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clonewarslover55 · 3 years

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I'm back again! I was hoping we could see some soft Rose talking to Vau about his past and comforting him, please? ❤

Of course!!

Verda Tal Rose comforting Walon Vau about his past

Notes: Read Walon Vau’s early life story, and the thing I did on his homeworld before reading this. Both are on my AO3 and Masterlist

Also! If you have no clue what Memories is check out my AO3 and Masterlist!

Warnings: Angst, slight fluff, Mird helps, Nightmares, mentions of a bad past, past abuse, abuse scars, mentions of past suicide attempts, Walon’s father is a fucking pyshcopath, oh no Walon Vau has F E E L I N G S

“Your father will not be happy about this Walon!” The teacher yelled, dragging the young boy down the hallway. His hand was wrapped around his arm in a tight fist, it would leave a nasty bruise that would last for weeks.

Walon could do nothing but follow. He hated when the teachers brought him directly to his father for punishment instead of doing it themselves.

He stopped at his father, who was leaving some meeting room. The teacher huffed, dropping the boy's arm. Walon looked up at the tall man, his soulless grey blue eyes staring into Walon’s golden ones.

“Did he fail again?” The teacher only nodded, Pa Vau’s face curling into a sneer.

“Father, it was only by one question! I-” He was cut off by a harsh slap, “Did I give you permission to speak boy?!” His father roared, slapping him again.

Walon shot awake, sitting up quickly and panting like Mird after a hunt. He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking. He hated how he dreamed about his father almost every night, the old scars on his body and soul burning with each dream.

Rose sat up quickly, looking at her lover. He scared her and Mird both awake. She looked at his naked form, his body shaking harshly. She knew it wasn’t the cold sweat that was making him shake. Rose reached a hand out, softly putting it on his shoulder. He flinched aggressively from her touch before allowing it.

Rose didn’t know much about his past, but she’s seen his scars. She also knew he came from a royal background and money, but that was really it. Rose frowned, rubbing his back to help him relax.

She looked at his naked back, the pale scars running along his back like rivers. Whip scars. Lots of them.

He was covered in scars of all kinds, the worse on his back and his chest. No old scars were on his face, neck, or arms, at least not below his elbows. “Walon.” Rose spoke softly, gently grasping his chin and turning his face towards her.

His golden eyes were bright, the whites of his eyes red from tears and a restless sleep. She could see the anger and pain in his eyes, burning behind them like a huge fire. He was breathing heavily, his body quivering. He was always rigid with his posture, and just a tense man in general. But she had never seen his muscles so tight, it was like he was a wild animal.

She gently wiped some sweat from his brow, and Vau's muscles relaxed slightly. “Was it about your old home?” He nodded, his eyes flicking away from hers. He hated when she looked at him with pity, it made him feel weaker than he already did around her.

Mird whined, laying its head in Walon’s lap. He stroked its head, looking at it instead of Rose. She sighed and traced a scar that raised the skin on his collar bone. It seemed like a blade caught him there, as a warning perhaps.

They had only been staying the night with one another for a short while now. They used to part ways after sex, but things seemed to be getting more and more intimate lately. Every night he slept in the same bed as her, and he’d have nightmares like he always did. Some so bad that he’d wake her up by accident. Sometimes he didn’t and she’d wake up to find him pacing or exercising. She could always tell when he didn’t sleep, something in his past keeping him awake night after night. Leaving him restless.

Once he had stopped shaking she spoke up, “We need to talk about your past. I want to help you, darling, but I can’t when you won’t talk to me.” Vau sighed loudly, looking at Rose, his eyes now dull and sad.

He was silent for a moment, Rose’s warm and calloused fingers tracing the lines along his back.

Walon snorted, suddenly trying to act cold and detached, “Jango never told you where I came from? I-” Rose cut him off with a glare. “He told me you used to be a rich aristocratic bastard. Now don’t try to act all heartless, you know it only will make you hurt more.” Vau closed his eyes and sighed at that, Mird licking his fingers encouragingly.

“Well….The planet I come from is some oceanic shit hole.” He spat out the words like they were poison. “Old fashioned and run by religious leaders who controlled the nobles and military like puppets.” Rose continued to stroke his back, letting him rant. She had never seen him so emotionally exposed.

“My father was like….a lead puppet you know? He’s the Count of Gesl, and a religious fanatic. A man with far too much power.” How he spoke his voice had this harshness to it, sadness underlining every word. “That title was to be mine, since I was his only child, his only son. So from day one he taught me how to take his place.”

Walon still wouldn’t make eye contact with Rose, “Every day I had multiple lessons. The teachers were cruel, I was not allowed to mess up. I had to be perfect with everything, writing, talking, dancing, sailing, riding, fighting, and so much more.” He sucked in a breath, Rose frowning even more.

“My education was stupidly expensive, but still…...Every time I messed up I was beaten.” He snapped, Rose nearly flinching at his tone. “I was beaten over nothing sometimes. Whenever I was not my fathers version of perfect I was beaten.” Vau clenched his jaw tightly, tears causing his golden eyes to shine. He was a man that rarely showed emotion, especially ones as raw as anger and sadness.

“My father said I was not supposed to show emotion, ever. I was supposed to be a leader, and leaders don’t show weakness. They are harsh and ruthless.” He shook his head, snorting at his own words. He was using dramatic finger quotes as he repeated his fathers words.

“To prove this, to everyone, my family killed servants who messed up. It was some fucked up tradition. So He made me kill servants that made minor mistakes. I slaughtered my first servant at twelve.” Rose put a hand to her mouth.

“I still remember the poor woman…...A mother. I remember he cries and pleads. I….I didn’t want to kill her….I-” Rose shook her head and stroked his knuckles, letting him know he didn’t have to continue.

Walon was silent for a moment, his breathing heavy from the terrible memories. He changed the subject to his mother quickly.

“I never saw my mother besides at night when she’d clean my wounds. My mother made me emotional, I suppose, so father rarely let me see her. She was just as crazy, but she didn’t hit me nearly as hard as him. Father even beat her as well, so she was even worse about the religion they follow. Being a religious fanatic kept her alive in her book I suppose. It made her…….odd and paranoid.”

He let out a sad and dry chuckle, “She would only talk about the bible. Nothing else. I don’t think she was allowed to talk to me about anything else anyways.” Rose sighed, resting her head on his shoulder.

Rose spoke up while he caught his breath, his chest heaving with emotion. “So your scars aren’t-” Vau cut her off, “I was never hit anywhere people could see. I had to keep up my reputation of being attractive and a member of a ‘peaceful’ family. Along with some other osik.” Rose frowned, holding his hand in hers.

“I was never perfect enough for him. I wasn’t him, and he hated it. I wasn’t fully emotionless and psychopathic.” He sucked in a breath, Mird whining low in its throat. “He was a great military leader as well, one of the head leaders of my planet's Navy.”

He shifted, “He didn’t even let me join the Navy. Not even as a cutthroat. Not even after training for it or my whole entire life.” Vau shook his head, aggressively wiping the tears from his eyes. Rose shifted so she could look at his face again, wiping his tears.

“I was never good enough for anything. Ever.” He looked at Rose, a frown on her beautiful face. “I tried so hard to be perfect. When I succeeded I never even got praise. I think he just enjoyed beating me, seeing how much skin he could rip away from my back before I passed out.”

Rose shifted so she was almost in his lap, “Oh Walon.” She cupped his cheeks, staring into his golden eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his head, looking away from her eyes. She pressed a soft kiss to the scar she gave him across his nose so long ago, his lips twitching a bit at the soft kiss.

“He’s turned me into a monster. I-” Rose cut him off quickly, “No no no…..Walon you’re not a good man, at all….” He blinked quickly in surprise at that, “But you are no monster. You can feel emotion and pain no matter how hard you fucking try.”

Vau made eye contact with her once again, quickly changing the subject again. “I tried to kill myself mutiple times…. The first time was after I wasn’t allowed into the Navy.” Vau shifted from under the sheets, motioning at the nasty jagged scar on his thigh. “I tried to cut the artery, and I did. I was so close to death.”

He shook his head, “I was found almost immediately, blade still cutting my skin, and somehow didn’t die. It was the cruelest punishment yet, my father not letting me die.” He sucked in a breath, Rose wiping his eyes. “He told me that I couldn’t even kill myself correctly.”

Vau harshly chuckled, but it sounded more like a desperate and sad gasp. “I was fourteen.” Rose frowned and kissed away his tears, “Well I’m glad you couldn’t kill yourself correctly.” She laughed a little, tears in her eyes as well.

He laughed a little too, pulling her into his arms. Walon buried his face into her neck, sighing. He felt better now, like a weight had been lifted.

Many weights and chains still held his soul down, but having one less was a huge relief.

“Thank you…” He muttered. Rose could only nod, gently running her fingers through his black hair. Mird sat up, licking both of their faces as it whined. Mird always made them feel better, no matter what.

She’d ask about his exile some other time.

Walon Vau’s past would haunt him forever, his fathers stern lessons never leaving his brain. He’d remain ice cold, calm, and utterly detached. Afraid of emotion and afraid of failure.

He’d always remain a man with a shattered soul.

Tags: @valkyrieofthehighfae @leias-left-hair-bun @colorfulloverbatturkey @ahsokatano-thetogruta @peacefulwizardfox @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @fyrepen33 @ct7567329 @mistflyer1102 @darmanfi @just-some-girl-92 @majorshiraharu @ravenpuff01@lightning-wolffe

#walon vau #walon vau x original characters #verda tal rose #walon vau x verda tal rose #lord mirdalan #Mird #mird'ika #Walon Vau and Mird #republic commando novels #Republic Commando

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haphazardlyparked · 3 years

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the war AU, part 2

the part where it’s not actually a war, and i clearly know nothing about politics but i sure do a lot of BSing. :)))

---

Hikaj couldn't help but compare the double-edged sword he held with the woman who wielded it: High Lady Masara, a knight of the cultish order that half-ruled Amir, from what Hikaj had learned so far of the surprisingly secretive order. The sword itself was light and well-balanced, with unfamiliar runes etched down its length that had Hikaj’s best warmage tearing his hair out. It all reminded Hikaj of the first time he had met the high lady.

She had visited Kas years ago, with one of her king's councilors, and they had both been unfailingly polite. Duke Inarim, High Lady Masara, and their whole, modest entourage. Hikaj knew, because his spymaster had complained that the Amirran servants had answered all of his questions happily, or happily misunderstood them—and his veiled offers of bribes for real information.

At the formal dinners they attended, the high lady said little, but was always polite, and Hikaj had heard her laugh often enough. It had been enough to make him wonder if she knew something incriminating about every person she crossed paths with. Admittedly, he had been a little high-strung those days. Torral was the kind to be happy doing a job competently, but Hikaj's other dear uncle had liked the regency a bit too well. Hikaj had walked a fine line, trying to appear non-threatening while still presenting himself as a future ruler full of potential that his vassal kings and dukes could put their weight behind. It had made him very suspicious about every interaction around him.

But then they had danced, and Hikaj had started to see that High Lady Masara didn't laugh at anyone in particular, but at all the little parts of his court he hardly saw anymore. From the tiny carved woodland creatures that flitted through the ballroom's ceiling to the tendency to change glasses for each new drink at dinner, she had taken delight in the novelty of his court--not laughed at its secrets. She had seemed to know very little about Kas, actually.

Now, with the weight of Masara's strange sword in his hands, Hikaj was back to thinking that maybe it was the secrets. When he had recognized High Lady Masara in the knight he'd been told had charged his advance company alone, he felt a little bit like laughing himself. At himself.

They'd gone riding during the Amirran visit, in a large party that scattered into small groups and wended their collective way through the manicured Forests of the Empress-Mother. The ever-changing groups of courtiers flitting here and there again centered around a string of nobles who preferred the most sedate of paces. High Lady Masara had been one of those riders, hesitant in her sidesaddle, good-naturedly laughing at her own inexperience with a shifting tide of the Kassan court. Hikaj decided she simple hadn't had many chances to ride before.

Now, he wondered what kind of rider the knight Masara was. How many more things in Amir were mysteries to him?

***

Hikaj crossed his camp back to the bespelled tent, Masara's sword and scabbard in his hands and a nervous energy quickening his step. He should have let Qemaile go and poke the bear, he was the mage, after all - but Hikaj honestly wasn't sure if Lady Arlis would send poor Qemaile into a uselessly towering rage, or leave him crying and still unhelpful. Hikaj needed his mage, as temperamental as the man was, so he went to the tent himself.

It was guarded, but the flap was tied open for light, breaking the net of spellcloth. They had stopped burning the slightly caustic incense and started opening the tent after the high lady and her squire had each given an oath not to flee. Hikaj had made sure his healers looked after the high lady, too. While Lady Arlis had surrendered with barely a scratch on her, one of Masara's arm was broken and a spear had gone through - luckily enough, the healers told Hikaj - mostly skin and muscle where arm and shoulder met. It was declared to be healing as expected, and it had not seemed to trouble Masara too much on the (admittedly slow) ride back to Amir's capital city.

The ride had taken a week because of the hilly country, which turned large companies of men into slow, winding targets on the narrow roads, but Hikaj had taken the risk. He had also left a rear guard behind, to keep Amir's forces penned up in the blasted mountainous Foothills as a guarantee.

Now the spelled tent - and the bulk of the imperial soldiers - were all camped outside Amirasa's outer walls. At the Sascrin knights' request, the tent's opening faced the city that rose up on a high hill, topped by a sprawling palace that overlooked the cliffs and the sea on one side, and Amirasa on the other.

Hikaj blocked their view of it when he ducked into the tent.

He could tell they'd been looking because Lady Arlis had the intent, stormy look on, the one that seeing his blue-cloaked guards on the walls always provoked. She was leaning forward in her chair, her elbows on her knees, and she reminded Hikaj of a wildcat about to pounce. Masara, of course, was calmly collected by her side. But was she also angry behind that calm? Or was she hiding something else?

Or maybe he was reading too much into what was just polite civility. It didn't help that Masara's attention--but not her expression--shifted as soon as she saw what Hikaj was carrying. Arlis didn't see--she straightened and jerked her head to the side so that Hikaj couldn't see her face when she noticed him. Struggling to control her anger, probably.

She was able to mirror Masara's calm for abut half a second, and then her eyes narrowed suspiciously on Masara's sword.

"Oh, let me guess," the squire immediately snapped. “You have questions.”

Hikaj tried a smile. "There must be something you can speak about," he said, already conciliatory in his preamble. Part of him regretted already starting on the back foot, but the rest of him was focused on High Lady Masara's sudden smile.

She didn't say anything.

"Why should we spill secrets to the emperor we're at war with?" the young and very vocal Lady Arlis demanded.

For a fourteen year old, she was shockingly forceful. But then, she was an ambush-laying, sword-wielding fourteen year old. It didn't help that every time she opened her mouth, the high lady—who was an ambush-laying and sword-wielding noblewoman herself—would nod in agreement, and then cycle through a wide variety of polite looks.

Hikaj opted for what he hoped was the safest answer: technicalities.

"In the purest sense of common accord, we are not at war, because neither your king nor I have declared it,” he corrected Lady Arlis. “I suppose we could call it… armed conflict?”

Arlis gasped with deep offense. “Or more accurately, invasion or attempted conquest!”

Masara turned her steady gaze on Hikaj, and then stoked young Arlis's fire.

“You are correct Imperial General, technically," she said, turning her gracious concession into an elongated but. "Yet I fear my king has been a little busy fleeing your unprovoked… armed conflict... to make war declarations just yet.”

Lady Arlis leapt on that. "Yes! We'll see what the king says once - once he has a chance!" she told Hikaj, furious in her enthusiasm.

Hikaj was a general who knew when to retreat. He didn't quite try to hide Masara's sword and scabbard--there was nowhere to put it--but he lowered his hands and made it clear he wasn’t going to ask any questions about it. Of course Masara would want her weapon back--knights everywhere felt the same about that, Hikaj suspected, no matter how peculiar otherwise they were to him--but Qemaile wanted to study it more, and frankly, Hikaj worried it might scare some of the men if he returned it to her.

That problem for later.

Changing topics, Hikaj did his best not to get kicked out of the tent by the furious silences which had driven him from it before.

"Instead of declarations of war,” he said, in his best diplomatically soothing voice, “would you not prefer peace?"

Masara's neutral expression seemed to consider that, but Arlis frowned deeply.

“We had peace before you came,” the squire eventually said.

Hikaj looked at Masara when he answered. “Did you?”

She met his gaze, but for once, she was the one who looked away first. “Whatever we had,” she mused, “it was certainly not bloodshed from Amirasa to the Foothills.”

Hikaj bit back the dozen different things he wanted to say. He had weighed the risks and made his agreements before the first Kassan soldier set foot in Amir, and even if he was starting to re-evaulate those decisions, now was not the time to throw any plan away. Revealing any inopportune might weaken his leverages in Amir, and no matter how unfortunate this campaign was turning out to be, he did need this kingdom as a bulwark against Lapur.

So he winced and said, "No, it was not, you are correct. But I do believe smaller conflict is justified to avoid greater perils."

"For Kas, perhaps," Masara countered.

"Not just for Kas," Hikaj maintained, though he didn't mention Lapur specifically. He knew Masara would already be thinking of Amir’s other large, imperial neighbor; who west of the sea of sands didn’t? “Regardless of how it began - would you not like the chance to end it?"

That made Arlis scowl, though Masara smiled and dryly observed, “I am sure the terms would be so wonderfully generous."

Hikaj suppressed a shrug. "That is what negotiations would determine, I suppose."

Masara didn't answer, but her unchanging, humorless smile seemed to say, What treaties ever went well for the ones who were forced to the table by a greater military power? Even Arlis didn't say anything, though the naked outrage in her glare made it clear what she thought of this kind of coercion.

"How could we trust an agreement with you?" Masara asked finally. “We have no foundation for trust yet.” She paused, purposeful and considering, then added, before Hikaj could fumble for an answer, “Though we could work on that.”

Hikaj felt weakly grateful for the opening Masara left him. “What would you suggest?”

Arlis bristled again, probably ready to demand that the Kassans leave Amir immediately, but High Lady Masara said, “Something small, to start,” as though she were thinking aloud. “An easy trade. You could answer a question for me, perhaps, and I could answer one for you… or I could give you a demonstration with my sword.”

She didn’t look at the scabbard while she suggested the little deal. Hikaj met her dark, careful eyes, and told himself her offer was probably not a threat, and he definitely did not feel a sudden, thrilling swoop in his chest.

“All right,” he said.

Arlis scoffed and then muttered, just loud enough for Hikaj to hear, “I’ll demonstrate the Lady’s Peace for them.”

That was definitely a threat.

• • •

After whatever Lady Arlis had claimed to have done and Hikaj’s healers’ work, Masara's wounds all looked as though she'd had months to heal, not a little over a week. Her right arm was still in a sling though, so she held her sword in her left hand. She still wore the knee-length blue tunic that the healers had found for her too, as well as her gray knight’s cloak. But whereas her presence usually filled the small spellcloth tent, out in the open, she suddenly looked small and alone. Just one injured woman with a sword, facing off against a dozen archers.

That was probably what Hikaj's men had thought, right before Masara had charged them. He tried not to fall into the same trap when the high lady turned to him, smiled, and raised the tip of her sword with the ease of long familiarity.

“Shall I begin?” she asked.

“No!” Qemaile insisted from where he stood at Hikaj's side. He hopped from one foot to the other in his excitement, and from somewhere in his robes little bells started jingling. “You must explain what spell you plan to use! Incantation! Materials! Something?"

Masara laughed. Not at Qemaile, per se, but Qemaile retorted just the same, guestring out at Masara and her sword. "I want to know what I'm looking for!”

"You will see it," Masara assured him. It didn't really assuage Qemaile’s defensiveness, but she didn’t give him time to argue more. "Please, Imperial General, when you are ready, count to ten and then give the order to shoot."

She turned back to face the archers, who stood some hundred meters off.

Hikaj raised his hand and began to count. Before he'd even finished saying the first number, Masara's sword leapt into action, the tip of a blade tracing a large shape in the air before her. By the time Hikaj got to six, Masara's blade began to glow, first a small point of bright light, one of the etched runes turning to silver light that began to grow, sliding along the blade like liquid before it reflected into a bright arc of light that flashed, and then settled into a faint shimmer in the air. Hikaj reached ten, and lowered his hand. Twelve bowstrings twanged.

Fear flashed hot through Hikaj as the arrows whistled through the air--this was mad--but then all twelve shots slammed against the abruptly solid silver light, metal tips lighting in an incandescent spark before the wooden shafts splintered. Half-melted arrowheads and wood fell to the ground, and High Lady Masara lowered the sword.

"The arrow guard," Lady Arlis said into the silence, after the silver light faded away and Masara's sword was nothing but etched metal again. "It is one of the first things we learn."

“But I didn’t see the spell,” Qemaile wailed.

Hikaj was still staring at Masara. She had shifted the sword to her broken arm, and was holding it awkwardly in the sling so she could use her left hand to wipe sweat off her forehead, or maybe to brush her dark curls out of her face. He imagined her thundering down a narrow path through the Foothills, wreathed in silver spouting from her sword and staring down his men, and he felt a shiver in his spine.

“Figure it out, Qemaile,” Hikaj said. “I want that spell.”

“But my lord, it’s not a spell!”

• • •

In the tent (after Qemaile has asked his hundredth question and Masara had managed her ninety-somethingth evasive reply) the high lady shifted in her chair to turn a flat, expressionless look on Hikaj. It was just the three of them again, and an empty chair, but Masara didn’t even glance at Lady Arlis. The squire, for once, seemed just as unsure of what Masara would say as Hikaj.

“Imperial General,” the high lady said finally. “Who betrayed us?" She asked the question without preamble, firm and direct. Arlis closed her eyes and looked away. Was she surprised?

Hikaj himself was taken aback. Not was there a traitor, but who. How had Masara known? Had she known all along? If she’d known, that would change Hikaj’s understanding of what had gone wrong so far.

“I cannot build a foundation of trust alone, Imperial General.” The quiet, matter-of-fact tone was belied by the intensity of Masara’s brown eyes. She had said they could start with a small trade, an exchange of trust, but Hikaj suddenly realized this question was important to her. Maybe she’d been waiting for a chance to ask this whole time.

“No, of course not,” he agreed. He tried not to hesitate. Maybe the arrow guard had not been such a little demonstration, either. “It was the prince,” Hikaj said. “It was your cousin, Prince Panam.”

Masara closed her eyes, and then nodded once, shortly.

"I thought so," she said, and it was a quiet exhalation that seemed to take the strength out of her. She leaned back in her camp chair and bowed her head.

The silence was too loud; not even Arlis raised her voice to accuse Hikaj of lying. When he looked to the squire, he was shocked to see she had tears in her eyes.

“The High Priest, too?” she asked, her voice a thick whisper. Hikaj thought she was talking about the assassination that had drawn Kas into Amir, at Prince Panam’s invitation. Hikaj had had nothing to do with it, despite Arlis’s most heated accusations, but he had known the prince must have.

Masara didn’t raise her head when she replied. “It would seem so. Our own armed conflict, after all.”

“I’m sorry,” Hikaj found himself saying, feeling awkward and intrusive. “I’ll--I’ll leave you now. Have a good night.”

Then he rose from the campaign chair, flinched as the unstable thing folded loudly in on itself, and fled the tent.

#writing #masara #hikaj #the war au #i love aus #maybe 2021 will just be AUs #but tbh that woudl not be very different from most of the last few years lol #self indulgent 2021

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chillyravenart · 4 years

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Thoughts on Seara Targaryen?

I've mentioned this briefly here but let me add a few more of my thoughts.

I feel like Saera is treated like some faultless feminist icon in the fandom (how surprising lmao) but let's be absolutely real here: she was a spoilt, headstrong princess who was never going to cave into societal/parental pressure. I’m personally not a fan at all but I want to list a few things about her personality and upbringing that may be of some use in understanding her better. Forgive my rambling in advance!

Princess Saera, three years younger, was a trial from the very start; tempestuous, demanding, disobedient. The first word she spoke was no, and she said it often and loudly. She refused to be weaned until past the age of four. Even as she ran about the castle, talking more than her siblings Vaegon and Daella combined, she wanted her mother’s milk, and raged and screamed whenever the queen dismissed another wetnurse. “Seven save us,” Alysanne whispered to the king one night, “when I look at her I see Aerea.”

Not to forget, George loves hitting characters where it hurts and that's through their children. And George went in particularly hard with Jaehaerys and Alysanne's children. I absolutely adore the older bunch, Aemon, Baelon, Alyssa... but the younger bunch didn’t exactly speak to me the same way. I suppose with so many children, it was natural to have a few bad eggs, and Saera was one of them. Jaehaerys spoilt her as child and she grew up to be very bright but also had a cruel streak too.

... and long before she was half-grown, Saera had learned the art of getting anything she wanted from her father: a kitten, a hound, a pony, a hawk, a horse (Jaehaerys did draw a firm line at the elephant). Queen Alysanne was far less gullible, however, and Septon Barth tells us that Saera’s sisters all misliked her to various degrees.

The border between innocent pranks, wanton mischief, and acts of malice is not always discerned by one so young, but there can be no doubt that the princess crossed it freely.

Septon Barth also commented on Saera’s disposition, and her hunger for the attention her older siblings received:

“She is the king’s daughter, and well aware of it. Servants see to her every need, though not always as quickly as she might like... If she were the king’s firstborn, or better still his only child, she would be well content. Instead she finds herself the ninthborn, with six living siblings who are older than her and even more adored.”

Saera pranked her sister Daella with cats and bees, dyed the KG cloaks pink, and would show up drunk to the sept for prayers. And since Saera had every whim granted to her, it's natural that she would want more from the world and succeeded in carving out her own kingdom across the Narrow Sea. I definitely don't think she would have been content with living a normal life in Westeros, married to some lord and running his house.

“She wants what she wants and she wants it now,” Grand Maester Elysar wrote of the princess in 69 AC, when she was only two. “Seven save us all when she is older. The Dragonkeepers had best lock up the dragons.” He had no notion how prophetic those words would be.

At fourteen, she told the king she meant to marry the Prince of Dorne, or perhaps the King Beyond the Wall, so she could be a queen “like Mother.”

By fifteen, Saera had other ideas however.

Why dream of distant monarchs when she could have as many squires, knights, and likely lords as she desired? Dozens danced attendance on her, but three soon emerged as favorites. Jonah Mooton was the heir to Maidenpool, Red Roy Connington was the fifteen-year-old Lord of Griffin’s Roost, and Braxton Beesbury, called Stinger, was a nineteen-year-old knight, the finest lance in the Reach...

And initially it was Queen Alysanne who voiced her dismay regarding Saera’s behaviour with her newly acquired suitors. “Saera is clever, but not wise” and she also criticised her choice of female companions as well as Beesbury/Stinger who was rumoured to have sired a bastard. However Jaehaerys brushed it off unconcerned that she would get up to any mischief at court with so many watching eyes. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

Then came the incident at the Blue Pearl with Tom Turnip, and her three favourite lordlings (including Stinger who later fought Jaehaerys in his trial by combat) which made matters worse. I highly doubt any other noble lord would have been ok with his daughter cavorting with household knights in a brothel- least of all a KING. When questioned about her actions, Saera really didn’t do herself any favours:

I could marry all three of them, why not? Why should I have just one husband? The Conqueror had two wives, and Maegor had six or eight.” She had gone too far. Jaehaerys rose to his feet and descended from the Iron Throne, his face a mask of rage. “You would compare yourself to Maegor? Is that who you aspire to be?”

After the horrors Jaehaerys and his siblings had endured under Maegor, it’s no wonder he was so shaken by her blase attitude. And again, Alysanne was able to soften his anger and reconcile him to forgive Saera, but she ran away that very night and tried to steal a dragon which sealed her fate.

Alysanne wept when she heard, for she knew her cause was hopeless. Jaehaerys was hard as stone. “Saera with a dragon,” was all he had to say. “Would she have taken Balerion as well, I wonder?”

One of my favourite aspects of this whole saga was Jaehaerys fighting Stinger for her honour, "This old man," just takes me out every single time. Forty-nine year old Jae, taking out nineteen year old Beesbury just reminds me too much of Daemon vs Aemond - WHY ARE FORTY-NINE YEAR OLD TARG MEN SO BADASS?

I also understand that Saera was a plot device to add filial conflict to Jaehaerys’ reign, after all a successful king doesn’t always make a successful father. Jaehaerys was the quintessential medieval monarch with a kingdom to run and keep in order after a very volatile period and Saera was a royal princess and expected to uphold those standards. As Grand Maester Elysar put it, “He was better with roads than with daughters.” I think Jaehaerys had his flaws for sure, but again, this is asoiaf and I really don’t understand how people expect paternal relationships to be as open and affectionate as they are today- seriously look at how fatherhood has evolved in the last fifty years alone and tell me a medieval king would have been braiding his daughter’s hair and having heart-to-hearts with her. He could have done more to understand her, but then we wouldn’t have this embittered storyline and everything would be hunky-dory. That’s not how GRRM works unfortunately.

I am certain Jaehaerys had loved her as a daughter, and her actions had caused him pain which had hardened his heart at the time. But it is also apparent later on that Jaehaerys was hit hard by this event and also mistook Alic*nt for Saera on his sickbed. I also feel heartbroken for Alysanne who lost so many of her children and felt Saera's loss very acutely too. She also became withdrawn and was clearly shaken by all the losses she had endured.

The years had taken their toll on him, and those who knew him well said that he was never the same after his daughter Saera had disgraced and then abandoned him. He had grown thinner, almost gaunt, and there was more grey than gold in his beard now, and in his hair.

The Old King sometimes mistook her for one of his daughters, calling her by their names; near the end, he grew certain she was his daughter Saera, returned to him from beyond the narrow sea.

Anyway I am glad Saera got to set up her own empire and lifestyle (Hot Girl Saera ™), she is arguably the first Targaryen entrepreneur of sorts too. She is most certainly not the feminist kween this fandom treats her as IMO, raise ya standards! Ultimately I wouldn't say I'm a fan mainly because her character didn’t appeal to me, particularly when I read Fire and Blood. Besides, Saera’s domain lies outside my circle of interest and I'm more concerned with what happens to subsequent characters in Westeros.

Hope that answered your question!

#saera targaryen #asoiaf #fire and blood #jaehaerys i targaryen #anon asks #chillyravenart answers

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noire-pandora · 3 years

Text

The Night Shift.

Another prompt from this prompt list. Also on my AO3

Soldiers Adrian and Madris meet with the Inquisitor Lavellan at night.

Words: 2682

Warnings: None.Adrian shivered in the chill of the night as he waited in the courtyard for his instructor to appear. Ferelden might be his birthplace, but the cold of Skyhold shocked him. He'd felt the cruel bite of the winters, but never this far and never this deep, but he chose to be here, in the heart of winter. For the first time, he decided what to do with his life, and it looked like the right choice. He had a roof under his head, three hot meals a day and a considerable payment. The payment amazed him. At first, he thought the rumours of the Inquisitor's generosity were just rumours. He never expected it when he signed the papers to join the Inquisition. And to top it all, his superiors seemed friendly enough, and no one yelled at him until now.

"Here you are, soldier," a voice boomed behind him, and he almost yelped. He turned around and saw a tall, well-built elf, smiling at him with a spotless armour. Blue eyes shined in the dark, studying him, and Adrian straightened his back, eager to impress the man.

"My name is Madris, and I am here to instruct you on how to be a proper soldier for the Inquisition," he said, holding out his hand to shake Adrian's. As they shook hands, Adrian felt the calluses built upon the man's skin over the years of hard work. Instantly, he understood why the Inquisitor trusted the elf with the new soldiers.

"I am Adrian," he answered. "Thank you for letting me work here. I am grateful."

"I'm not the one to thank, kid. The Inquisitor is the one who accepts the new soldiers. She read your papers and found you fit for the army. I'm here to teach you. Let's take a walk around, and I'll show you the main buildings. You might already know some of them."

They strolled around Skyhold, and Madris told Adrian everything to know about every location and who frequented them. Adrian struggled to remember all the facts. He had no idea who Iron Bull and Leliana are. At least, not yet.

"Things are calmer for the night watch," Madris continued, as they made their way to the battlements. People sleep, and guests don't come at night. That being said, it doesn't mean the nights are boring. Sometimes, the Inquisitor and her party arrive late at night after a mission. You have to pay attention to that and call the healers, in case the party needs one."

The Inquisitor! Adrian heard many rumours about her and her adventures. He wondered if one day he'd get the chance to see her from afar.

"Your job is to pay attention. After the attack on Haven, the Inquisitor and the Commander have been adamant about this. They need watchful eyes everywhere, eyes that can see and assess any danger in a few seconds. Do you think you can do that, kid?"

"Yes, ser!"

Adrian's confidence grew as he heard those words. He had worked as a fisherman since the age of fourteen. He spent hours and hours staring at the water, his mind in total concentration. He doubted, looking over a yard could be worse than fishing.

"If you see anything suspicious, no matter how small it may look, you have to report it to your shift supervisor even if you might be wrong. Better to apologize than die by the hand of the enemy. Understood?"

"Yes, ser!"

Madris abruptly stopped and looked again at Adrian. "You know, kid, you can say something else, I'm not going to eat you."

"I-I'm sorry, ser," Adrian stuttered. "I'm still getting the hang of things."

"It's all right. I don't blame you. Being a part of the Inquisition's army might be a bit overwhelming, but things aren't that scary. Relax, take a deep breath in. No one is going to judge or hurt you. You aren't working for a mad noble who might slap you at any moment. The Inquisitor threatened us not to use any punishment methods with our recruits. A pity, if you ask me, a good beating always helped. But then again, what she doesn't know……"

Adrian's eyes widened with fear, and Madris laughed. "You should have seen your face, kid, hilarious. I'd never do that. I don't want to infuriate the Herald. She can be scary when she gets mad. As long as you do your work diligently, no one will bother you."

Adrian gave an awkward smile and rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. He almost believed the elf, and he felt like a fool for falling for it. But his worries faded away as he saw the view from the battlements. Everywhere he looked, snow blanketed the magnificent mountains. The light shining from the stars and the moon covered the surroundings into a gentle, mysterious light, and he gasped, his soul moved by the infinity of the mountains which seemed to be touching the sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Madris whispered. "I've been here for six months, but I'll never get tired of the view."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, watching the starry night and the mountains. Adrian slowly turned around to take in every corner of nature, afraid he might miss a part of its beauty. Suddenly, a creaking broke the silence, and a faint light caught his attention. A door opened in the courtyard and he leaned on the battlements railing to take a better look at the mysterious night guest: a person crossed the yard, wandering with unhurried steps and stopped from time to time.

"Who's that?" he inquired.

"That's the Inquisitor," Madris answered, following him to glance at the person below them.

"The Inquisitor? At this late hour? Why?"

"I don't know," Madris shrugged. "She does that from time to time. Popping around at odd times, talking aloud and practising speeches. Sometimes she sits on a rock and draws."

Adrian hummed as he continued to watch the Inquisitor. He could see her perfectly as the full moon shone its light above Skyhold. With a pouch on her shoulder, she looked around, as if searching for something. When her eyes reached their location, she smiled and waved at them. Adrian crouched down behind the stone wall, terrified by the sudden attention.

"It's polite to answer back when someone is waving at you, kid. Especially the Inquisitor," Madris said, his smile never wavering.

In the few seconds it took Adrian to get back on his feet, the Inquisitor disappeared. He looked around, but he could not spot her. He sighed. He made a fool of himself in front of his instructor and the Inquisitor.

Madris patted him on the back and grinned. "It's all right, kid. She won't mind it. She's a kind lady."

"How's she like?" Adrian whispered, disappointment in his voice.

"Hmmm, how's she like?" Madris repeated, a frown knitting his eyebrows. He rubbed his chin, clearly deep in thought. "I don't even know how to begin. She's something else. You have to meet her to understand her but--" he stopped, his hand leaving his face, and he turned to look at someone behind Adrian. His posture hardened from a relaxed stance to a soldier like stance: back straight, hands behind his back, chin up, chest out, shoulders back.

Adrian turned to see the Inquisitor approaching them, a smile on her lips, the satchel hitting her hip as she stepped. He panicked, unsure if he should mimic his instructor. Before he could react, the Inquisitor stopped next to them. Her smile turned into a smirk.

"Really, Madris? Still doing that after six months? I told you already; you don't have to do...that," she said, waving a hand at him. "Just relax, I'm not going to order you around."

Madris relaxed, his shoulders dropped, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a small blush staining his cheeks. "Sorry, old habits die hard. My old commander kicked me in the shins every time I forgot to adopt the correct position."

Elluin rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, I'm not a power-thirsty old man. Or you're still unsure of that?"

Madris smirked at her remark. "I'm a bit unsure about the old man part, Inquisitor."

Adrian's eyes widened at his comment, fearing for the well being of the man, but the Inquisitor just laughed, lightly slapping the elf's shoulder. He blinked a few times, unsure if he should say something.

"And who might you be?" the Inquisitor asked Adrian. "New soldier?"

Before Adrian could answer, Madris jumped in, his hand grabbing his shoulders and pushing him in front of the Inquisitor. "Yes, this is Adrian. Smart lad, you're going to like him. Adrian, say hello to your boss."

"N-nice to meet you," he stammered, his mind still working to catch up with the events.

"You joined three days ago, right?" Elluin asked Adrian.

"Yes, ser."

"Ah, I wish I've been there to greet you, but the meeting with the nobles dragged on, and I couldn't leave. I hope Cullen -the Commander- explained everything to you."

"Yes, sir."

Elluin's eyebrows rose. "I know my title sounds daunting, but I'm not that different from you and Madris here. I'm not going to yell at you and order you around." She turned to face Madris. "I can't believe I have to say this to every recruit. I should wear a placard on my back with `I won't bite you, I promise` written of it."

A snort escaped Adrian's lips, and he saw the Inquisitor's smile growing wider at his reaction. Still, being in the company of the Inquisitor left him speechless.

"How old are you, Adrian?" Elluin spoke again, facing him again. "You look quite young."

"I'm twenty years old, ser."

"Twenty?" she exclaimed. "Do your parents know you are here, working for us?"

"No, sir" he whispered.

"I understand running away from home to join a military organization and save the world might sound exciting, but you should let them know. I am sure they are terrified and miss you,", she said in a harsh, scolding tone.

"They are dead, ser."

A brief pause followed before Elluin spoke again, the harshness completely disappearing from her voice. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. What happened?"

"It's all right, ser, no harm done. They died ten years ago, in the Blight. The Darkspawns attacked us. My father died, fighting the monsters, and my mother died slowly, infected by their bad blood. I escaped with grandma. She passed a month ago, of old age. I am all alone and decided to join you, make a fair coin, maybe help around a bit."

Adrian had no idea why he poured his heart out to a stranger, but something in the Inquisitor's eyes made him feel safe enough to tell her everything. He waited as the woman in front of him examined him, her forest green like eyes scanned him as if to read his soul. His eyes avoided her stare, his fingers playing with the material of his sleeve.

"I lost someone in the Bligh too," she finally said. "My adoptive father. He taught me everything there is to know about the world. The Darkspawns got to him."

"I am sorry, ser." He finally dared to look in her eyes. There he saw sorrow, the same pain he saw in his eyes when his reflection in the mirror stared back at him. "It never gets easier, "he found himself speaking. "They say it gets easier as time passes, that the pain fades, but it never does. Isn't, ser?"

The Inquisitors nodded. "It never does."

Adrian awkwardly smiled at her, and she answered back with a deep sigh. Silence shrouded them as the Inquisitor stared at the sky, and he wondered what her Elven eyes saw there.

"Can I sketch you?" she abruptly asked, looking back at him.

"S-sketch me?" he asked, baffled by the sudden change in subject.

"Yes! I went out tonight to sketch, but I didn't find anything interesting. You don't have to say yes if you don't want to. I won't mind it at all."

"No one ever asked to sketch me until now. Sure, Inquisitor."

"Thanks!"

Adrian watched her as she rummaged in her satchel, struggling to reach for something in there. A few items rattled loudly, and he wondered what she hid in there. With an "aha" she took out a sketchbook and a few pieces of charcoal. She sat on the cold ground, her legs tucked under her, and opened the small sketchbook. He watched her alarmed, once again, not knowing what he should do.

His confusion must have been evident, for the Inquisitor nodded and gestured towards him. "You don't have to do anything special. I'll sketch you quickly; it won't take long."

Andrian nodded and awkwardly waited, uncertain what to do with himself or with his hands. He decided to put them behind his back. He looked around, careful not to stare at the Inquisitor, but the sound of the charcoal rubbing on the page grabbed his attention. Her nimble fingers moved with an elegance and a speed he never saw until now. He watched, fascinated how his face, albeit upside down, took form: his oval face first, his small neck, then eyes, nose, lips and his hair. It took her only five minutes to capture his features on paper.

"I'm done for now. This is just the basic stuff I can do fast, don't want to keep you. But I can work on it today, use a bit of colour too. And I can make two of them, one for you too if you want," she explained, as she removed a strand of hair from her eyes, her fingers leaving a trace of charcoal on her forehead and Adrian had to suppress a giggle.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. I'd like a copy of it."

"Hey, that's not fair!" Madris spoke again. Adrian almost jumped; his sudden intervention startling him. He almost forgot about the instructor.

"You never did my portrait! Don't I deserve one?"

Elluin chuckled, and she flipped the page of her sketchbook. "You never asked for one. Stay put; I'll make one for you right now."

Adrian watched again, fascinated by how a few lines and circles can transform into the face of a man. He never had the chance to watch an artist at work until now, and he found the process mesmerizing. He wondered if he could learn how to do that.

"Here," the Inquisitor said after another five minutes.

Madrid got closer to her to look at the sketch, and he smirked. "Oh, you made me handsome."

"I only draw what I see."

Madris snorted, and he held out his hand to help her get up. Elluin put her sketchbook back in her bag before reaching for his hand. Her back popped a few times, but she ignored it.

"Thanks for letting me sketch you, both of you. I'll come back tomorrow night and give you the complete drawing. I should go now before I get scolded for not sleeping. Again. See you tomorrow."

She waved again and left in a hurry, her hair fluttering in the wind. Adrian wondered who dared to scold the Inquisitor.

"Well, she's something, huh?" Madris asked Adrian. "Meeting her is always a new experience. Told you she isn't that scary."

"She's strange," Adrian replied before thinking. "I mean, not in a bad way! Just….I never expected that from the Inquisitor. I've heard tales of her fighting a dragon and a god."

"Those tales are true, kid. I saw that with my own two eyes. But just because someone can fight a dragon, it doesn't mean they have to be assholes."

"I suppose so."

"So, are you going to come back tomorrow night, recruit Adrian?" Madris asked him, examining him thoughtfully.

Adrian nodded and smiled nervously at him. "Yes, ser. I will."

Finally, he found a purpose in life, a good cause to fight for: a new home and a leader who deserves respect.

#dragon age #elluin lavellan #my fics #prompt #storiesofthedas #noire writes

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sanders-sides-fics · 4 years

Text

In My Dreams: Chapter Fourteen

Warning: food, injury

Masterlist

Word Count: 2065

Virgil sat down next to Roman in the courtyard of the castle, a blanket spread out wide beneath them. He rolled his wrist around to test the mobility, and made a pleased hum to find it moving as if nothing had happened. Beside him, Roman started to unpack the small basket Patton had shooed them off with around the start of lunch.

Roman paused, looking over at Virgil. “Does it hurt?” He asked, eyeing Virgil’s wrist.

“No,” Virgil replied, sending Roman a small, reassuring smile. “I was just checking… I didn’t like not being able to use my arms. I need to learn how to focus my magic another way.”

Roman pressed his lips together in thought, “We could look through the library for books on magic. There might be some there, it looked extensive.”

Virgil nodded thoughtfully, mulling the idea over in his head. It was a good idea. He would need another source to look at when he had learned all he could from his Baba’s journal. There would only be so much information in the journal about magic in general, but it helped that the information in it was tailored to Virgil’s abilities.

The shadows had come in handy when the two of them confronted Mavis last night. Virgil would need a lot more practice before he was fully confident with it, but it was better than nothing.

“Are you suggesting we sneak off there again?”

Roman smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes, “Only if the meeting with your brother proves truly dreadful, Virgil. However, I would be willing to meet you there anytime you want me to.”

Virgil smiled at the idea. He liked being able to see Roman again, and he liked the idea of being able to steal a kiss or two in the privacy of the library. He knew there was a certain expectation of them, as they were princes of newly allied countries that were entering trade agreements, but he wanted part of their courting to be theirs. Private.

Virgil was not going to push himself to follow through with any expectations. He had not forgotten the trail of broken hearts Roman had left in their youth, but he also remembered the discussion the two had about it.

If he had believed Roman was merely toying with him, he never would have entertained the idea of agreeing to court with him. He had made that stance clear long before he knew he was a prince and upheld the idea now.

“What do you want to start with? The sandwiches or the dessert?” Roman asked, setting down their plates. He winked at Virgil, “I’m thinking the dessert.”

“Tarts sound like a good start,” Virgil agreed, rolling his eyes. “Even if it weren’t, who’s to know other than us?”

Roman smiled and dished out the tarts. Virgil leaned against him as they ate their lunches. Roman hesitantly reached out and wrapped his arm around Virgl’s shoulders as they ate, lingering lightly for a moment before settling down.

“Is this okay?” Roman asked quietly, voice almost inaudible with nerves.

“It is…. You know, for someone who’s courted many young nobles, you aren’t very bold,” Virgil teased him.

Roman blushed when Virgil looked up to see his reaction, stammering. “Well- I- you’re different?”

“I know,” Virgil said softly, patting his chest with a fond look. “I’m just teasing you, Roman. I trust you.”

Roman sighed in relief, “Thank you.”

Roman took a bite of his tart, humming in pleasure at the taste, and Virgil picked his own up to resume eating his own.

The afternoon was quiet, much more peaceful than the last few weeks. There was no need to look over shoulders for lurking danger, no scrambling for clues. Virgil liked the change. He had barely realized how stressful the situation was while he was in it, focused on solving it before someone he cared about was hurt.

“Hey, look,” Roman pointed to a rose bush planted by the castle walls. “That’s you.”

Virgil looked over and saw a butterfly hovering around the blooming roses. He snorted, leveling Roman with a look and shaking his head, a smile threatening to break across his lips. It wasn’t a half bad comparison. The caterpillar, something mundane and small, metamorphosing into something entirely different and new, something free. Roman, Virgil was sure, would talk about how the butterfly’s beauty compared to Virgil’s own if Roman were courting another noble. The butterfly flew around a few more moments before flying across the courtyard and out of sight.

Roman grinned at Virgil’s response, laughter dancing in his eyes. In a bold move, Roman pulled Virgil closer into his chest, the both of them marveling and reveling in the shared closeness and each other’s presence.

Virgil shifted to get comfortable, squirming in Roman’s hold and accidentally jabbing him in the ribs. Roman hissed in pain, and Virgil startled back, eyes wide in fear. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Roman said in reassurance, and Virgil gave him a half panicked, half disbelieving look that Roman laughed at the familiarity. “I’m serious, Vee. I’m fine. Just a bit sore, that’s all.”

The skepticism rang loudly on Virgil’s face, the doubt fading away when Roman gave him a chaste kiss. “Okay,” Virgil said slowly, settling gingerly back in Roman’s hold when the other prince tugged at him. “But if you feel-”

“If I feel any pain or anything else, I’ll go straight to the healers and be regulated to bedrest where you’ll scold me for letting it get so bad and not letting myself heal like an idiot. I know, I know.”

Virgil huffed but hid a smile, letting Roman enfold him into a loving embrace, sitting in between Roman’s legs, his back to Roman’s chest. Roman kissed the top of Virgil’s head, feeling Virgil relax minutely then all at once when it seemed like Roman was serious about not being in pain.

“This is nice,” Virgil commented quietly, not wanting to break the silence but also feeling the need to say something.

Roman hummed, resting his head against Virgil’s, “I agree. You know, I have never felt like this before, with anyone else I’ve courted. That sounds fake, but I mean it. Around you, I can’t put up the persona and flirt around while you’re starstruck. And even if I could, I don’t think I would want to anymore.”

Virgil turned in Roman’s hold and smiled up at him, reaching up to cup Roman’s face in the palm of his hand, “I know. You changed. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were toying with me. You said earlier that I was different, but I think you are too.”

Roman flushed and turned his face into Virgil’s hand. He pressed a small kiss into his palm, and Virgil’s heart fluttered at the gesture, and smiled softly at Virgil. “Thank you, Virgil.”

The lunch date continued quietly, until it was time for the two to go back inside. Roman packed up the basket again as Virgil folded up the blanket they had sat on to keep grass stains off of their nicer garments. Virgil dropped the blanket heavily on top of the basket in Roman’s arms, and Roman caught it with a small ‘oof’ and a roll of his eyes as he adjusted it so it would not fall when he walked away.

“I need to talk to Remy, but I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

“I’ll see you there.”

Virgil offered Roman one last smile before turning and walking towards the castle. He made his way through the castle, proud that he no longer needed to use specific paintings or sculptures to tell him what part of the castle he was in. He found his brother’s study with ease and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Remy called from within.

Virgil opened the door and stepped inside before closing the door behind him.

“Hey, Remy,” he greeted.

Remy looked up from his papers and smirked, “Here I thought you would still be making puppy eyes at your prince.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. He knew Remy was trying to tease, but he could see the worry in Remy’s eyes. When Virgil didn’t say anything in reply, his brother shifted uncomfortably in his seat and put down his quill.

Concern grew in Virgil, frowning, “What’s wrong?” Virgil asked him.

Remy shook his head, “Nothing. Nothing.”

“Sure, Rem. I know it’s only a few months, but I can tell when you’re upset.”

“It’s not a big deal, Vee.”

Frown deeping, “If it’s big enough to hide, it is.” Virgil crossed the room and brought over a chair from the other desk. He sat down near Remy’s desk and looked at his brother seriously. “If it’s hurting you, we can talk it out.”

Remy squirmed in his chair, but Virgil waited patiently. He would give Remy the time he needed to be ready to talk. He wasn’t going to push his brother if it was something that had him visibly upset. He didn’t want to disrespect Remy’s boundaries but wouldn’t ignore his hurt either.

“This is… childish of me, Virgil. But I’m afraid that I’m going to lose you again,” Remy said. “I’ve just got you back, and Mavis already tried to take you from me last night.”

Remy wiped his eyes with his sleeve and took a shaky breath. He looked at Virgil, frowning with tears slipping freely from his eyes.

“I’m not ready to lose you again. I- I can’t. Vee, I love you too much to lose you again.”

Virgil frowned, brow creasing with worry, “You won’t. You’re stuck with me now, got it? No matter what happens with Roman. Even if a few years from now I decide to marry him and go to Sandres. We’ll write, we’ll visit, whatever we have to do.”

“You say that now, but what if you change your mind?”

“Then I would be wrong to do so. I don’t want to lose you either, you’re my brother.”

Virgil stood from his chair and circled Remy’s desk. He leaned down and hugged his brother tightly. Remy reached up and hugged him back, clinging to Virgil’s arms and sniffling.

“I’m not going to disappear again, Remy. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

Remy let out a small cry and held Virgil’s arms tighter. Virgil held on tight and let his brother cry, quietly assuring him.

There was a knock at the door and Logan opened it a moment later. He paused when he saw the scene in the room, he started to back away.

“You can stay,” Remy looked up at Logan, arms still wrapped tight around Virgil. “I’m fine.”

“A package came for Virgil. From the welder in our western lands.”

Virgil smiled and gently started to let go of Remy. Remy tensed, fingers spasming, and held on a bit tighter.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’ll want to see what it is. I’d nearly forgotten I requested these.”

Logan brought the package over and set it on Remy’s desk. Remy loosened his hold and Virgil opened the package with care, revealing a pair of glasses with dark lenses in them.

“I noticed how much you squint when we go outside,” Virgil said, picking up the glasses. “So I had a pair of glasses made for you with some smokey quartz.”

Remy reached up and took the pair gently, “Thank you, Virgil…”

“You’re welcome, Remy.”

Remy smiled at him and put them on, “These work great, Virgil. Where did you get the idea?”

“Some of the traders who visited Sandres had them, and I thought it would help you,” Virgil told him.

"We’ll have to test them out after dinner, maybe?”

“It may be a bit dark for that, but we can go for a walk if you want,” Virgil said.

Remy looked down at the glasses, fiddling with them in his hands, thinking for a moment. He set them down on the desk and looked back at Virgil.

“You don’t have plans with Roman?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t,” Virgil promised. “If he asks, I’ll tell him I’m taking a walk with you after.”

“You don’t-”

“But I want to,” Virgil interrupted. “I am not going to ditch you, just because I like a boy. You’re stuck with me.”

Remy said with a watery smile,“I guess I am.”

#ts-storytime 2020 submission #Virgil sanders #Roman Sanders #Prinxiety #Sanders Sides #Remy Sanders #Logan Sanders #Fantasy #A Fanciful Dream #In My Dreams

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fantastic-rambles · 3 years

Text

The Skylark’s Song [3 /4]

Fandom: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Characters: Hibari Kyoya, Kusakabe Tetsuya, Oikawa Tsuneo, Namimori Middle Disciplinary Committee, Unnamed Gang

Warnings: Gang, Minor PTSD, Language, Violence, Murder [Again, I apologize if this isn't accurate PTSD.]

Word Count: 3.4k [Lol, what? I don’t know how this happened. xD]

Summary: My personal headcanons of the (pre-canon) experiences that made Hibari into the man that he is today. Part Three: Hibari’s revenge.

[Part 1]

"Unless someone is trying to run away, you will not interfere. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely, Hibari-san!"

Kusakabe and his friends stood stiffly at attention, though Hibari caught the look of uncertainty on several faces, as well as a touch of fear. It seemed like some of them were just starting to realize just how serious the situation was, that this wasn't one of their silly little games. Those ones were probably going to end up running away, but he didn't really care. As long as enough of them remained to trap these rats in their nest, that was enough for him.

When he turned to face the building, he was momentarily startled by a shout from behind him.

"We're praying for your success!"

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Kusakabe and his gang bowing to him, and the rest of them echoed their leader's sentiment: "We're praying for your success!"

Unsure of how to respond, Hibari simply nodded in acknowledgement before walking forward, listening to Kusakabe bark out commands for the others to spread out and cover the entrances. Oikawa scurried after Hibari nervously, staying well out of reach of the older boy as he carried a briefcase in his arms. Hibari had been reluctant to bring them along, but in the end, he didn't expect the police to side with a kid fresh out of middle school over a gang. It probably also wasn't right for him to have dragged these delinquents into this either; enforcing order on a bunch of children in school was entirely different than taking on actual gangsters. But they had insisted on following him all the way out here, so his only option was to take care of this quickly to limit its potential repercussions.

The building itself was nothing special, just a squat, three-story structure that looked like any other office. But Hibari hadn't only been training during all those years since he had lost his parents: with judicious bribes, he'd been gathering information on their murderers and paying off the right people to ensure that they would look the other way when the time was right, as well as maintaining their contributions to various services such as the hospital and the schools. It was fortunate that both of his parents had come from noble clans and made good investments while they had been alive: with the returns, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of his life. Assuming he lived that long.

It wasn't that he was stupid or had some sort of death wish. He knew that it was crazy to take them on alone, but at the same time, that had always been his intention. Still, if he'd had the choice, he would have preferred to wait another five or ten years, building up his resources and gaining more strength and confidence. But circumstances had forced his hand: he'd learned that the leader of this group was going to join the yakuza, a promotion that would more than likely bring him to Tokyo, beyond Hibari's reach, both geographically and politically. Dealing with Motozawa Tomokazu while he was still just a small-time gangster in a little town was probably the only chance he would have, before the full might of a real criminal organization was backing him.

He exuded an air of confidence as he entered the building, walking up to the receptionist and leaning on the counter.

"Is Motozawa-san here? I have a proposition for him."

"This isn't a playground, brat. Get out of here," the man snapped, waving his hand as if trying to shoo the boy away. But that was pretty much the reaction Hibari had expected, and he glanced back at Oikawa, who looked ready to shit himself, and beckoned him forward. On shaky legs, the other boy approached, dropping the briefcase onto the counter with a loud thud, and Hibari reached over to unlock it, pulling up the top to reveal stacks of 10,000 yen bills. Casually, he picked one up at random and flipped through it, showing that it wasn't some sort of trick with newspaper, before tossing it back into the case and closing it again.

The man's eyes were wide with shock as he looked between the case and Hibari, and Hibari repressed a sigh at his obvious greed and stupidity.

"As you can see, I am very serious. Please convey my message to Motozawa-san."

He gestured to Oikawa again, waiting for the boy to retrieve the briefcase before walking with him to one of the leather couches in the lobby and sitting down. He watched the receptionist pick up the phone, speaking into it with an air of urgency as he kept glancing at the boy still dressed in his school uniform as though afraid he would disappear into thin air. Hibari had considered getting a suit, but decided in the end that his usual outfit would encourage them to lower their guards and underestimate him. He needed any advantage that he could get if he wanted to get out of here alive.

Soon enough, they were being ushered towards the elevators by a pair of men who were built along the lines of a bulldozer. Of course, it would have been extremely easy for them to beat up the two kids and just take the money--or so they probably thought--but the implied promise of more would keep him and Oikawa safe for now. But as Hibari had hoped, they didn't even search either of them for weapons or anything else that could be dangerous before admitting them into the head office. A young man who looked to be in his thirties lounged behind an executive desk carved out of black walnut, his shirt half-open and gold chains draped around his neck. As the two boys entered, he rose, spreading his arms in welcome as he walked around his desk.

"And what do we have here? Izumi said that you wanted to talk business? Please, sit." He gestured towards one of the couches in the center of the room, taking a seat on another so that a low, wooden table would separate them. For a moment, Hibari froze as the familiar voice threw him back to another time. No matter how long he lived, he'd probably never forget it: that cold voice that had taunted his parents and threatened them. The voice drunk on violence that had ordered, "Take care of this brat" right before Hibari had lost everything. The cruel laughter that continued to ring in his ears long after he woke up every night.

His hands clenched into fists, nails digging deep into his palms, and Oikawa approached him cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hib-- I mean, Kyoya-san?"

He'd impressed upon Oikawa to not use his surname, since Motozawa would probably remember it and become suspicious. But the man didn't show any change in expression at the small slip-up, so Hibari took the offered seat, inclining his head slightly toward the table.

"Leave it and get out."

Oikawa looked relieved to drop off his burden, but as he walked back toward the door, the two men who Hibari presumed were bodyguards blocked his way, looking toward Motozawa for instructions. Oikawa looked back too, his eyes wide with unconcealed fear, and Hibari feigned an attitude of nonchalance as he leaned back, draping his arms over the back of the couch.

"What's the meaning of this... Kyoya-kun, is that correct?" Motozawa asked, raising an eyebrow, and Hibari sighed.

"He's just my errand boy, like your two muscleheads over there. The less he knows, the better. After all, 'Even the mutterings of a man in a well are widely known after three years,' right?"

Motozawa laughed, a sound that scraped on Hibari's nerves, and waved at his men, who stepped out with Oikawa between them.

"I like you, kid. You've got spunk. How old are you? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen," Hibari confirmed. "Although I'll be sixteen in two months. Either way, I'm old enough to be tried as an adult if I do anything."

"Oh? Congratulations on your graduation. So what's this about, then? You wanna join up with my team? I dunno if we'll have space for a rich boy with an attitude though, 'less you're bringing something else to the table."

Hibari smiled, baring his teeth at Motozawa. "Well, then it's a good thing that I don't want to."

The gangster laughed again, reaching out to put a hand on the briefcase and tapping the sleek surface with a finger.

"Alright, I'll bite. What do you want us to do to get this money? Beat up some bullies? Pick up some designer items for your girlfriend? It can't be that you want us to do a hit for you, right?"

Still smiling, Hibari leaned forward, letting his arms fall to his sides even though every fiber of his being wanted to put as much distance as possible between this scum and himself.

"It seems like there has been a misunderstanding. This isn't for you."

He watched impassively as the greedy expression transformed into one of shock as his words sank in. Then, far more quickly, shock turned to anger, and Motozawa's eyes narrowed as he slammed his hands on the table.

"The fuck are you talking about, you brat? Is this some sort of joke? Do you really think that you can come in here with a couple million, have a laugh, and walk out? I'm fucking yakuza!"

"Not yet, and it's a hundred million," Hibari corrected him blandly, which only seemed to infuriate the man even more.

"I don't give a flying fuck!" Raising his voice, Motozawa called out, "Kazuo! Shimpei! Where are you? Come throw this brat out!"

His two thugs crashed back into the room, although Oikawa was nowhere to be seen. Hibari hoped that that meant the boy had been escorted out, since things were about to get messy. Slowly, he got to his feet while Motozawa pulled the case toward himself possessively, and one of the men grabbed Hibari by the arm, only to blink in surprise at the feeling of something slim and hard under the sleeve.

Hibari raised his other arm and slammed it against the man's hand, eliciting a scream and forcing him to let go as his fingers were crushed between the metal. His own fingers curled up toward his wrists, releasing the ties that secured his weapons and letting them drop into his hands as he spun quickly, using the momentum to drive the steel into the second man's gut. Hibari smiled grimly at the sound of the air being forced out of his lungs as the man collapsed to his knees before turning his attention back to the first man, who was recovering and had pulled out a knife. Briefly, the boy's eyes flicked aside, ascertaining the position of the third man in the room. Motozawa had scrambled away with the briefcase and retreated behind his desk with it, fumbling inside his jacket while scrabbling for the phone, and Hibari took a few steps to the side, putting the man-mountain between himself and their leader.

The man had recovered more quickly than he'd expected, but then again, he was dealing with semi-professionals. They'd undoubtedly been in fights before and learned how to work through pain. Still, he'd been able to gain an element of surprise with his sudden attacks, and he'd have to hope that would be enough.

Block. Block. Block. The sound of metal clashing rang through the room as Hibari drove in, using his dual-wielding advantage to put the man on the defensive. He gritted his teeth as he drove one tonfa into solid muscle, feeling the reverberations in his arm, but it surely had to be even worse for his opponent. On top of that, as he'd expected, Motozawa had pulled out a gun, forcing Hibari to keep track of his position as well so he wouldn't get shot. His only option seemed to be to simply brute force this guy and his friend, and then probably deal with whatever reinforcements Motozawa had called before taking care of the leader himself. Just as he had hoped.

His opponent's good arm swung at him, and Hibari leaned back, flinching as he collided with a solid wall. The blade scored his forehead as two arms wrapped around him with a grunt, the second man having apparently recovered. It only took Hibari a moment to realize that he was too short to smash the man's nose with his head, so instead, he drove both of his elbows back with the little leverage he had, the ends of his tonfa smashing into the man's torso. At the same time, he lifted his foot and stomped down on the man's instep with his heel, the combined attack making his captor stagger backwards. Still, he didn't let go, and Motozawa called out, "Great job, Kazuo! Hold onto him!"

With him off-balance, though, Hibari twisted himself around, forcing his leg behind Kazuo's and grabbing the man's other leg before adding his own weight to the backward motion, throwing them both to the ground. In the confusion, he drove an elbow into the man's groin, finally convincing him to let go, and scrambled aside, keeping a firm hold on his weapons.

His breath was coming more quickly now, but for the first time in years, he actually felt alive. Even though he had blood pouring down his face, even though he was facing down two adult men and a gun, even though there would be more men coming... everything just felt right. His joints felt loose and limber as he crouched behind the couch, contemplating his next moves. Shimpei should be close to going down by now, given the damage he had accumulated, while Kazuo had had his breath knocked out of him several times already.

Raising an arm, he wiped away some of the blood. A flash of movement at the corner of his eye had him diving around the end of the couch as a bang reverberated in the office. Staying low, he cocked his tonfa as he ran toward Kazuo, who had begun to struggle to get to his feet, and swung his arm, catching the man below the ear. Instantly, the man froze, then toppled backwards again, unconscious, and conveniently fell in the way of the door that was just beginning to open. A clamor of confused voices rose as the men outside shoved at it, trying to force it open.

"Boss? What's going on?"

"Get in here and take care of this brat!" Motozawa screeched, firing another shot that went wide as Hibari ducked behind the other couch. Shimpei appeared on the other side, and Hibari continued moving, using his smaller build to his advantage to duck inside the man's swing, flipping his tonfa out to extend his reach and bring it down on Shimpei's wrist. The knife dropped, and his opponent quickly moved backwards, out of his reach, while pulling out another.

Now, though, Hibari was realizing the advantage of his size, particularly against half-trained, muscle-bound idiots. He pursued Shimpei, lowering his center of gravity and aiming for his legs. Doing so would gradually hinder his mobility and eventually bring him down to a level that Hibari could strike the final blow, as he had with Kazuo. Their walls of muscle had made it difficult to make a decisive strike, but there was a natural limit to how much the head, one of the most vulnerable parts of the body, could be protected. Encouraged, he attacked steadily, keeping an eye on Motozawa's position. The gang leader was at the other side of the room, pulling at Kazuo's dead weight to let the rest of his men in... or to open an escape route for himself. A familiar, chrome briefcase leaned against the wall next to him as he tugged at his bodyguard and the door slowly creaked inward.

"Tch." Hibari clicked his tongue, dashing across the room. But something seemed to have warned Motozawa, who turned around quickly, lifting his gun. For a second, the barrel was pointed straight at Hibari's face. But as Motozawa squeezed the trigger, Hibari whipped his tonfa around, leaning away as the gun was pushed out into the open air, the sound of the shot deafening him on the left side. Grimacing, he continued his attack, driving Motozawa away from the door as his subordinates wedged it open just enough to start squeezing through.

And then Shinpei was there, getting between them and pushing Motozawa away. But the bodyguard was clearly feeling the effects of their fight, his legs trembling as they struggled to support his weight. It probably wasn't even worth it to take him out at this point, so Hibari backpedaled, dodging the new members who were coming in and trying to encircle him.

"Him! That kid! Get rid of him!" Motozawa shouted, pointing at Hibari. He heard the clicks of guns, but he discarded that information promptly. In such close quarters and with so many of their allies in the room, their guns were simply a disadvantage. Unless they could pin him down with a clear line of fire, their weapons were essentially useless, more likely to put holes in each other than in him.

A few of the more intelligent ones seemed to recognize this, dropping their guns and advancing with bare fists or knives, only to serve as fodder for his tonfa. Unlike the two bodyguards who had been wrapped in shields of muscle, most of them needed only one nicely placed hit to go down. They were the true herbivores of the group, following the ones with power and swaggering around with the mistaken belief that they were the ones that were feared. Although there were several mixed in who could occupy him for about half a minute, their comrades got in the way more often than not, giving Hibari openings to take them down.

Even so, his muscles were screaming in agony by the time the last body fell and the room was filled with the sounds of whimpers and groans. A quick glance showed him that Motozawa--and the briefcase--was nowhere to be found, and he half-walked, half-dragged himself to the door, carefully stepping over fallen men to ensure he could keep his own footing.

At the end of the hallway, his prey stood by the elevators, jabbing at the call button frantically. The moment he saw the boy, he raised his gun again, firing a shot that hammered into Hibari's right shoulder and sent him staggering back a step before he even registered what had happened. But the next pull of the trigger fell onto an empty chamber, and Motozawa cursed, throwing the weapon to the ground and picking up the briefcase, heading toward the stairs.

Mustering the last vestiges of his strength, Hibari flung the tonfa in his left hand, sending it spinning toward Motozawa in a gleaming arc that caught him in the back. The man went sprawling, and the case fell and popped open, spitting out stacks of bills as it slid away from him. Motozawa scrambled after it, trying to shove the money back inside, as Hibari approached him with agonizing determination, shifting his remaining weapon to his other hand.

"What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? What do you want?" Motozawa demanded, clutching the cash to his chest as Hibari backed him up against the wall.

"My name is Hibari Kyoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." [I'm sorry, I had to do it. xD]

"My name is Hibari Kyoya." He watched as recognition dawned on the man's face, followed by panic. Reaching into his pocket, Hibari pulled out a thumb drive, dropping it into Motozawa's lap. The man looked down at it with obvious confusion, then back up at the boy whose face was a mask of blood as his shoulder bled freely.

"That's your gift. What you couldn't find back then: the proof of your rotten dealings. The money is for the Inagawa-kai to compensate for your death so they won't cause trouble here."

"Wait! Wait, wait, Hibari-san! Let's talk this over! I'm sure--"

But Hibari was no longer listening. He stopped fighting gravity, letting it add to his blow as he swung his tonfa downward, crashing into Motozawa's skull with a sickening crunch before he fell to the ground. As the darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, he felt a sense of deep contentment and relief, and he fell into the shadows with little resistance.

[Part 4]

#katekyo hitman reborn #khr #reborn #fanfic #fan fic #hibari kyoya #kyoya hibari #hibari #character study #headcanon #mine

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the-marius-de-romanus · 4 years

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Conversation with Anne Rice on Blood and Gold

Q: Blood & Gold is your eighteenth novel about the vampires. Do you find it difficult to work within the narrative framework established by earlier stories?

A: Actually, it's a challenge, a real dare. The Vampire Chronicles vary radically in form. Some are tales told to others. Some are written memoirs. Some involve vampires talking directly to us. I feel there is enough flexibility for me to do just about anything that I want. In Queen of the Damned, for example, I worked with whole chapters in the third person, claiming that the Vampire Lestat received the material telepathically from his soul mates and passed it on to us in that form. But for the most part I stick with the heat and intimacy of the first person voice because I love it, along with its obvious drawbacks, and I feel most at home with the puzzles it presents. How do you make a first person narrator handsome and lovable, for instance. I feel I meet that dare all the time.

Q: Do you view your novels as stand alone entities? Will new readers enjoy Blood & Gold even if they are not familiar with your backlist?

A: Absolutely. Each Vampire Chronicle is a stand-alone book. There is enough information in it to make any first-time reader comfortable immediately, and perhaps a little curious about the other books. Blood & Gold is no exception. If anything, Blood & Gold is a bit easier for the first-time reader than, say, The Vampire Armand because Marius is two thousand years old and he begins his memoir in the year 200 AD and follows his own lonely and stark path through the centuries. His great loves, his great losses, his great revelations are all described in rich detail, right up to the point where he becomes the mentor to the Vampire Lestat, sharing the secrets of Those Who Must Be Kept with Lestat, and eventually suffering when Lestat reveals those secrets to the world. But for the new reader it ought to flow easily. The focus is really on Marius himself and his approach to history as well as his existence as a blood drinker and a myth maker.

Q: Marius, Lestat's beloved mentor, appears in your novels The Vampire Lestat, The Vampire Armand, and The Queen of the Damned. What inspired you to write his story?

A: I was reading through The Queen of the Damned and I felt a new contact with Marius and with the anger he suffered when Akasha, the Queen of the Vampires, rose from her four thousand year slumber and more or less contemptuously deserted him. I felt it was time to go deep into Marius and tell his tale from the beginning?omehow explain the type of love he had felt for Akasha which was really warmer than worship. I knew it would be difficult to live up to the high standard I had set for Marius' character in the Chronicles and I was exhilarated by it. Marius is the noble Roman, the ethical man of reason, the diplomat, and the undying optimist. I had to get into all that. I felt ready for it. Also, I think I felt challenged by the fact that Warner's was making The Queen of the Damned into a movie. I wanted to tell Marius' story before they delivered their version of Marius to motion picture audiences. No matter how detached I try to be from motion pictures of my work, they ultimately affect me.

Q: Marius lives through many periods and in many countries. Which era of Marius' life did you find most seductive? Which did you most enjoy researching?

A: The Italian Renaissance was my favorite period of Marius' life, a time during which Marius became a person in the mortal world, a rich Venetian gentleman who paints the walls of his palazzo for his own pleasure, an enigma to those around him. I did a ton of research on the period to make everything as nearly correct as I could. I also enjoyed researching ancient Rome, the Rome of 200 to 50 AD, during which time Marius saw Christianity become the legal religion of the Empire, and also the barbarian sack of the Eternal City itself, a disaster that sent Marius into a long slumber in the shrine of Those Who Must Be Kept from which he didn't want to wake again to reality. There again, I consult volumes. I had so many books around me when I wrote that sometimes I couldn't escape from my computer. I had to climb over piles of books. I was stumbling. One day I called my research assistant, Scott, on the phone and begged him to come upstairs and help me find a book that was somewhere at my feet but which I couldn't find without an archaeological dig. Of course it was all wonderful fun. I want my vampires to move through real history, not some airy realm of half-truths and mistakes and vague generalities. I want the facts, the smells, the colors, the names, and the dates. When Marius meets Botticelli in Florence, I used Botticelli's correct street address in so as far as history records it.

Q: In Blood & Gold, Marius paints and repaints murals, and his companion Daniel, the interviewer from Interview with the Vampire, creates acres of model cities. What is the role of art in the lives of vampires?

A: Vampires are hyper-sensitive to art. They see color and form with the heightened vision of the perpetually stoned. Art can seduce them as the model cities have seduced the boy, Daniel, who doesn't know yet how to handle his obsessions. Art can also save them because it offers a continuity that life itself may not offer to a human being. As time passes, brutally deteriorating everything meaningful to a soul, art endures, and grows ever richer and more evocative with the passage of time, so that it comes to seem prophetic in retrospect, or at least timeless in the finest sense of the word. Throughout the Vampire Chronicles, art has been key. But Marius laments that though he has lived fourteen hundred years, he cannot create art to rival that of Botticelli. He falls in love with the man and must separate himself from the man lest he hurt Botticelli and thereby affect Botticelli's destiny. Maharet, the ancient one, weaving her red hair into a thread and that thread into chains, is in a sort of thrall as well, much like that of Daniel with his model cities. Weaving comforts Maharet. Marius at various stages in his long life is comforted by nothing.

Q: How does humor work in your narratives?

A: Humor is spontaneous with me. It just happens and I don't try to repress it. I have a wild sense of humor and sometimes I have to avoid the satirical side of what I am writing. I have to not sacrifice the finer feeling to the humor of the moment. But in general I let my humor come out with certain characters more than other. Lestat, for example, has a profound sense of humor and a blasphemous sense of humor. Marius is more serious, and more tragic.

Q: Marius believes that anger is weakness. Do you believe this?

A: Yes, I believe that anger is weakness. Marius is one of those characters who for the most part expresses ideas which are mine. I couldn't have an in-depth relationship with Marius if he didn't express my ideas, and I do feel that anger distorts, weakens, and warps. You have to reach beyond anger for a finer sense of a situation before you respond, or make a move. Marius has a terrible temper and so do I. Marius ruins two moments of his life with anger, and possibly even more. But I don't want to give away the plot.

Q: Memory is crucial for vampires, who are immortal. How is memory important for us mortals?

A: Memory is essential to the attaining of wisdom. There is no wisdom without memory, because there can be no perspective and no deep learning without memory. One has to profit by experience and observation in order to become wise, and memory is the keeper of all fine experiences and observations, memory is the index, the table of contents, the full library. Without memory, one runs the risk of being simplistic and flippant.

Q: Can you give us an update on the progress of film and television projects of your work?

A: For once, there is much to report. A mini-series based on The Feast of All Saints will appear on Showtime in November. After that it will appear on ABC. It will be four hours, and spread over two nights. I've seen it and I think it's lush and sensuous and very faithful to the book, and that readers will love it. It's top notch, and Showtime has spared no expense. I visited the set when they were shooting. I was rocked. John Wilder, the scriptwriter and executive producer, did a fantastic job of adapting the book to the four-hour format.

The Queen of the Damned, a feature film based on The Queen of the Damned and The Vampire Lestat, is scheduled for release by Warner Brothers on February 15, 2002. I have not seen it, but it does seem to be engendering considerable excitement. Stuart Townsend, the young Englishman who plays Lestat, is very appealing and a very fine actor. There are other impressive names in the cast.

We are presently in negotiations with regard to "Earth Angels," a new series that we are developing for television, about a group of big-city based angels who work undercover on earth to fight supernatural evil in all its forms. The series is based on an original concept created by me. I'm extremely excited about it.

We're also in negotiations with a producer and a network with regard to making a long miniseries out of The Witching Hour, Lasher, and Taltos. The present discussion involves a plan for 12 hours of TV time. I'm very excited here as well. I like everyone as well, and want for John Wilder to do the script. I feel that after what he did with The Feast of All Saints, he can do a bang-up job.

I'm also happy to report that Ramses the Damned (The Mummy) is also in development. It's owned by James Cameron, and a new screenwriter was recently hired. I've spoken with her and found her pleasant. Again, I've got high hopes.

#anne rice #vampire chronicles #justmariusstuff #marius de romanus #mariusderomanus-rp-help

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elara-moon · 5 years

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Title: Happy Together (chapter two: BingQiu Week Day Two)

Author: Elara_Moon

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Summary: BingQiu Week Day Two: Royalty AU. Shen Qingqiu is a minor noble. Luo Binghe is the long-lost heir to the throne.

AO3 Link

The halls were filled with gossip. The nobles, the maids, the guards, everyone was talking, and all about one man.

Luo Binghe.

He was, apparently, the long-lost son of TianLang-Jun, the king. TianLang-Jun’s pregnant wife, Su Xiyan, had gone missing while traveling, and she had been presumed dead. Now, Luo Binghe had appeared, eighteen years old and an accomplished swordsman, with the necklace TianLang-Jun had given Su Xiyan as a courting gift.

He was believed immediately; absolutely nobody had any doubts that he was telling the truth. Everyone talked about how handsome he was, how charming he was, how skilled he was.

Shen Qingqiu felt that his story was a little farfetched, but who was he to complain? He didn’t care who became king. Shen Qingqiu was only minor nobility; barely noble at all. It was none of his business. Besides, he hadn’t even met the man -- nor did he care to.

He cared far more about his books.

He was sitting in one of the gardens, reading his book. Though it wasn’t private, this garden wasn’t especially popular, so it was usually fairly empty. It meant that the sound of an approaching crowd was even more obvious than it might usually be.

Frowning faintly at the interruption, Shen Qingqiu looked up -- and directly into the dark eyes of Luo Binghe. Though Shen Qingqiu hadn’t met him, and didn’t know what he looked like, Luo Binghe was immediately recognizable by the royal purple edging on his black clothes. Even if not for that, though, Shen Qingqiu thought he would have recognized him anyway. Some of the descriptions he’d heard of Luo Binghe went through his mind -- breathtaking, the most handsome man in the kingdom, unfairly pretty, the very personification of attraction.

Yeah. Those things definitely fit this man. Especially when his expression, previously calm and serious, lit up with a smile as he met Shen Qingqiu’s eyes.

Shen Qingqiu wasn’t bad looking, but this man was gorgeous.

Luo Binghe wasn’t alone, of course. The crowd Shen Qingqiu had heard was Luo Binghe’s entourage. Guards, advisors, and admirers crowded around Luo Binghe, more than a dozen people in all.

Better him than me, Shen Qingqiu thought. The thought of being subjected to it himself horrified him.

Aware of propriety, Shen Qingqiu dragged his eyes off of Luo Binghe’s features (which were unfairly pretty indeed) and back to his book. After a moment, however, it became unavoidably obvious that Luo Binghe was walking towards Shen Qingqiu. There was no other reason for him to be aiming for Shen Qingqiu’s little corner of the considerable garden.

Oh no. That could be bad. Shen Qingqiu couldn’t think of anything he’d done wrong, or anything he’d done that could have offended Luo Binghe, but there were no good reasons for the crown prince of the kingdom to be approaching Shen Qingqiu, either.

Shen Qingqiu stood as Luo Binghe approached, and Luo Binghe stopped directly in front of him. He was still smiling, bright and somehow delighted. The entourage stopped a polite distance away, though they were definitely still eavesdropping.

“Shen Qingqiu?” Luo Binghe said.

Heart pounding, Shen Qingqiu managed a nod and a bow. “Yes, Your Highness,” he said.

And then Luo Binghe dropped to one knee in front of him. Shen Qingqiu just about had a heart attack. What was that! Prince, what were you doing!?

Luo Binghe offered a ring to him. It was a nice ring, with a diamond inlay. Shen Qingqiu stifled a scream.

“Shen Qingqiu. Will you marry me?” Luo Binghe asked, still smiling. He seemed happy. He seemed as though this was normal, like he was asking his boyfriend, a person he’d actually ever even met before.

The entourage, previously silent, burst into hushed chatter.

Shen Qingqiu only did not react by pure strength of will and many years of practice at court. Inwardly, he was freaking out. What was he supposed to do now! He couldn’t just say no to the crown prince of the kingdom! But how could he say yes!? They’d never even met!

Why was Luo Binghe proposing to him!?

The silence dragged on a little too long. Luo Binghe’s smile started to falter.

They needed to talk about this. Obviously. Shen Qingqiu needed to get Luo Binghe to explain. But not in front of The Entourage.

Shen Qingqiu reached out, grabbing Luo Binghe’s arm (which was audacious and presumptuous, but oh well!), and pulled him to his feet.

“Excuse us,” he said briefly to the entourage before dragging Luo Binghe away.

Once they were in a different corner of the garden, which seemed remote and private enough, he let Luo Binghe go. Shen Qingqiu took several quick steps away before turning back to Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe was frowning, now, ring still held in one hand. Was it Shen Qingqiu’s imagination, or did he look hurt? “What’s wrong?” he said.

What was wrong. What wasn’t wrong!

“Why are you proposing to me?” Shen Qingqiu said. “We’ve never even met!”

That was definitely hurt on Luo Binghe’s face. “We -- haven’t we? Don’t you remember me?”

Shen Qingqiu allowed himself a short, controlled flail. “I really don’t. When would we have met?” he asked.

“It’s been a few years,” Luo Binghe said slowly. He let out a humorless laugh. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course I wouldn’t have left as big of an impression on you as you did on me.”

“I’m sorry,” Shen Qingqiu said, starting to feel like he was the bad guy here. He was also intimately aware of their different stations.

Luo Binghe shook his head. “Don’t you remember me at all, A-Yuan?” he said.

A frisson went down Shen Qingqiu’s spine and he couldn’t help but jump, startled. It had been years since anybody called him by that name. Nobody had called him that since his parents died, and he was sent to live with his cousins… Sent here. From the city he’d grown up in.

He’d been born in Cang Qiong city, and wasn’t that the same city Luo Binghe claimed to be from?

But Luo Binghe was younger than him, he was eighteen to Shen Qingqiu’s twenty-two -- he wouldn’t have been very old when Shen Qingqiu moved. Ten, probably?

Oh.

It hit him like a horse-drawn carriage.

When Shen Qingqiu was a child, he’d become friends with an orphan, a few years younger than him. Little Binghe. Binghe had been so small, though, he’d always thought there were more than four years between them. Malnutrition, probably. Shen Qingqiu had snuck him food, when he could. Had taught him to read. Had shared what little swordsmanship he learned with him.

Binghe hadn’t had much to offer in return. He’d given Shen Qingqiu little gifts -- pretty rocks he found in the river, flowers he thought smelled nice. A couple of times, he’d made earnest promises about giving Shen Qingqiu real gifts. Gems instead of rocks, roses instead of wildflowers. He’d talked about marrying Shen Qingqiu a couple of times. Shen Qingqiu had always thought of it like a young child wanting to marry their best friend. Nothing serious.

Then Shen Qingqiu’s parents had died, and he’d been sent off to his nearest relatives. He’d never gotten the chance to say goodbye to Binghe.

He hadn’t recognized the name. He hadn’t thought of Binghe in a long time, and besides, the Binghe he’d met before was an orphan, certainly he never would have associated him with this man, the crown prince of the kingdom.

Shen Qingqiu staggered backwards a step, feeling like he’d been slapped. “Binghe?” he said.

It was foolish. Obviously, Luo Binghe’s name was Binghe. But Luo Binghe’s expression brightened.

“You remember?” he said, delighted.

“I… I remember,” Shen Qingqiu said. “I’m sorry. I never got to say goodbye.”

Luo Binghe shook his head. He was smiling again. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I found you again.”

He stepped closer to Shen Qingqiu and lifted a hand to cradle his cheek. Luo Binghe was standing very close, Shen Qingqiu noted. And Luo Binghe was taller than him now.

The shock broke. Shen Qingqiu remembered that this ridiculous man had found him for the first time in eight years and immediately proposed. He pushed Luo Binghe’s hand away from his face and scowled at him.

“What were you thinking, proposing out of the blue!” he scolded, whacking him gently on the forehead with the book he was holding in one hand. “It’s been eight years! Give a man some warning!”

“I told you I wanted to marry you, before,” Luo Binghe protested with a pout. “And now I can. I can give you real gems! I’ll give you all the presents you want. I’ll give you a proper wedding.”

Shen Qingqiu hesitated. He actually considered it for the first time, the prospect of marrying Luo Binghe. The crown prince of the kingdom, this unfairly handsome man, the cheerful little kid he’d willingly spent most of his time with from the ages of ten to fourteen.

It wasn’t… entirely unappealing. And his family had been trying to get him to marry, anyway.

However.

“How about we try dating first?” he said with a sigh.

Luo Binghe beamed like Shen Qingqiu had already agreed.

#BingQiuWeek2019 #day two #scum villain #the scum villain's self-saving system #fanfiction #i wrote a thing #long post

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the-depressed-shiny-buneary · 5 years

Text

Interview Time: Rivals

1. Hi! What's your name?

Chris: Sup, I’m Chris Daiki Oak.

Dusk: Hmph, I’m Dusk Yesfer Shinji.

Sirius: U-Um, I’m S-Sirius Pavel Sh-Shinji.

Sheryl: I’m Sheryl Alice Kirkia.

Rosetta: I’m Rosetta Akira Koyasu.

2. Do you know why you were named that?

Chris: Not really, I know my middle name means impressive or grand tree, and our family name is based on a tree, so I guess it fits.

Dusk: Dad said he named me Dusk because I’m the opposite of mom who’s named Dawn, so I guess that’s why I was named Dusk. My middle name means star-like, I guess that also fits since Dusk is when you see the stars.

Sirius: I-I’m named after a constellation, m-my middle name means small and humble. Wh-Which f-fits.

Sheryl: My name means darling or beloved and my middle name means noble and graceful, both names fit me of course.

Rosetta: My name means rose blossom while my middle name means clear and intelligent, which I am.

3. Your age?

Chris: I’m thirteen~

Dusk: I’m fourteen.

Sirius: I’m...I’m twelve...

Sheryl: I’m sixteen.

Rosetta: I’m thirteen as well.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

Chris: No, I wish I did though.

Dusk: I don’t need abilities or powers to make me happy.

Sirius: N-N-No...

Sheryl: I don’t need it.

Rosetta: Nah, I don’t. 5. What's your eye color?

Chris: Dark brown.

Dusk: Blue.

Sirius: B-Black...

Sheryl: Purple.

Rosetta: Light brown. 6. How about hair color?

Chris: Dark brown.

Dusk: Purple.

Sirius: B-Blue..

Sheryl: Dark brown.

Rosetta: Gold. 7. Have any family members?

Chris: My mom, my dad, my older brother, my grandparents and some others.

Dusk: My parents, my shy brother, my grandma, my aunt and uncle and that might be it.

Sirius: S-Same as D-Dusk...

Sheryl: Valerie and the furisode girls. They raised me.

Rosetta: My mom and my dad.

8. Fav color?

Chris: Orange and black.

Dusk: Purple.

Sirius: Indigo and t-turquoise.

Sheryl: Pink and purple, the colors of fairy tales.

Rosetta: Yellow and orange.

9. Fav food and drink?

Chris: Natto beans and rice, my mom makes them the best. I also like green tea.

Dusk: Sweet and sour beef soup, I like any kind of tea.

Sirius: Potato pierogi and I like to drink juice.

Sheryl: It’s a tie between profiteroles, which is a cream puff filled with ice cream and drizzled with warm chocolate sauce and Mousse au Chocolat. As for drinks, Kalos hot chocolate is a favorite of mine.

Rosetta: I really like udon and soba, for drinks I like milk tea.

10. Who's your crush?

Chris: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on anyone! Especially not Ashley, or as I all her ‘Sunny’.

Dusk: Don’t need a crush.

Sirius: *blushing heavily while thinking about Ashley*

Sheryl: I don’t have a crush on anyone.

Rosetta: Ha! I don’t need anyone to be happy!

11. If you have one, did you kiss yet?

Chris: I don’t have a crush so I don’t want to kiss anyone. *thinks about kissing Ashley and blushes lightly*

Dusk: *glares* No...

Sirius: *whole face is red and is covering his face due to picturing him and Ashley kissing*

Sheryl: Uh, no.

Rosetta: No..

12. Your hobbies?

Chris: I like to groom my Pokemon and I like to read.

Dusk: I train with my Pokemon.

Sirius: I-I like to bake poffins with m-my mom...a-and I like to draw and write stories...They aren’t much b-but I enjoy it, I-I also took an interest in f-food decorating and fashion d-design, m-mom said I c-could be a Pokemon St-Stylist if I w-wanted.

Sheryl: I like to create flawless designs with my Pokemon, I also sew new clothes for myself. I also take an interest in room design and floral arrangements, I just like designing anything.

Rosetta: I like to croquet, I also have a small interest in singing.

13. Who are your friends?

Chris: I like hanging out with Sun and Hau.

Dusk: I don’t have many friends.

Sirius: I-I like b-being wi-with Ashley a-and her f-friends...

Sheryl: My dear friends Daffodil, Clementine, Flora and Harmony. When I’m the new gym leader they’ll be my gym trainers.

Rosetta: I have one friend, her name is Ivy.

14. Fav weather?

Chris: I like the rain.

Dusk: Cloudy.

Sirius: S-Sunny...

Sheryl: Sunny, of course.

Rosetta: I do enjoy the sun.

15. What season do you prefer?

Chris: Winter, it’s the greatest.

Dusk: I also enjoy winter.

Sirius: I-I like fall...th-that’s where I g-get most of my inspiration.

Sheryl: Spring, the best time of year.

Rosetta: I really love summer.

16. Your biggest fears?

Chris: I....don’t know....disappointing my family probably...my older bro is the leader of a pack of Rockruff and I got nothing for me yet...

Dusk: Not beating Ketchum...

Sirius: Ashley rejecting me or my family berating me f-for liking her.

Sheryl: *frowns* I don’t want to talk about it...

Rosetta: *looks down* No comment...

17. Any persons you don't like?

Chris: Those guys who think they’re better than me!

Dusk: Ashley Ketchum...she’s just so damn happy all the time and she always wins when I challenge her to a battle!!

Sirius: Anyone who’s mean...

Sheryl: My so called rival Grey Ketchum, he thinks he has a chance to be a gym leader when he doesn’t when I hold the type advantage.

Rosetta: That blue haired girl Salvia, she thinks she can be a performer with her ugly Poison types. I also hate people who don’t get my name right!!

18. Do you like cute things/persons?

Chris: My Pokemon are very cute, so yes.

Dusk: Cute doesn’t do much for me.

Sirius: Y-Y-Y-Y-Yes...c-c-cause A-Ashley’s v-v-v-very c-c-c-c-cute.... *blushing heavily*

Sheryl: Of course I do.

Rosetta: Obviously.

19. A compliment you get to hear often?

Chris: That I’m a genius when it comes to grooming Pokemon~

Dusk: That I’m very hardworking.

Sirius: Th-That I’m s-so c-cute wh-when I-I’m sh-shy...

Sheryl: That I’m beautiful and strong.

Rosetta: That I’m great at coming up with performances.

20. Name your worst habits.

Chris: Worst habits? What worst habits? (A/N: He’s too arrogant)

Dusk: I’ve been told I can be ruthless in battle...

Sirius: I-I don’t have a lot of c-confidence...

Sheryl: I do not know what you mean. (A/N: She’s also arrogant and she looks down on males)

Rosetta: I don’t have bad habits! (A/N: She’s cruel to those around her.) 21. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Chris: My dad and my mom! Oh, and my older brother!

Dusk: My father, obviously.

Sirius: O-Oh, my mom..! A-And Ashley...~

Sheryl: Valerie, she’s what gave me the idea to become a gym leader.

Rosetta: I’m not sure actually. 22. Do you go to school?

Chris: I sure do!

Dusk: Yeah, what of it?

Sirius: I-I-I d-do...

Sheryl: Not really, I’ve been homeschooled.

Rosetta: I’m also homeschooled. 23. Ever wanna marry and have kids one day?

Chris: Pffft, no way.

Dusk: Useless.

Sirius: *blushes heavily at the thought of him and Ashley getting married*

Sheryl: I don’t know yet.

Rosetta: No way. 24. Do you have fangirls/fanboys?

Chris: Darn right I do~

Dusk: No, it’s useless.

Sirius: N-Not really...

Sheryl: I have fanboys, but I ignore them.

Rosetta: Nah, I don’t. 25. What do you usually wear?

Chris: I wear this cool shirt that’s designed to look like a Growlithe’s fur and I have cream colored shorts. I normally wear black sneakers with it.

Dusk: A violet hoodie, orange pants and purple boots. I also have magenta fingerless gloves and an orange scarf.

Sirius: A turquoise shirt, indigo shorts and aquamarine sneakers.

Sheryl: I wear a variety of furisodes, but my main one is a orchid furisode with a deep purple skirt and a floral pattern on the skirt, lavender ribbons that hold up my pigtails and fuschia sandals.

Rosetta: A yellow shirt with puffy sleeves, a orange skirt, lemon yellow tights, an burnt orange vest and headband and amber shoes. 26. What class are you? (low class, middle class, high class)

Chris: Middle class.

Dusk: Middle class.

Sirius: Middle class.

Sheryl: High class.

Rosetta: Lower middle class.

27. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Chris: A lake is safer.

Dusk: I guess the ocean.

Sirius: I like a lake.

Sheryl: Ocean, me and my dear Pokemon can play together more easily.

Rosetta: The ocean is the best.

28. What's your type?

Chris: I don’t care for Pokemon types. All of them are great.

Dusk: Ghost types because they beat Psychic types and they have interesting battle styles.

Sirius: N-Normal types, they can learn a lot of d-different attacks th-that’s good f-for contests.

Sheryl: Fairy types, the type that Valerie mains.

Rosetta: I don’t care, types mean nothing.

29. Camping or indoors?

Chris: Oh, I love camping!

Dusk: Camping is good, good for training.

Sirius: Camping sounds like fun..

Sheryl: I guess both have pros and cons.

Rosetta: I’ll go with both too.

#pokemon #next gen #Ikarishipping #furthershipping #neorocketshipping #Rivals

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aoi-herondale · 6 years

Text

Snowbaz Beauty and the Beast AU

Read on Ao3

Translation of the fic by @black-tea-blue-pens. thanks to @ninanineto for betaing and stopping me before I ended up crying of frustration <3

Year 119 Before the Rose:

The streets were covered with banners. On each window, on each balcony. Joy had filled the capital and was spreading throughout the country, to the rhythm of the gallop of the twenty messengers who had immediately set off for the main cities of the country. A single name on everyone’s lips, taking everyone out into the street: the women in their party dresses, the men in their Sunday best and the children with flowers in their hands.

Inside the palace that dominated the center of the city, in the ample bedroom of Queen Natasha, she layed in bed, holding the cause of all the commotion. While children and elders, rich and poor, nobles and plebeians swarmed under the balconies of the palace with noisy expectation, Fiona, Natasha's sister, well-known for her impatience and for having her own way of doing things, burst into the bedroom. As the king paced back and forth across the wide hallway like a caged lion, waiting and despairing, gray eyes opened for the first time. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.

Year 105 Before the Rose:

They called him Baz. He was a prince with his feet on the ground and with a good head on his shoulders, full of common sense. Perhaps the premature death of Natasha, his mother, when giving birth to her third child had something to do with his premature maturity. Or maybe not. At the age of fourteen he had already assumed that he was going to be king. At the age of fourteen, half the kingdom loved him and the other half adored him. At the age of fourteen he began to lose the childish features and acquire a beauty that had been announced since he was a child. At the age of fourteen his world began to collapse.

__________

It must have been around nine in the evening when the carriage arrived at its destination. The kings descended from it, followed quickly by their heir to find themselves before a palace that, while not as big as theirs, didn’t fall short either. They followed the butler into the palace, all the way to the throne room: it was the first time that Baz had traveled as a prince and therefore, the first time he visited another throne room. This one in particular was especially luxurious, with the walls full of paintings that depicted episodes of that country’s history; the floor covered in marble and the huge glass chandeliers hanging from a ceiling that seemed unreachable.

Baz did not see any of that.

At the back of the room, two armed and uniformed guards stood on either side of a dais. Above it, two dark wooden thrones with red upholstery held the king and queen, who rose to their feet when they saw his parents walk in and came to greet them, immediately abandoning all formalites.

Baz did not see that either.

His gaze was fixed on the green-eyed young man who, next to his parents, was advancing towards him. Jamie, was his name; his parents had told him he was two years older than him and he was the only son of those kings. His mere presence completely flustered him, and he had to try as hard as he could to concentrate and remember where he was. All it took was for the boy to return his gaze and smile to make Baz's pulse speed up.

Year 100 Before the Rose.

The day was going badly. Really badly. Actually, everything had been going badly for quite some time.

Baz had come to a conclusion about his sexuality a couple of years ago, the same amount of time he had been hiding it from his parents. He had been rejecting princess after princess with all kinds of excuses: his father had accepted them at first. But after the fifth visit that had ended in refusal, he became more insistent: Baz found it increasingly difficult to convince his father that none of the young women he was introduced to was adequate and knew that, sooner or later, he would have to get married. Not only that: he had to marry a woman. They had instilled in him his responsibility to his people and with his family all his life and yet...

Each day he had more and more doubts. And as they increased, the pressure about his marriage increased as well. Baz still maintained the facade of external perfection while everything inside him crumbled day after day, and the only one who seemed to notice was Penny, the young housekeeper of the castle: the one who had taken care of his younger siblings after the death of Natasha. His father, busy as he was with State affairs, had stopped paying attention to Baz as a son and only saw him as an heir. His stepmother had never had a close relationship with him and was not going to start having one now, and as for his aunt ... He adored his aunt. But she was not the best person to go to with his problems.

It was Baz's nineteenth birthday. With the excuse of celebrating his coming of age, the king had summoned all possible candidates for becoming his son's wife, including those who had been rejected, and all the important international dignitaries. Among the guests there were even a few gentlemen who decided that it didn’t hurt to try. Jamie was also there, but seeing him enter arm in arm with his newly acquired wife and smile at him like the first time, only put Baz in a worse mood. He would have given anything to escape to the kitchen with Penny, but after all that party revolved around him. He could not let so many people down.

_____________

Princess Agatha Wellbelove was the fifth of nine, born after three boys and a girl. From her earliest childhood she had known that her chances of reigning or even receiving more than a dowry were completely nil, so at the age of seven her parents sent her to a foreign boarding school: a co-ed school called Watford where, in addition to teaching her literature, history, mathematics and some science, they taught her traditional magic. She spent nine years in that school, coming first to hate it and then to love it and when she came back at sixteen, the first thing she did was to look for a job. In her country, a particularly liberal one, she was well known for her spells of all kinds. Meanwhile, her older brother inherited the kingdom; the rest, after fighting for a couple of ducats in no man's land for a while, got into the military or became monks and her sisters were all engaged. She had assumed that she would live as she did then and had no problem with that.

However, when she heard from her older sister that Basilton, Prince of Pitch, was looking for a wife, she came to the sensible conclusion that it was now or never.

The ballroom doors, already closed behind the one who was supposed to be the last guest, opened. The whole crowd turned their heads at once, including Baz, who used it as an excuse to cut the boring conversation he was having with the count of someone-or-other about boar hunting or something like that. In the door frame stood Agatha: blue eyes, soft features. Long blonde hair collected in a complicated hairstyle that left the neck exposed. Dress the color of her eyes, tight and floor length. In that moment more than one wanted to be in Baz's shoes because, without previous rehearsal or prompting, a corridor formed between them, and she, with a shyness not entirely feigned, began to advance towards him. It was much better than the girl had expected: from his gray eyes with shades of what seemed like green, to his slender body and long legs, perfectly highlighted by the suit.

Baz was dancing. With Agatha Wellbelove. And he did not know how or why he had ended up in that situation: the same one that he had been avoiding all afternoon. If he had looked around, he would have seen more than one face of disappointment, and not just among the ladies. However, between the dizziness, the bad mood and the bewilderment, he did not see much beyond the end of his nose. She talked. She kept talking. Her voice echoed in his head, and it was pleasant and well modulated but he deemed it unbearable. Everything was unbearable in that moment.

The piece ended. Arm in arm, they went out into the garden, and nobody seemed to want to stop them, which they both appreciated, but for different reasons. Agatha kept talking as they walked among the roses that Baz's father had planted as one his wedding gifts to Natasha. An occasional "uhm", "yes", "I see" or a simple nod from Baz kept her happy. Baz's father had taught him well.

“And ... Well, Basilton.”

"Baz," he interrupted.

“Baz. Do you intend to get married?” There it was. THE question. Baz shrugged.

"I should," he answered. “I suppose at some point I will.”

“What do you think of me as a candidate?”

How straightforward , Baz thought. More than any of the girls before her.

"To put it bluntly" she continued “I know that your parents are pressuring you. Honestly, I do not know why you have not given in and I'm not interested either. But..."

“Stop. Don’t go there” Baz had not seen that coming. As Agatha spoke, the image began to develop in his head. The word that was missing. What none of those girls had, not even her, and what even Baz himself lacked.

“But if you married me, all that would be solved: you would have a lot of freedom. Pure convenience, for both.”

“Convenience? And what about happiness? I can assure you that I have no interest in making anyone happy.” Baz found that he was resorting to everything he had not to explode, and he was not even sure why: he knew that it was completely unjustified, that she had not tried anything that the others had not tried and yet …

“I don‘t care about that. It's not like I think I'm going to find the love of my life.”

Love. There it was. The reason why it seemed unfair to marry a woman, both to her and to him. His expression changed and Agatha saw it clearly. She let out a very inconsiderate laugh.

“Are you serious? You? The crown prince of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the known world? Looking ... For love? You have to be kidding me.”

“WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU BRAT!?” -Baz lost his temper. He felt unwell. Very unwell. And he wasn’t sure anymore if it was because of the anger, dizziness, everything in general or nothing in particular.

"Nobody talks to me like that," Agatha replied without losing her composure. She approached one of the rosebushes: gently and very deliberately, she plucked one of the rose and began to caress the petals distractedly. “If you really want to marry for love, so be it.”

With the hand with which she was caressing the rose, she pointed to Baz. It was for an instant. Then she moved closer and put the rose in his pocket.

“Do not lose it. You have a hundred years to find your ... ‘love’.”

And just like that, she left.

Baz went back to the party. He danced with more people. He chatted. And yet, he was completely distracted and to some extent he felt guilty. When (at last) the last guest left at dawn, he went to bed, leaving the rose on the bedside table without thinking too much about it.

He never got to fall asleep. An uneasy feeling began to invade him, from the bottom up. He tried to get up, but each movement hurt. Lacking the ability to do anything else, he waited. He waited until that indescribable discomfort was slowly waning, and when he finally managed to get up he felt strange. Lighter. Drier. He crawled towards the mirror, tripping over along the path with his violin case, looking for any anomaly and ... He found them.

He was much thinner than he had been a couple of hours ago, and paler: he was still him, but there was nothing left of the beauty he had displayed the previous night in the ballroom. It seemed that everything between his skin and bones had been removed: his eyes had sunk, framed by deep dark circles and had lost their shine. He seemed a different person. Even his hair had turned a dirty black. Frightened, he ran to the servants’ dorms and burst into the housekeeper’s room.

“Penny!” Everything was silent and she was nowhere to be found. He ran to the kitchen: he couldn’t see anything.

“Baz!” It was Penny’s voice. He heard a tinkling, and he turned on the lights. He still didn’t see her. “Baz! Over here!"

Penny’s voice was coming out of a teapot placed on the countertop. The tinkling was her jumping.

“Penny what… What happened?” He did not hear the answer. A strong pain invaded his upper gum, and he raised his hands to his mouth waiting to see blood. There was nothing. But the pain passed, two long fangs dug into his lower lip.

“Baz, you are…”

“Penny, let’s go.”

Baz picked Penny up in his hands. She weighed more than he expected, and she was empty. Or maybe it was because of all the weight he had lost in such a short time. He ran to the most remote wing of the castle, the only place where they wouldn’t wake anyone up and that could give them answers: the library.

“Baz.” The boy was frantic. He mumbled something intelligible under his breath as he ran from one side to the other, hysterical. “BAZ!”

He stopped and looked down at the teapot.

"Sit down," she ordered. Baz did it. “Now you're going to take a deep breath, and you're going to tell me what you did last night.”

And he told her. He told her, to the extent that he remembered, of the anger he had carried all day; of Agatha’s appearance, of the screams, of the rose… The rose.

“Hey, and what do you have to do with all that?” He finished with, as way of conclusion.

“Collateral damage of the spell. Agatha is a witch, but she is not cruel. I doubt she wants you to live a hundred years alone. Show me the rose”

Baz picked Penny up again and went back to his room: the rose was placed carelessly on the bedside table, but now it gave off a strange glow.

“Baz, are you sleepy?”

He shook his head.

“Me neither.”

Year 87 Before the Rose

The girl, barely five years old, peeked shyly into the reception room, out of which an ambassador had just come out. Upon seeing her enter, her parents left aside the heated argument between them, which she interpreted as a permission to approach her mother.

“Mom, do vampires exist?”

The kings looked at each other, bewildered.

“Why do you ask?” The mother inquired.

“A boy in my class says that there is one in the abandoned castle.”

“Mordelia, vampires do not exist. It’s all tales. And now go to bed.”

As soon as the princess was away, the king faced his wife.

“Why did you lie to her?”

“I do not want her to know.”

“He's my son. And her brother.”

“It's a vampire. And there’s nothing more to be said about it.”

After that fateful party seven years ago, Baz spent three days practically locked in the library. In that time, he discovered that his heart was not beating; that he did not need to sleep and that he did not feel hunger, but he did feel... Thirst. On the third day he had found the answer in the books: his parents, convinced that he had some kind of illness, refused to believe him.

On the fourth day he almost killed a maid, and only then did they resign themselves to admit the obvious: Baz was a vampire.

It was he himself who, after ending the plague of rats that inhabited the dungeons, left with Penny (who had accepted her new fate very casually) to the abandoned castle in the middle of a forest about which there were too many legends for anyone to come close to it. He forbade his entire family to visit him, even his father. Publically, Baz had gone to another country to negotiate trade relations and did not know when he would return. When Mordelia was born two years later, Baz didn’t even know about it. In the same way that his parents did not learn that Agatha, aware that the curse had been excessive but having no intention of canceling it, had put at the disposal of his son an army of talking furniture and cutlery, commanded by Penny. Neither did they know that their son in those seven years had read more books than he ever had in his life, nor that, if he was a great violinist before, he was now the best.

Speaking of not knowing, they did not even know that Baz had tried to commit suicide. Repeatedly. Enough to lose count. After each new attempt, Penny would find him lying on his bed, repeating over and over again "I do not want to kill anyone." And the worst thing for her was that he had not done it yet: he had more than enough with the animals that dwelled the area. Penny knew it, but Baz did not. Baz could see nothing but the stupid way he had ruined his life. Love? Who would love a vampire?

Year 19 Before the Rose

In an unknown city, at the edge of a huge forest, in possession only of a half-ruined house, a change of clothes and a lot of ideas and to top it off, with a baby in his arms. Davy took a deep breath. He could no longer travel, it was clear. He could not leave the kid alone, let alone take him with him. He would have to ... settle down. Ugh. That word made his stomach turn.

The boy smiled, completely oblivious to the nuisance that he entailed for his father.

“You could have stayed with your mother…” Then he realized. He did not know the name of the child; in her haste, Lucy had failed to tell him. “Simon”, he said after thinking about it for a while. Yes: Simon was a name as good as any other. He left him on the floor, fiddling with the straps of the backpack and opened the windows. First things first: if they were going to settle down, the house would have to be cleaned up.

Month 2 Before the Rose

Davy was obsessed with overthrowing the adjoining government. Simon, accustomed as he was to his father's follies, wasn’t too worried. The rest of the town thought differently, but that did not matter as much to the father as it did to the son. Simon had heard the story thousands of times: that a century ago the neighboring kingdom, where he was born, ran smoothly, that the kings were righteous. That their heir was going to be a great king. That he disappeared. That instead of reigning the first child, the second ascended to the throne and everything had gone from bad to worse. With his death just a few weeks ago and the reigning chaos regarding the next king’s coronation, it was his chance. Now or never.

It was raining. Simon was in the library, as he always was when it rained.

"Hello, Simon." Upon hearing his name, he looked up from the book. Looking directly at him was Philipa. He smiled.

“Good Morning.”

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, nothing, a fairy tale” and he went back to reading.

“Is it interesting?”

He nodded without taking his eyes off the book.

“Hey, when are you going to ask me to marry you?”

“I'm reading. You could ask me, for a change.”

“I can’t. I am a girl.”

“What a load of nonsense.”

“If I asked you, would you say yes?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sure.” And she laughed. She still didn’t take it seriously.

She sat next to him. Simon finished the book, returned it to the shelf and picked up another. Meanwhile, Philipa got lost in her thoughts.

That the heiress of the fief in which he lived was infatuated with Simon had many advantages: She had taken his father out of prison once and everyone treated him with a deference that in some way made him feel uncomfortable, although it was always better than being "the son of the madman". But it could also be a bore: Simon did not understand what Philipa, a rich and noble girl obsessed with perfecting her swordsmanship, saw in Simon, who did not leave the city's library except to eat or sleep.

“Simon, your father is leaving today, right?” Simon finally looked up from the book.

“I had forgotten.”

By the time Simon got home, Davy was about to leave. The farewell was not particularly emotional for either of them; they were used to it.

"Should I ask Philippa to check up on you every once in a while until I come back?"

“No way, she is capable of coming to live here. Be careful, please.”

“I will.”

But by the time he disappeared from Simon's sight, Davy was already thinking about something else. He got lost in thought very easily, so he did not realize that he was lost until nightfall. It was then that he heard the howls. "I should not have gotten into the woods" was all he had time to think before being surrounded by a dozen pairs of eyes that shone in the rain. He forced the horse to turn around and spurred him.

The wolves followed.

Davy was calm. It took a lot to freak him out, and he knew that it was impossible for the wolves to catch up to his horse. That leaving them behind was only a matter of time. But of course, the animal did not think so: came to a point, it reared. Davy fell and was left alone. He was not so calm anymore.

He ran in the direction of what looked like a tower, which stood over the trees. He arrived at a gate. It was so rusty it yielded after a few blows and pushes and Davy found himself in the garden of a huge palace, very dark and almost abandoned, safe from the wolves.

“Hello?”

Davy expected a lot of things: for the castle to be abandoned, for some madman to be living inside (an actual madman), for some kind of monster to be locked up inside…

But if there’s something he wasn’t expecting it was to be welcomed by a teapot.

“Goodnight sir. How may I help you?”

He must be a little out of it, he thought. He was not particularly shocked to see a talking teapot.

“I'm lost.”

The talking teapot guided him to a huge lit fireplace. It was a big castle and very, very dark. Simon would love it.

While he was admiring the castle, someone entered the room.

“Penny, what…?”

“Baz, it was raining and…”

“Penny, why is there a human in the castle?”

Davy got up and turned around, not knowing what to expect: he did not get to see what or who it was.

In the short time it took for him to be locked up in the dungeon, he only had time to see that the one who should be the owner of the castle, had hands. White, very pale hands, but at least he wasn’t a piece of furniture.

Day 60 Before the Rose.

Simon had lived for nineteen years on stories. Real stories, that his father told him about his travels, before he met that girl and before the appearance of Simon. Sometimes, those stories made him feel guilty: after all, he was the reason his father was enclosed in that city. That he didn’t leave the house for more than a month at a time. And yet, Davy had told him time and time again that this was fine, that he was worth it.

Simon knew that one day he would carry on those stories: one day he would be the one to pick up his backpack and start walking in a randomly chosen direction. He had known it for as long as he could remember, and he simply waited patiently for that day to come. In the meantime, he read. It was his way to escape ahead of time. However, lately something had changed. Something had settled in Simon's stomach and kept pulling him forward. Impatience. He wanted to leave that city. Not at that moment, of course. Winter was about to start and he had enough with his father's trip. So there he was, rereading for the hundredth time the only book they had at home and his favorite (one that the owner of the library had given him when he took it out for the ninth time) and waiting. For what? Who knew.

The knocking on the door scared him. Strong, uncontrolled. They did not even seem human.

They were not.

When Davy showed up saying that he had bought a horse because it was intelligent, Simon did not pay much attention to him and yet it must be because there it was, was banging on the door as if it wanted to throw it down. Simon did not have time to think: he grabbed his sword, climbed onto the animal and let himself be carried, praying to whoever was up there for his father to fine. Or at least alive. He was mentally shuffling all the possibilities ("they have robbed him, they have killed him, they have imprisoned him, they have kidnapped him") when he arrived at the enormous iron gates that had saved his father's life the night before. He left his horse tied to the gate, and took a deep breath and drew his sword before entering the castle. The interior seemed completely empty: “it must be abandoned”, he thought. Trying to make as little noise as possible and cursing himself for not having accepted when Philipa offered to teach him to move like something more dignified than a duck, he began to go through room after room.

He had never had much patience, and by the time he found the stairs that lead down, he began to get impatient. He descended step after step. He had not walked much before he heard a voice:

“Anyone there!?”

Simon started to run.

“Dad! What are you doing here?”

“Simon! How...? It doesn’t matter. Go away. You have to leave. He's going to lock you up, too.”

Davy had been locked up all night, and he still had not figured out how he was going to get out of there. He did not care much either: it would not be the first time he had spent some time in captivity, but Simon... Simon was another story.

_______________

When Penny saw the boy enter, the first thing that came to her mind was to approach him. Then she thought that one person in the dungeons was more than enough, and she went to find Baz. The vampire had spent all night in his room; he hadn’t even allowed Penny herself to get close.

“Baz, we have another visitor.”

“Throw him out.”

“I can’t. He came for the man from last night.”

“Well, let them both go.”

Upon hearing that, the teapot became angry.

“That’s it. You go.”

“Are you crazy! I'll kill someone.”

“Baz, you've gone ninety-nine years without killing anyone. Who says you're going to start now?”

“There were no humans here before. Now there are.”

“Baz, you have ten seconds to go down there or I'll stop speaking to you.”

The prince huffed and crawled out of bed. He picked up the teapot and, after calling the chandelier, started walking towards the dungeons.

Simon did not hear the steps, but he did notice the presence behind him. He stood up and turned around.

The first thing he saw was white. Baz's skin had worsened over time, and if he had started out pale, it was pure paper by now. Then, the suit: tailored in an old-fashioned way, as if it had been made to last century’s fashion. His hair, black like few things he had seen before. His eyes. When they talked about the beauty of gray eyes in books, they must have been talking about that. Simon thought they were missing something, but he could not put his finger on what it was.

Then he pushed him, and Simon got blown away. It was then that he found the adjective: fossilized. The boy before him was completely fossilized, buried alive. And yet, he still had something. His cheekbones were spectacular. There were the remains of someone who must have been beautiful once.

“What are you doing here?”

Simon got back on his feet.

“I've only come to free my father. Please, let us go.”

He approached him. And to the chandelier. Baz could see him.

He had blue eyes. A shade of blue that would be nothing out of the ordinary, but Baz had not seen the sky for too long. The bronze curls. And yet, what caught his eye the most was the color of his skin. A soft tan, constantly interrupted by innumerable freckles, that seemed to scream that he was alive.

But he was not going to back down.

“I'm not going to let intruders go unpunished. One of you must stay.”

He immediately regretted it. Why would he want them to stay?

“I'll stay.”

Of course , Davy thought.

“Simon, I'm older. Let me stay. There’s a lot of…”

“Dad, you still have a country to save.”

He did not have time to say more. Baz dragged Davy out of the palace and closed the door again. Simon heard the gallop of the fleeing horse.

“Baz, please, give that boy a room.”

Penny's ability to stay calm was sometimes exasperating for the vampire.

After they showed him the room, Simon locked himself in it. He wanted to burst into tears.

Penny followed Baz into his.

“Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, I demand an explanation. Now.”

“What do I know, Penny! I was not thinking clearly!”

“That's clear.”

Penny did know why. She knew there were only two months left. She knew this was his only hope. And he knew that, deep down, Baz had not given up. He knew that this was his last chance. So she hopped off, on her way to Simon's room.

Day 55 Before the Rose.

“Go down there right now and invite him to dinner.”

“Penny, I will not take that risk.”

“Oh, you will. The boy has been living off bread and water for five days straight and hasn’t left the room.”

“What if I kill him?”

“Baz, you want to talk to him, right?”

The vampire nodded.

“Then go right now. If you kill him, well, bad luck. We will be back to square one.”

That was a terrible thing to say, but Penny was beginning to despair. Baz got up, took a deep breath (which, although unnecessary, he had gotten used to doing) and marched towards his guest's room. He knocked on the door.

“Yes?”

Inside, Simon was listening to some story that the closet was telling him about when she was some important noble lady’s lady-in-waiting.

“Uhh ... Snow?”

“Yes.”

“Come down for dinner in half an hour.”

He left with a completely unnecessary slam of the door.

Simon huffed and threw himself on the bed. It did not take long until he heard the characteristic clink of Penny approaching, followed by a bathtub.

“Come on, get up. We have half an hour to get you ready.”

“Get me ready for what?”

“I mean, you’re not thinking of dining dressed like that, right?”

Indeed, Simon was still wearing the clothes he had arrived in: old and a somewhat torn, now it was also dirty.

“I’m not going to go to dinner, dressed like this or any other way.”

If Penny wasn’t a teapot, she would have rolled her eyes.

“Come on, get in the bath and we’ll talk.” And she hid behind the closet. Not wanting to argue (or do anything else), Simon obeyed. Penny kept talking from outside his field of vision.

“Look, Simon, I don’t know you that well. But seeing as it took you less than twenty-four hours to come for your father, and from the little we’ve talked, you don’t look like someone who wants to stay in this little room for the rest of his life. So at least give him a chance. Think about how you would be if you had been confined in such a place for so long, without seeing the light of day or being able to approach the world because you believe that you are a danger to the rest of humanity.”

Dinner was somewhat uncomfortable. Baz could not take his eyes off Simon, from which Penny deduced she had done a good job. Simon, on the other hand, could not take his eyes off the food: he was emptying plate after plate. The cook, a walking stove with long metallic arms, after almost a hundred years without being able to cook for anyone, had decided to show off. After a long while of uncomfortable silence, Baz tried what he had been wanting to do since he had summoned Simon to dinner: to start a conversation.

“What do you think of the castle?”

"It’s huge," Simon answered, through the mouthful of food. “I like it.”

“From now on, this is your home. You can go wherever you want except to the west wing.”

This time, Simon swallowed before answering:

“What’s in the west wing?”

“IT’S FORBIDDEN!”

Simon didn’t say anything else. After dinner, he went back to his room. He was not in such a bad mood anymore.

Day 52 Before the Rose.

It took Penny two days to convince Baz have dinner with Simon again. His excuse? That damned thirst for blood again. So, after going hunting, Baz changed his suit, picked up his hair and went to Simon's room.

“Good night.”

Simon moved his head slightly as a way of greeting and kept polishing his sword, out of boredom rather than necessity.

“Simon, uhhh… Would you have dinner with me again?”

This time, Simon looked up and nodded. Like every time he met those eyes, Baz’s stomach turned.

Dinner went a lot smoother the second time. “How are things going out there?”

“Well, there's nothing interesting going on. i think the Northern countries are going to war against each other again, but other than that everything is quite peaceful. There are no problems around here since the civil war in Pitch, about sixty years ago. Because of the heir’s disappearance.”

Hearing those words, Baz looked at Penny. She shrugged, unaware of the news.

Day 45 Before the Rose

“Snow?”

“Yeah?”

Baz took a deep breath.

“Do you get bored in there?”

“A bit. Why?”

“Is there anything you would like to do?”

Simon opened the door and peeked out. He had been instructed not to open it before the owner of the castle unless explicitly ordered to, but this was an emergency.

“Do you have books?”

_________________

He hated being blindfolded. Philipa did it too often, usually when she wanted to surprise him or take him somewhere. Simon was not particularly agile, when he could see he walked through life as if he were a drunk rhinoceros (in Davy's words), and without seeing he was completely at the mercy of whoever was ahead. It was not a very pleasant sensation.

And yet, there he was: letting a vampire blindfold him, a vampire who had said himself that he’d be able to kill him at any moment. He wasn’t fighting back. Why?

He heard the creak of what must have been a wooden door, and felt Baz's hand pulling him inside. Curtains sliding. The light went through the blindfold that covered him and seconds later, Baz took it off.

Books. Lots of books. Millions of books. More books that Simon could read in his whole life. It was an enormous tower full of storeys and storeys of printed paper that was calling out for him. For the first time since his arrival to the castle, Simon smiled.

Baz saw that smile. Something he could not name happened in his chest. He wasn’t able to realize that it wasn’t the first time he experienced that: it had been too long.

Day 30 Before the Rose

At least Simon was no longer bored, rather the opposite. Suddenly he lacked time to read book after book. The one he had in his house, the one he knew by heart and never got tired of was there but he couldn’t even open it: there were too many new things. Too many books he had never heard of, too many stories waiting for him.

Now that he had books again, he also recovered his energy, and began to train in the garden with the sword. His father had trained him since he was very young, and although he didn’t exactly have a natural gift for swordsmanship he made up for it with an almost superhuman tenacity. That, and the passion he put into everything he did.

There was a month left until the curse reached its deadline. Penny began to despair as she skipped through the castle in search of Baz, who for the first time in a long time was neither in his room playing the violin nor in the library reading. One hundred years without changing habits and now suddenly…

She found him in one of the ballrooms, with the window open, taking advantage of the huge clouds that covered the sky, observing completely captivated. Making as little noise as possible, Penny peeked in, curious to see what had her master so focused that he did not even notice her presence, and what she saw was Simon in the garden stabbing an invisible enemy in a thousand different ways with his sword.

“It seems like you like our guest.”

Baz jumped in surprise.

“Not at all.”

“You don’t? And what were you doing?”

“Observe.”

“Sure… And tell me, when did you realize?”

“Realize what?”

Seriously. Sometimes Penny would give anything not to be a teapot. Even if it was just so she could roll her eyes.

“That you’re in love.”

“I’m not in love. I can’t even observe in peace. Just shut up and go sit in a cupboard or whatever it is you teapots do when you have free time.”

And he left with agitated steps.

But Penny already had a plan in mind.

Day 21 Before the Rose.

Simon was returning from the library with a book in his hands. That one was especially interesting: a man who, after being betrayed, returned home fourteen years later to take revenge. He was absorbed in reading, and perhaps that was why he almost didn’t hear the sound.

But he did.

He closed the book and began to follow the sound, until he stood before a door: Baz's room. It was a violin. No. It was the best-played violin piece Simon had ever heard in his life: the flow of the notes, the emotion, everything. He didn’t even know what piece it was, but if they had asked him when he stopped hating the monster that had him locked up, he would have picked this one without hesitation.

Day 13 Before the Rose.

Things needed to be sped up.

It was true that things were getting better: Baz kept watching Simon when he trained, and Simon had noticed; Baz had started playing the violin in front of Simon, and sometimes even played in the library, while he read. They talked. They could spend hours talking about anything. Baz was losing his fear of attacking Simon and he was beginning to appreciate in some way the owner of the house, who as far as he knew, could very well be a vampire. But there was only half a month left and Penny wanted her body back.

“Hey Baz, what about we throw a party?”

“A ... What for?”

“Well, what do I know, look: we can open the big hall, the ballroom; there we set up the table, we put candles, we call the piano…”

“You have weirder ideas than Fiona.”

Baz said that sentence with his usual poker face, but Penny, who hadn’t heard him talk about his family for almost fifty years, smiled inside.

“Baz, think about it. Maybe that way…”

“Maybe what, Penny? Maybe he’ll be interested in me? In a vampire?”

Simon thought it was a great idea, and offered to help prepare everything but Penny sent him to get his measures taken so the wardrobe could get him a new suit and there she went, to tell Baz the news that he was not going to get out of this one.

The vampire accepted it with resignation, and that's how Penny organized all the staff to get the main ballroom cleaned in record time. Was it huge for only two people? Totally. But she was excited, and that was enough.

The clock struck nine o'clock, and Simon appeared at the door. Taking a good look at him, Penny thought, he wasn’t all that. The boy was alright, but there were much better-looking ones in court. There was that boy… Micah, was his name… Well, Baz liked Simon and she was not going to complain.

Simon was spinning around, trying to look at all the paintings on the ceiling at the same time; almost all of the forest, which was seen from the windows, and the ornaments on the table when Baz entered.

He forgot about everything else.

By now he had figured out that Baz was a vampire. He hadn’t asked anyone, but he was increasingly convinced. Seeing him then made him doubt: in the books, vampires were dark, cruel beings, that had no problem killing whoever it was to feed themselves. The boy before him, in the technical aspects, did fit the descriptions: he had never seen him eat or sleep; he was very pale, and did not go out into the sun. But all that alleged evil was simply not there. Baz looked at him with surprise, his mouth ajar; the eyes, of that color taken from the description of the heroes in his books, reflecting something indescribable for Simon and that Penny, from a corner, did know how to identify.

When Baz managed to look away from Simon's eyes ("he should style his hair like this more often", he thought) the first thing he did was close his mouth and try to regain his composure. Only then he brought Simon to the table. Once again, only he ate, while Baz watched him. They didn’t stop talking. They talked about books, about music, about swords, and Simon didn’t remember ever talking so much with a person, accustomed to his pensive father and the blunt answers he used to give Philipa. He found himself thinking about how someone could be so interesting despite having been locked in a castle for much longer, Simon suspected, than he had been outside.

The moment Simon finished eating, he began to hear a piano. It played by itself, from a corner of the table. It was a much more cheerful piece than the ones owner of the castle used to play, and he stood up.

“Baz, do you dance?”

Baz knew how to dance. Or at least, at some point in his life he had known how to. But a dance had been the cause of his current situation, and he had not done so for nearly a hundred years.

“No.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Simon took him by the hand, dragged him to the middle of the room and they positioned themselves. Baz's hand on Simon's shoulder, and Simon resting his hand on Baz's hip. For once, he was grateful for what Philipa had taught him.

“Chin up. Don’t look at the ground.”

They began to move. Simon led Baz, counting in a low voice.

“One two three. One two three. Don’t drag your feet.”

His counting turned into a mumble, which faded gradually. They danced the whole piece, then another one and another one. Baz remembered almost immediately and picked up the pace easily. The songs became slower. Simon found himself almost hugging the vampire, moving in circles and Baz wondered, casually, what would happen if he kissed him.

The brush of his fangs against his lower lip reminded him that he could not do that.

Hour 51 Before the Rose.

The sun was setting. Through the window you could see the cloudy sky, growing darker. Baz had gone hunting, and Penny was in the kitchen. It was time to go to the west wing. Before leaving the room, in a gesture that was out of nervousness rather than anything else, Simon looked both ways. The corridor was empty. He walked slowly, trying not to make noise and look natural at the same time: he still had not gotten used to the fact that the furniture was everywhere watching.

The door was quite ordinary: wooden, somewhat heavy. It was closed but had no locks. It didn’t seem to hide any great treasure.

Simon went in. The room was very dark, and once he got used to the gloom he saw that everything was completely destroyed: the curtains, the furniture, the paintings... There were several of them, depicting what must have been Baz's family. A woman, a man and several children of all ages. One of the wooden frames held a torn canvas. Overcome by curiosity, he did his best to reassemble it and found a very well-made portrait: a boy with dark skin, gray eyes and high cheekbones. Simon soon recognized the model, despite how much he’d changed.

He would have spent all night looking at the portrait, but something else drew his attention. On a table, in a corner, there was a rose. It was open, and some petals had fallen but what stood out to Simon was the strange glow it gave off.

“Simon! What are you doing here?” It was Penny.

“What? I…”

“Simon, you have to get out of here. Baz is going to…”

“But…”

“Go, hurry up.”

“Penny, why…?”

“Simon, please go, fast.”

“I'm not going to leave until you explain what that rose is.”

“Too late.”

Baz's outline appeared, silhouetted against the light of the corridor.

“Snow, what are you doing here?”

“Baz, I'm sorry. I…”

“Go away.”

“Baz, no…”

“LEAVE!!” And Simon left. He ran to his room, and as soon as he grabbed his sword he left the castle. In no time was crossing the forest.

“Baz, how could you…?”

“Penny, shut up.”

“He was our last hope.”

“What hope? There is no hope, Penny. There never has been. Agatha…”

“TYRANNUS BASILTON GRIMM-PITCH! I'm so tired of you being melodramatic! Simon has gone to the forest. Alone. And do not expect me to give you a list of all the creatures that are loose out there.”

Baz could perfectly imagine Penny's face at that moment if she were human: the same one she had when his siblings got into the reception room during an important meeting.

But then Simon's blue eyes came to his head and his face when he saw the library for the first time and the night they danced together and he thought that, even if he remained a vampire, he did not want to let him go. He ran out towards the forest.

Hour 4 Before the Rose

“Baz, will you let me in?”

He did not get an answer.

Simon stepped into the room, and found the vampire sitting in a backless chair, with the rose between his fingers and his eyes lost somewhere on the floor. He had changed his clothes, so the bites and scratches, the result of having saved his life, were out of sight except for those on his face. The hardest thing for Simon was that he had come out unharmed.

When Baz caught up to him, the pack of wolves was surrounding Simon, who defended himself with the sword as best as he could, but he was not going to endure much longer. It had been the vampire who had made them flee, fighting with several of them.

“Baz, I… I'm sorry.”

“It’s okay. It's already daytime, anyway. Leave if you want.” His tone was completely monotone, without the slightest trace of emotion.

Simon stood still at the door. He wanted to do something. He needed to do something.

“What are you waiting for? I'm telling you that you can go. You're free.”

But he did not know what.

“Baz, I… I don’t know if I want to leave.”

Silence.

“I'll be in the library.”

Baz didn’t say anything. He didn’t even look up when Simon walked out the door, and continued to stare off into space, spaced out.

Hour 2 Before the Rose.

The first to realize that someone was approaching were the pruning shears, who saw the crowd in the distance approaching the castle. They ran to warn Penny, who leaned out the window to see an armed crowd, led by a girl with a drawn sword.

They were under attack.

Penny entrusted the chandelier with organizing the defense before running up to the west wing. Baz was still there, in the same position Simon had left him.

“Baz, we’re being attacked.”

She did not get any reaction.

“Baz, please.”

Nothing.

“Basilton, I don’t have time for nonsense. They’re going to invade the castle and there are two hours left until the rose withers.”

Desperate, Penny left in search of Simon. Crossing the hall, he heard the voice of the man who had arrived at the castle two months ago.

“A vampire, yes. He has my son locked up.”

“Perfect. I’ll take care of him.”

Fear did most of the work: the last thing those people were expecting was to find an army of furniture and cutlery attacking them and most of them, who had arrived there in the heat of the moment but had not brandished a weapon in their life, fled instantly. The rest did not take long to follow them. In a matter of minutes there were only Davy and Philipa.

As the two went to the dungeons, Penny found Simon and quickly summed up the situation. The boy, far from having the reaction that Penny expected, panicked.

“She’s going to kill him, Penny. She will…”

“She can’t. He's a vampire, Simon. He can not die.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know her. She is capable of… torturing him, or something like that.”

When Simon reached the west wing, Baz was still alone.

“Baz, please, you have to leave. I’ll talk to them.”

At least he reacted. He looked at Simon, but did not say anything.

Philipa entered.

“Simon, what are you doing here?”

“Where’s my father?”

Davy came in after Philippa, but Simon did not have time to rejoice.

“Simon, move! He’s the vampire!”

Those words brought him back to reality.

“Baz, please leave.”

With a nod and without letting go of the rose, the vampire jumped out the window to the next balcony.

“Simon! What are you doing?”

“Dad, go home. Please. Both of you.”

But Philipa did not listen to him. She threw herself toward the window, sword in hand, but found Simon himself stopping her.

“Simon, I'm going to protect you. At all costs.”

“Protect me from what?”

“From the beast, obviously.”

“There's nothing to protect, Philipa.”

“Simon, you don’t realize. It has brainwashed you.”

Each time it was more complicated to stop her attacks, designed to disarm him.

"You are the one who is brainwashed, Philipa. He has not done anything to you.”

“He's a monster Simon, and he has kidnapped you.”

With those words, in a single movement the girl pushed Simon, took the sword and jumped out the window chasing Baz, who was still fleeing, but the distance was getting shorter.

Baz would never know if the cause was a stone, a broken tile, or just rain, but jumping from one balcony to another Philipa caught up with him. She raised her sword.

Something fell on her. Simon.

“Philipa, that's enough.”

She tossed and turned, trying to break free and they smashed into the railing which gave way. He grabbed onto one of the ledges.

She didn’t.

And she fell.

Baz lifted Simon up.

“SIMON!”

Davy gesticulated from the balcony of the west wing.

“Dad, I'm fine! Look for Penny, I’ll be right there!”

On the ground, the rose lost one more petal. It was still pouring rain.

“Snow, why did you do that?”

“Well… I don’t know. Because I wanted to?

“But why?”

“I suppose ... I’ve fallen in love.”

Minute 40 Before the Rose.

For once in his life, Baz ignored his fangs. And his fear. And he let himself be when Simon raised his head, closed his eyes and kissed him.

Penny was in the main hall, explaining the situation to Davy, when she started to grow. In a few seconds she was five foot two again, she had hair, face, hands and feet; even her glasses had returned. Around her, the cups and even the chair Davy was sitting on began to change as well, and in a matter of minutes the castle was full of people. No one except Penny was very sure of what had happened, but it didn’t matter, because they were human again.

Baz still wasn’t over Simon's statement, nor the kiss, nor the abs that showed under the soaking shirt when he himself began to change. His skin was darker, and it was warm. His hair was once again as black as before and his eyes regained the brightness and the green hues. He regained his previous weight, and muscles.

But the best was the pulse. His heart was beating again, he was alive again.

"I knew it," Simon said offhandedly.

The pain in his mouth returned, identical to that of that night, a hundred years ago. But this time when it finished, the fangs were not there.

They were not there. One hundred years living with them and finally. At last they had disappeared.

He hugged Simon, this time without qualms. Knowing that nothing was going to happen. That he was a human again. And maybe it was the rain, but Baz was convinced he was crying. That the two of them were crying. He was human again. One hundred years later he was human again.

It was already dawn when they came back into the castle. Baz had assumed it would be full of people, but not even Penny was there. He would have to thank her later.

They arrived at Baz's room and Simon could not look away from him. The portrait didn’t do him justice. Actually, it was far from it.

In a gesture that seemed too fluid to Baz, Simon took off his shirt and threw it to the ground. A puddle formed around.

“You are… Incredible.”

Simon blushed.

“You too.”

“Simon, why…? Why?”

"You called me by my name," he pointed out. “First of all, you have never done any harm to anyone. You were just trying to protect others. And I understand that you’ve held me in here. You were alone and… But I don’t think it was because of that. It happened, period.” Simon surprised himself with the fluency with which he spoke. “Do you love me?”

“Since you saw the library for the first time.” Baz didn’t even have to stop to think about it.

Baz was smiling, and Simon kissed him again. His lips, his cheekbones, his jaw. He unbuttoned his shirt, and continued with his shoulders, which were now wide and much firmer. And his neck. his neck was warm.

Baz woke up somewhat disoriented. That was his bed, that much was clear. And his room. But there was someone else in it. Simon. Even asleep he looked like a Greek god, his curls scattered on the pillow and his skin dotted with moles. Baz had touched each and every one the night before. (Or the day before, Baz was not sure, but it didn’t matter much to him either way).

He smiled. Things were okay. At last everything was okay.

EPILOGUE

Year 2 After the Rose.

The hardest thing of all, by far, had been putting things in order. When Baz finally left the castle, only Mordelia, his little sister who was not so small anymore, was still alive. The first thing she said when he saw him was "I knew vampires existed", quite childish for a woman almost a hundred years old. She had proclaimed him her long-lost son and he had risen to the throne, displacing his grandnephew who had not taken it especially badly. It’s not like he wanted to be king in a kingdom on the verge of bankruptcy.

The economy was a disaster. Foreign policy was a disaster. It was going to be difficult for Baz and Simon to get the country out of that situation and they had gotten to work right away: little by little, they were getting the country off the ground.

The added complication was that Baz was completely out of context: he had no idea what had happened to the kingdom in recent years and Simon was in charge of catching him up. Hearing that all the people he had lived with had already died, often left him completely devastated: Jamie had died barely three years after his disappearance, during a war, and in his family only remained his siblings’ grandchildren. It was often Simon who cut off the meetings prematurely to give him a break.

But that day they dropped everything. It was an early summer morning. In the castle’s garden, among the roses, in a tent set up to accommodate as many people as possible, Davy officiated the ceremony and at his side Simon smiled from ear to ear. Baz appeared on the arm of Penny, moving towards the altar. The ceremony was quick, partly due to the heat: it had been Baz who insisted on doing it on that date, saying that it had been too cold for the rest of his life and Simon could not agree more. The atmosphere was relaxed and cheerful, and if someone had a problem with two kings in the kingdom, they kept quiet forever. Among all the people who came to congratulate them, one of them, a blonde woman with clear skin and eyes, approached Baz, congratulated him and handed him a red rose. He stared at her without knowing very well how to react and she had already turned around to leave when he called her by her name.

“Agatha!”

The woman turned around and smiled. Baz smiled back.

“Baz, what's wrong?”

He kissed him on the lips.

“Nothing, Simon.”

Baz threw the rose to the ground and did not think about it again.

#snowbaz #snowbaz fanfiction #baz pitch #simon snow #penelope bounce #agatha wellbelove #carry on simon #carry on #carry on rainbow rowell

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manju-girl · 6 years

Text

Letters to You [14]

I think I am taking back what I said, er... this fanfic ending in two to three chapters. can we end it in four? Four sounds good.

Usual stuff, angst and comedy ahead, bit of fluff.

pairing: Date Shigezane x MC

Date Masamune x MC

Genre: Comedy, Angst, Fluff

tagging: @amigoingbananas @myotomespace @i-dont-look-good-i-look-great @kata-ru @han-pan

Fourteen: Fall, Blood, Death and Letting Go.

“What do they want?” Aki asked, a moment earlier she had her mind and heart in a complete disarray. But after hearing Inuchiyo’s visit in Yonezawa a few days from now, she had her undivided attention to her brother. She had a feeling that her childhood friend’s visit has something to do with her.

“We were discussing the alliance with Oda for quite some time now, I think this is about their decision.” Kojuro answered, “They also wishes to discuss something formal with you, Milord.”

“Something formal... It could be aside from the terms we had set.” Masamune said, his fingers rested thoughtfully in his chin. Aki had a bad feeling about this.

“I am afraid it is, Milord.” Kojuro answered, still with a troubled look on his face, “They may ask for something more.” He added.

“I have a bad feeling about this, hah.” She sighed, crossing her arms. “But what would you have us do, Masamune-chan?”

“Aki, what did I say about honorifics?” Kojuro scolded her, she responded to him with a laugh,

“This is why I totally do not agree with the summary of my background as as ‘noble lady’ that you said earlier. Do I even belong there? Should I even be there? Do I even deserve the honor of being a candidate for becoming the next Lady Date? Do I even have the right to become Masamune’s wife when I lack the qualities needed? I do not even know.” Aki said, mirth in her eyes.

“Of course you do.” Masamune answered her, a look of fondness in his eyes and a faint blush in his cheeks. She found herself drawn to his gaze that she did not notice that she was blushing herself.

“Ehem, Soooo... going back, what would you have us do, Lord Masamune?” She cleared her throat, trying to change the subject she asked him again.

“I would just ask of you to work at your hardest,” Masamune answered with a faint smile.

“I, Aki Katakura will do my best for this clan and for you, Milords!” She winked at the both of them, the stress and tension from the air now disappeared.

“I do not even know how what to do with you,” Kojuro gave her smile while Masamune lightly chuckled, drinking the tea.

“Ahahaha, fine fine. I’m going to take my leave. Have a pleasant night, you two.” She stood up, excusing herself. She bid good night to the both of them before going to her chambers. It is time, she thought to herself.

Aki had a lot things in her hands, now she has to act as a page to both Masamune and Kojuro. She had expected the piles of papers in her room at Yonezawa Castle. Once she slid the door open, she can only sigh at the familiar sights of paper, inks and lamp on her table. The bedding was already laid out too, which was probably the doing of her brother. After changing into her sleeping robes, she took a seat before repeatedly studying the papers for approval. She has to keep her mind busy, hoping not to think about Shigezane. She turned him down, finally. But with the promise of giving him the love he deserved in the next life.

It was a risky promise, she knew. But that is the only way she can think of. She was not a fan of reincarnation, neither does Shigezane. But somehow that little promise they made to each other was full of passion, hope and love for each other. She can only chuckle at her foolishness.

Thinking of nothing but now but all the paper works she had been reading, Aki did not notice that time went by so quickly that it was late at night. The chattering of the retainers and soldiers in the corridors of the castle now gone. All that she can hear was the sound of the crickets and shuffling of her sleeping robes as she changed positions while reading, “Ah... I am almost done.” She said to herself, stacking the finished papers to the other side of the table. Aki noticed that the room next to hers was already lit. Kojuro was probably in his chambers too, she thought. She stretched her arms and slapped both sides of her face, trying to wake her self up before reading the last few of the papers.

After finishing re-reading and taking notes of the papers, exhaustion of both her body and mind had finally started to take over her. She went to Kojuro’s chambers to sleep, taking her beddings with her. She could not sleep without any lights on and she knew Kojuro was going to sleep later than she does. So she gave him the job of putting out the lights, but only if she was fast asleep. She bid him good night and reminded him not to stay out late for too long. The moment she closed her eyes, sleep had finally visited her.

Kojuro had put out the lights a moment later after Aki had fallen asleep. He chuckled at how childish yet mature his sister was. She may not be from a samurai family, but they knew that she will prove herself to be worthy of becoming a Katakura, and she did. Kojuro was proud of her, though she was a playful woman.

He can hear her gentle snores, he took the ribbon that was in her hair. It was the one that Shigezane gave her. Kojuro knew how hard it is for Aki to just let Shigezane go. He had been with her ever since she had blossoming feelings for him. He saw cry and get drunk over him, her hardships every time Shigezane falls for another woman and not to her. To be honest, for him, Masamune deserved his sister more than Shigezane. Masamune saw her worth and loved her all the same. But Kojuro cannot intervene, he has no right to. He slipped to his own bedding, the exhaustion also making him fall into a deep sleep.

..............

“Ack... haaah... haaah.”

It was in the middle of the night when he woke up to the sound of someone having a serious case of coughing fits. He rubbed his eyes groggily to clear his vision. Only the moonlight outside his chambers is his only light. He saw Aki in the corner of the room, pale faced as she continued to cough. Cloth close to her mouth while her other hand on her chest.

“Aki!” He rose to his feet. His collected demeanor fading away as he saw his sister in pain.

“Kojuro... Ack...! Haah haah... Mmn!” Her coughing fits was getting worse each passing second. Kojuro rushed to her side, she tried to push him away weakly. But Kojuro held her close to his chest. There is no way she can support herself. Aki’s body was burning through her sleeping robes, she was deathly pale. the moment she took off the cloth from her mouth made him shiver in fear for her.

There was blood. On her clothes, on her cheeks, on her mouth.

“Ani... Aniue... my medicine is... haah...” She tried to speak even with her ragged breathing. “My hakama...” Kojuro gently let her down on her bedding, his mind was in chaos. The only thing he knew clearly is that he needs to get her medicine. His footsteps were heavy as he ran as quickly as he can. He found her medicine, in three little jars. He wasted not a minute to get some water for his sister.

Once he came back, he immediately made her drink her medicines. Which relieved her after a few more coughing fits. Kojuro was shocked by the whole situation. She tried to call his name, but he just asked her to sleep. He changed Aki’s sleeping robes that had droplets of blood and drenched with sweat, into his clean change of kimono. Her body was still burning, her chest was rising and falling in an unusual pace. She still has difficulty breathing but not as worse as earlier. Kojuro kept on observing her, worry visible in his features, he would not be able to sleep a wink with Aki’s state. The first thing he is going to do when the morning comes is to go to the castle doctor to check on her.

“Is this what you meant, Aki?” he whispered to himself.

“Her illness is somehow similar to consumption, however in her case, the cough is not contagious to others around her.” The castle doctor said after checking up on still sleeping Aki. Unlike last night, Kojuro tried his best to be calm after having the doctor check up on his sister. “Consumption alone can kill the person affected. It seemed that she kept it hidden from you, considering how you did not know anything about her illness. Lord Katakura, I am going to be honest with you, would that be alright?” The doctor asked him. Kojuro closed his eyes for a moment before looking at his sister again, answering the doctor with a nod.

“Lady Aki will only last until, probably the next fall if her body can still take it,” the doctor said, “It had taken a large toll on her body, she had taken her medicine but her illness is still something we can’t cure. Her medications only relieves her of the coughs and the fever for a period of time but not the illness itself.” the doctor added. Kojuro can only look at his sister wide eyed, his mind completely blank from what the doctor had said.

I don’t have much time left, He suddenly remembered the words she’s always telling them. She knew that she is dying, and yet she still kept that smile on her face and her jovial personality around them. He should have noticed sooner, her thinning figure and the unusual pale skin. Kojuro should have kept on asking her.

No one can make the Dragon’s Claws cry. But right now, Kojuro had to fought back the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. Aki is a strong woman. He trusts her more like he trusts Masamune, and she will not succumb to her illness. He believes she can survive, and they will be there every step for her.

“Is there anything we can do for our Aki?” Kojuro asked, he would do anything to save their little sister, he stroked her forehead, feeling the now mild fever she has. The doctor smiled lightly, “We will do anything we can to help Lady Aki. But I want to tell you, Lord Katakura should prepare yourselves for the worst. If you’ll excuse me, just call me whenever you need me.” The doctor bid his farewell. Leaving Kojuro and Aki all alone in the room.

He looked at his sister, praying for her wellness. He never had thought that she will hide something like this from them. Judging from the medicines she took and what the doctor had said, her condition was that bad. For her to last only until fall. Kojuro decided to write a letter to Kita, asking her to come to Yonezawa.

Aki woke up with the sunlight in her face, she can guess that it is almost late in the morning. She sat up, the kimono she’s wearing fell off her shoulders. She looked closely to her state,

“This is Kojuro’s kimono... why am I... AHHH?!” She screamed, pulling the kimono closer to hide herself. She heard footsteps rushing close to their chambers. The door was slid open hastily, revealing Kojuro

“Aki did something happen to you--WHA!” She threw his balled haori to his face, rage in her eyes

“WHY AM I WEARING YOUR KIMONO, YOU PERVERT GEEZER?!” she said, pulling the blankets closer to her. Kojuro walked slowly to her, a troubled smile in his face. “I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO MARRY ANYMORE ANIUE!” she covered her face with both her hands.

“Loud as ever, Aki.” He flicked her forehead. “How am I supposed to let you sleep last night when your sleeping robes had droplets of blood and drenched with sweat? Do not worry, I looked away while changing your clothes.” Kojuro answered her gently. It dawned to her what happened last night, she woke up with a coughing fit. It was one of her worse ones, she can’t stand up and get her medicine from her chambers so she just sat in the corner of the room where she fell asleep. She remembered Kojuro tending to her and getting her medicine. The blood stained cloth and her sleeping robe was still folded neatly on the other side of the room, along with her jars of medicine.

Aki thought she can still hide it from him, she was planning to tell him of course, but after the matters in the castle had been settled. This is the reason why she can’t stay with Shigezane, she’s dying. Aki took her medicines more than she eats, so that she can make them believe that she was alright, that nothing is wrong with her. That she will carry out her duties to the Date and Katakura until death claims her. Tears were stinging her eyes, she gnawed on her lower lip.

“How long have you been hiding this from me...?” Kojuro asked her, as gentle as he can. She can hear the worry and the pain in his voice. She can’t stand it, seeing the people she loved hurt because of her.

“I just found out recently... I was planning to tell you and Lord Masamune soon but... I can’t find the courage in doing so.” She answered him honestly, “I’m sorry, Kojuro-aniue.” She tried to smile despite the tears continuously streaming down her face. Kojuro scooted closer to her, embracing her in a gentle manner that he always does whenever she’s crying.

“It’s alright, Aki. We will figure everything out.” He reassured her. She cried in his arms, like she always did. She wiped her tears while Kojuro tousled her hair.

“Aniue, I am fine now. I can still work.” She said, smiling faintly at him.

“You can’t, You need to rest.” he answered quickly.

“Please...? You need more help at this time.” She persuaded him, Kojuro sighed.

“Aki, you need to eat up. I brought you a fresh change of your Kimono and some porridge. It was from Lord Masamune.” Kojuro said, “I am not allowing you to work today, we can ask Shigezane to--”

“But he is busy with his wedding.”

“No Aki. You’re going to rest. Can you change to your kimono?” Kojuro’s words were firm, well she guessed she’ll just barge in later. She nodded before she took the clothing from his hands, she hid behind the screen as she took off Kojuro’s easily, it still smelled faintly of him. She tried the kimono that Masamune had given her. From the feel of the fabric she knew that it was expensive, it felt the same as Ayame’s kimonos. She had trouble tying it to a perfect fit.

“Aniue, can you fix my obi for me?”

Shigezane and Masamune was walking side by side to go to Kojuro’s chambers to talk about the plans for the day. It was going to be busy for them. With a lot of preparations for the wedding to the visit of the Oda Clan in the next few days. Shigezane was in high spirits when he found out that his cousin, Masamune was already choosing for his bride. Masamune, who was clearly embarrassed about the whole thing was about to slid the door open but stopped once they heard what was going inside Kojuro’s room

“It’s tight, isn’t it?” Shigezane heard Kojuro groan. He clasped a hand over his mouth while masamune looked down to his feet.

“Ah, it is tight. Can you put in-- ahh, that’s perfect.” then they heard a woman’s voice, that sounded like... she was relieved.

“Was that Aki?!” Shigezane whispered, Masamune wasted not a minute to slid the door open slightly. Revealing Aki and Kojuro. She has her hands adjusting the obi, a look of relief in her face.

“Thanks for adjusting the obi for me, Aniue!” She exclaimed, they are clearly unaware of the two Date Lord’s presence on the door. ”Man was that tight,” she said once more, while smoothing out her hair. Masamune completely slid the door open while Shigezane was still shocked, he knows that his cousin has some indecent thoughts in his head that he cannot even believe it.

“Kojuro, I’m coming in.” He announced himself, Shigezane tried to stop him.

“Good morning, Lord Masamune, Shigezane.” The siblings greeted them, a look of complete delight in their faces. Masamune stopped in his tracks when he saw that Aki was wearing the kimono he gave her. She never really stopped in making his heart beat faster every time he sees her. A faint blush in his cheeks he sat down.

“Good morning, but is it alright to come in now? are they fully clothed already?!” Shigezane asked, clearly directing the question to Masamune. He was still hiding outside the door. Aki and Kojuro exchanged glances, clearly confused at what Shigezane is babbling about.

“He heard Kojuro groan and Aki sounding relieved, and you were talking about... something... tight... so...” Masamune barely explained things before Aki bursted into laughter and Kojuro rubbing his temples.

“Did he just really imagined two siblings, doing sexual things together?” Kojuro groaned, before standing up and dragging Shigezane inside,

“Ah my sides hurt! Ahahahahhahaah! Aniue was just tying my obi in place, he tied it tight the first time so I asked him to loosen it up. Idiot Shigezane!” She laughed, holding her sides. Masamune and Kojuro also laughed with her.

“AH, I get it I get it. I am sorry. This is embarrassing.” He said, but Shigezane just laughed it off. “By the way, I heard from the retainers this morning that Masamune here received a list of his potential bride, man I was happy that he was finally getting hitched!” he put an arm around Masamune’s shoulders.

“We already know.” The Katakura siblings answered at the same time, making Shigezane shut his mouth.

“So when are ya going to get hitched, Kojuro nii-chan?” Aki asked.

“I will not comment on that,” Kojuro answered her,

“You are getting old, you should find a wife soon.” Shigezane added, even Masamune seemed to agree with what he said.

“More importantly, Lord Masamune. Have you considered on who you wanted to consider as your bride?’ Kojuro asked Masamune this time.

“Ohoooo. We’re talking about brides now!” Shigezane cheered. Masamune and Aki blushed feintly, which Shigezane had caught a glimpse of. He ignored the tight feeling in his chest, after all, he just broke his heart by loving her.

“About that, I would like to ask Aki if she can accompany me this morning,” Masamune asked, his eyes were fixed on Kojuro, asking him as Aki’s older brother. “I am asking you since you are her older brother,”

“Milord, you don’t have to. If Aki wants to, then I do not any objections.” Kojuro smiled,

“I don’t mind, Lord Masamune.” Aki answered, grinning at Masamune, “I’ll accompany you as long as you’d like me to, by your side. Hehe” She winked at him.

“Aki...” Masamune blushed, while Kojuro and Shigezane broke into laughter.

“What’s this Aki?! Ahahahaha you suck at flirting!” Shigezane retorted,

“Was it really that terrible?!” She asked, but she was surprised by Shigezane’s next words.

“Masamune,while the two of you are out, take care of the woman I love alright? Yes, I mean Aki.” Shigezane said, patting Masamune on his shoulder. There was a moment of tension in the room.

“... I will.” Masamune answered,

“Well, I need to go to Ayame, I bet she’s looking for me. See ya later!” Shigezane excused himself, not even bothering to look at Aki or to wait for their response.

Aki can only look down as the man she loves walks out of the room.

#Date Shigezane #slbp fanfic #slbp shigezane

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