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mominousrex · 2 years

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The Jola Moon (A Rexsoka FanFic) - Chapter 14: MEHT DU MEHT

Summary: Ahsoka's journey into the Temple of the Mother reveals more than she expected.

Warnings: None. (The smut will return soon, friends. Let this plot edge you in the meantime.)

Click to READ on AO3

A/N: Canon disclaimer JUST GO WITH IT XD. Translations at the end.

LUV 2 ALL THE CREW IN THE SHEBBY DEBBIES DISCORD: THIRSTY GOOD GIRL HOURS ARE 24/7- Love you so much!

Chapter 14: MEHT DU MEHT

Ahsoka's feet were careful and steady. The air in the cave gave her skin a chill that crawled up her spine and caused her to shudder. Soon the shivers turned into an anxious warmth pitted in her chest. The swift temperature change was a strange warning to expect the unexpected with the task ahead of her.

As she cautiously descended the broad stone steps, she tried her best to observe the construction of this so-called ancient temple. The impressive cavernous space seemed to have an endless winding descent and gave no clues as to where it would conclude.

No grand architectural design informed her who or what had made this place. The steps were uneven in certain stretches and could either be small cliffs to hop down or a slick ramp with no forgiveness for the uncoordinated.

Ahsoka looked for intricately detailed carvings along the pathway but only saw naturally formed veins, cracks, and splits that were no doubt created by the weathering of time.

The stone walls and uneven ceiling were not painted, gilded, or marked in any decorative way by sentient hands. Eyeing the captivating patterns of discoloration along the walls, she concluded it was simply the combination of existing elements responsible for the composite layers of red, orange, yellow, and grey.

Ahsoka took measured breaths to focus and allow the Force to communicate the unseen energy of her surroundings.

It was unusual for her to be moving at such a calculated pace.

When commanding the 501st, she had never wanted to seem timid or afraid. Throughout the war, Ahsoka was usually the first to fearlessly head into unknown and possibly dangerous places. Anakin had been the only person that would lead before her: assuming Skywalker could rein her in to follow behind him, that is. They certainly shared the common trait of scoffing at the nerve of danger for even trying to intimidate them.

Something in her was now more mindful and patient in her strategic approach.

She thought of Obi-Wan. She felt no dread or sense of loss when she reached out to the Force to sense for Master Kenobi.

Instead, she was shocked when she registered his presence in the Force. He was alive.

Could he—Could he have escaped? If he was with Commander Cody? That would mean—oh no.

Ahsoka was reminded again of Rex's DC-17s pointed at her and the choice she had to make at that moment. In half a breath, she had to evade certain death, find out what was happening and what she could do to save Rex.

Escaping alone was not an option she had even considered.

And even though she now knew about the inhibitor chips and Darth Sidious's full scheme, she had to ask herself,

What did Obi-Wan know?

They'd last spoken via comm amid the siege mission on Mandalore. Obi-Wan had only told her about Anakin's surveillance assignment as ordered by the Jedi Council.

Their last words exchanged were proof of the familial bond that they shared,

"When you see Anakin, tell him—"

"—I will."

Then, as if she accidentally stumbled on an unseen door, she connected with Obi-Wan's presence in the Force. She stopped for a moment. Realizing that Morai would not wait, Ahsoka attempted to continue walking down the path as she simultaneously explored her unexpected connection to Obi-Wan's signature.

When she concentrated further on the connection, she sensed sadness and defeat deep within him. That was new and very unlike Kenobi. She could tell he was cradling these emotions in his heart, soothing them to be at peace. He was focused and determined to remain unbothered, but she chose to reach out anyway.

Master? You're alive?

Master Kenobi, I don't know where you are?

I can sense you, even though I'm not sure how.

Ahsoka waited for a response.

Obi-Wan, can you sense me?

Her earlier encounter with Qui-Gon's spirit had done much more than prepare her for entering the Temple of The Mother. It seemed to bridge a lost connection between her Master and Padawan lineage. The power of Splendor allowed Ahsoka to strengthen her awareness of her former master's master in the Force.

Obi-Wan, I know you can hear me. Your Master, Qui-Gon Jin, visited me. His spirit lives in the Force, and he somehow spoke to me. Please, I know you're there...

Then, beginning at a whisper in her mind, Kenobi's presence was connected to hers in the Force,

Ahsoka? It…it is you.

I sense…that you are…you are safe.

Master! Yes. I'm safe.

Rex and I both escaped.

Rex? You—?

I see. Good.

I'm— I'm glad to hear it.

We're alright for now.

I was able to remove Rex's inhibitor chip.

The rest of our legion…I couldn't…

Inhibitor chip? Yes.

Then Order 66 was connected.

The ARC Trooper, Fives…

Ahsoka realized Kenobi had not yet figured out why the clones had turned on them until this moment. The regret in Kenobi's emotions was heavy, painful even.

He was an excellent soldier.

And we didn't listen to him.

Master, where are you?

Rex and I will come and find you.

No.

Be where you are, my friend.

You must not try to find me.

For our safety…and for theirs.

Theirs? I don't understand.

Whose safety?

Ahsoka. I'm sorry.

For all of it, everything.

We failed before.

We cannot this time.

Obi-Wan, please. Rex and I will find you

I think Master Yoda—

No. No, Ahsoka. It's over.

His voice was firm. The tone of authority he rarely used with her but regularly used with Anakin added an extra tinge of pain in her heart.

We must stay apart.

Our paths must never meet. Even like this…in the Force.

You have found your way on your own before.

You must do so again.

But I'm not alone, though—

—I know. I sense the love in your heart.

And…

I am glad for you both.

Truly. I knew that feeling once, Ahsoka.

It was...extraordinary at the time...so long ago.

Master Kenobi? You…

You haven't mentioned Anakin…

She felt Obi-Wan's hesitation. The initial reluctance and despair. She knew what was coming.

Anakin.

He is gone, Ahsoka. Anakin is gone.

No! No, no, no…

She choked on the words with a fierce denial, her gut twisting in pain at the mention of his name, and the burning sensations began coursing through her whole body just as they did before.

Master, I sensed him before Order 66.

Then the loss of the other Jedi was all I could feel.

Tell me what happened.

How do you know?

At the Temple, Anakin…he—

Ahsoka, I tried. Please know I tried.

I know he's gone because…I watched him die.

Ahsoka felt all the air leave her chest and what took its place was a paralyzing agony. The reality that Anakin was gone was one she had to accept. Of all the death and loss from order 66, Anakin's death never felt…possible. She knew what she sensed in the moments before Sidious's order activated the clones' inhibitor chips. Still, after that moment, it had been impossible to be sure.

She stopped in her tracks. She could not physically move one more step. Bracing her hand against the cold, damp stone walls of the cave's tunneled path, Ahsoka willed herself to continue standing upright and not collapse. Her other hand massaged her forehead as she struggled to maintain her connection to Kenobi.

Her heart was already broken with grief when her next thought shattered the pieces to dust,

"I'll have to tell Rex," she spoke out loud.

By now, Morai had stopped her flight and hovered for a moment. She then turned back and carefully perched on Ahsoka's shoulder. The gentle squeeze of Morai's paws on her shoulder caused Ahsoka's concentration to break.

We must continue.

"Morai, I don't think I can."

Either now or later, you will move on. It is the only way to grieve your loss. You must continue.

Ahsoka held her stance, unable to move. Her stubbornness wasn't intentional; she honestly did not know how to move on from the devastating information Kenobi had just given to her.

"He's gone," the revelation only fully sunk in when she heard herself say the words out loud.

Right now, she did not even have the will to fight the feelings causing her to cry shamelessly and be furious at herself for sobbing like this. Frustration and helplessness were not emotions that Ahsoka sat in for any length of time. Her Jedi training had taught her to search her feelings but always be stronger than such emotions.

But this? This was too much to bear.

"He's gone. And…I have no sense of anything connected to Anakin. How could I have not felt this? Why didn't I sense his death?!"

If she took one more step, as Morai had told her, she felt she would deny the grief owed to Anakin's death. If she stayed still in the sorrow or, worse instead, retreated from the task ahead of her, she would be submitting to the suffering that inevitably always comes with attachments, with love. She had chosen to move on and walked away from Anakin before. This time it did not feel like her choice, and she understood that is where the pain was rooted. To have power and still be powerless.

And then Kenobi connected with her one last time,

You came to be the best of us, Ahsoka.

You are much more than a Jedi.

Master? Obi-Wan, don't leave.

You, of all people, should understand

that one would need some time alone.

And it appears your time away helped

you see things...more clearly.

I understand.

May the Force be with you, Ahsoka Tano.

Always.

Then he was gone.

Obi-Wan and Anakin had been part of the closest thing to family that she had known.

But now, Skywalker was gone forever with a simple statement, and Kenobi had just shut her (or the galaxy out.) In her heart, she felt the pain of a gate closed, a vault locked, and the hollow remainder of empty blank nothing.

Shall we continue? The Mother awaits…

Morai's words cleared her mind again, and Ahsoka gauged where she stood.

Maybe she had no sense of what had happened to Anakin, but she did have the legacy of his training. He would want her to move on.

This is how she would mourn Anakin Skywalker right now. She would move on and return to Rex after her task. She did not have to grieve alone. Neither should Rex.

So she allowed the emptiness, the present void of Anakin Skywalker, to be filled with the knowledge and experience he had given her as his padawan learner.

The quiet and solitude soon became so clear it resulted in a powerful attunement. Her connection to the Force strengthened as it radiated in her blood. Ahsoka registered the physical manifestation. Her skin felt like it was glowing, but it was not. Her heart's rhythm felt more robust, but it was steady. She heard the energy blend and move within her breaths, in and out.

Something powerful was happening to her down here.

As she continued to descend, she felt as though she was inside a place of protection. She was connected to this place but did not feel confined by her surroundings. Her strength could grow, and the power of the Force would grow around her like a womb.

This was like no other temple she had ever encountered.

The distinct rhythm of her boots' steady gait echoed through the eerie silence. The only other sounds were the flapping of Morai's wings and the subtle drops of condensation falling from the cavernous ceiling.

Morai's body gave off a soft green glow that emanated enough light for Ahsoka to navigate the few meters ahead. From the subtle green glow, she noticed the stone was porous, almost poxed from a worn, forgotten existence.

There was a smell, not unpleasant, but certainly not floral or sweet. Instead, it smelled of the sea, much like the scent of salt that lingers on skin and clothing after being near the ocean.

The ocean...

Her memories reached back to the Battle of Mon Cala. She faced those moments of danger and adversity alongside Prince (now King) Lee-Char. Her mind was recalling the experience of fighting a battle underwater. It wasn't long ago, yet it seemed like her experience acting as a military advisor to the young Prince belonged to someone else. Was that really her? Thousands of meters below the surface fighting off Quarren enemies and Separatists alike.

As a Jedi Padawan, Ahsoka had been willing to do whatever the Jedi council asked of her and more. Many times, the Jedi Masters spoke to her as though she was too naive, too confident, too sure of herself. But if that were the case, why had she always been determined to prove her worth as a Jedi? Had she not been good enough, or was she simply too much?

Morai suddenly turned her flight around and headed back towards Ahsoka. She was practically flying head-on towards her.

"Hey! Wha-what are you doing?!" Ahsoka exclaimed.

"If you would like to go back and dwell in your past, we can turn around now," Morai’s commanded. Her stern tone contrasted with the innocent blank expression of the small bird.

"That's not fair, Morai. You know, I should be allowed my own thoughts. I can't help if my mind wanders while we head down this never-ending cave."

"You can help it! You must stay focused on what is ahead. Getting to your destination is sometimes the greatest lesson you will learn."

"I can't see anything. And I am trusting the Force. Usually, I would have a lightsaber, at least in places like this. Or I could prepare and bring something to light the path.

Morai huffed in response and turned back to keep going forward.

"The Jedi may have given you some training but not all of the wisdom of the Force. Your senses, especially as a Togruta, allow you to navigate where you are going without reliance on outside tools or tricks of technology."

"I understand,” Ashoka replied, “the lesson here is: when my mind only focuses on the past, I cannot move forward."

"Yes, but why? You must acknowledge where you are. How brief and small each step is, and likely, you may never take these steps again.” Morai’s voice grew distant as the bird flew ahead of her but still continued.

Ahsoka moved to keep up with her guide and not miss another word.

“Be aware of where you are, Ahsoka Tano…and beware of thoughts that return you to shadows of a past behind you. In those shadows, darkness exists because you are the one who blocks out the light."

Ahsoka understood. It was a simple concept, child's play, really. Yet, as she got older, what was wrong or right became more complicated. Before the tragedy, the living nightmare that was Order 66 and their escape from The Tribunal resulted in giving her these few days on Jola with Rex. Without such a loss, she never could have gained the impossible occurrence of her and Rex bound in love and partnership.

There is always light in the darkness.

Without realizing it, she had reached the final steps. A glow emanated from behind the walls of the tunneled path into another chamber. Morai had flown ahead, and now Ahsoka followed the glow of whatever light was reaching down this far.

As she entered the largest chamber of the cavern, the breathtaking view of a natural opening in the rock ceiling above allowed a powerful beam of light from the Jola Star to fill the grand space.

In the center, Ahsoka saw an altar (if one could call it that.) Above a large clearing was a canopy of giant ribbon vines that were as thin as sheer fabric. There were no trusses, beams, or ropes holding up the vines of the canopy. Eternally suspended in the air by the Force, the simple but impressive natural decoration made it clear that some Force presence was here. The colors of the vines blended and bled in rhythmic patterns, creating a kaleidoscope effect over the altar's centerpiece: a large, empty dirt and stone platform that served as a kind of pedestal.

The platform, if one could call it even that, wasn't very tall, barely two meters high. Ahsoka stood watching the colors weave and dance to an unknown rhythm as she patiently tempered her usual precocious curiosity. She looked to Morai to confirm this was their final destination and found no response. Instead, Morai had perched herself atop a small alcove carved in the stone wall. The little green guide seemed to pass the time by preening her soft green and white feathers.

"I'm guessing we are here?"

Morai looked up briefly to acknowledge she heard but said nothing and resumed her activity.

"Well, then. Here is as good a place to meditate as any. And with all that I learned, I might as well make use of the time."

Ahsoka lowered herself to her kneeling position for meditation. She took one cleansing breath, eyes open. Then one more, eyes closed. She then squinted an eye to peek at Morai, who seemed determined to continue ignoring Ahsoka as they waited.

"You know, Morai, I'm thinking one reason you can't tell me who made this place…."

Morai then stopped her preening. Her little squat body perked up when her eyes darted overlook at Ahsoka, now grinning with eyes closed.

"...is because you don't actually know either."

The little convor's body huffed at the assumption as the feathers of its flapping wings ruffled. Ahsoka did not need to see the small temper tantrum to know it must have looked adorable. She gave a small chuckle at the feeling of Morai's indignation.

"So, it's true. You need me here as much as I need you. A guide with no one to guide is—"

"—wandering. Alone."

Morai completed the statement with a serious tone. Ahsoka understood the message. The entirety of her connection with the Force spirit gave its life to preserve hers.

"You've been waiting for me? But everything that's happened, with the Order, Trace and Rafa, Mandalore? What if I had never come here with Rex?" Ahsoka asked.

"But these things did happen. You have survived. You are here. You must look forward, Ahsoka Tano. I have waited in the world between the worlds, in the realm between the Living and Cosmic Force. I knew not when you would arrive nor how, but you were destined to be here."

Ahsoka processed all the seemingly random choices and decisions that had led her to this moment.

"Then that means? Our journeys are connected."

Ahsoka felt a slight pulsing in the Force. This was a new feeling. The sensation started small, a slight vibration at the base of her montrals. It began to travel quickly, and the pulsing continued to build to an impressive and intimidating rhythm. She held her kneeling position, her focus allowing the new sensation of the Force to build within her.

She then felt the ground beneath her shift and move with the Force. Like when she flew the Y-wing, Ahsoka had to resist opening her eyes to see what was happening. She didn't need to see with her eyes. She needed to feel deep within her connection to the Force. There was the growing pulse of energy, followed by an ominous rumbling, the sounds of cracks and rocks splitting the dirt open.

She maintained her focus in her meditative state, waiting for the arrival of whatever was buried further down in the moon's core.

"Ahsoka. Och ki mi sa och"

That was Togruti, her mother tongue. Ahsoka recited the words to herself to recall the meaning,

"Och ki mi sa och," the voice repeated.

“See…that which I cannot see?”

"Ahsoka e' Jedi…."

The haunting sound echoed as Ahsoka felt the well of emotions overflow and spill out onto the stone and dirt ground. These weren't just tears of sadness; she was experiencing the full sobs of loss, a mother's sacrifice of letting go. Her mother's gift of letting her go.

The voice called out again.

"…a Jedi…"

This anguish was similar to her loss as each Jedi was struck down and plagued the Force with dread and dark despair. Somehow this was a sharper pain. The specific knowledge of knowing your child will not know your love, will forget your face, and one day, have no idea how much you meant to them.

A loss that leads to a greater purpose: Sacrifice.

"…e' Jedi…"

"Stop!" Ahsoka muttered through clenched teeth. Her sadness and sobs swirled and dazed her concentration.

Ahsoka's uneasy regret over leaving the Jedi Order brought about immense guilt. She had kept these emotions hidden, convincing herself she had made the right choice. Only here on Splendor, and only to Rex, had she finally revealed her lonely convictions regarding walking away from the only life she had ever known. And even then, she wasn't sure he would ever really understand.

She had to face yet another difficult admission:

All that her mother sacrificed by letting her go, in the end, was for naught,

"I am no Jedi," she choked on the words that came out barely audible.

"…Ahsoka e' Jedi…."

She broke her concentration and threw back her head, letting the tears fall from her eyes that were shut tight. Ahsoka finally let out a wail of emotion,

"I AM NO LONGER A JEDI!"

Ahsoka fell forward with grief, collapsing over her meditative kneeling position. Again, she found herself in the same position she had been in as she cried in front of Rex in the hangar. She may have been upset about R7, but those tears were not about leaving her beloved droid behind. Like Rex, Ahsoka was capable of hiding from emotions that were just too difficult to face. The sadness, exhaustion, and frustration from trying to make everything right and good took their toll. She now whimpered into the ground,

"I'm...no longer a Jedi,” her lips were quivering out the confession.

The temperature in the cave snapped to a freezing cold when the next voice, different from the one that spoke before.

"The Jedi are no longer," claimed the wicked voice, shrill and venomous as it cackled with perverse joy.

Ahsoka gasped as the chill ran down her spine, and her muscles tensed to tremors. She wanted to block it out and run. Fear settled in her chest, heavy as sand, then a dizzying barrage of familiar voices swirled in her mind.

"I will not take the blame for something I didn't do!"

"Do not try to fly around them…."

"You're reckless, little one…The Jedi Order is your life! "I understand wanting to walk away…."

"C'mon, Tano!…you got this, Ahsoka."

"Leave everything else behind while we still can!"

"I'm here, okay? I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

"There is good in him…."

"When I look at you, who you are, Ahsoka Tano,

I know it exists."

"I am suggesting that perhaps if you have trained her well,

she shall take care of herself. And find a way back to you."

"Even if you have to leave me …again."

She thought she recognized the voices of Anakin and Padme. Maybe Master Plo? Still, she could not make sense of some of what they were saying. But of all of them, Rex's voice was clear and reassuring, reminding her who she is today. And that his love for her and her equal love for him is part of her now.

She sat in heavy silence. Only the sound of her breathing filled the space.

Until she heard the voice that spoke in Togruti repeat the words again,

"Och ki mi sa och."

Ahsoka nodded. She understood what it meant, even though she never had the chance to learn her mother tongue,

"See what you cannot see."

Ahsoka opened her eyes to the warmth and comfort of the voice. Her head tilted curiously when she saw a tiny sprout burst through the ground. She paused her breathing without realizing it, and the growth stopped. She then again inhaled and exhaled.

It grew.

She breathed again. Inhale. Exhale.

Taller now, the sprout was widening, forcing its way through the stone pedestal, climbing taller, branching, and reaching as it continued to grow.

Ahsoka made sure to allow her breathing to steady. Her mind cleared away memories and past moments. She focused on what was growing right in front of her.

Now the mystical emergence of the fully grown and massive tree dominated as the central focus in the cave. The wood pulsing with life from the Force that had instantaneously achieved the impossible by accelerating the life cycle right before her eyes.

This was no mirage. Ahsoka's senses were heightened as she knelt before the tree. Her montrals registered each creek and gnarled twist and stretch as the branches reached toward the light, air, and nourishment. The tree's bark wafted through the air, a scent that triggered Ahsoka's memory, unearthing something she believed was lost to time.

The smell of home. The scent of her mother.

Though the memory may have been small and faint, its effect was compelling. Ahsoka narrowed her concentration, allowing the combination of sense and memory to be at the forefront of her mind. The other worries and thoughts in her mind were now subdued. They bowed in this new memory's presence, giving deference and biddability to the long-lost treasure.

She inhaled the smell of weeping jasmine, teroli spice, and endless fields of turu grass,

"Meht."

The word had been her first. And though she had not spoken it in almost fifteen years, it easily came to her as though no time had passed. Mother.

With her eyes closed to enhance her sense-memory, Ahsoka recalled the hazy memory. It was her point of view while comfortably pressed against the warmth of her mother's chest, wrapped in the carrier for one of their walks. Ahsoka's mother, Pav-Ti Tano, would talk and sing to her. Pav-Ti's heartbeat and sweet softness soothed Ahsoka when her mother's voice vibrations hummed in her montrals.

When she was ready, Ahsoka opened her eyes to a shocking sight. The now enormous tree crowded the cavern's once empty space. The suspended display of vines that seemed to float without purpose now naturally decorated the imposing structure. The branches had wound themselves through the colorful, sheer tendrils and tangles easily as though they had been waiting to be intertwined all along. The changing colors were more vibrant, glowing, and reflecting color off the dark wood.

Ahsoka found herself mesmerized by the puzzling result of this entangled dance of wood and vine. As she looked across the broad and truly impressive display, her eyes caught the significant reveal at the base of the trunk.

In a moment, her breath seized.

Of all the wonders and oddities Ahsoka had seen in the galaxy, she had never seen something that struck her with awe so suddenly that her eyes teared up.

The roots and base of the trunk had contorted to form a grand throne of gnarled wood. There, in the seat of the enormous throne, was an equally enormous Marg Sable flower. A flower only found on Shili. The revered flower was used in ceremonies and medicines and was considered sacred to the Togrutan culture.

The teardrop-shaped petals' red and purple blended colors were highlighted with orange and yellow markings. The signatures of marg sables repeated on each petal, but no two flowers' designs were alike. Togrutans believed their species was the gift of life given by the marg sable flower. Essentially, their living flesh was made whole by the Great Gardeners, the gods, Yau and Boshk, of Life and Growth. Her memories of reading about the ancient tales late one night with Master Jocasta also reminded her of another Togrutan belief concerning the marg sable.

Because a marg sable could not be grown outside of Shili, not even on Kiros, the Togruta believed only misfortune came for those Togrutans who left their home planet.

“And yet, here we both are, my little one. Du tazi unt. Du tunguma’s tunguma.”

A voice from the flower spoke. A soft, calming female voice simultaneously filled Ahsoka's mind and the cave's empty space. She quickly wiped the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes to be sure she was awake, sane, present, anything to be sure she was not dreaming.

"Du tun—? Tungama means… I don't remember…," Ahsoka confessed.

"Daughter. Du tunguma's tunguma. You are my daughter's daughter," the voice replied.

The words were expressed by a glow emanating from the marked petals of the regal flower before her. Ahsoka choked at the realization that this was the voice of—"

"Zi-Shika Tano. I am your grandmother. All these years, from afar, I have sensed your growth in the Force, your training, your courage, and your resolve. You have led a dangerous and full life, tazi unt, and I have always been proud to know you were of my line."

Ahsoka's reaction was silent with the loudest of thoughts clamoring in her mind.

Where does she even begin?

She never knew her mother, let alone her grandmother. There was an entire history of herself that she had lived without, and initially, not by her choice. She certainly never dwelt on such lost ancestry if she was honest with herself. That was not the Jedi way. The Jedi had been her family…until they weren't.

"I am an unexpected presence. You have come to seek your tasks and learn of The Mother."

Zi-Shika's statement reminded Ahsoka's present: where she was, why she was here, and what she was meant to do next had more importance than lost history. Still, she could not help the sentimental streak of curiosity.

"Meht du meht, how are you speaking to me, Zi-Shika? The flower, a marg sable? They cannot grow anywhere except Shili. And you…you can—or could wield the Force?"

"My spirit lives eternally in the Force. The Jedi long avoided the practice. But I am no Jedi. From a young age, I hid my abilities to remain with our people. On Shili, I had heard tales and seen others being taken away. They left our planet, usually never to be seen again. That was not an option for me. So I masked my power of healing with our medicines and rituals. I listened to the Force in deep meditation, learned what I could on my own."

"But without the Jedi to train you?" Ahsoka asked.

"Train me for what purpose? To what end, child? I did not need to be trained with weapons, a saber, acrobatics, or to take on the political burdens of entire systems. I belonged here. Mindfulness was a power that allowed me to maintain my connection. And so, I lived my life on Shili like any other Togruta. The most challenging was my sense of foresight. You have this gift, too, I know. Weakened though. Your need to respond immediately to such visions clouds their meaning. I found that I should keep my visions to myself. Unless someone asked, I would not say what I knew. As you know, visions can sometimes be unclear or misleading. Many times, my visions were of things I did not understand. Beings I had never met. But the most important vision I had was when I was a young girl, to young even to take a warrior. Just a small child. I had a vision of you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You were leaning over a man, a man with millions of souls. Your heart was open and focused. Your well-being was in danger but safe and secure. But your connection to the Force? It was truly powerful and strong. The scene around you was crashing, burning, filled with violence. Yet, you were calm with devotion, care, and love. The Force flowed so freely between you two. You summoned, he returned. You were one with the Force. Truly one. Then my vision was you chasing clouds. Running water. Then…freedom. Yes, hmmm, it was freedom. A light in the darkest of nights. An exhausting and long night that would overtake the galaxy."

Ahsoka's eyes were tearing up again. Never in her life as a Jedi had she allowed herself the broad freedom to just…cry. Small sentimental tears, heaving sobs of grief? These were things Ahsoka rarely allowed herself to experience without limit. Her Jedi training did not forbid such expressions. Instead, she was always instructed to acknowledge such feelings and burdens that can cloud judgment. Now, crying in this temple, she wasn't sure if she was confessing or declaring. She just knew it felt right to let her tears flow.

"I am sorry that I never knew you. That I know nothing of my mother. I-I— This was not at all what I expected to find."

"You expected another mission? Direct orders? Answers to solve the problem and save the galaxy?"

"That's all I have ever known. Without that life, I felt lost and—"

"Invisible. Unknown."

"Yes."

"And with your Captain, this young man who you have taken as your warrior? Do you feel unknown and invisible?"

"No. Not at all. The complete opposite actually."

Ahsoka was taken aback. Not only by the revelation that when Rex looked at her, he saw all of her. He respected, adored, and loved her—even before they had become more than friends.

"You see, tazi unt. I did not know which of my daughters would bear this special child in my vision. But I knew I needed to be here. I could not leave. The Jedi would not have me the older I aged anyway," her gentle voice grew weary at the next revelation, "By the time I had that significant vision of you, I was hiding my abilities from every Togruta I knew, even my own family,"

Ahsoka had remained in her meditative position even though it no longer felt like she was in deep meditation. Hearing the change in Zi-Shika's voice, she realized the conversation with her grandmother's voice flowed easily, as though they had always known each other.

Ahsoka decided to stand up and approach the seat of the great flower. Perhaps as an instinct to give comfort, though she had no idea how to comfort a flower, its mysterious voice, or Force spirit.

"I know that Togruta never truly accepted those born with Force sensitivity. The few conversations I had with Master Shaak Ti made that very clear. The idea of an individual with powers stronger than an entire clan united was dangerous."

Ahsoka was now seated on a root that laid just below where the marg sable remained. There in the colored light that basked from the cave's opening, she looked to the source of her grandmother's voice. Like a wide-eyed child fixated in awe at the loving adult who enraptured their attention, Ahsoka even allowed herself to lean her montrals into the tree for comfort.

"Yes. Shaak Ti's departure was an especially sad time. Her mother died giving birth to her. They had been a prominent clan, but with only four warriors and few children. Their grief and shock were quite painful to all. Grief is unavoidable and takes many forms when it arrives. Shaak Ti had been a lonely child from the beginning and was put in the care of other clans, even ours. By the time she was barely a year old, it was impossible to not notice her abilities."

"Shaak Ti was a revered Jedi Master and General, but she would have spells of melancholy. Master Jocasta once told me these spells worsened after she returned from a diplomatic visit to Shili."

"Yes, she thought if she could complete an Aruk hunt and show the elders that Togruta Jedi were just like other Togruta. She hoped to change ancient cultural reservations regarding those of us who are Force-sensitive. Our world and the Togruta ways are as old as the Jedi. Not as violently stubborn as, say, the Mandalorians, of course, but stubborn in the protectiveness of our people and community."

"I had wondered if Rex and I should leave here and perhaps go to Shili, perhaps they would help hide us. But, I'm guessing that plan won't work."

"Your Captain Rex, clone or not, as a human, he would never be accepted by Togruta men. And now, as you are eighteen, many years past your initial warrior binding days—"

Ahsoka quickly stood up. The shock of realization hit her.

"Eighteen? Did I? I-I-missed my Life Day again?"

She didn't know why, whether it was appropriate or not, but some wild instinct in her climbed the tree and settled on a lower branch. Her energy was restless again when she realized she had lost track of days, weeks, months, and another year of life. Again.

The day of a Jedi's birth and aging was more for calculations than celebrations. Records needed to be accurate with so many different species born from various systems living at the Jedi Temple.

"I missed it last year because of everything that happened with the bombing, the trial and the Jedi Council. And now I've missed it again! I just hadn't even thought of it when Bo Katan and I were trying to— oh. My birthday was…,"

Ahsoka gasped as a chill ran down her spine when she recalled,

"The last time I saw him was before the 332nd departed for Mandalore."

Anakin.

My lightsabers were my Life Day gift.

She let the tears well up and flow freely as she curled herself to lean against the tree.

It was Anakin who told her about his Life Day celebrations on Tatooine. How his mother would make a special meal with what they had and some small present (usually a junk set of parts or rusted tools) for him. He thought his mother was just trying to make him feel better in their situation. And he would do his best to do the same for her on her Life Day. His meals were terrible, his gifts even worse. But seeing her smile was worth the effort. He said he never forgot his birthday or hers. Skywalker never forgot his mother.

Ahsoka remembered the strong, conflicted emotions in his Force presence when he told her these things. She could not tell if it was anger or love when Skywalker spoke of his mother. She only remembered looking at him with compassion as he told her his mother made sure to tell him every year how special he was to her, and that she would always be proud of him because she was proud to be his mother.

The memory drifted in like a fog of vision.

When Anakin gave Ahsoka that first gift, a small jogan fruit cake he took from the kitchens, she laughed at his strange, kind gesture. She also saw how much it meant to him to share this ritual with someone. The celebration of one's life, beginning with their birth, and in some ways…a celebration of their mother. He never asked her if she remembered her mother. He already knew the answer.

"Your birth is worth celebrating, Ahsoka. I know you don't remember your ceremonies of life that were had on Shili," Zi-Shika's kind voice brought Ahsoka back from that day with Anakin in the Temple courtyard.

"No, I don't remember. I wish I did." Ahsoka now had her lean body lying along the branch. Her fingertips traced the grooved lines of time that had worn into the tree.

As the colored lights from the vines danced over the wood, Ahoska's faint memory of the feast and celebration of her mother's binding ceremony once again returned to her.

"Zi-Shika? I do remember some things. I remembered one of my mother's binding ceremonies. I was so little so I only remember being happy that everyone was…happy. But, I don't remember who my father was and if he even knew me.."

"Oh yes. Sa khos…your father. You were Pav-Ti's fifth born child with her first chosen warrior, Tavraas Dar."

“Tavraas…Dar. Tavraas Dar.”

Ashoka had hoped that something would come to mind by saying his name aloud.

Nothing.

She still had no memory of her father, only the faintest memories of her mother and siblings. The frustration she presently felt was new and troubling. Having had no reason to think of her family before, Ahsoka was allowing herself to acknowledge this significant missing piece of who she was. She may never reconnect with her family, even though the Jedi Order's well-intentioned policy of complete familial detachment was now gone.

She sat up on the sturdy branch, eased her body to stand, and climbed back down to the great flower's wooden throne.

Zi-Shika assured her, "I sense you feel as blank and confused as when I first greeted you here. Tell me your confusion, tazi unt.”

"It is strange to know that my mother and father, our whole family I have never known, are alive on Shili. And all this information about my past? I was told by another Force spirit and Morai to not dwell on what cannot be changed. Yet, all we have spoken about is my family history? What does this have to do with this moon, Splendor, the Jola star system, or The Mother?"

Ahsoka wished that she could actually see her grandmother the way Qui Gon Jin had appeared to her. She should have expected that none of this would be straightforward, but her patience was withering from the shock of so much information.

“Zi-Shika, meht du meht. Since I entered this cave— this temple…I have learned that I have no family. My Jedi master is gone, and those Jedis that remain are in hiding; our lives are in danger. Then I'm asked to reflect on the Togruta family I never knew. But I must learn to accept that they have always been part of me? Meht du meht, I honestly don’t think I can cry anymore today."

Ahsoka faced the seated flower. Not wanting to seem flippant, she still bowed her head with respect. She knew she was speaking with a weary and tired heart as she continued,

"I don't know if it's the Togruta part of me that longs to have a clan or tribe of my own or if it's because I was raised at the Jedi Temple, where what made me different gave me a sense of belonging, but I…I… don't know how to just…give up. I know that the Force exists on this moon in a way that I have never felt before, but I still don't know who or what is The Mother?"

"Tazi unt, you know I am not The Mother you seek. I am a channel of the Force. My physical body passed many years ago, tunguma du tunguma. My spirit comes to you as a voice to speak what you need to hear. My spirit is one with the Force, which lives in all things, including you. These things, you know, Ahsoka. I did not create this flower, this tree, or dirt. I did not create my being that was given to me to live as I chose. That was given to me by—"

"—your mother. Each mother gives a part of her life to bring in a new one. A part of them lives in all those descendants that come after."

"Simple, yes? But a more complicated question is why does the Force live in all things?"

"The Force is…a Mother? The Mother."

Ahsoka looked up at the flower, the tree that had grown rapidly before her eyes, and the cave around her with colored light and pulsing Force energy. She began to connect with what was around her. This was not a temple of worship, but this place was sacred. The being she was seeking had been part of her life all along. But today, she realized she stood at the point of origin of all life in the galaxy.

"Then...Splendor is not a moon. The Force came to being here. This place is the womb."

"Yes, and once it came into being, like any other child, it leaves the womb, grows in size and strength, gives and takes, finds and loses balance, creates, and destroys,” Zi-Shika replied.

Ahsoka then asked, "On Mortis, the Father spoke of this duality and balance. But I don't understand if this was the womb, why did they live on Mortis?”

"One must leave the womb to go live their life. The Mother made the being, the First Acolyte, called The Father, to balance all existence. The Son and Daughter were made to be the acolytes of each eternal opposing side, beginning with the darkness of nothing and the light of everything. They grew and evolved, just as children do. Although the physical distance was far from the one who gave them life, the Force was always with them."

"The Mother is the origin of The Force. I am one with The Force, and the Force is with me."

Ahsoka felt a soothing calm in her connection to the Force. Tranquil and quiet, she embraced the feeling with the realization that her grandmother's vision, her act of saving Rex, and their coming to Splendor, Anakin and Padme's hidden lodge, had resulted in her and Rex discovering their genuine devotion to each other.

In the few days here, Ahsoka and Rex's mutual attraction and newfound desires led them to quickly realize the exciting rush of physical pleasure combined with trust and intimacy. Their bodies were experiencing something new, but their hearts remained as committed to each other as they had always been, just as when their lives were in danger.

Ahsoka mused over her thoughts as she slowly sat down. She understood, or she thought she did. Zi-Shika's words were starting to reveal an answer, but Ahsoka still wasn't sure.

“Meht du meht, Zi-Shika? I know that what has happened between Rex and me, our love was there before we—"

"Acted on it? Yes. You human warrior is a good man, and his passion for you is quite evident," Zi-Shika lovingly teased.

Ahsoka's eyes widened at the statement as she felt the blush creep over her face and lekku. She had never discussed this topic with any other female before, let alone with the Force spirit of her grandmother.

As a Togruta, we believe mating is more than breeding. It is a powerful form of communication and appreciation. The giving and receiving of pleasure from another is a way to share and harness the power. You are discovering how this kind of power, combined with your connection to The Force, enlightens what was already there between you two."

Ahsoka swallowed hard. Her mouth was dry with the thought of what she believed would be her task.

“Meht du meht, am I…am I to be...a mother?”

"You will be, tunguma du tunguma. A very, very powerful mother."

"But Rex and I cannot—"

Ahsoka could not finish the statement. Her eyes screwed tight as her heart sank with the realization that, as a clone, Rex could not have children. Equally heartbreaking, she knew as a Togruta, she could only become a mother if she conceived and remained on Shili or Kiros in commune with other Togruta clans. Togruta females were incapable of carrying a child to term outside of those conditions.

"Little one, who is not so little anymore. It is true that you will be a mother, Ahsoka. One who must make great sacrifices."

"I don't understand?" Ahsoka swallowed the sob lumped in her throat, looked to the flower, and waited for her grandmother’s voice to explain.

"Your years are long ahead of you, Ahsoka Tano. With your chosen warrior, Captain Rex, you will have many, many children. More than any other Togruta mother has ever had before. But these children will not be of your physical womb…they will be born throughout the galaxy. They will be the children of The Rebellion.”

Ahsoka was staring so intently at the source of her grandmother's voice that she did not notice Morai’s sudden flight to join her, landing gently on her shoulder.

A/N: So sorry for the delay in the update. I am working on the next five chapters now. But I let this one take as long as it needed to because I'm creatively stubborn. Hope all the highlights were worth it:

Ahsoka is 18! Zi-Shika (my OC) is Ahsoka's Force-sensitive grandmother! The Force began at a fixed point in the galaxy! And Ahsoka and Rex are the mama and papa of The Rebellion Pretty fun chapter, huh?

And...moms. Shout out to moms (womb and non-womb alike)

#thejolamoon #sfw chapter #rexsoka #ahsoka tano #captain rex #the clone wars #ahsokaturns18!#togruta hc #really long read #really long post

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evakant · 3 years

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there’s many reasons i like jiang cheng but at the end of the day the biggest pull will always be that he has genre awareness

#he follows wei wuxian's lead every step of the way knowing damn well what awaits them. and when his brother lets go of his hand #(because he LOVES him because he wants to PROTECT him) it's a slap in the face that he allows despite having seen it coming #i've said it before and i'll say it again: cassandra!!!! and so... and so he knows the genre #and he plays along while still fighting quite desperately against it. for a time at least.#because he rebels here and there before he learns his lesson. before he realizes that him not playing his role only makes shit worse #so when the moment comes (when he has to be the villain. the brother-killer. the merciless sect leader) he steps up.#he walks up that cliff. he leads the siege.#he goes to his brother. broken-hearted. sword at the ready. (with /everything/ left to lose because if we know something about #jiang cheng is that his family is everything to him) because it's what he has to do. because he knows his role. and he will do what he must.#cain was always going to be the first murderer. judas was always going to betray jesus. lucifer had to be cast out of heaven.#okay wait i didn't mean to make it so biblical lmao (but since i'm here he is unwilling lazarus as well - a point can be made that #wei wuxian is ALSO an unwilling lazarus - /and/ he is st. thomas too. testing the resurrected. wanting proof that it's /him/)#i'm sorry i'm just using the figures i'm not making this religious lmao help!#me patting jiang cheng's head: this character can fit so many parallels to well known tragic figures in him!#it does all come back to cassandra by the way. that's my main gal right there.#mh these are....a lot of tags i'll shut up now lmao #untamed.txt #jiang cheng #fra.txt

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ikaroux · 3 years

Note

This is a super indulgent nsfw but... The setting is post-teyvat, our Traveller!Reader has allied with their sibling. Before the siege of Mondstat, they and Kaeya have fallen in love, and are the king and queen/king/crown of Khaenri'ah. Because actual people are rare (Abyss mages take awhile to transform back), the two are pressured to have an heir. Essentially just some royal lovemaking mixed with breeding.

Thanks for your request! I did it a bit on my own, I may have strayed from what you wanted, I hope you like the story though!

Synopsis: You have joined your brother, Aether, in his fight against the Gods as Queen of the Abyss. It is with pain that you must end the lives of your friends... As for Kaeya, he has fallen deeply in love with you and decides to give up everything to stay by your side. He now rules Khaenri'ah with you, but their people are now asking for an heir...

Style : Sad, angst, death, f!reader.

NSFW (18+) detailed I remind minors to avoid reading this kind of content!

Part 1 :A few months earlier : Angst

Part 2 : Today : NSFW

Alert: Spoil of history.

Characters: Kaeya

Note: This is the first time I write this kind of story. I hope you'll like it anyway. It's hard to imagine Teyvat in this context.We know almost nothing about Khaenri'ah or Celestia, so in the end everything is based on imagination.

I'm sorry I haven't written much in the last few days, I have some health problems that prevent me from staying focused on what I'm doing, but I have several projects in the works!

Zhongli x f!reader (18+) (it's in the process of being written, I'm just having a hard time moving forward); several headcanons, two of which are a marriage proposal and when he saves you from death. (Still with a NSFW bonus), I'm also looking at your messaging requests! Happy reading <3

A few months earlier

The war was raging all over Teyvat. You had decided, for the love of your brother, to join the Abyss and to fight your former friends, aiming at annihilating the gods of this world. The gods of Liyue and Inazuma had fallen to you, it was your role, your duty. Morax, the adepts and Baal had once been precious friends, but now they were dust and memories, just like your bruised heart. Your brother, Aether, had decided to lead his troops to Mondstadt, the city that had welcomed you. Fierce resistance raged from the dawn domain to the city gates. Your brother, who did not want to cause unnecessary death, laid siege to the city. He asked the archon Barbatos to surrender for the freedom of his people... With no news from the inhabitants of Mondstadt, Aether set up an encampment around the city...

You were making your usual rounds around the ramparts, watching the great walls of the city with nostalgia. When you reached the top of the cliff, you watched the horizon, the sun just rising. The solitude and the silence brought you back to the feeling of sorrow that had been weighing on you for weeks. You couldn't regret your actions now, not after all you had done, it was for your brother, for the people of Khaenri'ah and for Teyvat. Your friends would eventually understand... wouldn't they? Suddenly, a cold blade slid across the skin of your neck. A man's hand was glued to your lips, preventing you from uttering a sound.

"Hush princess. Don't say a word if you don't want me to slit your throat."

Kaeya? You recognized his voice so distinctly. Tears welled up in your eyes, your hands came to rest against his.

"It's not safe to walk around alone when you're so close to the enemy." - You felt his lips on your ear, caressing and coldly placing kisses on your skin. He released his hold on your mouth and his sword to wrap his arms around you, embracing you from behind. "What did you do (y/n)?"

"Kaeya..."

"You didn't have to get involved in this war. You simply had to find your brother, so why am I finding you today a member of the abyss?" - He buried his face in your neck, tightening his arms around you. Your back was intimately pressed against his chest.

"Kaeya, come with me. You are of Khaenri'ah, you understand how your people feel better than anyone else. Help us win this war... Help me Kaeya..." - Your heart was tearing at this request. You and Kaeya were close, very close. You loved him more than anyone else, more than your brother... To ask him to betray those who had raised and cared for him was a selfish act, but you wanted him by your side. He may not have felt the same way as you did, but you hoped that his origins would lead him to accept your offer...

"You are asking me... To betray Mondstadt?"

"I'm asking you to make a choice."

Kaeya released his grip, backing away slowly. You had turned around to finally see his face, still in shock from your request. Confusion and doubt waltzed in his eyes... And without saying a word, he went back inside the walls.

Two days passed without any news of Kaeya. Aether ordered the apostles of the abyss to attack the city gates to capture Venti by force. But the gates opened on their own, leaving a blood-covered Kaeya, more determined than ever, dragging a man who appeared to be unconscious by his clothes. Behind him was tied by ropes your old friends, Jean, Diluc, Amber, Lisa and so many others...

"Kaeya! You traitor! Can't you do the right thing at least once in your life? " - Diluc's eyes shone with anger and disappointment. All the trust he had for his adopted brother shattered into a thousand pieces. Kaeya just looked at him coldly.

"Think again Diluc, I know I'm doing the right thing. Well, Aether isn't it?" -Aether stepped forward cautiously, still wary of Kaeya.- "Here's a little guy who may be of use to you. A homunculus supposedly created by the alchemist Gold."- He tossed the man he was dragging earlier in front of him and it was a battered Albedo that rolled to your feet. In shock, you ran to him to see if he was okay.

"Albedo! Leave him alone!" - Klee shouted, in tears.

"As for Archon Barbatos, he promised to surrender himself against the safety of the people of Mondstadt. All it took was the ability to use a little persuasion."

"Why are you doing this for us?" - Aether questioned, whose gaze was focused on Albedo's inert body now cradled in your arms. Kaeya laughed at your brother's comment.

"For you?" - Kaeya laughed humorlessly. - "It's for her I'm doing it, not for you." -He pointed at you, which surprised you.

"For my sister? Why? Do you love her?" - Aether watched carefully every expression Kaeya let on.

"More than Khaenri'ah, more than Mondstadt, more than anything. I would no longer let loneliness or sadness invade her heart and paint her soul. " - Kaeya removed his eye patch, revealing a golden eye with the same starry pattern that Albedo wore on his neck. Aether remained silent for a few seconds before nodding. It was then that Venti appeared behind Kaeya, stepping towards you, silently looking at you with a tender smile on his lips.

"Lord Venti! Don't do this!" - Jean shouted, trying to break away by any means necessary.

"Well, as you requested, I'm here. I hope I can count on you to keep your promise to do nothing to the citizens of Mondstadt." - The tears flowed from your eyes. You had gently laid Albedo on the ground, grabbing your sword and moving towards Venti. Kaeya tried to stop you, offering to do it for you, but you had refused... Just like Zhongli, just like Baal, Venti had to die by your hand because he was... Your precious friend.

"Venti, I'm sorry..." - Venti laughed happily, wiping away your tears fondly.

"It's okay (y/n). Just do it." - He gently hugged you, whispering into your shoulder-"Do it." - You had returned his embrace, holding him close to you for the last time before driving your sword into his heart...

The legend of Barbatos ended with the sound of a lyre breaking on the cold ground.

Today

Inazuma, Liyue, Mondstadt and Fontaine, all these cities had fallen under the yoke of the abyss. Aether had decided to lead his army to Sumeru, leaving you to rule Khaenri'ah alongside Kaeya, who was now your husband. Your brother had made you queen of Khaenri'ah, he thought you were better suited for the role. The curse on the men and women of Khaenri'ah seemed to be slowing down, in fact it was slowly being reversed. The monsters were slowly taking back their human form...

You were heading towards Albedo's laboratory, entering the room after knocking on the door. He invited you to enter. Once inside, you found him working on mixtures with bright and diverse colors.

"Hello Albedo. How's the research going? "

"Still nothing. I'm still unable to create abyss mages or reverse the transformation process of a human."

Albedo had been locked up here since his abduction. You had prevented your brother from using him as a weapon, keeping him from the Khaenri alchemists. He was therefore tasked with finding a cure for Khaenri'ah's curse and a way to create an army of monsters that could annihilate the gods. Aether was aiming for Celestia, but he needed creatures that could stand up to the great ones of this world.

"And you Albedo, how do you feel?" - you gently stroked his hair, trying to soothe his melancholy.

"Like an animal put in a cage."

"I'm... sorry." - Albedo finally looked up at you, looking at you with deep sadness.

"Don't worry, you're suffering as much as I am. Luckily, you have Kaeya with you. I am reassured... I... heard that you were asked to give birth to an heir?"

"... Yes. "

"Kaeya agrees with that?" - You didn't answer anything. The subject was weighing on your shoulders, of course having a baby with Kaeya would make you more than happy. But was giving birth to a child to simply give hope and vigor to a people worth it? What future would this child have?

"(y/n)? " - Albedo leaned toward you, calling you back to him.

"Excuse me! I'll leave Albedo to you. I promise to come back with news of Klee and Alice!"

And you left him, leaving him in his questioning. You headed to your apartments, where you knew you would find peace and quiet. You slumped onto your four-poster bed, burying your head in Kaeya's pillow. The smell of your husband instantly put you into a peaceful torpor... Until the door opened and closed abruptly, making you jump.

"Kaeya? What's going on?"

"*Sigh* the nobles of the court, they follow me around constantly pestering me with their, "Majesty, when will you decide to make an heir to Khaenri'ah?" And so on." -Kaeya came to sit beside you, caressing your hips and then your back tenderly. "Have you come to take refuge too, my sweet?" - He leaned over you to kiss your neck.

"Yes... Kaeya, what do you think of this?" - You rolled over onto your back so you could gaze into your husband's eyes as he looked at you lovingly. A sly smile slowly formed on his lips.

"Maybe we should shut them up permanently by giving them what they want..." - He kissed the visible part of your cleavage, slowly moving up to your lips.

"Kaeya! Not like that, I don't want both of us to be pushed..." - He kissed your lips, silencing you gently.

"Who said I was being pushed? I want him, this child, with you... I want him" - His lips are on yours again, caressing them sensually before pulling away again. - "I want it, not because I'm asked to, but because I want to start a family with you. " - His hand slowly moved up your thigh, lifting your dress with it. In response, you had hugged his neck and crossed your thighs around his hips. - "I want to make you a child (y/n)." - His tongue entered your mouth passionately, as his hands greedily touched your uncovered flesh. You could hear the sound of fabric tearing, quickly understanding that it was coming from your now tattered dress. Kaeya stepped back, searching your eyes for any refusal, fear or doubt.

"Kaeya, I love you... I want that too... a family, with you, only you!"

It was the only thing he needed to hear to continue. He straightened up on his knees between your thighs to remove the rest of your clothes, throwing the pieces of fabric on the floor of your room, leaving you completely naked in front of him. He removed his coat and accessories brusquely, immediately diving towards you to bind his lips to yours, enjoying the feel of his chest against yours. He placed a hand between you and himself to unbuckle his belt, then unbuttoned the buttons on his pants and pulled down his underwear to free his already hard sex. He rolled his hips against you, rubbing his member against you. He had only one desire, to penetrate you, to fill you with his seed, but Kaeya knew to be patient, he would methodically prepare you for the long night ahead.

His mouth first found your nipples already hardened with excitement, licking, nibbling and sucking the mound as his fingers caressed your slit, coating them with your natural lubricant. He pinched your clit before massaging it, savoring every sound that escaped you. His fingers stopped teasing your entrance, pushing your lower lips to let his index and middle fingers penetrate you. He went slowly at first, enjoying the softness of your walls, before going for that spot that made you moan. Kaeya knew you far too well, he had loved your body whenever he could, knowing every bit of you that made you shiver. He quickened the pace of his fingers, moving away from your nipples to see your lust filled expression, and when he felt your walls tighten around him, he withdrew his fingers, spoiling your orgasm.

"Not just yet my sweet, I want to take you with me. But before that..." - Frustration could be seen on your face. Kaeya lay down beside you, drawing you to him as gently as his condition would allow. He kissed you languidly before whispering to you. - "Do the same to me darling, with his pretty lips." - You had blushed furiously before giving him a teasing smile. You did as he asked, slowly moving down to his lower abdomen, kissing his jaw, his neck, his muscular chest. You pulled his pants further apart to better grasp his member between your hands, stroking up and down his length. He looked at you with eyes veiled in desire, stroking your hair absentmindedly.

You started slowly, first licking the already glistening tip of his pre-sperm before swallowing it whole, his sex touching the back of your throat. You were used to it by now, your gag reflexes completely gone. Kaeya couldn't help but moan at the feel of your throat tightening around him, enjoying the way you were moving up and down his member, gradually increasing the pace until you felt the obvious tremor of his own orgasm. Again, Kaeya stopped you before he came. He threw you wildly onto the bed, straddling you quickly as he spread your legs. He placed his member at your entrance, slowly pushing inside while letting out a hoarse growl from his throat. Once inside, he didn't wait for your signal to start moving.

His rhythm was rough and slow, seeking to touch the center of your pleasure with each stroke. His mouth devoured your lips hungrily and his hands were entwined with yours. He sped up more and more, his hips slamming against yours, Kaeya gradually lost herself in the feel of your warm, soft walls. He let go of your hands to grab your knees, without pulling back from you, he lifted you to stick to the nearest wall, pounding you relentlessly. He was going to plant his seed in you, he would not leave this room without making sure you carried his child. A vision of you with a round belly, carrying his baby with pride made him lose his footing.

"(y/n)... hm! My love...! Take everything..."

"Kaeya!"

Kaeya dug his fingers into your skin, feeling your walls squeeze him tightly following your orgasm. He continued to pound his hips against you until he felt his own release paint your walls. You were both sweating, breathing heavily to catch your breath. You felt him slide out of you, leaking his cum from your sex. He didn't give you time to compose yourself, immediately grabbing your body and placing you on the table decorating your room, your back and buttocks exposed to his gaze. He grabbed your hips firmly, penetrating you again hard, making you scream with pleasure.

"Get ready my love, we are not leaving this room until I fill you to the brim. I'm going to make sure you come out of here pregnant..."

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 54

Masterlist

----

Standing at the edge of her camp, Andromache surveys the castle perched at the bottom of a nearby cliff. The castle itself looks unusually small, but its back extends deep into the cliff, hidden from view and protected by tons of stone. Amarantha choose her hideout well. After the Alliance landed their ships on Hybern’s shores a few weeks ago, she took the soldiers remaining under her command as well as the people living on her land and barricaded herself in the fort with them.

For the weeks Andromache’s army has been stationed in front of the castle, glaring over at it has been all she’s been able to do. This, she reflects, is the exact reason she hates sieges. They are tenuous affairs, straining, above all, her patience. Still, as long as they manage to keep Amarantha and her army contained in their hideout, it will leave the rest of the Alliance’s troops free to take Hybern with little resistance.

Andromache tears her gaze away from the castle and looks over at Miryam who is standing next to her, also staring over at the castle, eyes narrowed slightly and fingers flexing and unflexing at her side. She looks like she would love to send the entire cliff crumbling over Amarantha’s head, which is not a particularly reassuring expression from someone who is actually capable of doing just that.

As if following her thoughts, Miryam turns around to Andromache. “I might be able to find a way through the wards,” she says. “I’d have to be careful – Amarantha brough her slaves along and I can’t put them in danger – but I might find a way that only takes out their defences.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Andromache says, “but an attack is not planned. All we need to do is keep Amarantha where she is. As soon as her king surrenders, she will, too.”

Miryam wrinkles her nose. “And she’ll likely be spared,” she says. “Just as everyone else.”

Andromache is not entirely sure what to reply to that. It was always Miryam who pushed for the need to show leniency to surrendering Loyalists, Miryam who convinced the other human Alliance leaders that this is the path with the highest chance of leading to success. Andromache was always amongst those who were more doubtful, angry that the Loyalist leaders would walk away unscathed, but now, Miryam seems intent on reversing their roles.

This is you plan, not mine, Andromache thinks, but doesn’t say it. After all, she knows that Miryam only pushes for this strategy because she firmly believes it is the smartest choice, not out of any actual belief in showing mercy to people like Amarantha.

“You could push for her death to be made a condition for any surrender Hybern will sign,” she says.

“And expose myself as a hypocrite for all the world to see?” Miryam’s tone is bitter, her gaze flickers back to the castle. “What do you think it will look like if I push to punish only the people who harmed me personally?”

Andromache opts to remain silent on that, both because she knows Miryam is right and because she still doesn’t entirely agree. Yes, it would look bad, but how much can one misstep weigh against seven years of running the Alliance with hardly any mistakes at all? Amarantha would certainly deserve death, and as far as Andromache is concerned, the more of these monsters get brought to justice the better.

“If we attack the fort,” Miryam says, “we could avoid any political issues with trying to bring her to justice. And who knows – Maybe if the king sees his most important general defeated, it will push him towards surrender.”

Andromache sighs. “Killing Amarantha won’t undo what she did to Jurian,” she says softly.

It was not a subject she was originally going to bring up. But if Miryam insists on being unreasonable about this, she has no choice.

Miryam presses her lips together. “I’m well aware. It might make me feel better, though. And even if it doesn’t, at least we will have brought a sadistic Loyalist general who more than deserves death regardless of what she did to Jurian to justice.”

“The answer is still no,” Andromache says, even though she would like nothing more than to give in and help hunt Amarantha down. “And I’m sorry, Miryam, but no matter how hard you argue, I won’t have you anywhere near a battlefield with Amarantha on it. Chances of you getting killed would be far too high.”

“I can take Amarantha.”

“Or you’d make a stupid mistake and get yourself killed. You are far too emotionally involved in this. And don’t bother denying it – the fact that we are having this conversation at all proves me right.” Andromache keeps her voice soft but firm. “You are being unreasonable and you know it.”

Miryam looks away, and Andromache feels like a terrible hypocrite. What right does she have to forbid Miryam from going after Amarantha? If anyone harmed Mor, she certainly wouldn’t let anyone stop her from hunting them down. Still, it seems that for today, she is stuck in the ungrateful role of being the voice of reason.

Before she can change her mind, though, Miryam straightens. “You’re right.” Somehow, she managed to chase and traces of anger from her face. “Apologies. Please forget I suggested anything – I have been sleeping too little, and I’m afraid it is messing with my judgement. It won’t happen again.”

“Alright,” Andromache says. Miryam snapping all of her walls back up is far from ideal, but at least it is far less likely to get her killed than the alternative.

Miryam nods. Pushes a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Then we’ll see each other at the council meeting later,” she says.

Andromache inclines her head in agreement and Miryam hurries off with a parting smile, her guards following after her. Andromache remains standing at the camp’s edge for a moment longer, then turns and walks back into the camp.

She doesn’t have anything in particular that needs to be done before the meeting in two hours, she decides to spend the time with her soldiers. She walks around the camp, chatting with the some of the passing soldiers and the camp’s smith. She just finished inspecting the new swords he’s working on when someone wraps their arms around her from behind.

“Hello,” Mor whispers into her hair.

Andromache smiles. Mor lets go of her quickly – she is always careful with how much affection she shows in public – and spins her around to face her.

“Hello,” Andromache says a tad breathlessly. She tugs her hair aside to distract herself from wanting to kiss Mor, which she definitely cannot do in the middle of the camp. She links her arm with Mor’s and starts leading her towards her camp where they will have some privacy. “How is Rhys?”

Mor’s smile dims considerably. “He isn’t doing well,” she says. “The injuries are mostly healed, but… What happened to him hit him hard.”

Andromache squeezes her arm. “I’m sorry,” she says.

Mor shrugs and nods at the same time. “I wish…” Her expression hardens. “I wish I could kill Amarantha for what she did.”

Andromache sighs through her nose. It seems like today is the day of her having to talk people out of killing Amarantha, even though she herself would also like to kill Amarantha. It is very frustrating.

“I just had this conversation with Miryam.”

“And you talked her out of killing her?” Mor sounds incredulous. “Why?”

“Because I believe what happened with Jurian proved to us all how badly it can end when people try too hard to get their revenge. And I don’t want to have to burn either of you two, so it seems I’ll have to be the reasonable one here.” She shrugs. “Besides, if we attack, chances of the humans there being caught in the crossfire are far too high.”

Mor sighs. “Damnit,” she mutters, voice somewhere between joke and seriousness. “Why are you always right?”

Andromache laughs and pulls open the entrance to her tent. “After you,” she says. “I’ve got almost an hour left until the meeting with the council. We could have lunch together if you’d like.”

----

By the time Miryam is back in her rooms in the palace in Sajeo, she has worked her way through a startling number of different emotions. Starting out with anger, she has quickly gone through disappointment, sadness and embarrassment, and is now back at anger, this time at herself for behaving so ridiculously.

“Stupid,” she mutters to herself as she pulls off her leather boots and places them in the corner. “Be any more obvious about the fact that you don’t have your shit together, will you?”

She only realizes she is crying when she feels the wetness on her cheeks. “Shit,” she mutters, voice coming out far too high-pitched. She furiously wipes at her eyes, but that doesn’t do much to stop the tears, so she simply drops down into the nearest armchair and presses her face into her arms.

She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. During the autumn festival two days ago, everything was just fine, as close to good as it gets these days. She had thought that evening and what Ghost had told her would raise her spirits enough to easily carry her through the next few weeks.

But apparently, her emotions don’t make any sense at all anymore because she barely made it through the surprise-negotiations with Montesere yesterday and didn’t manage to get so much as an hour of sleep last night, nightmares chasing her from her sleep every time she dozed off. Sometimes she dreamt of Jurian – Jurian screaming for her as he lay tied to a torture table, Amarantha laughing, Jurian dead on the ground, Jurian blaming her for not saving him. Sometimes, she was back in the Black Land, a slave again as if she never escaped at all. Sometimes, she has already won the war, but Ravenia is there, laughing at her because she will never get punished, or because her people are dead and she was unable to do anything to save them.

She has no idea where this is coming from. Well, she supposes there are several options. Jurian’s death might be catching up with her. Or this is the worry that comes with being so close to the end of the war, the fear that everything she ever fought for might be snatched away moments before she reached it. Of course, there is also the option that she is finally cracking under the stress. That one would be particularly unpleasant.

At least the tears stopped by now. Miryam even feels marginally better except for the fact that her face is swollen slightly, which is a nightmare since she has a council meeting in two hours. An important meeting, no less, since they will be discussing the threat at Erithia’s border among other things.

Miryam finds a jug of water at her bedside and washes. She kneads oil into her thick curls and applies cosmetics. Once done, she looks at least halfway presentable. Once she changed out of her tunic and into a deep blue dress, she doesn’t think she looks worse than the usual. Tired, but well, they are all tired.

She is just done weaving a blue ribbon through her hair when a light knock sounds at the door and Drakon pokes his head in.

“Ready?” He asks.

One last glance at her reflection in the mirror confirms that she looks well enough for the meeting. “Ready.” Lifting the hem of her dress with one hand, she turns to Drakon. He is wearing blue as well, although it is far lighter than the colour of Miryam’s dress. “You look very handsome,” she says as she links her arm with his.

Drakon smiles. “Thank you. You do, too. I like the ribbon.”

Miryam returns the smile, mood lightening considerably. She squeezes Drakon’s arm and lets the feeling comfort her.

They arrive at Telique later than most, but not yet so late that it would draw unwanted attention. Miryam takes her usual seat next to Andromache, Drakon sitting down on her other side. She has to fight the embarrassment bubbling in her stomach. She really made a fool of herself earlier. It was so stupid. She doesn’t even want to know what Andromache thinks of it, she must consider her truly –

She forces herself to stop that line of thought before it can go any further. Andromache, she reminds herself, is one of her closest friends. You can be foolish with your friends occasionally, there’s no inherent issue with it and she does their relationship a disservice if she acts like Andromache will think less of her for it.

The meeting begins relatively unspectacularly. They spend an hour discussing the updates on the different war fronts and Miryam gives and official report on the negotiations in Montesere. Its rulers, proud to a fault, had been reluctant to admit that they were considering surrendering sooner than most of the other Loyalist countries, but they let it shine through that they would be willing to stay largely neutral for the remainder of the war in exchange for favourable conditions later on. Apparently, they don’t want to be marked cowards for an early surrender, but don’t want to risk punishment for holding out too long either.

Andromache frowns slightly at the report, and Nakia presses her lips into a thin line. Miryam can understand their annoyance – this strategy means that the humans in Montesere will spend a few more months than necessary in slavery. But Montesere will not consider surrender at this point, and save for military action, which might endanger the very people they are trying to save, Miryam sees no way to change their minds.

The council at large agrees that it is best to leave Montesere alone and reach out to them again once a few of the other big Loyalist countries have surrendered so that they will be allowed to save face.

“Alright. Now that this is settled, let’s move on to the next point,” Miryam says. “Drakon and I have noticed a worrying troop movement near Erithia’s northern border. Troops from both the Black Land and Vallahan, as well as some from Rask, are assembling there. Does anyone have intel on what their task might be?”

Silence answers. After a moment, Zeku speaks. “I have no concrete information,” he says, “but given your… history with Ravenia, I’d assume that the target of whatever they are planning will likely be Erithia.”

Miryam nods, trying to ignore the knot that begins to form in her stomach. Ravenia had quarrel with Erithia well before she married Drakon – in fact, she would argue that it was Drakon’s father who started this issue in the first place – but she can’t help but feel that she made it worse with the marriage. Any invasion that might be happening will be at least partially because of her.

“We came to the same conclusion,” she says. “And I think it would be sensible to send some additional troops to Erithia. Even should it not be the target of this attack, that way, we will have enough soldiers in the region to counter whatever Ravenia is planning.”

“I agree with Miryam,” Nakia says. “And we should act quickly so that the soldiers will arrive in time to be of any use.”

Miryam nods. It is the only logical course of action, and certainly not something she expected resistance to. But resistance there is and, just as surprisingly, it comes from one of the lower-ranking Fae rulers, someone who wouldn’t generally speak out against suggestions made by the Alliance leaders.

“Forgive me, Your Highness, Your Majesty,” he says, inclining his head first at Miryam, then at Nakia, “but I am not entirely sure if this is the most prudent course of action.”

He falls silent, apparently waiting for someone to give him permission to continue. Miryam would like nothing better than to let him stew – something is very wrong about this situation – but that might just make it worse. “Go on, then,” she says coolly.

“This is a large percentage of the Black Land’s army, as well as Vallahan’s. Their presence at Erithia’s border leaves both of those countries unprotected and many of their allies short on reinforcements. It might be in our best interest for those armies to remain there for the time being.”

Miryam narrow her eyes at him. Strictly strategically speaking, the plan has merit, but she would bet both of her spellbooks that it wasn’t his idea to suggest this, and that the intention behind it isn’t a good one. He would never have dared without the backing of someone who has more power than he does.

“Only most people don’t assemble an army just to leave it standing where it is,” she says. “Those armies won’t just do us the favour of remaining where they are, they will march on Erithia, and we will need reinforcements to be able to fend them off.”

Silence answers. Then, after a moment, another minor Fae leader speaks up. “If we send soldiers,” he says, “Ravenia might decide to do the smart thing and abandon her quest, which would free those soldiers to return to other war fronts. If we manage to keep them occupied for long enough, if Ravenia still believes she can reach something that way, we might be able to take the rest of the Continent with little resistance and decide the war in half of the time that it would take otherwise.”

A shiver runs down Miryam’s spine. “And how exactly do you intend to keep these armies occupied?” She asks sharply. She looks around the table, but no one seems quite willing to meet her eye. Drakon is looking at her, though, like he is hoping for some explanation or reassurance. Miryam can offer neither.

“This suggestion is ridiculous,” Nakia finally says, voice gruff. Miryam could have hugged her for it. “It should go without saying that purposefully allowing one of our countries to be invaded is not an option and shouldn’t even be considered.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree,” Shey says. “It is a drastic strategy, true, but we have to think of all the lives that might be saved. All the soldiers who might not die if this war ends sooner, the humans we will be able to free more quickly.”

Miryam presses her lips together. That hypocritical, two-faced snake. As if he ever cared about freeing the humans. No, his real intention is quite transparent: This is not an attempt to end the war more quickly, but a direct attack on her. He likely coordinated with the other Fae, asked them to bring the suggestion forth so that it wouldn’t be quite as obvious that this was his doing.

But surely he can’t expect this suggestion to go through. The council might no longer stand behind her as they once did, but they would never allow an entire country to be invaded, its civilians slaughtered. They wouldn’t. And Shey must know. So what is he playing at?

Drakon is still watching her, waiting for her to say something, but she doesn’t know what to do. Without knowing Shey’s strategy, anything she says might end up working against her. Maybe whatever plan Shey actually has relies on her arguing against his stance, maybe whatever trap he is laying will snap shut the moment she voices disagreement with what he said.

“And what about the people this plan will kill?” Drakon asks and Miryam realizes that she waited too long with her decision. “You might not care about them, Emperor, since they are not your people, but I didn’t know that this Alliance left innocents to die.”

Miryam hides her wince. This was far more offensive than anything she might have said, and she doubts that accusing Shey of not caring for innocents will work in their favour, true though it might be. This is on her, though, for not answering herself.

Shey doesn’t jump at the insult. Instead, he merely inclines his head in faked sympathy. “Please take my word on it that no one is considering leaving your people to die, or your country to fend for itself. There’s still enough time to evacuate, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who would be willing to offer resources to help with that.”

Shit. Miryam freezes. She was wrong – Shey wasn’t trying to coax her into some foolish reaction by pushing for unrealistic plans. This is his endgame. He actually does want to destroy Erithia, and by taking the issue of civilian casualties out of the game, he just made the plan a whole lot more realistic.

“And what about their homes?” Drakon asks. He doesn’t entirely manage to hide his desperation. “What about the fields and workshops – are we to starve next year because our entire country has been destroyed?”

“There would, of course, be reparations,” Shey replies evenly. He is playing his part well. By remaining so calm and sympathetic, he makes Drakon look unreasonable and emotional by comparison. “You and your people would receive any means necessary to help rebuild, as well as food enough to last you through the next year.”

Why is he doing this? It makes no sense. This must be an attack at Miryam somehow, but out of everyone in Erithia, she will actually be the one who is least affected. Her emotional connection to the country is not yet that strong, she will only suffer through having to watch its people suffer. All Shey is doing is stripping thousands of innocents of their homes and making them into fugitives for no good reason at all.

And then, she figures it out. Her marrying into royalty scared the Alliance, so now, they are trying to undo it by destroying the country whose leader she became.

It makes a horrifying amount of sense. If Shey’s plan goes through, Erithia will spend the years to come rebuilding and relying on help from the outside. That help might even actually be offered, but what must count to Shey is that it will make it impossible for Miryam to pursue any ambitions of her own after the war.

She needs to stop them. Not for the reasons Shey undoubtedly thinks, but because there is no way she can allow so many people to suffer because of her.

“Still, this goes against some of the very foundations of this Alliance,” she says, voice mercifully calm even though she herself is anything but. “We stand together against any enemies and we certainly don’t leave one country to be destroyed.” She looks around the table. “I realize that this might seem like an easy choice for most of you, but ask yourselves: If it was your country under attack, what would you wish for the Alliance to do? Is this truly a precedent you wish to set?”

A few of the listeners shift uncomfortably in their seats, but most seem unmoved. A few years ago, this argument would have convinced them easily, but now that the war is drawing close it its end, it no longer holds as much weight. There is no real reason for anyone at this table to fear that their country will end up in the situation Erithia is in now anytime soon, so they don’t need to worry about precedents.

Shey doesn’t even bother to reply to her argument. Instead, he only gives her a sympathetic smile and says, “I know that you are personally involved in this situation, Your Highness, so I can sympathize with your stance. But you have to understand that this is the sensible route.”

Miryam stares at him. He completely dismissed her. And not only that – he as good as invalidated any other argument she might have brought forward. To make matters worse, there is nothing she can do to dispute his claim. She can’t deny emotional involvement because she is involved and everyone knows.

“Miryam is right, though,” Andromache says. “And honestly, there might be a time and place to take such risks, but it isn’t now. We are already winning, there is no need to gamble with thousands of lives.”

It’s a lost cause. Miryam only needs to look around the table to see it. A few people seem to be on her side, but nowhere near enough. She turns to Zeku, silently begging him to help her, but he doesn’t even meet her eyes.

“Then let us vote,” Shey says. “That way, we’ll see what the majority thinks.”

Drakon turns to Miryam, eyes wide, but what can she do? Nothing she can say will change anything, and if she tries to stop the vote, she will just make more people turn against her.

“Alright, then,” she says.

The vote isn’t even close. The other humans stick with Miryam, as do two or three of the Fae, and some abstain, but most support Shey’s plan. This is a nightmare. A complete and utter nightmare.

“But that’s impossible,” Drakon whispers. “We can’t do that.” He shakes his head. “How can you decide this, it isn’t even your country!”

“You are, of course, free to decide what Erithia’s next steps will be, Your Highness,” Shey says. “But the Alliance will not send troops to support you should you choose to fight.” He turns towards the assembled leaders. “I believe it would be best to end the meeting here so that Prince Drakon and Princess Miryam may decide on their next steps in private.”

Miryam would very much like to tell him where he can shove his faked sympathy, but that wouldn’t change anything. Not quite able to muster a polite farewell, she rises and waits for Drakon to do the same before stalking out of the room.

“We can’t do that,” Drakon says as soon as they are outside. His wings are trembling and he has his fingers balled into tight fists. “We can’t.”

Miryam nods. “I know.” The desperation on his face makes her chest constrict painfully. This is her fault, they are only doing this because of her. She messed up, she messed up so badly. And in the meeting, she didn’t even manage to follow any strategy. She just let Shey walk right over her. “I’ll try - ”

Drakon doesn’t appear to hear her. “This isn’t an option,” he says. “We need to find a different way, we can’t do this.”

Miryam reaches for his hands, a feeble attempt to offer comfort. “Alright,” she whispers. “Alright. This will be fine. I’ll fix this.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. What is she thinking, making promises she has no way to keep? She doesn’t have an army large enough to ward off this assault, and she doesn’t have a way to get one. Once, she might have had the political power necessary to convince people to help regardless of what the Alliance wants, but these days, most of the Fae members of the Alliance seem more inclined to work against her than help her. The other humans might help, but most of their armies are stuck in other assignments and even if they weren’t, they likely wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough.

If Miryam could, she would take the words back, but she doesn’t know how. Drakon looks a bit less desperate now, and she feels terrible about giving him hope where there is likely none, but she can’t bring herself to take it away either.

This is her fault. It’s retribution for her mistakes, the Fae punishing her for holding a position she has no right to in their eyes. Only they aren’t punishing her, except maybe by forcing her to watch other suffer for her actions. If anyone gets punished here, it’s Drakon. And his entire country. They are punishing thousands of people who have absolutely nothing to do with this.

She can’t allow this to happen. If it had hit her and only her, she would have accepted it, had prepared to accept it, but this… this goes too far.

“I’ll fix this,” Miryam repeats, this time with more confidence. “Can you wait here? I have to talk to some people.”

Drakon nods, shoulders slumping. If Miryam had to guess, she would say he feels bad for not being able to contribute anything to the solution. She should tell him that this was her fault in the first place and that it is only right that she should fix it, but she can’t bring herself to say the words so she merely squeezes his hands before letting go and walking back into the meeting room.

Everyone else is still there, although they left their seats and are now standing around in small groups, talking in quiet voices. Miryam ignores the looks directed her way, some full of pity, others smug, and walks directly towards Shey.

“Your Excellency,” she says without inclining her head in greeting as she should have. She doesn’t care if he thinks her impolite, being addressed by title is already more than he deserves. “A word.”

Shey inclines his head, expression mildly curious. There is an amused cast around his eyes, though, and it takes all of Miryam’s safe control to keep from gritting her teeth. “As you wish, Your Highness,” Shey says.

Miryam turns around and stalks off towards one of the private meeting chambers without waiting for Shey to follow. She is not exactly keeping to the rules of diplomacy, she knows as much, but in this specific situation, she sees no reason to hide her anger.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?” Shey asks once they have reached the meeting room. His tone remains politely inquisitive, but now, he definitely seems amused.

Miryam closes the door behind them, then turns to face him. “You are going too far,” she says icily.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Miryam bites down the reply simmering on her tongue. Takes a deep breath instead. Anger won’t accomplish anything here, it will just make Shey lose whatever respect he has for her and weaken her position further. She needs to keep a cool head and not let him taunt her. She has to fix it, she promised Drakon she would.

The look on his face during their conversation earlier flashes through her mind, and suddenly, the idea of simply extinguishing the blue aura shimmering around Shey seems far more attractive than it did a moment ago. Not helpful. Murdering Shey won’t solve any of her problems, but create a host of new ones instead.

“I think you do know,” she says. “And I would appreciate if we could skip the games and get straight to the point.”

Shey still has that half-smile plastered on his face. “And what would the point be?” He asks lightly.

“I know what you did. I know why you did it. And I want you to fix it.”

Shey’s smile doesn’t waver. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. I did not do anything.”

Miryam ignores him. “What do I have to do to make you fix this?”

Now, she has his attention. She sees it in the slight narrowing of his eyes, in the way his entire posture seems to straighten. “Is this an offer?”

Miryam’s heart is thundering in her chest, everything in her is screaming that this is a bad idea, that she shouldn’t make herself vulnerable like this, but what other course of action is left to her?

“Yes.”

“I see,” Shey says, and then, he says nothing at all for a while. He simply watches Miryam.

She stares back at him, trying hard not to show her nerves. This is the only way, she is sure of it. She doesn’t think that she has the power to sway the council on this, not anymore. She needs Shey. The alternative…

“And interesting offer,” Shey says. “You are aware, of course, that I could ask practically anything?”

Miryam gives a curt nod. She supposes just because Shey asks something, she wouldn’t have to comply and she didn’t really give much thought to what he might ask of her, but now… What if he tells her to jump off the palace’s highest tower? The thought sends ice shooting through her body, she shivers slightly.

“I’ll admit, you surprise me,” Shey says. “I did not think you cared enough about your husband to be this stupid for his sake. Don’t you think this isn’t quite worth it?”

Miryam shakes her head. “I’d explain it to you, but I don’t think you’d care enough to listen. Or understand.” Neither her relationship with Drakon, nor the fact that she would be doing this even if it wasn’t for him. She certainly doesn’t need a personal stake to be opposed to hundreds of thousands of innocents losing their homes, but this is not the type of thing Shey could ever understand.

“I’m almost tempted to take you up on that offer,” Shey says, “if only to see how far you’d be willing to go. But I really have no reason to humiliate you, amusing though it might be. You’ve fared admirably well so far, and I’d rather get this over with everyone’s dignity intact.”

Does he even realize how twisted that logic is, how it disgusts her? Her dignity he may spare, but if she isn’t entirely mistaken, his end goal is still to see her dead. And he doesn’t care at all about the hundreds of thousands of people who are getting caught up in the crossfire.

“Thousands of people,” Miryam says. She doesn’t think he will care – he would never have come up with this plan if he did – but she still has to say it. “You can’t… you can’t just drag thousands of people into this.”

“I believe you were the one who dragged them into this, as you put it,” Shey says. “If it wasn’t for you, none of this would happen.”

The words are a punch to the gut. “I – “ Miryam begins, but Shey cuts her off with a shake of his head.

“There is nothing you can offer to change my mind,” he says. “You’ve already lost, and I have no reason to settle for anything but a full victory.” He smiles slightly. “Go comfort your husband,” he says. “We’ll see each other during the next meeting.”

With that, he turns around and walks out of the room. Miryam stares after him. She realizes, distantly, that she is shaking; she doesn’t know if it’s with fury or despair. How can she face Drakon, face anyone from Erithia? She did this, she brought this about, she…

Her throat tightens and her eyes burn, tears threatening to well up, but she forces them down. Straightens and walks out of the room.

She runs into Zeku as she rounds the first corner. Clearly, he didn’t expect to meet her, nor is he pleased with the fact if his tense body language is anything to go by.

“Miryam,” he says. It’s the first time in months that he doesn’t address her by title, and he looks around to check for any listeners before turning back to her. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“You don’t need to be sorry, you just need to help.” It is a graceless attempt, but she has no energy left for dancing around the subject.

Zeku adverts his eyes, just as he did during the meeting. When he abstained from the vote and didn’t say a word to back her.

“If it was your country being attacked,” Miryam says, each word sharper than the last, “Drakon wouldn’t hesitate to send help.”

“I know.” Zeku’s voice is heavy with regret, but he shakes his head. “But there is a reason why it’s Drakon’s country getting invaded and not mine, isn’t there?”

Miryam stares back at him, not quite believing what she hears. “You coward,” she says softly.

Zeku doesn’t reply. Miryam shakes her head at him.

“I hope this haunts you,” she says. “I hope you live a long life, and I hope that you will think back on this every day and know that you are a pathetic coward who doesn’t have the spine to stand up for what is right.”

Now, Zeku finally does look at her. Miryam wishes she could take comfort in the shock and pain that is written plainly over his face, but it doesn’t make her feel better at all. Without giving him a chance to reply, she shoulders past him and goes to talk to Drakon.

----

“I hate having to say this,” Sinna says, “but we might need to consider following the council’s decision.”

Her, Miryam and Drakon are sitting together in Drakon’s private study where Miryam just spent the last twenty minutes recounting what went down in the council meeting. Drakon feels like by all accounts, it should have been him telling Sinna, but he didn’t manage to get the words out, so he just ended up sitting curled up in his armchair while Miryam told Sinna what happened.

Sinna took the news surprisingly calmly, but maybe that’s her military training showing. Drakon wishes he was as calm, but he just can’t stop the panic twisting his stomach, can’t control it enough to be able to focus on anything else. He looks around the room they are sitting in and imagines it destroyed, looks out of the window at the city below and can almost see flames licking over buildings, destroying everything in sight.

This is his home. He grew up here, there are a thousand memories tied to this place. Sitting together at dinner with his parents, his sister chasing him through the ballroom, both of them laughing. He is at home here. How can they demand he just give it up?

“But we can’t,” he says, feeling vaguely childish. He jumps to his feet, unable to remain sitting, and leans against the window. “We can’t just give up Erithia.”

He looks over at Miryam, hoping for some support, but she is staring down at her feet.

“We have soldiers of our own,” he says, turning back to Sinna. “And we know the terrain. We should be able to hold the borders.”

Sinna studies the map they’ve placed on the table. “Of course,” she says. “But you have to understand, Drakon, that while we could probably avoid Erithia being entirely overrun, there’s no way we would be able to hold back the enemy. Our borders would fall for sure.”

If they had the council’s backing, none of this would even be a problem. Drakon doesn’t understand why they are doing this. Well, he does understand that this strategy will save lives, but there were other occasions for similar strategies in the past and the council never took them. Why are they doing it now?

“And if we were to fight, how many…” Drakon hesitates for a moment before continuing. “How many would die?”

“It’s hard to estimate,” Sinna says. “A large part of it depends on how the battles go. How much of the country we manage to evacuate before the enemy troops arrive and what the enemy does to the people we haven’t been able to get out in time. Thousands for sure. Tens of thousands, maybe.”

Drakon curses softly. So it’s the choice between Erithia’s land and its people. He can either give up his country, allow it to be pillaged and destroyed, or he can put his people in danger, knowing that many of them would die.

The decision should be easy. He should follow the Alliance’s directive, order an evacuation. They’ll be able to rebuild houses and replant fields, but they can’t resurrect the dead.

But what if the people might want to stay? It’s possible, isn’t it? That they might choose to stay and fight for their homes instead of abandoning them. He would certainly be ready to risk his life if it meant he might save his country, but he can’t expect others to do the same. Certainly can’t ask it of them.

He presses his hands against his face. He can’t decide this. How can he decide this?

“And if we were to evacuate?” he asks.

“We’d retreat towards the Erythrian Sea. That way, we’d be protected by the mountains.” Sinna nods towards the mountain chain that runs through Erithia, parallel to the coast. “The passes would be easy to defend, casualties would be low.”

Drakon nods. He starts drumming around on his leg, trying desperately to calm himself. He looks to Miryam and then away again – he can’t turn to her for this choice. She already begged for Shey’s help in his place, he can’t ask her to take up this responsibility as well.

“Whatever you choose to do,” Sinna adds, “I’m afraid you’ll need to decide today.”

Drakon nods. It is getting difficult to breathe, and he pushes the window open. A cool winds blows in, carrying with it the smell of the forest behind the city. At least the forest would surely remain. Unless Ravenia decides to have it torched. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her.

He desperately wants to cry, but the tears won’t come. He leans his head against the window frame and stares down at the city below.

He can’t make that choice for his people, he doesn’t have the right. But maybe… maybe there’s at least a way for him to let them have part at the decision, in whatever way is possible.

Slowly, he turns back to Miryam and Sinna. “I’ll have a meeting with my ruling council,” he says. “Tell them about the situation, hear their voices. I think… I think it would be right for them to be the ones to decide.”

He doesn’t know if this is a brave choice to make, or a cowardly one. Letting the only representants of the people he knows choose seems like the right thing to do, better than him making a choice alone and forcing everyone else to bear the consequences. Or is this just him hiding behind other people, relying on them to make the difficult choices?

Sinna doesn’t comment on it. She merely nods. “I’ll call a meeting. In an hour, I think.”

The moment Drakon nods, she is out of the room. He doesn’t even get the chance to offer that he can deal with the preparations for the meeting. But maybe this is Sinna’s way of dealing with what happened – to keep herself busy with something, anything, to keep the despair at bay.

“I’m sorry,” Miryam says into the silence that had followed in Sinna’s wake, making Drakon turn around to her. He voice is small, unsteady. “This is my fault.”

Drakon walks over to where she is sitting and crouches down before her. He tries to reach for her hands, but she pulls them away, shaking her head.

“You did everything you could,” he says gently. Surprisingly, comforting Miryam makes him feel better, too. It gives him something to do, a manageable problem to take care of. “It’s not your fault Shey wouldn’t listen.”

Miryam shakes her head. She doesn’t even look him in the eye. “No,” she whispers. “You don’t understand. They are doing it because of me. They are scared of me and so they…” She shakes her head. “I think they are trying to make sure I won’t have an army at my disposal once the war is over. That we will be too busy with rebuilding to even be able to consider a war.”

Drakon doesn’t manage a reply, all he can do is stare in disbelief. Even with his limited understanding of Continental politics, Drakon had considered that option – considered and quickly discarded it. Formal alliances are sacred on the Continent. You don’t get to betray your allies without formally ending the alliance first, and while this probably doesn’t quite count as betrayal, he still assumed…

He can’t believe that the other Fae are putting his country, his people, in danger over a stupid power game. If the Alliance had made this choice in an attempt to end the war as quickly as possible, to save lives and avoid needless suffering, he might have been able to bear it. But this… This is unbearable, if only because it is so unnecessary.

“I made a mistake,” Miryam says. “I should have known this could happen, I should have considered it.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think. When I suggested we marry, I didn’t think of this possibility. This is my fault.”

Drakon withdraws his hand. “Your fault?” He asks.

Miryam fidgets on her seat but nods. “I’m sorry.”

“So when we married, I had no voice in the matter?” Drakon asks. He knows this was not what she meant to say, but it was certainly the implication, and being annoyed with her over this is stupid, he knows it is, but he can’t help it.

“Of course you did, but…” She shrugs helplessly. “This is my area of expertise.”

“And knowing that, I could not have conferred with my advisors on this?” Drakon presses. “Because if it is your fault alone, it must also mean that the choice was yours alone, and until now, I had assumed we made that choice together.”

Miryam flinches slightly. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s not what I meant.”

Drakon sighs. His anger evaporates, leaving him feeling even worse than before. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, too. I know you were trying to be kind, I just…” He shrugs.

He doesn’t even know why it made him angry. It should have been easier to pretend this disaster wasn’t partially a consequence of his actions, to place the blame on someone else. He should have jumped at the opportunity. But there are already too many people who act like he is incapable of making decisions, and it stings even worse when Miryam does it, even if it’s with good intentions.

He is about to tell Miryam as much to get the issue out of the way before it actually turns into a problem, but then, he realizes how stupid it is to discuss stuff like this when his country might be on the brink of destruction. He buries his face in his hands.

“It was a good idea to leave the decision to the council,” Miryam says, startling him into looking up. “I think it is the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know what I want them to decide,” Drakon whispers. “I don’t want to put my people in danger, but I also don’t want us to lose our home.”

“I understand,” Miryam says, then winces. “I mean, not really, of course, I’m not trying to pretend my situation is in any way similar to yours, but…” She shrugs. “I’m sure they will make the right choice.”

Drakon certainly hopes so.

----

Amarantha is pacing in the courtyard. Back and forth, back and forth. Jurian’s vision is rocking with each movement. If he had a stomach, he would surely be sick by now, but as it is, he doesn’t even feel dizzy. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

It has been months. Eighty-nine days, to be exact. Jurian counts them, and with each new sunrise, his hope of rescue flickers and dies bit by bit. Miryam hasn’t come. She hasn’t come and with each day, Jurian finds it harder and harder to think of a reason. In the beginning, he thought she might be still be injured, but an injury likely wouldn’t have kept her out of the field this long. He can think of no reason, none at all, for why she wouldn’t have come yet, or at the very least asked someone else to go in her stead. Knowing her, nothing would have been able to keep her from helping him. And yet she hasn’t come.

Amarantha says that it’s because she doesn’t care. That she is likely glad about what happened to him, that she has already forgotten him and is happy with Drakon. Jurian doesn’t want to believe it, and yet with every day, it becomes harder.

No one is coming for him. Not one of his friends, of the people he fought with, the people he loved, seems to care enough about him to try and rescue him from this nightmare.

Amarantha pauses her pacing so abruptly that Jurian’s eye starts spinning wildly and it takes him a few moments to get control of it again. By the time he does, Amarantha has lifted the hand with the ring – with his eye – up to her face so that he is forced to look at her face. He wishes he could look away, could at least close his eyes, but he is forced to look right back at her.

“I assume you heard, my dear Jurian, that my failure of a king is considering surrender.”

Jurian does the only thing he can do in the situation he’s in: He rolls his eye and hopes that Amarantha will understand the gesture as the insult it’s meant to be.

News that the king of Hybern was considering surrender to the Alliance arrived in the morning, and the temper tantrum Amarantha threw when she heard lasted almost half an hour. Jurian dared to hope for rescue for almost twenty minutes longer than that, right until she spun around to him to snap that should it come to a surrender, she would dump his eye into the middle of an ocean before she handed him over to the Alliance.

The bottom of the ocean, Jurian thinks, might be preferable to being a ring at Amarantha’s finger.

Amarantha goes back to her pacing, this time with Jurian’s eye raised high enough for her to look at while she walks. It also gives him clear view of the bone hanging on a chain at her neck.

“These mortal worms are already whispering of freedom,” Amarantha continues. “They imagine your faithless ex-lover will come free them, or maybe one of those mortal queens.”

Something about her tone unsettles Jurian.

“Freedom.” Amarantha spits the word. “These fools. They seem to forget that there is only one type of freedom their kind will ever be granted.”

By the time Jurian understands what she is saying, she has already turned away from him. Her eyes scan the courtyard, then, she calls one of her commanders over.

No, Jurian thinks. He is only vaguely aware that his eye has started spinning again. No. He wants to scream the world, but he can’t. Can’t move, either. He is helpless to do anything.

“I want every mortal currently in this castle assembled in this courtyard,” Amarantha says. “Every single slave, no matter who the owner.”

“Yes, general,” the commander says. “May I ask for what purpose.”

Amarantha shrugs. “How about a competition for out archers?” She asks. “Whoever manages the most hits will be my guest for dinner this evening.” With a smile, she turns to Jurian. “And you and I will watch from the battlements. We’ll want to have a good view, won’t we?”

----

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

#once again taking forever for the chapter #sorry #but well. at least I'm done now #this is getting really close to the end #before the wall #cinaja talks about before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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chibivesicle · 3 years

Text

Golden Kamuy chapters 269-270. The cliff notes meta edition.

This will be a less detailed meta as I’ve just been spread too thin recently and the current events of the manga have been underwhelming to me, making it harder to engage with the content.

Having an online presence has been a double-edged sword for me and as we mark 1 year of pandemic life, it is hard for me to invest as much time in it since I have to do so many more things online for work. Sitting down to write meta isn’t as fun and relaxing as it once was when you have 7 zoom meetings over the course of several days. Add on the fact that I have not left the county were I live since February 2020 nor I have a seen any of my family or friends . . . yeah writing meta isn’t a much of a priority. As an aside, I think more people need to be stating that being ‘productive’ and ‘leveling up’ during these times is either unrealistic and even more damaging by creating completely unrealistic expectations of how we should respond to things.

[steps off of soapbox]

Chapter 269, quickly shows us how the chaos that Tsurumi unleashed on the divided Ainu resulted in a tragedy and Wilk is the only one who managed to survive the massacre.

Tsurumi is able to sort out that there were eight Ainu, and that Wilk staged his own death by working quickly to conceal the identity of the dead partially by removing the eyes.

Kikuta is the first one to find the man who dies soon after discovery and Tsurumi seems to be in awe of Wilk’s escape plan.

KIkuta also shows he’s a more empathetic individual worried about how they contributed to the death of Ariko’s father. Did Tsurumi push Kikuta away after the war since he knew Kikuta would feel bad about doing the ‘things’ needed to be done for the gold?

It further highlights that Usami and Kikuta were never on the same page. I do like how the following page shows both Kikuta and Ariko continuing to tie the narrative that Kikuta feels a connection with the younger man. Shiraishi and Sugimoto spot Ariko, calling him Ariko Ipopte, which is an interesting choice to use a hybrid name for him. Kikuta uses his full Japanese name, while these men use a mix.

The final panel showing a reflective looking Kikuta walking alone in the rain really emotional connects with the grief surrounding all of this unnecessary death. Tsurumi sought to be a leader of men by giving them love and being the stand in father for them. I think that Kikuta is the character who is the natural and honest father figure - we know he has a deep relationship with Ariko and we also know he has some sort of connection to Sugimoto.

Tsurumi continues his ‘discussion’ of events with Asirpa and Sofia. Tsurumi has such a complicated relationship with Wilk. He’s both in awe of the man’s determination to survive but at the same time he wanted him destroyed at such a great cost.

Tsurumi really lays on the guilt to Asirpa that Wilk did everything to protect her - under the assumption that she’d be unfairly treated if her father had killed all of those men. Perhaps that is the case, perhaps not. It seems contradictory to his own actions where he gave Ogin and the Lighting Bandit’s child to Huci to care for it. He has this weird approach to the impact of the ‘sins of the parents’ on the child . . .

Tsurumi doggedly pursues Wilk and they immediately recognize each other and he flees onto the lake with his canoe. By shooting at Wilk, he forces him to capsize the canoe and items sink down into the lake. Honestly, I’m not sure what Tsurumi was hoping to achieve by this - make him swim so that he could capture him more easily. We don’t know how skilled Tsurumi is with a rifle and I’d be more concerned about killing Wilk and loosing the information. It seems reckless in my opinion since the ultimate outcome was Wilk appealing to Inudou thus achieving protection from the 7th.

I think Tsurumi was fueled and blinded by his emotions which only made things more complicated and drew the hunt for the gold out even longer (to the present time).

The rest of the chapter explains how Kiro felt. First, the grief at the loss of Wilk, trying to move on my having a family, but ultimately coming back to realize that Wilk was still alive after the war. Really, Wilk underestimated Kiro’s intelligence since he figured out that Kimuspu was the seventh man, not Wilk. As a Kiro fan, I of course favor him, but he really showed he’s a good leader and actually willing to take risks. What is most important is that having a family only lead him to want to fight for them - even more.

Kiro sees the flaw in Wilk’s plan of Hokkaido as an independent unit as a place for various native peoples, while ignoring all of the logistical issues that Kiro already pointed out to him previously. The Far Eastern Federation has the flaw that it is connected by land to Russia, but would me much harder to lay siege to. But Hokkaido as an island could easily be cut off - and with not much industry within itself, you still can’t do a whole lot with all of those raw materials if you can get industrial technologies from elsewhere. If it were blockaded they’d be screwed. Sure, you wouldn’t starve, but you wouldn’t be able to advance quickly. All that gold and nowhere to spend it.

Thus, Kiro believed he was acting in regard to their original goals and had no choice but to remove Wilk from the equation. As Wilk had become the very wolf that he had observed as a child and played with its pelt. That is some next level foreshadowing by Noda, if I do say so.

In the end, Kiro remained much more committed to their fight as partisans than Wilk did. You have to give it to him, he stuck to his original plans and he died believing he did the right thing. Now, looking back at how upset Sofia was when she first saw Kiro, we know why she slapped him in the first place. I’ll take it to mean that she was upset by Kiro’s actions but at the same time understood what he did. But then Sofia let it go, as she would soon go on to also speak fondly of Wilk and his desire to be like the wolves. Therefore, I don’t think Sofia was completely angry with Kiro, instead she knew the decision that was made and perhaps, she too, would have understood that there were divided in their goals once they moved on with their lives.

The next chapter starts off with the bottle mobile boys and Ariko on horseback as they determine what to do next. Sugimoto is amazingly still not rushing in like a maniac which is out of character for him. Are you okay Sugimoto? Or have your encounters with Kikuta and Boutarou begun to have an impact on you without being aware of it?

The settle on letting Ariko go ahead, even though he doesn’t answer their question. I’d say he doesn’t have a clue what side he is on. He likely cares about Kikuta. But he wants to see Asirpa succeed since he feels ashamed by his own approach towards life in Hokkaido as an Ainu.

Off he goes alone to figure out how to rescue Asirpa. Really, a terrible idea since sure he’s a tough guy, but we don’t know what his fighting skills are like in the first place. . . . At least he isn’t a hothead, so sending him in alone will be less of a disaster than Sugimoto.

The action returns to Tsurumi trying to turn up the heat on Asirpa. She asks him about Kiro’s fingerprints at the crime scene - a lie that Tsurumi fed to Inkarmat to get her to help him. He writes it off as him doing a good thing for her - she closed a chapter of her life - then again - he doesn’t know that Koito let Tanigaki and Inkarmat escape. The next several pages are a slow psychological technique that builds up to Tsurumi reveling that the bullet that killed Fina and Olga had been from Wilk’s pistol. Dum da duuum!

So, according to Tsurumi it is Wilk’s fault all those Ainu died. That he should have never left Russia for Japan. That even his time in Russia resulted in Fina and Olga’s deaths. Everything is Wilk’s fault!

This page ends with how Tsukishima let go of the woman he had loved and his memory of her - yet Tsurumi kept the bullet and the finger bones of his family! We can see that Tsukishima is barely holding it together, so upset by this knowledge!

As a master manipulator of people, Tsurumi thanks Sofia for what she has contributed to the story - he can help her feel better by telling her that she did not kill his wife and child. . . . on no, he only uses it as a way to add even more pressure on Asirpa!

To Tsurumi, Asirpa is no child, she is the direct tie to all of his anger and pain and his twisted soul.

I mean, he kept Wilk’s skinned face and he’s using it to get her to break! What is more interesting is after the initial shock, Sofia quickly regains her calm while Asirpa - well she’s clearly buying into Tsurumi’s explanation of things.

She is thinking about how her father ‘turned’ Tsurumi into the person he is before her . . . . I’d be willing to say that Wilk influenced Tsurumi - as much as Tsurumi influenced Wilk. Yet, Tsurumi as a human being is responsible for his decisions and he alone can respond to them in a constructive or destructive way. It is clear Tsurumi went for the latter.

Sofia’s calm in this pressure situation is clear as she asks him if it was for revenge. She’s a smart woman and has lived long enough to see these types of things through.

Tsukishima is ready to kill Tsurumi - it would make him a hypocritical leader - having him let go of his own earthly attachments only to serve a man bent on revenge. Koito is listening closely as well, unsure of how he’s going to respond.

Tsurumi makes it clear he could have killed Asirpa any number of times. I think this is another case of Tsurumi playing a verbal slight of hand. He’s asked if he’s doing this out of revenge, and his answer is - I haven’t killed her yet. Gee, based on how messed up you are Tsurumi, we both know that there is more than one way to take revenge. Killing someone in retribution is one way to take revenge or the worse way - make their life a living hell. It is clear that Tsurumi is going for the second one to break Asirpa.

There is a dramatic two page spread as he explains that he is doing this for Japan - and the implied increasing militaristic activities of the late Meiji government to expand their domain.

If feels - like a performance to me as a reader. The pages are remarkably light in tone giving it an optimistic and feeling of purity. Yet, Tsurumi is a broken and corrupt man . . . cruel in his intentions. He only says this as a way to combat anyone who were to contradict him . . . .

It is too perfect - too convenient - too good for Koito and Tsukishima to believe in my own opinion. As both of the men seem relived to have heard these very words as a type of closing statement.

Tsukishima looks relived that Tsurumi is continuing on the behalf of all of their fallen comrades and families. Again, this sounds too perfect like Tsurumi’s speech isn’t for Asirpa nor Sofia, it is for Koito and Tsukishima who are eavesdropping. Since Tsurumi is a next level planner/manipulator he likely came up with this well rehearsed speech to placate all issues around his inability to move on from his family’s death. It makes him look mature and that he’d moved on from his more basic human needs.

Koito looks like he’s trying really hard to believe Tsurumi and how Tsurumi’s words would comfort Tsukishima. But is that how you really feel Koito? That face looks - so - fake. Like Koito is overdoing it again and is actually unsure how to react. So, he he looks elated, Tsukishima will feel better - or something.

What I really want to know is why they are just there hiding and watching Tsurumi? If they are wanting to think independently and beyond Tsurumi why do it while hiding? It seems no matter what either man may think, they are still under Tsurumi’s thumb as far as how they react to his behavior and the current events.

And I’m gonna have to hold things here while I find a way to read the more recent chapters with non-shady software to decompress the files since I’ve been using Mangadex the entire time I’ve been reading GK (in addition to the english versions of previous chapters).

#golden kamuy #golden kamuy meta #asirpa #tsukishima hajime #koito otonoshin #kiroranke #tsurumi tokushirou #sofia #wilk #sugimoto saichi #Shiraishi Yoshitake #warrant officer kikuta #ariko rikimatsu

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silenteyes · 3 years

Text

你的答案 | Your Answer

By 阿冗

Warnings: Spoilers, Angst, Canon-typical Violence (Also it doesn’t follow word-to-word, I put in my own twist because I cannot for the life of me remember all of the scenes and their specific words. I need to remind you all as well, this is an AU! It mostly follows canon but as I said, I put my own twists to it.) ; Other than that, I suppose it’s a happy ending

也许世界就这样我也还在路上

Maybe the world is just like this | But I am still following my path

Wei Ying sighed as he looked back at the Burial Mounds. He continued walking - although he was convinced he might as well be limping, with traces of resentful energy following him.

Sentient he thinks, perhaps a tad bit maniacally.

没有人能诉说

With no one to confide in

“Demonic cultivation harms the mind and body.”

“The Yiling Patriarch is so arrogant, he uses his power to take advantage of everybody!”

“I will not spare Wei Wuxian any mercy.”

Wei Ying laughed hysterically. Sure, no one had the same views as him, and sure, he may be alone. But he could live on without the whole cultivation world watching his every step, waiting for him to break.

“To be honest, Wei-xiong’s words were quite interesting. Spiritual energy can only be obtained through cultivation and taking great pains to form a golden core. It would take I-don’t-know-how-many years to do, especially for someone like me, whose talent seems as if it was gnawed by a dog when I was in my mother’s womb. But, resentful energy are from the fierce ghosts. If they can easily be taken and used, it would be beyond wonderful.”

也许我只能沉默眼泪湿润眼眶

Perhaps I can only remain quiet | Tears glistening my eyes

“Qing-jie...”

Wei Ying had tears threatening to spill as he struggled to move. Wen Qing stared at him with tears in her eyes as well, smoothing out his hair. Wen Ning was watching both of them, and if he wasn’t a fierce corpse at the moment he would’ve burst into tears.

“A-Ying, thank you. And I’m sorry.”

He could only stay silent as the two walked out of the cave, heading towards Lanling.

可又不甘懦弱

Yet not willing to show weakness

He could not, not yet. He will not die before avenging his second family, who all actually cared about him.

To Nie Huaisang, my second brother,

I am sorry. You have helped us a lot, but it seems as though our efforts were in vain. You are not at fault, please do not blame yourself for not being able to help me. We will meet again in another life, as brothers.

With a smile I sign this letter,

Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian.

低着头期待白昼

With my head down | I await for the dawn

He sighed with his head tilted down as he waits for the cultivation world. All those who are greedy, who seek power and fame, and those who seek vengeance are sure to come. He could almost chuckle at the fact his martial brother - no he’s lost right to call him that months ago, Sect Leader Jiang was the on leading the siege.

He hopes A-Yuan won’t be too heartbroken, but maybe A-Yuan might be dead. He actually tears up at the thought.

接受所有的嘲讽

Accepting all of their taunts

“It’s the Yiling Patriarch!”

“Kill him!”

“Monster!”

“You killed Jin Zixuan, spare him no mercy!”

Wei Ying just accepted them with what one may call an exasperated sigh, but if you listen closely it sounded breathy as well. Why should he refute them if they won’t believe him anyways?

向着风拥抱彩虹

Facing the wind | Embrace the rainbow

Nie Huaisang stared in horror at the letter. The Wen remnants... dead? They were clearly just elderly people if you don’t count Lady Wen and Wen Qionglin, but even then they were just doctors!

He begged an begged for his brother to not participate in the siege but to no avail did he succeed.

“Wei-xiong, I’m glad even at the edge of death you still remember me. I’ll be looking forward to seeing you in our next life, maybe it would be better than this.”

勇敢的向前走

Bravely walk forward

Wei Ying smiled as he walked towards the edge of the cliff. He took another step and fell.

Oh, the part where they say Sandu Shengshou killed him? He couldn’t really remember much, but he knew it was a lie.

If anyone was going to kill him, he’d rather it be himself.

黎明的那道光会越过黑暗

The light of dawn will always cross the darkness

He closed his eyes as he awaits for death to embrace him. They say death is another adventure, but he hopes it leads to peace.

He’s tired.

打破一切恐惧我能找到答案

Defeat all my fears, I will find the answers

He opened his eyes as he remembered A-Yuan and the others. Qing-jie would’ve used her needles on him, he’d also like to think she may be crying over him. But he wouldn’t want to push his imagination.

QIng-jie crying is one of the last things he wants.

哪怕要逆着光就驱散黑暗

Even if I need to go against the light and disperse the darkness

To defeat the monster, he had to become one himself. He had no other resources to help them defeat Wen Ruohan after all.

Why is it that when they turned their backs on me, I’m not allowed to do the same? Am I supposed to stay defenseless when they choose offense?

丢弃所有的负担不再孤单

Throw away the burdens, no longer alone

He laughs, and he cries. And at last he smiles once more. He feels like his death would be a peaceful one. He’d be able to join Granny, Uncle Four, Qing-jie, A-Ning and all the others soon.

Maybe shijie would also forgive him. He hopes Madam Yu will stay ten feet away from him though.

不再孤单

No longer alone

His eyes widened as fierce corpses surround him. And he screams.

He never wanted to be truly alone after all.

---

黎明的那道光会越过黑暗

The light of dawn will always cross the darkness

“Senior Wei!” Jingyi gawked.

A burst of laughter came from said senior and the juniors’ reactions ranged from eye rolls to small chuckles.

“We almost died!” Zizhen cheered.

“Why the fuck are you so happy?” Jin Ling snapped, panting for air.

“We almost died! We have a cool story to tell to other people now!” A kid from the Ouyang Sect exclaimed. Wei Ying ruffled their hair and it took the juniors a lot to not drink vinegar.

打破一切恐惧我能找到答案

Defeat all my fears, I will find the answers

“Get that beast away from me!” he screamed.

“Da-jiu! Fairy is not a beast! And you have to get over your phobia of dogs!” Jin Ling said in exasperation.

Fairy sat still, ears drooping as she looks at Wei Ying with sad eyes. She might as well be pouting while she’s at it. Even he couldn’t stand the dog looking like that.

“...Fine. Just ONE pat! If it bites me I will not have it be in the same room as me EVER!”

Fairy wagged her tail and looked at Wei Ying. He trembled as his hand got close to her and he closed his eyes. Fairy stared at the hand which hadn’t touched her and she slowly bumped her head into his hand. He jumped and stared at her and she stared back, clearly happy to at least initiate some kind of physical contact with him. He gave her a clearly scared, but small smile.

“There, see. She isn’t that bad.”

She may not be, but as if HE’D ever admit it.

哪怕要逆着光就驱散黑暗

Even if I need to go against the light and disperse the darkness

“Senior Wei!” The juniors all screamed in fear. The Lans may have broken a few rules just by doing that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Fuck,” Wei Ying swore under his breath. This spirit was not a simple one, and they had fucking minions with them. He would’ve compared them to a mother duck and their ducklings if not for the fact they looked absolutely horrible. He looked back at the juniors and heaved a sigh.

Whistles could be heard as the juniors watched in both fear and awe how Senior Wei was actually communicating with the spirit using resentful energy. They never really saw it in action since he has tried to stop using demonic cultivation, he didn’t want the sects to think he was teaching them things like that.

A few more whistles which sounded eerie and the spirit let out a loud wail and collapsed, before fading.

The juniors all stood still for a few moments - Wei Ying thought they were finally afraid of him, before they all crowded him with stars in their eyes as they admired him.

有一万种的力量淹没孤单

There are ten thousand kinds of power to drown the loneliness

“Wei-xiong!” Nie Huaisang’s voice rang out. Wei Ying froze before he slowly turned to face Nie Huaisang, who looked desperate, as if he couldn’t believe that Wei Wuxian himself was alive again.

“Nie-xiong,” was all he said before the Nie Sect Leader pounced on him, seemingly throwing away his last ounce of dignity. It’s fine, it’s worth it for this.

“Do not EVER die on me again,” Huaisang said in between sobs. Wei Ying chuckled before wrapping his arms around Huaisang tightly, warmly.

“I’ll try, brother,” he murmured, patting the sect leader’s back. “I’ll try.”

不再孤单

No longer alone

“Wei Ying.”

“Lan Zhan.”

In the darkness, two broken lovers could only hold onto each other, ignoring reality.

Right now, in each other’s embrace, the world finally felt whole.

---

Heya~ terribly sorry for being dead. I had no motivation. Hopefully this is good and HOPEFULLY it shows up in the tags.

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qobiin · 4 years

Text

(he doesn’t exist now) survived by his son

pairings: lan wangji & lan sizhui, background wangxian

genre: angst, fluff | canon-compliant, post-wei wuxian’s death

warnings: grief/mourning, canon-typical mentions of violence, lwj’s punishment, the inherent agony of living without the other half of your soul

a/n #1: this is for eri, the one who got me to watch cql in the first place. happy birthday, i hope today is amazing! have 9k of dad!lwj as a treat <3 title is taken from steven universe’s “drift away” btw (:

words: 9398

summary: When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

part one of always come back to you

When Wei Wuxian falls, Lan Wangji does not throw himself after him.

He has no idea why at the time.

His heart and will are in shambles. His grip on Bichen’s sheath is hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His ribbon burns against his forehead. He is unsure that he is even breathing, all his air having left him when he screamed the moment Wei Wuxian pulled away.

Still, he remains standing, horror engulfing him whole. Sect Leader Jiang is standing beside him, just as frozen as he is but he does not dare look at his soulmate’s brother. His soulmate’s murderer because Wei Wuxian only pulled out of Lan Wangji’s grasp after Sect Leader Jiang’s sword struck the cliff face. Sect Leader Jiang may have pulled the blow Lan Wangji knew was aimed for their arms, but it does not change the fact that Wei Wuxian let go.

Something urges him to not follow after Wei Wuxian and he is uncertain of what it could be at first. It feels familiar, like a sensation Lan Wangji should recognize but cannot remember anymore. Almost like the notes of a song Lan Wangji memorized when he was first starting on the guqin but is unable to pinpoint where he learned it from.

(Later, he will think it felt too much like a warm hand on his chest pushing him away from the edge, pushing him away from the place his heart broke for good.

All he knows for certain is that he also died the moment Wei Wuxian took his last breath.)

He drifts - for lack of a better word - after that. Lan Wangji only recalls Brother pulling him away from the cliff, from Nightless City and the many eyes of the cultivators he just clashed swords with. He returns to Cloud Recesses with Brother and secludes himself in the Jingshi.

For the first night, Lan Wangji does not sleep. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Wei Wuxian letting go again.

He is unsure of how much time passes but at some point Brother comes to him with the news that the Lanling Jin Sect are going to lead a siege on the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian’s corpse had not been recovered after the battle at Nightless City and Jin Guangshan is still vying for the Stygian Tiger Amulet so their logical next step is to invade the resentful land where Wei Wuxian had tried in vain to start a family all on his own.

Lan Wangji leaves on foot after curfew but that is the last thing on his mind as his body moves almost against his will. For a while, it feels as if he is wandering without a purpose.

Confusion, pain, and grief wrack his frame every second of the day but there is still a familiar sensation tugging him along. Pulling him in a direction that he is certain he should recognize but can’t.

It is not until the sun rises above the horizon that he realizes where exactly his body is trying to go.

Yiling.

Lan Wangji rides his sword the rest of the way there.

It is not as quiet as Lan Wangji expected it to be.

That bothers him. A graveyard should only be filled with the sounds of the living giving tribute, but there is only the dead around him. The dead are quiet. The Burial Mounds aren’t.

He walks anyway, ignoring the pain in his body. The familiar sensation is tugging him along again. Lan Wangji is too tired to wonder about where it may be leading him because he gave up control as soon as it had gripped onto him. It pulls and he follows. It would not have led him here without a purpose, he is certain of that at least.

In the cave Wei Wuxian used to call his home, there is nothing left of him except his notes, hand-made furniture that will no longer see any use, and a dirty red ribbon Lan Wangji falls to his knees at the sight of. He loses himself in grief for who knows how long but soon realizes that his gasping breaths are not the only ones echoing around him. He stands, ribbon tied around his wrist, and walks desperately in search of the source of those raspy breaths.

He stops in front of a broken, hollow tree trunk not far from the entrance of the cave. Something is lying in it, barely hidden from view. For a moment, Lan Wangji ponders whether he will be stumbling upon the corpse of someone he should know but can’t quite recall. He only visited the Burial Mounds once while his soulmate was still alive, after all, and he had never learned everyone’s names.

Lan Wangji glances inside and knows now why it is not as quiet as it should in the Burial Mounds. Lan Wangji suddenly understands why he did not follow Wei Wuxian in death.

Wen Yuan lives.

Wei Wuxian’s son lives.

Their son lives.

Lan Wangji does not wish to, but he turns his back on Wen Yuan’s prone form and returns to the cave.

Cultivators are gathering there, all of them from different sects.

There is no Jiang purple among them. Lan Wangji counts that as the blessing it is meant to be. He does not wish to hurt those his soulmate cared so much for.

It does not stop him from confronting the crowd by himself. Jin Guangyao appears, telling him his uncle has arrived but Lan Wangji is unafraid.

He knows what he stands for and it is not this. It is not this inane scramble for power the rest of the cultivation world is allowing to cloud their minds and judgment. It is standing between the power-hungry and the weak, unwilling to move aside and let this madness continue.

Lan Wangji is late in his decision, much too late to make things up to Wei Wuxian, but Wen Yuan is alive. A piece of his soulmate’s heart lives on and Lan Wangji is not going to allow harm to befall that little boy anymore.

So he fights those from his own sect, raising his sword to block blows from disciples of all ages. The Sect Elders themselves have shown up for the occasion but Lan Wangji cuts them down as well. He fights until there is no one to fight anymore, staggering and using Bichen as a crutch while cultivators lay around him on the ground in various stages of unconsciousness.

Uncle had only stayed long enough to command their sect in subduing him and bringing him back to Cloud Recesses for punishment. Lan Wangji does not wish to be punished, not when he now knows he is being righteous, but he walks back to the tree trunk hiding Wen Yuan and decides he will take them both back.

Wen Yuan needs medical attention, needs Lan Wangji’s protection from the rest of the world. Lan Wangji needs to keep him safe.

Wen Yuan is hot to the touch but he fits easily hidden under the folds of Lan Wangji’s robes. His head lies against his chest, his hair tickling Lan Wangji’s skin even through two layers of cloth.

It isn’t uncomfortable in the way that certain fabrics tend to be for him. Lace and silk are two of the few fabrics Lan Wangji can stand to have wrapped around him in six layers of robes without feeling like he is about to crawl out of his skin. Wen Yuan’s hair is neither of those but having it against him does not do anything more than cause his veins to break into song and make his heart feel like it is going to beat right out of his chest trying to follow the melody racing in his blood.

(It feels like Wei Wuxian’s hair against his neck, Wei Wuxian’s teasing grin directed at him in the face of his newest prank. Like Wei Wuxian laid across his lap in the darkness of a cave, delirious with fever, and asking Lan Wangji to play some music. Feels like Wei Wuxian meeting his gaze under the heavy downpour of rain, telling Lan Wangji that if he believes the rest of the cultivation world as right then Wei Wuxian will do everything their way instead and Lan Wangji being unable to say anything while he watches his soulmate lead the Wen remnants away.)

Lan Wangji’s eyes itch but he ignores his tears, his pain, his grief. He focuses on holding Wen Yuan securely in his embrace as he rides his sword back to Cloud Recesses, finding the strength to dredge up more spiritual power than he thought he originally had.

He remembers the little boy with a thin, dirty face who burst into tears after he settled his weight on Lan Wangji’s foot. After Wen Yuan gripped his ankle, and then looked up at him with a confused look in his almond-shaped eyes. After those villagers mistook him as Wen Yuan’s father and criticized him loudly enough to evoke shame within him since Lan Wangji had no idea what to do with a crying child suddenly invading his space. After Wei Wuxian swept in like a long-awaited dream and cleared the area of onlookers. After Wei Wuxian picked up the child and smiled up at Lan Wangji as if his heart was not doing its utmost best to beat right out of his chest and into the hands of the man he loved most.

After the boy smiled up at him and called him Rich-gege when he bought him as many toys as he wanted. After he paid for a large meal that fed both him and Wei Wuxian because their collarbones were prominent enough to tell Lan Wangji all he needed to know about their financial situation and just looking at them caused his breath to stutter in his chest. And after Wei Wuxian up and left again, taking the child and Lan Wangji’s weak heart with him, only leaving Lan Wangji himself bereft and more confused than he had ever felt before.

(“The child.” Lan Wangji remembers asking when Wei Wuxian first pulled the boy from Lan Wangji’s leg.

“He’s mine. I birthed him,” Wei Wuxian had said half-jokingly and half not at the same time.

It was obvious that the boy was Wei Wuxian’s in everything but blood. That made him Lan Wangji’s by extension. Wei Wuxian had been the one to proclaim them soulmates, more than brave enough to speak the words Lan Wangji had been holding back for years by then. Even if they would never marry or become partners in the manner that Lan Wangji desperately wished for, Wei Wuxian still looked upon him and saw Lan Wangji for who he really was.

When the time came for Wei Wuxian to have children, Lan Wangji would treat them well and spoil them in Wei Wuxian’s steed. Something he was more than able to do when he met Wen Yuan, Wei Wuxian’s son.

After all, any child of Wei Wuxian’s was also a child of Lan Wangji as well.)

When Lan Wangji first reached into the tree trunk and pulled him out, Wen Yuan’s face was still dirty, thinner than before, and flushed bright red. His little body was swathed in what Lan Wangji could only call rags and he shivered even as he sweated.

Wen Yuan still feels feverishly hot against Lan Wangji’s chest but he pushes down his panic and rides. He does not stop until he has reached the entrance of Cloud Recesses and walks briskly towards the closest healer he can find.

There he watches as Wen Yuan is washed up, dressed in a clean white robe, and given enough medicine to help ease him into a peaceful sleep. Lan Wangji’s arm pulses where his wound has reopened but his pain can wait, ensuring that the child is well and can be healed is more important. Only once Wen Yuan’s breathing has returned to normal does Lan Wangji seek out Uncle.

Fortunately, he finds Brother with their uncle in the Jingshi. They have been expecting him and finding them together makes this next part easier.

He sidesteps their questions of what he had been doing at the Burial Mounds and inhales deeply before he says, “I accept punishment. I brought a child. He is my son and innocent.”

Uncle looks like he is going to explode at the seams, fury and worry shadowing every plane of his face. Lan Wangji grips onto Bichen’s sheath, the familiar pattern and texture calming him.

It would be easy to claim the boy as his ward and adoptive son at best, but Lan Wangji needs to hide Wen Yuan’s origins or the last piece of his soulmate’s heart will be destroyed as violently as the rest of Wei Wuxian was. Lan Wangji will allow no harm to come to their son. If all that is required to keep Wen Yuan safe is the last of Lan Wangji’s credibility to be thrown away, then Lan Wangji is prepared to claim him as his bastard son.

“His name is Lan Yuan and he is ill. I will return to his bedside and await word of my punishment.” Lan Wangji bows to both men present and leaves as quickly as he appeared, not waiting to listen to whatever protests they may have.

Wen Yuan is still asleep when Lan Wangji returns and asleep still when Lan Wangji receives his punishment. Brother stays with Wen Yuan while the punishment is dealt out. Lan Wangji did not wish to leave his son alone but knowing that Brother is with him eases him.

Brother cannot interfere with his punishment after his initial attempts were drowned under the maliciousness of the Sect Elders and Uncle’s unmoving gaze. Brother would lose a lot more than just face within the Gusu Lan Sect if he denied Lan Wangji punishment altogether. As Sect Leader, Brother must be fair and unbiased, even when confronted with familial matters. Lan Wangji refuses to be the reason his brother loses all credibility in the cultivation world. Whatever others want to say or do to Lan Wangji is his business alone.

The pain of the whip is welcoming to him. Uncle appears furious throughout it all, but even through the haze, Lan Wangji knows it is not just him Uncle is angry with. Both the whip and Uncle’s disappointment are excruciating to bear and yet Lan Wangji does not find himself regretting his actions.

He knew what would happen at Nightless City when he decided he would protect Wei Wuxian despite how out of favor he was with the rest of the cultivation world. When he fought any cultivator that decided they wanted to harm Wei Wuxian. Lan Wangji thought Wei Wuxian was finally going to be safe. He believed himself capable of protecting what little remained of his soulmate’s efforts. Even after he failed in protecting Wei Wuxian, he found Wen Yuan and fought his own sect to keep this last speck of his soulmate’s presence safe. Despite the chaos, the grief, and the complete ruin of Wei Wuxian’s reputation, Lan Wangji knew whose side he would be on when push finally came to shove. He has known ever since he was first confronted with that mischievous smile at age fifteen.

He had hoped that Wei Wuxian was aware of this as well but now he will never know for certain.

When the punishment is over, Brother is summoned and between him and Uncle, Lan Wangji finds himself being dragged first to the Cold Springs then back to the Jingshi between them, their gaits and grips unsteady alike. They dress his wounds as best as they can and stay with him the entire first night. Lan Wangji lies face down on his bed, sleep evading him for a long, long time while Brother and Uncle sleep propped against his bed frame and table respectfully.

Lan Wangji withdraws from the eyes of the rest of the sect as he starts the slow healing process the healers are being forbidden from helping him with. His silence, which used to be something he took solace in, only grows as the days slowly tick by with Brother and Uncle by his side during the day. Only in the dark of night does he allow himself to hope in vain for a familiar, obnoxious voice to draw his attention away from the pain covering the expanse of his back and nestled deep within his heart.

Nothing comes except a heavy grief Lan Wangji is not prepared to handle.

Moments before Wen Yuan wakes four days later, Lan Xichen adds him to the clan registry and proclaims him as Lan Yuan, Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Wangji is joyous even as his chest burns with the new Wen brand marring his skin and his mind struggles not to crumble under the guilt of what he revealed to his Brother the night before when he was intoxicated.

Lan Yuan doesn’t seem to notice either way as he begins to sob for his Xian-gege before his fever burns all his memories of a smiling man in black and red away.

Lan Yuan is a quiet child.

He is respectful, intelligent, and curious. He smiles more often than Lan Wangji does, but less often than Lan Wangji had expected. He does not remember anything from the time before he came to live at Cloud Recesses, only that he was hungry often and had met Lan Wangji once.

He studies diligently and accepts any praise or criticism his peers and teachers give to him. He becomes close friends with Lan Jingyi and develops a mischievous streak that none of the teachers could ever possibly trace back to Lan Yuan. Lan Wangji finds he isn’t concerned about this in the least. His son is still a child and children are allowed to have mindless fun now and again.

When Lan Yuan calls him Father for the first time, it is seven months after he has been brought to Cloud Recesses. Nevertheless, Lan Wangji feels that same sensation that led him to his son stroke the dying embers in his heart until a new flame of fierce parental love begins to burn within him. He holds his son close and cries freely. Lan Wangji is not ashamed of loving his son so severely that being called Father for the first time brings him to tears.

It is an honor to be Lan Yuan’s father.

Despite that, whispered rumors begin to reach his ears in seclusion.

At the next Discussion Conference that just so happens to be held by the Gusu Lan Sect, Lan Wangji comes out of seclusion briefly. Brother helps prop him up at various tables and leads him from event to event with the ever-present eyes of the cultivation world trailing after them. It is incredibly painful to do even this much, but Lan Wangji perseveres. He is the same stoic and cold Hanguang-Jun that he has always been but that does not seem to stop Sect Leader Jiang from glaring at him.

He says nothing to Lan Wangji, but when a fussy Jin Rulan is handed to him as they are overseeing the archery competition, Sect Leader Jiang’s glare increases in intensity. It only becomes worse when the caretaker in charge of Lan Yuan for the day appears by Lan Wangji’s side with his teary son close behind her. She quickly explains that Lan Yuan would not stop crying for him and, not knowing what to do, brought him there in the hopes that Lan Wangji would be able to calm him down. Lan Wangji gives her his thanks and nods his head as she excuses herself, holding Lan Yuan close as the boy quiets. He falls asleep not long after that in Lan Wangji’s lap, tired now that he has finished crying himself out.

Lan Wangji ignores all the eyes trained on him and merely brushes his son’s hair back absentmindedly as he looks to the archers once more. Sect Leader Jiang scoffs not far from him and Lan Wangji spares him a glance to see the annoyance and rage clear as day on his face before ignoring him for the rest of the Discussion Conference.

What Lan Wangji knows from that moment onwards is that no one would have the gall to openly say what they mean when he is near, yet still, he listens closely when he can.

They speak of Lan Yuan’s already apparent beauty and intelligence. They speak of his polite manners and soft-spoken words. They speak of how quickly he developed his golden core and how unsurprising this news was considering who his father is. They speak of his parentage and wonder who his mother could be and how beautiful she must have been to have such an attractive child with Hanguang-jun.

(They always wonder why Lan Wangji never married Lan Yuan’s other parent back when they were still alive.)

No one ever learns of Lan Yuan’s true origins in any case so Lan Wangji allows the rumors and speculations. He does, however, make a point of asking Brother to hand out mild punishments to those who have not learned how to keep their heads and voices low when he is home.

After all, gossiping is not permitted in Cloud Recesses.

A year after Lan Yuan’s arrival in Cloud Recesses, Brother becomes his Uncle.

“A-Yuan, if you continue to practice diligently with the guqin, perhaps we can acquire one for your own personal use?” Brother asks in a somewhat offhand manner that tells Lan Wangji enough of the plans his brother already has in mind for Lan Yuan’s future guqin.

Lan Yuan has been learning how to play using Wangji under the tutelage of Lan Qiren, Lan Xichen, and Lan Wangji. Many of the caretakers that watch over the younger children during the day praise him and mention his talent in passing with their Sect Leader seeing as Lan Yuan’s father is still in seclusion. Lan Wangji doesn’t mind hearing this from his brother. He is rather relieved to not have to think about the rest of the Gusu Lan Sect at the moment.

Teaching his son music and healing slowly is enough.

Raising his hands from the strings, the last notes still hanging in the air, Lan Yuan nods and smiles amiably up at Brother in response to his question.

“Yes, Uncle,” he chimes, his young, bright voice giving nothing away.

Lan Wangji politely averts his gaze when Brother begins to cry but offers him a handkerchief and presses his arm against his, silently showing him support as he has always done since they were children. He wants to do more but he is still healing and does not know how to go about it properly so he decides that this will have to be enough instead.

Lan Yuan simply stares between them, his smile falling under the weight of his confusion until his lips curve upwards again and he asks if they can go visit the rabbits.

Brother takes him every day for two and a half weeks after that.

Two years after Lan Wangji brings his son home, Lan Yuan calls Uncle his Grandfather because that is what he is and always will be.

Maybe Uncle has never been Lan Wangji’s father by blood or name, but Lan Wangji has been under the impression for a very long time that no one has to say what is already known. Lan Qiren is not the parent his nephews needed as children, but he is the parent they had and he always did his best by them. Though strict and stubborn, he taught and raised them to the best of his abilities.

Uncle oversaw his punishment but Uncle was also the one to stamp out any complaints the Sect Elders had about Lan Wangji claiming a bastard son. Uncle was the one who ordered their sect to contain Lan Wangji and Uncle was the one who demanded alongside the Sect Elders that he be punished. Uncle dressed his wounds and changed his bandages afterward, held Lan Wangji up and helped him go where he needed to go as he healed. And Uncle was the first one to arrange Lan Yuan’s fingers over the strings of a guqin.

Most would consider Uncle cruel for less than half of the things he has done to Lan Wangji in particular and Lan Wangji does, in a sense, think the same. However, Lan Wangji still considers Uncle as the father he was never allowed to meet.

Parents are not perfect and Lan Qiren is no exception to this rule, no matter how hard he tried to emulate it for himself and for Lan Wangji and his brother when they were children. Lan Wangji knows this to be true after two years of fatherhood himself.

In the beginning, Uncle did not approve of Lan Wangji’s sudden fatherhood and knew without a doubt that Lan Yuan was not biologically his. He shared this knowledge with no one though, not even Lan Yuan himself. Lan Wangji does not know if he has truly forgiven Uncle but he does know he need not worry himself about Uncle’s behavior around Lan Yuan. After all, Lan Wangji can very well see how his son softens his uncle’s heart with the mere appearance of his smile and quiet laugh.

By blood or not, Lan Yuan is Uncle’s grandson just as Lan Wangji and Brother are Uncle’s sons.

So when Lan Yuan says, “Yes, Grandfather,” Lan Wangji is not surprised.

Uncle sniffs in mock disdain, still caught up in the apparent scolding he was giving before about Lan Yuan climbing into Lan Wangji’s lap. After a moment, he realizes what Lan Yuan has said and immediately, his eyes water. Uncle cups Lan Yuan’s face gently, smiling in such a way that Lan Wangji thought was lost.

He remembers that the last time he saw that smile, he was still the child that crawled into his older brother’s bed at night to sleep comfortably beside someone who would never leave him as their mother had left them. Now he is a man with a son and scars on his body, heart, and soul for the love he lost.

It is good to see Uncle smile again.

“Stop worrying your Grandfather so much, A-Yuan. Be a good boy for your Father, Uncle, and I,” Uncle tells Lan Wangji’s son.

Lan Yuan hums and nods, smiling a grin that always knocks the breath out of Lan Wangji’s lungs when he catches a glimpse of it. Both Brother and Uncle see it but only Brother looks to Lan Wangji in sympathy as he reaches out to grasp his shoulder briefly before letting go again.

Despite the near-constant ache in his heart and soul, Lan Wangji is glad to know that those who matter are also able to see Lan Yuan’s other father in him as well.

And if later Lan Wangji realizes Lan Yuan pulled the Grandfather card simply to distract Uncle from continuing his lecture, he holds that knowledge close to his chest. Lan Yuan is his father’s son after all.

Both of them.

When the third anniversary of Lan Yuan’s appearance in Cloud Recesses is approaching, the Sect Elders pull Lan Wangji into a meeting where they ask for permission to raise Lan Yuan for him instead so he can become a “proper” Sect Heir.

Lan Wangji says no and storms out of the meeting he recognizes as another form of punishment from the Sect Elders without listening to whatever other nonsense they want to ply him with.

They do not take the hint.

What ensues is a month-long battle of wills that leaves Lan Wangji angrier and more smug each time the Sect Elders attempt to speak with him. They argue that Lan Wangji is still healing and need not concern himself with child-rearing on top of his injuries. Lan Wangji levels them with a flat look, pointedly not mentioning who gave Lan Wangji his injuries, to begin with. Brother claims their concerns are unnecessary and rather late considering how long Lan Yuan has been with Lan Wangji at Cloud Recesses already and how Lan Wangji’s injuries are mostly healed by now anyway. The Sect Elders step around their Sect Leader’s arguments with condescending ease, however, something that Lan Wangji detests to his very core.

They also claim that his grief is affecting Lan Yuan’s development. That his son could flourish under their care with no sadness for a mother he will never meet shadowing him at all hours of the day. Lan Wangji’s brows twitch at their implications, silently daring anyone to say what they actually mean before he refuses once again and strides away. Only Brother stays behind to offer the niceties Lan Wangji is certain none of the Sect Elders rightfully deserve anymore.

It does nothing to stop them from calling Lan Yuan nothing but a bastard child that could ruin their sect if he continues to remain under Lan Wangji’s care the next day. A child born out of wedlock that Lan Wangji was too ashamed to claim until he had no other choice. An unwanted child whose only redeemable qualities are the strength of his golden core, his already apparent cold beauty, and the sharp intelligence he must have inherited from Lan Wangji instead of his beggar of a mother.

Lan Wangji nearly draws Bichen, his fury so great that he regrets not hurting more of the Sect Elders, not standing by Wei Wuxian’s side, and following him until the bitter end so he would not have to deal with any of this when he had the chance.

But then he thinks of Lan Yuan, of his bright smile, and his twinkling eyes. Thinks of what would have happened to his son if Lan Wangji had not found him and pushes down the incessant ache to be with his soulmate deep down under again.

By the time Lan Wangji has released the hold he has on the hilt of his sword, Brother stands defiantly in the middle of the hall with a vivid look of disgust on his face. He loudly and firmly proclaims that as Sect Leader, they have no authority to overrule his decision of allowing Lan Yuan to remain with his father. Familial matters such as these fall under his domain, even when concerning the Sect Heir as written in their principles. That they have broken many of the rules they adhere so much to in their persistence to remove Lan Yuan from his family. That they have disgraced both the Clan and the Gusu Lan Sect as a whole.

Whatever Brother says after that, Lan Wangji does not know because he leaves as soon as his brother has begun to speak and goes in search of his son. He finds Lan Yuan with the rabbits, burying Lan Jingyi under their fur in the same way that Lan Wangji often does to him when they come by themselves. Uncle is standing nearby, watching the children play and trying not to show his displeasure over the mere presence of the animals since they remain here in the back slopes of Cloud Recesses due to nothing but a technicality.

Lan Wangji’s stride does not falter as he approaches his son and picks him up in his arms, holding him carefully to his chest. He buries his face in Lan Yuan’s hair to ignore the questions Uncle throws at him and the startled yelp Lan Jingyi makes once he notices Lan Wangji’s presence. He focuses on his breathing as the cloud ornament adorning Lan Yuan's forehead ribbon presses into the curve of his neck and his son's soft, natural scent of ash and snow invades his senses slowly.

He stands there for however long, holding his son tight and breathing him in as he wills himself to calm. He reassures himself that A-Yuan will not be going anywhere he doesn’t want to go and slowly comes back to himself. Lan Yuan, for his part, clutches the front of Lan Wangji’s robes and grips onto his father just as tightly without asking any questions.

They do not part from one another for the rest of the night. If Lan Yuan is not in his father's lap, then he is sitting close enough for Lan Wangji to keep a firm hand on his son no matter what they may be doing. During dinner, Lan Wangji takes their food in the Jingshi instead of the dining hall and plops Lan Yuan firmly in his lap as they eat quickly and quietly.

Lan Yuan does not complain once that entire night, only speaking to ask for things like a hug, his favorite lullaby, and Lan Wangji's fingers running through his hair. Lan Wangji sings to his son as he bathes him, firmly instructing Lan Yuan to change into his sleeping robes while he bathes quickly himself. Lan Yuan is sitting on the edge of Lan Wangji's bed when he returns, dressed in his sleeping robes and kicking his feet as he holds out a comb then turning around silently after Lan Wangji has taken it.

By the time nine rolls around, Lan Wangji has successfully braided his son's hair and brushed through his own before he lies them down to sleep. Lan Yuan usually sleeps in the daybed but for tonight, Lan Wangji holds him close to his chest and hums his lullaby to him again even as they both slip into the comfort of their dreams.

The day after, Lan Wangji remains within arm's distance of his son, secluding them in the Jingshi for the day. The itchy desperation he felt the day before has not completely made its way through his system but Lan Wangji is certain it will release its hold on him soon enough. Lan Yuan doesn't complain, even though he does stare at his father in wordless observation while looking much too serious for his young face that Lan Wangji anxiously reassures himself he is not turning his son into a copy of himself.

His son's smile is like the sun breaking through the last of the reluctant clouds that follow after a storm, his laugh so content that Lan Wangji feels inexplicably warm whenever he happens to hear it. Lan Yuan is happy. His son is by his side, safe and sound. The Sect Elders cannot take Lan Yuan from him. Brother and Uncle would never allow it and it is Brother's decision whether Lan Yuan continues to stay with him or not.

For the most part, Lan Wangji is certain that he has won this round with the Sect Elders until almost a month later when Lan Yuan asks to move out of the Jingshi and into the junior disciple dorms instead.

Lan Wangji hides his sadness as best as he can and allows his son to join the other disciples for the beginning of his more serious training, a multitude of feelings he cannot quite sparse through circling within him. Education is important. His son loves learning, he excels in all of his studies and he is happy. Lan Yuan is not leaving him. Lan Yuan is going to continue with his studies, strengthen his golden core, and grow up with Lan Jingyi by his side. Lan Jingyi would never allow Lan Yuan to be harmed. They are very close friends and Lan Wangji is glad that his son has someone who he can share whatever troubles he will not bring to Lan Wangji himself.

This is good. This is what is healthy for his son's development. Even if it hurts him, this is necessary for Lan Yuan to continue being happy as he grows up.

So Lan Wangji helps his son pack up a few of the belongings he wants to take with him, reassuring him that anything he leaves behind will be kept safe for him. That Lan Yuan can return to the Jingshi whenever he needs to. He escorts his son personally to the dorms, stopping at the door to kneel and pull his son in close for another hug.

Physical contact is still an issue for Lan Wangji but he made an effort for his son. Lan Yuan needed physical comfort when he first came to Cloud Recesses considering the fact that he was still recovering from his fever and malnutrition. Lan Wangji pushed his boundaries so he could hold his son close and rock him through his nightmares, imaging just how much better Wei Wuxian might have been at all of this until that hurt too much to think about. Now Lan Wangji has gotten so used to holding his son close that he tends to crave the simple intimacy of Lan Yuan’s small form curled against his chest more often than not.

Lan Yuan pulls back enough to kiss his forehead ribbon before he steps out of the embrace entirely. "I love you, Father."

Despite his mixed emotions, Lan Wangji smiles back at his son as well as he can manage to and leans forward to kiss his forehead ribbon in return. "I love you, A-Yuan."

After that, Lan Wangji spends most of his free time with Lan Yuan by burying his son under the soft fur of rabbits that Lan Yuan’s first father gifted to him as a teenager.

He cannot guess whether Lan Yuan now remembers the man in black and red that he used to call Xian-gege, but oftentimes Lan Wangji will see Wei Wuxian in the curve of Lan Yuan’s smile, in the sound of his laughter, in the steady grip of his sword. In the softness of his hair, the pout he rarely ever allows to grace his face when he is concentrating, the warmth in his eyes when he meets Lan Wangji’s gaze.

His grief has never left him and neither has his love for Lan Yuan’s first father but he hopes that he is doing well enough being Lan Yuan’s second father. He hopes that if Wei Wuxian were to ever come looking for his son, he would be proud of Lan Wangji for taking such good care of him and raising him as well as he ever could.

Lan Wangji had never originally planned to have children and he became certain of its improbability when he met Wei Wuxian. But then A-Yuan came into his life and the rest was decided from that point on.

It surprises no one when Lan Yuan’s courtesy name becomes Lan Sizhui.

Lan Wangji wonders if that says more about him than he has ever wanted to publicly share. After a brief stint of contemplation, he decides he does not care. He isn’t ashamed. He knows the Sect Elders are still looking for any excuse they can reasonably use to take Lan Wangji's parental rights over his son away from him. He also knows that others speak of how he behaves and looks as if he has lost a wife, how painful it must have been to lose Lan Sizhui’s mother so soon, how only his son has the power to draw him out of his heavy grief. They are wrong, of course, but they are also not.

Lan Wangji lost his soulmate, not a wife or his son’s mother.

At some point though, he ponders over what kind of impact his grief is having on Lan Sizhui.

“Do you want a mother, A-Yuan?” Lan Wangji asks one summer afternoon when Lan Sizhui is almost nine and they have just finished their noon meal in the Jingshi.

Lan Sizhui is of the mind that he is much too big to be called A-Yuan anymore but he allows Lan Wangji to call him that when they are alone. Lan Wangji uses it any time he can get away with it because his son’s first father would have and that is enough reason for him.

Lan Sizhui blinks up at him, confused. “I have a mother?”

“Yes,” Lan Wangji says because it is technically true, but then thinks better of it. “No, but you can if you want one.”

After all, Lan Wangji would set aside his vow of never marrying if it meant his son could know a mother’s love. He has never been interested in women before, especially not after he met Wei Wuxian, but he would marry one to give Lan Sizhui a mother.

He will always do whatever he has to for his son, even when it is difficult for him - especially when it is difficult for him. There are very few things Lan Wangji will not do for his son and marrying out of obligation isn't one of them.

“No. I have Father, I do not need a mother,” Lan Sizhui finally replies.

Lan Wangji smiles and reaches out to pat his son’s head, his veins burning with the force of his love and adoration when Lan Sizhui smiles back up at him. “A-Yuan is a good boy.”

Lan Sizhui leans into his touch, his smile growing until Lan Wangji feels like he is looking at a mirror image of his son’s first father in the brightness of his grin.

Lan Sizhui is eleven when he learns Inquiry on the guqin.

Lan Wangji listens to him play, correcting him when he strikes a wrong chord and does not allow his son to imbue any of the notes with spiritual power. He has played Inquiry a handful of times himself these past few years. No one has ever answered him before when he did.

Or to be simply put, Wei Wuxian has never answered him before.

Maybe Lan Sizhui honestly does not recall his Xian-gege anymore, but Lan Wangji isn't sure what he would do if Wei Wuxian were to ignore their son's questions as easily as he has ignored Lan Wangji's desperate and heartbroken ones.

No, simply playing the notes together like this is enough.

Some three years after that, Lan Wangji returns to the Jingshi after feeding the rabbits to find Lan Sizhui waiting for him on the steps.

Earlier that morning he had returned from another night hunt, his report already in Brother's hands by this point. He brought back a gift for Lan Sizhui, a new writing set since his current one was beginning to look worn and Lan Jingyi had told him that Lan Sizhui had mentioned wanting a new one. Lan Wangji had wanted to see his son immediately after arriving but Lan Sizhui was in the middle of his morning meditation at the time and would then have his lectures and sword training lessons to attend afterward. He was content with waiting until his son was free to give him his gift and kiss his forehead ribbon before returning to their regular schedules.

But as Lan Wangji approaches, he wishes he had gone to see his son earlier after all.

It takes him a moment to realize that Lan Sizhui is crying and has probably been crying for a while now if his swollen eyelids are anything to go by. The sight of this evidence alone is enough for anger to spark within Lan Wangji.

No one hurts his son.

"What happened." Lan Wangji demands, his voice searingly cold even as he tries in vain to keep it gentle for his son.

Lan Sizhui wipes the back of his hand under his eyes and stares down at his feet as he murmurs, "Hanguang-Jun."

Immediately, Lan Wangji freezes. Lan Sizhui calls him Father when they are alone or with family. He has never referred to Lan Wangji as Hanguang-Jun in private like this. His son has made it clear on multiple occasions that he heavily dislikes not being allowed to call him Father in public anymore. From time to time, he will slip up and then punish himself for it even though Lan Wangji would never try to enforce a punishment for Lan Sizhui calling him exactly what he is: his father.

Something must be terribly wrong.

"What happened." Lan Wangji repeats, even less gentle this time.

His son winces at his tone but continues to keep his gaze on his feet. Lan Wangji sighs under his breath and reaches down to pick up Lan Sizhui like he used to when he was much smaller. His son is substantially bigger at fourteen than he was as a toddler, but Lan Wangji barely acknowledges his weight while he stands back up. Lan Sizhui goes still in his embrace and remains stiff even when Lan Wangji walks into the Jingshi proper and sets his son down on the daybed he never got rid of after Lan Sizhui moved into the junior disciple dorms.

Lan Sizhui still has not met his gaze. Lan Wangji feels a terrible sensation grip his heart as his son stares dejectedly at the floor in a clear and complete silence that is too defined for Lan Wangji's taste.

"Tea?" Lan Wangji asks properly this time.

A tense moment passes before Lan Sizhui shakes his head.

"A-Yuan," Lan Wangji begins, pausing when Lan Sizhui winces. "Tell me what is wrong. Why are you crying?"

"I heard that you had returned this morning," Lan Sizhui says and it becomes Lan Wangji's turn to wince. His voice is hoarse, his pain undeniable. It hurts Lan Wangji something awful just listening to his son speak. "I was talking to Lan Jingyi about when I should come to see you and-"

Lan Wangji kneels in front of his son, his hands immediately finding Lan Sizhui's. "What happened, A-Yuan?"

Lan Sizhui winces again but attempts to speak anyway. "One of the Sect Elders... He said..."

Even though it feels as if a sword has run clear through him, Lan Wangji waits patiently for his son to continue. He has never been very patient, not exactly, but he learned how to be for Lan Sizhui. He learned a lot for the sake of his son.

"I think he thought we couldn't hear him, but he said... I-" Lan Sizhui tries again, cutting himself off with a hiccup.

Lan Wangji unfurls his son's clenched hands in his lap and looks directly into his face, relieved when Lan Sizhui finally meets his gaze. "A-Yuan."

Tears well up in the corners of his son's eyes, silently making their way down his face. The sight alone makes Lan Wangji lean in closer, holding his son's hands tight. Lan Sizhui's lips wobble, his expression on the verge of crumbling.

"You're not my father, are you?" Lan Sizhui asks, his voice as broken as Lan Wangji's heart feels.

Lan Wangji does not lie. He is incapable of lying directly. He can avoid and sidestep a question artfully, but he has never spoken an untruth. If people misunderstand his answers, that is through every fault of their own for not listening to the meaning behind his words.

"I am," Lan Wangji says simply.

If anything, this seems to make Lan Sizhui's tears increase in frequency. "No. You know what I mean. Please, tell me the truth."

Doesn't his son understand that Lan Wangji has already?

"I am your father," Lan Wangji repeats. "I am your father in everything but blood. You are my son. You are the boy I raised and love as my own because you are my own."

Lan Wangji is not good at speaking. Wei Wuxian was the one who rambled on and squeezed as many words as he could into a conversation. Wei Wuxian spoke as if he was running out of time and needed to say everything he had to say before his time was up. Lan Wangji still to this day does not know if Wei Wuxian somehow knew that he would die young, but regardless, Lan Wangji does his best to channel both what he means and what he says as he continues. Even if words are not one of his strengths, that won’t stop him from explaining everything to his son.

"Your birth parents had been dead for some time when I found you, but you were already mine, A-Yuan. I have never met either of them and yet I thank them both every day for bringing you into the world. You are not my son by blood, but you are my son in heart, soul, and everything else that truly matters. You are the shining light within your grandfather's eye and the warmth in your uncle's heart. And you are the single most important person in your father's life, A-Yuan," Lan Wangji confesses, feeling a weight he was previously unaware of lift from his shoulders as he speaks. "I love you, A-Yuan. I have always loved you. Your origins have never once conflicted with my love for you. You are my son and I will always be your father."

Lan Sizhui tips into his embrace as soon as he has finished speaking and sobs into his chest, no doubt rubbing tears and snot alike into Lan Wangji's robes. Lan Wangji doesn't mind. He kisses Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon and rocks him gently in his arms.

(Later, Brother will come into the Jingshi without knocking and will drop kisses across Lan Sizhui’s face. He will avoid Lan Sizhui’s forehead ribbon because only Lan Wangji has the right to touch it but Brother will silently and loudly reassure his son that he is the best nephew in the world and he loves him without fault as well. Lan Wangji will look upon this and smile in that way he only ever does with those he loves and kiss Lan Sizhui’s forehead again before Uncle sweeps into the Jingshi and joins their huddled forms right there on the floor.

But this will come later.)

For now, Lan Wangji simply holds his son close for as long as is needed and then some.

Lan Sizhui is almost sixteen when Brother orders Lan Wangji to take the junior disciples with him on his night hunt.

It is not the junior disciples’ first night hunt by far but it is their first night hunt with Hanguang-Jun. It is also Lan Wangji’s first night hunt with his son.

The night hunt is very simple. Some low-level corpses have been appearing in the woods around a small farming village not very far away from Caiyi Town. The corpses have been dragging unsuspecting villagers into the woods never to be seen again. A night hunt such as this should be relatively educating and safe enough to expose the junior disciples to.

Lan Wangji can understand why Brother wanted the disciples to accompany him, but it does nothing to dissuade the vague fear he holds for Lan Sizhui somehow being harmed.

He leads the way to the village on his sword, standing tall and stiff. Lan Sizhui is behind him to his right, Lan Jingyi mirroring his position on Lan Wangji’s left. The other juniors fan out behind them, expressions varying from excitement to deep concentration. Lan Sizhui appears calm, the corners of his mouth barely lifted upwards as they ride. Lan Jingyi is all smiles and laughter, joking around with Lan Sizhui and the other disciples alike.

(In a way, Lan Jingyi reminds Lan Wangji greatly of Wei Wuxian but now is not the time to focus on that.)

They arrive in the village quickly and discuss the situation with many of the villagers teeming about in what constitutes as their marketplace. Lan Wangji watches as Lan Sizhui suggests they make camp seeing as the village has no inn and none of the disciples object.

Cultivators from the Gusu Lan Sect are considered to be well-mannered and too overly polite to whine and complain as any other cultivator would. However, these are junior disciples and Lan Wangji knows how too often the young tend to forget themselves.

After all, Lan Wangji forgot himself and his place often enough once he met Wei Wuxian.

Still, the lack of protest surprises him but he does not allow it to show on his face. He quietly observes as Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi divide up the tasks between the disciples present and quickly have camp set up not too far into the woods where the villagers claim the corpses frequently emerge from.

By the end of the night, Lan Wangji is pleased to see his son and his son’s closest friend take charge and act as joint leaders while they successfully subdue the corpses.

It seems Lan Wangji has much to disclose in his report when they return to Cloud Recesses.

Lan Wangji fixes his son’s forehead ribbon and leans down to press a kiss on it.

“Remember to not wander,” Lan Wangji says as he pulls back.

Lan Sizhui’s face is flushed pink with mild embarrassment, less round than it was as a child but he is nineteen now and his smile is easy, remaining the same as it ever has been. “Yes, Father.”

The other juniors are watching, probably planning to poke fun at Lan Sizhui later when the revered Hanguang-jun is out of earshot. Lan Wangji isn’t worried about this, he knows that none of the juniors do this to hurt his son. If they did, Lan Jingyi would have done something about it already or come to Lan Wangji himself if he could not.

(No one would dare harm Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s son anyway for fear of torture, death, and then possession. Lan Wangji could not protect Lan Sizhui’s first father, but he will not fail in protecting their son.)

Everyone knows Lan Wangji loves his son more than life itself. There is no shame in showing what is already a proven fact. There is no rule against speaking truths when others are not present.

So he allows the corners of his mouth to hint at lifting upwards before his expression returns to blank calm. “I will be nearby. Use the flares only for emergencies.”

“Yes, Father,” Lan Sizhui repeats.

Lan Wangji holds his hand out and Lan Sizhui drops his qiankun pouch wordlessly into it. Another moment passes as Lan Wangji looks through the pouch and assures himself that his son will have everything he needs for the first night hunt he will lead without a senior disciple accompanying them. He nods in approval once he is done and returns the qiankun pouch to his son, patting Lan Sizhui’s head once.

“I await your report,” Lan Wangji murmurs before he steps back so his son may rejoin the other juniors behind him.

“Thank you, Father,” Lan Sizhui says with a bow, smiling as he straightens and walks until he is alongside Lan Jingyi.

When they first left Cloud Recesses that morning, Lan Wangji felt anxious for some reason. No matter what set of robes he put on or how hard he held Bichen’s sheath, he could not resolve the shaky feeling in his chest that gripped his heart painfully when he thought of Lan Sizhui. He had packed quickly once something tried to push him towards the door, relief fluttering through him when that same sensation led him straight to Cloud Recesses’ entrance where the juniors were readying to depart.

During the sword ride here, that feeling would not allow him to keep his gaze away from Lan Sizhui for too long. His son was flying calmly by his side, expression serene as the sun began to rise and they passed towns and forests alike under them. He was bright, filled with the gentle happiness of his life and quiet excitement to be in charge of a night hunt for the very first time. If Lan Wangji happened to glance at him from the corner of his eye, he could have sworn that he was seeing Lan Sizhui’s first father in his place instead.

Now they are here, on the edges of Mo Village, and Lan Wangji feels calm. Calmer than he has felt in a long time. Lan Sizhui looks back at him once, smiling and waving before the disciples round the bend in the path.

Lan Wangji watches them disappear from sight, feeling an all-too-familiar sensation caress his cheek gently before it leaves him be for the very last time.

Deep within Mo Village, someone wakes up in a shed.

a/n #2: thanks for reading! i have more mdzs content in the works, but in the meantime, feel free to send requests or headcanons to my inbox!

#dad lan wangji #dad!lan wangji #dad lwj #dad!lwj #wangxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #mdzs #cql #the untamed #series #f:mdzs #g:angst #g:fluff #t:oneshot #p:lan wangji&wen yuan #p:lan wangji/wei wuxian #s:acbty #m: fic

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honibee-arts · 4 years

Note

Wen Qing has been alive the entire time, and Jiang Cheng is the last to find out. What does our disaster boy do? And what does Wen Qing do when he produces the comb again out of nowhere (a la Chenqing in episode 50)?

Jiang Cheng grit his teeth and sighed as he wandered through the crowded streets of Yiling. Since the first siege, the people regarded him with an understandable wariness and unease. He could feel the eyes bearing into the dark violet fabric of his cloak, trying not to watch as a mother huddled her child closer to her side and out of his way. It was easy to forget at sometimes that most outside of Yunmeng and Lanling feared him to some degree. With all the lofty titles and accolades, he had undoubtedly sacrificed some of humanity. The price of becoming the Sandu Sengshou.

Really, he knew he should not be in Yiling.

Jin Ling was too old for Jiang Cheng to follow him on his night hunts, and Wen Ning had proven himself somewhat trustworthy after ensuring Jin Ling returned to Lotus Pier unscathed on multiple occasions. After watching his sisters heart shatter upon the death of her husband, only to hold her in her arms as she drew her last breath, then have to listen Lan Wangji’s cries as his brother threw himself off that cliff edge in Nightless City, Jiang Cheng would say his paranoia was justified.

Jin Ling was his only family left aside from the complicated relationship he now had with Wei Wuxian, denying himself the chance to grieve the man who was once his brother and the woman he once loved as a boy, who sacrificed herself in his name.

Sometimes he thought he saw her, her wide, brown doe eyes under the hood of a travellers cloak, but when he looked back, she would be gone, and his heart would ache anew behind the comb he still kept in his robes all these years. In his thought, his shoulder bumped with someone smaller than him, pushing a soft grunt from him.

“Forgive me, sir. I was not watching where I was going.” The small woman said softly, steadying herself on his arm.

That voice !-

“Are you alright?” He asked gruffly, reaching to help her, only for her to pull away from him pointedly.

“I don’t need your pity, sir.” she said sharply, keeping her head bowed.

It couldn’t be...

He felt stupid to hope, the longing such an alien feeling after so long of denying himself it. Without thinking, he reached for her hood, only for a smaller, slender hand to clamp his wrist in a bruising grip. He grit his teeth and winced. It was too late though, he had nudged the hood just enough that it fell back onto her shoulders, and sure enough, those wide reddish brown eyes were glaring up at him.

“Wen-Guniang...” He said dumbly, eyes wide in shock. “You’re... You’re alive...”

She ripped her hand away from him, shoving him back and pulled her hood back up, pushing through the sea of people and through the main street. He was losing her.

No!

He grit his teeth and gripped Sandu tightly, weaving through the crowd, eyes trained on the smaller, black cloaked hooded figure. He couldn’t lose her, not again.

“HEY!” he shouted, mumbling an awkward apology to the old man he almost ran into. “Hey! Stop running! Come back!”

He followed her into the thick, dead forests that lead toward the Burial Mounds, nearly tripping up over the gnarled, exposed roots as she weaved expertly around them.

“WEN-GUNIANG!” he shouted after her.

He was too old to run after women like this. He should have given up when he’d been blacklisted. He stopped against a tree trunk to catch his breath, wincing in pain. The wounds from Guanyin Temple had never quite healed right, both physically and mentally. He cursed as he tasted the all too familiar tang of blood on his lips.

What was it with the Burial Mounds and making him cough up blood? Every time he came here he always wound up coughing it up in some way or another. He sighed tiredly, catching his breath for a minute before marching on. She can’t have gone much further.

“You’re staggering.” she said steadily, appearing from nowhere and pressing her hand to his abdomen.

“Gah! Gods, woman! You run away from me and then appear out of fucking nowhere?” He jerked back, feeling mildly scandalised to say the least.

“Shut up, there’s blood on your lips. What did you do now?”

“What did I do?! What did you do?! You’ve been dead for 20 years! What is it with Wei Wuxian and his friends and not staying dead?!”

“Believe me, you wouldn’t want to know. Open your robes so I can see the damage.” she deadpanned.

“The fuck?! I’m fine! Don’t try and medically violate me again! I know about my golden core!”

“Yes, A-Ning mentioned that.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop screeching and let me see, I’m not going to sedate you unless I need to.”

“That’s fucking reassuring!”

She shoved his back against the three trunk, gripping the front of his robes and forcing them open, exposing his chest and abdomen. He made a startled sound, feeling his face and neck burn as she studies the stitches and scars on his chest and abdomen, pressing her hand against a particularly fresh wound on his hip.

“A-Ning mentioned the little bastard injured you... Should have healed by now if you rested enough. Knowing you though...”

“The fuck was that supposed to mean?!”

Unbeknown to the pair, the comb that was usually in Jiang Cheng’s pocket had fallen to the ground, lying by their feet as the snapped at each other, Jiang Cheng failing miserably to conceal his mortification that the object of his adolescent affections had shoved him against a tree trunk in a desolate burial mound and began to - medically, Jiang Cheng reminded himself, medically - feel up his bare torso after pulling his damn robes open.

“You and your stupid brother are too thick headed to rest properly after injury or surgery. The idiot got up and started walking around again after I had pulled his golden core out and stitched him up, and he’d been awake the entire time. Yunmeng men, I swear. There is something seriously wrong with your brains.” She huffed, pressing diligent fingers against his abdomen, checking his core. “You need to be careful, if you continue as you are, carrying as much resentment as you, you risk deviation.”

“I... I know...” He mumbled, ashamed. It was difficult to let go and forgive after all these years aching alone. Still so many unanswered questions, new grudges, fresh wounds.

“Jiujiu?”

Jiang Cheng startled and pushed Wen Qing away, pulling his robes shut.

“What the hell are you doing here? It’s too dangerous for you to be here.” He questioned his nephew.

“I’m not a child! You would have died in the second siege if it weren’t for us!” Jin Ling snapped back. Jiang Cheng felt his migraine come back. “What are you doing here anyway? Were you following me again?”

“No!”

“Then why are you in Yiling?”

“Why are you in Yiling?!”

“Answer the question!”

“Don’t talk back to me!”

“Or what?”

“I’ll break your legs!”

“Pah! I’m not scared of you, you’d never actually hurt me!”

“Will everyone just stop shouting? Please?” Pleaded Lan Sizhui, stepping into the forest with Wen Ning, Lan Jingyi and Ouyang Zizhen in tow. “We were in the area and I just wanted to visit my cousins and pick up some medicine from Auntie Qing, okay? Ba got sick again, his core still isn’t strong enough.”

“Hold on... Jin Ling. You knew Wen-guniang was still alive?” Jiang Cheng asked, brow furrowing.

“Uh, yeah. We all do.” He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes, hugging Suihua against his chest. Jiang Cheng felt his heart twinge at how similar he looked to his father.

“All of you?”

“Yeah. Jin Ling was getting so desperate on his wife search for you he insisted to tag along to beg Wen-guniang to be your wife.” Lan Jingyi snorted, earning an elbow in the ribs from Ouyang Zizhen.

“Jin Rulan.”

“Uh oh, he’s using the courtesy name.” Lan Jingyi commented.

“What the hell is he talking about.”

“Nothing!”

“He’s a Lan, Lan’s don’t lie. Tell me. Now.”

“Do you seriously think he abides by their 50,000 rules?”

“4136 actually.” Lan Sizhui added.

“There’s more?” Wen Qing asked.

“Shufu keeps making rules to stay away from Ba.”

“Rules I would happily follow if Lan Qiren didn’t curse my name every time he needs me to heal one of his disciples.”

“Lan Qiren knows?!”

#wen qing #jiang wanyin #jiang cheng #Chengqing #cheng qing ling #The untamed #mo dao zhu shi #mdzs #ship prompts

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dinomight · 4 years

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So consider: AU where Yanli miraculously survives her wound at the Nightless City—but no one realizes until after Wei Wuxian falls

Jiang Cheng goes back to Yanli after coming down from the cliff, lost, holding back tears. In one fell swoop, he’s lost both of his siblings, and he doesn’t know what to do now. He doesn’t really know what he’s thinking when he reaches her body, only that he’s confused why Lan Xichen is kneeling over her, fingers reached out, blue light connecting with her forehead—

Lan Xichen looks up, eyes wide, and says, “She’s alive.”

The world stops, and then slowly, slowly, begins turning again. (He wonders, now, later, what would’ve happened if he’d reached down and helped Lan Wangji pull his brother up. If he’d just known.)

Jiang Cheng still searches the cliffs. Still participates in the siege of the Burial Mounds. But he hopes to find his brother alive, not dead.

It takes awhile for Yanli to wake up, after. When she finds out about Wei Wuxian, she nearly opens both of her wounds again with the force of her cries.

She asks who killed him, and they all say Jiang Cheng.

He doesn’t deny it.

She leaves, heartbroken and angry, and tries to find Lan Wangji, so she can hear what happened. What her brother’s final moments were like. But when she finds out he’s been banished to the back hill for three years of isolation, Yanli doesn’t have any choice but to go back to the Carp Tower.

She spends the next three years raising her son alone and holding her tongue. The entire world believes that Wei Wuxian was responsible for everything that happened, and even though she knows in her heart that isn’t true, she doesn’t have the proof.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t visit her or send any letters. She doesn’t try, either.

She can’t go searching herself, can’t leave her son, but she sends out people to search for Wei Wuxian in secret. Every time they come back with empty hands, her heart breaks a little more.

After three years have passed, she makes a trip to the Cloud Recesses. She says it’s to visit with Lan Xichen, keep the relationship between the Lan and Jin clans strong, but when she arrives, Lan Xichen only exchanges a mere greeting with her before leading her to Lan Wangji’s chambers.

Yanli and Lan Wangji sit down for tea, and eventually, in halting, quiet words, he tells her everything that happened. How Wei Wuxian, distraught and hopeless, let himself fall. How hard he tried to hold on to him. How Jiang Cheng raised his sword but couldn’t drive the killing blow.

It’s too much. She has to leave. But as she approaches the door, Lan Wangji says quietly, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

Yanli stops. She knows there’s nothing she can say that will ease his guilt, so instead she turns and says, “You love him.”

It’s not a question, but he nods.

She smiles. Not big, not like she used to, but it’s still genuine. “That is enough.”

It’s not too long of a journey from the Cloud Recesses to Lotus Pier, thankfully. Yanli finds Jiang Cheng on the docks. He stays quiet as she approaches. She stops a few feet away and asks, eyes filled with tears, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

They hug for awhile, both of them crying, both of them feeling the weight of being two instead of three.

Yanli stays in Lotus Pier for a few weeks, taking Jin Rulan all over. She knows he won’t remember most of this, but it’s special anyways. And while she’s there, her and Jiang Cheng talk, a lot.

He’s still angry at Wei Wuxian. Even if he wasn’t directly responsible for Lin Zixuan’s death—which Jiang Cheng isn’t as convinced of as Yanli—it was his amulet and his ‘crafty tricks’ that made the situations possible. (And he won’t say it, but Yanli knows: their brother’s secession from the Jiang clan hurt him, deeply. The Twin Heroes of Yunmeng, she remembers overhearing. The hurt of a broken promise doesn’t heal easily. She would know.)

Regardless of his feelings, Jiang Cheng still agrees to continue searching for Wei Wuxian, just in case. Yanli leaves Lotus Pier feeling lighter, even if her grief still weighs on her.

On her way back to Carp Tower, she runs into Mianmian. Yanli’s escort encourages her to keep moving, but they reconnect quickly and she insists on staying there for a few days. Mianmian is one of the few people left who knew Jin Zixuan personally, deeply, and is willing to talk about him. They laugh and cry for hours.

It’s on her third day there that an incident happens in the village. A restless, violent spirit. Mianmian is the only cultivator around, so she goes to face it on her own, and Yanli follows.

Her intent is just to watch, make sure that Mianmian doesn’t get hurt, but when the spirit knocks out Mianmian and comes after her, Yanli doesn’t have any choice but to pick up the sword and fight. It’s hard, but she was there when her brothers trained for most of their childhood, and she remembers some of their lessons, just enough to survive.

Yanli can’t stay forever, but Mianmian convinces her to come back every few months so she can train her formally in cultivation.

The years pass. There’s no sign of Wei Wuxian, and Yanli begins to accept that he’s not coming back. Still, her son grows older, and Jiang Cheng sends her letters, and Mianmian keeps training her.

She visits Lan Wangji every once in awhile, when she receives word that he’s taken a break from travelling and returned to Cloud Recesses. He’s still quiet and mournful, but they talk quite a bit. They trade stories about Wei Wuxian, Yanli’s being about their childhood and Lan Wangji’s being about their adventures.

One visit, six years after the Nightless City, he tells her about the first time he saw the Burial Mounds. About Yuan, her brother’s adopted son. She nearly cries over finding out that she has a nephew, but her smile fades when she remembers what became of the Wen clan. She stares at her tea, long cold, and says, “But he’s dead, now.”

Lan Wangji is silent for a moment. And then he stands, and, wordlessly, leads Yanli to a spot in the back hill where a handful of the young disciples are playing. One of the boys nearly trips over a rock, and Lan Wangji calls out, “Careful, A-Yuan.”

The boy stands up and immediately dips into a proper bow before running off after his friends. Yanli steps forward, tears gathering in her eyes, but Lan Wangji holds a hand out.

“He doesn’t remember where he came from, and he cannot know. If anyone were to find out, he could be killed.”

Yanli hesitates, desperate to hold onto the last scrap of her brother, but she nods, and leaves without saying a word to the boy. And if Yuan receives anonymous gifts every once in awhile, a few candies or a small toy, well. She certainly isn’t responsible for that.

Rulan begins learning cultivation, and with it, comes questions. About his father, about the Yiling Patriarch everyone says is responsible for his death. Yanli tells him the truth, but even his mother’s voice can’t outweigh the dozens of others. He still has his doubts, none of which are helped by his uncle’s unsubtle hatred of demonic cultivation practices.

When Jin Guangshan dies and Jin Guangyao takes over, Yanli can’t quite put her finger on what’s wrong, but she knows something is. So she decides to keep a close, close eye on Jin Guangyao. Easy enough, when most people assume she’s just a fragile widow. Funny how so many forget that her mother was Madam Yu, wielder of Zidian, and her brother, even if he wasn’t the evil monster everyone makes him out to be, was still the powerful Yiling Patriarch.

So, the years pass, and pass, and pass. Yanli misses her husband and her brother every day, but it becomes like scar tissue, rather than an open wound. Something she can bear.

When Mo Xuanyu is banished from the Jin clan, Yanli has a feeling. She doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but it feels like something is about to change.

And then it does.

Things still go the same, at first. Wei Wuxian insults Jin Ling’s maternal education, and Jin Ling draws his bow, because despite her prestige, Yanli’s subtle defense of her brother and her frequent visits to Lan Wangji and the small village close to Lanling are often the source of many rumors, and he will not stand people slandering his mother anymore than she already has been.

To the outside world, Jiang Cheng’s hatred of the Yiling Patriarch is well known, and he hasn’t talked to Lan Wangji personally in over a decade, so Lan Wangji still saves Wei Wuxian and takes him back to the Cloud Recesses. But as soon as he gets back, he sends a message to Yanli.

After helping the Grand Master get the sword spirit under control again, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji walk outside, and right into Yanli.

They stare at each other, for a few moments. He thinks she’s a hallucination, but then she smiles, tears streaming down her face, and throws her arms around him.

“I’ve missed you so much, Xian,” she sobs, and they collapse down onto the wood, still gripping each other, hanging on like the other might disappear at any moment.

They don’t have as much time to talk as Yanli wants. There’s a mystery to solve, and her son and younger brother to scold, and a Jin sect leader whose actions lately are becoming more and more hidden and suspicious.

She doesn’t want to let them go, but she has to. Even with her cultivation skills, if Yanli were to accompany them, it would draw dangerous attention to Lan Wangji. But she makes them promise to keep constant contact with her.

When they attend the banquet at Carp Tower, Yanli is able to help them navigate Jin Guangyao’s private quarters and make their way into the vault with the knowledge she already had from keeping a close eye on him.

And everything goes to shit anyways, because of course it does, but when Wei Wuxian is discovered, Lan Wangji is not the only one who stands by his side.

She and Jin Ling go back with them to the Cloud Recesses, but they separate after discussing Jin Guangyao’s betrayal. She takes Jin Ling to go to Lotus Pier and find Jiang Cheng, and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian go to the Burial Mounds. On her way, though, Jin Ling sneaks off, and without any idea of where he’s going, Yanli has no choice but to keep going to Lotus Pier.

She’s there when everyone gathers there. She’s there when Jin Ling skulks in, ready to scold him. She’s there when Jin Guangyao’s secrets are exposed. And she’s there when Jiang Cheng, swirling with anger and guilt, confronts Wei Wuxian, and the secret of his golden core is revealed.

Yanli cries, and she doesn’t stop Lan Wangji when he takes Wei Wuxian away. She follows Jiang Cheng instead, stops him after he asks a third person to unsheathe Suibian, pulls him to a private place and holds him as he cries, too. (She realizes, sixteen years too late, that her brother kept his promise to her. That technically, a piece of him has been with them the whole time.)

She goes with Jiang Cheng to the temple, but she’s no more resistant to Jin Guangyao’s manipulations than her brother is. He asks if she feels guilty about the death of her husband, about how he went out there to make her happy, and in the split second where she hesitates, he pulls a wire around her son’s neck and forces both her and Jiang Cheng to lock their spiritual energy.

Then Su She’s curse marks are revealed.

Yanli burns.

When the battle finally turns and Jin Guangyao is defeated, it’s not Lan Xichen who stabs him, and it’s not on accident. It’s Yanli, who has spent sixteen years mourning her husband, sixteen years mourning her brother, sixteen years trying to hold onto the family she has left. She drives her sword through his heart, and she closes her eyes, and she prays this will mark the end of her hatred.

Wei Wuxian leaves to travel the world. Need to taste all the different alcohols, he says to Yanli with a grin. She makes him promise to write her letters, and he does.

Despite his age, Jin Ling is technically the heir to the Jin throne. But Yanli refuses to let her son face these struggles alone, and she’s far more skilled in politics and negotiation than anyone expected. So even though he’s the sworn leader, Yanli is there to teach and guide him through the beginning of it.

After a year, she receives a letter from Wei Wuxian saying that he’s returning, and he’ll come to Janling after he stops in Gusu. She should be mad, really, that he wouldn’t come see her right away, but she has a sneaking suspicion about what he’s doing first.

The ceremony is small, hidden away in the private woods of the back hill in the Cloud Recesses. Only a few people were invited. Yanli is there, and so are Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui, and Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng. It doesn’t take long—her brother’s never been a patient man, so it’s only a short amount of time before Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are husbands. Yanli smiles and hugs Wei Wuxian, and after a moment, Jiang Cheng’s arms wrap around both of them too.

and everybody lives happily ever after :)

#the untamed #cql #jiang yanli #yanli #long post #a lot of other characters that i'm not gonna tag #holy shit this got SO much longer than i thought it was gonna be #oof #my writing

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

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The Once & Future Queen Pt.7

Camelot. Castle Gates. Night. (Standing outside the castle gates, Henry waits for Regina. Checking his watch, Henry decides to enter the town and find out what is keeping his mother.) Streets of Camelot. (Henry walks down the street carrying a torch. He hears a Dorocha approaching and finds a frozen-faced guard laying on the ground. Then he sees Regina lying near the guard.) Henry: “Mom!” (Dropping the torch, Henry hurries to his mother’s side, checking for signs of life. As he pulls Regina into his arms, a Dorocha charges Henry from behind. Defenseless, Henry braces for the inevitable but suddenly Regina raises her hand at the last moment, hurling a fireball at the spirit, causing it to disappear.) Regina: (Staring up at Henry, her voice hoarse:) “Let’s go home.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (Mulan and Emma stand in the forest waiting for the fairies.) Mulan: "I still don't see how you could be so reckless. If you could’ve just kept it in your pants for a little longer, we would all be home by now." Emma: "Really? You think it's my fault we're here? Who was it that let Mordred get by them while they were on duty, huh? How about you talk about keeping it in your own damn pants!" Mulan: "All right, fine, I screwed up. But now Regina clearly has feelings for you so how are we supposed to leave here without breaking her heart and jeapardising our timeline?" Emma: (Her tone cold:) "You just concentrate on being where you're supposed to be and let me worry about my wife." Marketplace. (Regina makes her way through the town towards the tavern. Aladdin, who has successfully managed to ply his trade as a pickpocket amid his new surroundings, watches Regina as she passes. Ducking into a side street to count his haul of stolen items, Aladdin stumbles upon a conversation between a young girl and a stern sounding man.) Snow White: "I have reason to believe there is a plot against the King going on beneath your very nose, Sheriff." Sheriff: "My lady, I assure you nothing escapes my notice." Snow White: "Really? Then how was my stepmother able to travel to your part of town undetected?" Sheriff: "I'm sure the Queen is very capable when she puts her mind to something." Snow White: "The Queen has a suitor she meets regularly. I don't know who it is, but I tracked Regina down to a tavern once, I forget the name. Maybe you should start there?" Sheriff: "A tavern you say? (His eyes light up:) Oh I believe I know exactly where to start my search." (Listening in the shadows, Aladdin leaves his ill-gotten goods behind and hurries to warn the others.)

Seas of Meredor. Present. Morning. (Guinevere, Lancelot, Xena, Gabrielle and the Knights continue their journey.) Lancelot: (Looking out from a cliff edge:) “The Isle of the Blessed.” (The group take the ferryman’s boat to the isle and hear some screeching along the way.) Isle of the Blessed. (Stepping onto the isle, the screeching gets louder.) Sir Leon: “What is that?” (They all draw their swords.) Sir Gwaine: “I really hope I’m wrong.” (A wyvern flies down at them.) Lancelot: “Wyvern!” (More wyverns attack. Bedivere falls to the ground as he gets slashed.) Sir Bedivere: “You’re right!” (Xena steps over the fallen man and defends him from further attack.) Gabrielle: “Xena! The chakram!” (Taking the weapon from her belt, Xena tosses the chakram to Gabrielle. Taking aim, Gabrielle hurls the razor sharp disc. Ricocheting off two walls, the chakram takes a slice out of each wyvern before returning to Gabrielle’s waiting hand.) Sir Gwaine: (Breathing heavy:) “See? That’s how you deal with them.” Guinevere: “We need to keep moving.” (They enter another passage and more wyverns fly overhead.) Sir Leon: “Your Majesty, you must go on! We’ll fend them off!” Xena: “He’s right, we’ve got this.” (Xena, Gabrielle, Leon, Bedivere and Elyan remain outside to handle the wyverns while Guinevere, Lancelot and Gwaine continue forward.) Sir Gwaine: “Good luck.”

Altar. (Lancelot leads Gwaine and Guinevere toward the stone altar to find the Cailleach waiting for them.) Cailleach: “It is not often we have visitors.” Lancelot: “Put an end to this.” Guinevere: “I demand you heal the tear between the two worlds.” Cailleach: “It was not I who created this horror. Why should it be I that stops it?” Guinevere: “Because innocent people are dying.” Cailleach: “Indeed. (Cailleach laughs maniacally. Gwaine charges her with his sword raised. She throws him back with magic, knocking him out:) Is this the best you can do?” Lancelot: “I know what you want.” Cailleach: “Do you? And are you willing to let me have it?” Lancelot: “I’m prepared to pay whatever price is necessary.” (Cailleach motions for Lancelot to come to her. Lancelot walks resolutely toward her but is stopped by Guinevere.) Guinevere: “Stop. I can’t let you do this.” Lancelot: “I must. The Siege Perilous has remained empty for too long.” Guinevere: “You’re doing this for a chair?” Lancelot: (Chuckles:) “No, I’m doing this for Camelot. And you are Camelot, Guinevere.” Guinevere: “How can I live and rule without you?” Lancelot: “The same way you do everything. With dignity, compassion and grace.” (They kiss. Taking Guinevere’s hand, they approach the altar together to stand beside Cailleach.) Cailleach: “So, Lancelot, will you give yourself to the spirits to save your people?” Lancelot: “It is my destiny.” Cailleach: “Perhaps. But your time among men is not yet over, even if you want it to be.” (Lancelot is confused. Cailleach looks at the tear in the veil and both Guinevere and Lancelot follow her gaze. Robin Hood is standing at the brink. He looks back at them with a smile and then walks into the shrieking veil.) Guinevere: “No!” (The veil closes. Guinevere and Lancelot now stand alone with the unconscious Gwaine at their feet.)

Robin’s Tavern. Past. (Robin stands alone in the tavern as the Sheriff arrives with some of his men.) The Sheriff: "Business a little slow? Well, I hope that didn't prevent you from making the money that you owe.” Robin Hood: “I don't have any money for you.” The Sheriff: “Well, normally I’d say debtor's prison would be a fine place for you to think about what you've done, but there may be another way for you to clear your debts.” Robin Hood: “I’m flattered, but you’re not my type.” The Sheriff: “Funny man. No, I thought you may want to avoid jail by handing over the Queen’s lover.” Robin Hood: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The Sheriff: “My spies tell me you have two new occupants upstairs so there’s no point denying it. The princess would also be most grateful for your co-operation in this matter.” Robin Hood: “Is that so?” The Sheriff: “Yes, indeed.” Robin Hood: “Hm. Well that’s where you and me are different, Sheriff. I would never sell out my friends. But then again, I don’t suppose you have any?” (Before the Sheriff can reply, Marian and the Merry Men surround him.) The Sheriff: “Brigands! Seize them!” (Outnumbered, his men do not move.) Robin Hood: “You were right about me, Nottingham. Thieving is in my blood. But how to be a thief with honour? I think I've learned the answer... By stealing from those who have too much and giving it to those who have too little.” Meanwhile... (Having been warned by Aladdin and gathered their meager belongings, Mulan and Emma climb out of their adjacent bedroom windows and jump down to the street below. Taking a moment to wave farewell to Robin, they make a run for it back towards the forest.) Regina: (Calling out:) "Emma!" Emma: "Regina!" Regina: "What's going on?" Emma: "It's Snow, she's called the cops on us." Regina: (Frowns:) "The cops?" Mulan: "She means the Sheriff and his men." Emma: "Robin's holding him off for now, but we won't have long." Mulan: "We have to go, now!" Regina: "Go? Go where?" Emma: "Into the forest. Tinker Bell should be waiting for us there by now." Regina: "But..." Mulan: "Emma, come on! (With her head telling her that she shouldn't, but knowing in her heart that she must, Emma grabs Regina's hand and pulls her along with them:) What the hell are you doing?!" Emma: "Just shut up and keep running!"

Morgana’s Hovel. Present. (Morgana screams and smashes some of her possessions.) Agravaine: “They were lucky.” Morgana: “And Regina?” Agravaine: “It was only by chance that her son found her.” Morgana: “No, you’re wrong. We were not thwarted by luck, it was Merlin!” Agravaine: “Merlin?” Morgana: “The Cailleach warned me about him. She said he was my destiny and my doom. It was he that thwarted us, I’m sure of it.” Agravaine: “So what’s to be done?” Morgana: “As long as he exists, I will never gain what is rightfully mine. (Morgana turns to Agravaine:) You must help me find this Merlin. And destroy him.” (Morgana steps away and Agravaine takes in a breath. Walking over to the other side of the hovel, Agravaine peers down what appears to be a large pit. At the bottom of the pit sits Drizella, who is shivering. Picking up a blanket, Agravaine tosses it down to her before turning to leave. Grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around herself, Drizella thinks about what she’s just overheard.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. (Running deep into the forest, Emma, Regina and Mulan stop for breath.) Emma: "Where the hell are they?" Mulan: "What does it matter? We can't leave like this." Tiger Lily: (Stepping out from behind some trees:) "I'm afraid we can't leave at all." (Tiger Lily steps aside to reveal Tinker Bell, who lowers her hood.) Tinker Bell: "Blue took my wings. I'm so sorry, you guys." Regina: "Took your wings? Because of the parade?" Tinker Bell: "I assume so. She said I had discipline issues." Mulan: "Well that's just great. Now how the hell are we supposed to get home?" Tiger Lily: "Mulan..." Mulan: "No! You said you could train Tink and get her ready. You knew this would happen and still you wouldn't use the wand to get us home." Tiger Lily: "We agreed that-" Mulan: "I didn't agree! I asked you the very first night whether you could use Tink's wand and you said it would be better to train her to do it. Well is this better?!" Emma: "It wouldn't have mattered-" Mulan: "And you!" Regina: (Stepping forward:) "Hey! (Shoving Mulan backwards:) Back off!" (Mulan instinctively moves towards her, but stops when Regina conjures a fireball into her hand.) Emma: "All right, that's enough. I need to think." Mulan: "Ha! Just try to think with your head this time and not with what's between your legs." (Letting her emotions get the best of her, Emma emits a pulse of energy, knocking Mulan backwards onto the ground. Both fairies rush to check on her.) Regina: "Emma... you have magic?" Emma: (Awkwardly:) "Yeah..." Regina: "Why didn't you tell me?" Emma: (Sighs:) "There's a lot I haven't told you. A lot I can't tell you, but know this... I have never loved anyone like-" Snow White: "There they are!" (All eyes turn towards Snow White as she rides in at the head of an entire platoon of palace guards.) Snow White: "Seize them! They have the Queen!" Emma: "Oh god, what do we do?" Regina: "Go. Run, I'll hold them off." Emma: "But what-" Regina: "I've seen how this turns out. I've already lost one love because of that child, I will not lose another." Emma: "Regina, you’ll never lose me." Regina: "Please! I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you. (Realising they have no choice, Emma grabs Regina and pulls her in for one last kiss:) I'll love you forever." Emma: (Gripping Regina's hands in her own:) "Meet me in Storybrooke." (Holding on for as long as she can before the guards reach them, Emma finally releases Regina's hands and joins the others. Regina watches breathlessly while several riders speed past her. Catching one last glimpse of Emma, Regina smiles at her just as Emma uses her magic to poof them all out of sight. Still smiling at the spot where Emma vanished, Regina's demeanour quickly hardens when Snow White catches up to her.) Snow White: "Regina, are you all right?" Regina: (Wiping away her tears:) "I'm fine." Snow White: "You're safe now." Regina: (Nods:) "Yes, she is." Snow White: “What did you say?” Regina: “I said, thank you.” (Regina smiles up at her, but there is no warmth behind her eyes. All that is left is coldness and heartbreak.)

#sq #swanqueen #swan queen

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gabriel4sam · 4 years

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Rex, Duke Consort of Mandalore

Order 66 breaks the galaxy and everything Rex ever knew. Desperate, grieving Cody, Obi-Wan, his General, his brothers lost because of the chip, he takes Ahsoka and runs to the only place with a chance of standing against the Empire: Mandalore. Mandalore and its Duchesse.

Under the cut, a fic for the awesome @wrennette

You really should read her work with Rex, Cody, Obi-wan and Satine, because i’s a delight!

The Republic burned.

The Republic burned and Rex and Ahsoka ran from their men, who had gone in a few seconds from searching for Maul with them in the Outer Rim to trying to murder the former Padawan.

The Republic was no more.

The Jedi were no more.

Desperate, feeling himself responsible for the young Tortuga, even if she insisted it was the other way, Rex only thought of one way to turn.

Mandalore.

Mandalore….Why choose Mandalore?

Well, it was one of the only worlds he had visited that wasn't somehow on fire at the time. It was backed up by all the Neutral party subsisting. It was strong, it was very much not the type to open the door to a tyrant from another world.

And more important, it was the only world where he knew personally the leader.

As the long way to the planet passed, Rex asked himself numerous times if he was right. Would Satine even remember him? It had been almost one year ago and so much had come to pass in that time.

In his memory, she was a moment of pleasure, a harbour. Of course, there had been other pleasures. Since the moment Cody and Obi-Wan had become an item, he had been invited in their bunk regularly, and there had been other experiences. But that night, that single perfect night, Satine, Cody, Obi-Wan and him, was a clear memory, a warm coal against the shadows of war.

Perhaps it had been different for her. Perhaps Cody and he had just been a kinky game between Obi-Wan and herself, a naughty night with sex toys...

No, he didn't really believe it. He knew that what Cody and Obi-Wan had, that had been real, had been love.

That's why the idea that one of the two had probably killed the other hurt so deep. He had tried to com them once, before Ahsoka and he had to throw away their comms and there had been no answer. If Cody had killed Obi-Wan, his eyes empty, with that damn sentence on his lips like the brothers who had tried to kill Ahsoka.... good soldiers follow orders. What did that even mean?

Or if Obi-Wan had killed Cody in self-defence?

The Commander had always been just one step behind the Jedi, guarding his back, after all. And all over the galaxy, vode had killed the Jedi that had their back to them. Next to him, Ahsoka was sleeping, exhaustion having finally beaten her, after days where she had been almost delirious, Seeing and Feeling things Rex couldn’t guard her off.

He touched carefully the bandage on her shoulder. Blood stained it, but it was dry. He examined the stain. No, it didn’t seem it had started to bleed again. The memory came back, the noise his brother’s had made when Rex had put a blaster charge in his skull, to save Ashoka’s life.

He had been a shiny, without a proper name yet.

With a sigh, Rex put his head against the shuttle wall and regretted to have no religion. Now would have been a good time to pray. How did people find religion? Did they just pick one they liked? If so, he would choose one where the world make kriffin sense and the thrice damned Sith burned in the afterlife, and where brothers found each other again. And if that particular religion didn’t exist, he was half ready to create one!

They arrived on Mandalore in the middle of the night.

It was....ok, it was an administrative mess. People can't exactly arrive in orbit in a stolen shuttle and ask to speak with the planetary leader. But Rex spoke to someone who spoke to someone who spoke to someone and two hours after they were escorted by guards armed to the teeth to the palace.

“Aren't you pacifist now?” Rex asked, nearing the end of his patience, and eying the blaster of the leader of their escort, a petite woman who had not deigned to offer a name or to take his helmet down to salute them.

“We are no easy prey,” the woman answered and even with the helmet Rex could hear the teeth in her grin, an impressive trick.

He didn’t have to fear Satine’s reaction. She was as he remembered, she was more even, bigger than life, strong, decisive. That woman had fought all her life to make the galaxy a better place, her life a long line of tasks, each as momentous as possible, from the bettering of Mandalore to the Council of Neutral systems. She had made horrible mistakes, she had taken the wrong roads sometimes, but her heart always had been in the right place. Satine had never despaired, never renounced and she wouldn’t now, at the darkest hour. She bore that new mantle with her usual grace.

Mandalore opened his arms to all people fleeing from the Empire.

Mandalore opened his arms to the surviving Jedi.

Mandalore opened his arms to the vode with disfunctionning chips.

The clones trickled down slowly, grim-faced, and placed themselves under Rex’s command. Every day, the captain consulted the list of new arrivals. Cody and Obi-Wan were never on it.

The Jedi were even fewer. After a time, Ahsoka started to bunk with them. She was the only one of them who turned her back on the vode. Even if it hurt, Rex understood.

On the holonet for a few days, the images had been easy to find. Troopers suddenly turning against their Jedi, shooting them in the back. The desperate few parades the Jedi had the time to do, so surprised a first blaster shoot easily slipped past. And then so many others, even when the Jedi were down, the body twitching with it.

After a few days, the images disappeared. Someone smarter in the new Empire command had probably understood video of Jedi gunned down by thirty time their number, in the back, weren’t such good propaganda.

Satine offered two places on her Council, one for Rex, representing the vode deserting and running to Mandalore, and one for Master Knol Ven'nari, a Bothan female Jedi Master the few surviving Jedi had elected as their leader.

One day, a shiny who had been on the Negotiator manning communications, arrived in a stolen fighter. He had heard Rex’s message, relayed by Mandalore on every channel. He came with only his armour on his back and a tale of another Jedi, gunned down by his troops.

“I don’t think General Kenobi had the time to understand,” he said, as nicely as he could, when he saw the expression of Rex. Master Knol Ven'nari, seated next to Rex, growled low, what Rex had quickly learned was an expression of mourning in Bothan.

“Commander Cody made them use a very big calibre. No time to suffer with such a wound. And then the fall from the cliff… It went very quick.”

“And Cod- Commander Cody?”

“He was called to the Imperial Center. Apparently, Vader wanted him to lead his personal legion. Vader’s fist. They…hem, they were your men, sir. The 501th. But his transport was caught in one of the last pocket of resistance. I mean, one of the last, apart Mandalore. The transport exploded.”

Rex told it to Satine and Ahsoka himself. Satine thanked him very politely, and then asked him to leave. Ahsoka wailed in his arms for hours and he finally let himself cry too.

That night, he dreamed of them. They were in bed, the three of them, Obi-Wan between Cody and Rex, smiling, laughing. Rex was covering Obi-Wan’s bellies with hundreds of kisses. Then the laugh stopped and when Rex straightened up to look at him, there was blood everywhere, from Obi-Wan’s throat to Cody’s hands.

Every day, new refugees arrived.

“The Empire will come,” Bo-Katan whispered to her sister, when they were watching another long column exiting a ship and Satine nodded, her soul weighted by all her dead dreams.

“Oh, I know. The Empire will not let anything free. And offering refuge to those fleeing it will only put us higher on the list of targets.”

“This could be the end of Mandalore,” Bo-Katan remarked, as they observed Korkie working with Ahsoka and two young Mandalorians, handing out cups of warm soup. The first stopping place of the refuge were the medics, Mandalore really didn’t need some strange of outbreaks of little known virus right now, but nobody said they had to do it with empty bellies.

Satine took her sister gauntleted hand in her bare one.

“Then, I’m happy you’re here with me. If Mandalore must burn against the Empire, we’ll give it an end worthy of songs.”

Bo-Katan gripped her hand in return.

Mandalore was pacifist, officially, but Mandalore remembered the old ways. It didn’t need long to arm the planet to the teeth, probably less than would have made Satine comfortable. Soon, Mandalore was ready for a siege.

“It’s like even children had cache of weapons,” Satine remarked to Rex. They had listened all morning to her closest advisors preparing for what would probably be the first wave of the Empire attack and then she had asked Rex for her arm and took him for a stroll in the palace whose purpose he couldn’t understand.

“Your Highn-“he stopped himself. Pacifism had been her dreams and now she was probably the only Mandalorian not wearing plastoid. He didn’t know what words to offer.

She snorted.

“You should call me Satine. It would be strange not to, with our past,” She said and it was the first time they acknowledged what had happened, half an eternity ago. That one, perfect night, the four of them on the Coronet.

“If we are using our first name, can I convince you to wear armour? That would really make everyone in your immediate entourage happy.”

“No.”

“Pretty sure your sister would even smile.”

“She hasn’t in ten years.”

“Best reason to help her, then.”

“Still no.”

She touched his hand and he closed his mouth, already open for an answer.

“I didn’t ask you for a walk together for a discussion about my security. The stars known I have enough of that with Korkie and my sister. I have a mission for you. It will be a difficult one. That chip you told us about in your debrief….”

“Yes?”

“The medics need one of your brother. Alive, with the chip working.”

“To dechip him?”

She grimaced.

“Not like you think. The Empire is too big. We’ll lose. Nobody is saying it, but the minute they have finished to put out fire left and right, the full might of the GAR, ex-GAR I should say, will fall on Mandalore. It’s only a question of time. We’re strong, and armed, but we’re also the only one in the Neutral Systems. At the end, it won’t be enough. We will resist first, we’ll make it costly for them, but at the end…We need a way to destroy the chip still in the skulls of your brothers. The medics extracted some chips malfunctioning on the brothers who joined us at your call, and they designed a prototype, a sonic weapon. But we need a functioning chip to be sure. ”

Rex wanted to throw up. He let her arm go, took a few steps away from her. What had he been thinking, talking about that damn chip? All natural born were the same, even the ones speaking of friendship and equality of rights.

“Are you saying…. No. No, as much as I want the Empire down. I can’t help you design a weapon to kill all my brothers.”

He trembled, furious. He wanted to strike her. He thought of his brothers, enslaved and brainwashed, eyes empty, and Satine had probably never been in such danger, because he could have throttled her.

His anger probably was open on his face, still, she marched to him and put a hand on his cheek, despite his instinctive movement away.

“I want to save them,” she whispered fervently, “Yes, there is a risk, there is always a risk in medical experimentation, but I want a weapon that will make them free, not a weapon that will make their heads explode. I want to see the chips die in their heads and your brother picking up their weapons and turning on the Empire. We can’t rescue them and de-chip them one at a time. There are too many of them. I want to make them free, legion by legion, hundred by hundred…I want to rescue every single one of the victims of the Sith. Help me, Rex. For all those we can’t help anymore. I want to see Palpatine burn, the stars forgive me, burn, him and his shadow enforcer with that red saber. I want to see Palpatine down and spit on his corpse and then, Obi-Wan and Cody’s souls will have peace.”

She was beautiful like that, the fire of her soul in the open, calling for the blood of those who had destroyed the world and their lost ones. Rex felt the world titling on his axis. Adrenaline was still burning in his blood and he reacted before thinking and took her mouth in a brutal kiss, that wonderful, extraordinary woman.

It was like a spark falling on gasoline.

One instant, they were standing in a hall of the palace, the other Satine had opened the closest door, locked them in a small room, still kissing.

They had endured high level of stress those last days, those last months, something had to give and they came together violently.

Satine couldn’t touch him, too much armour in the way, but she kissed him hard, with an edge of desperation, opened his codpiece herself. He rucked up her skirt until he could touch skin, then swore remembering his gauntlets and took them down, almost trembling. He was hard, as he hadn’t been for months, too stressed, too exhausted, and now his dick was curving towards his belly and so hard it almost hurt.

There were pearls of sweat in the hollow of her throat and he swiped his tongue to taste them, then bit down once, probably harder than was protocol with a lover still so unknown.

Satine ran her nails on his neck in answer and they bit each other in another hungry kiss. He was tearing her underwear off her before really thinking and she hoped on a table.

They fucked like that, Satine still dressed to the last button of her dress, Rex with only his codpiece opened, and he saw her grimace when he entered her. He stopped, suddenly remembering he had saw Obi-Wan use his mouth first on her their only time together, and cursing his inexperience. That night, more than one year ago, had been his only experience with a human woman, and he wasn’t sure two nights with a Rhodian female once qualified.

“Don’t stop!” She protested, urging her from her legs around him.

In her eyes, darker than usual, he saw the same despair of something, of a moment without weigh on their shoulders. He kissed her again, deep and hard. That, he knew how to do. He kissed her again and again as he started to move and he fucked her on that table, Satine nails hard on his neck, her voice encouraging. It was less about pleasure and more about need. He came too fast, muffling his groans against her lips and observed with keen eyes when she made herself come with her fingers, swearing silently to himself to remember the way she did it.

It startled him to realize he hoped for another time. He remembered Cody had used his mouth on her, too, when Rex had been busy with Obi-Wan. He wanted to try that, another day, if he lived to ask.

Ten hours after, he left Mandalore with nine brothers, all volunteers. Ahsoka had wanted to come with them, but he had refused.

“If we have to kill some vode to kidnap another, we want to do it ourselves.” The former Commander had protested and he had hugged her hard, until she had relented and hugged back, as hard.

“Take care of the vode here and the Jedi, ok? They need someone helping them connect again. We’re gonna need to be united.”

“They know it’s not your fault,” Ahsoka answered him. “You know the Jedi know. It’s just…”

“It’s difficult and perfectly understandable. But they still need to be battle ready. War is coming for us. We’ll deal with trauma later, if there is a later.”

He hugged her a second time.

“And take care of the Duchess, too,” he added, not watching her face as he entered the shuttle.

If he had looked at Ahoska, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to leave. For how much he liked them, he didn’t really know any of the brothers that had joined them. He didn’t even really know Satine. He only had Ahoska and she only had him. He hoped she could herself connect with the other surviving Jedi, if he didn’t came back.

For the end of their lives, the ten brothers of the strike team would refuse to speak about this mission, ever. No debriefing, no questions, no tender asking would ever make them tell the tale of that particular part of their lives.

Whatever had happened, it ended like that: a fortnight after leaving, they came back, all alive if a little burned in some case. Rex dropped off three sedated brothers from the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps into the waiting arms of Satine’s medics.

The Duchess had come to the medical compound at the news of their arrival. She saw his face and wisely didn’t ask questions, only took him back to her apartment. This time, they got as far as finding some softer surfaces before her underwear lost its fight against Rex’s fingers. He knelt on the carpet and did his best with his mouth, but was sure that one or twice, that had been too much for her, his fingers and mouth too insistent. He took her against the arm rest of a sofa, still half in armour, Satine cursing in a language he had never heard of her, asking for more.

After, he cried, without a word, the horrors of this particular mission pouring in his tears, and Satine never asked, just stayed there, with him, and for that, in that second, he adored her, for her compassion, her strength, for more than the memories of a late night during the war.

For Satine, not for the memories of Cody and Obi-Wan who tied them together.

She didn’t let him go to the barracks that night and he slept in her bed, a bed even bigger that the one she had on the Coronet, round and with a high head of wood forming the Kryze sigil. He didn’t even know bed so comfortable existed.

The sleep was good, deep, the morning not so much, when he saw the bruises on her hips, her thighs, and realized he had done that, fucked her with his armour still on and bruised her.

“This is nothing,” she insisted after his babbling, horrified excuses. On her fair skin, the bruises seemed as black as the empty void between the stars. The inner thighs were particularly marked and he remembered how hard he had taken her, searching in her body some absolution.

“No, no, Duchesse, Satine, this isn’t… I hurt you!”

“I remember asking for more, for harder, didn’t I?”

He rolled over on the bed, got out of it, still naked, searching for his clothes.

“I won’t be the way you use to punish yourself,” he spat, but her hand hold him back.

“I have some bacta cream in the bathroom,” she said and he recognized it as some sort of peace offering.

He hesitated for a second, searching her gaze, then abandoned his black on the floor. He followed her into the bathroom, examining the bath, more a pool than anything, the walls of precious mosaic. She saw his expression.

“Too pompous?”

“Perhaps a little strange, after the barracks.”

He put the cream on her himself. Every bruise he covered in cream and then bandaged, to stop the cream from soiling her clothes, was an apology.

“Would you still want me in your bed, if I don’t keep my armour?” He asked after, because they had never talked, just fucked violently, and he wasn’t sure if she wanted pleasure, some sort of memories of Obi-Wan by proxy, or simply human contacts. He didn’t even know what he wanted, apart from a moment of reprise.

She touched his cheek and, feeling bold, he kissed her palm. She didn’t answer his question directly, instead she asked another question:

“I have a dinner with some Separatist Senators tonight. There are some parts of the Separtist Space that the Empire haven’t seized yet, they could be good allies. I would be happy if you came with me.”

“Am I some sort of message for them?” He hated politics. Cody had been so much better at it. Once again, the intensity of the loss closed his throat.

On tiptoe, she kissed him and he answered. It was slow, hesitant, and very different from the other kisses they had shared the two times they had come together. They were still totally naked, save for her bandages, and he grew hard, and broke the kiss because he really wasn’t in the mood for the demands of his libido.

“Can’t it be both? I don’t have the luxuries of making decisions only for myself. Everything I do engage Mandalore too. Can’t I want you by my side because I appreciate your company, and also because having the representative of the clones at my side will help?”

He had a small laugh and he asked another question, instead of answering:

“I made the medics swore they wouldn’t test the sonic weapon on my brothers without me. Will you come with me?” And it was perhaps cruel of him to ask it, because she would possibly assist to the death of the three vode, but he wanted, he needed someone to bear that weight with him, and Ahsoka had enough problems trying to find a place in the small Jedi settlement, after leaving the Order.

Satine nodded.

“Then I will come to your Separatist party with you.”

Rex didn’t know Master Knol Ven'nari. He had never heard of her when the Bothan had arrived on Mandalore, coming in answer to the Duchess’s message on the Holonet. In fact, he had never meet any Bothan before. The races were numerous in the Republic, but less in the GAR, and the few Bothans had worked in counterintelligence service, a part of the army Rex preferred to have as less contact as possible: they were even worse than the politicians.

Ahsoka had come to Rex, when the small Jedi contingent had elected Master Knol Ven'nari as their leader and briefed him, something he appreciated, even if the Jedi would probably have think less nicely about it with the tension between their two groups.

“She’s quite a legend,” Ahsoka had said, “She came rarely to the Temple, never took a Padawan, but every Initiate knew of her work in the Outer Rims. She’s the Fire Eater, you know.”

“Tell me it doesn’t mean what I think it mean,” Rex had grumbled, “It’s already complicated enough to keep up with Jedi who don’t play with fire!”

Ahsoka’s face had become chagrined.

“I’m not sure she want to work with the vode, you know. She is one of the survivors because she wasn’t with the troops when Order 66 was enacted.”

Rex had nodded, grim. He was sure the surviving Jedi and the few free vode needed to work together, in coordination with Mandalorians, but he couldn’t exactly force the Jedi’s hands. He could even understand their reluctance. Rex’s vode had still a chance to be rescued. For the Jedi…. Perhaps they could still rescue a few others, but at the end….

At the end, the Jedi had been the victims of the genocide and even with brainwashing, it was difficult for the Force Users to see the vode, the same face who had shoot their brethren in the back.

Master Ven'nari and Rex had ignored each other pointedly until the day after he had come back from kidnapping vode for the study of the chips. When he left Satine’s wing of the palace that morning, he had a message in his comm’, inviting him for breakfast, in a small cantina near the Jedi’s barracks.

A neutral ground, smart.

He send a message to the clones’s barracks, because he had imposed a rule that every clone on Mandalore should check up every fourteen hours and he respected the rules he issued for his men.

Master Ven'nari was already there. A second of hesitation. Was he supposed to salute or would it be worse? He was in armour, he couldn’t exactly hope she would miraculously forget who he was. On a side node, he really needed to find clothes that weren’t armour, uniform, or his blacks.

When she turned to him, he bowed, as a Jedi did to another and he saw a nuance of surprise in her eyes. She bowed to him in return and there was a strange moment where they pretended to be busy with the selection of pastries but were in fact studying each other. He had seen her on Satine’s Council, even if always on the other side of the room. She was shorter than him, with a nice chestnut fur and a deep, throaty voice and this close, he was surprised by her scent, animal and musky.

They seated down, her with some sort of infusion and amethyst eggs, whatever that was, and Rex with caff and the only thing he recognized in the food list: spicy sausages.

He hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself and the Duchesse at that Separatist party. They probably wouldn’t serve spicy sausages.

On the other side of the small table, the Jedi Master was observing him with piercing brown eyes. Strangely, it made him think of Obi-Wan. Jedi mannerisms transcended species.

It was the Jedi who fired the first volley.

“Captain Rex. Young Ahsoka has told all of us numerous things about you.”

“Did she, Master Ven'nari? Don’t forget that she’s very young. It would be unfair of the Jedi to reproach her our friendship, when it had only become so strong because she was exiled from your Order.”

She smirked, like she could appreciate the hit.

“Nevertheless,” the Bothan started again, “Ahsoka has now found back her people.”

“And no one is more happy for her than myself,” Rex affirmed, even if a possessive part of him protested that the Jedi had let her go and were not worthy to have her back.

“Are you? Or do you fear we will hurt her again?”

The question surprised him. He observed the Jedi Master who endured the close inspection with grace.

“Commander Tano is a good being,” he said finally, “and not only because she always fought valiantly at our side. She’s a good person, compassionate, smart, and caring. I deeply respect her. I killed brothers for her and will do it again if circumstances don’t give me a choice. If you ask me to walk away from her, I will respectfully tell you to fuck off, Master Jedi. Not because I think she can’t be happy with Jedi, but because I wouldn’t trust with…I wouldn’t trust with one of my vode a person trying to separate her from people who love her and want to protect her.”

He hadn’t planned to tell all of that. He had probably shattered every possibilities of Jedi and vode working together. He was so, so bad at it, Cody, Cody should have been there, he would have known…

A chuckle interrupted his self-recriminations. The chuckle slowly became a booming laugh and Master Knol Ven'nari soon was laughing so hard she hold on to the table, to Rex’s infinite surprise.

When she was calmer, she gave him a smile, and oh Stars, the Bothans had really, really sharp teeth.

“Captain, I think we’ll be fine. I ask that clones continue to respect the Jedi barracks as a no go-zone, and we’ll give you the same curtesy. Nevertheless, the Mandalorian troops have offered us the possibility to train with them, to prepare for the invasion who will come. And we’ll be happy if the …you say the vode, right, if the vode came too.”

“Gener-, eh, Sir, we’ll come.”

“Good. And now, you should try my eggs.”

“Sir?”

“Please, just call me Master, or Ven’nari. Kerch Kushi will be in your little Separatist Party. In fact, he’s the leader and his voice is deeply respected. It is really important you impress him. His specie only eat this particular food. Bloody inefficient, if you ask me; a shortage would kill of them, what was evolution thinking? They have a saying that other sentients eating amethyst eggs are people who can be trusted.”

“How do you know about the party?”

“Even if the Jedi Order demonstrated a terrible blindness those last years in mistaking the Sith for a simple power hungry politician, intelligence gathering had always been one of my specie forte and was, sometimes, one of the things I did for the Order. You’re quite the gossip right now. People know you’re invited by the Duchess herself. And that you left her apartment in the morning.”

Rex eyed her plate. He understood it was a peace banner she offered him, in helping him prepare for the Separatist meeting.

And it was terribly important, too: big chunks of Separatist space were still independent from the Empire: if they joined Mandalore and the Council of Neutral systems, their chances against the Empire would be better.

The eggs still looked horrible. Purple and…moving. Food shouldn’t be moving, in Rex’s opinion.

“Is there a polite way to eat that stuff?” He asked. He wouldn’t be defeated by food. Peace was worth the food poisoning.

She gave him her cutlery and coached him until he ate the repulsive thing in a way that would impress the Separatist leader. He was grateful, but still thought she could have refrained from stealing his spicy sausages.

After, a fragile truce between the Jedi leader and himself in place, he went to visit his poor vode in the lab. The three of them were still only repeating their numbers like a mantra and refused to give their names. Rex wasn’t sure if that was because they thought they were prisoners of war, or because they didn’t remember they had once chosen names for themselves.

They were calm, if they didn’t see Jedi or free vode. Then, they went berserks, yelling traitors and trying to escape the cells to harm them.

“Sir, you should leave,” one of the scientists finally insisted, “You’re only making them furious and we prefer to not sedate them.”

“Remember that-”

“We won’t test the weapon without you. We’ll message you, but it isn’t ready right now. The Duchess insisted we do another round of simulations before we test it on the subjects.”

“You should say, on humans,” Rex growled and the other man, a head taller than Rex, took a step back.

The Captain wasn’t in the mood to feel guilty about that.

He spend his day in the clone barracks, reading everything he could about the Separatists he would meet soon. Preparation. Preparation couldn’t give him a head for politics, but it could help, certainly. Also, when he was working, his mind busy, he didn’t think too much about the three prisoners vode calling him traitor, about Obi-Wan’s body probably still in that natural pool on the bottom of that cliff, about Cody’s death, about General Skywalker’s fate he still ignored, about his own men under Vader’s command, or the probable failure of their resistance effort.

After, he cleaned his blaster and his armour, even if he couldn’t go with them to the dinner. He examined his helmet, the Jaig eyes, then went to find his brothers.

“Does one of you has paint?”

When he left for the party, his armour was drying. He had kept the blue marks. It was what had formed him and he didn’t pretend it wasn’t him, but he had highlighted every blue part in gold, for revenge.

He thought he would find the Separatist senators making small talks with the Councillors of Satine, with everybody seeming talking about some simple stuff and in fact having three other meanings in the sentence that he would be the only one not understanding.

Instead, he found them in half circle around a hover chair. Standing next to the chair, Satine’s face was red, frowning, her mouth unhappy. She seemed ready to bite and he was sure she had been yelling at people when he had entered the room. Next to her, her sister had the same expression.

As one, the fifty person in the romm turned into his direction when he entered.

“Eehrr… Is this a bad time?” Rex asked, feeling like a small animal in a speeder’s headlights.

“Captain,” Satine said, reaching out with her hand, advancing a few steps in his direction and he came to her naturally, as if he had been taking his orders from her for a long time. He kissed her hand, as he had seen people do and to his surprise, she put her other hand on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and familiarity she only had with Korkie and Bo-Katan in public.

“Captain, Voe Atell, of the Separatist Senate, brought here tonight what she called a gift for you, in a demonstration of peaceful intentions. We were having…”

Satine searched for words, something Rex had never seen her do before.

“We were having a discussion about the simple fact that she was in position to make you this gesture and the ethics of her choices.”

In the Duchess’ voice, there was steel, hard, unforgiving and furious. That was a woman who would go to war, a Mandalorian in everything, wearing silk or not. Rex had never found her more attractive but he was beginning to feel suspicious.

Next to the hover chair a green-skinned, horned woman was cringing and Bo-Katan came just behind her, as if she wanted to be sure the other wouldn’t run.

“Come, Captain,” Satine encouraged and she led him by his hand to the hover chair.

“He was a prisoner of Wat Tambor, who disappeared in the Fall of the Republic, and he was then – ”

Satine was still speaking but Rex didn’t understand a word anymore, the sound of blood rushing to his ears covering everything.

Emaciated, bald, covered in cybernetic implants, his eyes haunted, a vod was in the chair. He had a pale smile when he saw Rex’s expression.

“CT-1409 reporting for duty, Captain” he said, his voice a pale drizzle.

“Echo,” Rex whispered and in the silence of the room, it sounded almost like a sob.

The Empire attacked. It was only a question of when, after all, not of if. Grim faced around the holoprojector, the Duchess’s Council watched the first image of Taris under attack. The first reports arrived only one hour ago and it wasn’t looking good.

“It’s only the beginning. They will pick one by one every member of the Neutral Systems and then end their quest with us,” Satine said, her mouth a rigid line. She was wearing grey that day, from her shoes to the strange thing on her head that was either an avant-gardist tiara or a hand grenade and the only spot of colour was the red paint of her lips. To Rex’s eyes, it looked like blood.

“It’s a good way to break our alliance,” one of the advisers, whose name Rex had already forgotten, answered, “We don’t have enough troops to protect at the same time Mandalore and the 1,500 star systems of the Neutral Systems.”

“We still have to try,” Master Ven’nari intervened, “the former Separatist will never join an Alliance which doesn’t defend his members. The Jedi are ready, your Higness.”

Satine had a pale smile.

“We thank you for that, Master Jedi, but my sister will only lead Mandalorians troops in this for now.”

As everybody began to protest, she raised a hand.

“The courage of the Jedi and the vode isn’t in question. But we still don’t have a functional weapon against the chip. Exposing Jedi to chipped soldiers of the former GAR would be particularly dangerous for the Jedi, who would have to kill to survive, instead of the prisoners than the Mandalorians could perhaps make. And for your men, Captain Rex, it would be cruel to send them to affront their brothers right now, when perhaps in a few days, we’ll have a way to free their minds.”

It was very strange for Rex to stand on a balcony and see others march into battle. As he stand with the rest of the Duchesse’s Council and watched the first Mandalorian troops embark, he felt like reality was distorting itself even more. Then, to add to the strangeness of the day, he was cornered by Ursa Wren, the new Minister of Finance. She was a short woman with black hair and skin the colour of freshly polished brass and she wore armour, like every Mandalorian in the Council apart Satine.

“Sir?” He asked, because the day was strange enough without ex-Death Watch people leading him into dark corners. He understood Satine’s decisions to bring all Mandalore together in those dark times but groups who had tried to murder the Duchess before made him want to reach for his blaster.

“I’m new in this posting, as you knew, Captain.”

“…Congratulations?” Rex offered because he didn’t know what else to say. What did he knew about Finance, frankly?

“And your brothers and you will be one of my first projects. Perhaps not the most urgent tactically speaking, but it should have been done the moment you arrived to ally yourself with Mandalore,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Sir?” Rex was beginning to feel himself ill at ease.

“I understand you’re a busy man, but I suppose you have a second.”

“Not exactly, Sir, we haven’t reformed a new command structure yet.”

“You should do it, then, and send me someone who can speak for all of you.”

“Sir with all respect, but for what exactly?”

“To negotiate your pay.”

“Our – what?”

“There will be back interest, of course, for the money you should have received from the moment you came to Mandalore.”

“But, I…Sir. M’dam. The vode aren’t in the habit-“

“Of getting paid?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We aren’t the Republic, Captain. You’ll led your brothers to fight for Mandalore against the Empire?”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

“Then you’ll be paid, as every soldier should. Send me you second, Captain, my services are already working on opening all of you bank accounts.”

And she left him there, perhaps without realizing the shock she had given to his system.

Rex sat down on a nearby bench. From there, he could see the ships readying for depart, without him and his brothers because it had been deem cruel to pitch them against their chipped brothers when they had another solution for now. And now they were getting paid.

After a time, he stood up and went in search of Ahsoka. He needed a friend in that moment.

His comm’ biped a location in answer of his question and he went to the medical wing.

Ahsoka was sitting on Echo’s bedside. The clone had refused the bacta tank he needed, because it felt too much like getting stashed again like a tool in a drawer, so the medics were doing it the old ways. Longer, but more easy to handle for Echo. He was snoring like a motor and Ahsoka working on a datapad when Rex entered the room.

He sat next to her and they stayed a moment in silence, comfortable with each other, observing the sleeping man. After a time, she hold out to him her datapad.

“Still no news about Skyguy,” she said and Rex put his arm around her shoulders, quickly scrolling the list of newly confirmed Jedi’s deaths. Most of them he didn’t recognize, but as always, it was long. Most of them listed a death in the first hours of Order 66 but some of them were more recent. Some Jedi were still alive, lost in the galaxy, and he hoped a few of them found their ways to Mandalore. Every hour, Mandalore still broadcasted, in every way possible, its message to offer a safe place for Jedi, or for everyone else fleeing the Empire.

“Skywalker’s too stubborn to die like that. You’ll see, one day a ship leaking fuel and flying with too much missing parts to be capable of it in theory will arrive on Mandalore, and he’ll be in it, to join our merry band of rebels,” Rex affirmed. He couldn’t believe General Skywalker was dead, he couldn’t. Not when they had already lost so much people. The spies of Mandalore had reported than Vader, that mysterious Sith helmeted in black and murder, had the mission to track and kill the surviving Jedi but Rex knew his General. Anakin Skywalker wouldn’t let a Sith defeat him. His Jedi General was probably busy rescuing other Jedi all across the Empire and would soon lead them on Mandalore. If only he contacted them, Rex and Ahsoka could go help him.

They stayed together a long moment, exchanging the latest news. When Ahsoka found so natural that the clones were paid, he realized how deep the usual dehumanizing the clones had suffered on the hands of the Kaminoan and then most of the Republic had ran. Yes, they were getting paid. It was normal. They always should have been payed.

After, he went back to the clones’ barrack. He was the highest ranking officer free of his chip and had naturally assumed command but if they were starting anew, was it right for him to give orders like that? There wasn’t a room big enough in the barracks for the three hundred and twenty nine clones on Mandalore right now, so they gathered outside on a shuttle platform.

Rex had searched on his datapad for voting procedures and he felt giddy. Whatever would happen after, they would have that. Their leader elected. Their choices. He insisted in his speech that no clone was forced to stay in the fight. They weren’t slaves anymore.

“Yeah, but if Mandalore lose against the Empire, we’ll be decommissioned as malfunctioning. I’m fighting. Vive the Duchess! Death to the Emperor” One of his brothers remarked and soon, they were all yelling “Vive the Duchess!!”

Rex was elected as their Captain and Sinker, a former Sergeant of the 104th, was elected as his second. After another long discussion all clones put the Kryze’s sigil on their armour, most of them on their shoulders. Some were only wearing that spot on colours on white amour, other had kept also their former colours, some, like Rex, had kept their former colours and added new as a message. But it felt important to add the Kryze’s sigil.

Vive the Duchess.

The planetary leader they choose to follow, instead of the one enslaving their brothers.

Vive the Duchess.

Rex decided he would show it to her. Satine wasn’t exactly the armour biggest fan but he was sure she would happy to hear about their elections, even if it was probably an amateur one. They hadn’t been alone since that last morning after their night together and he felt perhaps a little daring when he entered the private wing but he wanted to share that joy.

On the third hallway, he found an old trap door opened on the floor and wet traces leaving the service tunnel under the palace. Rex followed the wet traces on the floor. Whatever it was, it shouldn’t be there. And if someone had penetrated that part of the palace, it could only mean one thing.

He started to run, as if a murderous Grievious was behind him. At the same time, he activated his comm.

“Attack on the Duchess. I repeat, attack on the Duchess.”

He found two bodies on the threshold of the apartment, wearing Mandalorian armour in Kryze colours. Satine’s bodyguards. He didn’t even stop to check if they were alive, barrelled into her private rooms. He almost tripped over a body, big reptilian being, covered in blood, probably hurt by the bodyguards, and rushed to the bedroom, from where he could hear the sound of a fight. Satine had succeed in disarming her opponent, a thin human or near human in Mandalorian armour, and the attacker had improvised in putting his hands around her neck.

Rex didn’t dare shoot him so close to the shoulder and he simply charged into the fray.

Rex’s shoulder caught the attacker under the arm and the Captain threw him over his shoulder. The other was fast, trained, and understood Rex would shoot him at the first occasion, so he stayed too close for that. They fought violently, trashing the room. The unknown assailant was good and Rex recognized some of his movements, but the build was too thin for a brother, and he was too small. Rex finally succeed in pining him under him, using his superior build, and he took his helmet down.

“Let me see your fa-“

A surprised yelp escaped him when the face was free. It was his own. Or well, it had been, a few years ago.

“A cadet!” He swore.

“My name is Boba Fett,” the young man yelled, apparently outraged to be mistaken for a common clone.

In his surprise, Rex had loosened up his grip and the younger man used it. He freed himself, stabbed Rex in the joint of the armour on the hip, and started his jetpack, breaking the window and escaping. Swearing, Rex put his hand on the knife protruding between two parts of the armour, when a bip alerted him.

Boba Fett had left a bomb as parting gift.

Satine was already up, her clothes in disarray, blood on her temple. She was the one who guided him. He was still too shocked by Boba’s presence to make the good choice: he would have tried the window and it was way too high.

The moment they were piled up in the bath tub, the bomb exploded. The blast still was a shock but the bath tub was strong enough. It cracked but succeed in protecting them. When Rex lifted his head, the apartments were a ruin and a fire was starting in the bedroom but they were, more or less, intact.

He turned to the woman who had just saved his life, just after he saved her. She was breathing really fast and she was really close, her grip strong on Rex’s hand.

Another inch and Rex kissed her. No like he had done the other times. Not in passion that famous night with Satine, Cody and Obi-Wan. Not in the crazy lust and violence he had shared with her since the fall of the Republic. It was hesitant, a search of comfort. Their mouths slipped against each other, came back, tried again. Satine made a noise than Rex couldn’t have identified for all the blasters in the world against his head. She pushed herself up, threw a leg over his for a better angle. A second of hesitation, then she took his lower lip between hers and tipped his head up with a hand under his chin. He opened his mouth and felt a shock when their tongues touched and just at that instant, a whole squad of Mandalorian armed to the teeth flew into the ruined rooms.

Later, after Rex was bandaged and Korkie had hugged him just after hugging his aunt, to Rex’s intense surprise, the Duchess was installed in Bo-Katan’s rooms, since the other Kryze’s sister was away leading troops against the Empire.

Rex had difficulties leaving. What if another bounty hunter succeeded? The Empire offered a small fortune for either of the Kryze’s sisters, the faces of the Council of Neutral Systems politics an army. The Captain had chewed out the head of the palace security team, even if it wasn’t his place to do it. The words “better response time when I was two years old” had been yelled.

He was sitting on a couch and composing in his head a message to Sinker to bring two brothers as new bodyguards for the Duchess when the door of the bathroom opened. Satine’s face was bear of make-up, she was only wearing a dressing gown. Bare of any regalia, she had never seemed more human, accessible, but the way she stood still commanded respect, even with the spot of bacta on the side of her head.

“Your Highness”, Rex stood up.

“I really think you should call me Satine when we are alone. Not only you shared my bed, you saved my life,” she gently chided.

“Satine,” he corrected. He lifted a hand in an impulsive moment and before he could stop himself, he touched the side of her head, gently turning it to inspect the bacta bandage.

She pushed her head into his hand and he cupped her neck, marvelling at the golden hair, so soft and silken. Kissing her seemed natural after that. Her lips were soft, fresh. It was slow, very chaste for a long time. She curled her arms around him, bringing him closer. She smelled like soap and she was warm, and alive, alive in a world where almost everybody he knew was dead or missing. In that moment, he didn’t care that their liaison was probably ill-advised and perhaps a way to cling to their dead, in memory of Obi-Wan, Cody and that night more than a year ago.

In that moment, only Satine counted.

They never went to Bo-Katan’s bedroom, because that would have felt like a violation. But, even more practical than her sister, Bo-Katan was royalty, and her couch would have been enough for a squad of clones to sleep comfortably, big enough for the two of them.

They needed that, after that close escape. Something soft like the skin of Satine’s legs, which Rex explored. The two last times had been hard and fast, still dressed for her, still in armour for him. Now, he discovered those legs that seemed without end, miles and miles of pale skin that he kissed and explored, as gentle as he ever had been. And the breasts! How sensitive they were. They were fascinating and Satine made the most delicious noises when he played with them. She was patient, letting him discover, caressing his shoulders, his back. Around them, the palace slept and they could have believed they were the only ones awake on Mandalore. Then finally, he found the wet secret of her sex between her legs. Here too he took his time. The female human body was still an ongoing mystery for him. Three times with Satine, especially with how this three times had gone, a pleasant orgy the first time and violent sex the other two, three times like that didn’t teach a lot of things. The last time, he had taken better attentions to her body, but he was still an apprentice, and ready to learn more.

Curious, he rubbed her wet folds, cataloguing her reactions, a choked moan.

“Am I being a tease?” He asked, rubbing her thighs from his other hand and parting her folds with his fingers.

“A little, but I don’t care,” she whispered.

His fingers explored. The lips of her sex, that little nub that made her mewl every time, the opening of her vagina. Curious, he leaned down and licked. The taste was strange, new, but not strange enough to stop him and he licked that little nub. Satine was panting, her hands crisped on his shoulders.

“I don’t know if I will be good enough to make you come like that,” Rex confessed.

“That’s ok,” Satine said, “take your time. Practice make it perfect.”

“Are all human women bare here? It seems strange since male have some pilosity.”

“No, we have too. And I have, most of the time. I just needed to try something new.”

Rex leaned down again and this time he tried to push a finger into her. He caressed, he licked, he let her nails mark his skin. She never directed him, let him explore her body to his heart content until finally, he found a combination of acts that pushed into orgasm. He wouldn’t have been prouder if he had defeated the Empire all by himself.

She needed a moment to calm, then she pushed him firmly until he was seated against the back of the couch and crawled on his lap. The sensation of his cock filling her up, so wet, so tight, so warm, had Rex bitting his lips to stop himself from coming too soon. She rode him leisurely, slowly, easily, with so many kisses and caress.

He pressed kisses on every part of her skin he could and he vowed, once again, to kill every menace to that woman.

They tested the sonic weapon on a misty morning. Ashoka had offered to come as moral support but Rex had politely declined. If it had been him, eyes empty and a puppet, he would have wanted the less people possible seeing him like that. He even tried to stop Satine from coming, despite the promise he had extracted of her before to witness the experiment on the three clones prisoners.

Trying to make a Mandalorian change their mind…. Meteors had been known to be more ready to change their course!

Just Satine, Echo and Rex himself, and the scientists themselves, of course, and it was already too many people seeing his brothers like that, foaming at the mouth and trying to break their manacles to brain Rex, yelling that word, Traitor, again and again.

The weapon wasn’t really much what Rex had expected, meaning it wasn’t exactly portable.

“How do you want us to take that thing in battle?” He had asked the chief scientist, when they had been presented with some machinery the size of the room. The transmitter itself was almost as tall as Rex.

“It wasn’t exactly easy, Captain,” the other had frowned, “The Kaminoans had years to perfect their chips and the brain is a fragile organ. If we had more time-”

“But you don’t,” Satine had stopped him, “If you take the time normally needed by such a project, the Emperor will have conquered all the known universe three time before you have a prototype.”

Rex had taken her words like a kick to the ribs.

“You’re really not sure it will work,” he said the scientist, and it wasn’t a question.

The other had passed a hand on his bare skull. He seemed ten years older than when Rex had meet him the first time, only two months before.

“We did more than our best,” the man responded to Rex, “Don’t think we didn’t work so hard because they’re clones than we would have for, eh natural born I suppose would be the word. This thing, the chip, is a horror which should have never left the pages of a horror novel. All the neuro-scientists of Mandalore have worked on nothing else for the last two months, around the clock.”

“Do it. No need to prolong it. Just test it.” Rex said, and he observed how the man looked at Satine, searching for confirmation.

“The Captain’s words are the only one you should listen, when it comes to his brothers,” and the scientist nodded and scrambled behind a consol.

It wasn’t an impressive show light, like Rex had somehow expected. He didn’t even hear anything. He saw some lights on the side of the machinery, but it was simply an indicator.

The first brother went down hard, convulsing like he had touched a live wire.

“Stop, stop!!!” Rex yelled, struggling with the lock of the cell, trying to reach his brother. He didn’t even know his name, he hadn’t meet the other before Order 66, and the only thing the other man had given them since he was prisoner was his matricule, but in that second, that man was every lost brother, he was Cody, he was Fives, he was Hardcase, he was every brother still in the Empire’s clutch, he was every brother who had died under the Republic’s banner, he was even every cadet of Kamino who Rex would probably never see, never rescue.

“Don’t enter when it’s-”Someone shrieked, but it was too late, Rex was in the cell, reaching for the other, and then he knew no more.

He came back in the infirmary, a Star Destroyer firing all batteries behind his eyes, and Ashoka sleeping in a chair next to his bed.

“What?” He croaked and she jumped on her feet, her sleep light.

“How are you feeling?”, She said, leaning down on him.

“What the kriff happened?” He tried to sit down but his body refused even that simple order.

“You went into the weapon’ emission.” Ahsoka said, her montral white almost grey with retrospective terror, and for a second, Rex didn’t understand.

Weapon? What weapon? Then it all came rushing back. The chips, the experiment.

“The vod?” And he saw the answer on his friend’s face. She took his hand and Rex let that small part of comfort, even if he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

“They thought we would lose you too. What were you thinking…”

“I was thinking my brother needed help.”

“All your brothers need help. That’s why they’re trying to do in the labs!”

“Well, it isn’t very effective!”

“It’s still the only idea we have!”

Rex closed his eyes.

“Couldn’t you…I can’t open my eyes without wanting to hurl.”

Her hand touched the side of his head and he let out a careful breath as pain receded. He hadn’t realized how much of pain he was until it stopped.

“Eh,” he said, “and with the Force-“

“Don’t you think we thought about it? Every Jedi on Mandalore went to meditate in the labs.”

“Oh, I-“

“No, we didn’t tell you. It’s still complicated to see a vod for most of them. But we had to try.”

“And?”

“You would be the first to know. But we can’t even feel the chips. It’s like there is nothing here.”

Rex stayed silent a long time then he started again:

“They can’t have understood. The Jedi.”

“When they were killed, you mean? No, they can’t have sensed the chip coming online.”

Rex turned to see the window. It was night outside.

“Have I been unconscious more than a day?”

“Just teen hours. They say they will have another protocol to try in three days. And the Duchess, she asked to comm her when you-”

“No. Don’t tell her I’m awake. Not now.”

He patted her and hand closed his eyes, pretending he was trying for sleep; and Ahsoka had the compassion to pretend she didn’t know what he was doing. Somewhere between thinking about that brother whose name he would never know and thinking about Obi-Wan’s last thought, when Cody had gunned him down, Rex’s lies become a truth and sleep took him.

The second brother used for testing died too, but not as quickly as the first.

There were sixty wonderful seconds of lucidity before he took his last breath, and Rex had the time to learn his name, a last whisper, a last act of defiance against the Empire. “I am Harpoon,” the poor guy choked out, shaking against Rex and Rex felt those words piercing him like a lightsaber in the heart.

The chief scientist himself was crying, not full sobs but almost there. All around the round, the neuroscientists had misty eyes, as they try to pretend they didn’t watch Harpoon die in Rex’s arms.

Rex refused to feel a kinship for the man and his team, no matters how the fate of the entire galaxy, and the fate of all his brothers, hinge on those people works. He couldn’t, even if he was the one who had delivered Harpoon to them like a sacrificial lamb.

“Use the data,” Rex spat to him, “Go to work. That kriffin thing must work…”

“Sir…”

“Go the kriff to work! If you fail ….Go the kriff to work!”

Because if they failed, the world would slowly suffocate under the Emperor’s grip, and the blood of those three brothers on Rex’s hands would have been in vain.

They buried him at dusk, a funeral so different that was usual for a vod. To rest in the earth, that was something for natural born, something for rich people, in Rex and his brothers’ minds, but Satine had offered a spot in the palace necropolis, and poor Harpoon would march away between kings and queens and other Mandalore princes and so other many titles that Rex couldn’t even read some of the tombstones.

“His life was worth as much as any of them,” Ahsoka had said, her smaller hand holding one of his in a show of support and it was an effort not to dig his fingernails in her flesh, between the grief and the anger and the ache of lose. It was a brother’s death, amongst thousands and thousands of brothers’ deaths, but Rex felt like that one was particularly unfair.

Sixty seconds of freedom.

That night, he searched for Satine.

Not for sex, nothing was more far away from his mind that sex, but he wanted…He didn’t know.

Companionship.

A presence.

Someone who had known Cody and who wasn’t the vode, because Rex was leading them and would have felt like a terrible officer if he had made them carry his grief and his doubts, on top of their own, and someone who wasn’t Ahsoka, whose family had been gunned down by Harpoon and his brothers, no matters how unintentionally.

He found her crying and he hesitated. Would it be intrusive to go to her? Whatever had pushed such a strong woman to tears, was Rex the person to help, burdened as he was by his own grief?

At the end, his feet choose for him. He sat down next to her and took her hand and she pushed her face against his shoulder. It wasn’t like women crying in holodramas. It was messy and noisy and her face was red and wet and Rex wished to kill those responsible for those tears. Something that probably would have horrified Satine, but it still would have feel good, in Rex’s opinion, to put their heads; whoever they were, at her feet.

He put one of his arms around her and made some calming noises, or what he imagined were calming noises. He was so out of his comfort zone. The only person he had ever regularly comforted was Cody every time Obi-Wan did something stupid, or when the numbers of lost vod was higher than usual; and alcohol had been their usual motto in those circumstances. He felt under armed for the mission of helping her in her pain, but he would never have left her alone, unless she asked.

“Bail Organa is dead,” she told him later, when she had cried every tear in her body.

“I met him once,” Rex said, “tall guy, Senator, was stubborn as hell?”

“Yes. Yes, that was him. He was my friend. For years. I was a guest to his wedding, I….He was my friend.”

“What happened?” Rex asked slowly. It was a strange discovery that offering his shoulder to her pain made his own easier to bear. The grief which had clouded his brain for weeks hadn’t disappeared; and Harpoon was still in his mind, but trying to help her helped him….

“He tried to come to Mandalore and his ship was blasted down when they tried to pass the blockade between the Core and the Council of Neutral Systems.”

“What…but…” Rex spluttered. He had meet Organa on Christophis, and it was a smart man, not a man who would ran away to such a dangerous path without reason, when he had been safe on Coruscant.

“It doesn’t make sense. Why did he do such a thing?”

The usual calm mask of politics was already covering her face and Rex couldn’t stop himself, took her hand, as he tried to stop that. He wanted Satine as she was when they were alone sometimes, when it was late and she was tired, he hoped for the woman who had cried in his arms. Her hand turned in his, their fingers entangling themselves.

“He send a message,” she continued, “before leaving Coruscant. To warn me of his arrival. He said….he said he had an important piece of information.”

“What piece?”

“That’s the problem, Rex, I don’t know. Whatever it was, it was something so important, so game changing that Bail wouldn’t let a message carry it. And now, I fear that secret is gone with him.”

Third time apparently was the charm, like in old fairytales.

“My name is Droid-Breaker,” his brother said, once he had stopped puking after the chip had died inside his skull and Rex had taken him into his arms, like Droid-Breaker was Cody reborn. The poor guy looked sea sick for a few days, but every test possible under the sun was inflicted on him by the medics, and also a few which were invented for the occasion, and it was a complete success, minus the vomiting.

Droid-Breaker was free, he would stay free. He described to Rex the moment the chip had started working, stripping him of his humanity, and how it had seemed natural at the time. How there were no questioning orders, not even the possibilities of question. How even killing the Padawans they were in charge of forming to working with clones, since their Masters were dead, had been normal.

After, Rex had spent the night in Satine’s arms. No sex, just the comforting warmth of another human being and a tender voice in his ear, repeating how much human they were. How Mandalore wouldn’t find peace until every clone brother was rescued, until every Kaminoan was brought to justice.

It was, of course, easier to say than to do.

The process for freeing clones’ minds worked, but the machine was enormous, and fragile, and difficult to operate. They needed three days just to put it apart, then back, into a ship, and there were, so, so many rules about what the ship could and couldn’t do, to not disturb the fragile engine.

Like go into hyperspace more than a fleeting moment.

“The specialist are working around the clock to find a better way. To miniaturize it, or to reduce the size even a little bit, and to make it less complicated, quicker, or whatever they can. Something to use more easily on a battlefield,” Satine was telling her sister via holo. Bo-Katan’s dark circles under her eyes were particularly unflattering in the transmission’s colours, but despite the exhaustion, she still seemed ready to rear apart everybody who suggested she could need help leading the troops. And from the reports Rex had read, she was good, very good at it.

The red head was doing her usual evening report to her sister and the Council, and every word from Satine about the chip and its solution were making her frown a little harder.

Satine was continuing: “But there are no certitude it would work. It’s already miraculous they found something in only a few months.”

“It would be too late, even if it was week and not months,” Bo-Katan admitted, “Send the ship and your enormous engine, or Taris will fall in days.”

“I’m going,” Rex decided, totally forgetting in a moment than in front of the Council, he could have put it perhaps a little less like an order, and more like a request to the Duchess, but still, Satine nodded, and gave to the vod all they wanted for their trip to Taris. The Jedi contingent even proposed help, which Rex refused, phrasing it diplomatically enough. Some day, he was sure they would have to work together, but if the machine didn’t work on a big scale enough, and they all died, he preferred to know the Jedi on Mandalore, as a last rampart.

Not that it would be enough against the entire Empire’s might.

Their survival was quite dependent on the quality of Mandalore neurologist work. There was not even the silver of a chance, if they couldn’t turn some of the vod back into human, and not puppets doing Palpatine’s bindings.

Before going, he hugged Ahsoka on last time, made her swore she would protect Echo, then made Echo swear to protect Ahsoka, the best way to be sure one of the two wouldn’t try to sneak on the ship.

He didn’t have private farewell with Satine, there was no time. When he was leaving the Council, he saw her hesitate, something she rarely did in public, then she took of one of the fresh lilies adorning her crown, and offered it to him, despite their audience.

Rex kept it into one of his belt pouches, even when it was dried, during what would be known in galactic history as the great Taris’ siege, an episode which would be studied for centuries, and would offer Rex a place in the list of great generals of the Republic.

Sometimes, during sleepless nights only rhythmed by the noises of heavy artillery, he carefully took it out and kept it on his open hand, careful, so careful of the dried flower. He wasn’t sure why.

It was so useless in a war, a flower.

It was like a promises than not all there was to know of the galaxy, of life, was war.

For weeks, him and Bo-Katan, the clones and the Mandalorian, pushed back against the Empire, using the machine, which had been nicknamed the Anti-Kamino by the vod, to break attacks, stealing clones from the Empire’s ranks when they arrived close enough from their position, mounting their own attacks to extract whole squads, who were then either going back to Mandalore to reinforce its defence, or put to work under Rex. No one of them took the choice, given to all of them, to sit this war out, to go into the Unknown regions, far away.

Rex had never been prouder.

Slowly, they started to push back. The Empire had understood something strange was happening with the clones send against the Mandalore’s troops, and they were clearly experimenting with the range of Rex’s countermeasures.

The fight took to the sky, to space. Across all the Neutral territories, the Empire and the troops under Rex and Bo-Katan’s commands played a strange game of cat and mouse.

They could never pin down long enough the Empire troops in a sector to free all the clones, and the Empire could never do enough damages to defeat them definitely before the Anti-Kamino came online.

After two years, they had arrived to a strange stand-off, troops watching troops across a line, and nobody putting a toe across it. What had once been the Galactic Republic was now halved, one part still in the hands of Palpatine, and the other, which had been nicknamed the Surviving Republic, in the hands of a hastily elected Senate, sieging on Mandalore. Satine, after a terrible row with her sister via holo communication than half the troops had did their best to pretend they hadn’t heard, had renounced her throne…and promptly be elected Mandalore Senator, because Mandalorians were contrary beings. They had tried to assassinate her a few times, and now that she was letting power go, all of them wanted her to exercise it. Her people had nicknamed her the Last Duchess, because they didn’t want her strip of her title, and because, well…she would be the last. Whoever her heir was, her nephew, children who would perhaps come one day, they would inherit the Kryze estate, but no throne, no title.

“You should go back to Mandalore,” Bo-Katan said to Rex one morning after the morning debrief.

“We aren’t making progress, they aren’t making progress. Something new needs to be done, but I have no idea what. Go see my sister. If the war isn’t the solution, perhaps she will find something.”

And for the first time in two years, after countless late nights conversations via holo, where Rex and Satine had talked about everything, from the war to their most secret dreams, where they had talked and talked and talked and talked, where they had confided to each other things they had never told a soul before, not even Cody, or Obi-Wan or Bo-Katan, where they had talked about everything but what they were or they could be to each other, Rex and Satine saw each other in real life, on a land pad in front of the Palace, which had become the Surviving Republic Senate.

And Satine threw herself into his arms, in the less thought-out instinct of a life always politically examined before every move.

And Rex kissed her, and it was like every promises untold by that dried flower had been kept.

They were married only two hours after, no pump, no fanfare. Just Ahsoka and Echo and an officer of the law, and Bo-Katan via holo, pretending she wasn’t crying, and Rex, captain, clone, slave, freedom fighter, General of the Army of the Surviving Republic, became Duke Consort of the Last Duchess of Mandalore.

Nothing passed the frontier.

Nothing.

On either side, ships armed to the teeth waited, watchful, and dangerous guard dogs.

On his side, Palpatine schemed and raged for the part of the galaxy which had escaped him. His plans were supposed to be perfect. He was supposed to have everything, everyone, every life in his grasp, and the Chosen One as his attack Sith. Instead, half of what had been the Republic was still resisting, led by that woman, and by clones, his own flesh weapons! And the Chosen One! Broken and burnt by that thrice-damned Kenobi. Oh, Darth Vader was still terrifying, even more, but a broken tool was still broken even repurposed, and he would have been more useful beautiful, clearly Anakin Skywalker. He would have sold better the Jedi’s betrayal, when now most people saw them as martyrs.

And the chip!

What a failure….Half the Kaminoan scientists had had their neck broken by Vader, but nothing seemed to protect the clones’s chips from that Mandalore-made machine, whatever metal, holo-plastic, or whatever idea they had, was tested to shield their helmet.

Palpatine raged and planned, and on the other side of the frontier, Satine raged against the impossibility to see fall the man who had burnt half the world down, and indirectly killed so many, and her dear Ben, the Mandalorian temper only cooled off superficially by her silks and her pacifism. She raged and she planned, and her Senator’s colleagues could only be swept off by her convictions, by the fire in her voice.

But still, nothing passed the frontier.

“It’s definitely a Rhodian stand-off,” Bo-Katan had said one day sadly to Rex, and she had been surprised realizing he didn’t know the term.

“It’s when a goddam confrontation has no issues. The Empire can’t try to destroy us, we would steal their clones-“

“-not stealing, Bo-Katan, we aren’t objects.”

“Sorry, we would liberate the clones, but we don’t have the fire power to destroy them either. I’m surprised you don’t know the term, with all your Kamino war training.”

“We were supposed to die if necessary, if you listen to our training. Our destruction was never a problem, so, no Rhodian stand-off, just suicide missions.”

“…I really hope there are one or two Kaminoans alive when, and I say when, we take Kamino. I want to wreck their long-necks myself.”

“Well, get in line.”

And time passed. Mandalore and its Surviving Republic stopped playing the message asking for people to join them, because every ship crossing the line was destroyed and its passengers lost. It has been the first serious quarrel between Satine and Rex. Rex, thinking of all his brothers trapped on the other side, hoping that one day their chip would stop working, wanted to continue broadcasting, thinking his brothers ferocious enough to find a way to cross the frontier. Satine took every ship trying to cross and destroyed as a shard thrust into her heart. At the end, she prevailed, and they slept separate for two weeks until Echo finally had enough and pleaded Rex’s case with Satine, and Satine’s with Rex.

Echo had thrived up, once he had left his medical bed. He could have let the horrors of what had happened weigh on him, but instead he seemed ready to live for all the vod who couldn’t.

Instead of the first message, conceived in the first days of Rex’s presence of Mandalore after the fall of the Republic, they played messages of hope, for those on the other side of the line. One day, the Empire found the way to block every communication, and their side stopped learning what was happening in the Empire.

And time passed. Rex hadn’t before experienced time outside of war and was surprised how this long waiting war could leave place for long stretches of life.

Mandalore and its allies prepared for the final confrontation which would, fatally, happen one day. They conceived and built ships made to house specifically Anti-Kamino machines, which could take the only way to free the vode through hyperspace for more than micro-jump, the only way. They trained an army from every planet, every space station, every colonies. All united, the vod and the Mandalorian acting as instructors.

Everybody understood that the day the Empire would come, it would be all or nothing. They understood that on the other side of the frontier, the same preparation was happening. Armies amassing. Weapons built. Research on the chip, trying to counteract the Anti-Kamino.

But during all of that, life happened.

Korkie grew up and took his place as the Kryze’s heir. He wasn’t interested in politics, told every time his aunt he would never try to be elected as Mandalore Senator, which despair her, but he was making Rex and Bo-Katan proud in his efforts for the coalition. He met a young woman of Taris and they had a beautiful, and quite accidental, boy, and no plan to marry, which made Satine go pale in the name of protocol.

Life happened.

Ahsoka was made a Knight, not that she needed it in Rex’s opinion, she was the best of the whole Jedi contingent. She was taking long diplomatic missions all across the Surviving Republic, like all Jedi, coming back to the roots of their Order. Helping that mismatch of cultures that was the new Republic found a unity, without renouncing their individuality. She was a ferocious warrior when time called for it, but seeing her helping people reach compromise, promoting peace in their little corner of the galaxy, Rex remembered that Jedi should never had been Generals. It had been the first step of the end, for everyone. Seeing her hold the floor in public meeting, she was much more Obi-Wan’s Padawan in those moment than poor General Skywalker’s, whose fate they had never known. And he saw Satine in her, too, her influence on the young Tortuga, and Padme Amidala’s whose death had been confirmed long before the balck-out of communications.

Life happened and time passed, and Rex and Satine’s marriage, not exactly destined to succeed in most people opinion, only grew stronger, not a simple link to the people they had loved and lost together, but a love standing itself, without the crutch of the past.

Life happened and Echo married one of Satine’s advisor. Echo cried during the wedding. They had adopted five war orphans, and had a little girl, named Fives. Rex was sure it was asking for her to be a rule-breaker, but if she had even a tenth of their dead brother’s tenacity, he was sure she would grow up glorious.

Life happened and Droid-Breaker, the first clone freed because of the Anti-Kamino, was killed in a stupid speeder accident. The funeral broke Rex’s heart and he was surprised to find in him new well of griefs, when he thought everything had been used.

Life happened and Rex could say his sister in law was one of his best friends, Korkie was the son Satine and him had decided to not try to conceive, and his surviving vod were happy, and Ahsoka was thriving.

Life happened and the Mandalore scientists finally cracked down the secrets of the accelerating aging, giving Rex and the vod numerous years more.

Life happened and ruling a planet was more work than Rex would have ever thought, and Satine and him were so, so busy.

Days could happen without Rex thinking of Obi-Wan and Cody, to busy helping prepare the Surviving Republic for the coming attack; too busy helping his wife govern Mandalore, too busy with his surviving vod.

It saddened him.

It made him feel guilty.

But he had married a woman who had lost almost her entire family to murder, and Satine understood grief, and how it mutated with time, to give people a chance to live, and she helped the best she could.

Life happened and Rex and Satine let go a little of their pain, and built an army, and a life together.

Then, it happened.

Ten years after the fall of the Republic, seven years after their wedding, refugee started to cross the border, bringing with them the news of the Emperor’s ultimate demise.

Vader had killed him.

Nobody was very clear about the why and the what and the how. Some told Vader had done it to seize the throne. Some told he had done it to protect Jedi children. Some told he had done it for so many reasons, that there was only one way to know.

The ships of the Surviving Republic crossed the frontier and entered an Empire in chaos.

And Rex and Ahsoka were on them.

“Talk to me, my love,” Satine asked and Rex had a pale smile, his eyes fixed on the small blue silhouette of his wife. The holotransmission didn’t do justice to the light in her eyes.

“You listened to my report, the same as the rest of the Senate.”

“I listened to our best general’s report. I want my dear husband to discharge a part of his pain on my shoulders.”

The smile of Rex became a little more real, then turned sour.

“This is horrible, cyare. People squeezed of their last credits, Moffs a little less than the most violent warlords, democracy’s corpse on the floor in every system. To put that into shape, even in a shape like it was in the decaying last times of the Galactic Republic, it will be years. I thought our people had difficult years, preparing for war like we did, but this was nothing to what I saw here…And the people! A lot of them are no more than wolves, ready to sell their neighbours for the smallest advantage.”

“Ten years of tyranny can’t change the sentient nature like that. I refuse to believe people’s nature is evil.”

“Ahsoka said…well, she said a lot of Jedi aphorisms, but I think she meant that Sidious’s presence warped people in this corner of the galaxy.”

“If this that, the good news are that they will get better.”

“And we will help, won’t we?”

“Well, we spend ten years building strength, time to put it in use. We will repurpose the troops and I’m pretty sure our scientists can find a way to use packs of energy of canon for a better purpose.”

Rex had a gesture like he wanted to touch the small silhouette, even if he knew Satine wasn’t there.

“You should go to sleep,” she said tenderly, “Coruscant will be the biggest trial for your expedition.”

“But the answer to a lot of questions.”

“That, too.”

They stayed in silence a long moment, uncomfortable together for the first time in years.

“I could-“ Rex started.

“You could-“ Satine started at the same time.

An awkward laugh, shared. Rex felt his heart squeeze painfully. He hated to be far away from her. Those three months since they had passed the frontier had been the longest they had been separated since their wedding.

“I will check what happened to them,” Rex said finally, “if the Empire has records. To be sure the reports were true.”

“And you’ll bring their remains home if possible,” Satine completed.

“Of course, I will.”

No more words where needed. There were only two people who could be those They.

Cody and Obi-Wan. Lost love. Bloodied flowers of their memories.

Other, of course, were shards in their hearts. General Skywalker, for example, whose fate Rex would check in third, and Ahsoka probably in first. A lot of brothers, of Jedi.

Rex had already put his greedy hands, his grateful hands, on Kix and Bly, who had been in one of the units trying to resist to the progression of the Surviving Republic Forces in the mess of the decaying Empire.

Those two had been promptly dechipped and even Bly’s tears once he had remembered his General couldn’t stop Rex’s joy to have brought back a few more vod’s home, even if they didn’t know yet the way Mandalore could be home.

Ahsoka had personally rescued a good chunk of other clones, but those two were the only ones Rex had known personally before Order 66. Ahoska had also killed two Inquisitors in their third battle, asked for ten hours on a lost moon and burnt their bodies. Rex hadn’t asked questions, yet, because she needed to be at the top of her game, but he would have sworn her reactions meant she had knew the two of them, or only one, before. Once she would be home, she could be sure he would corner her about that.

Jedi.

No matters the generation, they really needed help to admit their grief.

He knew the other expeditions, led by Master Ven'nari for the second ones, and by a bunch of officers formed by Rex and Bo-Katan for the others, had also encountered resistance, but minimal. The Empire was disintegrating too fast, it was every Moff for himself, and Rex was sure their expedition wouldn’t ever face real danger. The carrion feeders were too busy stuffing themselves.

With years, Rex understood how love was more than what he had had with Cody and Obi-Wan. It was love, really, but it never had the time to blossom, like what he shared with Satine. To build itself, months after months, years after years, trials fought together after trials fought together, grief shared and long nights of pleasure.

The Empire had taken the possibilities of growing like that from Cody and Obi-Wan, a simple line in the long, long, long list of its crimes. And now Rex hoped for closure, in bringing if possible remains on Mandalore. They already had a shared stele in Mandalore necropolis, where Ahsoka, Satine and himself went regularly. It was between the one they had put for Padme Amidala and Anakin and their dead before birth child, and between the one of Fives, those two empty too.

Soon, perhaps, bones could sleep here.

When they left hyperspace in front of Coruscant, all defences were down, and all channels sending a message which could be summed by “Please don’t shot.”

Certainly not redacted by a brother.

“I am Senator Mon Mothma,” a regal-looking woman with hair as red as a setting sun, had said in answer to their communication, “I have been designed by the remains of the Senate to handle the transition, until elections can be prepared.”

“Seems too easy”, murmured one of the officers in Rex’s ears, and Rex was totally of the same opinion. At his right, he could feel the tension in Ahsoka. They had seen so much horrors in their long crawl across the former Empire to believe things could be as simple on Coruscant.

“I’m very happy for you,” Rex said, “But, Madam, we’ll still check. Starting with the security bands of the throne room on the last day of the Empire.”

“They will wait for you in the former Palace, General”, the Senator answered, “and all explanations you could feel necessary.”

“Not vague at all…”

“Some things, you have to see to believe. I awaits you in the Senate rotund tomorrow. Something tell me you would need more time than that, but we need to move swiftly, if we want to reduce the blood shed to a minimum in other parts of the Republic.”

“Was that a menace?” Rex asked, once the communication was cut, “I can never tell, with politicians.”

At the same instant, the terminal beeped with the coordinate of Palpatine’s palace and Rex swore.

“That son of a bitch…The Temple.”

Ahsoka’s fangs seemed even sharper than usual in her anger.

“I almost regret he’s already dead,” she growled, and it was so different than her usual Jedi calm than Rex insisted for a long hug before embarking into a shuttle, despite her protests. Finding answers about dead friends and dead enemies was good, but not at the disadvantage of alive friends. He didn’t let her go until he felt her body posture relaxing a little, despite her protests than she was an adult, now.

Rex left three shuttles full of Mandalorian armed to the teeth right next to their ones, right in front of the former Palace, former Temple, whatever it should be called. No brothers, they had all stayed in orbit. Despite the progress of the Anti-Kamino, Rex didn’t want to take the risks of brothers having to fight brothers.

“Stay there,” he said to them, “Knight Tano and I will do a first reconnaissance.”

The men didn’t even protest. They had long renounced to force their General to stay safe. Rex was sure he was responsible for half the grey hairs in his second’s fur, and Ahsoka for the rest of them!

They entered the Temple side by side, the Jedi and the vode, the Knight and the Mandalorian General, Rex and Ahsoka, coming back from their long exile to mourn their dead, half prodigal children coming home, half refugee. It was fitting, in a way. They had fled alone, at the end of their world, started together on their new life. Whatever closure they would found there, they would do together, two vod in a way different but no less precious than the link shared with the other clones of Jango Fett.

The Temple was deserted.

“Feel something?” He asked Ahoska and her gaze had this vacant flavour meaning she was checking on things he couldn’t see.

“Death,” she said, then she frowned, hesitated, and added “And renewal. This way, come.”

He followed.

The structure was the same as it had been during the time of the Order but the decoration was Palpatine in all his glory: creepy, full of lore of the old Sith and with way, way too much red.

“If the Order wants to come back to Coruscant, it would perhaps be more hygienic to burn the whole thing down and starts afresh,” Rex remarked at the third dismemberment tapestries. “Do dead Sith release evil germs or something?”

Ahsoka didn’t answer. Her steps were firm, her path unwavering. The Knight leading, Rex following, they went further. Everybody had deserted the Palace, once the Emperor dead, and the tactician part in Rex’s brain hoped it meant there would be no utter idiot ready to burn the world to maintain the crumbling Empire. With the troops amassed to fight Palpatine, they would fight if necessary, but a peaceful transition would be such a fresh balm on the wounds of the people, already decimated by the Clones War and then the dictatorial reign…

Rex’s heart would have beaten twice the usual rhythm if he hadn’t long ago learnt to master the rush of adrenaline. It was not only the possibilities of danger, perhaps still lurking in the hallways, since they didn’t know the number of Inquisitors who had been formed. It was memories. He could almost see Obi-Wan just out or reach at a corner, he could feel under his lips the caress of facial hair, and smell that damn after shave Cody had started to put on, the Force only knew why.

In what had been the throne room, and long before the Room of the Thousand Fountains, two silhouettes were waiting for them, grey and white, one of them using the other as a crutch and Rex needed a minute to be sure his eyes were correctly working.

He only started to believe, really believe, when Ahsoka threw herself in their arms, with so much strength they ended on the floor in a pile.

There would be tears, later. Swearing, so, so much swearing, because despite all the progress Rex had made to handle emotions in a positive ways since his wedding, when he had decided Satine couldn’t do all the emotional work in their relationship, he would have to resort to anger to handle such a revelation. Ten years, and not a word. And lost in his feelings, he wouldn’t care than for almost seven of those years, communication had been impossible between them and the Empire.

Satine, Satine herself would have to take him by the hand one day, to guide him to the apartments of the Mandalore Palace which Cody and Obi-Wan shared with the twin they were raising. Beautiful, wonderful twins, the reasons Vader had killed the Emperor and succumbed to his wounds, to stop him to pit them, one against the other, because Palpatine only needed one.

Obi-Wan would need to tell him the tale of the life of their little family, in the farthest island of Alderaan, a lot of time, before the reality of their survival would really touch Rex.

Cody would need to tell him the tale of that last fight, Vader against the Emperor, Obi-Wan and Cody himself crushed on the floor by the power of the Dark Side, unable to rescue the twins. He would need to tell him again and again the terrible revelation of the identity of Vader for Rex to admit what had become of his General.

Satine would need to tell him, again and again, that the love he still found in his heart for them wasn’t a betrayal of their vows, and that she could share him, if he could share her.

And Rex would need to tell the tale of his life, of how he had become the last Duke Consort of Mandalore, for the two other men to learn him.

All those conversations, all those moments where the four of them believed it was too late, their fate couldn’t be intertwined again, all the work needed to learn each other again. All of that would come later.

For in that moment, Rex scrambled to help Ahsoka, Cody and Obi-Wan of the floor, crying in his helmet like he never had, scrambling for his communicator on his belt at the same time, because Satine needed to know, right now, Satine needed to share that joy.

There would be much work, for the work of Jedi, Duchesse and vod is never really done.

But there, there, all of them crying at the same time, Ahsoka and the three men in pile on the floor, Satine’s fuzzy in image, crying and already yelling orders for a ship at someone outside of the communicator image….. That moment repaid everything.

#captain rex #satine kryze #star wars #the clone wars #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #my fics

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multsicorn · 4 years

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@greymouser13 replied to your post “thinkin about wen qing’s arc on one hand: she went from doing whatever...”

Yeah thats a novel change that could make more sense? In novel verse, most of the Wens stayed behind. They were slaughtered anyway but personal sacrifice saved not only Wei Wuxian, but her people too (or at least that was the goal). Someone can correct me, but i think there is like a 3 month gap between Wen Ning's "execution" and the nightless city massacre, and the seige of the burial mounds wherein everyone was slaughtered and Wei Wuxian (who had been going mad)

@greymouser13 replied to your post “thinkin about wen qing’s arc on one hand: she went from doing whatever...”

Destroyed half the tiger seal and was mauled to death by corpses.

@greymouser13 replied to your post “thinkin about wen qing’s arc on one hand: she went from doing whatever...”

This was all cut for time and the horror elements were of course softened/censored. I adore both versions but the novel one makes more sense for Wen Quing's story line.

Yeah, absolutely, the novel version of what happened with the rest of the Wen villagers made more sense! (I mean, I said ‘unaccountably’ wrt her leading them to the Jin, but it makes perfect sense as a plot necessity - I don’t think Wei Wuxian’s throwing himself off that cliff if he still has people he needs to protect. I just can’t fathom why she would do it - or why they’d insist on it! All to protect the guy who’d saved them? I mean, maybe, but, a whole village for one guy rubs me so very wrong!) And then the Wen rising up from the blood pool later on in Wei Wuxian’s second life is one of my favorite novel-only bits. THE BOND BETWEEN A NECROMANCER AND THE DEAD HE ‘MANCES ;___;.

Anyway there’s a lot of things I like about the way Wei Wuxian dies in CQL without the siege - and by ‘a lot of things’ I mean getting to see that cliff scene, Jiang Cheng stabbing the rock!!, Lan Wangji bleeding as he holds on, Wei Wuxian’s peaceful smile falling into the abyss ;___;, etc., but there were definitely a number of plot-related circles they did not manage to square in the adaptation, both for censorship-related reasons and not, and ‘so why did the Wen villagers die’ is one. (What is the point/resonance of the ‘second siege of the Burial Mounds,’ and why the actual fuck do characters call it that out loud, when there was no first siege!, is a particularly glaring and relevant ‘nother.)

And I very much prefer Wen Qing’s story in the drama overall! Mostly because there’s so much more of it - I’m so glad that we, and also the other characters, get to know her and Wen Ning at Cloud Recesses Summer Camp, and the Baling Lake adventure, and even the Dancing Peri adventure part one, poorly constructed as it is, and Wen Chao’s Evil Indoctrination Camp, (... doesn’t ‘indoctrination’ itself sound evil? or is this just a translation issue), all before the core transfer happens.

I adore the way that she’s trying to stay out of the Wen clan’s grasping for power, the way that she doesn’t want to work for Wen Ruohan or Wen Chao, but is also unwilling to secede from the clan. *waves tiny Wen Qing/MianMian flag, lol*. It’s such a good hard internal struggle... and it fits in just perfectly with the way she’s punished for being a Wen, later. She struggled - even if vainly, remember the turtle cave - against the abuses that she saw, as much as she could, but not more, walking that line. But she wouldn’t give up her clan allegiance, it matters to her... and she wouldn’t leave her followers behind... and ultimately it ends up counting against her, as the only thing that matters.

#greymouser13 #mults chats #wen qing #can u believe i have written all this and not yet talked about ~the comb~#i have a multitude of wen qing feelings lol okay

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allisondraste · 5 years

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Temperance (17/?)

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: A chance encounter in the Coastlands turns Nathaniel’s life upside down.

First Chapter Previous Chapter [AO3 LINK]

The Coastlands, 9:31 Dragon

Black smoke billowed up from Amaranthine City, filling the sky like quiet, brooding storm clouds. Though it had been days since Lucia had given the order to burn the capital of the arling to the ground, the last of the flames were yet to die out, and the hazy sky that resulted was a dark testament to the tragedy that occurred. Difficult and ruthless as it was, she made the right decision. Nathaniel had said as much, though she didn’t believe it.

Just days before the darkspawn attack, Delilah had written to him to say that she and Albert fled the spread of disease in the city to stay with his family in Kirkwall. Even before the Mother’s forces laid siege, Amaranthine was a lost cause. Lucia’s actions prevented more harm than they had caused, though the stubborn woman insisted upon blaming herself. He could scarcely fault her for that either. She was a young mage, not a hardened general and it was difficult to watch a city burn, especially one that did so upon your own command.

There was a flash of lighting, and thunder rang out, causing Nathaniel to jump, his attention shifting from the ruins in the distance to his more immediate surroundings. The Coastlands stretched between Amaranthine and Highever and were known for their temperamental weather. Now, they were better known as the lands where the talking darkspawn stragglers fled. When news of the creatures attacking villages and outposts in the area reached Vigil’s Keep, he offered to investigate and search for entrances to the Deep Roads. Velanna and Sigrun, the newest recruit, had asked to join him. Though he would not say so directly, he was glad. Being a Warden, having comrades who cared for him, it was the first time since he’d spent his last summer with the Couslands that he felt like he truly belonged. Solitude no longer had the same appeal.

“Fenedhis,” Velanna hissed as another clap of thunder rattled the sky, introducing the subsequent downpour. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head, grumbling.

“You sure are jumpy for someone who’s lived on the surface your whole life,” Sigrun said, giggling, “Nate too.”

“And you are surprisingly unaffected by the storms,” Velanna remarked dryly.

“I’m used to it,” the dwarf answered with a shrug, “The Stone is loud when it moves.”

Nathaniel laughed and pulled up his own hood, scanning the area around them for anything that could provide shelter from the cold, winter wind and rain. They’d be no use against any darkspawn they encountered if they were soaking wet and freezing. He spotted a cliff several yards in the distance with a sizable overhang that would be suitable protection from the elements.

“We should take cover,” he explained, “Just until the storm lets up.”

Velanna and Sigrun nodded, relieved expressions crossing each of their faces, as they made their way toward their temporary shelter. The space beneath the overhang was actually larger than he expected, and even he was able to stand comfortably beneath it. He sat anyway. He should rest while he had the opportunity. His blood vibrated in his veins as it did when darkspawn were nearby, and it was certain to be a long afternoon of scouting and fighting, not to mention the several hours of walking back to the Keep. It wouldn’t have hurt the Warden-Commander to spare a horse or two.

“You are quiet,” Velanna stated, voice as soft as she could manage, which was not actually that soft. She was so accustomed to having to shout to be heard. It made sense.

“I am always quiet, my lady,” he replied, with no effort to hide the smirk that twitched at the corners of his mouth, “Unlike yourself.”

“I am not -,” she began, stopping as she heard her own voice echo off the stone around them. She crossed her arms and adjusted her voice to just more than a whisper. “I am not loud.”

“I apologize,” he said, a twinge of guilt pricking at him, “I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

“He was just flirting ,” Sigrun interjected without looking up from the dirt where she traced spirals with her finger, “He thinks its fun to tease you.”

Velanna turned to look at him, brows furrowed, blinking in disbelief. Nathaniel just shrugged in response. It wasn’t an inaccurate appraisal, after all.

Velanna opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it, and then opened it again, but before she could do more than huff at him, she was interrupted by men shouting and a horse whinnying in distress. The commotion came from the cliff just above them.

Nathaniel rose to his feet and grabbed his weapon. “I’ll check it out.”

His companions nodded in response, each preparing themselves for battle, should it come to that, and he rushed out from beneath the overhang and up the hill that led to the ledge. A group of four men in worn, rough leathers surrounded a cloaked figure in expensive plate, who sat atop a horse that looked twice as expensive as the armor. Bandits looking for profit, and some noble fool who was stupid enough to travel alone while flaunting his wealth. He shook his head. He’d have to save the idiot.

Nathaniel readied his bow, aimed, and shot in one fluid motion, the arrow piercing the back of one unfortunate man’s knee just as he landed a blow to the fool’s arm, causing him to release the reins and fall from the horse. The thug cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground as well, his comrades turning to face Nathaniel.

One of the men, middle aged, carrying a shield decorated with an all-too-familiar bear, scowled and shouted, “Oh, look. It’s a Warden. Bet his pretty little head is worth a fortune.”

“Them’s the ones that burnt the city,” added another, younger man—no, a boy— knuckles white against the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, trembling with tears filling his eyes. “My mum was in there. Little sister, too. You lot are murderers. ”

“I lost my wife to the darkspawn,” said another, “Lost my son to the fire. Heroes my arse,” He bounced his daggers in his hands and spat, and then flung one at Nathaniel. Before he could move to dodge the projectile a wall of roots and vines surged up in front of him catching the dagger before receding back into the ground.

“A knife-eared witch,” rasped the man on the ground, pointing a shaky finger at Velanna who now stood just behind Nathaniel.

“What did you say, Shem,” Velanna growled, clenching her fists. The ground around them trembled and Nathaniel stretched an arm out in front of her.

“Don’t,” he said softly,

“What?” She shook her head indignantly. No!”

“Look at them,” Sigrun spoke, “They’re terrified, and they look like they haven’t eaten in days.”

“We haven’t,” the men chimed in unison.

“We’ve got nowheres to go,” the boy added, a large tear visibly streaking down his face. “No money. Nothin’ to our names.”

“You meant to rob that man just to get by.” Sigrun furrowed her brows and frowned. She was thinking of Dust Town, no doubt.

The men nodded, silent and stone-faced. The hooded man who had remained remarkably still and quiet, clutching his wounded arm, had only been attacked because these men were desperate. They were only desperate because they’d lost everything. The Wardens had cost them all but their lives. It didn’t matter how many people had been saved, the Wardens were villains in their eyes. To them, the means would never be justified, regardless of the ends.

“On behalf of the Grey Wardens,” Nathaniel said bowing his head, “I apologize for your losses, I-“

“What do you now of loss, Warden?” The middle- aged man spoke calmly, despite the deep, disdainful lines on his forehead, and his stance that suggested he was ready to attack at any moment.

“Me?” Nathaniel laughed a dry and empty laugh, reaching up to remove his hood despite the heavy rain that still fell. “My name is Nathaniel Howe. In case you are unfamiliar: these were my family’s lands before the Wardens took them from us. I am bitter, and I am angry, and there isn’t a day that goes by without me wishing I could have been here to make sure that this didn’t happen.”

Nathaniel paused and scanned the faces of the men, noting their shock and bewilderment. They all had lowered their weapons, and the boy had stopped his crying.

“But I am also grateful. You heard what happened at Ostagar, the West Hills. Without the Wardens, there would be no lands left untainted by darkspawn filth. I am sorry for what happened to your families, your homes. It was a difficult and terrible decision, but it was the right thing to do. We desperately want to make things right -- I desperately want to make things right -- but that won’t happen if you go around killing us before we get the chance.”

“Lord Howe,” the middle-aged man said with some degree of reverence. His shield was clearly a symbol of his loyalty to the family.

“I am no lord,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head, “Not anymore.”

“But -.”

“Here. “ He removed his coin purse from his belt and tossed it to the ground at the man’s feet, “There’s enough there to feed you and your men… and to fix that one’s leg.” He motioned to the wounded man.

“I… thank you.”

“If you need refuge, you are welcome at Vigil’s Keep. We’ve been providing shelter for those displaced by the darkspawn uprising.”

“But we tried to kill you,” the boy protested.

Nahaniel smirked. “You’ll be surprised to know how little that matters to the Warden-Commander.”

He sighed as he watched them walk away, hoping he’d made some difference, that they’d choose a better path. There was no way to be sure.

A warm hand squeezed his shoulder and he turned to see Velanna offering him a smile. “As much as I would have loved to teach those shemlen a lesson, I believe you did the right thing.”

“I agree,” Sigrun added, a sad smile on her face as she, too, watched the men walk away.

A rustling and scraping together of metal behind them reminded Nathaniel that the man he’d saved was still there, wounded. He turned to see that the man had risen to his feet and removed the hood he’d been wearing. Nathaniel blinked several times at the sight of his face, a familiar face, and one he would never have expected to see in the middle of the Coastlands being attacked by starving refugee bandits.

“Maker’s Blood.” He took a few steps forward, examining the man more closely. There were more lines on his face since the last time they’d seen one another, but there was no mistaking who he was. Especially not when he smiled that wide, cheerful grin. “Fergus?”

“Little Nate,” Fergus replied, clicking his tongue, “All grown up, and a Grey Warden at that.”

There was a long, heavy pause before he moved forward and embraced Nathaniel, who tensed at the sudden affection. It was as tight and sincere a hug that could be managed with only one arm unwounded, ending with a rough pat on the back as Fergus pulled away. For the first time Nathaniel could ever remember, there was an indescribable sadness behind the man’s eyes, and he didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t have to, as Fergus spoke first. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

Brother. It had been so many years, and there was so much strife between their broken remnants of families now, the term hardly felt deserved.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Nathaniel said, still stunned. This whole affair had been emotionally taxing to say the least, and now Fergus Cousland was standing in front of him. Not dead, and a very solid, very real reminder of what Father had done. He looked down, rage and grief building in his chest again. Then, he looked up. “I-.”

“I know what you’re going to say, Nate,” Fergus interrupted him, shaking his head, “And don’t.”

“Delilah told me what Father did,” Nathaniel explained, holding onto his composure by a thread, “I owe you an apology.”

“No you bloody don’t,” Fergus snapped, “You aren’t you’re father, and you’re not responsible for his actions. Besides, I’m sick of apologies. It’s been the first thing out of everyone’s mouths when they see me. It’s a nice gesture and all, but no amount of sorry is going to bring my family back, you know?”

Nathaniel nodded. “I know. I just… wish I could have been here. I would have never let it happen. I’d have died first.”

“I know.” Fergus smiled somberly but then hissed and clutched at his wounded arm with the opposite hand, which was stained with fresh blood when he pulled it away. “Damn. It’s worse than I thought.”

“Velanna, do you think you can…” He trailed off, motioning vaguely at Fergus, his mind in a blur.

“I will see what I can do,” she answered, “But we will need to get out of this rain.”

“Good idea,” Sigrun said, teeth chattering, “I’m starting to change my mind about this whole weather thing.”

They returned to their spot beneath the rocky overhang, Fergus walking along beside Nathaniel, clumsily. He must have been disoriented from falling from horse which had run off during the fighting. Fergus said that he figured she hadn’t gone far and would wander back eventually. Either she was a well trained horse, or the man’s hopes were misplaced.

It was still cold under the ledge, and it’d be difficult to start a fire with damp kindling and wood. However, it was dry and illuminated well enough by the daylight that Velanna could get a better look at Fergus’ arm.

Nathaniel sat quietly observing as Fergus introduced himself to the other Wardens, charming as ever. Sigrun bantered back and forth with him playfully, but Velanna scoffed and rolled her eyes. She was probably a lot more entertained than she’d let on.

“Can’t say I expected you to return to Ferelden after everything,” Fergus said, grimacing as Velanna pulled away his armor and the tattered bloody fabric just below his shoulder.

“I had to see what happened for myself.” Nathaniel laughed. “I planned to kill the Warden who destroyed my family and took our lands.

“And so you joined them instead?”

“I was conscripted, a pardon for theft.”

“Theft?” Fergus squinted. “You’re no thief.”

“The Wardens claimed some of the Howe heirlooms belonged to them. I got caught trying to take some of them back.”

“Maker’s Breath… and they conscripted you for that?”

“It was that or the noose.” Nathaniel shrugged. “I chose the noose, but the Warden-Commander refused, so here I am. Killing sentient darkspawn and pissing off the people of Amaranthine.”

Fergus shifted uncomfortably as Velanna began to tend the wound. Without healing magic, it needed stitches, and stitches were painful. Nathaniel wished he had something to offer him to cut the pain. It was a shame Oghren wasn’t around with a flask of whatever. Ever since he’d started to cut back, he was much more inclined to share. In fact, he’d been annoyingly pushy about it. Nobody wanted the ale he found in some dungeon somewhere.

“That’s actually why I came out this way,” Fergus said through a pained growl, “I’d received word of some commotion in Amaranthine City, but nothing official from the Arlessa.”

“The Warden-Commander was busy putting out fires,” Nathaniel replied more defensively than he should have.

“Seems more like she’s been busy starting them,” Fergus said with a wink and Nathaniel relaxed, “Sounds like it was necessary, though.”

“Unfortunately.”

There were a few moments of silence and Nathaniel spoke again hoping to change the subject from such an intense focus on himself. “You’re the Teyrn now, huh.”

“Unfortunately,” he mimicked Nathaniel, before grinning. Again, his smile only barely concealed his sadness. “It’s unbelievable to me that people would be so hungry for this kind of power. It’s miserable. I miss my family. I’d be a poor, powerless man if it meant I could kiss my wife again, if I could tuck my son into bed.”

“I can’t imagine.” Nathaniel frowned, unsure what else to say besides an apology that Fergus would no doubt reject.

“Elissa had it worse than I did, there in the castle, witnessing it all…” Fergus trailed off, eyes losing their focus briefly. “She blames herself, you know. Wishes she could have died instead of my son as if the Maker would have been open to barter. You should really try to talk some sense into her. She might listen to you.”

For a moment time stood still, as Fergus’ words rang in Nathaniel’s ears. Liss was alive.

“What’s wrong, Nate?” He flinched as Velanna continued stitching the wound. She looked up at Nathaniel briefly, meeting his eyes. Sigrun watched him as well, and Fergus continued. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I…” He couldn’t quite form a meaningful message for his mouth to say.

“You… you didn’t know my sister survived, did you?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “No. My sister told me everyone who was in the castle that night died. I just assumed-.”

“You know better than to underestimate Liss,” Fergus scolded, “Fought her way out with a borrowed sword wearing nothing but her nightgown. She’s a damn legend.”

“Where is she now?” Nathaniel’s breath was shallow and his heart raced up his throat as if it were going to crawl out of his mouth at the news.

“Denerim, working for Queen Anora,” Fergus answered, smiling mischievously. “You should pay her a visit. It’d make her entire year, I think.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? Your father isn’t stopping you anymore.”

“It’s been nine years.” Nathaniel laughed and shook his head, despite his nagging desire to take off to the capital at that moment. “I’m sure she’s -.”

“What? Happy and moved on?” Fergus interrupted him. “Hardly. I mean, she tried, but nobody ever mattered to her like you did. She never stopped waiting for you, even when she swore she had.”

“Oh, how romantic,” Sigrun said, clasping her hands together.

“There,” Velanna announced abruptly as she finished tying up Fergus’ bandages.

“Thank you, Lady Velanna,” he chirped cheerfully.

“Ugh. There’s two of them,” she groaned, and rolled her eyes. “You are welcome, I suppose.”

She wiped her hands off with a strip of cloth and busied herself with putting things back into her pack —loudly— and announced that she needed to take a walk, stomping out into the rain, which still lingered as just a light drizzle. Fergus looked to Nathaniel, eyebrows raised in amusement, but Nathaniel just sighed. It wasn’t amusing.

“Anyway,” Fergus said rising to his feet, “You should at least talk to her. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you don’t.”

“I will need to think about it,” Nathaniel stood as well, “I am not the same person I was when I left.”

“Neither is she.” Fergus laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and eyed him sincerely. He hated that the man could still get to him like that

A horse whinnied behind them and Fergus’ face brightened.

“There’s my girl,” he said, walking over and running a hand down the horse’s forehead and muzzle. He turned back to Nathaniel. “Well, the storm’s let up. I suppose I should head out. Let you all get back to… wardening. Thanks for saving my arse back there.”

“Take care, Fergus.”

“Yeah, you too,” Fergus said, climbing up onto his horse, “Go talk to my sister, and don’t be a stranger. We’re family.”

Nathaniel nodded, a smile spreading across his lips and Sigrun waved at his side.

“It was nice to meet you, Lady Sigrun. Lady Velanna, too, if you’ll pass along the message.”

“Did you hear that?” Sigrun giggled, bringing a hand to her face, as they watched Fergus ride off in the direction of Highever. “He called me a lady.”

Nathaniel was silent in response, aching already at Fergus’ departure. As fraught with emotion as their reunion was, it had been good. He’d missed the man, someone who’d so readily accepted him as a friend and brother. Perhaps they’d have more time to catch up in the future, especially if Liss, well, if he went to her in Denerim. If nothing else went horribly wrong.

“What are you going to do?” Sigrun asked, eyes blinking up at him.

“I’m going to find Velanna,” he answered, knowing that wasn’t what she meant, but hoping to avoid a discussion about it. “Then, I’m going to kill whatever darkspawn are nearby making my blood itch.”

It did not take long to locate Velanna, who sat in the grass, leaning against a large tree that looked as if it had been split in two by lightning. She stared off into the distance, forehead wrinkled and twisting the tattoos that marked her face.

“There you are,” he said, sitting down beside her. “I’d ask if you’re okay, but considering the way you stormed off, I think I already know the answer.”

“I apologize for leaving as I did.” She shook her head. “It was juvenile.”

“My conversation with Fergus upset you, didn’t it?”

“As foolish as that sounds, yes. It did.” Velanna brought her eyes up to meet his briefly before looking away. “I have always been an outsider. Lonely. Misunderstood. Excluded even by my own kind. I thought that it was some sort of flaw in me, that it was how I deserved to be treated. It’s not as if I had any reason to believe otherwise.

“Then I met you, a human, a noble...the epitome of everything I should hate, and yet I could not. Besides Seranni, you were the first person to ever treat me as if I was worthy of kindness before I did anything to earn it, or before I scared it out of you. On top of that you gave me compliments, called me beautiful. It would be hard for anyone not care for you after that, I should think.”

“You would be surprised,” he answered, dryly, “Justice did not take kindly to my compliments about his complexion. The rotten bastard called me disingenuous.”

“You were being disingenuous,” she said laughing slightly, “With him. Not with me.”

“No.” He shook his head, tone serious. “I meant what I said to you. Still do.”

“That woman you all spoke about, his sister. She is the person you could never move on from isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Nathaniel admitted, “I have been in love with her since I was just a boy, though I was never allowed to say as much.”

Velanna was quiet, and he worried for a moment that she would lash out at him, furious that he led her on, but she didn’t. Instead, she just smiled and sighed. “I envy her.”

The soft acceptance pierced him more deeply than any amount of anger could have. “Velanna, I’m sorry. I would not have been so forward with you had I any idea whatsoever that she was alive.”

“I know that,” she assured him. Her small hand was warm to the touch as she placed it over his. “Please do not be sorry. I’m not.”

“But-,” he began, interrupted by the soft pressure of her lips against his cheek.

“I am disappointed, but that is all,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder. “I will get over it, and I would like it if we could still be friends.”

“I’d like that, too.”

Taking a deep breath, Nathaniel wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they sat in silence for several moments before Velanna spoke again, moving out from under his arm to glare at him. “You have to tell her how you feel, Nathaniel. You would be a fool to let her go again.”

“I know,” he said, rising to his feet and offering a hand to her, “As soon as we take care of these darkspawn stragglers and return to the Vigil, I will ask for leave to go to Denerim.”

“Good.” Velanna took his hand and allowed him to help her up. “I will harass you if you do not.”

“At this point, I think everyone is going to harass me if I don’t.”

By the time they found Sigrun, she had -- to no one’s surprise -- already dealt with a half-dozen darkspawn, and made a much-deserved prod at Nathaniel and Velanna for being “lazy bones.” They had not exactly been lazy, but they also had not been fighting hurlocks either. Altogether it only took a couple of hours to scout the area and finish off the remaining creatures. They located only one Deep Roads entrance in the area, and boarded it up so that some unfortunate wanderer would not stumble into it accidentally, and set out on the return trip to Vigil’s Keep. One of the experts there could seal the hole properly at a later date.

It was not until the next morning that Nathaniel sought out Lucia to request permission to travel to the capital. He and the others had not arrived back at the Keep until late at night, and he’d been too emotionally and physically exhausted to do anything but take a bath and collapse into bed. No doubt the Warden-Commander would grant him permission. She would most likely wonder why he even felt the need to ask her. Still, regardless of their friendship, she remained his commanding officer, and he intended to give her the formality and respect she deserved.

He made his way to the Great Hall, intending to visit Lucia in her office, which was just off it’s east wing. The office had previously belonged to his father, and he was never allowed in there. He wondered what the man had been hiding, if anything at all. He was stopped in his path by Garavel, the former Guard Captain who was promoted to Seneschal in the wake of Varel’s heroic demise.

“Warden Howe,” he shouted, his voice reverberating throughout the hall, “I take it you are looking for Warden-Commander Amell.”

“Yes.”

“She’s not there,” Garavel stated with some hesitation.

“You seem concerned, Seneschal.”

“We don’t actually know where the Warden-Commander is right now,” the man explained, “Some of the guards saw her leave her quarters in the middle of the night, but she has yet to return.”

“Was she armored?”

“The guards said she was just wearing nightclothes…” he trailed off as Nathaniel shook his head and sighed. “What is it?”

“I know where she is,” said Nathaniel, turning to exit the hall. He grabbed a woolen blanket from the storage bin conveniently placed by the main door. “Thank you, Seneschal.”

The battlements that surrounded Vigil’s Keep were extensive, encompassing the entire courtyard, as well as the castle itself. When he was a boy, Nathaniel had often sought refuge from his father’s wrath up there. If anything, it kept him out of the way during the worst of it. Father had lacked the patience to search the entire length of the wall for him. He suspected that’s what had happened with Lucia and the guards. He’d run into her up there several times, often late at night and completely underdressed for the weather. She seemed to have as much trouble sleeping as he did, perhaps more.

Certainly enough he found her, elbows on the parapet, looking out over the Keep. She did not hear him at first, and he took a moment to watch her as she twisted what appeared to be the dried up remnants of a rose between her fingers. There were tears in her eyes, and she looked so broken and sad. It was too intimate and not for him to see. He shifted uncomfortably, preparing to walk away and attempt to speak with her again later, but she heard him, hurriedly wiping a tear from her cheek and straightening her posture.

“Nathaniel?” She furrowed her brows at him as he moved forward to stand by her side.

“Sorry to disturb you. Some of the guards saw you leave your quarters in the middle of the night, and Garavel was worried when you did not return. I figured I might find you up here, attempting to freeze to death,” he explained, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her shoulders, “If you want to die, I can think of a hundred more noteworthy ways to go about it.”

“I’m not trying to freeze to death,” she snapped, pulling the blanket more tightly around her, “I just… couldn’t sleep.”

“Troubled?” It was none of his business, really, but he had to ask. He leaned forward and joined her in resting her elbows on the parapet.

“I’m fine. Just restless.” She looked straight ahead, off into the distance, and sighed.

“You know, you’re an excellent commander, but a piss poor liar.” He looked at her, then down to the flower in her hand, nodding at it. “What’s that?”

She laughed humorlessly and looked at him. “My latest weapon of choice.”

“A withered rose?” It appeared he was not the only with difficult feelings he’d rather avoid.

Lucia shrugged. “It’s poetic.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, grateful she was his friend as well as his commanding officer. Any other commanding officer might be offended by the sheer insubordination. “Permission to speak candidly?”

“Always.”

“I’m not sure what is on your mind right now, and I’m not going to ask. Whatever it is, though, you’re thinking entirely too much about it.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” She raised her eyebrows and grinned. “I believe “brooding” is the term Anders uses to describe you.”

“Maybe so,” he conceded, “But, just from experience alone, I know that it’s stupid to waste so much time thinking about all the things that could go wrong that you lose something important to you.”

“It’s unwise to act without thinking things through,” she argued, “That’s how you end up hurt: making rash choices.”

“Failure to act is also a rash choice.”

“I… I don’t know what to do, Nathaniel,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up, voice cracking, “I feel like every decision I’ve made in the past year has been wrong. I made sound, logical choices and they all had horrible consequences. People got hurt. People important to me. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“People always get hurt, even when you do the right thing ,” he said gently, his own voice raw with emotion, “Sometimes, all you can do is go with your gut, and hope it works out. You have to trust yourself. I learned that the hard way.”

“How does one go with one’s gut,” asked the woman who had clearly never made an impulsive decision in her life.

“If you could do anything in the world you wanted right now without consequence, what would you do?”

“I’d go to Denerim,” Lucia replied almost instantly. Nathaniel couldn’t help but smirk at her coincidental answer.

“Then you need to go to Denerim.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he answered with a nod, “It’s funny because I actually came up here to ask for leave to go to Denerim. I have some business to attend to there, myself.”

“That’s ironic,” she laughed, “When shall we leave?”

“Now, if you’re up for it.”

Lucia tensed up and blinked several times. “Now? Right now?”

“Yes. Right now. I’m tired of both of us moping about.” He whirled around as he spoke, waving for her to follow, and she did.

For better or worse, they were bound for Denerim.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #nathaniel howe #cousland #nathaniel howe x cousland #velanna #sigrun #Temperance #update #long chapter #my writing

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years

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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 37 - Water, Blood, and Bone

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Rosslyn watched the rising tide, knuckles white on the folded edges of her cloak as spray plumed against the cliffs. The black water behind it echoed a dull roar as it crept over the lip of the pool and sent waves skimming across the surface, white sickle curves that hissed as they died on the rock beneath her feet. On the far side, they sieged the mouth of the cave that had swallowed Alistair; each one was a breath that counted down what remained of his time.

“Come away, Cuilean,” the Storm Giant murmured in Clayne at her side. “Ye’ll catch your death.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” The sharp edge of Alistair’s amulet cut into her fingers where she gripped it.

“It’s in the gods’ hands now, and his. There’s nothing ye can do.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” she growled. “He’ll make it. He’ll come back, and he’ll have your dragon bone.” She lifted her chin. “But I’m not leaving.”

The Storm Giant huffed a sigh and ambled away with a curse. For all the heed she paid, she might be made of stone, just another pillar of basalt daring the world to weather it. Her mind ran in circles, frantic over the scraps of information she had spoken to Tabris, wondering which parts the elf had been able to remember, wondering if those would be enough.

The rain began again.

The creatures standing between Alistair and the cave mouth watched him carefully, twisting their heads to the side like birds gauging the edibility of a worm. In the gloom, their eyes glittered with reflected light, their odd, slender forms looming silhouettes against the rapidly fading light. They stood taut, expectant, with only the barest flicker of a tail.

Waiting for him to move.

“Get away!” he yelled.

He kicked the water, waved his arms, but the creatures only chirruped at him, as if politely amused by his antics. Behind them, the water retreated and offered a brief glimpse outside, before the next wave surged in and again cut off the light with a gurgle. Darkness fell, and feathers rustled. Alistair tried not to shiver as he marked them all, careful not to focus on any individual for too long in case the others decided to surround him. The lead animal, slightly bigger than the others, lowered its gaze and snarled when he wrapped his hands around the dagger’s hilt.

“So, you don’t like that, huh?” he muttered, backing away. ”I don’t know if it’s better or worse that you know what this is.”

He had to think. No way around them; not enough time to wait for them to get bored. The goose fat that had shielded him so far from the cold had all but washed away, and his body had chilled so far the shivering had stopped. He knew about hypothermia, knew that the next stage would bring delirium and a slow sensation of warmth throughout his body as his blood stopped flowing to his brain. And even assuming the creatures hadn’t already absconded with the dragon’s smaller parts, he couldn’t turn his attention away from them to look.

He stared the lead creature in the eye and drew the blade, hating how his cold hands fumbled on the grip. ”Come on then - have at it!”

He lunged. The creatures saw him coming and scattered out of the way in a cacophony of outraged shrieks. One, bolder than the rest or maybe just less experienced, pivoted and launched for his back, but he had expected the movement. He twisted, foot planted, and brought the dagger up in a bright arc that opened it along the belly. Foul-smelling blood splashed across his face and its howl set the hairs on the back of his neck, but he dismissed the sensation, turned, and looked around for the others. The leader had retreated with its fellows to the safety of the dragon’s ribcage, out of reach for now but still close enough that they would be on him if he tried to leave the pool. One tripped over the dragon’s hind leg as it skipped to safety, and the movement enough to jostle the disarticulated bones and send them rolling into the water. They sank, slowly enough to make Alistair realise his mistake.

I’ve been looking in the wrong place.

Let the creatures watch him, then; they were content enough to leave him to wear himself down, and as long as he remained in the water where his longer legs gave him an advantage, he would be safe enough. He wiped the dagger on his breeches but kept it in hand as he pushed his way past the floating carcass of the creature that attacked him and toed his way to the centre of the pool. There, the water reached above his knees and the bottom lay under a deeper layer of sand, where two ages of indifferent tides might easily bury something even as big as a dragon. He pushed his numb feet down into the sand, peering through the clouds of grit for a hopeful flash of that same pearlescent sheen that now provided most of the rapidly dwindling light.

“Should’ve brought a glowstone,” he grunted as the feel of his footing changed. Bare rock.

On the far shore, his macabre audience trilled what almost sounded like encouragement as he felt his way further along, more confident now that he knew there was less than five inches of sand through which to search. Every step left fewer places to look, made him more desperate to risk another one instead of facing the prospect of returning empty-handed after coming so close. When something hard knocked against his ankle, he stopped, breath short, and sent a prayer to the gods he was meant to be appeasing. Grimacing at the cold, he crouched and felt for the object with his fingers, which to his touch had the same alien smoothness as the skull. He grasped the knobbled end and pulled. It was still too far buried. With a curse, he shoved the dagger back in its sheath and dug with both hands. The glug of water at the cave mouth was a rush in his ears, a steady echo to the harsh saw of his own breath through his teeth. It was only with the first loosening jiggle of the bone that he realised the creatures had fallen silent.

“Where –”

Something heavy landed on his back. Startled, he tried to twist away, but razor claws dug into his shoulders and into the soft flesh just above his kidneys. The creature screeched in triumph and bit down. Alistair screamed.

Another leaped for him, and a third latched on to his side, but he caught it with his elbow then kicked out savagely and heard a splintering of ribs from the second. He snarled as he fended them off, grabbing for the neck of the one trying to tear out his throat. By now he had the dagger in hand. The creature struggled. He stabbed out in a wild arc behind his head, felt the blade sink through gristle and bone into the sudden softness of the chest cavity. It fell from his back, limp and twitching, and the rest retreated again, but only so far as the lip of the pool. Gone was the casual inquisitiveness of before; they scented blood, and despite losing another two of their own it was goading them into a frenzy.

Alistair cursed again. In the struggle he had lost sight of the bone, and with the cave now darker than ever, the water marred with viscera, his hope of finding it sank like a plumb-line. And worse, the creatures must have had some kind of venom in their bite because his legs felt weaker than before, off-balance in a way that couldn’t be attributed to the warm trickle seeping from his shoulder.

Just come back.

He straightened. He needed to leave, to return and admit defeat before the Storm Giant and beg Rosslyn’s forgiveness for having come so close. He rolled her name off his tongue, half apology and half prayer as he turned. His grip on the dagger tightened.

“You things had better get out of my way.”

And then he saw it, at the corner of his eye, a knob of white bone poking up amidst the settling sand. The creatures looked at him suspiciously, perplexed by the intentions of a quarry that should be charging towards them, not sloshing away back to the centre of the pool. This time, he kept his eyes on them, and kept the dagger glinting between them as he worked the bone all too slowly out of its bed.

Finally, with a low sucking noise, it pulled free, a pale, slightly curved tarsal bone longer than Alistair’s thigh, surprisingly heavy for its size, and gleaming with the same faint opalescence as the rest of the skeleton. At the sight of it, the creatures drew back with a chorus of alarmed chitters, opening a gap for him to squeeze through before they could regroup. The leader snarled as he approached, but the rest only backed away further, already cowed by the loss of three of their number and wary now that he had a weapon with enough reach to keep them at a distance.

They let him go, following on his heels as he backed away, eager for a slip or a stumble to tip the odds back in their favour. A wave washed against his calves and nearly gave them their chance, but he steadied himself against the wall and felt for the opening that would take him back towards the outside world. His legs wobbled like a colt’s, and whatever was in the creatures’ venom dulled his vision so he could hardly pick them out of the gloom, but at last he found the crevice that marked the way out, and slid through into the darkness with a dozen angry screeches echoing behind him.

Water dragged at his ankles as he stumbled forward, waves stinging with flecks of sand that cascaded down the sloping floor of the tunnel, only to churn winter-white as it met the tide rising in the gorge. The cave floor was drowned, with only the rise nearest the seaward side peeking above the water to offer a small glimmer of hope that he might make it back. Fatigue gnawed at him, wound deep into his flesh with the bite of salt and the creatures’ poison until his arms felt like lead and his lungs began to constrict.

“Nearly there,” he panted as he sheathed the dagger again and shoved the dragon bone through his belt. “Just keep walking.”

“Alistair.”

Rosslyn stood in the water. Her cloak was missing, her hair awry and loose from the braid she had worn on the shore, but everything else was the same. It must be his tiredness that drew his gaze to the pouted shape of her mouth and the open line of her collar, the way the fabric of her shirt pulled taut across her breasts. He staggered towards her with his heart striking in his throat, confused, relieved, urged on by the current tugging at his legs.

“What – how –?” he tried. His throat was cracked and dried with salt.

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around his neck. He caught the scent of jasmine again as he held her, though he hadn’t noticed it when they stood together outside the cave.

“We have to hurry.”

“I know,” he answered. “It’s alright, I have the bone. It was a close call, but I can tell you everything when we get back.”

“No.” Her expression softened. “You don’t understand. I was wrong, this isn’t a test, it’s a sacrifice. The Storm Giant means to have you killed to appease the gods, one way or the other. I came to save you.”

He pulled back from the embrace. “But I have it. Rosslyn, I got it. Why would he –?”

“They lied to us.” Her fingers stroked along his cheek, warm against his chilled skin. “It doesn’t matter if you succeed, they never meant to help us.”

The grey of her eyes darkened, flickered to his mouth, and he found himself leaning forward.

“You have to come with me. Let me save you.”

She twined their fingers and stepped away, but he hesitated. Something in her touch felt… off. Wrong. The cold and the blood loss toyed with his mind.

“What is it?” she asked.

“How did you get here?”

A smile. “There’s a path around the outside. I climbed it – I can show you.”

He shook his head again when she tried to pull him after her, stepped back. The next wave rolled in above his knees. “What about the ships?”

“They don’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is us.” When he still didn’t move, she came forward again, with a wounded look in her eyes that didn’t quite belong there. “Don’t you want to be with me?”

“You’re dry.”

“What do you mean?”

He pulled away from her, from the snarl kept hidden just behind her features. “All these waves – the spray – you should be soaked to the skin.”

The not-Rosslyn shrugged, waved away his concern with a laugh. “I told you, I climbed in from outside. The water’s rising – please, you must come with me.”

“I don’t know what you are,” he growled. “But you’re not her. Get out of my way.”

“You’re a clever boy, aren’t you?” it crooned. “For a mortal, at least. Most who come here are all too happy to follow me, all too ready to believe the duplicity of those who wait beyond. But you are very foolish if you think I’ll just let you go.”

It paced towards him, no longer pretending to struggle against the current, its hands spreading wide fingers suddenly tipped with claws. Instinctively, Alistair groped at his side for a sword that wasn’t there, and instead, his hand clasped the broad edge of the bone. Perhaps it expected him to hesitate, to let himself be driven into the sea rather than strike at something wearing Rosslyn’s face like a shield, but the real Rosslyn was waiting for him, relying on him, trusting him to come back. So he smashed the improvised weapon into the demon’s grinning face.

It fell with a shriek and thrashed, trying to get its feet under it again, but by that time he was past, labouring against the pull of the water to where the cave floor was still dry, solid stone above a boiling sea. His numb feet tripped and scraped against the rock but he kept going, grip tight on the bone and eyes focussed on the opposite side of the gorge as he gathered his legs to jump. The shrill rage of the demon followed him. A wave washed in and threw up white spray to catch him – but his leap carried him over, and if he turned his ankle and sprawled on the landing, then he took the aching to mean he was still alive. When he looked back, he was entirely alone.

Grunting at the new, dull spots of pain that flared along his legs and back, he pushed himself up and limped along the wall. The water came up to mid-thigh now. Somewhere beneath the buffeting current lay the entrance to the final tunnel, the last stretch back to dry land, and he had to find it soon, or else fall to the cold and the venom coursing through his bloodstream.

“Come on, come on.”

He had to bend down to feel for the hollow with his fingers, hoping that he was in the right place, and all the while the water dragged at him until he ripped his own fingernails trying to hang on. When the next wave roared in, its foaming crest reached higher than his head. It closed over him in a wash of white foam, and whatever air he had managed to gulp down was knocked out of him as his skull was smashed against the rock.

There were doubtful murmurs from the council as the water finally closed over the notch on the wall below the Swallow’s mouth. It marked the longest anyone had ever survived in the challenge, the point beyond which all reasonable hope faded, and Rosslyn watched it disappear with every nerve shivering, her breath halted in her chest to prevent it emerging as a sob.

“I’m not leaving,” she repeated as the Storm Giant’s footsteps approached. Her mind had long since gone blank, spiralled down into the dark, with roiling water, and ice, and the sting of grit across the face. The stiffness in her shoulders made her neck ache, and her vision blurred with how intently she stared at the cave mouth, but her only conscious thought was the memory of West Roth, how she had found him lying like one dead under his blankets, and how she had all but run from him when he touched her. How much time had they wasted, only to come to this?

What would she tell Cailan?

“Cuilean…” The old man sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s still time.”

“Lass, he’s –”

“Was it worth it?” she demanded, rounding on him. “You did this. You and the rest of them, sending a good man a fool’s errand, betting the freedom of thousands on one life because you couldn’t just help. You risked war with Ferelden, and now –”

A yell interrupted her. She swung towards it, saw Misyluinan pointing, and the breath rushed from her lungs as she followed the line of the elf lord’s finger to the mouth of the Swallow, where a pale figure crawled into sight and collapsed motionless against the stone.

She was in the water before she realised she was moving. The Storm Giant’s shout rang in her ears, but she ignored the command. Water swamped her boots, each wave a cold lap against her thighs that pushed her back towards the shore, but every cruel burst of her heart against her ribs drove her onward, desperate to reach Alistair and yet terrified of what she might find when she did. When she called his name he groaned, and she breathed again. He was pale, beyond shivering, his body dotted with wounds and his eyes rimmed red from the salt. When he looked up, he didn’t see her.

“The demon…”

She touched him. “You’re like ice.”

“You –”

“Take it easy.” She hauled him into a sitting position and threw her cloak around his shoulders. It would do little good, but to leave him without any protection against the wind made bile rise in the back of her throat. “Can you stand?”

“They…” he mumbled something. “There were so many of them…”

“Alistair.”

His eyes snapped to her, feverish. “Rosslyn? Is it… really you?”

“It’s me,” she assured him. “You made it –”

The rest of her words were cut off as he lunged forward and kissed her. His lips were freezing, cracked so deeply they bled, but she pressed back all the same, until her need for breath became greater than her need for him and she had to pull away.

“Can you stand?” she repeated, brushing a careful hand over his shoulder. “We need to get you back so we can see to these injuries.”

He sagged against her and closed his eyes. “Let’s just stay here.”

“Alistair –”

“Maker, you’re warm…”

Fear gripped her. She knew the effects of cold well enough, that insidious desire to lay down and let it lead you away, and she would not let it overtake him, not when he had made it all the way back, even if she had to throw him over her shoulder and carry him across the water like a sack of flour. With a huff, she rose and hauled him up next to her, bracing herself under his shoulder as she led him towards the water, while he muttered and stared like a fish at the world around him, delirious. His fingers wound into her hair and anchored there hard enough that she winced.

“Just hold on,” she muttered. “If you give up now I swear I’m going into the Fade after you.”

“Don’t want – that,” he managed, grinning weakly.

“Then don’t die,” she answered.

Figures were already gathering to help them out of the water, Wynne and the mage lord with healing spells sparking green between their fingers.

“These look like deepstalker bites,” the Clayne woman tutted as she lifted back the cloak to inspect Alistair’s neck.

Rosslyn frowned. “Deepstalker?”

“We have te get him somewhere warm immediately.”

“Wait.” The growing number of people seemed to lift Alistair from his trance. Smiling a grim sort of reassurance at Rosslyn, he straightened and led her over towards the Storm Giant and Mac Cinaed, who with little else to do had stood back from the fuss to keep out of the way. With trembling hands, he drew the dragon bone from his belt and held it out flat so they could take it from him.

“I hope this one is big enough?” he asked.

The Storm Giant glanced at the man next to him, and then at Rosslyn, who glared sullenly back. “Aye, it’ll do. And ye’ll get ye ships.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #da:o #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #alistair x rosslyn #rosslyn cousland #cousland #dragon age au

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