae, he was from a folk who had left British lands centuries ago. No one knew for sure why they left. There were several legends and theories about why this happened, but nothing and no one to confirm it. All they knew was that they had left and taken their secrets with them, and had no plans to return. And if they did, it certainly would not be so soon.

Riding in silence did not seem to be a problem for Lancelot, maybe he even preferred it, but the endless silence was getting on Squirrel's nerves. He didn't want to and had no idea how to talk to the man, recently his ex-enemy, behind him. But the doubt was nagging at his head. "Why?”

Why of so many children, so many good and important people, so many who also deserved to be saved. Why among so many did he choose him? He was just one among the rest in the eyes of the paladins. At least it should be.

Of course, he did not see himself as the other brats at his age. Squirrel was more courageous and determined, ran and fought better too. He spoke without fear. If his only weapon were his voice, then he would gladly use it until the last second.

Particularly, he thought he was better than others were.

Maybe it was it. Maybe Lancelot had seen him the same way Squirrel sees himself, but it was really leaving a question mark in his head. He wanted to ask, but it was not the right time, maybe later. Or maybe he would figure it out on his own, or the man would let it out on his own and he would not have to ask. Anyway, the silence still was uncomfortable and annoying.

Lancelot on the other hand, was just a little uncomfortable with the situation. He never had a fae so close to his nostrils since he was a child and lived with others just like him. The silence was good. He was used to the silence from always traveling alone. It also helped him focus on any noise other than his creaking bones.

One of the good parts of riding alone was know exactly where to spend the night or not. Places that went unnoticed or that no one would imagine anyone could stay in. It was perfect, and his favourites too. No one but Goliath for company. But now he would have to get used to not staying or traveling alone.

Lancelot always trusted his horse, and his horse always trusted him. It didn't take much to direct it, even when its owner was injured. He grabs Goliath's reins and easily guides it off the trail. Within a few minutes of riding, they arrive in a small, narrow, deserted valley.

Squirrel becomes hysterical as soon as the horse begins to move off the trail, resembling a frightened animal.

What if he had saved him only to disembowel him alone and with his own hands? The thought echoes in his mind, making him more tense and frightened, though Lancelot seems too weak for that. But still: "Just because a wolf is calm doesn't mean he's trustworthy. Some dogs are trained to attack only with their owners' permission, or when they are close enough to their victims."

Perhaps he just wanted to gain his trust and of others one, so he could kill them and burn the camp while they slept. Yes, it made sense. The best of the paladins sure were smart enough to do so.

But if this was indeed his plan, why would he kill the trinity for it? Why save him instead of the Green Knight? Wouldn't it make more sense? Or maybe he knew he was close friends with the famous Wolf-Blood Witch, or as the fae knew her, The Fae Queen.

But it was not likely. Unless the paladins also had an interest in Squirrel. Which was not the case.

Lancelot noticed that Squirrel posture had become tenser. He was hysterical and not too hard to notice. Of course it would not be that easy. He didn't think the boy would forgive all the atrocities he committed to him and his people just because he saved him from being tortured. In fact, he didn't think anyone would.

He learned since an early age that the story of 'all fae are brothers, even the lost ones' was just a phrase for the other fae peoples. The Ashes, on the other hand, had taken it very seriously for centuries. Long before they left Britain they believed and followed it strongly. 'A brother is always a brother no matter what happened, and that should not be discussed.' That's what the elders always said.

The Knight said the liar phrase to him. But there was so much truth in his eyes, already bruised from torture, that it didn't seem like a lie. It seemed like such a clear truth that it made him believe that it had come from the depths of his painful broken soul. Not as something to save his own skin from death, but something to say that whenever he wanted to come back, he would have a home and a people waiting for him. And the fact that he hadn't told his secret when he could have only strengthened the thought.

Not all fae were brothers, and he knew it. But it seemed that to the Knight they really were all brothers. Seeing him with his whole body bruised on the verge of death made his heart bleed.

He thought about it when he was alone in his tent. And then a memory came to his mind. The memory that he had a people who loved him and would welcome him if he returned home. A people who were waiting for him to come home even after so many years. A subject so long buried in his mind, but that the Green Knight brought up again. Like the first ray of sunshine after winter.

He should have come back. He should have gone back a long time ago, when he first got the opportunity. But the constant thought of what might happen to him if the paladins caught him running away held him back every time he had the chance.

It was wrong. His people taught him that a brother was a brother no matter what. So he was supposed to be a brother, but he was not. Was not because his fear was always greater than his desire to return.

But he could go back to being a brother now. The knight could no longer be saved, but the kid could. Besides, he always refused to hurt children. He couldn't help the Knight, but the Knight wanted to help him and that was enough.

The least he could do now was to return the boy nicknamed Squirrel back to his people. Or what was left of it. And even though he didn't trust him, Lancelot had still taken him as his responsibility, even if the child didn't know it yet. But he still had to reassure him. A nervous, scared child was definitely the last thing he needed right now.

"It's getting dark. I'm just making sure no one is going to find us at night. I'm still hurting and you still need to sleep.” He says to Squirrel in an awful attempt to reassure him.

"You don't have to explain something so obvious to me. I'm not dumb.” He says in a slightly rude tone, trying to disguise the distrust and fear in his voice.

"I don't think you’re dumb, but your posture became tenser when I led Goliath off the trail." He explains to the youngest, who again looked like an animal frightened by the new information that every movement made was perceived.

"Hmm." That was the only thing he could say.

"I'm not going to disembowel you overnight if that's what you was thinking." He adds, seeing the child's posture relax a little. He really was bad at it. And the little bat was still worried, less, but still worried.

They pass through the small narrow valley, entering the vegetation next to it. Sleeping in the valley would be too easy for anyone to notice. Instead, they go to a clump of trees that was farther into the vegetation, not much, but a little far from the valley. It was good for spending the night without anyone cutting their heads off.

"Goliath, please get down." Lancelot gently orders the horse to stop.

When the horse does as it’s told, Squirrel quickly gets off the horse and walks a bit away from Lancelot, who leaves with a little more difficulty. As soon as he sets his feet on the ground, Lancelot begins to take off Goliath's saddle, feeling the boy's suspicious gaze on his back.

"It’s not completely darkened yet." He observes. "Go get some wood to make a bonfire. But don't go too far, stay close by where I can feel you.” He orders the boy, knowing well how scary it could be coming out of his mouth.

"And why should I obey you as your horse does?" The boy asks. It was a question with an obvious answer. But still, it was a scared and nervous child, he would have to take that into consideration.

"Because even though you don't like or trust me, I'm still your only and best chance of survive." He sees the child grit his teeth and asks for it once more. “Go quickly.”

With a loud sigh and a slightly quieter voice, almost sounding like a whisper, he asks to the tallest. "Can I get wood to make a pyre?" His gaze lowered a little too, it was a sentimental question.

"What is a pyre?" But of course a traitor like Lancelot wouldn't know what a pyre is. He would have to explain it to him.

"A pyre is like a bonfire. We do it when someone dies so that the soul passes to the green and doesn't get stuck here on earth. It is also for the occult to take your soul in peace with them, without you having a problem like an unresolved dilemma. That's a pyre. "

He surprisingly understood the quick and slightly scrambled explanation. It was a ritual for the souls of the dead people. The father would have called it witchcraft or satanic ritual. But he was no longer with his father and had to remember that.

"Look..." He starts by turning his gaze to the ground and then to the boy, trying to put the explanation into words. "You can't make a pyre today, too much smoke would attract people to us. But you can do that tomorrow when we're farther away from the camp and closer to your home.” He was hesitant, but he was also being sincere. He was once a child who wanted to perform a ritual for his dead familiars, but unlike Squirrel he had no freedom of choice. And Lancelot didn't want to repeat the experience he had with another child.

"Alright then, we do it tomorrow.” He agrees turning to run and grab some sticks.

After he left. Lancelot analysed his dislocated shoulder. The edges of the opening were covered in dried blood, but the bleeding wasn't too bad. It was controlled. He could solve it himself. It has always done so in fact. He turns to where Goliath's things are and picks up some bandages he was carrying with him.

He wraps a few bands around his ribs and shoulder and squeezes them tightly, just enough to stop the bleeding. As soon as he's done, he puts his arm on the trunk of a tree and forces it back into original place. Letting out only a few small low moans of pain.

It was better to have only a sore shoulder than a dislocated one. He could do things with his arm if it was only sore. With the pain he could use a bow and hunt for something to eat, since he would need both arms to do so. It was not something he couldn't handle.

Settling his shoulder, he puts more bands around it and his chest, holding it tighter in place, just to make sure nothing would move out of place again. The pain was just another old friend he had hugged for a long time, he could do anything whit it, even if it squeezed him tightly.

He picks up the bow and two of the arrows that were on Goliath's bank and goes only a few feet ahead when he sees two adult rabbits a little way away from each other. He put the two arrows into the bow, positioning his arms carefully so that nothing happens to his shoulder or ribs, putting his sore arm on the bow and the best to pull the arrows, using the bow horizontally.

As soon as he fired the first one, the second one would run. With that in mind, he takes a deep breath and releases the first arrow at the same speed as it releases the air from inside his aching lungs, and then traps it again. As the second one starts running, he shoots the second arrow, quickly letting out his breath again. Both rabbits shot in the eye.

"Wow!" Said Squirrel, seeing everything behind him. "Do you shoot two arrows at once?!" He asks him still with surprise on his face.

"I learned when I was younger." He says, picking up the rabbits and taking out the arrows stuck in their eyes.

"That's awesome!" He looks at the wood and then at Lancelot. "Is this enough? There's not a lot of fallen branches here. And the trees looks pretty strong. "

"Yes, that's enough. We just going to roast the rabbits with the fire. It's not very windy around here at dawn. Don't worry about it. He reassures the child. You can leave it there. "

Squirrel looked hesitant but excited. It was rare to see a child scared and excited at the same time. Especially in conditions like that, or when he's around. But again, he was not like other people, and that much was clear.

He was so anxious that he could not speak on his own. Lancelot would have to ask him, or it would get stuck in his throat.

"What is it?"

"I know how to slaughter a rabbit. I can prepare the rabbits and you can make the fire.” He proposes. “Anyway, making fire seems to be your specialty.” But of course he wouldn't say something so innocently without pricking it.

Lancelot thinks for a moment before answering.

"All right." He says, taking a dagger from one of his pants pockets and throwing it to the boy. Completely ignoring the provocation made.

Squirrel picks up the dagger, even though he almost dropped it. Lancelot hands the two rabbits and goes towards the sticks, picking them up from the ground and arranging them to make the fire.

Meanwhile, Squirrel begins to slaughter the first rabbit. First separating the paws from the arms and legs, ripping off the head and tail after. Then make a shallow, straight cut on the animal's back to remove the fur and skin, and then remove the excess apparent fat. Then making a deep cut in the belly to remove the organs, but keeping them in a cloth bag for the case it be needed. Repeating the same process with the second one.

He turns around to deliver the finished rabbits to Lancelot. He is surprised to see him making the fire with his hands. Not only that, but he seemed to be playing with him, as if he were a fussy little friend.

What struck him most was that the fire did not burn his hands. He passed it from side to side and twirled it in both hands, but the fire did not affect him. It looked like a life creature that chose who would and would not burn.

He was so engrossed in the movement that he only realized Lancelot was staring at him when the fire stopped moving.

"Is everything okay?" He asks and Squirrel nod in response. "Are you done?"

"Yes, I'm done. But you seem too entertained to finish your task.” He plays and gets closer to him, and Lancelot huffs amused in response.

"How you’re doing it?"

"Fire does not affect the Ashes Folk people. We can guide it instead.” He pauses. Maybe his words had run out, or maybe that should have been the end of the sentence. But the boy seemed to want to hear more, so he tries to think of something to say. "It's like a fussy little friend playing in our hands." And apparently fails. Letting the fire go on the small pile of wood right after to try to avoid saying anything again.

"It's beautiful. But how do you do that? And why aren't you burned? "

"I can't answer you that."

"Why not?"

He stops staring at him for a few seconds. "God, why can't this boy stop asking questions? And why does he want me to speak if he clearly hates me? Just stop talking to me! It's not that hard.” Lancelot thinks with a bit of anger. But he would still have to answer the boy's endless questions, so he would have to struggle to think of something.

"No one of the Ashes Folk is allowed to speak certain things to people of other folks. In fact, not even to speak to some other peoples are we allowed after we leave Britannia. But I don't think I can tell you that either.” Lancelot tries to explain, speaking with a little difficulty and looking into the fire.

"It’s all right. Gawain told me that the Ash Folk had taken their secrets with them when they left these lands. And that they would probably never return, and their secrets would be buried with them in their graves for the rest of eternity. "

"Your friend was right. We don't really have the planning to go back. But who knows, maybe it will change. "

"Why do you think that's will change now? I mean, it's been so long since you've been gone. "

Lancelot thinks for a moment before forcing himself to speak again. Looking between Squirrel and the fire.

"When we get out of here." He hesitates. "There were people who welcomed us and helped us in the other lands. The only one we've had an alliance with for decades." He try to explains, still thinking of the right way to continue counting without telling something wrong. "We were helped once when we were in a bad situation. They said we didn't have to, but we insisted on reciprocating. There were people here who helped us to escape, and others there who welcomed us and helped keep us alive."

He stopped again, and Squirrel began to wonder why he stopped and hesitated so much when he spoke. It seemed like a bad habit. Or maybe he just thought too much before speaking. But that was not a matter for now. Now he wanted to hear everything Lancelot had to say about his people, since it had been so long since there had been anyone to tell their history.

"If you, under any circumstances, needed help to escape, and a place to stay when you did. We would help, even after all. Without any doubt. "

"Why?" Asks the child, looking directly into Lancelot's eyes with immense hope carved on his face.

The eldest looks away at the ground, unable to look into the boy's face. "Because all fae are brothers. Hatred leads nowhere, resentment much less. Growing up is also about learning to forgive. Carrying a debt of grudge and hatred for centuries wouldn't change anything. It would only make everything worse."

He is silent for a second before speaking what been told to him so many times by the elders when he was a child. "All fae are brothers no matter what and that shouldn't be discussed. No matter the actions, we still all being brothers at the end of the day. Whether you like it or not. "

"It's a very beautiful thing to say. Even more when it came from a traitor mouth. Although I don't think those are your words.” Happiness appear briefly on his face.

He was a child tormented by the war he grew up in, but he was still a child. A hopeful child who did not let circumstances stop him from being happy, even if only for a few moments. And that was special. It was beautiful.

The smell of well-done meat began to waft through Lancelot's nose, warning him that the meat was ready to be eaten. He pulls the two rabbits out of the fire and hands one to Squirrel, who begins clumsily devouring it as soon as he catches it.

He looks at the rabbit in his hands and begins to eat as well, taking it piece by piece and eating slowly and politely. Very different from Squirrel who was almost embarrassed to see the way Lancelot was eating.

It was strange to start a meal without praying in thanksgiving first. That was how the paladins taught him. Whenever he went to eat something, he should thank God for letting him have food in his sinful hands, because he didn't deserve it. But he wasn't with the paladins. Although that's not the reason he didn't.

He knew very well that fae had no need to give thanks before eating, since everything would be repaid after death. He didn't pray because he didn't want to offend the boy in front of him. It was still hard for him to believe that he was beginning to develop a zeal and a small instinct for protection for a fae child. But he'd have to get used to it going forward. In the same way that he would have to get used to not praying before eating, and to the endless questions that would be asked for him.

"When you're done eating, go to sleep." He asks the child more than he commands.

"What about you?"

"I'm not sleepy, don't worry about me."

"Don't think I'm worried about you. Because I'm not.” Again a lie. This was looking more like a bad habit than a form of protection. And that was too bad for a kid like him.

They eat and finish the rest of the meal in silence. Squirrel finishes first and, despite not liking it, obeys what he was to do asked for. As soon as he finishes eating, he lies down in a place near some trees and sleeps.

Lancelot leaned back against a tree and lay awake for the rest of the night, thinking about what he would do the next day. Now he was a fugitive, and he was with a child who, though brave, was extremely reckless with his actions. The fae people had probably gone away to other lands. But a 'probably' is not a 'for sure', so maybe they hadn't boarded yet.

And if they had, as he himself knew, he would always have folk to call people and a place to call home who were waiting for him. Even if the boy didn't like it and wanted to go back to the others, they could locate or track them down and return him to their people. This was not a very difficult task. Not for people who had years of practice.

And looking at the boy, he didn't seem so annoying when he was sleeping. Maybe he could get used to him by his side for a while. While clinging to it would be a mistake, it wouldn't hurt for just a few moments.

But one thing was for sure. His smell was unbearable. Probably because he'd spent a lot of time with him and had never spent so much time with a fae so close before.

He would have to get used to it urgently if he wanted to be with others. He wanted to, but the probability of dying as soon as he arrived was very high, almost like a fact.

But he shouldn't think about it now. He already had a lot of problems, he didn't need to create more. Even though it really was very likely.

Pushing away the bad thoughts, he lifts his head to look at the stars dancing in the navy blue sky above his head. The night was beautiful. If he used a little of his imagination, he could smell a salty sea and beautiful whale sharks swimming among the constellations that shone brightly.

Always as beautiful as it could be. If he found some small white flowers, he could put them in Goliath's mane. Your steed would certainly look a lot prettier with them. Not that it needed to, because Goliath was beautiful by nature.

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

I oopsied

Idea blatantly stolen from @painted-doe 's Bucky/Steve Zola post

[themuselesswriter]

The Monk’s Wife - Chapter 7: An Amused Queen

Characters: Lancelot Du Lac, Original Female Character, Original Male Character, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja takes a day off to spoil her husband but Squirrel doesn't really allow them any peace, especially after he notices the bruises on Lancelot.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: implied abuse

A/N: This fanfic has been becoming more of a night-time imagination than a well constructed work that makes sense, it will only get weirder from here so enjoy!

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

--------------------------Teaser--------------------------

The next morning Tarja woke up with a headache, she looked around at the state of the house, it was a mess, broken furniture everywhere, a few drops of blood, she recalls nothing “Lancelot” she called, but he did not answer, her heart raced, someone broke in and hurt him! Who would dare! She rushed to search for him, he wasn’t in the kitchen preparing a meal, nor in the bedroom, at last, she decided to search for him in the second room and that’s when she saw him, sitting in a corner, hugging himself, he was barely visible “Lancelot?” she asked worried.

He lifted his head up and looked at her, she rushed to him and knelt next to him “Lancelot, are you alright? Who did this?” She asked once she noticed the dried blood on his face, he flenched as she reached out to examin it “I’m sorry, alright? I wish if I had the courage and the understanding to end my life, I sadly didn’t and I couldn’t! I will leave just like you requested” he wept, the woman looked confused “I don’t understand, why would you want to leave?” She frowned.

The weeping one looked at her confused for a moment “because you don’t want me here” he replied, she looked even more puzzled “what makes you say that? I just pardoned you, I want you here, of course i do! You are my husband!” The man opened his mouth to speak but he was uncertain of what to say, this was beyond odd “do you not recall yesterday?” She shrugged “I got drunk and I assume fell on the ground asleep” She truly remembers nothing, none of the hatred nor the beating “what happened to you? Did someone hurt you? Who did it?” She asked “y-you” She blinked a few times, she recalls nothing of last night.

That’s when it hit her, Tate, he intoxicated her, she groaned “I’m sorry about whatever happened yesterday but it wasn’t me, I swear it” she assured him, he looked confused “my people… we manipulate fire and intoxicate thoughts, if the brain loses control which I assume happened by the hands of ale! I apologize, I never meant to hurt you” She said softly “this makes no sense” She nodded “I know but my brother… Tate, I suppose he used his powers on me yesterday and made this happen, it is a rare gift that he alone holds” she huffed.

Continue Reading

[everlastingdreams]

It's them.

Was scrolling through AO3 and found this gem

Enemy to parent is a trope we have to popularise lmao

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 29

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: The Fallen Ones.

Notes: I kept revising this one :S It's time to let it free.

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +200K

Chapter:  29/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

By the time you felt strong and awake enough to leave your room, it was past midday.

There was talk in the fort about what had transpired in the village the previous night, about Lancelot, and how the flames had not harmed him or the family he had saved.

So far, most of it was positive.

You found your mother as she was searching for Ciro and Squirrel, apparently the little ones had skipped the soup that had been served at midday in the dinning hall for all to enjoy.

She looked quite tired still, it was much harder for your parents to use their healing abilities than it was for you, and it took some more time for them to feel better again.

Mirena carried a warm tea in her hands like it was a source of life to her, it was a habit she had kept for years, there was nothing some tea could not fix for her.

You walked with her through the fort in search of the little rascals, the scent of the tea filled your nostrils.

She took a sip from her cup. “This morning I have told the children of what happened in the village, so they would not be confused by what is being talked about in the castle.”

“That is good.” You approved of it. “Do they know of what Lancelot did?”

She gave a nod. “They loved to hear all about that.”

Squirrel and Ciro must have nearly asked her ears off about it.

Mirena spoke so casually that she might as well have talked about the weather, “He is a handsome man, don’t you agree?”

“Huh?” You weren’t sure who she was speaking off.

“Lancelot.” She clarified.

There was no point denying it. “He is.”

“Those eyes.” She nudged your elbow with her own. “You must have noticed.”

Slowly you turned to look at her face, “Mother, should father be concerned?”

It was only a jest, because you sensed that she was trying to fish information out of you.

Mirena did not let it fool her. “Of course not.”

You wondered why she would bring this up now, “Why this sudden interest in the Ash Man then?”

With another sip of tea, she told you what was on her mind, “Little moon, I think you need to speak to him. The Ash Man is not the kind of man I thought he was, even when drunk.”

“How so?” It piqued your curiosity.

She recalled what happened that night during their short walk, “He kept apologizing when I walked him to his sleeping quarters on the night of the feast.”

You frowned. “For what?”

She named a few, “For everything, for drinking, for what he did to his people-”

It strangled your heart. “Oh…”

“For you.” She said, and asked about it, “Why did he apologize for you? Is there something he did wrong?”

How much had he told her?!? You had spared her of most of the details regarding your time in captivity. Was this about what he had tried to do that night?

You tried to ease her mind, “Nothing I haven’t forgiven him for.”

Apart from the attempt to kiss you…

She could tell that you were hiding something from her, your fidgeting hands warned her.

That night kept going through your mind over and over again.

“I think his conscience was just clawing at him. But, may I tell you something?” You asked.

“Of course.” She nodded encouragingly.

You tried to not give away that he had tried to kiss you, fearing how she would respond, “He was raised as a monk since childhood and lived strictly by the rules set in the scriptures of the Church, until he saved Squirrel and I. Now… sometimes it feels as if… uhm…”

It wasn’t easy to explain how it felt like he was growing more and more closer to you. Lines were blurring and bending.

Mirena saw you struggle and stated what she had observed, “He cares for you and Percival very much, like family would.”

You managed to nod timidly. “I trust him with my life, mother. I’ve never met anyone who could be so unselfishly caring. Sometimes I feel as if he effaces himself, to repent for the past. Last night was not the first time he stepped into danger for the sake of others. It frightens me.”

A pensive hum sounded from her. “Thankfully, he has someone who reminds him that his life is important too. Someone who cares.”

“I hope he believes me when I try to tell him this.” You feared he did not accept this truth.

She gave some wise advice, “Remind him of it often. Sometimes it takes a while before people are ready to believe others care for them too. If the former Weeping Monk can convince a Dawn Woman of this, you can convince him too.”

Ah yes, the Dawn Folk were not quick to trust at all.

You chuckled a little at it. “I really picked the hardest person to trust, didn’t I?”

She jested about it, “It does not surprise me, Little Moon. Nothing is ever simple with you.”

You scoffed amused. “Thank you, mother.”

She drank up the remainder of her tea as you walked through the entrance hall towards the courtyard together. “When you disappeared, the night the Brotherhood took you, your father and I thought you had ran off with the Ash Man.”

She was sheepishly admitting to what you had already thought had happened.

You shook your head, smiling at the absurdity. “Mother.”

“It was a possibility.” Mirena breached the matter on her mind. “He does appear quite charmed by you.”

You were quick to try and refute it, “He was a monk not long ago.”

She did not fall for the attempt to brush it away. “Do you think monks cannot feel love in their hearts? Those of the clergy vow not to act on it, it does not mean that they do not feel it.”

“I know that.” You meekly said. “But Lancelot and I are just friends, we have been by each other’s side through terrible things, that created a bond.”

She opened the door to the courtyard for you. “I am grateful the Ash Man was by your side when we could not be. Your father is too, even though he will not admit to it.”

It reminded you. “I never expected father to help him last night.”

“He’d rather help Lancelot, than watch you run into danger to do so yourself.” She was close to scolding you over it again.

You walked into the courtyard a bit faster before she could.

An arrow flew across the courtyard all of a sudden, shortly followed by excited voices. It had landed in a practicing target, a wooden pole with a sack of straw bound to it, at the other side of the courtyard.

Well, you had finally found Squirrel and Ciro. Lancelot was helping them learn archery, he tried at least. Squirrel was seemingly determined that his skill needed no adjustments, even if the Ash Man tried to give some useful hints. But Ciro was more accepting of the help, as he knelt to the boy’s height he showed him how and where to hold the bow and arrow best.

The second arrow that flew across the courtyard landed in the heart of the straw target, it was quickly followed by Squirrel’s arrow that landed in the head of it. Perhaps the boy was right to be proud of his skill at such a young age already.

Mirena watched them for a while, letting them have their moment of fun before she would scold them for letting their soup go cold. You bit your lip, knowing that your mother was waiting for the right moment to call upon Squirrel and Ciro.

Lancelot let Ciro try it on his own. “Nock.”

The arrow fell from Ciro’s hands, he quickly picked it up and tried to do as asked. Poor Ciro was shaking in his boots until Lancelot came to his side to help again.

“I can’t do it.” Ciro was beginning to panic.

He put a hand on the child’s back. “Perhaps not yet. But you will not know until you try.”

Squirrel went over to Ciro. “Go on, you can do it.”

With shaking hands, Ciro nocked the arrow and lifted the bow.

“Breathe, Ciro.” Lancelot told him.

Slowly but surely, your cousin’s hands steadied, little puffs of air formed in the cold air at his mouth. The arrow was released and landed in the side of the straw target.

It was good enough to have a positive reaction from Ciro. “I did it! I did it!”

Ciro accidentally knocked one of the edges of the bow against Squirrel.

“Oi!” Squirrel ducked to avoid a second collision.

“Sorry, Squirrel.” Ciro apologized quickly.

Squirrel looked at the target, than back to Ciro with a smile. “See! I told you you could do it!”

Ciro looked so relieved at the approval coming from his friend.

“Well done.” Lancelot praised. “Both of you have done very well.”

Your mother walked up to them, you followed a few steps behind.

“Well done, indeed.” She announced her presence and saw the children get a little nervous. “So this is what the two of you were doing while the soup went cold.”

Lancelot frowned in confusion, then realized they had ‘forgotten’ to mention this to him and send the two of them a stern look before apologizing to her. “Forgive me, Mirena. Had I known they were expected in the dining hall, I would have brought them there.”

She waved it away. “No apology is needed from you, Lancelot. It must have ‘slipped’ their minds.”

You bit your lip again, the children were looking at her like caught criminals.

“The soup is still waiting, boys.” Mirena send them a look. “Off to the dining hall with you it is.”

Ciro grabbed Squirrel by the sleeve and pulled him along, knowing that his aunt was giving them a second chance.

You stepped aside for them as they followed her inside, then walked over to Lancelot. “So, decided to teach them archery because teaching them the sword would potentially alarm others?

He could only affirm it. “I spend many of days on lecturing others how to use their weapons best. Old habits.”

You hummed, “I think you just love to show off your skill, and what better audience than children?”

He tried not to smile. “Or perhaps I just want them to learn a useful skill.”

You hummed again cheekily, it made the smile break through on his face.

“Are you feeling better?” He inquired, holding the bow loosely in his hand.

Physically you felt better, but you couldn’t pretend that you had not dreamt that he had not gotten out of that fire last night.

“Better.” You assured him.

He blinked and squinted his eyes just a little. “Yes?”

Well…

Quietly you confessed, “I dreamed that you didn’t walk out of the fire.”

“Oh…” He fell silent.

Your mother’s advice came to mind. “I’m really glad you did.”

He was quiet for a different reason now. His heart felt full after hearing this.

You turned at the sound of a group passing by, some of the knights were heading out it seemed. Matthew was among them and looked at you as he walked by, but dropped his attention to the grass soon. It wasn’t nice to feel uncomfortable about the situation, but it was all still so raw.

Lancelot noticed something was off, “What was said between you and the knight yesterday? I saw him beg.”

With a shrug of your shoulders, you told him, “I told him what I thought of his babbling behind my back. We aren’t on good terms right now.”

He gave a compassionate look. “I am sorry. I know it is hurting you.”

Knowing what you did now, had spared you from greater pain later. “At least I know the truth now. Before I could be persuaded to wed him, that would have been worse.”

His question came quick, “You thought of wedding him?”

You grimaced at the thought. “My father spoke of it to me yesterday, he said he wouldn’t mind a joining between Matthew and I. I was quick to throw that idea off the table.”

Lancelot let out a breath, the news staggered him, “A joining…”

“No joining.” You scoffed. “No nothing.”

His stunned reaction made you look at him questioningly.

“What?” You saw how downcast he appeared now. “Don’t worry Ash Man, I have no desire to be trapped again. Not in a dungeon, and certainly not in wedlock.”

All he managed was a nod.

To lead the conversation away from the awkward topic, you asked, “Have you read all of that page I gave you last night?”

He took a step away and touched your arm, asking you to walk with him for a while. “I have. Thank you for giving it to me, even if it meant ruining a book.”

You gently asked about it, “Do you remember your parents?”

“Only their names. Their faces have become a vague memory a long time ago.” He sounded pained. “I never knew they were considered royalty among the Fey. I was too young to remember.”

The names had been present on the page for you to read. King Ban, Queen Elaine and their son.

It wasn’t your intention to upset him. “Sorry, if I sound curious-”

“You trusted me with your family, I shall trust you with mine.” He locked eyes with you as he walked. “What is there you wish to know?”

You were a bit worried you’d still accidentally upset him, “Do you know what happened to them?”

He fidgeted with the bow a little, lost in thought.

“Are they…” You couldn’t get the rest of the question over your lips in fear of the answer.

Lancelot knew what you were trying to ask him. “I was told my father died in the war, and my mother of grief after they took me.”

A lump formed in your throat, how awful had the Church been to him… You honestly didn’t know what to say to that.

He noticed. “It was a long time ago.”

It was obvious he was trying to hide how it hurt him. “I can’t imagine that it does not hurt to know.”

He walked with you past the curtain wall of the fort, and fixed his eyes on the sea in the distance. “I do not like to think of how my mother must have felt. Her last thoughts of me, she must have know what would become of me after I was taken.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, letting him have some time to collect himself, he needed it. It wasn’t until he pulled his attention away from the distance that you spoke again. “You became a man who she would be very proud of.”

He looked around himself, than stopped, and made you halt too by carefully taking hold of your lower arm. Your eyes were on him right away, watching him step closer.

His thumb drew slow circles on your sleeve. “If you believe it to be true, than I shall consider it so.”

You felt your heart beat in your throat all of a sudden and looked down to his hand, he saw but did not move it away. “I know it to be true. I see it all the time.”

It wrapped around your arm, like it was resisting the urge to pull you towards him. You could feel his gaze on your face, but the nervous feeling that settled in your stomach refused to let you meet it. All you could tell was that he often discreetly looked around him, like he did not want others around to see. That in itself was proof that he knew this line between you kept bending in ways that others would take notice off.

“Uhm…” You fished for something to say whilst keeping your eyes on a fallen leaf, “Is that the bow you always have on Goliath’s saddle?”

A short pause came before his answer. “It is. I was taking it back to the stables.”

You forced your feet to move a step to the side, it broke the hold on your arm immediately, only than did you look at him. “Then I’ll let you do that… I’ll go and see if my mother needs any help with the young ones.”

His eyes followed your every movement, “Alright… I will see you tonight?”

“Tonight.” You spoke fast.

It seemed to be amusing to him. “Good.”

You let him walk past and could have sworn he bumped into your arm with his on purpose now. Especially because he smirked back at you as he walked away.

Your whole being responded strongly to him, similar to what you had experienced before, yet different. Stronger. So much stronger and you did not want to let that feeling take hold again, not after it had caused you such pain.

No.

No.

This wasn’t good. It would pass. Surely it would pass…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

That evening, as he returned from the stables, Lancelot searched the hallways for the Dawn Folk scent. He found it, but unfortunately it was not yours, only two similar ones. Mirena and Helio were conversing in the hallway. He had managed to stop before they’d notice his presence, a corner blocked him from their sights.

It was not his intention to eavesdrop, but he did overhear them. From the angle he was standing, he could also see them.

Mirena was reassuring Helio, “You are a good man, and a good father. I am sure she knows it.”

Helio did not sound like he believed it and spoke with a heavy heart, “When I saw her running to that fire… I had to reach her in time.” He hated to think back to that moment. “I do not want to lose her again.”

She explained your reason for that action, “She thought her friend was burning, my love. How would you have responded if it were you?”

He nodded shallowly. “I always tell her she is so much like you, but it is when I see myself in her that it frightens me.”

“That eagerness to run into danger to help others.” She tsked him. “She is much like you. You might as well argue with a mirror instead of her.”

A chuckle fell from him. “A mirror would not give me her wit.”

“No, it would not.” She smiled.

His wife’s smile brought on his own. “But you often do.”

Mirena hummed, letting him lean in and kiss her tenderly.

That was the moment he turned his eyes away for a second, watching this felt intrusive.

The love between them was clear to see, they left the hallway together. He did not continue his walk yet, he was lost in thought. One desire had managed to crawl under his skin once again. There was someone who he wished he could share the same affections with. It left him to come to his senses, and push the idea away before it could lead to what had happened on the night of the feast.

He resumed his walk and was about to cross paths with a Sky Folk woman when she deliberately stepped in his way. By reflex he stopped before he got too close to her.

Was she there to voice her dismay to his presence in the fort? He had not seen here there before. Black hair, brown eyes and a scar at the side of her neck. No, she did not look familiar.

With a small step he tried to see if she would let him pass.

She spoke to him in response, “I know what you did in the village.”

He looked at her expectantly until she spoke again.

The Sky Woman took a step closer. “The woman you saved is my sister. I am here to thank you for the incredible gallantry you have shown last night.”

Lancelot acknowledged the grateful response she had, “I hope she is well?”

She left little distance between herself and the Ash Man when she got closer again. “She is, and so are the children. Thanks to you. I wish I had something to repay you with.”

He sought no reward. “You owe me nothing. I am glad they are well.”

The young woman kept staring, seemingly intrigued by him. With a shallow nod, he hoped to bid her a good day.

What she said next took him off-guard. “I do wish to thank you. Perhaps some place where we can be alone?”

The last thing he expected was to be propositioned, and in the middle of a hallway. He could not hide how nervous it was making him and kept looking around himself while also keeping an eye on her.

He politely declined the offer. “I do not know you, madam.”

The woman saw that he showed little to no interest, and tried to awaken it. “My name is Emmeline. We can get to know each other, I would be pleased to make your acquaintance.”

From what he could tell, this young woman might have a small infatuation. It was not uncommon to find a person who had done something dangerous, attractive. But he preferred a deeper connection over a shallow one. And this woman did not know him at all.

“Lancelot.” He introduced himself formerly. “Apologies, madam, I seek not what you want.”

She dropped her gaze to the tile floor, looking a bit embarrassed. “I understand. I shall leave you be, sir.”

He felt compassion towards her, she seemed to be kind under that first impression.

Emmeline seemed to shrink under his eyes. “But may I thank you, in another way, for saving my family?”

After a second of thought, and knowing he could easily stop her if needed be, he gave a nod. Timidly she put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek, she was quick to step away. With a curtsy, she bid him a good day and left without saying another word.

Flattering, but unexpected. Usually people tended to avoid him. It appeared two knights who were passing by had seen it happen, one was even sending him a grin while the other was baffled.

What the Ash Man did not know was that they were not the only ones who had seen it…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

You had been searching for Lancelot around the fort to ask if he’d sit with you at dinner.

You wished you hadn’t…

Had you known that you would see him be kissed by someone, who was quite beautiful, you wouldn’t have searched for him at all. Never before had you felt so physically ill so suddenly. Where did this strong response come from?

Was it the exhaustion from last night mixed with the response to what you had seen? At least you made it to your room and to an empty bucket, because you felt close to throwing up. On your knees you kept the bucket close, feeling the painful tensing in your stomach. Your body was shaking terribly, like it tried to fight it. Nothing came out, and the feeling remained. The last time you had felt like this was after Matthew’s rejection a long time ago, but not this gravely.

It was time to admit to yourself that you had fallen for the Ash Man, and wished you hadn’t. Now you had to go through all the suffering a second time. All of this, only because you had seen him receive affections from another.

You fought against the tears, refusing to let them win and show, telling yourself to calm down. For all you knew, it could have been innocent, just nothing…

“Please, let it be nothing…” The plea was aimed to the Hidden.

It was a selfish thing to ask, but could you not wish for something for yourself?

Squirrel found you dry-heaving whilst he walked by the room, like the Hidden had called him there to see it. It was embarrassing.

The boy was at your side a blink of an eye later. “Are you sick?”

“No… ugh…” The weight of a rock tumbled inside your stomach

Squirrel did not believe it one bit. He saw how you struggled, hunched over the bucket on your knees, and your arm around your stomach. Suddenly he ran off and left you there, then it hit you why that was.

“Squirrel, no, wait!” You shouted after him but he was too stubborn to return without the help he was after. To your dismay, that help came in the form of Lancelot rushing into the room followed by Squirrel.

“See, she’s sick!” Squirrel looked so worried over you, it made you only feel worse and guilty.

Great… you were a mess…

Lancelot knelt by your side, hand on your back, the panic clear in his voice, “What is wrong? Are you ill?”

You were prying his hands off of you, still feeling that awful tightening in your gut. “Leave me be. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

He said it to make you feel less embarrassed over it, “I grew up among paladins, I have seen far worse.” Then asked the boy, “Percival, fetch a cold damp cloth.”

Squirrel darted off to the washing table in your room to fetch one.

“Talk to me.” Lancelot’s concern was clear for all to see. But his presence was not helping you now.

You wouldn’t lie to him to avoid further questions, but asked for a delay to answer, “Not now. I’m sorry, not now. I’m not sick, I just need a moment to myself.”

Squirrel returned and handed the requested damp cloth to Lancelot. It did feel very nice to feel the cold cloth be placed on the back of your neck. Was the Hidden alerting him that this situation was caused by distress?

He hated to ask, because he did not wish to do so, “Shall we leave you?”

Hearing and seeing them so concerned… it made you feel guilty. But your fragile heart felt like breaking into pieces again, and it hurt.

You needed the nausea gone before you would be able to tell him what was wrong. “I will tell you, when I’ve had a moment to think.”

He hesitated for a couple of moments before finally rising to his feet and beckoning for the boy.

“Doesn’t she need a healer?” Squirrel pouted up at him.

Lancelot send you an inquiring look.

You shook your head. “I’ll be alright, Squirrel. I promise.”

Poor Squirrel wasn’t put at ease by it.

“Mirena will be waiting for you in the dinning hall, do not let your meal go cold again. Go on.” Lancelot nudged him against the shoulder.

Squirrel didn’t run out like he usually would, he walked out and looked at you one last time before leaving the room.

That heaviness in your stomach was slowly bettering, you dared to look up at the Ash Man whilst pushing the still empty bucket away from you.

He was reluctant to leave you on your own, “I will come find you after dinner. Shall I bring you some then?”

“I don’t feel like eating.” You declined the offer.

There he stood, near the door, feeling powerless to help you. He hated the feeling to his very core. What he hated most was seeing glimpses of sadness present in you, the reason of it still unknown to him.

“Go. Don’t let a meal go cold.” You mustered a small smile.

His boots almost dragged across the floorboards as he headed out of the room.

You still sat on your knees, and let yourself sit on your rear instead. Telling him felt like the wisest choice…

You had survived heartbreak before, would it not be better than prolonging the pain? What if he rejected you? What if he accepted?

Thinking of it was enough for the knot in your stomach to return and you decided to clear your head of it before you’d lose all courage to speak to him later.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Lancelot had lost his appetite after the Hidden had notified him of your distress, through them it was as if he had experienced some of what you must have felt.

No, he gravely disliked the feeling that had coursed through him. Some fresh cold air was what he craved to forget the feeling. Some time to clear his mind before he’d search you out to speak to you.

Unfortunately, it was not granted to him.

From a distance, he had already picked up that Sky Folk scent he hoped to avoid.

Matthew found him in the courtyard, and when he saw that no one else was around, he went over to the Ash Man, “I think we should have a word, don’t you?”

Lancelot could hear the venom in his tone. “If you find it necessary.”

“I do.” Matthew responded sharp. “I know you were the one who told y/n.”

He turned to face the knight, feeling the tense turn in the atmosphere. “If you had told her yourself, perhaps she would be more inclined to forgive you.”

The knight looked seconds away of hitting him, he had been in enough battles to recognize that sort of look.

Matthew let him know what was bothering him, “Do not act haughty to me, I know why you’ve done it! It’s much easier for you to have her all to yourself if there are no others vying for her!”

The furious knight sought to escalate this by shoving the Ash Man against the chest.

When Matthew tried to do it a second time, he knew he had to diffuse this before the situation could get messier than it already was. You would never forgive him if he’d damage one of those ‘honey eyes’.

With fast reflexes, Lancelot caught his arm and kicked the back of Matthew’s knee, sending the knight to the ground while blocking his arm behind his back. Matthew tried to get up but the Ash Man kept him to the ground, and prevented he’d use his other arm to free himself.

“I’ve done it, because she deserves to know the truth!” Lancelot snarled.

The fool did not see his mistake, “She didn’t need to know! You only upset her!”

“I did?!” He could not believe his ears. “Others know! Others who have no right to know! How long before it reached her ears? Do you have any inkling of how much you have hurt her?!”

The ruckus had drawn the attention of three other knights, when they threatened to come closer to interfere, it was Matthew who told them to stay back, “Stay out of it!”

The group looked at each other with uncertainty. He felt how Matthew stopped struggling against his firm hold.

“I never thought she would hate me…” Matthew confessed sorrowful. “I took it for granted.”

The love you once had for Matthew had not saved him from the consequences of his actions this time.

He released him and took a few paces away from him, “You did.”

Matthew didn’t get off his knees just yet, and looked at the Ash Man with mixed emotions. “The Weeping Monk has a better conscience than me…” He scoffed. “I understand why she put her trust in you, I don’t like it, but I understand.”

It was almost a nice thing for him to say, if it weren’t so bitterly said. The man was filled with self-pity, it would not help his cause if he let it remain as it was.

He really made an effort to advise him, “You have a conscience as well, I suggest you learn to listen to it from time to time.”

Matthew got up from the ground and waved the watchful knights away, “You believe she could one day forgive me then?”

There was still that attitude, but the question sounded like it had come from a genuine concern.

Lancelot kept at a safe distance from him. “She forgave me. I think she can forgive you too, in time.”

If he deserved it.

Matthew rolled his shoulder, feeling the strain that had been put on it, he did not appear as angry anymore. With a step back, he created more distance. “Speak not a word of this to her.”

Did he sound… embarrassed?

He managed to keep himself from letting the smirk appear, “I do not intent to trouble her with futilities.”

Matthew almost rolled his eyes at him, then he walked past the Ash Man in the direction those knights had gone, undoubtedly to ask the same of them.

So far this day was spared of bloodshed and violence, he prayed it would remain so.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The evening had come, and to reassure both Ciro and Squirrel that you were fine, you had went to their room to read some of that book with them again.

They were fascinated by the small bits of knowledge on the Fey clans that they had not been previously aware of. Squirrel began to show more enthusiasm towards reading and you helped him learn, he’d point out a letter and you would tell him what it sounded like.

Needless to say, some very strange sounding words came out of the boy’s mouth often.

Yet, Ciro never once laughed, he was just glad to finally have a friend that did not mind that he wasn’t the bravest around.

Moon Wings were their favorite subject, and you read most of it out loud to them on the matter.

Your fingertip followed the line you were reading in the book, “Moon Wings often posses druid magic, most of them can read the minds of others around them.”

“Wow.” Ciro exclaimed in awe.

“I’ve seen a Moon Wing!” Squirrel said, then went on to tell Ciro all about the young Moon Wing he had seen.

They were a rare kind indeed, it was a Moon Wing child that had survived a cleansing. And you didn’t have to guess how the child had survived…

Outside the window, the stars reminded you of the time. And you had heard some yawns in the past few minutes coming from the children.

“I believe it is time for bed.” You carefully closed the large book.

There were some protests, but they still crawled under the covers. You went around the room to tuck them into bed, which they seemed to appreciate.

“Y/n…” Squirrel caught your arm when you walked by, “I’m really glad you’re my friend. You’re really sweet.”

Was he sick? It was what you first thought upon hearing the compliments.

The initial shock passed and you bend down to kiss his forehead. “I love you too.”

“I didn’t say that.” He sank back in the pillow.

“I’m pretty sure I heard that, somewhere between the other words.” You smiled broadly and saw him do the same.

You repeated the action with Ciro, who promptly used his sleeve to wipe his forehead afterwards.

“Ew.” Ciro blurted out.

“And I love you too, dear cousin.” You snorted a laugh at his response.

Before you left, you blew out the candles and let the darkness of night into the room. To see them close their eyes and softly fall asleep, gave hope for a better world and future for the Fey, at least for them.

You rubbed the sleep from your tired eyes whilst walking through the hallway towards your room. At first you had thought Lancelot had forgotten how he had said he’d come to speak to you after dinner, but now you found him leaning against the wall beside your chamber’s door, he pushed himself off of it when he saw you approach. He was seconds away of questioning you on what happened today, you could feel it.

There was no avoiding it, so you faced the issue head on. “About earlier. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you worry. Sometimes I feel ill when things become too much for me, it’s just the way my body reacts.”

He was visibly relieved to hear that you were not truly ill, “Do you feel better now?”

It was sweet of him to ask. “I feel well.”

Before he could ask what had caused it, you asked him about what had been on your mind all evening and hoped it didn’t sound too nosy. “I saw you with a woman today. Who was she? I didn’t recognize her from living at the fort. Maybe she is new.”

It was already at the back of his mind.

“Ah. I believe her name was ‘Emmeline’, she is the sister of the woman I helped escape from the fire last night.” He said.

The sister of…

Oh…

“She came to thank you…” You finally understood what had happened.

Lancelot’s expression changed slightly, like he was puzzling something together in his mind. “Yes.” The question fell out of his thoughts, “What caused you to feel ill tonight?”

You struggled to make the decision for yourself to whether or not you would tell him the true reason, and if you were ready to do so. What if you made a fool of yourself by telling him?

He saw the reluctance to answer the question in your eyes.

He gestured to the door of your room, “Can we talk? Where we are not so prone to be disturbed?”

Oh no, did he suspect something? Was it obvious to him?

“Of course.” You walked past him to open the door. “Get in before someone sees and gets the wrong idea.”

He grinned and followed you into the room. To let your tired feet rest, you plopped down on your bed to sit. The doll at the foot of your bed had drawn his attention and he picked it up.

“And who is this?” The cheeky Ash Man smiled.

You squinted your eyes up at him. “It doesn’t have a name. My mother gave me that.”

He studied the way it was made for a moment. “Lovely.”

When he showed no signs of putting it down, you teased, “Are you here to play with my doll, or to talk to me?”

His mouth curved at the corner at the jest. With respect for your belongings, he placed the doll back at the foot of your bed, making sure it wouldn’t fall. That was rather thoughtful of him.

He still stood at the foot of the bed when he explained why he had wanted to talk someplace private, “I had hoped to speak to you about the night of the feast.”

“The one you can’t remember?” You were still a little bitter over it.

He was nervously tapping his index finger against the foot of the bed. “I have not been honest with you. I do recall what happened.”

You looked up at his face and saw the remorse in his eyes. “You lied to me…”

It was disappointing.

His bowed his head in shame, voice growing quieter, “By lying, I thought it would spare me from having to face the truth.”

“What truth?” You asked.

He came to your side and knelt down just next to your leg. “I saw you and Matthew together that night, I saw him seek your affection. I drank two tankards of ale..” He took a breath. “I made a mistake.”

“I…” Realization hit. “You saw that?”

His gaze dropped to the floorboards, as if he did not like the memory at all. “I know it is no excuse for my behavior.”

“You were jealous?” You needed to hear him say it, because it didn’t feel real or possible.

“I was.” It was difficult to admit, but he did.

Regret for his actions swarmed inside his head constantly. The foreign feeling had been all consuming that night. Jealousy, mixed with the fear he had for what he felt.

“Why?” Deep down you already knew the reason.

He opened his mouth to speak, the words he wished to say caught in his throat, “Forgive me.”

“Lancelot.” You waited until he looked at your eyes, “Tell me. Please?”

He rose from the ground to walk a few steps further into the room, his back to you. That annoying feeling in your stomach threatened to return at the sight of his reaction. Your legs felt unstable when you stood up and got closer to him.

He slowly turned, his eyes a thousand stars away and yet all present, his hands folded behind his back to hide how unsteady they were. “I fear you will shun me, if you hear what I wish to tell you.”

His hesitation was not because he wished to deceive you, the look in his eyes told of it. The look of a man fearing to lose it all, the same fear you recognized in yourself.

You took his hands in yours, seeking to connect with him. “I wish I could fight away all that troubled you… all I can pray for is that you will feel safe enough with me, to tell me what you wish to say.”

He turned his hands and claimed yours, holding on to them while brushing his thumbs over your knuckles in a soothing manner. Almost did you step back when he knelt down before you.

He submitted himself to you, placing his body and soul at your feet, for his heart was already in your hands.

His eyes lifted to yours, locking on your gaze through his lashes. He hesitated a few times before he began to speak, his voice was full of raw emotion and quite prayer, “Your gracious heart holds mine in it’s power. All I wish for, is yours in return.”

You were staring into the heavens that the gods had created in his eyes, feeling your breathing quicken.

His eyes remained on yours, ensuring himself that all was heard, “I have come to know you, to loveyou.” A pause. “Am I fooling myself into believing that you would let me into your heart?”

You watched him play absentmindedly with your fingers, while his intense gaze distracted you, “You are…”

The mistake dawned on you when seeing his eyes change. “Oh gods, wait no I… ugh,” You could slap yourself for it. “I didn’t mean you are ‘fooling yourself’, I meant that you are in my heart. Gods, I’m such an idiot.”

The nerves were getting the better of you.

He blinked a few times, like you had just turned water into wine. He went through two very different emotions in the span of seconds, highly preferring the one he felt now.

The stunned response just proved how unexpected it was for him that this was a mutual feeling.

You pulled a hand free and buried your face in it. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit overwhelmed. Because I’ve fallen in love with you and I didn’t know if you felt the same…”

He breathed in, the joy visible in his eyes. “You are forgiven.”

You felt safe enough with him to speak the truth of what had happened earlier, “When I saw that woman so close to you, I felt my heart shatter into pieces. I couldn’t stand the thought of another with you. Selfish, I know, and I’m sorry you had to see my reaction.”

It sounded like you had experienced the same distress that he had felt after seeing you with another.

His hand was gently squeezing yours. “Do not apologize. I did not react well to seeing you with another either.”

That was true. Your eyes flickered to the window, feeling the small smile begin to form on your lips.

He was warming your hands with his own. “You love me…”

The truth was finally out. “Quite a lot.”

There was a moment were nothing was said, the reality of the situation was setting in.

“What now?” He inquired in a rather timid manner. “If you wish to ignore it, I will understand.”

His past could not be erased. Matters were already sensitive at the fort. He would understand if you chose to not give in to what you felt. He just need you to hear the truth, just as he needed to hear it too.

You stole your hands from him and covered his own with them. “I don’t really know. But I cannot keep pretending that I am not attracted to you.”

It felt like such a risky thing to admit, and heat went to your cheeks. But he would have figured that out sooner or later anyway. Of course that smug oaf smirked at you for it. You send him a warning look in case he were thinking of teasing you about it. Slowly Lancelot rose to his feet, never breaking the connection your hands formed between you. He held them, using them to bring you a step closer to him. You stilled when he touched your cheek to caress it, his fingertips touched your chin and had a gentle hold on it while watching your response. He collected all his courage while slowly leaning in, aiming for your cheek, offering you the chance to pull away if you’d wish to.

The kiss to your cheek was nothing like the one you had once given him, it was far more intimate than you thought such an innocent kiss could ever be, his warm breath was felt near your ear when his lips lingered.

Tentatively he curled his hand around your shoulder. While leaning back again, his gaze fell on your lips. Seeing him take a deep breath forewarned you for what he desired to do. But the Ash Man was holding back, and you laced your fingers in his jerkin to slowly pull him closer, willing to meet his lips. Almost did your nose touch his, when suddenly he broke away.

You were so confused. “Wha-”

The knock on your door came a second later. Lancelot looked alarmed, having caught the Fey scent.

“It’s your father.”

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten​​ @the-great-adventures-of-me​ @linkpk88​​  @fxrchxldws​​  @elenaoftheturks​​ @slytherlight​​ @beananacake​​    @crystallizedtime​​  @moonlightaura03​​  @angrygardendeer​​  @have-aheart​​   @5am-cigarette​​ @arcanenature​​  @thewinterskywalker​​ @notyourwildestdream​​ @coloursforyourportrait​​ @koressecretidentity​​ @nike90​​ @n1ghtlux​​ @rachlovesactors​​ @luckyzipperscissorsbat​​ @morena-doing-stuff​​  @the-fangirl-diaries​​ @gipsydanger17​​ @heavenly1927​​  @phantasmalbeiing  @labyrinthonmymind  @asarcastic-thiamstan​​  @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

[artsycrapfromsai]

Ko-fi Doodles round 2! (Ko-fi Doodles are currently closed as I work through my backlog!)

No. 9 & 10 - Bakugo/OC & Shinsou/OC for @BUBBL3GUMN3BULA on twitter! No. 11 - Chouchou for @MikeMorris7 No. 12 - OC for @foustdoodles98 No. 13 - DnD OC for @BanannaSlamma64 No. 14 - Tsuyu doodle for ThreeSS!! No. 15 & 16 - OC & Izuku and OC & Reiner (AoT) for @BUBBL3GUMN3BULA No. 17 - Weeping Monk, Nimue & Squirrel from Netflix's Cursed for @CatCapetan No. 18 - Ren Amamiya for Senkai!!

[wr1tten]

it  had  been  a  few  weeks  since  he  found  her  floating  in  red  tinted  waters.      nimue’s  pulse  weak;      barely  breathing.      lancelot  didn’t  know  her    —    beyond  her  reputation  as  the  wolf  blood  witch,    another  fey  expected  to  meet  the  weeping  monk’s  blade    —    but  squirrel  did.      desperate  to  save  her.      so  he  pulled  her  from  the  water,    snapped  and  removed  the  arrows,    and  used  his  long  since  suppressed  abilities  to  mend  her  back  to  health.      it  was  near  necromancy,    how  close  to  death  she  had  been  when  they  found  her.      she  hadn’t  woken  for  days;      staving  off  the  pain  from  the  injuries.      it  wasn’t  a  surprise  that  he  was  met  by  a  feat  of  rage  when  she  came  to.      a  waking  nightmare  where  a  red  paladin  was  staring  back  at  her.      if  it  weren’t  for  her  weakness,    he  wouldn’t  have  survived  her  fury. 

the  passing  glances  of  disgust  became  less  frequent,    nimue’s  trust  being  gained  the  more  he  sat  to  speak  with  her.      open  up  about  their  pasts;      disclose  his  learned  self-hatred,    be  vulnerable  with  the  woman  he  had  previously  proclaimed  his  mortal  enemy.      there  was  much  more  that  connected  them  than  what  separated  them.      nimue  had  become  a  confidant.      a  warmth  in  the  cold  breeze,    a  fire  stoked  within  the  melancholy.      with  her,    the  fey  had  a  bright  future  ahead.      and  maybe  he  would  be  lucky  enough  to  be  a  part  of  it. 

( did  you  want  that?      after  all  this  time,    all  the  self-mutilation.      you  ran  from  your  nature;      despised  it.      but  now,    you  protected  a  fey  youth  and  a  fey  queen.      there  was  no  returning  to  that  horrid  place  you  left ). 

they  were  sat  in  front  of  the  water,    the  current  carrying  an  imperfect  reflection  of  nimue  across  it.      had  she  always  been  this  beautiful?      the  green,    plant-like  veins  contouring  her  cheeks  as  flowers  grew  along  their  sides.      regrowing  the  dead  ground;      bringing  back  color  where  the  flames  had  decimated  it.      lancelot  reached  over,    thumb  brushing  along  the  raised  skin  in  awe.      in  awe  of  all  that  she  was  even  after  all  she  had  lost. 

@unbelovd sent : an abrupt kiss that you melt into after a moment of hesitation.

the  motion  was  so  quick  that  he  flinched.      a  kiss  was  the  last  thing  he  expected    —    he  didn’t  deserve  her  kindness,    let  alone  her  desire.      nimue,    the  very  embodiment  of  selflessness,    choosing  the  destroyer  of  her  village.      a  monk  that  relished  in  the  sight  of  fire.      lancelot  knew  he  wasn’t  worthy  of  her.      and  he  also  had  no  right  to  deny  her  something  she  wanted.      so  the  hand  at  her  cheek  drew  her  in,    lips  finally  responding  with  a  fervor.      two  sides  of  the  same  coin;      forever  connected.      no  longer  at  war  with  one  another.      he  had  surrendered  to  her.      completely  and  utterly  at  her  mercy  as  his  dark  hues  flutter  closed,    thumb  mapping  the  sharp  cut  of  her  jaw. 

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

Did you mean; The Weeping Monk and Squirrel/ Lancelot and Percival?

"A young boy adopts his assassin", a story in 5 gifs

[beginning-writer]

I did dance headcanon and i am absolutely happy about it.

Yes you didn't read wrong. I was peacefully doing a ballerina drawn during one of my classes, and i remember that ballet dance was patented by the french. More specifically Louis XIV. And it's okay that ballet actually originated in Italy, but I'll politely leave that in the corner. With all due respect.

there is the unfinished drawning if you're interested:

Now, who else is french? Exacly. Lancelot du Lac. But i didn't wanted to do a cultural dance for Lancelot and the Ashfolk and leave Gawain, Squirrel, Pym, Nimue and the Skyfolk aside. They're a big, dysfunctional, but happy, family. So i decided to make a cultural dance for both of them and i'm going to explain why in this post. Which probably will be quite long.

The ashfolk and Ballet.

As i have said before, i know that ballet is not originally french, but italic. If you didn't know about this before, yes, ballet origins are italic. The dance came to France when Catherine de Medici married whit the King Henry II of France. but it was only patented by Louis XIV, the Sun King, years later, and it became popular among high society.

And i do know france have a lot more of cultural dances like: Cancan, quadrilha, gavotte, minuet and more. But reading each of them to try to fit it and not be stuck in the stereotype, i realized that, no, none of them actually mached whit Lancelot personality. And not just Lancelot. His family was incribably cristhian in the legends, and strict too, so the other dances didn't fit what i was looking for. So that's why i chosed ballet as the ashfolk cultural dance.

Lancelot/The Ashfolk and Ballet.

Now, when i talk about Lancelot in the weeping monk adaptation, the first thinga that came to my mind are his past abuse and his melancholy. Obviously how absolutely pretty he is too, but that's not the point. And whit the past abuse and scenes like: When Carden slaps him in the face because he asked for mercy for Squirrel; We see how he is constantly expected and forced to be rigid and up to standard one hundred percent of the time. Which, depending on which perid we see, matches whit how ballerinas were treated.

Most people from outside see the ballet houses - As we call from where i'm from - by the pictures and shows, but also by those overexaggerated pictures from internet where we see the ballerinas's foot and bodys badly hurted by the sneakers and the injuries caused. And a lot of people believe that ballet is like dance moms, I don't know if that's the correct name of the show, but that actually doesn't happen. I'm not saying it never happens, but it's not how you see or think. It's not just delicacy and elegance, but it's also not just demands and frequent pressure. As a former child dancer, I know that there is a lot of pressure on dancers, even children, and depending on which house you're from, you can end up having an abusive house where you are excessively demanded and overstandard.

Having explained that. Ballet is an elegant and graceful dance, but it takes time, strength and a lot of dedication. And of course, with many expectations about perfection and rigid routines and trains. Which matches Lancelot's personality perfectly. "Perfect" steps with elegance and lots of training and effort. The difference is that if Lancelot had had a ballet house, he would have ended up in an abusive one with obvious problems but which no one dares to comment on.

Lancelot doesn't talk much in the show or in the legends, and the ballet is not a play with words, but rather one where a story is told through music and movement, which is perfect for our darling who barely speaks.

Ballerinas at first don't wear pointe shoes, their feet were flat on the floor like in any other dance, but over time it was added to make the ballerinas look bigger and elegant, and Lancelot also fits into this, along with most French people.

Ballerinas' bodies are thin and yet very strong, and by the looks of Lancelot's as well. You can't look at my face and say that that man eats three meals a day healthily, that's a lie that not even the devil can forgive.

Ballet is known mainly for its elegant jumps, endless pirouettes and, as my little sister calls it and I think it's incredibly cute, "kicks in the air" - which would be the splits and opening the legs in pirouettes. Lancelot has a similar fighting style, with lots of kicks, somersaults and spins. What I particularly like to think of as an adaptation of his cultural dance to a fight. so he has at least something from home nearby every day, even if not in the best way.

Ballet pieces were formerly known for paying homage to Greek myths, love, nature and life. Which refers to the fey nature and how Lancelot became known for his love for Guinevere in the legends.

Everything mentioned is a way of explaining why Lancelot suits ballet better than the other dances I studied, even if I tried to avoid stating the obvious.

The ashfolk and ballet culture

Now listen to me carefully. Yes, bale is a very delicate dance that needs rehearsals and that wouldn't make sense in something like: Simple dance at a cultural celebration because the music was nice. But this can get solved.

For this type of occasion, I like to think that the relaxed ballet dance on lighter cultural occasions where they simply want to dance, could be in the style of Marianela Nuñez's dance in Don Quixote in 2013 in the first act, just more relaxed and with more improvised movements.

Their clothes would also be less elegant and more focused on comfort due to heightened senses. And of course, because they have a type of connection with fire, the clothes would be vibrant and with more handmade details attached to the clothes.

But when it was for the plays and presentatios they would use what we usually see in the ballet shows, but more adapted to their time and conditions.

Lancelot and ballet presentations i see him doing

Lancelot in the weeping monk have this melancholy attached to him. When you talk about the weeping monk the fist thing you'll say about him is: "He's depressed." And there is just so much presentations knowed for their melancholy and saddnes and death as their signature mark too! The most famous is Swan Lake, but i can also see him doing ballet plays like: Giselle, Sylvia and The Corsair, etc.

He would totaly do the black swan and you won't convince me the contrary; The act two of Giselle is totally him; I won't mention Corsair and Sylvia cause i cannot put into words what i'm feeling about both plays righ now, i'm still in the overcoming phase, but if you waavth it you'll get what i'm saying.

Scene time!

Squirrel was eagerly telling Lancelot about the cholheita ritual they would do next spring, telling him every detail about their dance and how Nimue, Pym and Gawain were excited about it and how incredible they would look prancing the gods in their traditional clothes.

The little one spoke like a rattlesnake without stopping to breathe, and Lancelot, as always, listened to everything without any problems with the one-sided conversation. At one point in the conversation, Squirrel changes the topic to how he would love to see other spring celebrations and other people's dances. And then came the inevitable question:

"Hey, what's your cultural dance? Do you dance?" Squirrel asks looking at him with those big curious eyes.

Lancelot wanted nothing more than to rigidly deny and end what he knew was coming in the bud, but the boy spoke so eagerly and with so much enthusiasm about the subject that he didn't have the heart to lie to him at that moment. He sighs and accepting his fate for the next few hours, responds. "Yes. In my village we danced ballet. I danced my share of times while I could."

"Ballet? like that delicate and elegant dance that makes you stretch to the maximum, full of jumps and things like that?" He asks with those eager eyes and fingers clenching in anticipation.

"Yes, that same one. I was a ballerina."

"That's so cool! You not only dance, you dance ballet!" Squirrel speaks excitedly, almost jumping from where he was sitting. Excitement was written everywhere on his body. "Oh oh, can you do that thing where you stretch your leg up there?! eh.. I forgot the name, but you know what it is."

Lancelot smiles at the boy's imminent excitement, almost enough to smell it. This was going to be a long evening.

Additions.

I thought about talking about the cultural dance I chose for the skyfolk too, but this post is already too far away so I'll leave it for another post. The dance is not very well known, but you will agree with me when you read the next post.

If you've read this far, congratulations, you're a champion. Thank you for your time and patience.

@lancedoncrimsonwings

[lancedoncrimsonwings]

This is giving Squirrel Gawain and Lancelot vibes.

Gawain; What have you got there?

Squirrel, having stolen one of Lancelot's five-million-and-three knives; A KNIFE!

Gawain and Lancelot, simultaneously; --NO!

This is not my video, credit to razzimatazzi on TikTok, I absolutely do not have TikTok, my partner sent me this

Tagging @beginning-writer 'cause I think this will make you laugh

[beginning-writer]

Probably Gawain and Lancelot not letting him fight paladins.

[themuselesswriter]

The Monk's Wife - Chapter 8: The Calm Before the Storm

Characters: Lancelot du Lac, Original Characters, Squirrel

Summary: Tarja shows affection in a different kind towards her husband, she then reunites with her brother for the first time since his return.

Word count: 1400+

Warnings: none

A/N: I wrote this while I was high on The 100 so it doesn’t necessarily make sense

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is picsart

————————————Teaser———————————

She raised an eyebrow at him, when did she ever cause a simple scar? “I don’t want to talk about it further, do I have time to check on Tate before going to my court?” He nodded “he’s being treated by Daver” she felt relieved, Daver was the best healer and telekinesis, if anyone could fix Tate, it’s him, the two headed together to the isolated infirmary, Daver greeted them, the queen noticed her brother was tied to the bed, she wasn’t pleased “it’s for his own safety” Daver explained, she nodded and took a seat next to him, caressing his cheek softly “any progress?” The man shook his head “it’s complicated, it’s like he’s not one person, every time I communicate with him mentally I’m met by someone different”

“I don’t understand?” The queen said looking at the healer “with Lancelot, he knows who he is, but he forced himself into forgetting, while Tate created several personas in order to protect himself” he explained “certain events trigger one character more than the others, but never Tate, they’re all trying to protect him” he added “well, keep working until you trigger Tate” She said as if it was that easy “your grace… if I trigger Tate, he will be mentally a unstable, he wouldn’t understand half of the things in this world nor recall any events” he said with concern “can you unite them? The five?” , “I can try but I don’t think it’s possible now with-“, “then trigger Tate” She interrupted, placing a kiss on her brother’s forehead before leaving to the court.

She wanted to scream and cry, her brother was broken, literally broken into different pieces in his head, she headed to the court and put on a strong face, although Illian did a great job but most people wanted her guidance and reassurance, she later had a meeting with the generals in order to plan the upcoming war, she also sent people to keep her updated on her brother’s state who seemed to be worsening instead of recovering, she returned home late at night, hoping Lancelot was asleep because the moment she was between these walls, she broke into tears.

Her luck was the definition of crap, her husband had heard her coming and came to greet her “Tarja?” He asked as he saw her hugging her legs and sobbing, once she felt his presence she brushed away her tears and put on a brave face “Tarja, what happened?” He asked, joining her on the floor, she shook her head “it’s nothing” she forced a smile to comfort the bruised man “why are you still awake? You should rest to recover” She sniffled, pretending it was nothing “I can’t sleep without you home” he admitted.

Continue Reading

[aceofwhump]

Summary: In which Squirrel and Gawain take care of a stubborn and badly injured Lancelot while making their way to the Fey camp. Along the way, Lancelot begins his path of healing and redemption. Takes place immediately after 1x10.

Tagging: @orithil, @dinosaurswant2rule, @wonderwhump, @waitingforrescue, @disappearinginq, @deepwoundsandfadedscars, @sowhumpful, @aarkose, @shadow-warren-whump, @theladyoffangorn, @jo-castle, @whumpappreciation, @whumpypepsigal, @whumpthencomfort, @jane--thors, @witchy-ace-of-hearts, @whumpwhumpwhumpwhump, @bauqui, @classicwhump, @nessadb2, @99point9percentwhump, @whumper-butterfly, @cosmicwanda

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 26

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: Secrets Of The Heart

Notes: 👀

Warnings: Grief. Violence. Torture. Sexual Assault. Rape Threat. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  26/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Once you were done washing, and dressed in clean clothes, you felt a little more human. That such a small thing could lift your spirits was surprising. You left your room to search for the little rascal you had been hoping to see. It took a while to find Squirrel, but you did find him, and your cousin as well, in the kitchens.

Ciro ran up to you at first sight and flung himself into your arms when you knelt down. “You’re really back!”

The joy of him filled your heart. “I am.” You leaned back to look at him “Phew, you’re getting stronger, aren’t you?”

Ciro gestured to Squirrel. “He’s teaching me how to use a bow, it’s making my muscles grow, look!”

He tensed the muscles of his upper arm, as if he was lifting something heavy. Even though you saw no change, you did not tell him this and were proud of him none the less. “Impressive.”

Squirrel stood a bit to the side, clearly waiting for you to call him over and for Ciro to step away a bit. Your cousin did so upon seeing the inquiring look of Squirrel. You opened your arms wide for Squirrel who took the invitation right away, they closed around around him lovingly.

“I have missed you.” You whispered against his hair.

Squirrel swallowed, a tear ran it’s path down his cheek. “I’ve missed you too…”

You could hear the crack in his voice and cradled the back of his head, “I am never leaving you again, do you hear me?” You leaned back to look him in the eyes. “Never.”

“Swear it.” Squirrel demanded.

The look in his eyes made it impossible to refuse. “I swear it.”

With another embrace, the promise was sealed.

Squirrel noticed the bruise to your temple. “Did the Brotherhood hurt you?”

Your mother would not have told him the details of it.

“Not much.” You lied to not alarm the already worried boy. “And in return we burned their fort to the ground.”

Squirrel and Ciro shared an excited look, and right there and then you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave the kitchen without telling them the whole story. And you did. Ciro considered it one of the better tales he knew of know. Your storytelling came to an end when the children were offered a bowl of soup by the older ladies that were cooking there. You politely declined when they offered you a bowl as well, and left the kitchen.

On your way to find the Ash Man, you ran into Matthew.

“How are you?” He asked. “That can’t have been easy to face your father like that.”

You shrugged your shoulders slightly. “I’ll be better once things settle down after a while.”

“So, the Reaper, eh?” He let a silence fall in the hope that you would start talking about it yourself, but you did not. “That sick bastard. Who would have thought he’d have such plans in that twisted skull of his?”

Matthew was visibly repulsed by the thought.

Remembering it made you feel sick to the stomach as well. “I’d rather just forget everything about his plans.”

“Of course you do. Understandably so. " He put his hand on your shoulder. “Will you come to the celebration tonight? There will be ale and food brought to the courtyard for all. It will take your mind off what happened.”

You doubted ale and a meal would be of much help for that. “I’m not sure I wish to feast.”

He took a step closer, letting those amber eyes achieve what his pleas could not, “Please, y/n? It has been so long since we were able to spend some time together.”

You sighed defeated. “Alright. I’ll make an appearance.”

A broad smile spread on his lips. “Excellent.”

One of the Snake Folk clan entered the hallway you were in, her hurried steps made Matthew step away from you.

“Ser Matthew, may I speak to you for a moment?” She asked.

“Of course.” Matthew said, then turned to you. “I will see you tonight.”

“Good. Uhm, do you know where Lancelot is?” You asked before you’d have to search the whole castle ground.

Matthew’s smile faltered. “I believe he is at the stables.”

It was all he said before he walked towards the woman to hear what she had to say. He could not have made it more obvious that he did not like Lancelot, you hoped that it would change in time.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It only took you a few minutes to walk to the stables, and you found Lancelot busy pampering Goliath by brushing his coat with some dry straw.

The slight tilt of his head to the side made it known to you that he had caught your scent before you’d even set foot in the door, he did not even need to turn around to know it was you.

“I apologize for earlier. I will knock from now on.” He said.

You weren’t even angry for it, it had not been on purpose. “I know you wouldn’t walk into a room I am changing in on purpose. We’re good, you are forgiven.”

As you came to stand beside him and greet Goliath, you noticed how he kept his attention on the horse and even took a small step away from you. It was so subtle that you could have missed it, but you hadn’t and it was clawing at you.

You wanted to start a conversation to distract yourself from that gnawing feeling, “How did you find my room?”

“By finding you.” He said.

It took you two counts to remember again that he was able to sniff his way around. “I see. Did anyone else see you walk in there?”

It had become so natural to just walk into any room the other was in, but this was different.

A frown creased his forehead, “I do not believe so. Why?”

It was quite winsome how innocent his mind could still be. “Because rumors have been born from less. You just waltzed into my bedchamber, Lancelot. My parents would lose their minds if they saw.”

He mumbled a bit, it was meant as a jest but the undertone betrayed some genuineness, “They can’t have their daughter be involved with the former Weeping Monk.”

You rolled your eyes a little. “It’s not about your past, Lancelot. Remember that I told you that my father kept me away from boys as much as he could? To them, I am still their ‘Little Moon’.”

“Little moon?” He found it a curious name.

“It comes from a secret we as Dawn Folk have.” You carefully said.

The attention left Goliath, the brushing of the horse’s coat continued absentmindedly, “Will you share this secret with me?”

You tsked him, “Don’t be nosy, Ash Man.”

He just kept looking at you, undoubtedly wishing he could read your mind.

At first you tried to ignore it, and when that didn’t work, you stared right back.

His curiosity was strong, “Please?”

It was rare for this secret to be shared to other Fey. “If I tell you, you can’t tell another soul.”

He thought you weren’t serious, but the look in your eyes made him understand that you were, “I swear it.”

The secret spilled from your lips, “Dawn Folk can only conceive on nights with a full moon.”

Little Moon… Because you were the result of an amorous encounter during a blue moon.

He blinked a few times. “Oh.”

“And the Reaper knew this secret. It was why he-” An involuntary shiver went through you. “Ugh.”

He saw you shiver at the memory. “He is nothing but ashes now, he is not on your skin and he will never be again. There is only you.”

Hearing it brought some comfort, every time you thought back to the horrible moment, you felt his hand linger on your skin. You could not let the Reaper hold this power over you, he was ashes and you were still burning with life.

With a deep breath, you took Lancelot’s advice to heart and felt your mouth curve into a soft smile just for him. “I’m glad I didn’t let you die.”

A chuckle passed his lips. “Likewise.”

You almost rolled your eyes again, but then you noticed the changes in his attire and the small one in his appearance. He must have been grooming his stubble meticulously again, it had grown a bit whilst you had been held captive, he had clearly reversed that change. The ruined clothes were gone as well, the aketon was traded for a dark brown leather jerkin and he wore a pale grey shirt under it. All that had not changed was the weapons he had on him.

This was good, he deserved to be treated well.

You reached to touch the new sleeve of his shirt and saw him lean back. That small response gave you great worry, had you done something that made him uncomfortable? You decided to just ask and kept your tone light, “Have I done something wrong?”

It greatly confused him,“No. Why do you ask?”

No?

Then why did he seem afraid of you touching him all of a sudden?

You chased the truth out of him. “I just feel like you seem a bit uncomfortable. And you did rush out of my room so quickly earlier.”

His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, then lifted to your face. “I am not uncomfortable.”

You could tell that there was something being left unsaid. Slowly, you reached for him again and chose to touch nothing else but his cloak. He did not move away when you gingerly waved your fingers in the fabric. With a look shared, you wanted to let him know that you meant no harm. The opposite happened this time, he turned his body in such a way that it closed some distance between you.

“The cloak is new, isn’t it?” You failed to fight away the intrusive thought entering your mind and stunned him when you leaned in to smell the cloak.

He was surprised by the action, but not alarmed.

Your mind caught up with you and the sudden embarrassment hit. “Uhm… gods…sorry…”

His surprise turned into a smile so charming that it got you flustered at the sight of it, “Are you sure you are Dawn Folk, and not Ash Folk?”

The response he had to your strange action was so positive that it made you think that the Ash Folk must have once seen this as a common occurrence.

You wanted to take a step away, before he’d grow uncomfortable after all.

He was the one that prevented it by putting his hand on the back of your arm, “What do I smell like to you?”

The genuine curiosity coming from him was what saved you from feeling awkward.

“I don’t know.” You blurted out.

His head tilted to the side a bit, he did not believe you, “Tell me?”

You were fidgeting. “You smell like the forest. Like the warmth of a bonfire, if that makes sense.”

The answer seemed to please him, as if he didn’t expect you to actually tell him.

It made you recall when you had asked him the same question and got a rude answer in return. “The last time I asked you what I smelled like, you said I smelled strange.”

He had not forgotten the ill response. “You did, because I had never smelled one of the Dawn Folk before.”

Alright, that sounded like a plausible reason.

You dared to ask him again and hoped for an honest answer, “What do I smell like to you?”

The boldness he displayed, when closing the small space between you and dipping his head down to your neck, had you lost for words. His nose never touched your skin as it followed the curve of your neck up to your jaw, the only thing that did was his breath. A tremble in your legs began and spread to the rest of your body, you tried to hide it.

He was able to answer your question now, “The night’s air after rain.”

The scent was how he imagined freedom would smell like.

The hot flush you felt crawling up your cheeks made you tilt your head down. Was this the Hidden’s doing? Or was this… him?

A small touch to your arm was his way of pulling your attention to him again. He was watching you curiously, every small detail of your expression was caught by his gaze, like he was reading a book.

“So, not ‘strange’ then?” You managed to form a sentence.

“No.” His voice had lowered.

Taking a step back would have freed you from the influence his presence had on you now, if only your mind was convincing enough to make your feet move. “The celebration tonight, uhm… will you make an appearance? After all, you did kill the Reaper and gave the reason for this feast.”

Was that an invite to accompany you?

He thought it better to keep his presence discreet. “I think it is best If I stay in the room I was given tonight.”

You wanted to change his mind. “But-”

He explained his reasoning, “I will not jeopardize the chance I was given here. There will be other days in the future where I can be part of a feast. For now, I am content to be where you and the boy are.”

Maybe the people weren’t ready for him yet, or perhaps he was not ready for the people…

You would not push him further. “I will put one of my books in your room, you’ll have something to read at least.”

He hummed approvingly. “That would be kind.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat was what finally made your feet decide to step away from him.

Mirena was standing by the doors and looking between you and the Ash Man for a moment, then spoke to you, “There you are. I was wondering if you wanted to prepare for the feast with me? Like we used to.”

She was speaking of the days when you were younger and smaller, and stealing her gowns that never suited you whenever there was as much as a rumor of a celebration or joining. Of course she did not mind and let you play freely, and when you got older the dresses made for adults finally began to fit. There were many times where you would spend time helping each other look immaculate for special occasions. But it had been so long ago, and trousers offered an advantage in many situations.

“Mother, I’ve not worn a dress in years.” You chuckled nervously.

And you had just put on fresh clean clothes…

Her smile faltered a little. “Of course, I understand.”

Seeing her response made you realize that maybe she just wanted to relive a memory with her ‘Little Moon’.

Even Lancelot was looking at you to see if you had seen your mother’s heart crack a little.

Before she could walk away, you hurried after her. “Wait! I- uhm… I don’t know if my old dresses still fit me. It’s been so long.”

Mirena had taken that into account, “Oh! Worry not, Sweetling. I have something for you.”

Ah, of course she would have something up her sleeve for you to wear.

The enthusiasm was dripping from her face as she took you by the arm and walked away with you.

When you looked over your shoulder, you saw Lancelot send you a sympathetic look.

Like you didn’t know he would laugh later if he saw you in a dress…

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

What began as something to please your mother, ended up being a memory to cherish. After Mirena insisted on using her magic to heal you, the bruises had vanished from your skin. She was pleased with the result until she noticed the scars on your back while you were changing into the dress.

Even though the Dawn Folk could not heal scars, she still wanted to try but you refused to let her use any more of her energy. While she helped you put the dress on correctly, considering you had began with putting it on backwards, you told her where the scars came from.

Unlike your father, she always patiently let you tell your story, even when tears were in her eyes. When you saw them, you had wrapped your arms around her. You were her Little Moon, but she was the world to you.

And she was the only person in the world who could make you want to wear a dress.

She had given you a new one, the linen had your favorite color and the neckline was more revealing than what you were used to.

One look in the mirror of your room and you had to admit that perhaps gowns did suit you after all. The dress was simple, but it fitted your form and flattered your curves.

You would never forget the look your mother gave you when you decided to just wear your belt and sword with it. She got you in the dress, she had won her battle and chose not to fight that one. After all, her daughter was a fighter at heart.

Whilst you were viewing yourself in the mirror, a knock sounded at the door.

Mirena called out and young Squirrel waltzed into the room, she must have taught him to knock…

He was stunned to see you now, “I thought you never wore dresses?”

It made you self-conscious about the dress. “I haven’t worn one in a long time.” You made a small slow turn while asking, “What do you think? Should I wear it for tonight?”

Squirrel pursed his lips for a beat, then nodded with approval. “It’s nice.”

Nice? It was as close to a compliment this cheeky child would probably get.

Your confidence returned. “Good. Good…”

He came closer. “I saw there is ale being given out in the courtyard. Can I have some? I tried asking but the other knights won’t let me.”

Mirena looked at him incredulous. “Young man, you are too young to be drinking ale.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from letting out a chuckle.

“Y/n?” Squirrel whined.

Oh, you hated to disappoint him. “I’m sorry, Squirrel. Mother is right. But I’ll tell you what, I won’t drink ale either.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised and doubtful.

“I swear it.” You said.

Squirrel felt less excluded now.

Mirena walked over to the boy. “Come, there must be something else you would love to eat and drink.”

Squirrel followed her as she walked out of your room. You took one last look in the mirror, then plucked the book you had set aside for Lancelot from your bed. It was a small walk to the room he had been given, you placed the book against the closed door knowing he would find it there.

Your walk continued for a while, the doors of the fort were open and the sound of a violin welcomed you into the courtyard. From what you could see, a lot of people were present and even the gate was open to welcome those of the village.

A warm large bonfire gave the courtyard a mystical appearance now that the sun left the land in the hands of the moon.

You spotted Squirrel and your mother while she was helping him and Ciro acquire the food they desired.

No ale is what you had promised, and after some searching you found one of the village offering warm sweet tea to those who sought something to drink.

Some villagers had not come empty handed, it made the night even more meaningful to see that even in these hard times the Fey were not afraid to share.

It gave you hope to see it.

You stayed away from the dense crowd and kept to the walls, just enjoying the atmosphere. The news of the Reaper’s death, and the one who caused it, traveled through the castle.

Matthew found you close to the gatehouse and came to stand beside you. “You came.”

“I knew it would make my mother happy.” You informed him.

He was as charming as could be. “Not just your mother, I’m happy to see you here too. And by the gods, you look beautiful tonight.”

Had you heard him right?

“What?” You blurted out shyly.

Matthew had no problem repeating it a little slower, “You look beautiful tonight.”

You blinked a couple of times and took a sip of your tea to wash the nerves down. “Thank you.”

He looked around himself, “Your shadow isn’t with you tonight?”

You looked at the ground and found your shadow, “My shadow?”

“The Ash Man.” He clarified. “I have not seen him tonight yet.”

The knowledge that Lancelot had decided to remain in his room tonight did sadden you, even if you understood why. You couldn’t help but pout a bit. “He thought it was better to stay in the castle.”

He sounded almost happy about it, “A wise choice, considering his past.”

It bothered you to hear that he was glad Lancelot wasn’t here to celebrate, but you couldn’t truly blame Matthew for not trusting him yet.

Matthew voiced his opinion, “I had my suspicion that he was off the Church, but I can’t believe you brought the Weeping Monk himself here. Why didn’t you tell me when I met him?”

To you it had been the right choice. “I didn’t know if I could trust you to keep it a secret, it’s not a small one to keep.”

He took it personal. “You trust the Weeping Monk, but you don’t trust me to keep a secret?”

It was hard not to get a little defensive. “He’s not the Weeping Monk anymore. His name is Lancelot.”

“Fine…” Matthew yielded. “Helio nearly lost his mind when he learned that the Monk had fled and taken his daughter with him.”

After all these years, you never thought that he could get on your nerves but you remained patient. “He didn’t take me with him. I only helped him escape, we didn’t expect to be captured by the Brotherhood.”

“You helped him escape.” He chuckled. “I am impressed with how much you have changed. You used to be quite shy, you know? And now your freeing prisoners.”

It was nice to hear he liked the change in you. “I guess I just stopped hiding who I really am.”

Because the people who mattered most had accepted you just as you were.

“That you did.” He turned to you, bringing his hand up to your shoulder where it grew brave enough to take place on the bare skin. “I hope to see more of this other side to you.”

You turned your head to look at his hand, he seized the moment to kiss your cheek and linger. It was so unexpected that you could barely believe it was happening.

Matthew heard his name be called from the crowd and politely excused himself before he headed to the man who had called for him.

You watched him walk away in bewilderment, the melancholic whispers of the Hidden sounded like they came from behind you and you turned to look.

It was just a group of Feys walking through the open gate into the courtyard, nothing odd to see. And still… the Hidden had lured your eyes to look. You kept looking at the gate for a moment and drank your tea at a snail’s pace while your thoughts were elsewhere.

Never before had Matthew acted flirtatious to you, not like this, he meant it now.

But deep down it bothered you that he had never done so in the past, while you had been so obviously infatuated with him that you almost felt embarrassed to think back to it. He had broken your heart when he had carefully rejected you.

And now he had complimented you and kissed your cheek, but… it had not been like you had thought it would be.

Were those books, who spoke of romance, wrong? Was a kiss by the one you loved not meant to fill your heart with joy? To make you forget how to breathe properly?

You walked away from the gatehouse and watched those around you enjoy the feast. A woman, who played the flute, had joined the violist. The Fey welcomed this evening with open arms, some music and relaxation would surely lift their spirits. Your cousin and Squirrel were munching on some pastries when you came to stand by your mother’s side. Right away she fumbled with a side of your dress that must have looked imperfect to her. You resisted the urge to swat her hand away when you saw others stare at the display curiously. Of course Squirrel and Ciro found it hilarious to see.

“Mother, please.” You tried.

She didn’t listen and only stopped when the dress fell over your form perfectly. As you looked around yourself, you saw your father speak to Matthew, and they were looking at you.

“Are they talking about me?” You couldn’t resisted asking your mother.

Mirena had already noticed the conversation her husband was having with the newest knight. “I do not know. Do not worry, Little Moon, ignore your father.”

You heard her mumble ‘like you always do’ between her teeth.

She was right, you didn’t want to ruin your good mood by worrying. Instead you stayed with her to help keep the children entertained.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

It was past midnight when the feast came to an end. The tired villagers returned home and most of those living in the castle had gone inside. You stayed out a bit longer, cleaning up the courtyard a little. With a basket carried at your hip, you tossed the rubbish into it. After that was done, a woman still present took over and shoo-ed you away. You thanked her and and decided to stay out in the open air a bit longer.

You walked away from the fort and passed under the gate, the view of the coast and sea in the distance was spectacular from the hilltop.

The trunk of a fallen tree on the grass offered a nice place to sit. The nice cool breeze of wind passed through your dress easily, it wasn’t too cold yet for fall. Because of the leaves rustling over the grass in the wind, you had not heard the footsteps approach. It was the sudden touch to you left shoulder that alerted you, you jolted a little and quickly looked behind you. A glimpse of his cloak was the first thing you saw, next you felt the touch against your back as it glided to your right arm.

“Lancelot?” You were glad to see him, he must have waited until the feast was over to set foot outside tonight.

He put his hand on your right shoulder and left it there until he sat down beside you, when it moved away it did so by gliding down the back of your arm.

Curiously you watched him, the hood of his cloak sat crooked over his head and you couldn’t resist readjusting it for him. “I’m afraid you missed the feast.”

Finally, he looked at you, hearing your teasing tone.

There was a faint scent of ale coming off of him. Was he drunk? You could not really tell, you’d never seen him so. And he did not seem like the kind of person to drink much or at all, perhaps little was needed to cause the same effect on a person who lived a sober life.

You fidgeted with your hands at his silence, they had touched so many over these past few months, too many. Lancelot placed a hand over them, then chose one and let his fingers glide against your palm to hold it. Your hand was still as a rock, feeling the pads of his fingers lightly push into it.

This felt so foreign, the way he just gently held your hand. Such a small gesture and it made you unable to look at him. It took you near a minute to decide to close your hand around his fingers a bit, a signal that you were not against this.

His knee touched yours, he moved to sit a little closer. Step by step, he bend the line that had always been there between you. It wasn’t until he quietly spoke your name that you looked at him again.

The hold on your hand got firmer but never painful. Those blue eyes stayed on yours for only a blink, their attention fell lower. It almost caught you off-guard when he leaned in, quickly you turned your head away to avoid what was about to happen. His stubble had skimmed over your cheek, and he remained so near.

“Don’t.” You couldn’t believe the situation you found yourself in. “You are drunk, you’re not yourself.”

He cupped the right side of your neck slowly, as if he was handling a frightened bird, his nose buried into your hair. Even now, when he was not himself, you still trusted that he would not hurt you.

“I cannot lose you.” He sounded distressed, the ale did not help it make sense. “Not you…”

You plucked his hand from your neck and leaned back, getting worried by his words, “You won’t. Why would you think that?”

The hand you had used to pluck his away, was held by him again, he was desperate to keep the physical connection. His other hand came up to your chin, and you froze when his thumb touched your bottom lip. You caught yourself wishing there was no ale in his body, but there was and it was overriding the inhibitions he had always had.

The intoxicated Ash Man gave you another surprise when he decided to lean in and put his lips to your temple. The whispers of the old gods were calm, and assured you that there was nothing to fear. He lingered, and you could not pretend that you did not feel your heart increase it’s rhythm.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the gentle caress of his hand on your jaw caused a tremble. “Lancelot…”

His voice was unlike you had ever heard before, deep and filled with conviction, “Cor meum jungatur vobis. Inquietum est donec perveniat ad te. Est tuum.”

You did not understand what he was saying, Latin was not a language the Fey chose to learn, it was considered the language of the Church. It had sounded quite like a prayer he whispered in your ear.

“I do not understand.” You gently told him.

His nose touched your temple. “One day, you will.”

The sound of a ceramic jug breaking sounded from the courtyard and you were on your feet instantly, it betrayed how the nerves were flying through your body. You could faintly make out the voices of Squirrel and Ciro and didn’t have to guess what they were up to. Lancelot dropped his eyes to the grass when you looked down at them. You tried not to think too much of what had almost happened between you and him just now, he was drunk and not making much sense, especially when he started to talk in the odd language.

“I think Squirrel and my cousin are trying to carry off some ale that was still in the courtyard.” You told him, seeing how he looked pretty distracted. “I can help you to your room?”

He shook his head and rose to his feet.

You were a bit worried by the way he swayed on his feet a bit, ���Are you sure?”

With a gesture of his hand, he let you know that he’d be alright and walked back towards the fort. You followed a few steps behind the stubborn oaf, spotting the children in the courtyard while he managed to find his way to the door of the entrance.

Just then, your mother opened it, undoubtedly to see where the little rascals had vanished off to. She almost bumped into the Ash Man and stepped aside to let him pass, he acknowledged it with a bow of his head. Mirena made eye-contact with you, having seen the state he was in. One look from you and she knew it was best to see to it that he found his room safely while you handled the situation with the children.

You would need to have a word with him about what happened tomorrow.

Had it just been the ale? Would it truly cause a former monk to try and kiss a woman?

It had to be. Still, it was no proper excuse for it.

You looked around the courtyard for Squirrel and Ciro, finally finding them hiding behind a stack of barrels.

A broken jug of ale laid shattered on the ground not far from them.

“Well then. Must I ask?” You tapped your fingers on one of the barrels.

They looked up at you like they had seen a ghost.

“We… found the jug and wanted to bring it back to the kitchen.” Ciro tried.

Impressive, he almost sounded honest, Squirrel’s talent for deceiving must have been rubbing off on him.

“You wanted to bring it back. Full or empty?” You shot the question at them.

Ciro looked a lot less confident now, but Squirrel was thinking fast.

“Full, of course. We wouldn’t drink ale, we’re too young.” Squirrel sounded like he was explaining it to an infant.

“Uhuh.” You bit your tongue, choosing not to battle on this because you knew you might not even win against the witty child. “Good. I am glad we understand each other. Come, let us head inside. You should have been in bed by now, you won’t be well-rested tomorrow.”

They were already relieved that you ‘believed’ the lie, and did not put up a fight when you walked them to the room they shared.

From the looks of it, your mother had made sure Squirrel had a proper bed too. She always went the extra mile for the little ones. Fatigue gripped hold on them at the sight of their beds, and they slumped towards them. Ciro sat down and crawled into his bed, tucking himself in with the sheet properly. Squirrel on the other hand impressed you by letting himself fall flat down on the bed and managing to be comfortable that way. After bidding them goodnight, you left their room and headed to yours.

On your way, you passed by Lancelot’s door and saw that the book you had placed against his door was gone, he must have found it quite quickly considering your scent must have been on it. There was a brief second were you wanted to knock, to get the reason behind him trying to kiss you. But tonight you would not get the truth, not when he was like this.

No, you would have to let this haunt you until tomorrow when you could get a coherent sentence out of him. You walked away from his door and headed to your own room. On your way there, you couldn’t help but overthink the situation. It was upsetting, especially because you hadn’t seen it coming, not from him.

No warning, no explanation.

And he had even tried to speak to you in the language the Fey frowned upon, which made even less sense. What was so hard to just tell you that he had to resort to it?

Now you would have to try to sleep with all these questions bothering you, while the ale in his system would surely get him to sleep. By the time you were in your room, it bothered you so much that you slammed the door shut behind you a little, not caring who it woke in your hallway.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

As every soul on the castle was presumed to be asleep, in the shadow cloaked hallways the Ash Man found his way to your chambers.

No amount of ale could stop the scent of you from being found by him, even the old gods offered him their aid for it. Bound together, by destiny and soul. Upon arriving at your door, the spark of courage left him.

A drunken apology could make matters worse…

He turned upon catching the Fey scent coming from behind him. A man that he could identify as one of the knights stood at a distance, watching him, waiting to see if he would cross a line. Your father had commanded them to keep an eye on him, and they were only following that order.

After being so graciously offered sanctuary, he had done this…

Shame and guilt settled inside of him. He thought back to the moment Mirena had struck him, and why. After everything, even when he thought he was becoming a better man, he had behaved selfishly.

He stepped away from the door, leaving the watchful knight without a reason to believe that you would be disturbed at night by him. He would not taint your reputation, not after risking it for his sake before.

The Ash Man returned to his own sleeping quarters quietly, which proved a challenge as the ale was starting to get the upper hand on his legs again.

But he made it.

A night’s rest would bring him no solace after today. He had seen the interaction between you and Matthew as he was walking near the gatehouse to come and join you at the feast for a while. Patiently he had waited in the discretion of his cloak and the shadows, refusing to be rude and interrupt the conversation you had with the knight.

Now he wished that he had, so he would not have had to see you be courted by the man.

To see it, hurt more than all the prayers left unanswered in his life. The sight of it, worse than the dagger he had taken to the heart. He had tasted the ale at the feast to wash down the bitter taste of the memory. How had he not seen this earlier? That the one he trusted most, was the one who could hurt him so?

It was not your fault, he knew this. He was the fool who had placed his heart into hands that did not even knew they were holding it. And until tonight, he had not known it either until it was shattered.

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten​​ @the-great-adventures-of-me​ @linkpk88​​  @fxrchxldws​​  @elenaoftheturks​​ @slytherlight​​ @beananacake​​    @crystallizedtime​​  @moonlightaura03​​  @angrygardendeer​​  @have-aheart​​   @5am-cigarette​​ @arcanenature​​  @thewinterskywalker​​ @notyourwildestdream​​ @coloursforyourportrait​​ @koressecretidentity​​ @nike90​​ @n1ghtlux​​ @rachlovesactors​​ @luckyzipperscissorsbat​​ @morena-doing-stuff​​  @the-fangirl-diaries​​ @gipsydanger17​​ @heavenly1927​​  @phantasmalbeiing  @labyrinthonmymind  @asarcastic-thiamstan​​  @rainyv-skies @kissingandromeda @stclairesplace @​​katjusja @isla-bell-blog @beebeerockknot

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

[throped]

The Weeping Queen // Weeping Monk x OC // Chapter 2

Nimue and I were walking down the trail to her village. My head was swirling, and I felt like I was going to faint. “Wait, I haven’t asked you for your name yet, what are you called?” Nimue asked. My voice was hoarse, but I still answered, “Dae.” She smiled at me but realised that I looked paler than the first time she met me. Cold ran through me and I shivered while feeling nauseous too. “Dae, are you okay?” Nimue worriedly asked. “I feel cold. Too cold,” I mumbled before my legs gave up and I dropped to the ground.

Great, I fainted.

***

A paining ache arose when I woke up. I quickly took in my surroundings. I was on a much softer surface this time, maybe a proper bed. The height of the room was quite low, reaching probably 1.5 metres. And when I looked below me, the ground wasn’t much of a pleasure. It was covered with stone as well as some specks of dirt. Just as I was looking around, I could hear the sound of people walking in, they were blurred as my vision still hadn’t adjusted to the amount of light. But as they came closer, I could recognise one as Nimue. At least there’s one familiar face. The other person was a lot older than Nimue, probably Nimue’s mother, I hope she didn’t mind me staying in her house. “Dae, you’re alright! You had me worried,” Nimue spoke up. I mustered up some strength and sat up in the bed and replied, “thank you for staying with me, I thought you’d leave me there,” I thanked her. The woman next to her rushed to ask me. “Dae, listen to me carefully, is it true, you just woke up in the forest? Nimue told me that you said you got transported from your world to ours,” the seemingly older woman asked. “Yes that’s true, I did wake up randomly in a forest. I’m not sure how though,” I replied with. “Thank the Hidden it is her. The one who was sent to us,” the older woman mumbled under her breath. “Listen Dae, I’m Lenore, Nimue’s mother and you’ve arrived, just as they said. Please reply honestly to this, have you touched anything ancient recently?” she asked. I stayed silent, I could only think of one time and that was when I touched the sword at the cash converters, but that obviously didn’t matter. Well, I guess I’ve got to say something and that is what I will say. “Uhm, yes I think. I may have touched a sword at a shop I went to in my world,” I said. “Did it have writing on it, some sort of ancient language I would say, that glowed when you touched it?” Lenore once again asked. “Yes, it glowed a bright orange and there was this writing on it… I feel like I could understand it somehow, I can’t make out the words, but it was something like ‘Whosoever wields the Sword of Power shall be the one true king’ in English,” I stated.

“Dae, you are powerful, just like Nimue, you both have been cursed. The Hidden sent you here so that you could fight back, you’re our fighter. The Fey’s fighter. From now on, you’ll stay with us, you’ll get accustomed to our culture and lifestyle, I know that where you are from, things are different, but you’ve got to stay with us if you want a way out of here. There is only one thing that will help you. The Sword of Power. The one you touched,” Lenore explained. I couldn’t wrap my head over this. I’m only thirteen! Yes, I may look or be smart, but that doesn’t mean you drag a child into a completely different universe! “Lenore, I’m too young, I cannot fight. I don’t have the slightest idea as to how to hold a sword,” I ranted out. What was I doing here? “Dae, if you do not know, I will teach you, people may live today but die tomorrow in war, it is going to be your job to prevent that in the future. Promise me Dae, that you will protect the Fey, you will do everything in your power to save them,” Lenore spoke. I don’t know about anything but as long as I will have to stay here, I will owe them, what’s better than preventing lives from being taken as a token of gratitude? “I promise, Lenore and Nimue, I will be by your side, and I will protect the Fey to my highest ability,” I took my oath.

After that day, everything changed, my lifestyle, the people I was surrounded by, my clothes and literally everything in my other life had been altered. I looked different than everyone else though, while Nimue and Pym got to wear normal clothes like the village, I had to wear black attire, great for camouflaging in the dark. While Pym, Squirrel and Nimue had their own responsibilities, I had to learn the culture of the Fey, the history and how to wield all sorts of different weapons. I learned how to fight….. just like how Lenore said I would.

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

Anddd, that's a wrap, these past 2 chapters were how you settled in and where you came from so no more cheesy promises or stuff like that. This is my first series and I'm not sure how it'll go though... so yeah. But I'll continue until it's finished.

[violetvapours]

@lokiinmediasideblog Whump is always good. That's amazing Loki inspired you to start writing!

My pattern is 4 Lokis and a Squirrel; in medias res, protagonist usually talking, walking, or dying:

'When do we start?'

- Spellbreaker (Insomniac!Loki x Bedwarmer!Sigyn)

Loki sat slyly surveying the band of freaks assembled in the bizarre airship on which he was held hostage.

- Blood Of A God (Scepter!Loki x Vampire!Sigyn)

Loki returned from Muspelheim over his brother's shoulder, his blood darkening Thor's cape to a deeper shade of crimson.

- Sanguine (King!Loki x Bloodwitch!Sigyn)

Loki prowled the crowded decks of the Statesman, his roving gaze narrowed in search of his wife.

- Queen Takes King (Bratty Sub Loki x Switch Sigyn)

Loki strode the length of the great hall at a leisurely stroll, jaw sharp with a determined smirk as he watched the shockwave that rippled along the rows of noble faces to the two stunned gods crowning the dais.

- Infinite Fidelity (Variant!Loki x Villain!Sigyn)

'- He is not a Paladin, they tried to kill him! He's Fey, his name is Lancelot and he saved me! You have to help him!'

- Altar In Ashes (The Weeping Monk x Fey Healer!OC)

Not sure who'd like to be tagged anymore so open tags to writer moots 💜

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Lol. There IS a pattern! My fics usually start with someone experiencing discomfort, either mental or physical. I also typically use short choppy sentences to begin fics.

Thanks for tagging me @your-dark-thor

I only have 5 fics. Lol. Posted from oldest to newest.

Repeat Offender (dark!Lokius)-First fic I've ever written. It's "ID: L-1130" because I start with a pretend intake form. After the "intake form" it's : "After his brief attempt to elope with the other variant, L-1130 remained uncooperative and provided no information regarding the rogue variant’s whereabouts despite multiple rounds of kicks to the groin, courtesy of the Lady Sif."

Electric Eye (Gen)-"Heimdall closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his ear ducts."

Ambrosia (Lokius (mostly), minor Sylki)-"His thoughts were too noisy. "

Would You Still Love Me, Anyway? (Sylki AU)-"For as long as he could remember, Loki coveted."

Scorchmarks (Gen)-"Loki’s skull throbbed and his eyes felt dry no matter how much he closed them. "

No pressure tags @nostalgia-tblr @queen-of-meows @pennie-dreadful @sylvies-kablooie @bisexual-panic @theneonghosts @tyrannuspitch @violetvapours