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songofthesibyl · 25 days

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Second Bloom

A Tamlin POV of Lucien’s early days in the Spring Court.

Lucien leaned back, closing his eyes, and breathed in deeply. “Incredible. I’ll never get used to this.”

“Maybe in a few decades.”

“Never.” He fell back until he was against the trunk of the crabapple tree, its pink and white blossoms framing his golden-brown skin, red hair, and green-and-yellow jacket. A vision. Tamlin had never seen someone look so at home in the Spring Court. Whatever pain he was in, for the moment his face was awash in tranquility. Not a mask. Tamlin felt he truly did feel at peace, for a moment. And he wanted that for him. It was just strange to see his Court through someone else’s eyes. Every day was a revelation.

A blossom came loose, and Lucien stuck out his tongue, letting it rest like a snowflake. After a moment, he closed his mouth around it, chewing it. And a memory was unlocked.

“My…mother. Used to make jam from the blossoms.”

“Apple dumplings,” Lucien replied. “In blackberry sauce.”

“Hmm?”

“My mother. When I was little…”

A wind picked up, swaying between them. The blossoms would never fall completely. Buds would not turn to ripening apples. Deep crimson, and green, and pink. Falling to the earth with a soft thud.

“We can get apples.”

“No.” Lucien launched himself off the tree trunk with his foot. “I’m ready for something different. Continue the tour. I want to see everything.”

They continued, walking leisurely through bluebell woods, carpets of periwinkle and violet. Oaks embraced by circlets of ivy, hawthorn tress whose scented white blossoms made Lucien scrunch up his nose in disappointment and distaste. Most of the time Tamlin merely pointed things out. He didn’t want to pry, and Lucien seemed content to take it all in. But the loneliness, and the sadness, were there, glimpsed at intervals as clouds passing, a shift in the wind. As the arc of the sun passed overhead, Lucien wiped his brow, and they walked into another wood of oak, birch, and beech, settling in amongst a sea of wild garlic. Lucien took off his coat and laid it on the ground, sitting on it and undoing the top button of his shirt. Tamlin hesitated a moment, seeing the shadow pass again. But the silence remained, and he joined him, sitting nearby and drawing up his knees to his chin, continuing to look at the world through Lucien’s eyes.

“The weather’s even more capricious than in Autumn,” Lucien said.

“Yes.” Winds of change, at a moment’s notice. He kept his coat on, shivering.

Lucien eyed him. “You always wear a bandolier?”

“I…” He seemed to notice these things. But he was not ready to talk on it yet, either. “Is it strange?”

Lucien only looked at him, shaking his head, sensing. “I was just curious.” He turned away, leaning forward into the garlic. “Can I?”

He sat up. “Go ahead. Anyone can forage here.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Just the garlic?”

He huffed a laugh. “No. The Court.”

“That’s different. My father—“ He stopped. “You have a Tithe here, right?” He gripped the stem, pulling it out in one quick motion.

“Yes,” he sighed. “We do. That doesn’t mean I own every inch of this land. I’m its caretaker, its protector. Its—“

Lucien took the stem of garlic, chewing on it. “Do you hunt those who can’t pay?”

“I don’t…” He looked down, idly pulling on the grass. “I don’t hunt people.”

Lucien looked at him, stopping what he was doing. “I was just joking. I don’t think you actually do.”

“Before you came here?”

“There were all sorts of rumors about you.”

“I’m sure.”

“But I don’t tend to care what other people think.”

He wanted to add that perhaps they were right, but thought better of it. The air was sweet, and mild, and after a moment of looking at him, Lucien settled into place, casually chewing on the garlic stem, then lying down on his coat and closing his eyes. Such ease and tranquility he remembered feeling once, in another Court, and there was a pang in his heart. But he could not join him, feeling ill at ease. Remembering what bound him here.

Instead he continued sitting upright, feeling tense, shivering at the wind whose sudden cold he had still not gotten used to. When the cold never settled in, when the warmth was always behind. When he thought there might be rest, for a moment.

“Do you ever relax?” Lucien said, his eyes still closed, lying on the ground.

“I’m High Lord.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I can’t. I don’t…have time.”

“You have time now.”

“Actually, we should probably get going. There has been a problem at the Wall.”

Lucien sat up. “What problem?”

“Humans, wanting to get in. Looking for the thin places.”

Lucien looked down, as if understanding their impulse.

“They’re not fae. They…it’s not that I mind them. But I…they don’t understand. They see a land of eternal Spring, and…anyway. Winter will be there soon enough. It’s understandable they’d think to come here. I suppose.” He got up. “Mostly children. Who were not alive when humans were enslaved. But who have relatives who remember. Yet they still…”

“They have difficult lives. And it seems you’ve created a welcoming Court.” He stood up after him.

“I thought I had done my job scaring people away.” Tamlin looked around at the idyllic landscape. “I’m tied to these lands. That’s what I mean when I say I don’t own them. They are me. But…” The wind picked up again. “If they truly reflected me…it would be winter here too.”

A silence followed. He looked to Lucien, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. All of a sudden the corners of his mouth started to lift, blooming to a wide smile that quickly ripened to laughter.

Tamlin looked down, turning red as Lucien’s laughter got louder and louder.

“It’s,” he stifled a smile, crossing his arms. “It’s not that funny.”

But Lucien only kept laughing, starting to walk out of the wood. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

Lucien stopped, wiping his eyes, bending down over a grove of lily-of-the-valley. “Ahhh…” He breathed the scent in deeply. “These only bloom in Spring,” he said, getting up. “Not in winter.”

Tamlin said nothing.

“You’re a male of few words,” Lucien went on.

“Sometimes. Usually because I get the response you just gave me.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous, and you won’t.”

Lucien walked on ahead, confident, beginning to know his way around. As if it were truly beginning to feel like home. Tamlin wondered how long it would take for him to change his mind. Like the children who desperately ran to his Court, until they learned the truth.

As the manor came into view, Lucien diverted from the path, heading into the gardens. He had not spent much time showing them off. He cared for them meticulously—or he tried to—but he never lingered here. But he continued to follow Lucien’s lead, letting him do as he wished.

“I should probably—“

“What are these?” Lucien pointed to clusters of white flowers bordering the path to the garden.

“Sweet alyssum.”

Lucien bent down once again, smelling them. “Like honey.”

“Yes. My mother planted everything here.”

“It’s beautiful.” He began walking through. “And these?”

“Uh…gillyflower, I think.” Scent like cloves. Lucien moved on. Asking after every flower, spending his time on each one.

“This?”

“Lady’s seal.”

They passed iris and gardenia, daffodil and sweet pea. Lucien stopped again at a shower of wisteria, before moving on to the rose garden.

“These are nice,” Lucien said. “What kind are these?”

“Eglantine.”

“Hmm…” He kept going.

“I really do have to get back. You’re welcome to stay.”

Lucien nodded at him idly. “Thank you…for the tour.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Have you thought of a position for me yet?” He asked, not looking up.

“It…not yet. Soon. I’ll let you know. In the meantime I’ll familiarize you with more of the Court. We can go to the coast. There’s a pool the locals have taken to calling the Cauldron.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of that. Selkies live there, don’t they?”

“Yes. They go between here, and—“ he stopped, unable to say the word.

“Hybern?”

“Yes,” he sighed, tensing. “Anyway. Enjoy the gardens.”

Lucien nodded to him.

“And…I don’t hunt down the humans. I just want to protect them.”

“From what?”

“Me.”

Lucien looked on him sadly, but Tamlin did not stay to hear anything else. He was already being ridiculous. The more he talked, the more Lucien would be turned off. He had been lured here, like those desperate children, with the promise of relief, and succor, and an end to their problems. But there was no paradise here. No end to suffering. It was merely dressed in sweet scents, and bright colors, luring them like bees or moths, until they realized it was not a bellflower, or honeysuckle, but a nepenthes, trapping them inside, feeding on them. He would learn, as the others had, in time.

But that laughter. That full-throated, hearty laughter that rang throughout the wood. It wasn’t mean. Not mocking, like he had been used to. He didn’t think Lucien had a cruel bone in his body. He set everyone at ease here. Even himself, for a moment. And he hadn’t felt like that in a very long time.

That night, the laughter rang in his head like the singing of bluebells. He dreamt of them. Of the laughter. Of hands in the garden. Of his burying them. Of it spreading, from the heart outwards. One by one. The eglantine, the briar. Pink tulips, and gentian. One after the other, wilting and browning and falling to the dirt. His mother’s gardens, and the meadows, and the wood, to the very end, to the coast. A blight spreading through his whole Court. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. And then faster and faster, cresting like a wave, all the way to Hybern.

He woke up in a sweat. He felt a moment of panic, trapped, until he realized he had run his claws through another set of sheets. He retracted them, sighing, and threw the sheets off. Every time he had woken up since he had become High Lord, he felt it, momentarily, the panic of where he was. The darkness, and the trapped feeling, needing to get out. And then the pull of the earth, dragging him down. He would struggle against it fruitlessly for a moment, an overturned beetle. And then give in, becoming limp. Letting himself settle against it. The thorns wrapping round, and digging into his flesh, and melding with his bones. Piercing his skin, as claws.

He wanted Lucien to feel safe here, cared for, while he recovered. Welcomed. But he didn’t want him to feel settled here. To sink in, and be buried alive. Choked in blossoms and scent, while he festered inside. He wanted him to feel free, to do anything. Go anywhere.

He could tell Lucien noticed his reluctance to name a position for him, in the days that followed. Lucien would ask, casually. And he would say he was thinking about it. And continue to familiarize him with Spring. And Lucien’s wonder, and appreciation for everything that surrounded him did not lessen. No hesitation, or boredom, or annoyance made its way in. But it only made him worry rather than reassure him. It was not good to fit in here.

Finally, they made their way to the western coast. They walked its beaches, its cliffs, and he showed him the Cauldron, where a pod of selkies rested with their young. He had always felt a sort of kinship with them. Shapeshifters as he was, and usually wary of outsiders. And not liking to be tied down. Lucien hailed them, but they only looked curiously, and headed out to sea. He and Lucien followed after with their eyes as the selkies disappeared from sight, past the horizon to the specter of Hybern.

“You haven’t shown me the villages here,” Lucien said, after they had stood in silence for a time.

His voice took awhile to hit him, mingling as it did with the wind whipping his ears. He loved how it could shut his mind off, covering him in a kind of cocoon.

“Tamlin?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.” He suddenly remembered Lucien’s reputation. “I’m sorry. I’m not that…social.”

“I’ve gathered.”

Once Lucien met people, he would be further enmeshed here. But perhaps it was good—he must already be getting bored, and restless. He would not be enough himself. Eventually, Lucien would tire of him, and this place.

“Tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

He thought Lucien would protest more, but he seemed to accept it, perhaps content with his reassurance, and the promise of what was to come.

He hardly slept that night, tossing and turning. He kept seeing mountains, craggy hills, and forests of juniper and pine. And suspicious, warning looks. The caverns around the Cauldron were filled with bats, who entangled themselves in his hair, and bit at his neck, and drove him over the edge. He floated on the waves, the current dragging him, until he was pulled to the shore, long nails and red hair overhanging like algae. And a voice to his ear telling him he was finally home. And there was a castle, and there were tethers tightening around his wrists, and his neck. He couldn’t breathe, and he pushed against them—

He woke up. Another torn set of sheets. He threw them off again, and leaned forward, his hair falling in front of him. And his head in his hands.

“We don’t really have big cities here. I don’t know how interesting it will be,” he said as they set out on horseback the next day.

Lucien looked at him wryly. “Will you let me decide that?”

“I—“

But Lucien had already set off, his hair flying behind him. Tamlin followed after, smiling slightly with the thrill, and the freedom. The breaking up of the earth underneath, and the drive forward.

Lucien turned to him when he had caught up. “We have villages in the Autumn Court, too. That’s where Jes—“ He stopped, and his horse slowed to a trot, his head hanging slightly.

It was the first time Lucien had even started to speak of her. It had been weeks.

“Anyway,” he went on quickly. “I’m sure the villages are lovely here.”

“They are, but I—“ He stopped.

Lucien stared at him, waiting.

“Nothing. Come on.”

He led the way. The landscape of the Spring Court was largely of farmland—greens and rhubarb, spinach and radish. Berries and apricots. Herbs. Massive flower farms. Many traded with the other seasonal Courts. Even Autumn. Others raised sheep and cattle. And there were rolling hills dotted with idyllic cottages of stone mined from the region; the older houses had taken on a gold patina over time. As with everywhere else, Lucien remarked on the beauty of the area, the golden hue of the cottages reflected in his skin, accentuating his eyes. Tamlin rode through the towns and villages with him, introducing him but hanging back while Lucien spoke to everyone they passed. Asking their names, what they did. Quickly falling into a rapport with them. One after another. His own mare shook her head in impatience, sensing his anxiety and eagerness to flee. He soothed her, forcing himself to relax as well as he watched Lucien—so at ease already. Occasionally Lucien would look back, as if to see if he was alright, and he would give a reassuring smile back. And then Lucien seemed content to talk with the villagers, for hours. When he finally trotted back to him, he was more animated than he’d seen him yet, his eyes sparkling. Tamlin couldn’t help but smile in response, charmed as the villagers had been.

“At this rate it will take years to get through every village,” he said.

“Like I said—I’m not going to get bored.”

“What did you talk about?”

Lucien grinned, a mischievous look in his eyes, and rode on.

He felt a wave of discomfort and self-consciousness, looking towards the village for a moment before following on. As if Lucien already knew the Spring Court better than he did.

It continued like that for days. He continued to stay at a distance, watching Lucien bring life and light to each village as he had to the manor. He wanted to thank him, and remembered that, in the human world, in the solar Courts, Autumn was soon to start. A time celebrated as one of thanks. There were harvest festivals in honor of this all over the Autumn Court, the air rich with spices and the bounty of the land. Different villages would cook their signature dishes. Lucien had yet to mention his home, or his family, since almost speaking the name of his beloved. But Tamlin thought he saw a dimming of the light in him, as if the angle of it had deepened with the sun’s waning, and the shadows lengthening. Every day a little bit darker. He could not judge Lucien’s reluctance—he himself could hardly bear to speak of his mother. But there had been no word from the forest house. And he knew Lucien would be homesick. He had to be. And he thought of the peace of him surrounded by crabapple blossoms, and thought to bring it to him—the gold, and the warmth, and the sun.

His heart raced the morning of the equinox. Light had been behind his eyes, he had dreamt of the sun. And when he awoke, he was glowing—a rare lapse in the leash he kept around his own power. He shook it off, and dressed, and waited.

Everyone in the manor was in awe at the display. In every room, throughout the halls, spilling out of doors—anemone and dahlias. Carnations and aster. Mums, coneflowers, and zinnia. Reds and purples and oranges and yellows. He usually wasn’t much for ostentatious display. But he had felt compelled. He waited anxiously in the dining hall for Lucien to arrive.

“Lucien!” He said rather loudly, standing up when he finally arrived. Lucien started in response, almost in a daze.

“What—“

“Sit, please.” He ordered breakfast to be brought.

Lucien stared at the bowl before him. “Apple…dumplings.”

“In blackberry sauce, just like—“

“Yes.”

“I know it won’t be as good as what you’re used to, but—“

“Tamlin…” Lucien looked up from his food at the display of sunflowers in the center of the table, and there was a look of unfathomable sadness on his face.

“Uh—“ He indicated the serving girl to leave them. She looked at Lucien, then at him, an awkward expression on her face, then left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Are you alright?” He asked, tentatively.

A tear slid down Lucien’s cheek. It was the first time Tamlin had seen him cry since he had first arrived. Every other time the shadow had passed, or he had banished it, shaking it off with a laugh, plunging into each new experience. But this was the great equal. Light, and shadow. Soon, the darkness would overwhelm.

“It’s just—those were Jes’ favorite flowers.”

“I—“ He slumped in his chair. He was an idiot. “I’m sorry. I’ve upset you.”

Lucien breathed in deeply. “No, it—“ He laughed, blinking as the tears continued to fall. “This smells good.”

Tamlin watched him, waiting. Lucien trembled a moment. Then wiped his eyes, and picked up a fork and knife, cutting into the dumplings. “They’re good,” he said.

“I’m sure they’re not like home,” he said softly.

“No, try them. I don’t want you to just sit there watching me eat.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lucien looked at him until he picked up his fork. It was delicious—he would have to compliment the cook—though his palate was trained for what bloomed in Spring.

They ate in silence, and though he knew Lucien found it annoying, he could not help but look at him at intervals—over and over—hoping for a different look, for the joy to return to his face. But at least he didn’t vomit, or gag in disgust. He finished everything. Tamlin remembered when he would hardly eat at all. When he couldn’t do anything.

He looked down at his own plate. He had managed to finish too. He dreaded the conversation they would have now. How thoughtless he had been.

But Lucien stood up instead. That was right. He would leave now.

“Tamlin?”

“Yes?”

“Walk with me.”

“Alright.” He sighed, and stood up, his face growing hot as they walked out into the flower-filled halls.

“It’s beautiful. Really.”

“You don’t have to say that. I can see it upsets you.”

“Why did you do this? All of this?”

“I—I thought you might want a reminder of home, on—“

“The equinox? Do you celebrate it here?”

“Nominally. It’s not really…”

“A Spring Court thing? Yeah.”

“On the border, mostly—“ He stopped. Another painful reminder. But Lucien didn’t react.

“You really went all out.”

“You seem to like flowers.”

“It’s not—“ He stopped, walking outside to where there were boxes of marigolds, black-eyed susans, and zinnias. He plucked one of the zinnias, attaching it to a buttonhole, and smiled at some potted allium. Then looked at him.

“They are beautiful, Tam. Really.”

He smiled.

“Can I call you Tam?”

“No one has in quite a while. But yes. You can call me that.”

“These. All of this.” He gestured around. “It’s beautiful. I do appreciate the gesture. And…I haven’t wanted to face—I’m still not ready.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep—“ He looked again at the purple globes of the allium. “You know these can only be planted in Autumn?”

“…Yes.”

“They’re, beautiful, Tam. But they’re not me. I don’t know that they’ve ever been—“ He looked at the sentries nearby, and walked on. Tamlin followed behind, giving him space.

After a time, walking towards the rolling hills, he went on.

“I love my home. I miss it. Every day—I don’t miss them.”

His father and brothers. He nodded in understanding.

“But it’s not…the land. Not really. I do love to be in nature. I think I feel…most at home in it. But it was the people. The villages, in my—Autumn. It was who I met there. It was the fields of sunflowers towards Summer—but not the flowers—it was seeing them with her. It’s not the flowers of Spring, or their scent. It’s who I’m viewing them with. Who made—makes them grow. Who nurtures, and protects them. Who gets joy from seeing them. You know, I did talk to the villagers about you.”

“And what did they say?” He tried not to sound too anxious, but he saw Lucien smile slightly in response, sensing it.

“Well, they said you’re not exactly…” He cleared his throat. “Approachable.”

Tamlin looked away, crossing his arms.

“Yes,” Lucien chuckled. “Like that. But…they know you care deeply for them. That you would do anything for them. That you’ve provided for them. Protected them. Despite how you…your early days…you chose them. And they know that. I chose this, Tam. I came here, of my own free will. Like I said before. I could have gone to Winter, or Summer.”

“Wasn’t this closest?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, you’re missing my point. Whatever people said about you—he’s a beast, he’s a monster. Instinctively, I knew I would be safe here. I still feel that way.”

“I—I’m glad.”

“Are you sure? You don’t want me to leave?”

“No, I—“ He felt a tug on his heart. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry if I haven’t made you feel welcome.”

“No, you have. But you need to stop apologizing for existing. For this Court. I want to be here.”

“I’m so—“ He stopped himself.

Lucien only smiled, and kept walking.

“Autumn will always be a part of me. My mother…Jes…but I’m here now. However it happened. I have to embrace it, Tam. Everything. I have to. Do you understand?”

He looked at him. Lucien had let his emotions come to the surface for a moment. A moment of trust, and vulnerability, that he could not betray.

“Yes.”

“I get the feeling, you feel like an outsider in your own Court. Like you don’t belong. Is that fair?”

“Yes.”

“Then that makes us two exiles in the Spring Court.”

He bent down to admire a patch of snowdrops. “You are not your father and brothers. I am not mine.”

Tamlin kneeled down next to him, suddenly feeling the pull of the earth.

“You have in your Court a flower that blooms in the Spring and Autumn.” Lucien glanced at him. “Roses.”

“Yes. Among others.”

“So. Let us decide. To transplant ourselves. Put down roots.” He sat down next to him. “You may not feel like it, but the land is reflective of you. It’s a place I want to put roots down in. We can make this Court into anything we want. You’ve already transformed it from what it was under your father.”

“I’ve tried. Not enough.”

“Then let us resolve today to try harder.” He held out his hand. After a moment, Tamlin took it.

“Good.” They shook, and Lucien released him, settling back on the earth.

“I’ve…been thinking…” Tamlin breathed in, and out. He had made a deal, after all. “About a position for you.”

“Court jester?”

“No,” he laughed. “Though I wouldn’t doubt you’d excel at it.”

Lucien smiled. “So, what is it, then?”

“Well…you certainly have a way with words. The way you are with people…me…I sometimes…find it difficult…talking to people.”

“You don’t say.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lucien.”

“Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.”

“And with your reputation…getting along with the other Courts…I thought…would you like to be my emissary—the Spring Court emissary, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“…You don’t want to think about it? It would mean…at some point…going to Autumn.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“Good. Because I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to be the face of the Spring Court. Certainly no one who could make it look as good.”

Lucien smiled to himself, looking at the ground, then looked up at him. “You’re not always so bad with words.”

“Once in a great while.”

They fell into silence again. He looked at the snowdrops, Lucien joining him. A moment’s pause, before the work began. The first flower of Spring, on the first day of Autumn. It fit, somehow. And he felt as if he could—reach down, from the tips of the blossoms, deep into the earth, instead of the pull from below. That he could direct it. Like a gardener, he supposed.

And not alone.

@tamlinweek 2024 Day Three: Flower Language

#tamlin week 2024 #tamlin week #tamlin #acotar #lucien vanserra

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maglor-my-beloved · 5 months

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Gift Giving

Characters: Elrond, Celebrimbor

Words: 391

Warnings: none

Read on Ao3

Celebrimbor came to him late in the evening of his one-hundredth begetting day, once the celebration had ended and Elrond was alone in his chambers.

“Forgive the disturbance, cousin,” he said softly when Elrond bid him enter, “but I have another present for you, one that must be given in private.”

“Come and sit, then.” Elrond led him to the sofa. “I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like some?”

“Gladly.”

Soon they both sat on the sofa, drinking their tea, and Celebrimbor handed Elrond a wrapped parcel.

“This is what any prince of the House of Fëanor would have received upon the day they reach adulthood,” he explained. “You have declared yourself a scion of our House, and so it is only right that you receive what is your due.”

Elrond unwrapped the parcel. Inside was a red cloak embroidered in gold with the eight-rayed star, a silver circlet and comb set with crimson jewels, an elegantly wrought quill, and a hammer with an elaborately carved handle.

Tears welled in Elrond’s eyes as he beheld it all.

“It is lovely,” he said, his voice trembling. “I cannot thank you enough, cousin. It is all so lovely.”

Celebrimbor smiled. “It is my honour to give you these gifts, as my father gave them to me. They include, too, tools for your chosen craft, but you have already received those.”

The bundles of herbs and books on healing lore lay on Elrond’s table, among all the other presents he had been given that day. Celebrimbor’s eyes drifted to them, before returning to Elrond, who had lifted the hammer and was examining it thoughtfully.

“Have you been taught how to use it?” he asked softly.

“I have not,” Elrond admitted, and Celebrimbor laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Then I will teach you. Any descendant of Fëanor should know their way around a forge.”

Elrond’s face brightened. “I shall impatiently await your lessons,” he said. “May I ask another favour of you?”

“Of course.”

Elrond reached out and ran a finger along the circlet and comb. “Will you braid my hair and adorn it?”

“I would be honoured.”

They sat together until late in the night, braiding each other’s hair, sharing stories of their fathers and uncles, laughing and weeping as they spoke of their lost family.

#elrond #celebrimbor #december drabbles #maglor writes

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ththump · 2 years

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Imagine your prince stripping out of his regal attire, discarding it haphazardly in his hurry to be bedded. His crown, instead of being properly stored for the evening, is thrown upon his bedside table. One of the finest pieces of jewelry in the land, and he's cast it aside in favor of your touch. He's impatient. Maybe you take pity on him, pushing into him as soon as he's loose enough. Or you might tease him for a while just to bring tears to those pretty eyes. In any case, when you finally fuck him into the plush mattress, the glittering circlet catches your eye again and again.

Finally, you pause, drawing a needy whimper from your prince, as you reach for the crown and return it to the top of his head, its rightful place. He looks confused for a moment, but you hear no complaints when you thrust roughly into him and he feels his crown bouncing against his skull.

In public, it signals his royal standing to anyone who fails to recognize his visage, but here, in the haven of his bed, it serves to mark him as yours. Your prince, to please or tease according to your whims. Your prince, to have your way with as no other may. Your prince, to fuck so hard that every jerk of your hips sends his crown slipping farther to the side, threatening to fall off.

Let it fall to symbolize the way he drops all semblance of decorum around you—and only you. Alternatively, reach up to straighten it every time it shifts, constantly reminding him of his status and his current position beneath you.

Either way, throughout the following day, he finds himself hoping nobody notices the crimson that paints his cheeks every time he adjusts his crown.

#royalty kink #regency kink #trans nsft #trans ns/fw #ftm nsft #ftm ns/fw #my stuff

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somethingclevermahogony · 3 months

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Character Intro! Ninma

Hello y'all! I am currently working on making a post for Shela, the winner of the poll. However before I introduce you to a secondary character I thought it would make sense that you know both of the MCs. I previously introduced y'all to Narul, if you haven't seen that yet or if you are new to my WIP check out the pinned post on my blog or click here.

Send any questions you have about either of them!

Art is the work of @faeporcelain ! i hope to do a commission or two with just Ninma in the future.

Intro continues below!

Note: Everything listed below is the case at the start of the story, and are not necessarily the case for the entirety of the book

Ninma is the youngest daughter of Hutbari, King of the City State of Labisa

Ninma was born and has spent her entire life within Labisa

Ninma is five years old though she is unusually small for her age.

Her father is King Hutbari, her mother is Zibatha (Hutbari’s 6th and youngest wife). Zibatha is the child of a Jezaai mother and a Namutian father. This makes Ninma ethnically, 50% Kishic, 25% Jezaai, and 25% Namutian.

Ninma has 27 siblings, of which she is the youngest

Partially due to Hutbaris desire that his children not become undully influenced by their mothers's foreign influences, Ninma spends very little time with Zibatha, and knows relatively little about her.

Despite her young age, at the insistence of her father, Ninma has been tutored on how to read and write and is quite adept at it, when she wants to pay attention at least

Ninma's favorite story or piece of literature is The Naked Lord and the Crashing Waterfall by the poet Ramu, a less than age-appropriate comedy. Much to Ninma’s displeasure, the tutor who allowed her to hear this tale was promptly banished from the palace grounds and replaced.

Ninma loves to climb and has already broken 2 fingers from various falls at the age of five.

Her favorite colors are yellow followed by red.

Her prized possession is the golden circlet which she wears on her head, given to her by Hutbari as a birthday present

Her favorite food is nubut tuntiwanash literally "ovened fish" or more simply "Baked fish". She is also quite fond of peaches, which being still new to Kishetal, introduced from the east, are an incredibly expensive delicacy.

And here is a bonus, an Excerpt from Book 1 Chapter 1

A pair of slaves wafted the king and his guests with fans of wood and parchment to cool the nobility and to shoo away the fat black flies that had a penchant for taking afternoon swims in the wine and the beer. A handful of the king’s children took seats around the pit. The king's once prolific proclivity for producing children had slowed considerably in recent years. A rumor had drifted around the palace that Hutbari had become particularly close with one of his young advisors favoring the young man's company over that of any of his wives. They often disappeared into locked chambers to discuss policy and foreign relations. These discussions must have been quite heated if the sounds the servants heard emanating from closed doors indicated anything. The king’s youngest daughter, Ninma, dipped her bread in the wine, so as to allow it to soak up the crimson liquid. No doubt the little princess was meant to be practicing her letters under the eye of a palace scholar but Hutbari was far too engrossed by the fresh bowl of wine in his hand and the scene before him to notice her.

@patternwelded-quill @flaneurarbiter @skyderman @blackblooms @roach-pizza @illarian-rambling @dezerex @theocticscribe , @axl-ul By the way if anyone wants to be put into a taglist, please let me know by replying to this or messaging me!

#writeblr #my mc #writing #fantasy #worldbuilding #queer fantasy #fantasy writing #world building #narul #testamentsofthegreensea #fantasy world #wip #wip excerpt #send asks #art

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oubliette-odette · 7 months

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The Reluctance of Love Pt. 8

Orc Male x Half-Elf Male, Fated Mates, Forbidden Love, Slow Burn Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 Word Count: 2606 (20 min avg read) Content Warnings: mention of mating, nothing happens....yet ;) All orcish is from orcishdictionary.com, created by Matt Vancil. Not beta-read. Criticism is welcome, but be sure to distinguish criticism from hate.

Altan POV

I was escorted immediately to the great hall where my father was waiting for me. The commander who found me, Commander Gaius Gideon, was walking briskly ahead and I struggled to keep up with his pace, especially since two pairs of hands had me on each shoulder. I glared at each armoured soldier. Trying to shrug them off was no use as they were much stronger than I.

The walk to the Great Hall was long, humiliating and I tried to keep my eyes straight ahead to avoid the stares from those inside. Dignitaries and Ruling Officers of Berdusk idled as I passed. I caught from the corner of my eye the way they stared.

They had always stared. They had stared at my mother too. Alway remarking on her dark skin, her flaming hair. She was beautiful, but to them - she was exotic and foreign and something to ogle at. I knew why my father had always liked having her around. But it left a sour taste in my mouth. And now those stares were mine to deal with.

My father was poring over a map spread out on a table, his back to me. His head, with dark hair, growing just past his shoulders was adorned with a bronze circlet. I rarely saw him without it. He was dressed in rich crimson robes, and I knew that the insignia of the phoenix was embroidered in gold on his chest. My father was guardian of the province of Berdusk and he oversaw all of the politics and commerce that happened within his province. I knew that he was well-liked by his equals and by most of the upper-class. I didn’t know what anyone in the general populace thought of him. And seeing how he didn’t want me around them, that was answer enough.

I watched him from my place where the soldiers had stopped me and I waited - impatiently - for my father to look up and acknowledge me.

“Your Grace,” Commander Gideon said, standing at the bottom of the small set of stairs that would lead up to where my father was. He waited, straight and tall and austere. Commander Gideon had been a silent companion on my travel back to Berdusk and I wanted to respect him for his strict obedience to his creed, but gods he annoyed me too.

There was no answer.

“Your Grace.” Commander Gideon repeated. “Your son has been returned to you.”

My father’s only response was an inconvenienced hum. I felt the blood in my cheeks as the anger rose inside me.

“The least you could do was acknowledge me after sending your men all the way out to the Sword Coast? Why bother spending all that manpower if you can’t even look at me?” I shouted.

I caught the flinch in his back, and I saw his hand tighten into a fist. I felt a lingering swell of pride at getting under his skin, but then felt the cold dread as he slowly raised his head and turned to look at me.

“Take him to his rooms, Commander. I will summon him when I am able.” He was unwavering and I felt naked under his gaze. He found me disappointing, disgusting, and intolerable. He hated me as much as I hated him.

“Why keep me if I’m no use to you?” I yelled, even as I was being dragged away. “What do you want from me?”

My father did not look away from me even as I was dragged from the Great Hall. I kicked and struggled, giving the men hell. I probably looked like such a fool. I was a grown man acting like a child. I knew that. But I hated this place. I hated the way everyone looked at me, I hated my father most of all.

My room was just as I had left it three months ago. I was ungracefully tossed in and Commander Gideon spared a moment to give me a pitying stare before closing the door behind me and locking it.

I wanted to pound against the door and scream to be let out, but instead I laid where I was left on the ground and breathed slowly. It felt like the only thing I could do at that moment. Everything had become so wrong. I kept thinking of Drun and wishing I could have seen him one last time, even if it was just to say goodbye.

I was still there when I heard the click of the lock being released and the door opening. I heard the soft, slow footsteps as someone walked towards me and stopped right above me.

I blinked up and saw the looming gaze of my father.

“You have forgotten your place here, Altan.” He said, his voice soft and level. I knew it was an act, just to get me to listen to him. “Get up.”

I felt like being a rebel and not listening to him, but being at the feet of my father and knowing I could not go any lower than this made me climb up to my feet and stare at him, level and even. The words of my mother echoed in me, “Your father is not one who knows how to love easily, he prefers to possess the things he wants, even if it causes him pain to do so.”

I knew that to be true. He had wanted my mother the moment he saw her. Had promised her the world and tempted her with his honey words. She was promised so much by him, but ended up being nothing more than his consort, a bedwarmer and a trophy. She bore him the sons he so desired. I remembered the way he looked at me when I was young, so proud and delighted in teaching me how to hold a sword, chasing me around the gardens pretending to be a dragon that I was meant to slay.

I remembered when things changed for the worse when he took me hunting. He had spoken to me of that day for so many years and I was eager to please him. He gave me his own bow from when he was a boy to shoot with. I remember my father’s hands were over mine as he drew the arrow back in my bow and the tears that escaped as I watched the arrow loose and sink into the chest of the boar. My father only comforted me until he realized that I would not shoot another creature again, nor eat their meat and then his disposition towards me changed.

The more I followed in the ways of my mother - in gentleness and the arts - the more he grew to resent me and her.

“What are you teaching him?” He yelled at her once. “Our son has no friends his own age, they say he is too strange. He won’t hunt. He won’t fight with swords. He’s an embarrassment. He plays with rabbits in the garden. He sings to the flowers to make them happy. Telmira, whatever you’re teaching him has to stop. He won’t be fit for running this province with such a backwards upbringing.”

“He is no less for being soft, Taliesin.” My mother had said, in her same soft, gentle voice. Oh how I missed her voice.

My mother bore him two more sons, who were immediately taken from her arms and raised the way my father wanted them raised, her interactions with them far less frequent from my time with her. They grew to be more like him, more active, more driven, to strive for a level of excellence. I loved them for their spirit, but they were loved by my father even more.

But I was always my mother’s son, and my mother protected me as much as she could from the cruelty my father held in his gaze for me not being the son he wanted.

When he found me kissing that boy - that stupid stablehand boy with the sandy hair and green eyes - he wrenched me away and I remembered the stinging of his belt against my back as he called me filth, perverse and tainted. He blamed my mother for it all. Blamed my elven blood for how mixed up I had become. He struck my mother next, it was the first time he had ever struck her. One sharp slap across her flawless face and we all stood in the silence of that moment. Even my father looked stunned at what he did and he left without another word.

I hated him from that day on. Not for what he did to me, but for what he did to my mother. He would never understand her and therefore never understand me. He never truly loved her, which meant I could never be the son he wanted, nor did I want to be.

The memories faded from my mind as I returned to where I was then, staring at my father, seeing him aged and human before me. He was only human. Nothing impressive really. But I felt a fear for him like no other man. My life was in his hands, and I knew that he was capable of ruining it.

“Duke Hilmar” I said, my voice level.

“You do not call me father.” He said. He did not seem surprised or even upset by it.

“I do not see you as one.” I said. “Now that my mother is dead, you are nothing more to me than the man who has made my life a living Hell.”

“I can easily make it worse, son.” He warned. “Talmira is no longer here to protect you like she did before.”

“Why do you need me so badly?” I asked. “I had no intention of using your name, no one would have ever known where I was from. We could have pretended I died and we both would have been happy to be rid of each other. Why did you bring me back?”

He smirked at me, the deep lines in his forehead deepend. “You are still so young, Altan. I promised myself after your mother’s passing that I would right my wrongs. I would teach you better.”

“You needn’t be so generous with your time, your grace.” I said, my tone sarcastic.

“You are my heir, Altan. I am honour bound to see that you are capable of upholding yourself as a righteous duke.”

“Why not give it to one of my brothers? They seem to be better suited for it.” I offered.

He shook his head, and he brought a hand to his forehead, pinching it. “Altan, it doesn’t work like that. I can’t just conveniently pretend you don’t exist for our convenience. You are my son. As much as you resent me, I will not shirk my duty to raise you as you should have been.” He took a step back and started to circle around my room, “Commander Gideon tells me you were found in a small fishing town on the Sword Coast. The innkeeper said you had been there for a number of weeks. What kept you there for so long? I certainly hope you did not do anything…unsavory while you were there.”

Like I would tell him, I thought. My mind strayed to Drunrag, and the number of nights I found myself whispering his name as I touched myself. Heat blossomed in my cheeks at the memory. I turned my face away to hide it, but I knew my father wouldn’t miss it.

“Who was he?” He asked, his tone became dark.

“I didn’t sleep with anyone.” I said, my voice quickening. “I swear.”

He stopped and studied me. “Your body is pure?” He asked.

I nodded, the heat in my cheeks was becoming unbearably hot. I hated the way he looked at me.

He hummed and turned towards the door. “You will rest tonight, but tomorrow we will begin your private studies.”

I scrubbed myself clean in my private baths after being manhandled so much since leaving the Sword Coast. I found an old pair of nightclothes to sleep in and I wished that I had the small comfort of seeing Drun in my dreams, but I knew already that he would not appear.

I found myself swimming in the silken sheets of my bed, but they did not provide for me the comfort that they used to. I knew all of these small comforts came with the price of being my father’s prisoner. I was not truly free as long as I was under his watch. I would have gratefully taken Drun’s meager pile of blankets over this.

I was about to fall asleep, when I heard the door open once again and the padding of bare feet raced across the floor before two bodies crashed into the sheets around me.

“You’re back!” My younger brother, Selhar, was starting to mature into a man. In the last three months since I had last seen him, his face had hardened and his body was tall and lithe. But he still grinned at me boyishly and had an arm around me.

Taliesin, my youngest brother, was still just a boy and the one my father loved the most. Selhar and I both were accustomed to calling him Robin, because for so long he was small and chirpy just like the bird. I still loved him too, despite his increasing tendency to think and act as my father did. I felt relief when I saw his own face and seeing delight. They both held me and expressed such excitement for my return.

“Where all did you go?” Selhar asked, Robin crawled his way through the sheets until he was able to sit upright and listen closely. The two seemed eager to hear of my adventures away from home. Being away for them sounded exciting and thrilling, nothing like the fear of being chased down as it had been for me for so many weeks after I ran away.

So I told them all of my stories. Of the places I saw, the people I met. I told them how I made money through my music at all of the taverns I stopped at and how I was able to work for my money. They had never heard of such a thing yet in their lives and the concept was foreign and bizarre. They were so sheltered here. I remembered a time I had been so sheltered.

The two eventually snuggled under the sheets with me and the two of them were slumbering on either side of me. Such days were numbered, I knew, before my father would expect them both to grow up and be men. I hated the idea of their kindness leaving their eyes. I whispered stories that mother told me into their ears, wishing and willing them to remember everything she had taught them when she had the chance. Never forget the one who loved you most.

I couldn’t sleep then, caught between so many feelings. I was grateful to see my brothers, but I knew all of this came at the greatest cost. My freedom. My ability to choose for myself.

To choose. Wasn’t that what Drun had wanted all along? I hummed, wishing I could have spoken to him one last time. I would have told him so many things had I known it would be the last time. But now all I wanted to tell him was that I understood him. I knew how important it was to be given a choice.

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buginacup · 11 months

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she can hear the spirits of every xbox thats ever died but also she doesn't really gaf.

#my art #mlp #crimson circlet #oc #my little pony #Like aradia but for gaming and also a horse

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kingedmundsroyalmurder · 9 months

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Blue Castle chapter 20

“If she only had a necklace or something. She wouldn’t feel so bare then. She ran down to the garden. There were clovers there—great crimson things growing in the long grass. Valancy gathered handfuls of them and strung them on a cord. Fastened above her neck they gave her the comfortable sensation of a collar and were oddly becoming. Another circlet of them went round her hair, dressed in the low puffs that became her. Excitement brought those faint pink stains to her face. She flung on her coat and pulled the little, twisty hat over her hair.”

So I realize these are garden flowers, not wildflowers, but it does seem like Valancy ignoring John Foster’s dictum against picking flowers is the first sign that this may not be the best idea.

“Cissy smiled rather dubiously. She knew much better than Valancy what a party “up back” might be like if there should be liquor. But again there mightn’t be.”

We don’t get glimpses of it very often, because she’s framed as childlike and delicate in contrast to Valancy growing into womanhood, but Cissy is much more worldly than Valancy. She was much, much less sheltered growing up and she has seen and experienced much more. Even aside from, you know, motherhood, she has been to raunchy parties and she went out of town to work, and meanwhile Valancy has stayed in her mother’s house and been to terrible picnics and pieced quilts. Cissy’s story feels like a reminder of reality amid Valancy’s unfolding fairy tale: sometimes you leave home and you find your Blue Castle, and sometimes you leave home and you just... don’t. It gets destroyed or you never find it or you think you’ve found it and it turns out to be a lie. It’s like those ‘Cinderella marries the Prince and it turns out he sucks’ stories, except less smug about it.

“But what could she do? She must stay to the end. Abel could not leave till then. And that would probably be not till three or four in the morning.”

There’s been talk in the tag about Abel’s negligence in inviting Valancy along, and I think this sentence is really where that negligence comes through. It almost certainly did not even once occur to Abel that, if she went, Valancy would not be able to leave again. Abel does what he likes and bows to no one, and I don’t know that he realizes how different things are for other people. It’s not that Valancy is feeling too polite to leave or bound by social niceties or doesn’t want to offend her host, it’s that she has no way home. It’s stay or walk twelve miles home in the dark through the woods. That’s not really an option.

“After her feeling of relief her next feeling was one of annoyance with Barney for coming there unshaved. Surely he might have enough self-respect to groom himself up decently when he went to a party. There he was, bareheaded, bristly-chinned, in his old trousers and his blue homespun shirt. Not even a coat. Valancy could have shaken him in her anger. No wonder people believed everything bad of him.”

Valancy, girl, he practically sprinted over here to save you the second he heard. Cut him some slack for not changing his clothes first.

#blue castle book club #blue castle chapter 20

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callilouv · 2 years

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Have my Tao and ayaya build bc i have nothing to do so im gonna flex my dps’ on u /lh FEJXJK

#ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ playing gaymez #tao’s circlet SUCKS #i need to replace it #but I’m too lazy to farm crimson so #</3 MFJSJX #BUT YEGAGA #have my builds<3

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dndfantasygirl · 25 days

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Little Red Rogue (Chapter 15: The Vampyre of Time and Memory)

Rating: Mature Word count: 4.1k Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (named)/OC Warnings: violence, strong language, innuendo, references to major character near-death experience, descriptions of PTSD/panic attack-like symptoms

Summary: Ruby deals with the aftermath of her near-death experience while helping Astarion, Shadowheart, and Karlach find Yurgir.

*Link to AO3 Post

*Link to Previous Chapter

Ain't no confusion here, it is as I feared The illusion that you feel is real To be vulnerable is needed most of all If you intend to truly fall apart You think the worst of all is far behind The vampire of time and memories has died I survived. I speak, I breathe, I'm incomplete

~The Vampyre of Time and Memory, Queens of the Stone Age

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The circlet. Get the circlet.

As Ruby pressed forward, her senses honed on the ethereal whispers of her parents' spirits, she felt a sense of urgency coursing through her veins. The pleas of her companions, their voices laden with desperation, faded into the background.

RUBY!

Astarion's voice cut through the haze of her determination, a sharp reminder of the imminent danger that lurked behind her. She knew his cry was genuine, devoid of any pretense or ulterior motive. Yet, despite the urgency in his tone, her reflexes seemed sluggish, as if time itself had slowed to a crawl.

With a sinking dread, she felt the icy touch of fear clutch at her heart as the claws closed in on her. The sharp sting of pain blossomed across her back as they tore through her flesh, leaving a trail of crimson in their wake. Every movement felt like a struggle against the encroaching darkness, a futile attempt to evade the inevitable.

As Ruby's consciousness wavered on the edge of oblivion, the voices of her companions, once distant murmurs, now rose to a crescendo in her ears. Shadowheart and Astarion's argument pierced through the fog of her fading awareness, their heated words echoing off the walls of her mind like shards of glass.

She wanted to interject, to plead for peace amidst the chaos that threatened to consume them all, but her strength failed her. Her body felt heavy, as if weighed down by the burden of her own mortality, and she struggled to keep her eyes open, to stay present in the tumultuous world around her.

And then, suddenly, darkness engulfed her. She could no longer see the figures of her companions, their forms swallowed by the inky void that surrounded her. Yet, amidst the suffocating silence, she could still hear his voice, his cries tearing at the very fabric of her soul.

I went from not caring about anyone but myself to caring about you...somewhat more than myself.

His words echoed in the caverns of her mind, a confession laid bare in the shadowy recesses of her subconscious. In that fleeting moment of clarity, she felt a surge of determination coursing through her veins. She couldn't leave him—not now, not ever.

With every fiber of her being, she fought against the encroaching darkness, clawing her way back to consciousness with a tenacity born of desperation. She had to get back to him, to reassure him that she was still there, still fighting.

You can't die! You can't leave me here, Ruby! Wake up!

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

Ruby's eyes shot open, her heart racing as she tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that had gripped her so tightly. It wasn't the first time she'd been haunted by the specter of death, yet this time felt different. Despite her logical mind reminding her that she had already faced the brink of mortality and returned, the fear lingered like a stubborn shadow.

As Astarion's comforting presence enveloped her, she found solace in the odd warmth of his cold embrace. His arms, like a shield against the darkness, offered reassurance and safety.

She was transported back once again to that fateful moment of near-death, where the thin veil separating life and death threatened to consume her completely. Astarion's voice, raw with desperation, continued to echo in her mind, a haunting reminder of the terror that had gripped them both.

In that moment of weakness, as she lay on the precipice of existence, Ruby had felt the weight of her exhaustion pressing down on her. It wasn't just physical fatigue, but the weariness that stemmed from years of internal conflict and external pressures.

Haunted by the echoes of lost souls and burdened by the weight of her own destiny, Ruby yearned for a respite from the chaos that defined her existence. She longed to break free from the constraints of her cursed fate, to embrace a life untouched by the darkness that lurked within her.

But even as the longing for normalcy tugged at her heartstrings, she knew deep down that her path was inexorably intertwined with the forces that had shaped her destiny. The decision she had made, to defy convention and assert her independence, had set her on a course fraught with peril and uncertainty.

As Ruby contemplated the idea of marriage, she couldn't shake the feeling of being too young, too inexperienced to make such a monumental decision. At eighteen, she still felt like a child in many ways, her sense of self not fully formed, her dreams and aspirations still taking shape. The thought of committing herself to someone for a lifetime felt daunting, especially when she hadn't yet discovered who she truly was. However, if she were to marry, it would have to be someone she cared deeply for and trusted with her life.

She glanced at Astarion, his porcelain-like features illuminated by a soft glow, and a pang of uncertainty shot through her. He was someone she cared deeply for. He was someone she trusted with her life. But the idea of marrying him, of binding their fates together in matrimony, sent her heart racing with panic. It was too soon, too sudden to even entertain such thoughts.

Their relationship, if it could be called that, existed in a nebulous space between friendship and something more. They shared a bond that went beyond mere camaraderie, a connection forged through shared experiences and mutual understanding. Yet, they had never explicitly defined the nature of their relationship, never put a label on what they were to each other.

Were they friends? Undoubtedly. Were they something more? Perhaps. But the lines between friendship and romance blurred in their interactions, leaving them both hesitant to take the next step. They were navigating uncharted territory, treading carefully as they explored the depths of their feelings for one another.

As Ruby buried her face into Astarion's chest, seeking solace in the coolness of his embrace, she felt the weight of her emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Tears traced a silent path down her cheeks, betraying the turmoil that churned within her soul.

As his hand tenderly brushed away the tears that stained her cheeks, Ruby felt a surge of gratitude wash over her. In the safety of his arms, she found the courage to voice the words that had been weighing heavily on her heart.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry for being a mess right now. I'm sorry-"

But her apology faltered as tears choked her words, rendering them unintelligible. A sob escaped her lips, the sound echoing in the quiet sanctuary of their embrace. Astarion's response was immediate, his arms enveloping her in a protective embrace as he cradled her head against his chest.

With gentle strokes, he began to rub soothing circles into her back.

"My dear, we're both completely and utterly fucked up. You have nothing to apologize for. But you can make it up to me." Astarion lifted his head just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes locking with hers in a silent exchange of understanding.

"What?" Ruby's curiosity piqued as she awaited his request, her doe eyes wide with anticipation.

"Tell me exactly what you're doing before you do something stupid," he replied, a hint of seriousness underlying his jest.

Ruby couldn't help but chuckle at his straightforwardness. It was a simple request, yet it carried a profound significance. In asking her to confide in him, to share her thoughts and fears openly, Astarion offered her more than just reassurance—he offered her trust.

With a contented sigh, Ruby nestled closer to him, tucking her head under his chin once more. The weight of his arms anchored her to the present moment as she drifted back to sleep.

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

As Ruby and Astarion embarked on their mission the next morning, the weight of their previous night's ordeal hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the lingering echoes of fear and uncertainty, they pressed forward, their resolve unshaken by the challenges that lay ahead.

Accompanied once again by Karlach and Shadowheart, the quartet ventured deeper into the Thorm mausoleum, their footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls that surrounded them. With each passing step, they sensed a shift in the atmosphere, a palpable tension that seemed to coil like a serpent waiting to strike.

It soon became apparent that this was no ordinary resting place for the dead. It was a temple—a sanctum devoted to Shar, the Mistress of the Night, and the patron deity of Shadowheart herself.

It was a place steeped in mystery and shadow, where the boundaries between the mortal realm and the divine blurred into obscurity.

For Shadowheart, it was both a homecoming and a trial. Here, in the heart of Shar's domain, she felt the weight of her faith bearing down upon her, a reminder of the sacred duty that bound her to her goddess. And yet, amidst the darkness, there was a sense of purpose—a calling to become something more, something greater than herself.

They descended far beneath the mausoleum's depths in chambers cloaked in hues of deep purples and accented with touches of shimmering gold.

As they ventured further, they encountered Shar's undead guardians—sentinels of darkness that prowled the shadows with an eerie sense of purpose. To Shadowheart, they were more than mere obstacles; they were tests from the Lady of Darkness herself, challenges designed to prove the worthiness of her followers.

But for Ruby, the truth was far more unsettling. Ever since Shadowheart had revealed her allegiance to Shar, Ruby had felt a growing sense of unease gnawing at her conscience. In the presence of these undead monstrosities, the dissonance between their beliefs became glaringly apparent.

Where Shadowheart saw divine providence, Ruby saw only cruelty and oppression. Where Shadowheart found solace in the embrace of darkness, Ruby was a mote of light—a symbol of hope in a world plagued by despair. The thought of worshiping a deity who reveled in the shadows, who thrived on fear and suffering, filled her with a sense of revulsion she struggled to contain.

Yet, despite their differences, Ruby knew that Shadowheart was more than just her beliefs. She was a companion, a friend—a steadfast ally she could rely on.

So, they dispatched the bony guardians with ease, blades and axes swinging, while rays of golden magic pierced through the air.

As Ruby's violet eyes scanned the chamber below, they alighted upon a sleek, black panther-like creature prowling with feline grace. Its movements were fluid, its sleek form weaving sinuously through the shadows as if dancing to some silent rhythm. Yet, despite its predatory aura, there was a certain magnetism to its presence, an allure that drew Ruby's gaze like a moth to flame.

"Is that a—"

"Displacer beast," Astarion interjected, his voice tinged with a note of caution. He nodded in confirmation, his expression betraying a hint of wariness as he regarded the creature below.

Ruby felt a shiver run down her spine at the mention of the beast's name. Displacer beasts were notorious predators, known for their ability to bend light around their bodies, making them appear to be several feet away from their true position. It was a formidable foe, one that demanded respect and caution in equal measure.

"I don't like the way it's looking at us," Karlach remarked, her voice edged with unease. She maintained unbroken eye contact with the creature, her stance tense and alert as she assessed the threat it posed.

"It doesn't seem like it wants to bring us harm," Shadowheart explained, her voice steady and composed despite the uncertainty that lingered in the shadows.

But Astarion's response injected a note of caution into the conversation, his words dripping with playful skepticism. "I wouldn't say that, Shadowheart," he remarked, his lips curling into a smirk. "All cats prowl before they pounce."

Ruby couldn't help but chuckle at his analogy, despite the gravity of their situation. Astarion had a way of injecting levity into even the most dire of circumstances, his wit a welcome distraction from the looming threats that surrounded them.

As he turned to her, his smirk turning flirtatious, Ruby felt a flush of heat rising to her cheeks. His playful banter never failed to catch her off guard, leaving her feeling simultaneously flustered and amused.

"Isn't that right, darling?" he added, his smile widening as he locked eyes with her, his gaze filled with a playful twinkle.

Caught off guard by his sudden attention, Ruby felt her cheeks burn even hotter. She averted her gaze shyly, cursing herself for reacting like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

"It's not going anywhere," Karlach broke the silence with a raised brow.

Ruby took a deep breath, steeling herself against the lingering embarrassment of Astarion's playful teasing. With a determined expression, she pushed aside her flustered appearance, channeling her focus into the task at hand. "I think it wants us to follow it."

"That... sounds like a horrible idea," Astarion admitted with a heavy sigh, his gaze flickering between his companions as if searching for a glimmer of reassurance. "But it's also the only lead we have on where the hells to go in this bloody place, so, shall we?" With a flourish, he bowed theatrically, gesturing toward the broken stairs with an extended hand.

As Karlach and Shadowheart pressed forward, their gazes fixed on the retreating form of the displacer beast, Ruby felt a surge of determination coursing through her veins. With each step, they drew closer to uncovering the truth behind the scars on Astarion's back.

Ruby reached out and clasped Astarion's extended hand in hers, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze. The coolness of his touch sent an oddly comforting shiver down her spine, grounding her in the intense moment.

Together, they followed in the wake of their companions, their footsteps echoing off the ancient stone walls as they descended deeper into the heart of the temple. But as they reached the bottom of the staircase, Ruby realized that the bottom few steps were missing, leaving a daunting gap between them and the platform below.

Before she could react, Astarion released her hand and gracefully leaped onto the platform, his movements cat-like. Ruby watched him with a mixture of admiration and trepidation as she prepared to follow suit.

But before she could make the jump herself, Astarion was in front of her, his strong arms encircling her waist as he effortlessly lifted her down to him. Her breath caught in her throat at the unexpected gesture, her cheeks flushing with a deep crimson blush as she met his gaze.

With a playful wink, Astarion released her, his smile lighting up his features as he watched her reaction. Ruby's heart fluttered at the sight, her stomach a flutter of nervous excitement as she found herself lost in his gaze.

As their hands found each other once more, Ruby felt a renewed sense of determination coursing through her veins.

"Were you always this chivalrous?" Her teasing remark hung in the air like a playful melody, eliciting a grin from Astarion as they resumed their journey through the chamber's dimly lit corridors.

Astarion's steps were light and confident, his gaze flickering with amusement as he glanced sidelong at her. He feigned offense with a hand flying to his chest. "I'll have you know I might be a luscious prick most of the time, but I am very well-mannered, my dear."

The dhampir couldn't help but laugh at his theatrical response, the sound echoing softly around them. "At least you're aware," she quipped, her tone teasing yet affectionate.

"Trust me, I am," Astarion replied with a playful wink, his smirk widening as he squeezed her hand gently.

As Ruby's laughter faded into gasps, her breath catching in her throat like a caged bird, she stumbled forward, her legs threatening to buckle beneath her. In that moment of vulnerability, Astarion was there, his strong arms enveloping her in a protective embrace as he guided her gently to her knees.

Though she couldn't hear his words over the roar of her own heartbeat, she could sense the soothing cadence of his voice, his whispered reassurances a balm to her fractured mind.

The orthon.

Clutching Astarion's arms tightly, she steadied herself against the tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

Next room. Kill him.

Her parents' voices echoed in her mind, their words a grim reminder of the task that lay ahead.

"Ruby, are you alright?"

The sound of Astarion's voice pierced through the haze that clouded Ruby's mind, jolting her back to the present moment with a start. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the disorientation that gripped her as she struggled to make sense of the chaos swirling within her.

But then, like a torrent unleashed, the memories came rushing back with a relentless intensity. The circlet, the zombie, the cold touch of the stone floor beneath her, and Astarion—his concerned expression etched into her mind like a haunting refrain.

Astarion. Astarion. Astarion.

It dawned on her with a sudden clarity that sent a shiver down her spine. Her parents had put her in danger—sent her on a quest fraught with peril and uncertainty. But why? They would never intentionally endanger her, would they?

The realization struck her like a blow to the gut, leaving her reeling with a mix of disbelief and betrayal. They had known about the circlet, yes, but had they been aware of the horde of zombies that guarded it? Had they knowingly sent her into harm's way, or had they been deceived by forces beyond their control?

But then, another thought crept into her mind—a nagging doubt that refused to be silenced. Her parents had sensed the mind flayers, just as they were now sensing the orthon. They had guided her through countless dangers before, their guidance a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

As she struggled to make sense of it all, Ruby felt a sense of overwhelming confusion wash over her, her thoughts swirling like a tempest in her mind. She shook her head, trying to dispel the onslaught of images and emotions that threatened to consume her.

Rocking herself gently, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, willing herself to find a semblance of calm amidst the chaos.

"They put me in danger," she whispered shakily. "Why would they do that? They would never do that."

"Darling, what are you on about?" Astarion's voice was laced with confusion and concern, his brow furrowing as he searched her face for answers.

But before she could respond, Shadowheart's words cut through the tension like a knife, her tone sharp and assertive. "Maybe this was a bad idea, Astarion. We should go-"

"Just give us a moment, Shadowheart!" Astarion's interruption was firm, his gaze unwavering as he turned back to Ruby.

As Shadowheart rolled her eyes and motioned for Karlach to join her a few paces away, Astarion wasted no time in scooching closer to the dhampir, his grip firm but gentle as he rested his hands on her shoulders.

"It's just us now, my sweet. What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with concern.

Ruby shook her head once more, the weight of her realization pressing down on her like a leaden blanket. "You were right. I am naive," she confessed. With a heavy heart, she lifted her gaze to meet Astarion's, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "The spirits don't care...my parents don't care if I die."

The spawn's expression softened at her words.

"Ruby, I don't believe that's true," he began, his voice gentle yet firm. "From what you've told me, your parents cared an awful deal about you. But if what you said is true, if their lost souls inhabit your mind, they're solely focused on one thing—"

"Vengeance," Ruby finished, her voice barely above a whisper. "That explains a lot, actually."

As Astarion brushed away a stray tear from Ruby's cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring, his words carried a weight of solemn truth. "Whoever they were before Cazador killed them, Ruby... that's gone with them. What inhabits your mind right now are empty shells of who they were."

Ruby's heart clenched at his words, the realization sinking in like a heavy stone. She had clung to the hope that somehow, somewhere, fragments of her parents' true selves still lingered within her, but Astarion's words shattered that illusion with brutal honesty.

"How do you know so much?" she asked with a trembling voice.

Astarion hesitated for a moment, his gaze distant as he wrestled with his own memories and demons. "Well, for one, I've been brushing up on some light reading regarding lost souls and dark deals," he replied with a wry half-smile, attempting to lighten the mood with a touch of humor.

"What's the other?" Ruby insisted, her eyes searching his for answers.

The spawn's smile faded, replaced by a heaviness that seemed to weigh him down. With a deep sigh, he bowed his head, his gaze falling to the ground as if unable to meet hers.

"When Cazador made me into his spawn, I lost almost everything of who I was," he confessed, his voice tinged with a bitter edge. "I can't even remember the color of my eyes before they turned red. I can only imagine how much worse it affected your parents, knowing their souls remain entrapped inside their daughter's mind."

Ruby's touch was tender as she caressed Astarion's cheek, her fingers tracing the contours of his face with a gentleness born of compassion. She ignored the second part of his speech, focusing on the fact that he didn't remember who he was, determined to offer him solace in his moment of vulnerability.

"I'm sure you were a wonderful person before Cazador," she murmured softly, her voice filled with sincerity and warmth.

"As much as you would love to believe that, darling, I think I was quite the opposite," he replied, his doubts and insecurities bubbling to the surface despite her efforts to reassure him. He shook his head, his grip tightening on her hand as he pressed a kiss to her palm.

Ruby's heart ached at the weight of his words, the pain of his self-condemnation echoing in the depths of her soul. But she refused to let him succumb to the darkness that threatened to engulf him, her voice firm as she sought to lift his spirits.

"Nobody's perfect, Astarion," she insisted, her gaze locking with his as she spoke. "We all make mistakes. It's what we do afterward that defines us."

He shook his head again, a gesture that seemed to convey both a sense of reluctance and finality. Ruby could sense that he wasn't quite ready to delve further into the complexities of his past, and she respected his boundaries, knowing that there were more immediate concerns that demanded their attention.

As she opened her mouth to speak, ready to shift the conversation to their current mission, Astarion rose to his feet in one fluid motion. With a graceful movement, he extended a hand to her.

Without hesitation, Ruby accepted his offer, her fingers intertwining with his as he pulled her upright.

"You will get through this, Ruby, and I will be here to make sure you do," Astarion declared.

The dhampir felt a surge of gratitude welling up within her at his words, a sense of warmth flooding her heart as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace. In his arms, she found solace, a fleeting moment of peace amidst the chaos that threatened to engulf her.

As she leaned into him, she felt the tension in her muscles slowly begin to ebb away, the weight of her burdens lifting with each steady breath. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the voices that had plagued her mind fell and remained silent, their haunting whispers fading into nothingness.

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