#SPOILER: IT WASN'T THE PART I WROTE WHILE HALF-ASLEEP | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

partystoragechest · 7 months

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A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, there are fireworks. Sort of.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 2,767. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 22: Hardly Working

The Inquisition’s red lyrium sample was kept far, far below.

Far below the Undercroft, where Trevelyan and Dagna prepared for their descent. Far below the dungeons, where two guards escorted them further down. Far below the sounds of people and life. Far, far below.

Door after door barred their path, each more fortified than the last. The keys were old and rusted, having existed much longer than the castle’s current occupants. Passages beyond were long and winding. One was not supposed to know the way. The stone of the stairs they descended appeared as if new. Few feet had ever trespassed here.

Trevelyan could not help but wonder for what this place had originally been built to contain.

Lower still they went. The darkness that had settled upon these steps was cast aside by the light of a torch, held aloft in the hand of one of their guides. Trevelyan felt its warmth in the air, and glanced nervously at the small chest Dagna carried. Their device lay inside—insulated, inert. But it was still within Trevelyan to worry.

The long stairwell curved, the end at last coming into sight, a chamber door revealed. Daylight—somehow, daylight—poured through its barred window, casting a slotted shadow upon the floor. Had they come so far as to breach the bottom of the mountain?

“Here we are,” said a guard, producing the largest, oldest, and most complex key yet. “Be careful, Arcanist; your Ladyship.”

He opened the door. Breath escaped Trevelyan’s body.

The cavern beyond was thrice the size of the Undercroft, in both height and depth. And like the Undercroft, it, too, had a maw: a narrow fissure running high across the back wall, like the slash of a gigas claw, through which light spilled in its gallons.

This, however, was not the central feature of the space. Indeed, it was only there to light the central feature of the space. For in this chamber, suspended by the strength of three large chains, was a small stone chest. Red.

The size of the cavern was such that, in the doorway as they were, Trevelyan and Dagna still stood a good sixty feet from it. But its glow was evident. Cracks in the stone, where the red lyrium had broken its bonds, pulsated with that eerie colour. Trevelyan felt she should step no closer.

“Smart to keep it off the ground,” she commented.

“Have to,” Dagna replied. “Grows fast! We change the casket every three weeks—sometimes the chains, too, if it’s gotten a little enthusiastic.”

“I take it that’s why it’s made of stone?”

“Yeah! Grows through it slower than metal or wood—especially wood. It loves organic material! But for stone, I think it… respects it, kind of? Like it remembers where it comes from, almost… Anyway! Let’s get to it!”

With brazen confidence, Dagna marched beyond the threshold. Trevelyan remained reluctant to follow. Little wonder she was being paid so well.

Swallowing her unease, she left the guards posted at the door, and entered the room. But as soon as she did, she could feel it.

She had been near lyrium, before. The Formari in her Circle used it, and she would sometimes have to visit their workshops in the midst of her storeroom duties. Dagna employed it quiet frequently, too, but Trevelyan would keep to the other side of the Undercroft, or run errands. She didn’t like it, particularly. It made her dizzy.

Red lyrium was worse. Only a few feet closer, and a hum entered her mind. A constant, droning hum. There was pressure on her head, too—like a hand, pushing down with all its might. Trevelyan tried not to give it her attention.

“All right,” Dagna said, setting down her chest about forty feet from the casket, “let’s activate!”

Slow and careful, she lifted the lid. Trevelyan held her breath.

But as their device was revealed, the world remained still—and Trevelyan was grateful for it. Though it did not look one, this thing they had created was better called a bomb.

Dagna reached in, and lifted it out. A small, but thick, metal disc, held best and most carefully in two hands. Trevelyan’s eyes searched the surface for any change. But the runes inscribed onto it—runes of her own design—maintained a faint glow. Safe.

The moment it touched the ground, Dagna whipped out her toolbelt. Trevelyan took up her usual position, ready and willing to do or hold anything that Dagna instructed her to. Theory was more her domain. The practical—this—was best left to Dagna.

And so she tinkered away, runes beginning to brighten. The buzz of its growing magic competed for space in Trevelyan’s mind. She began to gather Fade energy around her fingers. Just… in… case...

“Ooh, shiny!”

Trevelyan startled, and whirled. Dorian Pavus stood beside her, gazing down on Dagna’s work. He noticed Trevelyan’s stare, and smiled.

“Dorian?”

“Don’t mind me”—he winked—“just came to see the show.”

Though Trevelyan rolled her eyes, she could not help but smile. “Very well,” she said, and returned her focus to Dagna.

Dorian did the same. He even managed to stay quiet for some number of seconds—though it seemed the banality of observation could not satisfy his ever-operational mind for long. Whilst Trevelyan handed Dagna a precise-looking implement, Dorian asked:

“Will you be attending the banquet?”

Maker, that thing kept slipping her mind. Trevelyan would have to make certain her gown was ready.

“Yes,” she told him, “will you?”

“Physically, yes. Mentally? No.”

Trevelyan laughed. “Likewise.”

“...Have you seen the guest list?”

Trevelyan gave him an exasperated look, but answered regardless: “I have. Though I fear I recognise very few of the names, and know only their characters from the descriptions given to me by the other Ladies.”

“Oh,” Dorian chuckled. “Then you are in for quite the evening! I met some of these people at the Winter Palace. I also met some demons. Completely indistinguishable.”

“Which did you prefer?”

“Oh, I think you know. After all, it’s at least socially acceptable to strike demons with lightning.”

Trevelyan laughed. “The more I hear, the more I wonder why they have all been invited in the first place.”

“Because ‘keeping the peace’, something like that.”

“But why are we all to be involved?” Trevelyan complained.

Dorian smiled. “I hardly know. But far be it from anyone to refuse our lovely Ambassador.”

A flare of magic stole Trevelyan’s attention. She looked back to Dagna, whose grinning face reflected a blue glow. The device below her pulsated, lyrium energy blooming from its carved runes.

“There we go!” she sang. “Activated. How’s that magic amplification feeling?”

“I can certainly feel it!” answered Trevelyan. “I just hope it’s enough to bypass the anti-magic effects.”

Dagna hauled the device into her arms. “So do I, because I added a little extra oomph. Just in case!”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s a good—!?”

Dagna punted the device towards the red lyrium casket. Trevelyan barely had time to draw breath.

It was like a clap of thunder. Booming sound and blinding light plunged them into darkness. Smoke and dust and falling debris. Reverberations rumbled through the stone around them. Clanging of chains. Whining in the ears. All of Skyhold shuddered, and then fell to silence.

When Trevelyan dared open her firm-shut eyes, a dark and burning haze surrounded her. Yet, it did not touch her. Her arms were outstretched, energy cocooned her. Smoke shifted and moved against the shimmering surface of a protective barrier. She’d got it up just in time.

A quick glance to either side. Dagna was all right, thanks to the magical shield. Seemingly unfazed by the explosion, she looked with shining eyes into the cloud of dust from whence it had come.

Dorian, meanwhile, had had the same idea as Trevelyan. He met her gaze.

“Great minds!” he said, his levity not quite masking the shake in his voice. “Would you like to do the honours”—he nodded towards the smoke—“or shall I?”

“You,” Trevelyan told him, “I’ll hold.”

“Very well. In three, two, one—” Dorian dropped his share of the barrier. Trevelyan held firm.

With her protection, he began to twist his hands. She felt a pull, as he put out his call, and summoned the Fade to their aid.

One of his fists balled up tight, a gathering of energy thickening within. He raised this hand to his face, fingers unfurling before his mouth. With one deep and powerful exhalation, he blew.

His breath turned to a hurricane wind, and blasted forth through the chamber, unimpeded by Trevelyan’s barrier. The smoke and dust was thrown aside. Light poured in once more.

“Wow…” breathed Dagna.

Wow, indeed.

The scene before them had changed entirely. The chains that once suspended the red lyrium chest hung loose, half-extant, against the stone walls. They rattled in the breeze of Dorian’s spell.

The casket they had held? Gone. All that remained in its wake was a large, circular scorch mark, burnt into the floor.

Trevelyan dropped her barrier. “Oh Maker, it worked!”

“Yes!” cheered Dagna, pumping a fist into the air. “It worked! Though, I guess the bad news is, we lost our red lyrium sample!”

Dorian grinned. “Rather the point, wasn’t it?”

“Are you all well?” called one of the guards, from the doorway. Trevelyan had just been about to ask the same of them.

“We’re well!” she replied.

“Mainly because of that barrier of yours,” Dorian muttered. “Good form. Strong. I know very few mages who could create one so stable without a focus—other than myself, of course.”

Trevelyan chuckled. “It was only a barrier.”

“True, but I’ve seen very little magic of yours, and I feel I should like to see more. You’ve got more power than you’re letting on.”

There was a good reason for that: “I suppose I got accustomed to not practicing it. My parents weren’t exactly keen on my using magic around the house.”

Dorian laughed. “We had very different upbringings! But—anyway, you aren’t under the thumb of your parents now. You ought to be loosing fireballs upon the sky.”

“Or causing large explosions?” Trevelyan suggested, gesturing to where Dagna prowled the scorch-circle.

“Fair point.”

Dagna interrupted: “Your Ladyship, we should get started on sweeping the room for trace remains. I want to know if anything was left at all.”

“Absolutely,” said Trevelyan, curious of that herself. She had noticed that the head-pressure was gone—but that did not mean every shard of red lyrium was.

Dorian, meanwhile, took a step back. “Well, you have my congratulations, both of you—but I am leaving before someone asks me to help clean up.”

“I don’t think she meant that kind of sweeping,” said Trevelyan.

“I heard the word ‘sweeping’, I’m leaving,” insisted Dorian. “Best of luck.”

They gave him their farewells and waved him off. Trevelyan watched him as far as the door, then turned away as he disappeared up the stairs. Her eyes were needed on the floor.

But her mind lingered elsewhere.

“Dagna, I’ll be just a moment,” she said, “I need Dorian to pass a message along.”

Dagna gave her leave, and Trevelyan hurried away. With any luck, the sheer amount of stairs would have slowed Dorian down.

And indeed she found him, halfway up. Nearly out of breath, she managed to call:

“Dorian, wait!”

He stopped and waited, sure enough—probably glad of the break. “Miss me already?”

“Naturally, but that is not why I came,” she said, taking a moment. “I wanted to ask, will you tell the Commander we’ve succeeded? He’ll have likely heard the explosion—most of Skyhold will, and I want him to know it’s all right.”

Dorian folded his arms. “And when exactly did I become your messenger boy?”

“I know this is far beneath your standards, but I think he would better see a friend right now, than a... suitor. Given his, ah, current circumstances.”

A sly little chuckle spilled from Dorian’s mouth. “Oh, I think he’d much prefer to see you than I, on any given day. But if you think it best, I shall go and take your glory.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the trouble.”

She expected him to take the message and dart off, but Dorian seemed to settle himself upon the step on which he stood, and fixed her with a stare.

“Are you all right?” he asked, soft.

“Why would I not be?”

“Cullen—the Commander—believed you weren’t, the last we spoke. He mentioned you found him…. you know.”

So Dorian knew. Of course he would, given his friendship with the Commander. Trevelyan did not blame him for not telling her of the circumstances. Such closeness required confidence.

Regardless, she sighed. “I told him yesterday I was fine. Several times.”

Dorian laughed, and moved down a step so that he might join her on hers, and talk more quietly. Those guards were still down there, somewhere. “He is something of a worrywart. You seem all right to me.”

Trevelyan nodded, leaning her back against the wall of the passage. Maker, the stone was cold. “Have you ever seen him like that?”

“No. Though as I understand it, it’s a rare occurrence, for him,” Dorian explained. “The Inquisitor’s seen it, though. Cullen once threw something at our dear Herald’s head!”

Trevelyan’s eyes widened. Dorian must have noticed, for he immediately followed with:

“Well, not at the Inquisitor; the Inquisitor just so happened to walk in at precisely the wrong moment. A habit. Cullen was throwing it at the door, in anger, unaware someone was about to walk through. We all joke about it—it’s how we know he isn’t a spy for Corypheus. If he was, he wouldn’t have missed.”

Trevelyan smiled. She could hardly judge the Commander for acting upon his anger whilst believing himself to be alone. One needed to, sometimes. She’d set some things on fire in private moments. Most recently being yesterday.

Dorian sighed, and shook his head. “I thought he was on the up, you know. He said this one was bad—though you, especially, are already aware of that. Peaks and troughs, I suppose, and you can’t predict when one will follow the other.”

“It is impossible to know,” commiserated Trevelyan. “No one has managed to survive it, to my knowledge. It’s like the Grey Wardens. Departure comes only through death.”

The mention of the latter word seemed to light a fire in Dorian. “Well, let’s hope that’s not the case, shall we? I’m sure it’ll all shake out. After all, the Inquisition’s best boffins are on it—Dagna included! And it’s more than the Chantry’s ever done—though the southern Chantry is not particularly known for doing much…”

Yet another person Trevelyan was now convinced that Baroness Touledy could have a scintillating conversation with. She would merely need an opportunity for introduction. Banquet, perhaps?

“Anyway, I best be off to deliver your message,” he continued. “Though, if I am to do so, I’ll no doubt be asked if I doubled-checked: are you sure you’re all right?”

“Of course,” Trevelyan confirmed. “Is he?”

“Peaks and troughs.”

“I see. Do you think he will attend the banquet?”

Dorian laughed. “I hope not. His table manners are very Fereldan.”

She knew the joke was to make her smile, but she could barely manage it. Her worries were too overpowering. “It’s hardly going to be good for him,” she muttered, continuing—without thinking—to say: “Having us suitors running around after him is pain enough.”

Dorian’s lip quirked upward. “Oh, if you want to talk the ethics of this little competition of yours, it goes far deeper than that.”

The comment pulled Trevelyan from her own mind. “Oh?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’ve not quite put my finger on it yet, but… it all feels rather sordid. Not quite right. Not quite right at all.”

Trevelyan was at once reminded of the argument she overheard between the Commander and Lady Montilyet. Just what had that been about, truly?

“Have you spoken to the Commander about it?”

Dorian laughed. “Oh, you have no idea of what we talk about. You come up quite frequently.”

Trevelyan did not know how to feel about that. Though she was certainly feeling something.

“Ergo,” continued Dorian, “I have. But the man is obstinate, and I feel there may be powers at play that I cannot interfere with.”

“Whose?” asked Trevelyan.

Dorian smiled. “Oh, it’s as I say: far be it from anyone to refuse our lovely Ambassador.”

#unwanted #unwanted fic #look i am more natural with dialogue than description this i know why do u think i chose to write a genre where its people talking a lot #but i reeeeeally wanted the description of the red lyrium chamber to be mission status: sick as hell #i wrote it while fully awake and raring to go #and wrote the rest when i was tired and barely had time #and would you BELIEVE which part i ended up rewriting every day for five days on the trot #SPOILER: IT WASN'T THE PART I WROTE WHILE HALF-ASLEEP #this was my first instance of writer's block for a while and it suuuuuuuucked!!!!! almost in tears!!!! wtf!!!! its just silly words!!!#anyway thats enough complaining enjoy goodnight i am out!!!

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butterflyseas · 1 year

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⸻ "hey... you okay?"

☆ノ aka how they take care of you when you're sick (ft. march 7th, seele, bronya, natasha, serval)

↳ notes: wrote this while i wasn't feeling too good, so this is pretty self-indulgent. may be a little bit ooc. just some quick little headcanons <3

↳ content: gn!reader. mentions of being sick (non specific). slight spoilers in natasha's. brief mentions of loss. fluff <3

⸻ 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛 𝟳𝗧𝗛

MARCH notices that you're sick before you even realize it yourself — there's a certain shine that's missing from your eyes; your expression isn't as bright as it normally is. she's committed your face to memory; not even the slightest change in it goes missed.

seeing the change in your expression changes hers — it goes from its usual cheerful bubbliness to a concerned one in the blink of an eye as she asks you what's wrong. and when you tell her you don't feel well, she immediately tells you that you "should have told me sooner!" and that "you need to rest right away!"

she corrals you off to her room and tucks you in amongst her pillows and blankets and stuffed animals. she just wants you to be as comfortable as possible! at least, that's half of the truth — she also just wants to stay close to you.

whatever you need, she's happy to get you! water? there's already a full glass on the nightstand. tea for when your throat is sore? she's brewing a pot as you speak. tissues? she set out a box next to you ages ago. medicine? she's pestering dan heng to get every kind he can find. cuddles until you fall asleep? she was already going to do that <3

part of it is because she wants you to get better as soon as possible — she misses hanging out and going places with you — but it's also because she doesn't like seeing you unwell. it makes her anxious for some reason — like she's on the verge of losing something important to her. she doesn't tell you that, though — she doesn't want you to worry when you're already not feeling good.

so, for your sake — and her own — she ignores that feeling and instead focuses her energy on keeping you in high spirits. she'll talk your ear off about anything that comes to mind — usually stories about past trailblazing expeditions and the adventures she got up to on them. anything to put even the slightest smile on your face.

"oh, oh! and then, dan heng said—"

⸻ 𝗦𝗘𝗘𝗟𝗘

when SEELE gets sick, she ignores it and pushes through whatever illness she may have gotten. because of that, she doesn't notice when you're feeling unwell until you're trailing a handful of paces behind her.

she'll scold you for not telling her sooner — and for making her worry — but she's mostly upset with herself for not realizing something was wrong quicker. if something were to happen to you because she was careless... she doesn't like to think about it; she'll be more vigilant next time.

her first instinct is to take you to see natasha — she's not a total novice when it comes to managing an illness, but she'd rather be safe than sorry and make sure it really is just a simple cold and not something more serious. and when it isn't — when it really is just some little bug you caught from somewhere — she visibly relaxes and lets out a small sigh of relief.

even if she's not the best at showing it, seele cares deeply about you. every time she tells you to stay in bed; to take the medicine natasha sent home with you; to make sure you eat enough — it's all because she's worried about you. she's lost too many people; seen far too much death. she's doesn't want to lose you, too.

her edges soften when she's around you — they do normally, but it's more noticeable now. she'll stop you if you try to get something for yourself, saying that you should take it easy; that she's got it. she doesn't want you to overexert yourself and make your illness worse — but, deep down, she also wants to take care of you.

"just take it easy, okay? i've got it."

⸻ 𝗕𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗬𝗔

BRONYA is a busy woman. being the commander of the silvermane guards as well as being the future supreme guardian means that she doesn't have a lot of free time — and any free time she does have is spent worrying about the safety and future of belobog.

however, the second she catches wind of you being sick, all of her worries shift over to you.

she can't fully abandon her duties to rush to your side — she wishes she could, though — but she does delegate as much as she can to her subordinates so she can check on you without so much looming over her head.

when you're in person, she keeps most of her worry off her face — a habit she's yet to fully break, even in your presence — but you can tell that she is, if the massive bag of items she brought with her is anything to go off of. medicines, snacks, bottles of water, soothing oils that fill the room with their scent the moment she opens them — anything that you might need to help you feel better.

she can't stay with you all day, but she stays as long as she can. most of it is spent with her doting on you — cooking lunch, brewing tea, spooning out the correct dosage of medicine to give you, cleaning and tidying your room — but there are soft, quiet moments as well. she'll sit by your bedside, holding your hand until she finally relents to your coaxing to lay next to you. with her face turning red, she'll settle into the spot beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and stroking your hair until you eventually fall asleep against her side.

before she leaves, she tucks you in and leaves a small kiss on your forehead.

"i'll be back tomorrow. rest well until then."

⸻ 𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗔

being a doctor, NATASHA is the most skilled when it comes to taking care of illnesses and ailments. and being the only doctor — as well as the leader of wildfire — in the underground means she's seen just about everything in the book, from the common cold to broken bones to everything in between — you're in good hands with her.

when you come into her clinic saying you don't feel well, she's immediately nudging you toward a bed and urging you to lay down while she looks you over and assesses your symptoms.

the underground is low on supplies — especially medical ones — but she'll still set aside some medicine and painkillers for you to take. if you don't want them — or if the clinic's supply is running dangerously low — she'll make you any one of the at-home remedies she knows.

basically, whatever you need, she'll get for you — and if she can't, she'll compromise as best she can. and if she can't do that, either, she'll venture out into the underground for a supply run herself.

while she can't shirk her duties entirely, she'll still spend every moment she can by your side. she knows it's a little excessive — after all, you're not dying — but she can't help it. she just cares about you too much to not dote on you a little — and with the way she smiles whenever you tell her you're doing okay before thanking her for caring so much, you can't bring yourself to be bothered by it.

"just lay back and relax. i'll take care of you~"

⸻ 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗔𝗟

SERVAL notices something is up when you first walk through the doors of her workshop. there's a sluggishness to the way you're walking that isn't normally there — did you not get enough sleep last night? or maybe you just woke up earlier than normal?

when she asks what's up and learns that you woke up feeling sick, her older sister instincts kick in before you even finish speaking. the machine she was tinkering with is put to the side in favor of making sure you're okay; it's not long after that you're ushered to sit down while she gets things set up for you.

she finds a pile of blankets and pillows stashed away somewhere that she turns into a makeshift bed for you. it's not the most comfortable thing in the world, but it's comfortable enough — plus, it's warm and it smells like her, so you don't mind too much.

with you tucked into your blankets, she starts a pot of tea and takes to rummaging around the workshop until she finds a few bottles of medicine hidden away in a drawer. hopefully, it's enough to stave off your sickness before it gets worse — but, if it's not and you end up needing something stronger, she'll ask gepard to stop by the clinic for her so she doesn't have to leave your side.

she likes having you lay your head in her lap — she does normally, but she especially does while she's taking care of you. she'll run her fingers through your hair and ask which of her songs you like the most — whichever you pick, she'll sing to you until you fall asleep like that. and even after you have, she'll stay in her spot until you either wake up or someone enters the workshop in need of her services.

"i don't normally give private concerts, but i'll make an exception just for you."

#☆ノ writing #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #march 7th x reader #seele x reader #bronya x reader #natasha x reader #serval x reader #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines

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ailendolin · 2 years

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Whump Wednesday - 12 - Bill (2015)

Title: Constant [AO3]

Fandom: Bill (2015)

Characters: Gabriel & Bill

Prompt: "Bill and Gabriel talking out their feelings post kidnapping." - Prompt sent in via this lovely ask. 💙

A/N: I hope this is sort of what you had in mind, anon. Apologies to all Spanish speakers if I got the name (spoiler) wrong. It's what my google search brought up. I also wasn't aware the English name changed over time. The one I mention in the story was apparently the one they used back then.

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

Six Idiots Whump Wednesday fics so far:

Comfort - Gabriel/Ian - “I brought you a blanket.”

Sharing - Vex/Ho-Tan “How long has it been since you slept?”

Cold Touch Part 1 - Thomas & Nigel - Nigel finds out Thomas's wound pains him.

Cold Touch Part 2 - Thomas & Nigel - Nigel finds a way to help Thomas.

Just you wait - Mike Peabody, Sam & Bob Hale - Mike is running himself into the ground and Sam and Bob find out why."

————

Constant

Gabriel had always prided herself on noticing what was going on around her. It didn’t matter whether she was sitting in a crowded inn or dancing in an overflowing courtroom – nothing escaped her notice. For example, a man on the other side of the room had just ordered the sixth round of drinks for his table – much to the displeasure of his wife who sat next to him and looked bored out of her mind while his mistress laughed two tables away from him at something the Earl of Southampton had said. To Gabriel’s left, almost hidden by the shadows in the corner, the former servant of the Earl of Croydon sat leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep – yet the pattern of his breathing and the way he held onto his freshly bandaged leg told a different story. Gabriel had a feeling he was lingering here because he had nowhere else to go, and she made a mental note to talk to Bill and Anne about him later. From what she had seen Ian – that was what the Earl had called him, wasn’t it? – seemed like a good man; quiet, perhaps, but resourceful. Perhaps they could use someone like him around the theatre.

Speaking of Anne and Bill: both of them were still dancing with their children amid royalty, smiling, laughing and quite obviously enjoying themselves and having the time of their lives. They looked happy, Gabriel thought, and they deserved that more than anything after what everything that had happened to them in the past few days. It must be a lot to take in – too much, probably – and Gabriel was glad that, against all odds, the events had only strengthened their bonds instead of unravelling them completely.

And yet it was clear, at least to her, that not everything was quite as well as it seemed. The longer the evening lasted, the dimmer Bill’s smile became and the more tired he looked. That in itself wasn’t so surprising. He had been desperately trying to save his and Anne’s life the night before and wrote until the early hours of the morning, until his fingers bled. Of course he would be exhausted but Gabriel was sure there was more to his hunched shoulders and the pinched look on his face.

So when Bill excused himself half an our later from his family and left the room with his head down, she quietly got up from her seat and followed him outside.

She found him by the fountain in the courtyard, leaning over it and staring down at his own reflection in the water – a reflection that looked pale, shaken and completely overwhelmed. Her heart fell when she realized that once again her instincts had not failed her: Bill Shakespeare was not alright.

Gabriel knew part of that was her own fault. She should have spoken up sooner, should have put a stop to their ridiculous plot the moment innocent people like Anne and Bill and Bill’s friend had gotten dragged into it. But instead she had held her tongue and done nothing until it had almost been too late. She regretted that now – deeply – and it pained her that she couldn’t change what had happened. There was something she could do, however: she could apologize for her part in the events that nearly cost Bill and Anne their lives, and she could try and make up for it by looking out for him and his family in the future.

With that thought in mind, Gabriel walked up to him, taking care to kick up the pebbles underneath her feet so she wouldn’t startle him.

“There you are,” she said quietly.

Bill glanced up at her and offered her a trembling smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Gabriel. Were you looking for me?”

“In a way,” Gabriel said. She sat down on the low stone wall surrounding the fountain. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Bill let out a laugh that was just a little too hysterical to be convincing. “Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not as if I got kidnapped yesterday along with my wife, watched my best friend die, was forced to take part in a plot to murder the queen – oh, and yeah, got almost blown up with the rest of the Royal Court a few hours ago!”

He was breathing heavily by the time he was done and looked even more distraught than he’d had the night before in the cell. Sighing softly, Gabriel shuffled a little closer and placed her hand on top of his, hoping her comfort would be welcome. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for the part I played in all of that.”

The look Bill gave her was heart-breaking. “Gabriel, there’s no need to – I know, alright? I know you’re sorry, and in case it’s not clear I forgive you. I’ve forgiven you the moment you set me free. It’s just – the music, the dancing – people smile and laugh as if the last few days hadn’t happened. It’s, it’s–“

“Too much,” Gabriel quietly finished for him. With a nod, Bill let his head hang and she gave his hand a squeeze. “You know it’s alright to feel shaken, yes? A lot has happened. A lot of bad things. You don’t have to be fine. No one expects you to be.”

“No, you don’t get it. Anne, the children –“

“Are not here,” Gabriel pointed out gently. “It’s just you and me right now, Bill. Just you and me.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat before his shoulders began to shake. He turned back towards the fountain and as his tears mingled with the water Gabriel held onto his hand, hoping it would ground him. Her gaze turned upwards towards the starlit sky above them.

At least some things remain constant in life, she thought as she searched for familiar constellations in the midnight sky. She might have given up her home and have to start her life from scratch in an unfamiliar country but the stars she had looked up at as a child were still there, unchanged.

Perhaps Bill would take comfort in that fact as well.

“Osa Mayor looks beautiful tonight,” she observed quietly.

Bill sniffed. Out of the corner of her eyes, Gabriel saw him wiping his eyes on his sleeve before he took a deep breath and turned around to join her on the stone wall. His gaze followed hers to the sky. “Which one’s Osa Mayor?”

Gabriel pointed at the constellation. “There. You see?”

“Oh, you mean Charles’ Wain,” Bill said quietly. Gabriel gave him a look. “What? That’s what we call it.”

“It’s weird.”

Bill shrugged. “Well, don’t blame me. I didn’t come up with the name. What does yours mean?”

“Great Bear.”

They both gazed up at the stars again. After a few seconds, Bill shook his head and said, “Yeah, no, I don’t see it.”

Gabriel chuckled. “I never did, either.”

She glanced over at Bill and was surprised to see a small but genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you, Gabriel,” he said softly, holding her gaze.

“For what?” she asked, just as quietly.

“For being here right now,” he replied. Then he nudged her shoulder and his smile softened. “And for being you.”

Warmth spread from Gabriel’s heart to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Maybe exile in England wouldn’t be so bad after all, she thought to herself as she sat in the queen’s courtyard and Bill Shakespeare smiled at her with a million stars in his eyes.

#bill the film #bill (2015)#gabriel montoya #bill shakespeare #my fic #whump wednesday #I'm pretty tired right now so sorry for any mistakes #I assembled two IKEA Billy shelves and a Kallax today on top of a 10 hour work day #All I want is to huddle under my blanket on the couch and watch something that makes me happy #WWFF challenge

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