#and she chose herself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunny12th · 8 months

Text

dany was so broken in agot, physically and mentally. she was ready to kill herself to escape drogo. her childhood had been a long unfortunate series of running away from the alleged monsters that killed her family and left her exiled and desperately trying to appease her abusive brother/guardian.

but then, after she's resolved herself to suicide, she has a dream. and then, she starts to notice the beauty in the new world around her. how the dothraki grass sea swallowed her up, the new sights and sounds and smells all around. she found solace in the people, she ate with them, learned their language in a matter of months, enjoyed their food. felt freer in dothraki riding clothes than in the fine silks ilyrio had dressed her up in.

I'm still deeply touched everytime I read about dany giggling, joking around, moving forward, hugging her friends, leading, and fighting after enduring so much. it's not about her being right in everything she does or everything ending well for her. she went through hell, was already going through it before the series even started, and she kept going. she grows and fights and fucks and laughs and cries and rages. she falls and she gets right back up again.

dany is ready to end her own life. the next day, she notices how pretty the sky is. she learns a few more dothraki words everyday and starts to connect more with those around her. she tries some new foods and starts to feel more comfortable on her horse.

the dragon dream certainly did Something to dany - a scarlet and black dragon (drogon, balerion come again) baptizing her in flame. scouring her, tempering her, making her clean. after this, dany makes the quiet choice to live. there is no grand revelation, no "i want to live!" monologue. she simply starts to notice the beauty in the world she's traveling through, the loyalty and easy comradery in her companions, the tasty food and comfortable clothes. dothraki smells, horse smells. riding leather, painted vests, the gently singing bells braided through hair. dany chooses life everytime she giggles, everytime she tries a new food or convinces her friends to try one, everytime she stops to stare at a pretty sight.

she was ready to choose death and she chose life. when her entire world had narrowed to the scope of her pain, to the strength of her abusers, to the golden collar drogo had put around her neck - she still chose life. and just like that, her world expanded and she could see all that was worth living for.

#i dont see the fandom talk about this much. how dany was ready to kill herself and then chose life #in a story where choosing life - to live and fight is kinda the whole point #dany already did that! she already chose life #main character of all time. protag of all time #and then she just keeps choosing life. only this time it's not just for herself #her life is not just her own anymore. she chooses life for her people too #idk i just. love to see characters go thru absolute hell and then choose life anyways #mine #this is probably v badly written but i am exhausted and emotional #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #suicide mention

252 notes · View notes

ilovebeingaturtle · 7 months

Text

Made an 1987 Venus, and a 2012 Venus, so I’ve been long overdue to make a 2003 Venus! Tada~

In this interpretation, Venus wasn’t initially separated from her brothers. Instead, she was raised alongside them-up until the family went on the trip to Japan to return Hamato Yoshi’s ashes. The whole ordeal with the ninja tribunal happened around about the same, however at the end, while erasing the turtles memories, the tribunal saw Venus’s mystic potential and took her away to be trained by them, wiping her families memories of her as well.

Skip ahead a few years, and when Leo his sent away from is family-instead of the Ancient One, he meets her. Another turtle willing to help who feels so so familiar…

162 notes · View notes

dirtytransmasc · 8 months

Text

[mild tw for marital rape/forced 'consent' its only referenced a little, but it feels necessary to mention it]

imagine Alicent only standing up for herself when Aegon is in the picture. Imagine her talking her son to her chambers cause he's fussy and won't go down for bed and was asking for his mum, and she has him tucked close, blissfully asleep, and Viserys calls for her.

she knows she can't refuse, but she tells the servant he had sent to make him aware of Aegon's state. he still demands that she be brought to his chambers and that the babe go back to his nursemaid. she looks down at her baby, who's now woken due to the disturbance, who is staring up at her with soft tired eyes, a little yawn escaping him.

she doesn't want to go, she doesn't want to be forced to take her husband, to pleasure him at her own discomfort. she doesn't want to leave her son, to have him sent back to bed where he will remain restless and in the care of someone who is not his mother. she had never want to refuse more than she did in that moment.

she hesitates, her facade falters. Aegon is still looking up at her as tears well up in her eyes. he quirks his head at her, fingers reaching for her cheeks as if to comfort her. with a sudden conviction, she takes him in her arms, rising from the bed, requesting a robe and a blanket. when her servant looks at her in question, she clarifies that she will be taking Aegon with her and does not wish to rouse him in attempts to dress him. they look at her with shock, but don't voice the concern written on their faces.

they bring her Viserys's favorite robe. Alicent recognizes it from her time with Rhaenyra and Aemma. she's worn it before, Viserys has made sure the servants bring it to her every time he requests her. she hates the way it feels against her skin, knowing why he makes her wear it. she wraps aegon in his blanket, soft and royal blue, his hands beginning to play with its golden tassles as she tucks him inside her robe, pressed to her chest with care.

even as fear bites at her heels, anxiety churning her stomach, she walks to Viserys's chamber with her held high. she knows she is only asking for her husband's wrath; she knows she should just obey him, but she just can't. her son will not suffer a sleepless night and horrid following day all because her husband feels the need to use her body once more. he will not suffer at his father's hands tonight, even if she has to endure Viserys's anger for it.

she enters her husband's chambers, finding him in bed, in a white night gown, clearly ready to use her; he was never subtle when he asked for her, not even the first time.

she pauses in the doorway, pulling back the robe slightly, making him aware of Aegon's presence. she watches his face fall, barely muted anger. she holds onto Aegon tighter. part of her fears he may hurt her for this disturbance, but more of her fears he will hurt Aegon on her behalf.

"I told the damned servants to take him," his voice is warped and cruel, just an angry scowl of sorts.

"Aegon is not well, dear husband... I could not leave him," she admits before he can say anything else. she puts her foot forward as a mother, hoping to claim mercy from the man who made her one.

he mutters something in response, not quite loud enough for her to hear. she has a feeling she is grateful for that.

"what was it you needed, my dear?" she tries to sound sweet and kind, in attempts to abate his anger, "I'm sure I could still attend to it."

"you know what I wanted," he yelled. it had been the first time he'd truly raised his voice to her. she couldn't help but gasp, stepping back one step, than two, stopping when Aegon began to fuss, curling around him instead.

"Please Viserys, the baby." she ducks her head down to press her against his whispy white hair. her son his huffing, as if about to cry, and she's sure if she could see his face, his little cheeks would be red and his eyes would be crinkled and wet, his lip puckered. she begins to rock him slightly, still afraid to move.

"your'e dismissed," he grunts, but his tone gives it away. she knows he doesn't mean it, the if she leaves she will be in more trouble. she questions staying, calling a servant to take Aegon and giving him what he wants, but decides against it. he would not come before her son, not now, not ever.

"I'm sorry, my dear, another night, when I do not have Aegon to tend to," she forces some cheer into her tone, "he is still so young, so helpless. he needs his mother. I'm sure you understand?"

"he is not the only one in need of you." he had not lost his anger yet. not even for the sake of his son.

"yes, of course. forgive me. only he is not as understanding as you, my love." that wasn't the truth, Aegon was more kind and understanding at a year old, than viserys was in all of his years. "I will leave now. I am sorry for the disturbance."

she pauses for a moment, waiting for her husbands reaction. when he doesn't lash out at her, she breathes a quiet sigh of relief, feeling as though she has evaded a great beast. her heart calms in her chest, slowing from its fluttering and her stomachs stops its dizzing ache. she questions turning and running, fleeing from his presence before he can change his mind, but knows better.

she hurries to his side, eyeing him all the while, each step calculated, avoiding cracking any eggshells, until she is close enough to kiss his cheek. he allows it, and gives Aegon grace when he reaches out for him, letting him play with his finger a moment, before pulling it away, not even turning away fully before sneering. she takes that as her cue to leave, this one being much more genuine than the last.

"goodnight dear husband." he says nothing. she takes Aegon's little hand, waving it slightly, "say goodnight Aegon."

her son tries to imitate her, though unintelligible, as a toddler would. she continues to smile and coo at him even when his father ignores him, not letting him feel his father's scorn, quickly turning towards the door and back to her own chambers.

the second the door is close she feels herself sag, she would have fallen to the floor right then and there had there not been kingsgaurd watching. instead she holds her head high once more, walking calm and steady, like a queen should.

Aegon settles his forehead against her collar, giving a great yawn against her skin. she smiles at him fondly, kissing his brow, earning a tired little giggle from him. it hits her that he is unaware of the trouble he just saved her from. she feels equal parts relief as she does terror; she hopes he never knows, never understands, but is so so thankful for it none the less.

the second she steps into her chambers she pulls of the robe, setting it aside carefully despite the pain it brings her, respecting the memories it carried. she pulls back the covers before smothering her and her son amongst them. he's quick to curl against her, quite tuckered out after their harrowing adventure, even if he was unaware of its true weight. she herself still wanted to cry, but was similarly too tired to keep her eyes open for another moment. tomorrow, she tells herself, tomorrow will be difficult, but tonight you have your son, tonight you have a chance to rest.

so she does, she holds him close, tracing fingers over the gold threaded patterned of his blanket, feeling the shifting of his chest as he breathes and the tickle of his hair against her neck. all is well in that moment. she drifts to sleep at the thought.

#omage to Aemma's robe that we see alicent wearing in episode 3 (I believe. it was when she was helping bathe viserys)#cause I know he made her wear it cause he's a monster #this is set prior to Helaena's conception. aegon is tiny. and alicent is still naive to the true extents of viserys's abuse.#especially to the fact that despite all of the love she holds for her children and how badly she wishes to always pick them first #his abuse and the stockholm syndrom that follow it will turn her against her children. aegon in particular.#maybe not against. but acrid and foul. her pain overtaking her love. she still tries so hard to protect them though. if you get what I mean #its otto's fault too and they should both die #anyway #I'm just in my feels with these two #we didn't get enough scenes of them together especially when they were both young and I wanted to give alicent a moment were she fought bac #she refused to give him what he wanted. she chose her child over him. she stood up for herself and what she wanted.#she earned that moment #I know she was choking through those “my dears” and “my loves” but she had to for formalities sake #angst in the front fluff in the back #even if the fluff is laced with angst #letting alicent be soft and love her son #I needed it #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #alicent hightower #anti viserys i targaryen #pro team green #hotd #house of the dragon #I love them your honor

255 notes · View notes

allyriadayne · 1 year

Text

AEGON II TARGARYEN AND ALICENT HIGHTOWER || PARALLELS: THE CLOTHES, THE SEVEN POINTED STAR, THE CROWNS

#alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x alicent #alicent x aegon #house of the dragon #hotd #hotdedit #houseofthedragonedit #gameofthronesdaily #aegon's outfit really is green!!! but a very dark green that looks black btw i'm not making it up #alicent chose his outfit herself :) she has been waiting for this day for years #this is as much her (empty) success as his (empty) success. they are twins in the misery of their own making #literally drives me crazy that her 'success' comes hand in hand with letting her worst son be king #mariana does things #*hotd #photoset #*aligon

759 notes · View notes

essenceofarda · 26 days

Text

OF BLESSED THYME & THISTLE | Chapter 1 | Page 5

Masterlist of Pages

Faramir’s cousin, Lothiriel, comes to Minas Tirith to become a companion of his new bride, Eowyn, something that he hopes will ease Eowyn’s rough transition into Gondorian Society. Eowyn, for her part, decides her new companion would in turn make the perfect bride for her brother, Eomer King of Rohan. Matchmaking shenanigans ensue 😏

When the aunties pull no punches 😳😖 Poor Eowyn lol

I'm actually kinda super proud of how this page turned out LOL

#Lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien fanart #tolkien art #lotr fanart #lotr art #lotr fic #lotr fanfic #lotr comic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanart #eowyn of rohan #eowyn x faramir #faramir x eowyn #farawyn #eothiriel #lothiriel of dol amroth #eomer x lothiriel #my art #Eowyn tries SO hard to make a good impression on her relatives (none of whom are impressed #by the fact that she's the FREAKING WITCH KING SLAYER)#and they're just like #varying levels of asshole to her :(#Mainly Faramir's aunt is #bc his aunt's husband's niece (an antagonist in this story) was the preferred bride to be #so Faramir's aunt is a little miffed that Faramir chose an 'uncivilized' woman of the 'lesser men' to marry #instead of #y'know the one she herself chose for Faramir to marry #not that faramir was ever inclined to do so in the first place lol

60 notes · View notes

erytherion · 1 month

Text

Reading the webtoon and…

Does this imply that Kim Dokja also tried to write a questionnaire for her to fill in since she wouldn’t speak to him, that either he 1) never gave her in the end (especially if he couldn’t find her after she was released) or 2) gave it to her and she STILL refused to answer?

Because that is so so so so awful. It was already bad but if he tried so many ways to get her to speak and she still gave him no response, regardless of her reasoning… isn’t that still directly choosing to cut herself fully out of his life? Why in the hell did she lie for his sake and allow him to visit her if she wanted to never speak to him again?

I know everyone claims Kim Dokja is just like her in sacrificing himself for loved ones, but at least he tries his best to stay with them and to keep them in his life. He still chooses sacrifice, but it’s not because he intends to never return. He always returns (even if much later than planned).

The only time this differs is with 51%, when he STILL tried his best to stay with them - at least as much as he could.

I sometimes like Lee Sookyung, but I am mostly still SO mad at her for completely ignoring her child since he was 8 years old. Especially when he must have looked like shit any number of times from being mistreated and bullied by family, friends, army, employers.

But maybe that’s just the fragment in me being eternally pissed with her. She DOES love him, but like he says in the webtoon in this chapter - maybe such truths are painful enough to be false anyways, because they’re just SUCH bullshit. That’s not how affection should work, if you actually care about someone and want them to be happy.

#RAWWRGHHH I WANT TO SHAKE HER SO MUCH #LOOK AFTER YOUR KID #and if you can’t do that because of circumstances at least ACKNOWLEDGE HIM #yes I do know she cared and it’s just that she mistakenly believes he’s better off this way without her but like #then WHY does she still insert herself back into his life when he’s finally stopped trying to get her to speak?#yes yes others have great analyses on her and their relationship and I usually agree with their logic but it’s still. So. Hard. to like her #but then I remember that this story was the little Dream’s wishful thinking to cope back then on his own #and so maybe in his world Lee Sookyung never ever would speak to him again #he just wished she would so he wrote it down as happening for This older version of him #and that’s somehow worse because like #even in the story where he got her to speak to him again she still won’t speak so he has to force the words out some way (via outer god)#and if that’s true then it’s still just his interpretation of her actions and choices #and not her own since she never told him #so like ARGGHHH #but I like to believe that characters have autonomy despite their respective author’s efforts in documenting them #so she still chose to speak all of this too and he would have accurately interpreted her this way because she controls what she says #even if he (little Dream Kim Dokja) is the one writing it down as wish fulfilment fix-it fic #a fix-it for himself and not just for the other people he loves #😭😭😭#orv #orv spoilers #omniscient reader’s viewpoint #lee sookyung #kim dokja

60 notes · View notes

child-of-hurin · 8 months

Text

Agape being onboard with marrying the volatile mess that is Eugenides in Queen of Attolia, and later, presumably, being just as onboard with marrying Sophos's uncle who is Sounis... Interpretations of her agency in those matches might vary, but if you assume she was only too willing to go ahead with them... Something very intimidating about how badly this woman wants a project

"(...)He was an astonishingly angry man, but he had many admirable qualities.” [the Magus] glanced up at Eddis and said, “He could be quite charming.” “Agape might have made something of him,” said Eddis.

Handing Agape problematic men like one hands a trainer problematic dogs dsbhujfdrf

#queen's thief #a conspiracy of kings #is Agape is the Katya Brotherskaramazov of Queen's Thief? inquiring minds want to know #when I first read queen's thief I came away thinking she was just a foil for Irene but when you get to this in conspiracy you have #enough material to assume she might be a little strange herself in her taste in marriages... and good for her #i hope she got the powerful but mercurial problem husband (that i chose to believe) she wanted <3 <3 <3

183 notes · View notes

ratinayellowbandana · 8 months

Note

Hi! Number six of the drabble prompt list, and if I may suggest, with a sad jealous Laudna.

hi! I'm sorry this one took a few days. I um. got a little carried away with it again. these were only supposed to be like 500-word prompt fills, and this is uh, slightly more than that. so I hope that's ok.

for those who don't want to find the prompt, it was: "You just didn't look for me." naturally I went ep 64 with a healthy splash of canon divergence, some good old-fashioned hurt/comfort, and pate as a thinly veiled metaphor.

length: 2k

~~~

Laudna whirls on her, snaps, “We looked for you. And the others. Every fucking day.” She holds Imogen’s gaze, holds her piercing stare until Imogen tilts her head. “You just didn’t look for me,” she whispers.

Imogen steps forward, quiet but insistent. “No, sweetheart, no, we did. I did. Every day.” She does not reach out, afraid, not of Laudna–never of Laudna–but of herself. Of what she might do if given the chance at the wrong time. Her heart pounds an unsteady rhythm.

“I want to believe you,” Laudna says. She toys with the brass ring on her left hand, twisting it around her finger anxiously, twin snakes coiling. “I do, truly, it’s just…”

Imogen studies her, searching for answers in a frame both foreign and familiar. Laudna is pale and gaunt, cheeks drawn in, though that’s hardly unusual. Her stringy dark hair lacks luster in the eerie light of the red moon, crispy and clumped together in places by something Imogen can’t identify. Cast in the long shadows between buildings, Laudna is on edge, ready to claw and screech and lash out with those wicked talons if provoked. She is wild, and she is beautiful, and she is frightened.

“I understand,” Imogen speaks slowly, gently, distinctly aware of each word’s weight.

The others are still in the inn, consorting in the tavern. The Hells and their new friends, chatting, laughing, and drinking the night away, simply happy to be home. Introductions were made, and tales of grandeur waited to be spun.

Laudna had been unnervingly quiet after the initial elation wore off. Her hands remained folded in her lap or picked intently at the skin around her nails. Pâté’s silence was even more concerning. He had been coaxed out of hiding in Laudna’s hair with the promise of scratches and nudged his beak into her wrist until she began stroking his greasy fur.

She spoke when spoken to, adjusting in her seat and responding eagerly when prompted. The moment the attention shifted, though, her forced smile would drop. Every so often, she sent a furtive glance in Imogen’s direction as if to ensure she was still there, then looked away just as quickly. Exhaustion crept at the corners of her eyes, and her gaze would fall to her lap whenever the conversation turned to the adventures in Wildemount.

The group from Issylra hadn’t said much about their travels, but Imogen gathered their transplantation had not been as, ah, pleasant wasn’t quite the right word. Illustrious, maybe, Imogen considered, fussing with a seam on her new dress. Laudna’s blouse was tattered and stained with a thick substance that did not match her ichor’s usual viscosity.

Laudna had stood abruptly, muttering something about air, and disappeared outside. After making puzzled eye contact with Ashton, who tossed his head at the door and sighed heavily, Imogen followed her.

She had found Laudna around the corner, curled into herself against the wall of the Spire by Fire. A feral thing, hardened and reshaped by whatever circumstances found her while they were apart.

She has not calmed yet, and Imogen is reluctant to curb the swell of emotion that has Laudna dangling by a thread. She is tangled in it, ensnared in a knotted web, and Imogen is unsure how to extricate her. She is all jagged pieces and raw edges, a tempest of fury and loss that Imogen cannot rely on her mental connection to unravel. Laudna is something of a mystery to her now in a way she has never been, and it’s all Imogen can do to not toss her circlet to the winds.

Instead, she waits.

Laudna is muttering to herself, tugging at her clothes. Pâté flaps about her head, wings of sinew and bone making an abominably wet sound Imogen hadn’t realized she’d missed. The tip of one wing tangles in Laudna’s hair, and she swats at him irritably, sending him tumbling through the air until he manages to right himself. Imogen extends a hand, and he flies to her, settling in her palm on his hindquarters. He gives a disgruntled shake, and his wings squelch back into his body, tail coming to rest around his paws. He peers up at Imogen, then looks back to Laudna.

“I tried,” he croaks in that gravelly way of his, and Imogen strokes his disgusting little head with one finger.

“I know,” she assures gently. He could be referring to any number of moments across a lifetime, a few weeks, mere seconds ago. She sets him on her shoulder and feels pinprick claws pierce the fabric of her dress for stability. Crass and wretched as he is, Imogen can’t find it in herself to hate him. He is an extension of his maker, creepy and ungainly and off-putting, so Imogen must love him a tiny bit. She scratches under his chin, ignores the feeling of magic-touched bone, murmurs, “Thank you for keepin’ her safe.”

“Boss didn’t have the best of times without you.” He pipes up, a little rueful, in a manner Imogen assumes is meant to be quiet. Laudna, only a few feet away, catches it.

“Pâté,” she snarls. He squeaks and tucks himself into Imogen’s collar.

“He’s just confirming what I had already guessed,” Imogen defends, an attempt at lightness that doesn’t quite land. “It’s not his fault you haven’t told me anything.”

“He ought to have stayed in my head. Then he might leave well enough alone,” Launda warns.

“You don’t mean that,” Imogen counters calmly.

Laudna spits, “He should have stayed dead.”

“Hey.”

She huffs a sardonic, dry laugh. “Not everyone deserves second chances.”

Imogen inhales sharply.

There it is.

“Laudna…” She softens. She cups Pâté protectively. His fur oddly damp against her skin. She takes a cautious step forward.

The pieces begin slotting into place, building the frame for a jarring picture of something severe enough to reopen this old wound.

The fight sapped from her limbs, Laudna slides her back down the wall until she sits in the filth and dirt of the alleyway with her knees drawn close to her chest. Imogen winces as rough stone drags across jutting bone and paper-thin skin.

“Are you… Do you want to be alone?” She asks–because what else can she do?– and half-fears the answer.

Laudna’s head jerks up, and something Imogen can’t decipher flashes in her eyes. After a moment, her head shakes minutely, and Imogen lets out a relieved sigh.

Tense silence leaches from the pores of the building’s rocky exterior.

“We tried to find you all. Every day. We didn’t–we didn’t know where we were. Where anyone was, and–” Laudna breathes at last. “Orym was… was angry. Vengeful. And Ashton…. He was our friend.”

“Ashton?”

“I hurt him,” Laudna continues as if Imogen hadn’t spoken at all.

“Hurt who?”

She shudders. “I killed him, not Prism.” Inky tears well from eyes pressed shut. Her voice is impossibly soft, hollow, seeming to ask, Do you hate me yet?

The narrative is convoluted at best. Imogen fruitlessly attempts to splice together the fragments of memory slipping through Laudna’s teeth like snowflakes, to arrange them into a cohesive whole among the scraps she gathered at the table. The Issylra group returned rattled, apprehensive and tense, but this is deeper. Laudna is shaken.

“Wasn’t he a member of the Ruby Vanguard?”

“He was confused, just like the rest of us. Angry at the gods.” Laudna’s eyes flicker to the glowing red moon. Her fist, clenched in her hair, tightens. “And I killed him.”

Imogen steps closer. “We’ve all killed people.”

Laudna shakes her head. Her voice hardens once more. “I don’t begrudge you the shopping or fraternizing with royalty or, or whatever else it was,” she says lowly, “But we didn’t have that. We didn’t save a toy store or home-cooked breakfasts. We spent every moment fighting to get back to you. And now,” she swallows, “we must reckon with the cost.”

She is utterly exhausted; Imogen can see in the dim light. Although bone-weary and at her wits’ end, Laudna’s elegant cheekbones curl with shadows that twist and hide in her skirts. Hunched and fearful as she is, Laudna is still hauntingly beautiful. Something warms in Imogen’s chest.

“You did what you had to do to survive,” she says, “No one can fault you for that.”

“I’m sorry.” Laudna’s voice breaks, fracturing in tandem with Imogen’s heart, and she sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Laud, no–” Imogen crouches next to her, yearning to touch, to take Laudna in her arms and bite and hiss and growl at anyone who dares approach. She restrains herself, carefully plucking Pâté from her shoulder and setting him on the ground between them. He turns to her skeptically as if to say, Really? After what she said? Imogen nudges him in Laudna’s direction. He sniffs, beak in the air, and ruffles his fur before bounding to Laudna’s ankles and putting his weird, cold little dead rat toes against her shin. She ignores the pawing fragment of her soul, ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” Laudna mutters, “I must seem…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Laudna begins incredulously, “I–”

“You survived,” Imogen reiterates, “against gods and people powerful enough to destroy them.” She sighs, “I sent you a message every day, you know? Sometimes more than once, if I’m honest, ‘till my nose bled and Deanna had to patch me up.” Imogen offers a half-smile. “All I got was static. I just had to hope you were out there, somewhere, lookin’ for me, too.”

Laudna looks as if she might melt into herself, refusing to look at Imogen. Her shoulders shake, and she confesses with a gasp, “She’s back. I brought her back.”

Imogen’s blood chills, but her tone remains neutral. “Who, Laud?”

At last, Laudna meets her gaze, eyes wide and wet and horror-struck. “Delilah.”

The name hangs between them like a stone ready to drop and shatter and bury itself into their flesh. Searing rage erupts in Imogen’s veins.

“I’m sorry,” Laudna shrinks back, “I’m so sorry. To all of you. You all gave so much to–to find me. And–”

“It’s not your fault,” Imogen interjects.

“–and I wasn’t…I was weak. I lost control.”

“Laudna,” Imogen cuts her off with the steely calm of a thunderstorm on the horizon. She cannot afford to process this now, not when Laudna is trembling in an alley. Not when Laudna, unmoored and terrified, needs her to be an anchor. No, Imogen will save her questions and unfiltered anger, for another time. A time when Laudna is safe and warm and at no risk of coming unraveled in her hands. When Laudna is in a place to know Imogen’s wrath is not, could never be, directed at her.

“Laudna,” Imogen repeats, because she cannot bear the thought of her not understanding, “this is not your fault. None of this.” She does reach out, then, offering a lifeline should Laudna choose to accept it. She does, hesitantly, as if waiting for Imogen to recoil. Her fingers are cool, bird-light against Imogen’s red-scarred palm. Laudna seems to notice at the same time.

“Imogen,” she exclaims, words still tear-tinged and quivering, “your hands. They’re–are you alright?”

“Oh, they–they don’t hurt, usually. Promise. I’m fine.”

“I should have–I’m sorry, I suppose I was–”

“Laudna,” Imogen interrupts again, not unkindly, “please.”

It’s then that Laudna seems to notice Pâté clawing his way up her skirt. She scoops him up and holds him to her, murmuring apologies into his fur.

“‘S’okay, boss,” he rasps, squished against his maker’s chest, “I can’t hold a grudge.”

They sit like that, hand-in-hand, hand-on-rat, until the easy stroke of Imogen’s thumb against Laudna’s has smoothed out the worst of the jagged edges. Until the tension falls from Laudna’s spine and she relaxes into Imogen’s touch.

“The others are surely wondering where we’ve gone.”

Imogen shrugs, snorts, “There’re so many people at that table I think they’d hardly notice two missing.”

“Still,” Laudna says, “we ought to get back.”

“Do you want to?” It’s her choice. It always will be if Imogen can help it.

Laudna considers. “I think I’d rather like to hear the end of Chetney’s story from the Savalirwood.”

“Oh gods,” Imogen groans, flushing at the memory, “no, you don’t.”

“Fearne and Deanna, hm?”

“Best to let them tell it.”

132 notes · View notes