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featherymalignancy · 4 years

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Like a Lonely House, Part VII

JFC, I finally did it. PLEASE ENJOY! Also, if you need a refresher because it’s been a GD age since I updated, please check out the PARTS I-VI RECAP. Also please enjoy!

Like a Lonely House: A Nessian Story Of Betrayal and Redemption

“so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Till then my windows ache.”

-Pablo Neruda

Warning: NSFW for language, mild violence, mentions of sexual assault, and smut. This story is not ACOFAS complaint, but it will borrow elements from the story. oh, also tons of angst. Synopsis: Fifty years after the Hybernian War, Prythian is finally at peace. For Cassian and Nesta, animosity has turned to something more amorous, and they stand on a precipice of something that scares and excites them both. However, it only takes one night of weakness on Cassian’s part to change everything, and with a young Illyrian prince gaining power in the North, Nesta agrees to an marriage alliance, both to protect her family and get her as far away from Cassian as possible. As things unravel between them, Cassian begins to suspect there is something more deliberate seeking to keep them apart, and he struggles to uncover the truth and win Nesta back before it’s too late.

If you’re new to the story, please click HERE for the masterlist.

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of sexual assault. Please proceed with caution.

Part VII

The Macaran crowd roared its approval as Adan rose to his feet at the High Lords’ invitation, but Cassian couldn’t hear a single voice.

It was as if all the sound had been sucked from the world, leaving only a roaring silence in its wake.

Cassian had the sensation of falling, of drowning, of he didn’t even know what. All he did know was that he couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—as he watched the prince turn to offer Nesta his hand. The smile she offered the spoiled little prick in return ran Cassian straight through, and he wondered if the female from the Corona was somewhere in the crowd smiling too, reveling in all she’d done to steal this moment for her Şehzade.

Blood slicked Cassian’s teeth as he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The muscles in his back screamed at the effort of keeping his wings pinned, his every instinct demanding he find the female—whoever she was—and simply shred her to ribbons, all the rest of this theatre be damned.

His body was so tense it had grown hard to breathe, but he called on the promise he’d made to Rhys to play his part and managed to settle, if only slightly. Gritting his teeth behind pursed lips, he willed the ire which bubbled under his skin to cool, trying to force it out of his scent. He needed to wait until he was alone, until he could speak to Rhys and Az...

He glanced at the latter to find his friend already watching him, hazel eyes glittering as the shadows slithered up to neck towards his ear as if they meant to tell him a secret. Cassian couldn’t speak to Azriel mind-to-mind the way he could with Rhys, but Az knew him well enough by now to read his body posture, even as Cassian fought to keep his face and scent neutral.

Casually as he could manage, he reached up to touch his collarbone with both hands before sweeping his fingers across his chest. To the uninitiated it would have seemed little more than a stretch, but Cassian knew Azriel would recognize the message coded in the gesture, one of many they’d invented to convey information when traditional communication was impossible.

We need to talk.

Azriel rolled his neck as if simply trying to relieve some stiffness in the muscles, but Cassian knew it was meant as confirmation. It wasn’t enough to settle him, but it was enough to bolster his control as the gates of the Hewn City boomed open and the High Lords, the Macarans, and their respective retinues were all welcomed inside by a seductive string symphony typical of the Night Court.

The temptation to look at Nesta weighed Cassian’s every step, make his feet feel as if they were made of lead. However, he resisted, knowing that seeing her so near the prince would be enough to break the tenuous grip he had on his fury. It had melted from a burning in his blood to a frigid blade he could almost feel pressing against his palm.

Three moves, he told himself.

That would be all it would take to reach the prince and sever his spine. Three moves to rid himself of the threat, and two more to remove her from danger entirely. In less than a minute he could have them both in the sky, up and out of bow range in no more than thirty heartbeats.

He felt a warm hand slide into the crook of his arm as a soft, feminine scent twined around him.

“Peace, Love,” Mor breathed, linking her arm through his as she casually peeled them away from the prince and towards their own side of the grand dais. “We’re not yet unobserved.”

“I need—“ Cassian began, voice quaking with effort as his eyes remained on Nesta. He could feel her hovering near the edge of his consciousness, closer now than she’d been for months.

It was enough to drive him out of his mind.

His heart surged and sputtered in his chest, breaths becoming too shallow as his face began to grow numb from lack of oxygen.

“I can’t—“

“Cassian—”

Cassian brushed off Mor’s hand before she could protest, pealing away from the assembly and down the nearest corridor, not caring where it took him.He burst into the first door he found—which turned out to be a servants’ pantry—slamming it behind him before letting out a scream of undiluted rage.

All the time he’d spent searching, all the time he’d wasted not being at Nesta’s side, and now the female was here as a member of the Macaran court.

He screamed again, shattering the gritted mirror hanging on the wall with a fist.

It was too much; it was all too much, and Cassian felt it tugging at his every seam, unstitching him one pulled thread at a time. He warred with the violation seeing the female had riled in his gut and the vengeance he felt stirring in his bones.

It was in the Illyrian blood to meet every transgression committed against you blow for blow. It keeps the soul unblemished, his mother had always told him; that which is left to languish will eventually begin to fester and rot.

He could feel that rot now, coursing like venom through his system as he struggled for control.

He’d been right, all this time. The Macarans were behind everything, and still they were here, dining at the High Lord’s table and—

Cassian screamed a third time, picking up a jug of wine and hurling it at the wall with all his might before crumpling to his knees, breaths sawing through him.

“Sorun nedir, arkadaşim?”

Cassian lifted his head at hearing the Dalyanian dialect of his childhood, so different from the Atalyan they’d always spoken in the war camps.

Azriel had appeared out the shadow in the corner of the room, eyes lambert in the dim light.

Cassian bent his head, still fighting savagely from composure. He knew that after all they’d been together he and Azriel were beyond being ashamed in front of one another, but still he felt a gelid wave of it wash over him as his friend knelt at his side.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Azriel repeated, this time in the common tongue.

Cassian let out a shuddering exhale, falling back onto his haunches as he ran hand along the plait in his hair.

“She’s here. The female from the Corona. I saw her in the crowd earlier.”

Azriel’s brows drew together as his hand on Cassian’s shoulder tightened. He clearly needed no clarification on who Cassian meant.

“Are—“

“Please don’t ask me if I’m sure,” Cassian croaked. “You know that I am.”

Azriel bowed his head for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I should have—it shouldn’t have gotten this far.”

Cassian’s throat felt too tight for words, so he only nodded, hauling himself to his feet and cuffing Azriel’s neck to pull him in close until they were brow-to-brow, an old gesture of respect among Illyrians he knew Az would understand.

“It’s not your fault, Az.”

Azriel’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with a cold fury his expression would never betray.

“I failed you,” he said, pulling from Cassian’s grip and flexing and unflexing his knife hand. “You and Nesta both.”

Cassian shook his head, unable to bare Azriel’s self-recrimination on top of everything else.

“Then make it up to me. Help me find a way to get her away from the Macarans.”

Azriel nodded, seeming to gather his composure.

“Does Rhys know?” He asked.

“No, I—“ Cassian broke off, running a shaking hand over his lips. “I didn’t want to rouse suspicion.”

He didn’t need to add that he’d also been losing his composure and had to get away to avoid making a scene; one look around the ruined storeroom was proof enough of that.

Azriel nodded again, jaw working as he considered.

“I will send Nuala and Cerridwen to scout the Macarans’ rooms. It’s possible whoever is holding her leash wants to keep her out of sight.”

“The smarter move would be to keep her close,” Cassian pointed out. “I’m sure that’s why they took the risk in bringing her here.”

A muscle worked in Azriel’s jaw.

“Adan knew I would send spies to Macar to search for her while the territory was unmanned.”

“Then he’s not as stupid as he looks,” Cassian said through his teeth.

“If he was really clever he would have killed her,” Azriel pointed on, hand straying to Truth-teller as if he was imagining doing just that.

Cassian had thought the same. The fact that they hadn’t—

“We need to be on our guard; it could be they’ve spared her for a purpose.”

Azriel’s eyes flashed in the semi-dark as he ran a hand over Truth-Teller’s obsidian hilt.

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Cassian nodded, feeling his own resolve growing as Az clapped him on the shoulder.

“I promise, brother,” Azriel said, voice cold steel. “Tonight you'll get your answers. Right now we need to get back; we’ve been gone too long already.”

Cassian nodded, scrubbing a hand across his face and straightening his leathers as Azriel disappeared out of the door. Picking up a pewter goblet from one of the shelves, Cassian filled it with a mouthful of wine before he too slipped from the room.

He forced a slight stagger into his stride as he re-entered the grand hall, draining the small measure from his goblet before dropping it with a slightly-drunk chuckle and grabbing another from a passing servant girl. A cluster of Summer Court guards who stood nearby cheered as he drained the new goblet, and he raised his empty cup in salute before taking a third and heading for his place at the head table.

Mor laughed at seeing him, though the merriment didn’t reach her eyes.

“Are you drunk, Lord Commander?” she said, patting his arm as he dropped into his seat before adding in a whisper, “Cas, are you alright?”

He flashed her the lazy, edged grin he knew everyone expected from him.

“It’s a party; we should all be drunk.”

He raised his glass to closest Illyrian dignitaries, who all laughed obligingly as he did. Ellaria—who sat to Mor’s left—seemed to understand the diversion for what it was and turned to engage the Macaran finance minister in small talk to give him and Mor a reprieve from prying ears. Cassian was so grateful that were Ellaria not Mor’s mate, he would have kissed her.

“What is it?” Mor said, flashing Ellaria a smile as well.

“She’s here,” Cassian breathed. “The female. I saw her in the crowd when the Macarans arrived.”

The only indication that Mor had heard was the pallor in her ordinarily-bronze skin. She glanced down at the table in a casual gesture before whispering, “Have you told—“

“Az already knows,” Cassian said into his goblet, still not looking at Mor directly. “He’s going to tell Rhys and Feyre.”

“What are you going to do?”

Cash took another drink of wine, this one not entirely for show.

“We need to find her first. Then—“ he blew out an unsteady breath. “I’m not sure.”

“My gut says she’s here,” Mor murmured, pretending to straighten the skewed collar of his leather doublet with the affectionate fuss of a nursemaid.

“Mine too,” Cassian admitted. “How many of these servants do you recognize? the smart thing to do would be to hide her in plain sight.”

Mor scanned the room over the rim of her gem-studded goblet.

“Not enough,” she murmured. “Especially with all the other courts here as well.”

“Black hair,” he said into his own drink, quiet enough he couldn’t be overheard. “Dark eyes.”

“That’s half the females in the territory, Cas.”

“You’ll know her when you see her.“

Mor nodded her assent before casually turning her attention back to Ellaria to keep the conversation from seeming suspiciously intense.

Maintaining the pretense of drunken content through dinner was almost unbearable, but Cassian managed to hold on until the plates were cleared and Rhys stood, a hush echoing over the crowd as his power swirled around him like a onyx-studded cape. He raised his glass, his smile resplendent even as his gaze remained shrewd.

“Tomorrow,” he began. “We will celebrate the union of two great houses with all the solemnity and pomp such an occasion is due. But tonight, let us simply drink and get to know one another! Every hospitality my house has to offer is open to you all, and I only command you honor the Night by indulging in all its pleasures. May we look back on this evening years from now and celebrate all the friendships forged, memories made, and perhaps even the younglings conceived.”

At this there was a titter of heated laughter, and Rhys raised his goblet.

“Please, begin!”

There was a ripple of shock and applause as all the banquet tables disappeared at once, the soft, honeyed music growing dark and drugging as a haunting waltz began. Rhys offered a hand to Feyre and they descended onto the floor and began moving across it with the ease of two people who’d memorized how the other moved.

Cassian watched as the dance drew more participants from other courts, the space Rhys had cleared quickly refilling with bodies as the wine continued to flow.

Cassian was afraid to look too and see Nesta spinning across the floor in Adan’s arms, though curiosity quickly got the better of him. He glanced to where Nesta had been sited at the center of the grand dais to find her deep in conversation with the prince, Adan’s smile as effortless as the arm which he’d strung behind Nesta’s chair as he listened to her speak.

Red fizzed at the edge of Cassian’s vision at seeing the female he so adored with someone else, especially one as unworthy as the spoiled, treacherous princeling. Though his expression was mild, Adan still looked at Nesta like a target and not the arrow Cassian knew her to be, and it was enough to drive him mad.

Needing to do something productive, Cassian peeled off the wall and started towards Mor. He needed a way to survey the room without seeming suspicious, and the easiest way to do that was to go to the place he was least likely to be observed. Mor obliged him as he slipped a hand around her waist, fingers skimming the soft skin of her bare back as he swung her around and onto the dance floor.

She didn’t miss a beat. Using one hand to keep her voluminous plum skirts from underfoot, she strung the other around his shoulders, letting him guide her around the room as if the floor were made of glass.

 “Anything?” She breathed.

He tried to keep his focus muted as he scanned the faces of the hundreds of servants scattered around the room, as terrified as he was eager to see that face—her face—again.

“Not yet.”

By the third time around the floor he knew they needed to take a break; too long in his arms and gossip would spread in a bleed pattern Cassian didn’t want staining Mor’s reputation so close to her mating ceremony.

Just as he was preparing to release Mor back to Ellaria, who stood patiently waiting, he saw something which caught his eye.

Amidst the beehive of activity, there was one servant who’d remained in the same place the entire time he and Mor had been dancing. He didn’t dare look at the female head-on, but Cassian couldn’t help the way his fingers tightened on Mor’s waist as he swung her around again, using the diamond comb she wore as a mirror to get a better look.

Cassian couldn’t breathe.

The female stood with a jug of wine in her hand, but she made no move to refill any of the rapidly-drained goblets of the guests surrounding her, her back instead remaining glued to the wall.

“Where?” Mor said as he twisted her again in time to the music.

“Far wall,” he said, leaning in like they were sharing a private joke as he directed Mor to look where he’d indicated. “Standing behind the prince’s cousin.”

Mor’s face didn’t change from its beautific smile as she surveyed Lazar briefly, but disgust limned her eyes.

“We need to get Rhys and Azriel,” she said quietly as they spun a final time. “Meet me at the far refreshment table in two minutes.”

Cassian only forced a grin in reply, giving Mor a slightly drunken bow as he kissed her hand and headed for the table she’d indicated, looking for all the world like a drunken male in search of his next fix.

Indeed, when he arrived the long drought he took from the proffered goblet is was not merely for show. Cassian couldn’t be certain what would happen next, but he knew in his belly it would be painful. Perhaps it made him a coward, but he didn’t want to have to face it entirely sober.

Azriel appeared at his elbow several heartbeats later, and Cassian fought down an almost frantic anticipation as he turned to his friend.

“Where?” Azriel said in greeting, and Cassian indicated with his eyes as he took another heady sip.

“She hasn’t moved from that spot for ten minutes at least,” he explained, forcing his posture to remain languid.

“Lazar,” Azriel surmised, and Cassian nodded.

“We need to draw his attention elsewhere,” Cassian said. “Any ideas?”

“Not off the top of my head,” Azriel admitted. “I suppose I could—“

“I have one.”

Cassian’s heart squeezed almost painfully as he turned to find Elain standing behind him, her expression solemn but more gentle than he’d seen it in weeks.

“You would help me?” He asked.

Her brows knitted as she pressed forward to lightly cup his cheek. He couldn’t help the way his eyes fluttered closed at the touch. It wasn’t just Nesta’s company he’d missed these long weeks alone; it had been Feyre and Elain’s as well.

“Forgive me I didn’t do it sooner,” she said, eyes glassy. “Az told me the female from the tavern is here, traveling with the prince. I was wrong to doubt you, Cassian.”

“You were protecting Nesta,” he said, pulling her hand away to kiss her palm. “I will never fault you for that.”

Elain nodded, clearing her throat as she seemed to collect herself. She turned to her husband, the famed Archeron steel flashing in her eyes.

“When I give the signal, grab the girl and go. Feyre will be in position to take her place should anyone care to look.”

“What is the signal?” Azriel said, eyes scanning the dais to ensure that Adan was still suitably occupied.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” Elain replied. “Stay out of sight until then.”

With a final smile tossed in Cassian’s direction she swept off, her sage gown adorned with burgundy rosettes so at odds with the darkness surrounding her. Between her gown and her beauty, the crowd parted easily for her as she made her way across the room to where Céres—Tamlin’s wife—stood beside him lost and somewhat lonely.

Tamlin remained deep in conversation with Tarquin as Céres wistfully studied the couples dancing, her face brightening as Elain came to loop an arm through hers. Elain made the proper greetings to both Tamlin and Tarquin before gently steering Céres away to take a lap about the room. Cassian felt for the girl as he watched her chatting animatedly to Elain, clearly grateful for someone to speak to at last.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what part Elain needed her play. He could tell—even without looking at him—that Azriel was thinking the same, though Elain didn’t leave them wondering for long.

Cassian caught sight of a familiar figure in the crowd as he tracked their progress around the room, and he couldn’t fight a sardonic smile as he watched Elain press a hand to her rounded belly and winced, understanding now what she intended.

Céres paused in just the right spot as Elain doubled over slightly in pain, reaching for Céres’s arm to steady herself as she seemed to recover. A second later Cassian watched, his heart beating nearly out of his chest, as Elain pretended to stumble, sending an unsuspecting Céres sprawling backwards—

And straight into Lazar.

Surprised, he grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling to the floor, his attention fully diverted away from the female who remained glued to the spot when Cassian had first spotted her.

It was enough.

In an instant Azriel had disappeared from Cassian's side, reappearing as nothing more than a long shadow behind where the female stood, watching the exchange between Céres and Lazar with alarm. Cassian's heart thundered as her grabbed her by the wrist and they both vanished.

By now Tamlin was there, an abashed Céres scuttling behind him as he wrapped a protective arm around her and bared his teeth at the younger Illyrian.

"How dare you," Tamlin snarled.

Lazar put his hands up, bronze skin paling at the fangs Tamlin now had mere inches from his throat

"Please, High Lord, this is a misunderstanding!"

He looked somewhat helplessly to Rhys as he approached, hands tucked into the sable pants he wore under his floor-length velvet great coat.

"My Lord, please!" Lazar begged

Rhys clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene with dispassion, crushed sapphire eyes glittering in the low light.

"Oh Lazar, you do like to make trouble, don't you?"

"I swear, My Lord, she fell into me!"

Tamlin snarled, the sound entirely ursine.

"You had your hands all over her!"

"Lazar, what's going on?"

Adan appeared at his cousin's side, subtly inserting himself between the Tamlin and the younger male. Cassian didn’t dare look to see where Nesta was.

"I'm afraid Lazar's found himself in a bit of trouble," Rhys purred, eyes glittering behind the mask of the cruel High Lord Cassian had seen him wear so many times before. "He seems rather good at that."

Cassian heard Rhys speaking in his mind, voice markedly less amused.

Azriel has her in the dungeon, last door on the left. Be discreet. Make sure you aren't seen, and don't be gone too long. I'll keep the Macarans distracted.

Cassian needed no prompting. Casting a final look to ensure the Illyrians were suitably occupied, he slipped into a shadow and out into the hall, trying to steel himself for what was coming next.

The trek down into the labyrinth of dungeons that coiled beneath the great hall felt like it lasted both an eternity and an instant, and Cassian felt himself—his sanity, his control—unspooling with every step he took.

Azriel had the female, and in mere minutes Cassian would finally know—

Cassian’s heart was in his throat as he pushed open the heavy wood door, making a deliberate show of closing it behind him before turning to face the room’s only two occupants. Azriel stood against the far wall with arms crossed, arctic fury glazing his eyes as he waited for Cassian to speak.

And in the center of the room, seated in a chair with hands and feet bound, was the female Cassian had spent the last three months turning the territory inside out to find.

She looked just as he’d remembered her: a curtain of blue-black hair, eyes dark as pitch and skin the bronze of the Northern climbs. The only thing that had changed was her expression. The morning after their—coupling, she’d first been content and then, seemingly, afraid, and Cassian often wondered what face she’d wear when he finally caught her. He’d expected smugness at what she’d managed to wrought for her Illyrian masters.

What he got instead was...devastation.

She wasn’t making a sound, but there were tears rolling down her cheeks, fresh ones welling in her eyes as she took in his thunderous expression. Somehow, they made him angrier than if she’d been arrogant, and he bared his teeth.

“Save your tears. I won’t be ensorceled by your treachery a second time.”

“Please,” she began, her voice devoid of the sensual husk she’d used on him before. “You don’t understand. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Pain lanced through him at those words, the same ones he’d pleaded to Nesta so many times since this nightmare had begun. He’d lost a great deal of conviction as time had worn on and Nesta had drifted further and further out of his reach, but here now was the truth—long sought—sobbing in his face.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“What’s your name?”

The female’s brows pulled together as if she meant to resist him by remaining silent, but when she caught the flash of True-Teller’s blade from the corner of her eye, she relented.

“Rabia.”

“Who sent you to Velaris, Rabia? Who told you where I’d be that day?”

The female shook her head, tears falling to soak the unadorned servant’s livery she wore.

“Please, it’s not what you think.”

“Speak plainly,” Azriel commanded. “If you cannot use your tongue, we’ll have no further use for it beyond supper for the hounds.”

“Please!” Rabia said a third time,straining at her bonds. “I didn’t have a choice!”

“Why not?” Cassian pressed. “You’re not Macaran; you’re not even Illyrian. Why do this for them?”

“For my son!” she burst.

This stopped Cassian in his tracks, some of the anger bleeding out of him. Even without Mor’s gift, he could tell from the look in Rabia’s eyes that she was telling the truth.

“What would the Illyrians care for one high fae child?” Azriel said.

“He’s half-Illyrian,” Rabia said. “And his father threatened to have him sent to the camp at Kaletaş if I didn’t help. I would never have been allowed to see him! Please, try to understand.”

Cassian and Azriel traded a look over the female’s head. Kaletaş was the Northernmost camp, and one famous for its brutality even among people undaunted by harsh measures.

“Who is his father?” Azriel said, peeling off the wall the circle the female. “He must be well-connected if he has the power to influence the Kaletaşi camp-leaders.”

Rabia winced as if the question had dealt her a physical blow.

“He’ll kill me,” she said, voice growing hoarse from her tears. “If he found out it was me who’d told you. He’ll kill me, and send Safet to Kaletaş. Please, he’s only ten. I’m all he has.”

“If the Macarans succeed in starting a civil war, your boy won’t stand a chance whether you are there to protect him or not,” Azriel snarled quietly. “Tell us who his father—“

“It’s Lazar,” Cassian said, watching as the remaining color drained from the female’s face. “Isn’t it?”

Her sobs began anew, trapped in her throat as she fought to master herself. Cassian wasn’t surprised. It was just the sort of cruel and foolish thing Lazar would do, using the mother of his child to achieve his selfish ends.

“It was a mistake,” Rabia breathed. “A horrible mistake, but by the time I realized it was too late; I was already pregnant. I tried to flee, but someone told Lazar I was with child and he dragged me back. We have been beholden to him ever since.”

“Why did he send you to Velaris? What did he tell you?”

“Nothing!”

Cassian bared his teeth, temperature rising again as she sputtered, fighting her bonds.

“He didn’t tell me why he wanted me to go,” Rabia said. “He just gave me orders and sent me South.”

“And what were your orders?” Azriel prompted.

Color flooded Rabia's cheeks even as she withered under Cassian’s unceasing stare. It was the question he’d dreaded to ask, even as every part of him strained to hear the answer. Rabia shook her head, and Azriel’s hand went to Truth-teller in warning.

“Speak,” he snarled.

The female bit her lip.

“To seduce the General.”

Cassian felt his axis tilting. It was the answer he’d been waiting for, been hoping for since he first began putting the puzzle together weeks ago. Still, the confirmation was a knife in the ribs. He felt sick when he remembered the score marks on his wings the next morning, the realization that Lazar had likely instructed her where to touch him in order to scent-mark him enough to drive him mad with humiliation and grief.

“And Adan? Was he in on this as well?” Azriel said.

Rabid shook her head, brows synched.

“I don’t know.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“I don’t know!” Rabia repeated with more conviction. “I’ve never even met the prince. If he is complicit in Lazar’s scheming, I have no knowledge of it.”

It was exactly what Cassian hadn’t wanted to hear. They still had no evidence Adan was involved, nor any to prove he was innocent either. And if he was innocent, what would it mean for his betrothal to Nesta? The idea was enough to make Cassian’s tomach roil, and he forced himself to focus on Rabia’s interrogation instead.

“I was sick for weeks after,” he said. “What did you give me?”

“I—“

The door boomed open as Nesta swept in, Mor on her heels. The latter eased the door shut and locked it behind them as Nesta’s blazing eyes took in the scene before her.

She looked every inch the commanding Şezhana in the resplendent ebony gown she wore, the conical gold combs in her hair resembling a corona of spikes. She stood completely motionless, the glimmer off the torchlight against the gems studding her bodice the only indication she was even still breathing.

Cassian’s heart became an exploding star in his chest, its force threatening to tear his soul from its mooring as he watched Nesta. He could see the exact moment Rabia’s scent hit her from the way her back when rigid, as if she could no longer feign indifference or miscomprehension. Finally, she turned her burning gaze on him. It was the first time she’d deigned to look at him full-on since this had all begun, and her beauty made his knees weak even now.

“What is this?” She said, hands forming into such tight fists that her knuckles had gone white.

“You know what this is,” he said.

He could hear her heart as it began to beat faster, her ribcage struggling to expand against the corset she wore. He longedto cut the damn thing off her so she could get a good breath, but he knew he had to stay where he was.

After a moment she looked at Azriel.

“Is it true?”

Azriel in turn faced Rabia, crossing arms across his chest.

“Tell her. Tell her what you told us.”

Rabia swallowed, voice thin when she finally spoke.

“I was sent to Velaris by Lazar to seduce the Lord Commander.”

“And if he couldn’t be swayed?” Azriel prompted.

The female bowed her head.

“I was given a tonic. I was told it would make him—pliant.”

“And was he?”

It was Mor, her voice hammered thin by a fury Cassian rarely saw from her.

Rabia looked around, eyes wide.

“Was he what?”

“Swayed. Were you successful in seducing him?”

Rabia’s throat worked, and that she settled for looking at Cassian and Azriel was a testament to the fear both Nesta and Mor managed to inspire.

“No,” she admitted. “I offered myself to him, but he—“

She broke off, trying to master herself.

“Speak,” Mor snarled.

Rabia swallowed a sob.

“He said he was flattered, but that he was in love with another female. That they were...” she made a sound that was half-sob, half-wretch. “That they were mates.”

Cassian felt dizzy. It was the first time any of them had formally acknowledged the word out loud, and it clanged through him with such violence that he felt for a moment he might be ill. He waited, breathless, for Nesta to deny the claim, but she didn’t, jaw set as Mor pressed, “So you drugged him, and had your way with him while he was too incapacitated to stop you, is that it?”

“No!” Rabia said. “I would never—“

“But you did!” Mor snarled, drawing a dagger from the folds of her gown and advancing on the still-bound Rabia with alarming speed. “Can you deny it? When he rejected your advance, you slipped something into his drink!”

Rabia sobbed.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!”

“What did you think was going to happen?” Mor said, teeth bared. “After you rap—“

“Enough, Mor,” Cassian said, not able to hear the next word said aloud. “You’ve made your point.”

“I’m just getting started,” Mor snarled, but then Azriel was there, slitting the bonds on Rabia’s hands and pushing her into Mor’s arms.

“Take her to Rhys,” he said. “Tell him to alter her memory and let her go; we can’t afford to let Lazar know we suspect him yet.”

Mor’s lip curled in disgust, but she took Rabia’s arm without further comment, dragging her from the room.

Cassian hardly noticed. His full attention was on Nesta, who was staring at him almost as if she’d never seen him before.

“I will leave you to talk,” Azriel said with a glance between them.

Before Cassian could think to reply, Az was gone and he and Nesta were alone.

For a minute they merely stood looking at each other, the silence deafening. Finally he couldn’t bear it, and Cassian broke.

“Nesta,” he began, advancing a step. “I’m sorry.”

Her only reply was several steps in the opposite direction. After everything they’d endured—that she’d been forced to endure—he wasn’t sure why it surprised him; he’d been foolish to think of few words from Rabia would undo all the hurt that festered between them. Still, he knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try to explain.

“Please, Nes,” he said. “I—“

“Why are you sorry?” Nesta interrupted, voice clipped and cold.

His brows drew together, her sharp tone a freshly-whetted blade he knew she would use to carve out his heart even now, even knowing the truth.

“Because I failed you.”

Her expression grew stormy, and he wondered where things had gone so wrong that even now she still hated him. However, after a moment he watched the thunderhead raging in her grey eyes swell and erupt, her face melting into something sorrowful and stark.

“No,” she said, and he realized the tightness in her voice wasn’t anger—it was tears. ”It’s I who has failed you.”

“No, Nes—“

She held up a hand to ward him off when he chanced another step in her direction, several tears skidding down her cheeks as her lip trembled with the effort of maintaining her composure.

“I should have listened to you,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I listen?”

Cassian’s heart strained to near-bursting.

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Her brows synched as her anguish seemed to gain some ground on her composure. He knew that besides Elain and perhaps Feyre, he was the only one who’d ever seen Nesta Archeron so undone, and it was not a burden he took lightly.

“Of course it does,” she said, voice brittle but no less edged. “How can you stand to look at me knowing how I’ve wronged you?”

Cassian’s throat grew tight, everything he’d learned from Rabia coalescing with his missing Nesta to form a leaden knot in his stomach.

“Because I love you,” he said.

“I know,” she said, tears flowing freely now. “I know that now.”

Cassian’s eyes burned.

“Then please, won’t you let me hold you?”

Nesta let out a choked noise, eyes almost fearful as she looked up at him.

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Please Nesta, let me—” 

Nesta shook her head, arms wrapped around herself like she was afraid she’d physically fall apart.

“If I let myself near you, I will never find the strength to do what I have to.”

The words were a knife to the gut.

“You can’t mean to go through with the betrothal.”

Nesta bit her lip.

“What choice do I have?”

“We have proof—“

She shook her head, seeming somewhat resigned now.

“It’s not enough, and we both know it. If we truly mean to expose Lazar’s treachery, we must have hard evidence of his crimes.”

“And Adan?”

She flinched a bit at thename, though her back remained straight as she said through her tears, “perhaps Adan is my penance, for what I’ve put you through.”

Cassian couldn’t fight the tear that slipped out at that, at the blade Nesta had turned inward upon the realization she’d been wrong.

“You haven’t put me through anything I wouldn’t have gladly endured for your sake,” he said. “Please, don’t do this.”

She shook her head, jaw set despite the tears shining in her eyes.

“Our problem remains the same, Cassian. Unless we can prove the Macarans have ill intent, we risk civil war. I can’t put my sisters through that, not again. I have to—-“

Nesta covered her hand with her hand and began to sob, and it was a sound so stark in its grief and Cassian felt it tremble through every cell in his body.

Damning the consequences he dropped his shield, his consciousness racing down the bridge towards hers as he surged for her, just in time to catch her as she sagged to the floor.

He gathered her into his arms as she unraveled, her face buried in his neck as her whole body shook with the force of her tears.

“Forgive me,” she sobbed. “Please, say that you forgive me.”

Cassian coaxed her head from his shoulder, brushing the loose hair from her face as he gazed into her eyes.

“There is nothing to forgive, minu südame süda. None of this is your fault.”

Nesta’s eyes fell closed as she rested her cheek against his palm, even as her long nails dug into his arm.

“I will kill her for what she’s done to you. I will spike her head to the gates of this foul city, and Lazar’s alongside it. You have my word.”

He brushed away a tear skidding down the apple of her cheek.

“I would rather have your promise that you will not go back to Macar. Please, Nes. I’ve only just gotten you back. Do not ask me to send you away.”

She pulled his hand away from her face.

“You would go, if our places were reversed.”

“Not if you asked me to stay.”

Her gaze was steady but unyielding as she studied him.

“I know what beats in your heart; you cannot lie to me.”

He felt the pressure building behind his eyes at the realization she was right. He fended off a choked exhale as she reached forward to press a hand to his heart, gentle in a way he rarely imagined Nesta being.

“I must go, and you must let me.”

“And if it turns out to be only Lazar? If Adan is innocent in all this?”

A muscle feathered in her jaw.

“I don’t know.”

“You would be honor-bound by the kilhamine to marry him. He would steal you away to Macar, and we would never—“

Nesta shook her head, fingers brushing his lips in a silent command.

“Our path has never been easy, but still it’s always found a way to lead us back to one another. For now that must be enough.”

“Nes...”

“Te cакам,” she breathed.

Had Cassian not already been on the ground, his knees would have given out to hear her say it. He’d all but given up hope that he ever would.

He pressed his forehead to hers.

“I can’t lose you.”

“No,” she said, eyes fluttering closed. “You cannot, because I am already yours.”

There was a long pause in which neither of them spoke, and despite everything Cassian had longed to say to Nesta all these weeks alone, in that moment he knew there was nothing he needed to say that she didn’t already know.

He would have assumed it was the bond, but he realized it was nothing so complicated as any of that; it was simply the ease of two people who’d known and loved one another long enough not to need to speak to be mutually understood.

Instead Cassian reveled in her light, elegant scent and the softness of her skin as he breezed his thumb across her cheekbone. When she didn’t pull away from his touch he leaned a fraction closer, lips brushing the remaining tears from her cheeks before gravitating towards her mouth and hovering.

“Nesta,” he breathed, free hand tangling in the mass of curls coming unspooled from the heavy gold pins.

At her name she seemed to snap from her trance, pressing her fingers to his lips as she shook her head.

“I can’t,” she said. “We can’t.”

Mastering herself she pulled away, wiping her eyes as she struggled to her feet amidst the obsidian sea of her gown.

“I have to go. Adan will be suspicious.”

Cassian would be surprised at her composure but for the fact that Nesta seemed to possess strength beyond what the Mother had given other, lesser creatures. Even now with her gown rumpled and her eyes slightly red-rimmed, she was a pillar of steel.

“Go,” he said. “I will wait before following.”

Nesta nodded, though her lips tightened as she studied him with increased scrutiny.

“Promise me you’ll do nothing rash until we can speak with the others and formulate a plan for dealing with Lazar.”

Despite everything he found himself smiling weakly. He’d missed hearing his Nesta giving orders. However, the mirth faded at seeing her grave expression and the spectre of fear still shading her bright eyes.

“You have my word,” he said.

She nodded again, and he bowed his head as she turned to slip through the door. Even knowing why she had to leave, he didn’t think he could bear to watch her physically go, especially knowing who she was going back to.

“Cassian?”

Surprised, Cassian glanced up to see her still standing in the arched doorway, the torchlight dancing off the gems in her gown making her appear as if she were tongued in dark flame. Her brows drew together as they studied one another for a moment in silence. Finally, she continued, voice soft but resolute.

“I’m sorry for what she did to you. I understand you may need time to process or to grieve, but when you’re ready to speak, I will be here to listen.”

Cassian’s throat was instantly, unbearably tight, and all he could manage was a croaked, “I love you.”

She didn’t repeat the sentiment, but Cassian could feel echoes of it drifting down the bond between them as she gave him a final look and disappeared.

Cassian didn’t know how long he remained there in the dark after that, knowing there were a million things that needed tending to without being able to make himself do a single one. All he could think about was Rabia admitting she’d slipped a tonic in his drink, and Nesta saying ‘I love you’. Pain and joy coalesced, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or sob in weighing what he’d both lost and gained that evening.

In the end he found himself too fragile to do either, and he pushed them down instead, rising to his feet as he transformed from a heartbroken male to the General of the Night Court legions.

If he had to be patient to get his hands on Lazar, so be it; the wait would make his death all the sweeter. And if he had to wait for Nesta—he sighed, expelling a shaky breath before steeling himself and exiting the dungeon cell. If he had to wait a thousand years for Nesta, he would do it. For now he could only do his part and pray it wouldn’t come to that.

The morning after the welcome feast, Nesta found herself once again in her dressing room, though this time she wasn’t alone. She tried to ignore the faint echo of her pulse which buzzed in her ears, a symptom of stress she’d suffered from on and off since childhood. It had largely subsided the last fifty years, though it had begun to occur with more frequency since things had gone to pieces with Cassian. After what she’d learned the night before, it had been pounding non-stop, the ringing enough to nearly drive her mad.

It had been so loud and persistent when she’d first torn herself away from Cassian’s side and rejoined the feast that it had been difficult to hear anything being said as she fought to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

It had grown from a buzzing to a roar when she’d felt the slide of a warm, calloused hand at her elbow.

“There you are,” Adan had breathed in her ear, close enough that his lips nearly brushed the pointed tip. “I thought I’d lost you.”

It took a lifetime of unassailable self-restraint not to stiffen at the proprietary touch, especially as Adan continued, “come, dance with me.”

With that he’d slipped a hand around her waist, the other tucking behind his back as she brought her hand to his shoulder, the other going to keep her sea of skirts from underfoot. She wondered if he could hear her heart as they turned across the floor, other guests stepping out of their path as Adan maneuvered her with ease.

Adan had watched Nesta with curious scrutiny as they danced, but Nesta hadn’t been able to bring herself to smile at him as she perhaps should have. The female’s confession had still been ringing in her ears, fraying her sanity.

Cassian had been right; all this time he’d been telling her the truth, and she’d been too guarded and selfish to see the truth. And when she thought of what had been done to him in order to sow discord between them...

“Are you alright, prensesim?”

Nesta had forced herself to look at Adan, trying to mimic the guileless expression Elain used when she wished to feign sweet ignorance.

“Fine,” she’d said. “Only fatigued from the day’s festivities.”

“Perhaps you’ll allow me to escort you to your chambers, then.”

Nesta had glanced around for someone who might spare her from this fate, but finding no one she’d merely nodded. They ascended into the royal apartments in silence, and when they’d reached Nesta’s rooms she’d attempted a hasty kiss on the cheek as she bid Adan goodnight.

However, he’d gently caught at her hands, pressing her into the door as his soft lips found hers. Nesta had contemplated shoving him off considering everything she’d heard that evening. After all, this was a male who’d possibly been responsible for abusing Cassian, and that was enough to make Nesta want to gut him like a fish.

However, it was just as possible he was innocent, and they would need his support in punishing Lazar and breaking the engagement given that it had been made under false pretenses. With no proof of the former, she’d let him kiss her, even as she searched for a way to end it. If he was innocent, she didn’t want to be accused of fallaciously leading him on.

She’d been relieved when he’d pulled back, though the feeling was short-lived as he whispered, “I know I promised I would not force you, but may I come to you tonight after the city sleeps? I feel I will go mad if I cannot—”

“Nesta.”

The stricture in Nesta’s throat had loosened at seeing Elain, her smile benign but her doe-brown eyes flashing with a fire Nesta had been sure only she could see.

“Forgive me, I am interrupting?”

Adan had flushed at that, stepping back from Nesta and giving Elain a courtier’s bow. He’d then turned back to Nesta a final time, eyes full of yearning as he said, “Until tomorrow then, my princess.”

With that he’d disappeared, and Elain had pressed into Nesta’s arms, grip fierce.

“Azriel told me what happened,” Elain had said, touching Nesta’s cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I feel a monster,” Nesta had admitted. “I was wrong to doubt him.”

“No one blames you,” Elain had assured her. “Least of all Cassian.”

“I don’t believe you would have treated Azriel in such a manner, were our places reversed.”

“Don’t torture yourself, please. The good news is that you know the truth now, and we have a chance to stop all this before Lazar succeeds in whatever it is he’s planning. The others are waiting to discuss strategy. Would you—”

“I can’t,” Nesta had interrupted. “It’s all too raw.”

Elain had only nodded.

“We’ll speak before the ceremony tomorrow. Try to rest, my love.”

Nesta had nodded, Elain squeezing her hand a final time before turning to go.

“Elain? Please, tell Cassian…”

When she’d trailed off, Elain smiled.

“He already knows,” Elain had said. “But I will.”

Nesta had no further energy after that, and she’d slipped inside her room, staying only long enough to change into a more comfortable shift and slippers before summoning Nuala and asking she wake the tailor.

There was something Nesta needed done.

Now, sitting in her dressing room in the moonstone palace surrounded by the rest of her court, she felt more composed, though admittedly no less anxious inside.

Cassian had yet to arrive, but Rhysand, the Shadowsinger, the Morrigan, and both of her sisters were discussing their next move.

“We ought to use the girl to expose Lazar’s lies and be done with the whole affair,” Mor snarled from where she lounged on a nearby chaise. “This has gone on long enough.”

Azriel gave a dismissive sound from where he stood near the window, monitoring for unfriendly eyes and ears on the balcony beyond.

“Lazar will dismiss Rabia as a liar, and it will be her word against his.”

“So we force the truth out of him,” Mor said. “Between Rhys’s gift and mine, it would be over fairly quickly.”

“I tested them last night,” Rhysand said. “The Macarans mental defenses are impressive. Tunneling through would take more time than we have.”

“Besides,” Feyre added. “How will it look if the High Lord is caught trying to break into the minds of his vassals? We’d be facing the exact war we’ve been trying so hard to avoid.”

“Where does that leave us, then?” Elain asked.

“In the same place,” Nesta said tightly. “I must go forward with the kilhamine. I will use the time I have in Illyria between now and the wedding to discover proof of Lazar’s betrayal and determine whether Adan is involved as well.”

“If you fail, you’ll have no choice but to go through with the marriage,” Feyre pointed out in a soft voice. “You will be bound to Adan for the rest of your life, whether he is guilty or not.”

Nesta stiffened at the idea, even as she forced her shoulders back.

“It’s a risk we have to take. Cassian agrees.”

“This will be agony for him,” Mor said, tone edged with frost. “For you the bond will be easier to ignore, but for him it will be a physical and emotional torment now that you’ve acknowledged the claim.”

“There is no claim. He’s not some beast ruled only by primal instinct. He knows why I’m doing this, and that it does not change what lies between us, bond or no,” Nesta clipped.

“Does he?” Mor challenged.

“Yes. And I do not remember inviting you into our affairs, now or ever.”

“This decision doesn’t affect just you—”

“Mor, enough,” Rhysand cut in. “Nesta is right; this decision is between her and Cassian, and it is also the best one available to us right now.”

At this he turned to Nesta.

“Az and I will work on Lieutenant Na’ahmah while you are away. She seems an honorable female, and she’s in the prince’s confidence. It is possible she may know some of his secrets. At the very least, she’ll know where his skeletons are buried; it could be useful in scaring up proof.”

Nesta nodded, not wanting to discuss this any further. She knew in her gut that she was making the right choice in forging ahead with the kilhamine, but it didn’t make the idea of binding herself to a male other than Cassian—even temporarily—any easier.

“I need to get dressed,” she said in dismissal. “We can speak more after the ceremony; I don’t leave for Illyria until nightfall.”

The males and Morrigan—still looking displeased—nodded their understanding and filed out, leaving only the Archeron sisters.

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” Feyre again. “But for what it’s worth, Nes, I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t be. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“Who among us hasn’t?” Elain said. “That you would acknowledge them at all is a testament to your character.”

Nesta’s throat tightened at this, and not wanting to delve further she instead asked, “Have you seen him yet today? How—” she swallowed, fighting to keep her voice even. “How is he?”

“He went on patrol early this morning,” Feyre said. “I think he needed something to distract him from—” Feyre broke off to squeeze Nesta’s hand. “He promised he’d return before the ceremony began. I’m sure this will be his first stop.”

Nesta merely nodded at this, grateful for Nuala and Cerridwen as they appeared, the latter bearing a garmented wrapped in soft linen.

“We’ll leave you to it, then,” Elain said, smiling.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Feyre added with a kiss to Nesta’s cheek. “We will send Cassian to you the minute he returns.”

With that her sisters disappeared as well, and Nesta half-collapsed into the small divan in front of her vanity, taking a deep breath. It all seemed so much more dire now that she was alone.

She hadn’t had the courage to ask her sisters to stay. Despite the fact she knew they loved her, it was difficult to let herself be vulnerable with them. She was the eldest, and yet she’d failed to protect them in so many ways whether they were growing up. The least she could do for them now was remain composed, at least when they were around.

“Are you ready to begin, My Lady?” Nuala said, a hand resting on Nesta’s shoulder.

Her touch was cool even through the silk of Nesta’s dressing gown, and she found it oddly reassuring.

She nodded, and the twins began on her hair. For the ceremony it would remain unbound in the Illyrian custom, save for a portion at the top. Nuala and Cerridwen brushed out the conker mass of Nesta’s hair before coaxing curls into the ends and teasing volume into a section at the crown.

When it was finished they helped her into her restrictive undergarments and tightened her corset before unwrapping the package which lay on the bed.

“Straight from the dressmaker, My Lady,” Cerridwen said, pulling the gown from it’s bed of linen. “And just as you instructed.”

Nesta exhaled a shaking breath, coming forward to brush the silken skirt. Originally the gown had been white and studded with diamonds. An unusual choice for a kilhamine gown, or so she’d been told, though in the end it acceptable for the occasion. However, after what Nesta had learned of Cassian the night before, she’d been desperate for some way to show him what he still meant to her.

So she’d gone to Rhysand’s famed tailor, waking the ancient female to ask her that the gown be dyed cardinal and that the diamonds be replaced with rubies. The gnarled faerie had grumbled at the inconvenience at first, but something in Nesta’s expression must have convinced her because eventually she’d agreed, informing Nesta it would be ready in the morning before all but slamming the door in her face. Nesta had listened to the soft purr of the female’s magic as she began coaxing color into the gems one by one before retreating to her own room again.

Cardinal was the color most closely related to glory in Illyria and as such it would make an obvious choice for a kilhamine gown. However, Nesta had been sure to explain the exact shade she’d wanted, and seeing it now, she was not disappointed.

It was somehow richer than an ordinary red, and the color perfectly matched the slumberous flame of Cassian’s siphons. It was an ode Nesta was positive would not go unnoticed by those who knew where to look.

Nesta accepted a hand from Nuala as she stepped into the gown, fitted through the low-cut bust before billowing out at the hips. She tried not to fidget as the twins trussed up the army of satin buttons which formed an orderly line down the back.

She could hardly breathe by the time Cerridwen ushered her to sit at the vanity again, easing an elaborate headdress out of a box and placing it atop Nesta’s head before beginning to secure it in place.

A coronet of blood-red roses formed the base, each in perfect bloom. On top of the roses sat a complicated gold crown of sorts, a ruby set into the center, and jutting above it all was a halo of iridescent blue-black macaw feathers which glimmered in the soft light.

It was magnificent beyond measure, offering a beautiful counterpoint to her gown and ruby painted lips. Mutely she accepted a pair of plain good earrings which hung to her bare shoulders from Nuala before meeting her own gaze in the mirror.

She looked no less fierce than she had the day before, but she could acknowledge that she looked less sad. The road ahead still reached farther than she cared to admit, but somehow it felt a little less dark now that she knew the truth: that she was not as weak nor as unlovable as she’d feared.

There was a knock at the door as Nesta rose to her feet, a glance out the window telling her the sun was nearly set. Her heart was in her throat as she reached for the knob, though it sank as she opened it to find Rhysand waiting for her.

He opened his mouth to speak and she merely held up a hand.

“Spare me; I’m not in the mood for your games, Rhysand.”

Rhysand gave a sardonic smile, though she could see something more sincere lurking below it.

“I was merely going to tell you that you look beautiful.”

“I always look beautiful,” she snapped, needing the vitriol to provide her some sense of normalcy.

Rhysand chuckled.

“You look particularly beautiful then.”

When she sniffed, he added, “That color suits you greatly.”

She turned to glare at him for the jibe only to find the mirth had evaporated from his face.

“When did you decide to change it?”

“Last night. After I heard—”

He nodded, offering her his arm as they began the long descent to the great hall of the Hewn City.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been forced to endure, Nesta. I know this must be difficult for you.”

“It’s Cassian who deserves your sympathy, not me.”

“And he has it,” Rhysand said, tugging her arm to halt her as he gently touched her chin. “But you were also deceived, and made to suffer for it. I know you don’t care for being fussed over, but know that you are allowed to grieve as well.”

Nesta gently brushed his hand away.

“When did you become so tolerable?” She said, beginning to walk again.

Rhysand laughed.

“I knew I would wear you down eventually, Nesta Archeron.”

“Don’t push it,” she warned.

Still, something warm had kindled in her chest, helping to fight off the darkness as they moved farther and farther into the belly of the beast. Soon enough they could hear the primal heartbeat of the bone drums, and Nesta felt her own heart’s rhythm falling into step, hammering so hard she was afraid her ribs would be bruised. The gown and her nerves made it difficult to breathe as they halted outside the large wrought-iron gates, the twisting metal meant to represent the scale body of some serpentine beast.

“Azriel will escort you down the aisle,” Rhysand explained, drawing her from her reverie. “But we have time, would you like me to wait—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I wish to be alone for a moment.”

“Alone” wasn’t what she meant and they both knew it, but it was clear from his expression Rhysand had decided against making a comment about it.

“As you wish,” he said, nodding. “Azriel will let you know when it’s time.”

She nodded, warring with the urge to ask where Cassian was. Still, she bit her tongue. If he needed time to gain his composure, she owed it to him without complaint; it was the least she could do.

Instead she found herself pacing back in front of the gates as the drums continued, accompanied now by Night Court strings meant to celebrate the High Lord’s mixed heritage. She couldn’t have said how much time had passed before she heard the rustle of wings and turned to face the Shadowsinger.

Except it wasn’t Azriel. It was Cassian, dressed in the same ornamental armor as the previous day, the same silver hoops strung through his ears.

She watched his throat work as he struggled to speak, and she waited, breathless.

“Nesta,” he said finally.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” she admitted. “I would not have blamed you for wanting to stay away.”

“I could never stay away from you,” he said, though she noted he’d yet to come any closer. “Never.”

She nodded, glancing down at her velvet slippers.

“You changed your gown,” he said after a beat. “It’s lovely.”

“It’s for you,” she admitted.

Only with him had she ever felt safe enough to be so vulnerable, and it was a relief to know she still knew how after what they’d been through.

His syphons pulsed dully in response, as if the admission had awoken something in his very power. When he didn’t respond beyond that, Nesta forced herself a step forward.

“How are you?”

He exhaled a shaky breath.

“I would be better were this our kilhamine, and I were waiting for you at the end of that aisle instead of Adan.”

It was a thought she’d spent all day trying to avoid, and hearing him say it out loud made her heart ache.

“I may say the words to Adan, but my vows will be to you.”

Inside the hall the drums seemed to intensify, and Nesta felt the time between them slipping away like sand through an hourglass.

“I’m sorry I did not believe you when I had the chance. Perhaps if I had—” she could hear the tears in her own voice, even knowing she couldn’t let them escape.

Cassian only shook his head.

“I would forgive you anything,” he said. “And in this case there is nothing to forgive. I only ask now that you don’t give up on me.”

“I could never,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Even in my darkest rage I could not hate you the way I longed to.”

The drums changed again, growing more rhythmic. Nesta and Cassian seemed to realize at the same moment they’d run out of time, and in an instant he was there, crushing Nesta against the wall as he kissed her. She strung an arm around his neck to pull him closer and he lifted her nearly off her feet, his tongue brushing hers as he slid his leg between her thighs to keep her upright. Even that slight touch was enough to set her body on fire, and she moaned softly into his mouth.

“Nes,” he groaned, winging flaring slightly as she pressed closer, her breast flush against his chest. “Nesta.”

Her fingers dug into leathers as he moved to her neck, lips brushing the first spot on her body he’d ever touched. She forgot everything but him as he grazed her pulse point with his teeth. A primal fae part of her wanted him to sink them into her flesh in a claiming mark, even knowing such a thing would be damning giveaway—

“Cassian.”

The muscles in Cassian’s back stiffened at hearing Azriel’s voice, but after a breath he gently extricated himself from her embrace, easing her back to the floor and smoothing her rumpled gown.

“You’re needed in the great hall,” Azriel said. “People have begun to take note of your absence.”

Cassian nodded before turning back to Nesta, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he said quietly.

“Cassian, now,” Azriel prompted, and as Cassian made to leave, the Shadowsinger caught his arm. “And take more care the next time. Anyone could have seen you two just now.”

Cassian didn’t offer a retort, just gave Nesta a last lingering look before disappearing down the hall towards the ball door into the great hall.

She felt hollowed out in his absence, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s as she fought to keep herself composed after his touch had threatened to undo her.

She was grateful at least that Azriel didn’t seem inclined to comment, and after several steadying breaths she accepted his proffered arm. As with the day before, her gown was heavy and unwieldy, and her corset tight enough that every step was an effort.

She found her breaths growing shorter and shorter as the gates groaned open, and she began to fear she might faint if her corset wasn’t loosened.

However, after a moment she felt an invisible shield of air forming around her nose and mouth, allowing her to take in her own oxygen.

“You’re having a panic attack,” Azriel whispered from her side. “I know it’s difficult, but take deep breaths and try to relax.”

Nesta might have snapped back at him where she not under such duress, but instead she simply did as he instructed, taking in great lungfuls of the cool, cedar-tinted air and blowing it out of her mouth as the gates yawned open and they started up the aisle under the watchful eyes of several hundred guests. At first Nesta tried to focus her attention on Adan, but she quickly found it only had the panic rising in her chest. After struggling once again to regain control, she let her eyes settle on Cassian instead.

It was like a dagger to the heart seeing him there, standing up and to the left of where he should have been, at the middle of the dais waiting for her. However, it was a pain Nesta welcomed, because it at least served as a reminder that this was real and not some fever dream born of loneliness and despair.

Cassian’s expression remained impassive as she made her way to the dais, but when his lips moved almost imperceptibly she knew what he was saying.

Te cакам. I love you.

She didn’t dare acknowledge the sentiment with even a nod, reaching instead to smooth the cardinal silk of her gown. His eyes glittered at the gesture, and though it wasn’t enough to fill Nesta’s aching heart, for now she let it be enough.

She was close enough to the dais now that she let her gaze drift to Adan. He looked as beautiful as she’d even seen him, the livery collar of syphons draped across his broad chest glittering the same color as his dark eyes. She studied him—his posture and the pair of ornamental curved blades hanging at either hip—and wondered for the hundredth time if she could trust him. Perhaps he was innocent in all this, and she could trust him to break the engagement without scandal or conflict once proof of his cousin’s treachery was unveiled. Or perhaps he’d orchestrated the whole affair, and they would end up with a civil war before the decade was out. Nesta hated herself for her selfishness, but what she feared more than war was marrying Adan, whether he was guilty or not.

Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of Adan’s gaze as he watched her make her way up the aisle towards him, the silk of her gown hissing like a serpent as it dragged on the stone floor. He was smiling, his gaze still soft with reverence , but she could see the eagerness as well—the desire to possess that ran deep in the Illyrian male blood.

She would be his.

Perhaps not forever, if things went according to plan, but at least while they were bound by this betrothal, some part of her—of her freedom—would belong to Adan. The thought was enough to make her mouth water with impending bile as she made her way closer.

She could feel Rhysand eying her as she stepped onto the dais, Azriel melting from her side and taking his rightful place at the High Lord’s left. Unable to help herself, she glanced up at Rhysand .He was as resplendent as ever, having donned his crown of ravens’ wings whose glinting gems matched the sparkling in his mesmerizing blue eyes. There was a knowing in his gaze as he studied her, expression neutral but gaze keen.

I am different because I know what you’d be sacrificing,, he’d said to her in Illyria. I know what it is to cede your power, to bed and obey someone who you don’t love.

Is that what this was, a concession? It was hard to let herself believe so, especially if arrangement turned out to be temporary. Still, some part of her couldn’t deny what she stood to lose.

You’re mine, Adan had told her in the nightmare she’d once had about him. Unless proof of his complicity could be unearthed, he’d been right: she would be his, and it wouldn’t just be for a few months.

It would be for eternity.

Nesta’s pulse had begun to buzz in her ears again as she accepted Adan’s hand, so loud now that she couldn’t hear Rhysand’s words as he addressed the assembly and offered his blessing to the union.

She could do this, Nesta reminded herself as Rhysand wrapped the customary silk around her and Adan’s wrists.

For Feyre, and Elain, and the baby. For peace in the realm and a respite from war and death.

It was the same refrain she’d played for herself the previous day, though it had begun to wear thin as her courage waned at the silk being tightened to signify the bond of the kilhamine.

So she added a final name, one she hadn’t dared to include before, even as it had haunted her every thought.

For Cassian.

For the life they may yet share. Despite the pain the truth had brought, Nesta felt hope—long dormant—swelling in her chest. Cassian was hers and she is, and she would find the truth and set them both free.

Her gaze slid to Lazar over Adan’s shoulder, his smile overripe with self-satisfaction.

Forcing all her remaining steel into her expression, Nesta met his eyes.

You will not win, she vowed to herself. You may be winning now, but I will see you laid low before the end.

She felt an echo of what felt like agreement resonate through her with surprising warmth, and she knew it must have been the bond. She was not alone, she reminded herself as she focused on Adan again. No matter the road she had to travel going forward, no matter how narrow or how steep, Nesta was not alone.

And neither was she powerless.

She was the heir of the dreaded Cauldron and the mate of one of the most powerful Illyrians ever born, and she’d come at last to see justice done. And not Adan, nor Lazar, nor the Mother herself would be able to stop her.

She was Nesta Archeron, acolyte of Death, and she was about to be unleashed.

Next Time on Like a Lonely House…

Lieutenant Na’ahmah stiffened.

“You wish me to betray my prince’s confidence, is that it?”

Rhys shifted in his seat, gaze steady.

“I wish to know where there is cancer in Illyria so that I may cut it out before it spreads. I am not accusing your prince of anything, merely asking the question.”

“You speak of Illyrians as if you are not one of us.”

Rhys shrugged.

“I am only half-Illyrian, and I have faced my fair share of prejudice for that fact. You will forgive me if I lack your ardent patriotism, admirable though it may be.”

A muscle feathered in the lieutenant’s jaw, but she otherwise remained silent.

“Have you something to add, Na’ahmah?’

She shifted on her feet, wings rustling.

“May I speak freely, My Lord?”

Rhys’s eyebrows rose.

“Of course. Always.”

Na’ahmah nodded, glancing down at her polished boots as if to compose herself before looking Rhys straight in the eyes.

“Also long as you consider Illyria to be brutal and backwards, it will be. And every time you treat us like savages, you support those who seek to uphold the old ways and silence those who would see things change. Adan is a bright light after centuries of darkness, and he would sooner destroy himself than see Illyria harmed.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

If you’d like to be tagged, please comment below. As always, I look forward to hearing what you think! Love you all, and stay safe 💗

POST SCRIPT: I don’t often include links to the clothing or character references I use because I think it undercuts my story-telling ability if I simply post links to the things I describe. HOWEVER, the reference for the headdress Nesta wears is SO divine you simply have to see it, so click the link to see this gorgeous kinaree headdress with macaw feathers from a vendor called SerpentFeathers. You will not be disappointed.

TAG LIST: @mydarlingrhys @flourishandblottsx @empress-ofbloodshed @santas-dwynwen @katexrenee @verifiefangirl @urbisie @nalgenewhore @mariamuses @moonbeammadness @rhysanoodle @lady-therion @julesherondalex @kingdomofbrokenhearts @faequeenaelin @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @missing-merlin @maastrash @tswaney17 @keshavomit @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @fourshizzle149 @randomtogacotar22 @azrielismycinnamonrollprimary @dreamerforever-5 @girlreadingaboveherlevel @twlightscourt @wraithsmercy @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @sezkins79 @mightymorphingayagenda @iwishistayedd @kamustyles @donnarosemary @tinylittlebluebird @cutie-bug @fucking-winchester-trash @tea-drinker25 @wolffrising @dreamsofg0ld @sunsummoner @goths-eat-electricity @snoobolit271 @highlordrhysie @aelinfeyreisa @easkyrah @nessian-girl @goldbooksblack @hellas-himself @abillionlittlepieces @togreblog @marnz @shadowsofthenightcourt @brittpetersen @chocolateserialkiller @overgrown-bat @illyrianbeauty @elaiassian @xxrattlethestarsxx @mis-lil-red @kamustyles @cinemaaddict @nesta-cassian-love @izou1204 @a-august-t @umbrellabrass @thatsubtleblush @moids @theogvodkaaunt @theminorfallandthemajorlift @lord-douglas-the-third @booksstorm @jessicawooten @b00kworm @tothbalintkoka @astreia-oniria @lordof-bloodshed @

#nessian #cassian x nesta #acotar #nesta x cassian #nessian angst #featherywrites

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twomanyideas · 4 years

Text

The Search for the Supreme Scent

Fan art used with permission from @x-thekid A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404 with @x-thekid

Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2020 Pairing: Gray x Natsu AO3 | Ch 1 | Next: Ch 2

Summary: Natsu has decided he’s lived with his feelings for Gray long enough. It was one thing when he thought that Gray and Juvia were together, but now that he knows differently, he refuses to wake up one morning only to find that it's too late.

When Erza forces the two of them to do a job, he discovers it's just the opportunity he needs.

0-0

This is our entry for the Fairy Tail Reverse Bang, which was a really fun event hosted by @ftguildevents.

We were lucky enough to be paired with @x-thekid who is the wonderful artist behind this fan art. You can see her post here. Please take a moment to let her know how much you liked her art!

A few notes:

This story touches upon three in-game quests - Isosceles or Love Triangle (Juvia Character Story), Monster Outbreak from the Very Difficult Requests Set DLC, and The Search for the Supreme Scent (Ichiya Character Story).

This AU has elements of Fairy Tail canon, game canon, as well as game elements we have attempted to incorporate into the story. An example of this is duels, which is an in-game mechanism and not at all as dramatic as Gray might make them sound. ;)

In the game all the playable characters are always at Fairy Tail, this includes Jellal, Ichiya, Kagura, Sting, Rogue, Lyon and Chelia.

We had a lot of fun working on this story and we hope you enjoy it! It is four chapters long and we will post a chapter daily until it is done.

Chapter 1

Natsu entered the newly restored Fairy Tail Guild in his usual manner, kicking the door open and announcing his presence.

“I’m back!”

Only a few people looked up from what they were doing, accustomed as they were to his loud entrances.

“Morning Natsu,” Lucy greeted from her spot at their team table.

“Oh, hey Lucy,” Natsu walked over to the table, plopping down across from her while Happy went off searching for the other Exceeds.

“Are you taking a job with the slayers today, or are we going on a team job?” Lucy asked, and from the look on her face, he could tell which answer she was hoping for.

“No rent money again?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“I’ve been going on a few requests with Levy and the others, but the jobs they take don’t tend to pay as much,” she explained quickly. “Although,” she teased, “there’s definitely a lot less destruction.”

Natsu chuckled. He certainly couldn’t say the same of the jobs he’d been going on. He was bad enough on his own, but adding Sting and Gajeel to the equation, it soon grew beyond anything he could have imagined.

“Sorry, Sting and Rogue should be here any minute.”

“Oh well, I’m sure I’ll figure something out,” Lucy began, but her voice was drowned out somewhat unexpectedly.

“For the last time. NO,” Gray’s yells cut through all conversations, and everyone turned to see what was happening. “I don’t want to go on another job with you!”

Gray stood by the request board, holding a flyer in his hand. His mouth was set in a hard line, but his fingers moved ever closer to the hem of his shirt, which Natsu knew meant he was anxious. Juvia stood next to him, leaving barely any space between them, as she usually did. Her eyes filled with tears at Gray’s tone, her gaze imploring him to change his mind, but it seemed for once the ice mage was determined not to back down.

Natsu heard the murmurs start, and given the things that were being said, he hoped Gray wasn’t able to.

“But Gray-sama, we make a perfect team,” Juvia pleaded, still determined to get her way, “Our magics are compatible, and Juvia can protect you better than anyone.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Gray scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I need is a partner who can keep their head on the job, and not on me.”

“Juvia can do that!” Juvia exclaimed, utterly oblivious to the rebuke. Her tears disappeared, and in her excitement, she grabbed on to Gray’s arm.

Gray shook himself free from her grasp and took a step back. “I said, NO,” he repeated firmly.

The guild’s murmurs only grew louder and more disapproving of Gray as Juvia once again began to cry, running off towards one of the rear exits that led to the pool. Many heads turned to follow her, some even sparing sympathetic looks, but no one offered to check on her, and after a few awkward seconds, Gajeel sighed and stepped up to the task. Natsu couldn’t help but feel bad for his rival, although his mind was swimming from what he’d just seen. Gray, however, seemed to have had enough. One second he was there, the next he was gone, and all that could be heard was the sound of the heavy guild doors slamming shut.

Natsu was as shocked as everyone else. Gray had always had a temper. He knew that better than anyone, but it was unlike him to lash out at any of the girls.

“What was that about?” he asked Lucy, who, like Mira, usually knew just about everything that went on in the guild.

Lucy peered at the guild doors thoughtfully and shrugged, “I guess she finally pushed too hard.”

“I thought he liked going on jobs with her,” Natsu commented, his brows furrowing in confusion when Lucy began to laugh.

“You really have been gone a lot, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?” he frowned, not liking that there was something about Gray he didn’t know.

“All I know is last week he practically begged me to go on a job with the two of them,” Lucy confided, “I thought Juvia was going to find a way to stab me with her eyes. It was so awkward.”

She glanced around the guild to make sure no one was paying any attention to them before revealing, “He looked miserable too. And the sad thing was when I asked him why he wanted me there,” Lucy paused, looking pained by her next words, “He said he didn’t feel like his body was safe around her.”

Natsu tried to come up with some sort of retort but found he couldn’t focus on anything but the maelstrom of emotions brewing inside him at hearing those words. On the one hand, he was cautiously hopeful that maybe Gajeel had been right when he’d told him he was reading too much into Gray’s relationship with Juvia. But that was short-lived. It was soon replaced by an increasing fury at the idea of Gray feeling that way about someone in their guild- the one place where they should all feel safe. “Aren’t Cana’s drinks great?” Erza commented as she joined them at the table, holding a mug full of some strawberry smelling concoction, and saving Natsu from having to come up with a reply.

“They sure are,” Lucy agreed, seeming just as relieved to change the subject. “Just the thing before going on a job.”

His two friends continued talking about some of the other upgrades they had added to the guild while Natsu struggled to control himself. He could understand being angry on Gray’s behalf, but this rage flowing through him seemed excessive, and it disturbed him.

Gray had always been able to take care of himself. He didn’t need protection from anyone, least of all him. Natsu tried to take part in the conversation around him when Juvia happened to walk past him. The hair on the back of his neck rose, and to his great shock, he found himself growling at her, his fists balled and ready to attack. Juvia gaped at him before hurrying away from their table.

Lucy glanced at him curiously while Erza’s eyes narrowed at the display. Natsu could already tell he was in for it, and he wasn’t disappointed when he felt the sharp sting of her fist connecting with his head.

“For goodness sake, pull yourself together, Natsu! Is that what you slayers do on these jobs, act like wild animals?”

“Of course not!” he complained, rubbing his head, even as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened.

“Did we miss something?” Sting Eucliffe asked as he promptly shoved Natsu further into the booth to make room for him and Rogue. “We saw Gray as we came in. He looks pissed.”

Natsu shrugged in reply, not wanting to get into what had happened.

“Are Gajeel and Wendy here yet?” Rogue asked, looking around the guild for the other slayers.

Natsu could tell the moment Gray reentered the guild, not just by the surge of his familiar scent but also by the whispers. When the ice mage took his seat at their table, Natsu made sure to look down at the tabletop so that Gray wouldn’t be able to see his face, just in case it betrayed his feelings.

Natsu could feel the guild’s temperature drop a few degrees as soon as Gray noticed Sting and Rogue. “Great, you two are here again.”

“Gray!” Erza scolded, “Is that any way to talk to our friends?”

Gray covered his eyes with his hand in what Natsu recognized as a futile attempt to control himself. A few moments later, he fixed his gaze on Natsu and scoffed, “So I’m guessing you’re going off with them again today?”

Natsu nodded, not trusting his words not to anger Gray further when he was so clearly holding on by a tenuous thread.

“When you talked to us about this, you said this shit was only going to be once a week,” Gray reminded him.

“I haven’t been gone that often,” Natsu protested, even though he knew it was certainly more than they had initially planned. “I don’t hear anyone else complaining.”

“Oh, believe me, we’ve all done plenty of complaining. You just haven’t been around to hear it. Lucy can’t make her rent from the jobs she can manage on her own.”

“If you’re so worried about Lucy, why don’t you go on a job with her?” Natsu challenged.

“Hey!” Lucy snapped, “Leave me out of this.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it,” Gray pinched the bridge of his nose, “Ugh, you’re giving me a headache.”

“What’s the matter, Princess?” Natsu goaded, “You miss me?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Flame Brain. You’re neglecting your friends- our team- to go off to play with the other dragon slayers.” To make matters worse, Sting decided to butt into the conversation. “Nah, we’re not playing! We’re, uh...pushing each other to get stronger!” he grinned, casually resting his elbow on Natsu’s shoulder. “You know, similar magic and all that.”

“Oh God,” Rogue hid his face behind his hand, looking ready to slide underneath the table.

“Did you just say I’m weak?” Gray spat furiously.

“Huh? Where did you get that from?”

“Just shut up, you’re only making things worse,” Natsu scolded his friend.

“Natsu! You can’t talk to Sabertooth’s Guild Master like that!” Erza berated, horrified by his words.

“What?! He doesn’t care!”

“That’s it!” Gray pounded his fist on the table, “I challenge you to a duel!”

If looks could kill, Sting would have dropped dead that very second.

“Yes, that’s a great idea!” Lyon exclaimed, suddenly appearing next to Gray. “If Sting wins, Natsu and Wendy can go to Sabertooth. And if you win, they can stay in Fairy Tail!” “Not this crap again!” Gray scowled at his foster brother. “Where the hell did you even come from? And why are you people here all the time?!” he complained, raising his hands in disbelief at all the non-Fairy Tail mages lounging around. “Don’t you have your own guilds?”

“I don’t see what your problem is, “ Lyon shrugged, “seems to me like it would fix everything.”

“Oh, hell no, I do not agree to that,” Natsu chimed in, “I love you guys, but I am a Fairy Tail wizard.”

“What the hell, Flame Brain, are you implying I’m going to lose to him?” Gray scoffed, looking offended, although Natsu thought he caught a glimpse of hurt in the ice mage’s expression for a moment.

“What?! I didn’t say that!” Natsu objected, but Gray refused to look at him.

“Who even said we wanted you?” Rogue pointed out, even though it was evident that Sting’s eyes were already lit up at the idea of a challenge.

“ENOUGH!” Erza shrieked, and when they continued to bicker despite her outburst, she muttered, “I’m surrounded by complete idiots!”

She watched them for another minute, looking from one wizard to the next. She grabbed Natsu and Gray by the collar, swiftly realizing they were the only two she could do anything about. Knocking their heads together, she managed to shut up Sting, Rogue, and Lyon, who could only stare at her in shock.

“They’re all insane,” Rogue muttered under his breath, but thankfully Sting was the only one to hear him.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Carla wanted to stop at the market and-,” Wendy stopped mid-sentence, marking the unnatural quiet at a table filled with people known for their loudness. She peered closer, noticing Natsu and Gray glaring at each other and sporting two large bumps on their heads. “Did I miss something?”

She moved over to their side of the table, calling on her magic to heal them, although this didn’t seem to ease their hostility in the slightest.

Thankfully the awkwardness was interrupted by Master Makarov making his way over to the stage.

“Settle down brats, I have an announcement to make,” Makarov yelled from the stage, waiting for a few minutes until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. Peering at the faces that were now intent on him, he remarked cheerfully, “Oh good, I see many of our friends are here! This concerns you too.”

“Do you know what this is about, Erza?” Lucy whispered, but Erza only shook her head.

“We have been through a lot in the last couple of years. All of you have shown courage and skill far beyond your years, and I am incredibly proud of you.” Makarov beamed.

“Now, about eight years ago, we were rudely interrupted in the middle of one of our time-honored traditions, and I, for one, think it’s time we finish what we started.”

“S-Class Trials?” Natsu and Gray chorused eagerly.

“Indeed!” Makarov confirmed with a wide grin, “When I informed the Council of my intentions, they asked that I open the testing up to the other guilds since we currently have the best setup for it. For that reason, the rules have changed a bit.”

“There will be no nominations this time. As far as I’m concerned, you have all more than proven yourselves, so anyone who feels ready is welcome to participate. Teams can have up to five members and may include wizards from different guilds. You may ask one S-Class Wizard to be part of your team if you wish. Any team that completes every exam phase successfully will see all its members promoted to S-Class. The exam will once again take place on Tenrou Island."

“That’s all I have for now. I will have more details on the test itself once I have spoken to the other Guild Masters,” Makarov peered down at Sting and Rogue with a smile. “Master Sting, am I right to assume you and Rogue will be participating?”

"Of course we are!" Sting was almost glowing with excitement, and even Rogue gave an eager nod.

“Alright then, we’ll figure out a way to keep you in the loop so you can pass the information along to the rest of your guild,” Makarov informed him, “We’ll talk about it later.”

Sting nodded in agreement, and Makarov turned his attention back to the others, “ I want you all to think about whether you will take part in the exam or not. I firmly believe you’re all capable of this, but only you can decide if you’re up to it. I’ll need your response by the end of the week, along with a list of your team members.”

With that, Makarov walked off the stage and made his way over to Cana’s bar, climbing onto a stool and ordering a drink. Everyone began to talk all at once, the guild’s noise rising to almost unbearable proportions for the dragon slayers.

Natsu couldn’t contain his excitement any more than the others; he would finally become S-Class! Something he and Gray had dreamed of doing from the moment Erza had joined their ranks so many years ago. He looked towards where Gray had been sitting just a few minutes earlier, only to find the seat empty.

#fairy tail #ftrbb2020 #gratsu #ft game au #ftlgbtales #Fairy Tail Reverse Bang 2020 #collaborations #fics #dragon slayers #natsu #gray #humor #light angst #inspired by the fairy tail game

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justalittlelitnerd · 4 years

Text

Broken Knight by L.J. Shen

Photo credit to goodreads

After I finished Pretty Reckless in record time and enjoyed it so thoroughly I knew I wanted to read whatever related books L.J. Shen had to offer. While Knight and Luna weren’t overly present in Daria and Penn’s book they were mentioned enough by Daria that it was clear they would make for a good story. Broken Knight didn’t disappoint.

Much like in Pretty Reckless the family dynamics are complex and the books really explore the effect that has on kids especially teenagers. Luna is raised by her father and stepmother and is selectively mute after her mother abandoned her as a toddler. Luna communicates through looks as much as sign language and it was nice to see her friends learn sign language to communicate with her rather than pressing her to talk. On the other end is Knight, who, in addition to dealing with the complex identity issues that often stem from being adopted, is also dealing with his mother’s worsening health and further turns to booze and drugs to cope. He’s always been able to count on Luna who he has always believed is his endgame. Until everything changes.

When Luna decides to attend college all the way across the country (at Vaughn’s insistence) the tenuous threads of their lifelong friendship start to fray before snapping all together when she breaks their unspoken promise. They continue to circle each other, changing in ways that neither expected, wondering if there’s still hope for a future for them.

This book isn’t a true enemies-to-lovers, nor is it a friends-to-lovers, but some sort of gray area that only emerges when a lifelong friendship is destroyed in order to build a relationship from its ashes. The way that Knight and Luna are at the beginning of the book is clearly unsustainable and they were both using each other as crutches. It only makes sense that their friendship needed to be altered entirely for them to come out of it as an actual couple that could last. It really sucks that Luna made the choice she did, but I can see how if she hadn’t, if she had come home and Knight had confessed his feelings, they never would have made it. She never would have spoken and never would’ve grown strong enough to be his equal because their whole friendship was based on him protecting her and the book was heading for a moment when he would need to be taken care of.

Now that I’ve read all three I think this one was my favorite because I loved the setup and the characters and the complexity of Luna and Knight (I also love their names).

Keep reading for my fave quotes!

I didn’t want to kiss her. I wanted to zip open my skin and tuck her into me. Hide her from the world and keep her mine.

I loved her with the ferocity only a non-biological child could feel—hungry, visceral love, only better, because it was dipped in gratitude and awe.

I’d never seen him like this before—a storm within a storm.

I’d thought the memories of Valenciana nicked my heart, but that was nothing compared to the violent rip of it when I looked at Knight, realizing for the first time that he was going to break that piece of my heart he held hostage. Not maliciously, no, and definitely not intentionally. But it didn’t matter. Hit-and-run or struck by lightning—a death was a death. A heartbreak was a heartbreak. Pain was pain.

“Moonshine,” he whispered. “You fill up the empty, dark space—like the moon owns the sky. It is quiet. It is bright. It doesn’t need to be a ball of flame to be noticed. It simply exists. It forever glows.”

There was just one crack in my unshakable, good-natured, billion-dollar smile, and hot-motherfucker-jock stereotype persona. A barely noticeable chip. You could see it from one angle. Only the one. And only when Luna Rexroth entered the room and our eyes met—for exactly the first half-second, before I rearranged my features back into my usual smug grin.

Luna Rexroth was beautiful. Sure. But so were a lot of other girls. Difference was, Luna carried her beauty like it was something borrowed. Carefully yet casually, not making a fuss about it. She wouldn’t stand in line for anyone, anywhere. She’d stand out, glowing with quiet pride.

Up until then, the idea of Luna and me was, well, more of a fact. Roses were red. The sun rose in the east. A seahorse could move its eyes in opposite directions (Moonshine told me that herself), and Luna Rexroth was going to be my girlfriend, then fiancée, then wife.

It wasn’t a secret I’d chop heads and bring down the sun for Luna Rexroth.

Never breaking our gaze, I’d put her hand on my own heart, so she’d know, without a doubt, she wasn’t the only one whose heart had a chunk missing.

But Luna looked like nature. It was like kissing the entire fucking forest from our spot in the treehouse.

She knew that between the stigma and the person laid an open abyss, and in its depth, the truth.

There was some anger in my voice, and it made me furious with her. I tried so hard to accommodate whatever wish she had for us. When she wanted kisses, she got them. When she wanted friendship, she got that, too. What about what I wanted from her? What I needed?

I sometimes wondered what hurt more: Losing someone all of a sudden, like in a plane crash, or losing them piece by piece, like I did Knight. It was like feeling a once-warm body growing cold next to you in bed.

They used the word smitten because batshit crazy wasn’t cute. But everyone knew I was smitten with chicken wings and vintage Tumblr porn, not with Luna. With Luna, I was in fucking everything. Love. Lust. Obsession. Take your pick.

I wanted to tell her: You need to come back. Or maybe we can do the long-distance shit. I don’t care. But you slapped me, and that meant something. It meant that you care. I also wanted to say, I know you don’t believe this could work, but not trying is no longer an option. For four months I’ve wanted to give you this ultimatum, but it felt weird to do it through Skype. But now you’re here, and I’m not letting you go before we sort this shit out. Then I wanted to add, I kissed another girl in front of everyone, and it felt like cheating. And to promise her, It meant nothing. She meant nothing.

He was a dash of the boy who’d give me the entire world, thrown in with a giant, hard man who fought any positive feeling toward me.

Watching Luna kiss Vaughn, or Vaughn kiss Luna, if we’re being technical here, was God’s way of telling me he hated me on a personal, profound, go-fuck-yourself level.

Knight’s saving grace was his eyes. Everything about him was perfect to the T, an all-American superhero who could slide comfortably into Chris Pine’s shoes and give him a run for his money. But his eyes were slightly different colors, one the shade of moss, the other more hazel. He was imperfect, but only if you looked really closely. Too closely for his comfort. Too close for him to ever allow. I could never fall in love with a hundred-percenter…but Knight was a solid 99.99%.

It was like watching a car crash—or your pet Chihuahua standing up on two legs, reading Shakespearean poetry while sipping on black tea.

I’d been so busy on me-me-me island, I never bothered to sail to other territories and check in on her.

His unanswered messages were piled up in a neat corner of my phone’s memory like broken dreams, hung on a clothesline, damp from my tears of guilt.

I climbed up to Luna’s window for the first time in months, a fucked-up Romeo in a story that was definitely a comedic tragedy.

“You only get one life, Luna. One stab at this thing called happiness. Why deprive yourself of things you want just because they weren’t given to you the way you hoped for them to come? Life is like a book, a long chain of scenes threaded together by circumstances and fate. You never know how thick or thin your book is, so you better make the most out of every scene, enjoy each chapter.”

How could I ever have let him slip from my fingers? How could I have given him up? Who even cared? Love is selfish. Love is raw. Love is unfair, and unpredictable, and unstoppable.

It felt stupid to say it in the same way it felt stupid to think it. We were so much more than steady. I was going to marry her. I’d known that with every fiber of my being before I was fully potty trained, for fuck’s sake. I just hadn’t known how to label it back then.

Sometimes I’d climb up the forest’s mountain, look at the nothingness surrounding me, and think—this is it. The end of the world. Right here. Or it was when thunder cracked, and fog descended over the roads, misting the car windows. Or when I concentrated on that thin line between the skyline and the ocean, imagining myself sliding into it and letting it suck me into another dimension.

“‘Don’t be a Rosie. Be a Dean. If you want something, no matter what it is, go for it. Falling in love is rare.’” Luna’s eyes were now on Knight, only Knight, and something in the room shifted. She wasn’t merely speaking the words, she was becoming them. “Don’t give up this precious gift. Chase it. Catch it. Hold it close. Don’t let it go. And if it leaves anyway…” Her eyes clung to Knight, and for the first time—for the very first time since I’d known my own son—there were tears in his eyes. It gut-punched me to the other side of the room. “Fight for it,” Luna finished.

“Always. Whenever. Forever,” he mouthed, his lips still on mine. I decided to complete his sentence, the way I’d imagined it in my head so many years ago. “I choose you.”

#broken knight #l.j. shen #all saints high #luna x knight #knight cole #luna rexroth #high school #hs romance #romance #friends to lover #enemies to lovers #books #quotes #book quotes #book blog #booklr

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timelordthirteen · 5 years

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We Are Inside Out (Sutherelle fic)

Robert Sutherland/Belle French, Explicit

Summary: A conflict leads to something more, in the past and the present.

Notes: I don't know what I'm doing, but they have taken over my life. Send help. I'm putting all these in a series since there is no real plot to speak of, just some stuff. And some pointless smut.

[AO3]

About 1 year ago...

"Do you want this job?"

It was an unexpectedly simple question, and Belle blinked, watching as Sutherland leaned back in his chair. He wasn’t a large man, but there was something about his presence that loomed larger than the physical space he occupied. She’d been here for two weeks, and as much as she’d tried to be careful, it was inevitable that she would fuck up.

Her brow furrowed. “Yes, of course, I -”

He started to laugh, and she stopped. The sound was almost cruel, as if she were a child who had exasperated him with her antics. Her hands pulled at her skirt, bunching the tweed fabric.

He shook his head and huffed. “Then fucking act like it!”

He sighed and sat forward, hands folded over the blotter on his desk. “I cannot have a fiasco like we had this morning, do you understand? I’m the Prime Minister of Great Britain, and I looked like a fucking idiot showing up for a meeting that was already over!” His lips pulled back, baring his teeth as he sucked in a breath. “This isn’t secondary school, Miss French. I didn’t fuck off seventh period with my mates, I missed a video conference with the President of France!”

She stayed quiet until he finished shaking his head again and then pushing away from the desk.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged when he looked at her. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I made a mistake, and it won’t happen again.”

“You’re fucking right it won’t.” His mouth set in a hard line. “Or you’ll be seeking new employment, outside this government.”

Her lips twitched and she looked down in her lap, smoothing her palms over the rough nubs of gray woven between the finer black threads. “You don’t like me.”

Sutherland frowned and sat back. “What was that?”

“You don’t like me. Here. In this job.” She looked up and met his gaze, folding her hands over her knee.

His eyes narrowed, studying her, almost irked by her calm response to his outburst, and then pushed to his feet. “Why do you say that?”

Belle sighed and let her body relax against the curved leather behind her. “Marshall said you wanted someone else, someone with more experience.She said she had to all but force you into hiring someone who was under the age of 50. You thought my CV was too slim, that I’d be too nice, that every square jaw with a trust fund that walked into this office - which seems to be about every ten minutes in this country - would get through your door just because I’m single and of childbearing age.”

“No, that’s not -” He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Anna would say it with her special brand of tact that was not unlike a cricket bat to the face. “Look, experience matters. It’s -”

“Is that because of your wife?”

His mouth hung open, eyes widening at her words. She was still, studying him, her head tilting slightly. A sensation rippled down his spine and he curled his hand into a fist. She was the earliest one everyday, almost compulsively. He knew because he’d watched her. She didn’t do it to impress, she did it because it was what it took to get the job done, and up until this morning she’d done it very capably.

After a rocky start, he finally felt settled in his administration, like he had his feet under him. Belle was part of the machine now, part of what kept him going on a daily basis. He depended on her, and that was why he’d felt so let down by her mistake, understandable as it was. A garbled message on a bad international connection, a typo in an email; small conspiracies combining to fuck up his day, and hers. It still scared the hell out of him, something he'd never say, that she still could sit here in front of him, and not look away, not be cowed by his authority.

He laughed again, but this time it was softer, realer. “You’re right. And no, it’s not anything to do with my wife. Rachel’s...she...” He sighed. “It’s not about her. At all.”

Belle gave him a small smile. “It’s alright, I get it. I’d underestimate me too.” He met her eyes, mouth curving crookedly, and she made herself look away for a second. “But you have to respect me if we’re going to work together.”

Sutherland leaned on the edge of his desk and nodded, his body sagging with the weight of the day. “I do. And I’m sorry.”

She exhaled and then stood up, stepping closer and touching her hand to the desk. “It’s give and take, right?”

He shifted and swallowed, staring down at the gap between their fingers. It was something he’d said to his staff on his first day, a way to try to make it about the whole. Duty first, Queen and country; position was secondary to that, to all of them. It was why they were here.

“You're going to take something from me,” she continued, “and I'm going to take something from you, and this job. That’s how it works.”

“Right,” he managed, throat strangely dry. She’d be lucky if she left this job with only minor scarring. They all would be. “I’m afraid that’ll be quite unbalanced, Miss French.”

She caught his gaze and smiled. “Life isn’t even.”

Sutherland nodded, and she moved back, crossing to the door as his cell phone rang out. She looked back before she left, but he’d already turned away. The ringing stopped as he glanced at his phone, the screen bright as he read it over.

1 Missed Call: Rachel Sutherland

The door shut and Sutherland thumped his fist against the table.

Marshall was right and the whole thing was a fucking mess. He was going to stick to his guns though, hold out until there was no other choice. It was a matter of pride, however foolish, but he couldn’t show weakness, not at this tenuous time. The party and his administration needed to be a united front, even if the press ripped him a new arsehole, which of course they would.

“So,” Belle started, tapping some papers into alignment before setting them on top of her legal pad. “We negotiate with terrorists now?”

He looked up and scowled. “Excuse me?”

She shook her head and folded her arms. There was a nagging pain in her head that had not improved during the meeting, and she had hours of notes to type up on top of the three reports he wanted to her precis for tomorrow. “Marshall’s wrong. The Opposition -”

“The Opposition...” he snapped, stepping up until they were toe to toe, using his authority to loom over her, “is for me to worry about. I’m the fucking Prime Minister. It’s not you or Anna or anyone else they’ll try to crucify for caving on your party.”

Eyes narrowing, she held up her hands in front of her, nearly touching the lapels of his suit jacket. “It’s a valid concession, and it doesn’t weaken anything about your position. You’re being stubborn, and you -”

His lips pulled back in a sneer as he pressed forward. He wasn’t here by chance, in this building and this office. There was a trail of blood and sweat and tears behind him, most of it not even his.

“You forget your place, Miss French!”

Belle stumbled back a step, colliding with the wall. Sutherland was almost pressed against her, so close she could feel the heat of his body and smell the warm, earthy scent of his cologne. Her eyelids fluttered and she swallowed hard, annoyed not only at his attitude, but at how nothing had resolved from their moment in the conference room weeks ago. Everything had gone back to normal, and he hadn’t said or done anything since their awkward conversation. He’d put her off every attempt she’d made to bring it up again, and now a mild irk had bubbled up into a simmering anger.

She tipped her face up, meeting his eyes as her lips came dangerously close to his. “Where is my place exactly, Mr. Prime Minister? At my desk outside your office? Or on my knees sucking your cock?”

Sutherland’s eyes darkened as his body reacted to her words. “Would you like that?”

She leaned back against the wood paneling, licking her lips slowly and smirking at the way his eyes followed every movement. “Almost as much as you would.”

He sucked in a breath and then braced a hand on the wall, bringing his body into contact with hers. He should have left, should have pushed away from the situation and not played into her game, but the catch in her breath and the light puffs of air from her pink, parted lips drew him in. She let out a small noise, and he dipped his head, brushing his nose along hers, hovering his mouth just out of reach of her lips until she pushed back.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, tipped his head back slightly when she tried to pushed up and catch his mouth. Then he shocked her by sliding a hand behind her, lifting her leg and the pleated skirt of her dress, and pressing himself against her. He was hard and hot already, and she made a needy, desperate sound and pitched her hips to grind against the stiffening ridge of his cock. “Or is it this?”

“Fuck -” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it came out strained and needy.

His head tilted, avoiding kissing her to drag his mouth down her throat, warm and wet, tongue and lips barely brushing her skin as he breathed, the late afternoon scruff on his chin scraping deliciously and making her hiss. He didn’t dare do what he wanted, suck and bite and leave marks from her jaw to her collar bone.

A hand found its way under her dress to run along the elastic of her panties, and she moaned as two long fingers pushed their way inside. She was obscenely aroused already, just from a little verbal sparring, and a part of her hated herself for it. Now that he knew he could work her up so easily he’d be incorrigible, and probably a complete bastard about everything.

“Here?” she managed to ask, as her head lolled to the side, baring more of her neck to his teasing.

He brought his mouth up to her ear, briefly nibbling the lobe before he whispered, “Would you prefer being on your knees?”

Her hands came up to his shoulders, nails digging in as she rubbed herself against his hand. “Fuck you.”

Sutherland pulled back a bit and licked his lips, sliding his fingers out of her. Her disappointed sigh spurred him on, and he raised them to his mouth to suck her flavor off them. With his free hand he pulled at his belt and zipper. The clinking sound drew her attention, distracting her long enough for him to reach behind her with both hands and lift her off her feet. Pinned between his body and the wall, she let out a squeak of surprise, her thighs tensing around his waist.

He smirked. “Is that an official request?”

Her heels dug into his lower back and she could feel her left shoe slip off, landing on the floor with a muted thud. He managed to work a hand between them, and after a few fumbled movements, tugged her knickers to the side and buried his cock inside her. She glanced towards the door and wondered how long they’d have until someone noticed they hadn’t come out. The fear was quickly dispelled by the sharp movement of his hips, setting a deep and deliberate rhythm that had them both at the edge quicker than she thought possible. Her fingers wrapped around a handful of his dress shirt as her back arched off the wall, pushing painfully, blissfully, into him as he moved.

She gasped and swore in his ear. He shushed her and pressed a kissed to the side of her neck that was entirely too soft and gentle for the way the rest of him was pounding into her. The edge of the paneling bit into her shoulders and she could already feel a few bruises forming as her cunt started to pulse and throb. He grunted sharply and jerked his hips, and she felt a hot, wet rush between her legs. His hips kept rocking into hers as he breathed through his orgasm, shifting and rubbing, and she turned her face, pressing the side of her fist against her mouth to muffle the ragged moan as she came.

They stayed like that for a long moment, with his breath warm and moist on her neck and her hand stroking his hair. He straightened slowly, waiting for her to stretch her legs to the floor and keeping his hold on her waist until he was sure she was steady. The skirt of her dress fell clumsily over her thighs, and she reached up and under, shifting her knickers back into place and trapping the sticky mix of their fluids.

She looked up and found familiar eyes, warm whiskey brown, and a look she couldn’t quite name. It felt like there was something shining in the corner, but then he sighed and turned away, and whatever she thought she might have seen was gone. When he turned back, suit smoothed back into place and trousers zipped up, he flashed her a tight smile. It’s not the one she hoped for, the one where the left side of his mouth curved just a little more than the right. She shouldn’t have needed that slightly crooked grin, those dark, laughing eyes, or the long, hard feel of him inside her so badly.

Belle exhaled and moved away, righting her fallen shoe with her toe and wiggling it back on. A few moments later and they were both straightened, almost like it never even happened, though the ache in her legs and the lingering flush to her skin said otherwise.

“You’re right,” she said, finally, turning away from him to collect her notepad and papers. When she turned around again, he was watching her with a strange expression. “They will blame you. You’re the PM, and it all falls on you, rightly or not. But wouldn’t you rather be blamed at least having done something?”

Sutherland pressed his lips together and then sighed. He could still taste Belle’s flavor on his tongue and smell her on his clothes. His back was going to be killing him later too, but she was right, the same as Anna. He was being stubborn because he thought he had a point to prove, because he always had to be the one in control.

Belle started towards the door, stopping halfway along the table where he was still standing. “But it’s not my place to say so.”

“Belle -”

The door was closing by the time he got her name out and he sat back against the edge of the table as his eyes came to rest on the wall. There was a scrape along the chair rail where they’d been, small, unlikely to be noticed and if it was without much regard. His jaw tensed and he looked away.

Back in his office, on the left corner of his desk, there were divorce papers to be signed.

#sutherelle #sutherelle fic #anyelle #anyelle fic #lemon #lemon fic #belle x robert sutherland #fic #queen and country

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1destinywrites-blog · 6 years

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The Origin Star: Ch. 1

Fandom: Southpark Genre: Fantasy Pairing: None Rating: T (Language and Violence) Chapter Word Count: 6,405 Triggers: Blood, Gore, Animal death, Violence

Summary: It’s time to start a new game! The Drow Elves and the Humans have been enemies almost since time immemorial. Despite this, a tenuous peace was created a decade prior. But when the peace is broken, the land spirals into war once more. Only one thing can stop it: The Origin Star. An artifact from the time of the world's creation with the power of the ancient gods that shaped the land. He who holds it holds immeasurable power. But there are those who would wield its power unjustly. Will it bring peace and healing to the war-torn lands? Or will its holy glow bring only further destruction?

__Prologue__Chapter 1__Chapter 2__

The trees grew tall in the ancient part of the forest. The leafy canopy filtered the mid-day sunlight, casting the world in a green dimness. The low-light offered cover for a wolf and his human companion as they looked into a clearing. The human held his breath as he watched the stag they had been tracking raise its head and look around warily. He didn’t dare move. The two of them had been tracking this deer for hours, and scaring it away would result in even more time being added to the hunt, or possibly even losing the target. Going home empty-handed wasn’t an option, so he remained as still and silent as a stone, the wolf beside him mirroring this.

After what felt like hours, the stag seemed to relax and returned to grazing in the clearing. The human let out a slow, hissing breath and slowly placed a hand on the wolf’s neck. It was time. He pursed his lips and released a high pitched whistling sound, lifting his hand from the beast. The deer’s head shot up, alerted by the sudden noise, but it was too late to run. The wolf’s muscles were like steel as it lunged into the clearing at full speed. In the blink of an eye, it’s jaws were around the poor creature’s throat. The human turned his head away and slammed shut his eyes as the sounds of a bloody struggle filled the clearing. He counted the seconds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine... and then it stopped. His eyes remained closed until a subtle movement beside him told him that the wolf had returned. The large creature’s muzzle was now stained a dark red. The human sighed and stroked the wolf’s bristly fur.

“Good job, Sparky,” he said softly, raising himself from a crouching position, “Thank you.”

The pair entered the clearing and approached the broken animal. The forest floor was quickly wicking away the blood into its loamy soil. The human examined the deer mournfully, taking in its large size and intimidating horns. With the addition of all this meat, the tribe’s food stores would be greatly bolstered. This would make the coming winter months much more bearable. But he had no way of getting this enormous beast back to the village himself. The human pressed his hands together and brought them to his lips. He puffed his breath into the opening between his thumbs, creating a lilting bird call that seemed to fill the air. Then he turned his attention back to the deer, kneeling between its front and hind legs.

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” He whispered, a knife blade rasping against its sheath as it was removed from his belt, “though you have died, you will sustain the lives of many others.”

The knife plunged into the deer’s chest. Within minutes, he had gutted it and put the entrails to the side for Sparky. The wolf had done its job and now would be rewarded. As his lupine companion chowed down with gusto, he began the task of carefully skinning and butchering the animal. His knife moved quickly, cutting the flesh into fillets of varying size and quality. As each steak came free from the bones and sinew, he placed it in the scavenging pouch that hung at his size. It was nearly full by the time Sparky perked up his ears, and the human heard the sound of five pairs of feet striking the ground. He stood and turned to face the source of the noise.

Five Drow Elf rangers stood in a semicircle around him. They were lean and clearly powerful, with well-defined muscles in their arms and shoulders. They all stared at the human, their green eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. Sparky turned his eyes to the one closest to him and let out a low, threatening growl. The elf on the left flank of the semicircle looked at the wolf and flapped a dismissive hand at him.

“Oh stop it, Sparky. We’re not gonna touch your dinner. Lousy wolf.”

Everyone laughed. The Drow strode forward to examine the deer carcass. One threw his arm around the human’s shoulders.

“For creation’s sake, Stanly! Look at the size of this thing! When you signaled us, we knew you must have gotten something big if you needed our help to get it back, but this is massive! I don’t think I could fit that rack through my front door!” Stan smiled and pushed the ranger’s arm off of him.

“Well, it wasn’t easy. This guy led Spark and me around for hours. He kept on running away every time I thought we had him. And in the end, Sparky was the one who did all the hard work.”

“Hah!” He and the other four Drow knelt and began to slice off hunks of meat for their own foraging pouches, some of which already held smaller prey, like rabbits or squirrels. “Soft-hearted Stan can take down a beast three times his size, but can’t bring himself to look while doing it. Why’d you become a ranger if you detest the task so much?”

“I’m just good at it, is all,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

“Good is an understatement,” piped a female ranger, brandishing her knife at him. “We are good. We were built for this environment and this task. It’s part of being one of the elven races. But you’re a human! If all you could do was keep up with us, that would be good. But no, you don’t just keep up, you outpace us! I say the Ancients gave you a gift.”

Stan shook his head dismissively but smiled. He appreciated the praise. He knew she was right; while his skill with a bow was negligible at best, he was a gifted hunter, tracker, and--perhaps above all else--animal handler. Being a skilled ranger made him feel like he was truly a part of the community that had raised him as one of their own. Perhaps it was a way of thanking them for rescuing an orphaned babe and a wolf cub…

He was snapped out of his introspection by the weight of an entire deerskin being thrown on him. He flailed a bit until he found his way out from under it and freed his head. His fellow rangers laughed at him. It seemed that while he had been staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, his companions had finished piecing the deer. Not a thing had gone to waste. Bones were split up among the five of them and would be stewed for flavor. The tendons were wound and could be dried and treated to be used as medical thread should someone need stitches. The antlers were taken from the skull and would be broken down and sharpened for use in traps and weapons. All that remained was the skull, placed respectfully facing east so that the animal’s spirit could escape into the beyond. All was as it should be. Stan rolled up the skin and let it drape around his shoulders. Sparky returned to his side, licking his muzzle with contentment. Stan looked around at all of them in turn and smiled.

“Time to head back, I guess.” There was a murmur of assent and the six of them, plus wolf, began the trek back to the Drow village.

Chasing the deer had led them quite far out of their way, so all were prepared for a long return trip. A conversation started between them, casual and free-flowing, with no particular theme or purpose. Weather, speculation about the coming winter, gossip; all were touched upon in some capacity or another. Eventually, the subject strayed onto the topic of stories.

“Who is sharing the story tonight? Does anyone remember,” asked the tallest of the Rangers raising her hands into the air to let her fingertips slide along the shapes of the lowest tree branches?

“It’s Ike. Remember, he just returned from visiting the northern tribe. He’s probably brought back some new tales. It should be good.” It was the friendly ranger who had thrown an arm around Stan earlier who responded.

“Oh, that’s good. I was worried it was old Rowen’s turn again.”

“Hey, careful what you say about elder Rowen. He’s full of wisdom and experience, and he’s given an awful lot to defend our way of life. He deserves our respect.” Said the ranger closest to Stan. A man with a serious face. The tall one waved a hand at him dismissively.

“Be quiet. I know what he’s done and all that. I know he’s earned our respect. But I also know that he tells the exact same story every time. We share stories around the communal fire so that history is not forgotten. But who doesn’t already know the creation story.” She rolled her eyes and let her arms drop to her side before adopting a low, faltering voice. “In the beginning, there was only clay. And from that clay rose four powerful beings~ These were the Ancients that made our world! Ancients this! Ancients that! Ancients Ancients Ancients!” Her imitation earned a few snickers from her fellows, but for the serious ranger who huffed his distaste and turned to Stanley who wore a small smile.

“Are you really okay with this? How are you not more furious than I am?”

The laughter died slowly and all eyes turned to Stan, whose smile fell into a neutral expression.

“Rowan is very important to me. He’s practically my father. When they found me out in the world all alone, he was the first to volunteer to raise me. Or, so I’ve been told. … But…” Slowly, Stan smiled again, “He really does have a tendency to ramble on, especially about the ancients. You think you’re sick of hearing the story? I live with the guy!”

And then, Stan picked up where the tall ranger had left off, mimicking the wavering voice of his elderly guardian.

“The four ancients squeezed the oceans and rivers from the clay, then piled the dried leftovers into the mountains! Blah blah blah, on and on and on.” He dropped the voice. “It would be so much easier if he could just sum it up, you know?”

“Yeah,” chimed the tall one who was now grinning victoriously at the serious Drow. He was making a point of not looking at any of them now. “I could tell the story in less than five minutes, I bet. Ancients split up the world into four. North made weather and our northern cousins, the Alfar elves. South made all animals and put fire in some of the mountains. East made the Drow elves and all the plants. And west made humans, dwarves, and put metals and gems into the earth.”

“Then,” the friendly ranger jumped in, “the ancients all left through a door in the sky. They sealed the door with a lock of pure light. It became the first star. Sometimes they want to look down and see how the world is doing so they make new doors and lock them with new stars, but the first was the biggest and the brightest. And as the locks get older, sometimes pieces of them break off and fall to earth. And if you can catch one, you’re blessed with magical abilities beyond anything of this earth. But only one was ever able to accomplish this.”

“Elias of the first era,” Said a short blond Drow, speaking for the first time with a bright gleam in his eyes. “Elias was the greatest Drow archer who ever lived. Back when our people were fractured into factions, he crafted the strongest bow ever made and pointed it at the first star. When he fired it, the force was enough to destroy the bow! The arrow soared through the sky and pierced the star, breaking a piece of it off. The fragment fell straight down and Elias caught it! This piece became the Origin Star! With its power, he united the Drow factions under one banner. He was the first High Drow Elf. And the Origin Star has been passed down his family line ever since.”

“So now it’s in the possession of the High Elf, Kyle,” Stan finished with a nod. The whole story had taken them all of six minutes to tell to completion. With the story finished, the six of them lapsed briefly into silence, considering the tale. After a minute or so, Stan broke the silence again. “...So… Do all of you believe the story?”

“Of course,” the serious ranger asserted, “The Ancients created everything, and trying to claim otherwise is foolishness.”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Stan corrected, raising both hands in a placating gesture. “The thing with the Ancients is pretty solid, I suppose, but what about the whole shooting a star out of the sky thing? That one is pure story. Right?”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that one.” Said the shorter female ranger, shifting her foraging bag to her other shoulder. “The Drow, the Alfar, and the Humans all believe in the Ancients, but I’m pretty sure only the Drow have the Origin Star story. If someone had shot a star out of the sky, surely everyone would know about it, and wouldn’t the Ancients have been mad at him for breaking their door? And if we had something that powerful, others would try and steal it. And also, if we had it, we wouldn’t have had to fight so hard against the humans in the war. And we wouldn’t have lost…” Her voice drifted off as a somber mood settled over all of them suddenly.

Wouldn’t have lost… what? Wouldn’t have lost family and friends in those bloody battles? Have lost a major part of the disputed woodlands? Wouldn’t have lost the last High Drow Elf and his wife? The human war was still a fresh wound to the spirits of many of the Drow. Less than a decade earlier the two races clashed over lands that both claimed, and the Drow had been overwhelmed. They were expert fighters, but the humans outnumbered them three to one. They had no chance to triumph over their sheer numbers. The drow had surrendered and retreated, and had been licking their wounds ever since.

“...So…” the blond one spoke up hesitantly, finding the sedated atmosphere more than he could handle. “Why did the southern Ancient only make animals? The other three made things like elves and humans. They made people. So why’s the southern one different.”

“It’s because the Ancient created intelligent creatures that were animals.” The serious one said, and everyone was glad to leave the heaviness of the war behind them once again. “Humans and elves can all think for themselves and beyond themselves. Well, the Ancient created animals like this too. While most animals aren’t self-aware, creatures like unicorns and dragons are. So they don’t look like people, but they’re basically people.”

“Wow,” The tall one eyed him with a cocked brow. “I’ve never heard that before. Where’d you learn it?”

“Nowhere. It’s just common sense. Those creatures can think, like us, so there the Southern Ancient’s version of us. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“About as much sense as anything else.” said the female ranger compliantly.

With a bit of time and carefully chosen conversation, the mood once again became jovial. Sparky ran around them, taking in all the scents of the forest and chasing small critters up trees.The five rangers laughed as they watched the wolf’s puppy-like antics.

“I wish I had that kind of energy,” said the serious ranger, face softening slightly as the large canine laid in the grass and began rolling in something. “Even after hunting for several hours, he’s still ready to play around!”

“Yeah. And Sparky isn’t even that young, is he,” inquired the female ranger. Stan shook his head.

“He’s at least as old as I am. We’ve been buddies as long as I can remember. He’s almost more like a brother than a pet.”

“Wow! It’s unusual for him to be this vivacious, then,” She informed him. “From what I’ve heard, in the best of conditions, Timberwolves like Sparky only live to be about sixteen. And in normal conditions, that can be lowered by eight to ten years! So Sparky is basically grandpa wolf now. The fact that he can still move like this is pretty unbelievable.”

“Sparky’s just special, I guess,” Stan dismissed. In truth, he had also considered the mystery of Sparky’s unheard of longevity. He wasn’t the only one of the tribe to have a wolf for a companion, but he was the only one to have the same wolf companion all his life. On top of that, none of the other wolves behaved like Sparky, who acted almost as an extension of Stan himself. He had often wondered why he and Sparky had been found together, but no answers were ever forthcoming.

“Yeah. Guess you’re right. He really seems like a great animal,” the serious one said. He reached out a hand to pet the wolf as he fell back to Stan’s side. Sparky tensed suddenly, and a deep growl rumbled from his throat as the hair on his back stood on end. The ranger snatched his hand back quickly, eyes widening in surprise. “What did I do?”

“It’s not you,” Stan said, a feeling unease coming over him. “He senses something. There’s something off nearby.”

“What is it?” Asked the blond one, eyes wide as saucers.

“I don’t know. But I’ll go find out.” Stan took the deerskin from his shoulders and placed his foraging pack on the forest floor. “You all stay here. I’ll follow Sparky and see what the problem is. If it’s nothing, I’ll come back here. If I need your help, I’ll use the signal to call you to me.” His five companions nodded in agreement with this plan of action. With words of encouragement and caution at his back, he signaled Sparky to lead the way and ran after him through the forest underbrush.

For the second time that day, Stan moved silently through the trees, the soft layer of mulch quieting his footfalls. Sparky moved ahead of him, nose to the ground and ears twitching this way and that as they picked up noises too faint or far away for his human partner to hear. Whatever it was they were tracking, it seemed to be making a lot of noise. His eyes switched between scanning the ground and scanning the trees and trail began to make itself evident. He spotted a tree branch that had been broken off close to the trunk. Close to that, there was a series of indents in a particularly soft section of the forest floor. As he examined this, the sound bird calls en masse echoed from elsewhere in the forest. The most obvious conclusion was that there was-

Stanley’s heart jumped up into his throat, suddenly sensing something appear close behind him! His arm blurred as he snatched the hunting knife from his belt and swung it up as he spun on his heel, ready to strike. His would-be victim squeaked like a mouse that had been stepped on and fell to the ground, only narrowly dodging the blade. Even so, a few strands of golden blond hair fluttered to the ground. Stan lowered his guard and groaned, recognizing the figure of the wide-eyed blond ranger from his group.

“Damn it, Bradley!” He hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “What are you doing here? I told everyone to wait for me where they are.”

The blond ranger, who Stan knew as the excitable young Bradley Biggle, began scrambling on the ground to gather up all the arrows that had fallen out of his quiver when he had fallen. Then he picked himself up with as much grace as he could muster. At least it hadn’t been a real ambush. That explained why Sparky hadn’t alerted him.

“Sorry, Stan. Everyone else told me to come check on you. You’ve been gone a while.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” he huffed, sheathing the knife again.

“Did you find anything, yet?” Bradley asked, apparently choosing to ignore Stan’s bitter comment.

“Yeah, I did,” He said, turning his back on Bradley and kneeling for a closer look at the prints in the soft earth.

“You did!?” Bradley unshouldered his bow and nocked an arrow. “Where is it!? What is it?!”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Stan said, looking up at the elf. “I haven’t found the source of what put Sparky on edge yet, but I think I know what we’re dealing with, even without seeing it. Here, look at that.” He pointed at the tree he had noticed before.

“What? This? It’s a yew tree.” Bradley observed. “Looks like it’s missing a branch.”

“Yes. You know how springy yew is, right?”

“Yeah. We use it to make bows. It snaps right back.”

“Right. It’s hard to break a yew branch by accident. But there’s clearly a broken branch.”

“Oh!” Bradley exclaimed, understanding. “So someone must have broken it intentionally.”

“And not just that, but recently too. See how the inside of the break is still green and wet?”

Bradley nodded. “So they were probably here only a few minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Now come look at this.” Stan gestured for Bradley to kneel beside him. The young Drow came to his knees and examined the ground before him.

“...These are footprints, aren’t they? A lot of footprints.”

“Yep. I’d say the prints of about ten people.”

“Human footprints? Or maybe elf?”

“No, definitely human footprints?”

“How can you be so sure?” Bradley asked. “Human and Elven footprints look exactly the same.”

“Not exactly the same,” Stan corrected. “The big difference is in the patterns left behind by the boots. Elven boots are made for the forest. They’re lightweight and flexible to make it easier to move silently or climb trees. They have bumps on the soles to increase the grip. Human shoes tend to be heavier, meant to protect the feet from heavy things falling on them. Some even have steel worked into the toes. Sometimes elves have these too, but it’s rare since we don’t trade with humans very often. Stand up and step next to one of the prints with your own boot. Go on.”

Interested, Bradley did as Stan asked of him, rising and pressing his foot into the earth. Then he crouched to examine the difference.

“Oh! I see. The human prints are a lot deeper than mine.”

“Exactly. In fact, for the size of the prints, I think they’re deeper than they should be even for an average human. So what’s making the humans heavy? Lots of supplies, maybe? Or perhaps armor. But not full armor. It’s not deep enough for that. Leather armor maybe. And weapons.”

Stan looked over at Bradley and noticed how, once again, the other’s eyes had gone very wide.

“Soldiers?”

Stan nodded, getting to his feet. “Soldiers,” he confirmed, standing and looking off into the trees the direction the prints were heading. “And they aren’t far away. I heard a flock of birds take flight a ways ahead. We can catch up to them easily.” Stan looked at Bradley, who was shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Go back to the others. Tell them what’s going on and bring them this way. Be ready to strike. I’m going to keep following.

“Got it, Stan.” Bradley nodded importantly. Then he leaped up into the trees and was gone as quick as he had come.

Stan sprung into motion himself. He couldn’t jump straight up into the tree branches like his companion, but he clambered up quickly and steadied himself.

“Alright, Sparky, lead the way,” he requested. Below him, the wolf began to run towards the prey, and Stan followed him above, leaping from tree branch to tree branch with the confidence of a squirrel.

The breeze carried the sound of voices to him after a few minutes and both he and his wolf slowed so as to not be detected. The voices were accompanied by heavy footfalls and the occasional jangle of metal. Stan rounded a tree trunk and got the first good look at the source of the disturbance. He had been wrong before. There were twelve, not ten. Twelve human soldiers dressed in boiled leather armor and metal helmets. On their backs and hips, they carried standard short swords. Probably military issue, Stan thought. It made him wish he had brought his own sword with him, but a sword was little use at hunting. All he could do was picture it where it hung in its scabbard on the wall of his hut. But that was unimportant now. What were they doing here? Were they attacking? He moved silently to the next tree, letting the foliage hide him from sight. All the soldiers seemed to be focused on the ground before them, their eyes rarely straying up to the branches above their heads. They spoke loudly, and seemingly without worry of being heard.

“Ugh! Oh! These fuckin’ bugs,” One complained, swatting at his neck with a gloved hand. “They’re everywhere and I keep getting bit!”

“Stop whining,” huffed another. “You aren’t the only one. We’re all uncomfortable. Wet, bug bitten, rocks in our boots, suck it up.” The soldier took a swipe at some of the undergrowth with a long branch, knocking it away angrily.

“I miss the city. Let’s find the village and go home already.”

“We should be there soon.” The speaker of this line walked at the back of the small regiment, a short cape fastened to his armor and a badge on his chest. The head officer? His face was buried in a heavily creased and slightly water damaged piece of parchment. Stan let the group pass beneath him so that he could get a peek at the contents. Was that a map? “Our directions were straightforward. Find the village, observe, then leave. No combat required.”

“Isn’t that a pity.” A big one sighed, swinging his sword at the air. “I wouldn’t have minded skinning a few of them Drow bastards. You’ve heard the stories about them, haven’t you? They say they’ll butcher a human and feed their flesh to their elfling offspring. Or they’ll use their dark magic to control you. They can give you nightmares so bad that you will never sleep again, and you’ll just die of exhaustion.”

“Yeah. I remember my parents telling me how they slaughtered my big brother. He was in the army, and they cornered his platoon, strung him up in a tree, and used him as target practice.”

“Pointy-eared bastards.”

Stan had heard enough. He dropped down out of his tree on the other side of the trunk and began making a good deal of noise, like someone stumbling through the brush. He heard the soldiers all stop and the collective clatter of swords being drawn. He waited a moment, then revealed himself, coming around the trunk of the tree like a guileless nobody.

“Halt!” The commanding officer shouted at him.

“Hey, Captain Donovan, it’s a human!” One of the soldiers said, pointing a sword at Stan’s face. “Look at his ears.”

“But he’s wearing Drow clothing!” Another pointed out, eyes narrowing.

“Who, me?” He asked, donning a wide-eyed expression that would have put Bradley to shame, and speaking with a heavy yokel accent. “Oh nah, you don’t gotta worry bout me, good sirs. I’m justa out hunting I is. Got me a good amount a deer to bring home to ma, see?” He opened his pack to show off the steaks packed in there. Some of the less wary soldiers moved a bit closer to look. Most of them didn’t seemed entirely fooled.

“Weird place to be hunting,” Observed one, “This deep in Drow territory.”

“Well weird place to be soldiering about.” Stan retorted, cleaning an ear with his finger. “What ya’ll here for, anyways?”

“Shut up! Why are you wearing Drow clothing?”

“What, these ol things?” he plucked at the homespun green cotton shirt he wore. “Good camouflage is all, dontcha think? Much better than what yall’r paradin about in. All those shiny weapons and bright red uniforms. Golly, you’re just beggin to be seen.”

“We don’t have time for this.” the commanding officer said, folding his map and putting into a pouch on his belt. “We still have quite a ways to march so get out of here before we-”

“No, you don’t.” Stan cut in, catching a subtle movement in the trees out of the corner of his eyes. “Don’t have far to march, I mean.”

All around him, soldiers stiffened and hands tightened around their swords.

“Explain yourself,” demanded the commander.

“Well, see, I think your marching ends here.” He dropped the innocent expression and the accent. “You will go no further.” Then stan pursed his lips and let out a piercing whistle.

Many things happened all at once. Soldiers raised weapons to cut down the unknown human. A blood chilling growl sounded from the underbrush, followed by an enormous gray streak shooting out and locking its powerful jaws around a soldier’s throat. There was the thrum of four bows releasing simultaneously, and the scream of four targets as they hit their marks; three arrows through three throats and one through an eye. Before the four soldiers hit the ground, a pair of boots thudded down and the tall ranger spun with her knife in her hand cutting off the fingers of the closest soldier. And Stan drew his own hunting knife. It wasn’t ideal for fighting but it would do for now. He much preferred swords. Perhaps he could borrow one.

Two soldiers began lunging and swiping at Stan. He crouched. The blade passed overhead, ruffling his hair. The second soldier tried to catch him by swinging low. Stan jumped straight up from his crouch. His feet cleared the sword and touched the ground again. He lunged, taking advantage of his opponent being off balance. His hunting knife was plunged into the soldier's collar. He could see the second man ready to strike again. Swiftly, Stan danced around to behind the soldier, using him as a shield. The man’s companion tore a deep slash in his gut and he collapsed with a weak cry. Stan charged the other soldier. A punch to the man’s jugular laid him low. The sword fell from his hand. Stan snatched it and drove it into his opponent’s chest before dragging it downward. The second soldier fell dead at his feet.

Behind him, two more soldiers had fallen to skillfully marked arrows, and Sparky was ravaging the man he had taken down. Only three remained now, and one was gravely injured by the tall ranger’s hunting knife.

The skirmish was not over yet, however. Emboldened by the apparent ease of the human’s destruction, the friendly ranger became careless and failed to effectively hide his movements through the trees. The commander, spotting the movement, tore his cape from around his shoulders and flung it into the air before the elf, startling him and causing him to lose his footing. He fell from the tree and was set upon by the head soldier. The one called Captain Donovan gave the fallen Drow a savage kick to the ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. Then he dodged behind a tree, three arrows sprouting from the ground where he had been mere moments before.

“Shit!” One of the archers in the trees cursed. She tried to find a location that would give her a better shot at the commander, but she was taken by surprise by one remaining soldier. He pitched his sword wildly into the trees. It flew end over end and the pommel hit her wrist. She cried out in pain. The weapon had shattered the bone in her wrist. She, too, tumbled from the tree.

Now weaponless, the offending soldier could do nothing. Stan approached quickly from his blind spot. With one savage slash, the soldier’s head was parted from his body. Nearby, the tall she-elf finished of the soldier she had maimed. Now all that remained was the commander.

The human in question emerged from behind a tree. Everyone’s breath caught in their throats. The wild-eyed commander held the friendly ranger to the ground with his boot, sword point pressing where the skull met the spine. He looked from Stan to the tall ranger, to the girl with the broken wrist, and then up into the trees. He had lost his helmet in the struggle. Walnut brown hair now stood on end, adding to his crazed expression. The sound of bowstrings creaking as they were drawn back seemed incredibly loud in the sudden silence. The sound brought the sword of the commander more firmly into contact with the hostage ranger.

“Nobody move,” He shouted, sounding slightly breathless. “Nobody… move… I know there are four archers. Two of you still in the trees… If I get any hint you’re about to attack, your friend’s blood will be on your hands.” Sparky rose from the corpse he had been mutilating and snarled. “A-and control that beast,” he demanded. Stan held out a hand and Sparky stood statue still.

A breeze blew through, blowing everyone’s hair and swirling the smell of blood around. Stan’s senses were alive with adrenaline. Everything around him seemed hyper-realistic. The smell of death was intoxicating. The sound of his own blood as it rushed through his veins seemed deafening in his ears. His heart felt like a battering ram in his chest. He looked into the eyes of his companions and saw their minds racing, trying to find a way out of this. Only a second ago the world had seemed alive with motion. Now it was all nothing but stone.

“You all are going to let me leave,” Captain Donovan said, tense muscles almost visibly shaking. He seemed caught between fight and flee. “You will all come down to where I can see you and put your weapons on the ground. Then you’re going to take twenty paces back. I will knock out your friend but leave him alive. Then I will leave. On your honors, you must swear not to pursue me. If any of you refuse, I will kill-”

From the trees, something flew, catching all of them by surprise. Captain Donovan turned his head and watched a slab of venison soar off to his right. For a split second his pressure on his captive's neck lightened. Within the same heartbeat of throwing the steak, Bradley Biggle fired an arrow at the enemy commander. The speed of his shot caused a severe drop in accuracy. The arrow found home with its tip buried in Donovan’s left shoulder.

Shocked, the captain staggered back, dropping his sword. In the blink of an eye, Stan and the tall Ranger were on top of him, locking his arms behind his back and forcing him to his knees.

Bradley and the serious Ranger emerged from the trees. The serious one hurried to attend to the injured ranger. The friendly ranger leaped to his feet and rushed Bradley with a wide smile that couldn’t disguise the terror still lingering in his eyes. He slapped his companion on the back.

“Incredible shot, Bradley!!” He exclaimed, and the young ranger blushed.

“I… just did what I had to.” He said humbly.

“You saved my neck! I owe you my life, my friend.”

Once the pleasantries were handled, there was still the matter of the human commander to take care of. The four archers gathered around where their two companions now held the human. Sparky also joined them, his muzzle drawing threateningly close to the man’s throat. Suddenly realizing his predicament, the Captain fell apart.

“Wait!!” He screamed the word with clear desperation and fear. “Wait! Please! Don’t kill me! Don’t kill me! Mercy of Ancients I don’t want to die!!!”

“Give us one good reason not to gut you right now,” the serious ranger snarled.

“Please! Please, I-I-I can be useful to you! You can check! Clyde Donovan! Captain Clyde Donovan! I’m very important to the human army! Very important! You can trade me! A-A hostage exchange! Oh blessed creation, please!”

The group looked at each other, silently weighing their options as the captured man sniveled and groveled. After a moment, Stan made the decision.

“Alright. Here’s what’s going to happen, Donovan. We’ll let you live. For now. If you’re as useful as you say, then your leaders will be willing to exchange you for one of our own and you’ll go home.”

“O-one of our own?” He asked in confusion. “But, you’re human. Like m-”

“But,” Stan interrupted, “if your leadership refuses to trade for you, then you’ll be joining your men.” He jerked a thumb at the severed head of one of the soldiers, and the captain’s face lost any remaining color it might have had. “Until we know exactly what’s going to happen, you’re going to share the details of exactly what you were doing here. Got it?”

Slowly, Clyde nodded, resigned to his captivity.

“Glad we understand each other.” He said, knocking lightly on the man’s leather breastplate. “This is pretty nice armor you have. I don’t think you’ll be needing it anymore, so I’ll take it.”

The five rangers stripped the captain down to his underwear and distributed his goods amongst themselves. His discarded cape was used to splint the female ranger’s wrist, and his sword, along with all those belonging to his men, was driven point first into the ground and left to rust. With the invasion resolved, the rangers retrieved whatever materials from the deer they had left behind and resumed their walk home. The five Drow walked in front of the hostage, and Stan and Sparky walked on either side of him. The captured human stared defeatedly at the ground, one hand covering the place where the arrow still sprung from his shoulder.

“Traitor…” It was little more than a whisper. Stan looked over at him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I said nothing,” Clyde muttered.

“Thought so.”

#my writing #southpark #southpark fanfiction #fantasy #stick of truth #1destiny #the origin star #fanfiction

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