Bound To You: Chapter Three—Once Upon A Dream

“if i know you, i know what you’ll do; you’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”

Summary: Painted in hues of black and white, (Y/N) reminisces about her time in France as her and Tom are bounded to each other for life. James decides to fight for what he believes is his, Tom decides to do the right thing, and Hawthorne finally becomes aware of his fatal error. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, bleeding, mentions of sex, typos (so many and i’m so sorry)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The days were always like this. At least when you were around. The sun was bright and the air was cool. There was a gentle breeze and not a cloud in the sky. It was perfect. 

And there you were. Sitting on a blanket on the hill, holding a babe to your chest with your stomach swollen with another.

 A goddess divine. A woman. It was beauty and grace all in one. It was everything he’d ever dreamed of, with the woman he dreamed of it with. 

And then you saw him, and it was like the wind was knocked from his lungs. It was like the first time every time. It was the bliss the drop in your stomach you get from falling. Except he was falling into you. 

You saw him there, walking up the hill barefoot with a basket of baked goods in his hands. Flowers in the left hand, the basket in the right. His heart swelled. 

“Look,” You smiled, “there’s daddy,” You whispered in your son’s ear, letting him go to toddle off towards his father. 

“There’s my big man!” 

“Dada!” 

And that’s where the dream always ended. Right before his son could jump into his arms. 

It was probably because this figurative boy only lived his imagination. Never to be seen or heard by the outside world. Especially now that you were gone. 

It was a slow, painful sadness. The strange type that only sharpened in time. There was never a dull ache or a melancholy heartbreak. It was harsh pain, and it only grew harsher as the days went on, each one without you walking up the stone pathway to the chateau you called home, back into his arms. 

“M’lord,” Arthur, a young boy, ten, maybe eleven, brought tea to James as he sat in front of the fire, staring at the flames, letting the heat radiating off them soothe him, “your tea.” 

He was a young, scrawny kid who’s father had sold him into indentured servitude. You snatched him up when you saw him, dragged along by his father as the man yelled out harsh sums of money he’d take for the boy. 

You’d scolded the man at the time, shaming him for giving up his flesh and blood for something as measly as money. But then you remembered the reality some people faced. So you gave the man as much money as he could carry, bags and bags of gold. And you took the boy in. 

He worked well and was a fine servant, but you made sure he knew that he had his freedom too. Whenever he wanted, he could go. 

He never left though. Didn’t leave your side for weeks. 

James struggled with you leaving. But so did Arthur. He was like a little brother and he found home in your presence. The warmth you provided was now gone, no matter how many fires were lit. 

But you knew the dangers of court. You knew what court could do to young men. Make them serve, make them give up their lives. It wasn’t worth the risk, so you instructed him to stay behind. And as you left it all to James, you left Arthur as well. 

“Why do you call me that?” James asked, “I am not noble-born.” 

“You are the lord of the house sir,” Arthur explained, “Lady (Y/N) left the title for you, she had the documents written up and placed in your office.” 

“Hm,” James nodded, “and have you heard from her? Will she be returning soon?” 

“No, M’lord,” the young boy shook his head, “she has not sent word, nor do I believe she will return.” 

“Send another letter,” James sighed. The boy was about to say something but James held his hand up, “I know, I know, I’ve already sent five, but—perhaps she’s not receiving them, or perhaps the messenger isn’t giving them directly to her.” 

“The messenger said that he gives them to her chambermaid, who gives them to her.”

“That’s the issue!” James yelled, slamming his hand on the table and knocking the tea over onto the floor. Arthur immediately began cleaning it up. “The letter needs to be placed directly into her hand. She’s probably loaded up with work, constantly being run here and there. She needs to be given the letter directly or else she won’t read it. She won’t have the time.” 

“M’lord,” Arthur said as he picked up the broken glass, “the wedding is in three days. I don’t think we’ll be able to get another letter to her before then.” 

“It’s not about the wedding,” James said, “if she loved me. If she was truly unhappy there, which she surely is, then she’d come home. She just needs to know that my arms are still open for her.” 

Arthur nodded and rose to leave and begin drafting the new letter. 

“Arthur,” James called before the boy could get out of the room, “do you believe in fate?” 

“I’m not sure, M’lord.” 

“Soulmates?”

“I suppose it’s possible.” 

“Can you imagine how impossible, how unlikely, it was that (Y/N) and I should have crossed path again? That was—there was little to no chance, and yet, there she was right in front of me. Mine to love and cherish. If there is no such thing as fate or soulmates, then how do you explain that?” 

“I don’t know, M’lord.” Arthur shook his head, “it must be fate.” 

“Yes,” James nodded, “it must.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was your first winter in the chateau that you’d asked James to stay the night. You’d sent home the maids, butlers, and cooks, leaving only you and Ida. The winter storm was raging on outside and you didn’t want to keep your servants away from their loved ones in such conditions, so you sent them off. 

It made you feel safe knowing you had James in the house. He made a great fire in the common room, slowly but surely warming the whole house. He was also somewhat proficient with a sword, not that you were worried about thieves or crooks in this type of weather. 

“Thank you for staying the night,” You said as you and James sat in the living room. You on the couch and him in the leather chair by the fire.

“It’s no problem,” James smiled, rubbing his hands together by the flames, “it’s lonely in the bakery anyways. The room above is freezing in the winter.” 

“Well, you’re welcomed to stay here whenever,” You offered, “you can even play lord if you’d like.” 

James laughed at that, “Like when we were kids and you’d sneak a fancy ring to me and call me ‘M’lord’?” 

“It’s exactly like that,” You joked, “except you’ll get a fancy ring and a fancy chateau.” 

You and James chuckled at the memories for a moment before he spoke again, “As much as that offer intrigues me, I’ll have to pass. It’s not appropriate for us to be alone together so often, we’re getting too old for that.” 

“Really?” You asked, “You think?” 

“The old ladies in town always ask if I’m courting the mysterious girl in the chateau,” James said with an awkward chuckle, “I don’t think I can keep coming here without arising suspicions.” 

“Oh,” You waved your hand in dismissal, “who cares what a bunch of nosy hens think? You’re my friend, James. And Lord knows you deserve to live the high life. So why don’t you come stay here? If you want to leave you can whenever you’d like.” 

“It won’t be awkward?”

“It will if you make it.” 

“It is lonely.” 

“The loneliest.” 

“Fine,��� James agreed, “I suppose we can try to coexist.” 

“Pfff,” You scoffed, “please, we both know this excites you.” 

“You’re right,” James smiled, “it does. It excites me quite a lot. This will be fun.” 

“It will.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was Springtime, a time of rebirth and regrowth. That was when you realized James might be more than a friend. More than just somebody you felt safe with. 

“I’m so glad the weather had finally turned around,” You said as you turned the page of your book. You were sitting on the hill that overlooked the town, on a blanket with a plate of pastries at your side. 

James was sitting there too, scarfing down another cherry scone. 

“Yes, me too,” James smiled, looking at you intently. 

You fell into a comfortable silence as you read, though you could feel his eyes following you as yours danced across the pages. 

“Is there something on my face?” You finally said, looking up at him.

“Hm?” James shook his head, “No, why?” 

“James,” You rolled your eyes, “you’re staring.” 

“Am I?” James smiled, “I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Stop being creepy.” 

“I’m not, I just—well, it’s silly.” 

“Just what?” 

“I never noticed that your nose curved like that.” James shrugged, “It’s quite interesting. And beautiful in a sense. You know, I’ve known you for so long and I still find these things—these little things that make me smile. Just you sitting there really, that makes me smile.”

“James,” You closed your book, raising an eyebrow at him.

“That was creepy, I will admit.” James chuckled, “But perhaps, you found it…charming too?”

“What are you doing?” You asked, peering at him. 

“I don’t know,” James shook his head, “I just—I don’t know. Lately, I feel like I’ve known you like truly have known you. And I just think you’re amazing.” 

“I think you’re amazing too,” You smiled.

“But there’s more to it than that,” James sighed, “I want to—I want to mean more to you. It’s hard to explain. But I want to be there for you and mean as much to you as you mean to me.” 

“You mean the world to me, James.” 

“I’m falling for you, (Y/N).” 

“That’s what that all meant?” 

“I was nervous.” James groaned and you stifled a chuckle, “don’t laugh.” He chuckled. 

“I’m not,” You shook your head and giggled a bit more, “I just—I think you’re a very special person to me, James. And I—well, I think I could fall for you too.” 

And so it was. And so you did. 

You fell as hard as you could fall without hurting yourself. But James fell headfirst. He kissed with passion and whispered his praises in your ear. He left no words unsaid, and one day, his hope was to leave no trace of your skin untouched. He loved you too much, and that would have never been a problem if you could love him with the same fervor. If you could have had more time to convince yourself better. Then it would have been enough, and you would have been his. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was all a blur. You were redressed and repainted and as you walked in the chapel, weighted down by your dress, you could only see the muted faces of the people in the crowd as you passed. 

You couldn’t look at the disappointed frown etched on your mother’s face, even though you were doing what she asked of you. You couldn’t look at the sympathetic glances from Harry or Paddy or the way Harrison looked at you with concern plastered over his face. You couldn’t look at Dom, standing at the altar with a proud smile on his lips. And you most certainly couldn’t look at Tom, who looked at you like you were a dog kicked and beaten on the street. He looked at you with such sadness. How dare he? How dare he look at you like he hadn’t done this. How dare he look at you like he cares. 

You reached the alter and held your hands clasped in front of you, keeping your eyes trained to the ground. You clenched and unclenched them, trying to will away the remaining tears that wanted nothing more than to slip out. 

Dom cleared his throat and looked pridefully at the crowd, “Beloved people, from far and near, I thank you for joining us as we unionize our countries and these two hearts.” 

You glanced up for a moment and Tom gave a hesitant smile, holding his hand out for you to take. You did. Against all instinct and want, you did. And he held your cold hand in his warm ones and squeezed. 

“Marriage,” Dom continued, “while looked at this as a ceremony of policy and political gain, is also a ceremony built on love, trust, and loyalty. Thomas Holland, first of his name, heir to the English throne,” Dom turned to his son, “do you take (Y/N) (Y/L/N), first of her name, heir to the Scottish throne, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?” 

“I do,” Tom nodded, rubbing soft circles over your knuckles. He turned to his father before he could continue, “May I speak for a moment, father.” He asked. 

Dom looked curiously at him, but nodded when he saw the look in his eyes, “Yes, you may speak.” 

“(Y/N),” Tom held your hand to his heart, “I know,” he whispered, only for you to hear, “I know this is hard and terrible and I’m so sorry I’ve made it so. But I’m ready, I’ll be whoever or whatever you need me to be. I’ll be your husband, I’ll be your friend, I’ll be the dirt beneath your heel if I must. Just—Just know that I’m sorry and I’ll do whatever I must to make this your heaven.” 

You looked up at Tom as you pulled your hand away. Dom cleared his throat to fill the silence you left, proceeding with his ordaining. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), first of her name, heir to the Scottish throne,” Dom looked at you, nodding his head as if telling you—imploring you—to make the right choice, “do you take Thomas Holland, first of his name, heir to the English throne, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

You didn’t give it another thought. You couldn’t, duty was duty and you were numb. You were a robot, only doing what was asked of you—what was demanded of you. 

“I do,” You said, but it came out hoarse and strange. You hadn’t used your voice since you stopped crying and it hurt. It was raw and torn. You were raw and torn, but to the naked eye, to all the patrons in the audience, you were perfect. You were a queen. But you were shattered. 

“Thomas,” Dom smiled, “you may now cloak your bride, shielding her way from hurt and darkness, promising to protect her under your name for all eternity.” 

Tom took the cloak from his back, placing it onto your shoulders and giving them a squeeze, before latching the golden buttons on the front. 

“With this cloak,” Tom recited, “I vow to protect you from harm, under my name and my house, you will always be safe, loved, and cared for. This I swear to for all eternity.” 

You looked up at him with squinted eyes. Peering, suspicious eyes. Do you, Thomas? Do you swear to it? 

“With the power vested in me by the Lord and divine right, I pronounce you one. Husband and Wife. You may now kiss the bride.” 

Tom lifted your veil, finally getting a look at your teary eyes. Even after all of that, all you’ve been through, you still wouldn’t let them fall. It hurt him. 

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, holding them there with no finesse or charm, just trying to do his duty without breaking the glass sculpture you have become. 

“I’m sorry,” He whispered into your lips again, before pulling away. Taking your hand and turning back to the audience as they clapped and cheered. 

And so it was done. You and he were one, and as you had known it would be, your freedom was stripped. You were bound to him and he to you. And that is how you would die. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Your lips taste like cherries,” James noted as he kissed your cheek, “have you been sneaking tarts from my testing station?” 

“Maybe…” You shrugged, pressing a peck to his nose before resuming the task at hand, a painting of a young foal. The mare you had brought with you a year ago had mated with a stallion who lived in the meadow about four miles away. The result was a young, tan foal with white patches on his nose and hooves. He was adorable and sparked inspiration for you to get into painting. 

“That’s beautiful,” James smiled as he watched you paint, as he himself painted kisses across your neck. “Almost as beautiful as you…” 

He loved to see you fawn over the new foal. It made his heart swell to think of how you’d be with a young one of your own. He’d begun to dream of it and wish for it. He went to the chapel and prayed for it and he whispered his praises in your ear as you slept. He wanted this future you held the key to. 

“James,” You sighed as your hands wavered, causing you to create a few shaky, messy strokes. 

James placed his hands on your waist and maneuvered you into his lap, never ceasing the barrage of soft pecks he left on your skin. 

“I love you,” He whispered. 

“I know,” You smiled, “you say so every day.” 

“I just want to make sure you never forget.” 

“I shall never forget, I promise.” You dropped your paintbrush in the cup of water and turned to him, placing your hands on his cheeks, pulling his face from your neck. You placed a gentle peck to his lips, “But, we’ll wait, yes?” 

“Wait?” 

“I know what you're trying to do.” 

“You do?” James asked, “You know of such crass things?” 

“I know of such things of passion and pleasure.” You corrected, “I also know that I am not ready for such things.” 

“I am not trying to pressure you, M’love.”

“And I am not accusing you of such,” You smiled, giving him another kiss, this time a bit more sensual and long, “I am just—I just think you should know. Because if we are to be together—”

“But one day,” James interrupted, “one day when we would want kids and to be wed, then?” 

“Then I would be ready,” You nodded. 

“Okay,” James nodded, “then we shall wait.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The music was loud and merry, a stark contrast to the sour look you held when Harrison reached his hand out to you. 

“May I dance with the bride for a moment?” He asked. 

Tom nodded and gave him a smile. Possibly even a pleading look, asking his friend to make it better. Make you feel better, even for a moment. 

“I can answer for myself,” You mumbled, “just because I’m married doesn’t mean I will be your property.” You took Harrison’s hand and let him lead you to the dance floor. 

You swayed gently to the song and rested your head on his coat.

“You look lovely,” Harrison whispered. “I hate to say that I’m a bit jealous of Tom at this moment.” 

You smiled a bit, “Don’t be silly, Haz. Besides, isn’t it time you court someone soon?” 

“Yes and—well, it’s a complicated thing. The girl I like, I can not be with. She took a vow, one that can not be broken. At least, I doubt she’d want to break it. Not for me anyway.” 

“Well, then she’s a fool,” You assured Harrison, “I can’t exactly have my fairytale ending, but you deserve yours. Perhaps you should court her and say a queen sent you.” 

“If only that little phrase worked in every scenario.” Harrison chuckled, twirling you around, making you smile, “See, there’s that smile I’ve been missing.” 

“I know,” You sighed, “I’ve been sour.” 

“It’s been hard,” Harrison nodded, “you can be sour if you need to.” 

“I just—I’m not ready for… y’know,” You trailed off, leaving Harrison confused. You huffed out a frustrated sigh, “tonight. I’m not ready and I don’t know what is expected of me. It’s crass to talk about, especially at such a lovely party but—but I—’m scared.” Your voice wavered. “What if it ruins me…” 

“Shh,” Harrison stroked your hair as the song ended, taking your hand and leading you back to the head table. “Don’t think of that right now. Enjoy the feast and wine. Enjoy the company. Tom is not a cruel man, so please don’t worry yourself.” Harrison kissed your hand as you sat back down, “it will be okay, your grace.” 

And so, with Harrison, your closest confidant’s words ringing in your head, you tried to enjoy the rest of the evening. 

It was when the cardinal, Nikki, Dom, and the main lords of the court followed you and Tom to his chambers that you let reality sink in again. 

“Blessed be of the father and of the Son and of the holy spirit.” The cardinal raised his cross above you and Tom, “may your union be sanctified and made true by the power of God. May the Lord look to you now in this moment and witness what we can not, ratifying this sacred union.” The cardinal dropped his cross and opened the door for you and Tom to enter the chambers, “Go my children, finalize what the Lord intended.” 

The door closed with a formidable ‘thump’ and there you were, alone with Tom. 

“(Y/N)—”

“Don’t,” You let out a shaky breath and held up your hand as you began to twist and turn in the dress, undoing the ties you could, “don’t talk. Let’s just—let’s just do what we must.” 

“Here, let me—” Tom began untying your laces and helping you out of the layers and layers you were under.

“How do you want me?” You asked, now only in your underdress, which was a thin white dress, of which you wore nothing underneath. 

“(Y/N) we don’t have to—”

“Do you want me bent over this way?” You asked, bending over the edge of the end of the bed, recalling what you’d read about once in a book, “or would you like me to face you. Do you want me to watch as you defile me?” You said the last part quietly, defeatedly. 

“I am not defiling you,” Tom said, taking his jacket off and tossing it on the armchair in the room, “and even if we were to lie together, I wouldn’t be defiling you—I would be making love to my wife.” 

“You can’t make what you do not have.” You said. 

“We are not doing this, (Y/N).” 

“It is our duty—”

“Since when has that mattered to you?” Tom snapped. You flinched and he sighed, rubbing the creases and wrinkling forming in his forehead, “I’m sorry,” He whispered, “I just—we’re not doing this.” 

You sat there in silence on the bed as Tom busied himself with undressing behind a partition. He threw his dress pants and shirt off, tossing them to the side before throwing on his cotton clothes, which were much more comfortable and breathable. 

“How can you do that?” You asked while Tom pulled his shirt over his head. 

Tom came out from behind the partition, “Do what?” 

You looked at him with sad eyes. They were glossy and your brows were slightly furrowed, showcasing your complete confusion and frustration. As if you were looking at a puzzle that was unsolvable. Whose pieces were jagged and crooked and though they may seem to fit from afar, they’d never be whole the way God intended, “Today you spoke to me like I was the only girl you’d ever seen, or known, or loved. You looked at me in that chapel like I was Eve in the garden of Eden and I was all you knew and all you wanted to know. But just three days ago, I was a serpent. I was a venomous bitch in your court. How can you switch like that? Can’t you see how unfair that is to me?” 

Tom didn’t respond. He just walked to the trunk in the corner and pulled a dagger from it. He swiftly and carefully sliced his into the flesh of his palm, before closing his it on the oncoming rush of blood and walking over to you. He opened his hand over the center of the bed, letting the blood pour and create a splotch of red on the sheets. 

You backed away from the blood, off the bed. 

“You are both.” Tom said after he’d finished and held his hand back to himself, “you are Eve and the serpent. And I suppose in a way, I think the contrast is beautiful on you, though taxing on me.”

You nodded before taking a cloth from the wardrobe beside the bed. You held it up for Tom, prompting him to come towards you and he did. You bandaged the small cut, tying the cloth tight over it in a knot. “It is taxing on me too.” 

Tom maneuvered himself onto the bed after covering the spot of blood with a blanket. You got in next to him and the two of you just laid there. In the comfortable stillness you let your guard down for a moment, the first moment you ever have around Tom. 

“I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted.” He murmured from beside you, long after he’d thought you’d fallen asleep.

“I’m not sure what I want.” Was your quiet reply. Then another stillness followed. Your mind was so tired as was your body and the lull of sleep of beyond enticing. You were mere moments from it when; 

“Your venom is sweet,” Tom whispered, “in a way, it’s addicting.” 

You were too tired to understand what he meant or to ask. So you just hummed in response and let your wilted eyes fall. 

. ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Your grace,” Alistar greeted Hawthorne as he entered his chambers, “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. How was England?” 

“Lovely,” Hawthorne nodded, “though, a bit dreary at times, but considering I was there for a funeral, I can’t place the blame entirely on the country.” 

“Yes, that might be the cause,” Alistar laughed, pouring himself a chalice of wine and another for his guest. “And Guinevere, where is she?”

“Well, since (Y/N)’s returning to court, dearest Guenievere decided to stay behind and greet her daughter. I can not say I don’t understand. She only had one child left. It is quite… disappointing. But still, our cause is important in its own right.” 

“Oh, (Y/N)’s returning?” Alistar raised his eyebrows, “That’s quite a shock. That kid never seemed privy to such… political matters. And Lord knows they’ll force her to marry now that they’ve got her back—”

“Yes, she’s marrying Prince Thomas,” Hawthorne frowned, “I’m sure I mentioned this all in my letter to you. It should have arrived just a week ago.”

“I have not heard from you since the letter you sent months ago, your grace,” Alistar informed him. “Perhaps it got lost by the messenger. Robbers, thieves, bandits, you know how they are these days. Especially in Scotland with such political unrest.” 

“Yes…” Hawthorne sat down as he thought for a moment, hand on his chin while the other clutched his chalice, “but my gut is telling me there is something more problematic at stake.” 

“You are paranoid,” Alistar pointed out, “you have been since you killed Henry—”

“You swore not to speak of that,” Hawthorne cut him off, “it was a peasant revolt. There was nothing we could do.” 

“Ah, yes,” Alistar nodded, “I forgot, forgive me, your grace.” He toddled off to work on some documents at his desk while Hawthorne sat in the chair by the fire, quietly sipping his wine. 

“Hm,” Hawthorne hummed as he took another sip of wine, “my squire was busy at the moment when I’d finished the letter.”

“Oh, we are still discussing this?”

“My squire was busy… so I handed the letter off to…” Hawthorne furrowed his brows, “I handed it to someone to be given to a messenger. Who did I hand it to…?

“Perhaps someone else’s squire?” Alistar suggested, “did the king or prince have a squire? Or the lords perhaps?” 

“The lords…?” Hawthorne trailed off, “The lords!” He jumped up from the chair in a frantic ball of energy, “I handed it to one of the new lords, recently named by his father. Oh, hell, he must’ve read it and handed it to the king or the prince or—Oh dear, he may have handed it to (Y/N).” 

“Hawthorne!” Alistar yelled from his desk, “Quiet you! This is your paranoia! I see it nearly every day with you. You look behind you at least three times before you walk anywhere. The letter must’ve just gotten lost. Why would he look into—”

“That young lord looked at me with daggers,” Hawthorne said, “I don’t trust it, Alistar.” 

“By Gods,” Alistar sighed, “okay, if I entertain this idea, this very small possible delusion, then what do we do? They know? So then what?” 

“I’ve not thought that far, it pains me to say,” Hawthorne let out a shaky breath, “but if (Y/N) knows. Lord, hell hath no fury as she will. And she will be queen soon. We must act swiftly, whatever it is we do next.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

A/N: another chapter down... and tbh, i’m not the biggest fan of this chapter, but i did need to clear up a few things and answer a few questions. as in, one, y/n did not sleep with james, so she is a virgin. but it also goes to show that she was waiting for marriage and james actually was the one who was more lenient on that, so marrying y/n was even more of a big deal and commitment for him. now, that being said, i wouldn’t say that y/n was waiting because of any religious or societal morals, i’d say she was waiting more-so to see if her feelings for james got stronger, the way his feelings for her were. i think she didn’t want to commit herself in that way if she wasn’t 100% all in the way he was. 

james, poor, sad, sweet james. in case you missed it, another reason he had such a strong connection to y/n as his soulmate is because he thinks that it’s too impossible for them to cross paths again and slip through each other’s grasps. james is a big believer of fate and destiny and he believes that he and y/n found each other again for a reason. this creates sort of a delusion within him where he believe that in every scenario, they are meant to be. 

you also have to account for the fact that they did love each other. y/n just never loved him as much as he loved her. he was enthralled by her just by her presence of finding him again, so when he got to spend more and more time with her his feelings only multiplied. 

also, hawthorne... i wonder when these two will meet again. the issue is, y/n had much more on her plate than hawthorne does. he can worry about taking her crown and country solely, while she must work through her marriage, emotions, possible children...etc. 

next chapter (which will honestly take super long to come out, i’m so sorry) will have some... steamy moments... 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

(banner from @lauras-collection)

✧tags & moots✧ PERM

@ptersmj​ @princessofguineapigs​ @peterbenjiparker​ @cherrytholland​ @itsapeterthing​ @justapurrcat​ @kelieah​ @iovebug​ @celestialholland​  @hollandcrush​ @scarletspideyy​ @blissfulparker​ @spidernerdsblog​ @spideyspeaches​ @andilovetowrite​ @sinisterspidey​ @annathesillyfriend​ @lovelybarnes​ @white-wolf1940​ @wierdteenagenerd​ @arvinsescape​ @super-not-naturall​ @allthisfortommy​ @selfcarecap​ @misshale21​ @morganwilliams​ @loveaffaire​ @tomfknholland​ @pogueslandia​ @tomshufflepuff​ @aayaissaa​ @micaelaf05 @hallecarey1​ @a-daydreamers-day​ @holland-styles​ @cloudyfeel​ @peni5parker​ @slut-for-steve-rogers​ @kitkatt18-blog​ @kitkat2015-blog​ @bookfrog242​ @slutforfics​ @wildxwidow​ @kayasholland​ @prancerrparkerr​ @petesrparker​ @arlo-sanders​ @sxuxgarplxum​ @peter-parkers-gf​ @namoreno​ @niallberry​ @iaminlovetomhollandmarvel​ @bisexualdragongirl​ @xoxokiaraaxoxo​ @hollandsvogue-blog​ @hallecarey1​ @marvelobsessed10031917​ @z3ndaya-blog​ @sunflowerfive​ @yunho-leeknow​ @xxxstormyninixxx​ @marvelhasmyheart235​ @lowkey-holland​ @blahblahblah-boo​ @nocturnalms​ @happyt0exist​ @kpostedsum​ @noemiix1​ @spideymix​ @mischieftom​ @sophi54​ @allazay101​ @spideybrina​ @rqmanoff​ @oxyparker​ @rory-cakes​ @parkerdarling​ @samaraaaaa​ @freds-slut @gingerbreadgodofhyperdeath​ @blue-4-55-readinglist​ @camrenrodrigoswift​ @brown-eyed-doe​ @misslady246​ @tonystarksfavoritedaughter​ @adayasgeorgia​ @mn-jun​ @parkerflms​ @holland-horan​ @marvelxholland​ @hufflepuffseeker​ @spider-man-stiles-gubler​ @lost-girl24​ @wildholland​ @demirunner​ @tom-softie​ @quackquackbi​ @marvelobsessedteen​ @lolooo22​ @moniffazictress11​ @sleepybesson​ @evermoress​ @sweetpeterparker​ @love-quinn-goldberg​ @bradtomlovesya​ @teenwishes08​ @hogwartsmarvelmommy​ @dracoswhore007​ @elishi03​ @spidermankenobi @teagskool​ @nando-lorris

✧tags & moots✧ TOM HOLLAND

@harryhollandsgirlfriend​ @hollandlover19​ | @worldoftom​ @hollandsrecs​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @thevelvetseries​ @moonchild-s-blog​ @lmaotshollandd​ @tomhollandlol​ @outshineallthestars​

BTY: @frogsbelike1​ @p0tterhead934​ @bobo-bush @allthisfortommy​

I guess it’s time I experiment with my Pronouns. Now this is gonna change a lot.

They/He/She/neo pronouns I don’t know how I feel about Neo pronouns please just randomly use them

(The bold and colored are the ones I prefer)

M’lord M’lady

Sir Ma’am

Mrs Mr Miss

Dude Guy Bro Buddy

non-binary hoes Girls Boys (okay but girls and boys are werid stay with Me. People say only girls know only boys now so on and so forth. I vibe with both sides and like terms like soft boy and I got hot girl stuff to do and so on, so like girl and boy aren’t the best term to use directly to me a Majority of the time but it’s okay)

Gals

Sister Brother Sibling

Madam Mister

Queen King

Prince Princess 

Ladies and Gentlemen

Sweetie, dear, darling, baby, honey, Bae

Dad Father Pops Daddy Mother Mom momma mommy

Grandma Grandpa

Duke Duchess

Female Male

Beautiful Pretty Handsome Gorgeous

Son Daughter Child, kid

Boyfriend, Girlfriend, Significant Other, spouse

Any words I missed?

When in doubt Cap, Captian, Waffles, are always safe bets. And please never single me out, pet peeve of mine, saying all the girls, oh and cap, nope don’t do it please.

This is gonna change proably a lot it’s okay if you mess up never a big deal. Also PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU HAVE PREFERRED VERSIONS OR DONT USE THEM

Thank you everyone for staying here with me

… are we about to become friends over kinks— jesus all of those are mwah chefs kiss. spitting is so high up there for me too—and breeding dear gOD LIKE PUT A BABY IN ME BUT NOT REALLY. i think that stems from like someone liking me that much that they’d be willing to procreate with me like—such a high honor m’lord 😌 cnc yep. it all started with tentacles in hentai for me so the cnc never went away after all these years. when i was 18 i would swear up and down that is never call anyone daddy because it’s “gross and why can’t you just say their name” and now i don’t use any names and call them daddy off the bat without an inch of shame to my name. impact play too sheeeesh fucking slap me around too disrespect me mind and body. i can only wish someone could fuck me into stupidity but alas no man has yet to conquer my whorish nature. other highest of mine include exhibitionism/voyeurism, being tied up, chokingchokingchokingchoking, and overstimulation to the point of squirting (which, again, hasn’t been conquered yet). and body worship. gotta keep that on there. all in all i’m just a kinky whore :) finally being able to accept my sexuality gives me much more power hehe

and yes we should talk about god complexes cause they are extremely hot.

literally

i have a kink list on my side acct and literally all of what u said is on there LMAOOO but also here is my bdsm result thingy (im more brat than anything & a bottom leaning switch but this all seems pretty accurate)

ALSO GOD COMPLEXS ??3?2)2 [screams & cries] idk pls this embarrassing but id literally worship someone if they made me 🤸🏽🕳

I fucking blame tumblr for this

So my friend that I’ve known since high school (and who set up M’Lord and I on our first date) had her birthday party with a Toddlers and Tiara’s theme. Another party goer brought blank, white, satin sashes for us to decorate!!

Me being who I am, I wanted something dirty but fun right? So I thought “Princess of course but what else?” So I started digging in the back of my tumblr ruined (still thinking about FuckBoy!Daddy Bucky) mind and thought “ohhhh Cummies!!!”

So my sash reads “Princess Cummies” and I blame every last one of you that has written Daddy Kink!Bucky or Jensen or Dean!!! I’m holding every last one of you responsible for this!

Anyway, thanks for that, it was a hoot!!

Coming Home

Replacing my early morning tears with soft was a good idea

- - - - - - - - - -

Nothing could rip the cheerful feeling fluttering in his chest as Amon stepped on to the walkway to the manor. It was an inferno in his chest burning bright, and it made his already hasty footsteps turn from a brisk walk to nearly a jog as he hurried for the front door. Of all the places in the world to run to so eagerly and filled with joy, he would never imagine it to be the Briarton manor. But what dwelled inside well, that was home.

He grabbed the door, and nearly flung it open with his eagerness. Days he’d been away, in Aurmnval at work, and all he could think about was coming back here. His eyes rushed the foyer as he stepped inside, grinning broadly.

“I’m home!”

The excited exclamation, beaming and bright was met with… nothing.

Amon’s smile faltered suddenly, as no one rushed to greet him. His breathing rough, a bit ragged as he dropped his arms that had been expecting someone to leap into them. Instead, from around the corner, one of the house maids stepped out with a cheery, polite smile.

“Welcome back, milord Amon,” they greeted, dipping into a small curtsy. “May I take your coat?”

Keeping a respectable faint smile, the nobleman offered a small nod. “Of course,” he murmured, shrugging the weight off his shoulders.

The young woman curtsied once more, and accepted the garment before scurrying off to hang it.

The nobleman paused, looking up and down the great entryway into the estate. His smile was gone completely now, replaced by a look of loss and confusion as he solemnly stepped within to gently shut the door behind him. It was almost unnervingly quiet. Suffocatingly so.

He thought to call out once more, but felt a heavy weight on his chest, cutting off his voice. He didn’t want to draw anymore attention in. A quiet fear that all he would see is a sea of gentle housekeepers, puzzled but graciously coddling to his requests and needs. They were not what he was looking for, though.

Placing the sole satchel he’d brought in himself; having left the rest to the coachmen, Lord Amon began his tour into his residence. There was no one in the dining room, and no one in the downstairs sitting area as he peeked inside. He spotted only one of the maidens in the kitchen, already chopping up things to add to whatever they were having for dinner.

Letting out a disheartened ‘hurmph’, and hoping that perhaps he would find the one he was looking for upstairs and that she would not be out in the market, Amon took to the stairwell. It was empty with just a glance at the upstairs sitting room, and he doubted to find her in the study. That was mostly resigned to himself, though she did join him from time to time.

He peered around the shelves of the library, part of him almost praying this to be a game. It was not a very good game, however. His stomach soured at the lack of a sight of her curled up among books, and his heart dropped. His arms itched for the relieving moment when he would walk in the door, and find he’d barely have it open before she was jumping for him, climbing him, already pressing sweet kisses to his face and cooing his name with so much honey-dripping love he felt drunk with happiness.

But then, he thought triumphantly, maybe today would be the day he could surprise her. It scabbed over the wounded feeling quickly. If she was sleeping, he would wake her with tender kisses to her cheek and brow and if she was out, then he could be the one to rush the door with as much enthusiasm as Caesar to scoop her up and twirl her around.

Cracking open the door to the adjacent hall, Amon stepped inside. His ears pricked, hearing the barely muffled sound of talking. It was followed by a series of quiet gasps.

Curious. He followed the noise, and sure enough, it was emitting from their bedroom. His palm traced the wood, leaning in shamefully to press an ear to the great oak. No. He could not make out the exact words even still; they were much too soft. But the tone was unrecognizable. It was a pull on his heartstrings; a soft melody only spoken by the celestial, a whispered breeze on a hot day, the sound of the seas coming up to beckon you into its deep waters.

Amon turned the doorhandle, and poked his head inside.

“… The serpent, having shed its pale, ghostly hide, revealed themself to the woman to be a lady; fair and beautiful. She explained to her bride that she had been cursed. For seven years she would have to wear that snake’s skin, and nearing the end of her time, she had fallen madly in love with the princess.”

“How romantic.”

Arching his brow, he slipped cautiously inside, trying to step as quietly as possible.

“But while the beautiful commoner explained to her bride her truth, the king peered through the keyhole on the other side of the door. He feared the snake was out to eat his precious daughter, bite by bite.”

Another gasp followed. Amon stepped closer, looking over the side of the sofa.

Bundled up within the folds of his aged cloak; slightly discolored from years of wear, was who he had been searching for. Essätha held a book propped up in her lap, and on either side of her, a child against her side. They used the fur mantle as pillowing; resting their little heads and holding to their mother’s arms with feverish excitement for the tale she told. A display of pictures in the book revealed The Enchanted Snake; an older fairytale with some bold twists for children.

They had pulled the sides of the cloak tightly around them, like a blanket, and nested inside. The soft babbling of their youngest and only boy caught his attention, grabbing eagerly at the pages of the novel as Essie would carefully pull it away.

A great swelling of emotion crashed over the nobleman. No, this was not the greeting he was used to; but it struck a blow beneath his ribcage.

Essätha turned the page, continuing, “So the king, seeing this, flung the door open. He grabbed the skin coat before either of the women could stop him, and turned to throw it into the roaring fireplace-”

“No.”

“Hmm, I wonder what happens next,” Amon cut in, propping an elbow against the sofa.

Hepsiba squeaked loudly; falling away from her mother’s side. Isabelle bent her head back, looking directly up at him with a gasp and wide-eyes.

“Dad!”

“Daddy!”

The oldest proved to be the fasted; shoving Essie aside before she could look back to make grabby hand gestures as she bent over the sofa. He chuckled, and gave her a gentle squeeze before adding Belle in the mix as she scrambled to stand on the furniture and reach for him.

“Hello to you, too.”

He looked up as Essätha gently shut the book, setting it on the coffee table. It took more then one try to pry off the persistent hands of his girls, giggling and bouncing as he walked around the sofa to join them.

“You’re early,” Essie attested, wearing her warmest smile for him. “I was hoping to have the kids down for a nap before you got here.”

“I apologize darling, I may have made a bit of extra haste to see you.”

A soft blush warmed her face. That same giddy feeling reignited in his chest, and Amon bent lower, sliding his hand beneath her chin to tilt her head back and steal a soft kiss.

An instantaneous chorus of “ewws” immediately booed him from either side.

“Eww?” Amon growled, turning from one daughter to the next. “Do you hear this, dear?”

“I do,” Essätha laughed, fumbling to hold Thomas as he reached up for his father, teetering on her legs.

“I’ll show you eewww,” Amon mocked, grabbing Isabelle first. She screamed at the top of her lungs with exhilaration as he twirled her around, pulling her into a trapping bear-hug to start kissing the top of her head.

“Dad! That’s gross! Stop it!”

Laughter rung out high in the air, and Amon dropped onto the sofa. There wasn’t enough room in his arms to enclose them all, but he grabbed the struggling Thomas, and then Essie to smother their cheeks and foreheads with kisses.

Hepsiba scrambled to escape the massacre.

“Where are you going?” Essie laughed, grabbing her by the waist and hauling her into her lap.

“Mom- nooo!” Sibby squealed, giggling as she was pelted by her mom’s kisses, joined soon after by Amon’s.

“Now you’re all ewwww,” Amon rasped between laughter, pressing a long, lingering smooch to the corner of Essätha’s lilps.

“You gave me cooties dad! Boys are gross.”

“Keep that attitude honey, daddy doesn’t want to see any gross boys around this house.”

“Amon,” Essie reprimanded softly, giving him a gentle tap on the arm.

Wearing a wide grin that hurt his cheeks, Amon kissed Sibby apologetically on her crown. She stuck her tongue out him with all the lady-like charm in the world. When he turned press another kiss atop Isabelle’s struggling form, he felt a small peck on the cheek, and turned to catch Hepsiba’s smug grin. The warm feeling stirred once more. At least he knew they weren’t yet too old for a father’s adoration and love.

“Come here, you stinker,” he challenged, folded them all into his arms. Sibby’s little hands gripped him around his neck, and Essätha held him around the waist, keeping Thomas from escaping his clutches while Belle tried to dive over the arm of the chair and out of his grasp. Realizing she was stuck, she flopped, defeated, part of the way over his shoulder to place one arm around his neck and pat his back.

“Welcome home, m’lord,” Essätha hummed, kissing his nose.

He gave her a crooked smile. There weren’t enough words to express his gratitude; to explain to her how much he missed her, and their kids. Sleeping in a bed alone, hearing none of their early-morning banter or having someone bounce on the mattress to wake him, had been a terrible experience. All he’d been able to think about was this moment. Different, but still perfect.

She leaned in close, whispering in his ear, “By the way, don’t go in the bedroom. It’s chaos.”

He opened his arms, letting Hepsiba squirm out and hearing the thud of Isabelle leap over the arm of the chair. He took half a second to glance over; seeing the rough-housing one eagerly spring back up and start chasing after her sister. Sighing pleasantly, he leaned in to press his forehead to his wife’s staring deeply into those shining golden eyes.

“I’ll help them clean up.”

“Thank you,” she breathed in gratitude, combing her fingers through his locks.

Holding her close, Amon pressed his lips to hers once more. Her fingers pausing, gripping his hair loosely to the roots as she sighed against his awaiting, open mouth.

Right as they fell into the spell, a small hand grabbed him by the beard, and yanked.

“Oh beloved, I’m so sorry-”

Wincing, Amon chuckled and rubbed at the tear that formed in his eye, reaching down to pat Thomas’ on the head as he pouted pathetically for attention.

“That’s alright. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Kay was only six year old when his brother was brought to him. The young boy had recently begun his training in combat, and was in the courtyard with Master Owen. He was pouting, having lost yet another duel to the old master at arms when the front gate swung open. The old man looked up from the red haired boy, taken off guard by the lack of ceremony with which the Stranger entered. The man that walked in was tall by most standards, standing over six feet on his own, his hat bringing him closer to seven feet. He looked ancient, and even the young Kay knew that he was powerful, his solid green eyes made sure of that. As he walked his, long white beard and hair flowed backwards, along with his green robes, despite the lack of any wind in the courtyard. “I’ve come to speak with Lord Ector!” The man announced, looking around at the guards, all of whom had drawn their swords. “And whoe, may I ask, comes to call?” Master Owen replied, stepping in front of Kay, barely shielding the boy from sight. The Stranger looked down at the master at arms, slowly walking towards him, looking him up and down, and taking particular note of the wooden sword he was using to threaten him with. “I believe you master would know me best by the name Myrrdin.” Master Owen glared up at the man, and gripped the wooden sword tighter in his hand. “And why’re ye callin upon m’lord, master Myrrdin?” He finally asked, giving the larger man a mocking bow. “That knowledge should remain between me and The Lord of Queis, Master at arms,” The Stranger snapped, putting particular emphasis on Owen’s title. Kay stepped forward at this, glaring up at the Stranger as well now, and pointed his wooden sword at him. “If ye want to speak to m’lord father, you’d best speak more politely to his men!” The Stranger turned his attention away from Master Owen, looking at the boy before him. As if struck by a spell, the anger, and seriousness melted from his sunburnt face, and a deep, hearty laugh escaped his mouth. “I mean it ye bri…” Kay began, but Master Owen pullen him back behind him before he could say anymore. “No, let the boy speak, I’ve quite missed the stubbornness of the Queis!” The Stranger chuckled, wiping a tear from his face. “And I so needed a laugh like that. Being too serious, even in times like these, is bad for one’s health.” The Stranger’s smile slowly faded again however, before looking back to Master Owen. “But now is the time for business, not revelries, Master Owen.” Master Owen looked around the courtyard, his eyes flicking quickly from one guard to another, before focusing back on the Stranger in front of him. “Why don’t ye go fetch yer father Kay?” The way that he said it made it clear to Kay that it was not a request. Kay glared up at the Stranger, but decided that Master Owen had the right of it. He put his wooden sword into his left hand, and slowly backed out of the large courtyard. Once he was out of sight of the Stranger, he turned on his heel, bursting into a sprint. The young boy made it quickly through the keep, his long legs carrying him up the many wooden stairs, and down the narrowing and widening stone corridors. It wasn’t long before he reached the top of the northern Key, the tower where his lord father placed his study. When Kay reached for the door handle, one of the guard placed his hand on the young boy’s chest, pushing him back from the entrance. “Where de ye think yer goin’ lad?” the man asked, smirking down at Kay. “Master Owen told me te fetch m’ father,” Kay said, reaching for the door handle again, the guard pushing him back once more. “Yer fatha’s talkin’ to one o’ them britains lad, ‘e don’t want te be bothered.” “I’m quite certain that the Lord of Queis will be more than happy to meet with me,” the deep, raspy voice of the Stranger responded from behind Kay. The young Lordling stiffened, his mind beginning to race as he thought of the men he’d left in the courtyard, and what must have happened to them when the Stranger placed his bony wrinkled hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry lad, your men are unharmed.” As he spoke, the door of the the study swung open, pushing the two guards stationed there onto the ground. Inside the visiting lord stood, knocking his chair over and drawing a sword from his scabbard. The Stranger simply raised his hand, and the lord yelped, throwing his sword to the ground. “There will be no need for such violence my lord,” the Stranger began, waving his hand and bringing the chair back up, knocking the blonde haired lord back into it. “I am here to fulfill the last wishes of the late King Uther Pendragon.” That was the last thing that Kay heard before the doors slammed shut with another wave of the Strangers hand. For several hours the guards tried to force the doors open, but to no avail. Once Master Owen arrived, he ordered that a battering be fetched to break the doors down, but all that accomplished was shattering the wood of the battering ram, and cracking the metal braces. Eventually, they gave up hope of being able to enter, and simply prepared themselves for the Strangers re-entry into the hall. Owen had posted men lining the wider section of hallways the entire length of the Northern Key. When the doors finally opened, it was not the Stranger that exited, but lord Ector Queis, carrying a small bundle of red fabric, a golden dragon emblazoned upon it. Ector was a massive man, with thick muscular arms covered in bright red hair that he made no attempt to clothe. He wore a sleeveless blue tunic, and lambskin trousers, a large belt holding his naked Falchion. “Put down those blasted weapons!” Ector bellowed, the men all quickly placing the butts of their spears to the ground and standing to attention. Ector looked about his men who were all sweating by this point before continuing. “Off with you now! Don’t you have a wall to defend?!” “Aye Lord!” The guards bellowed, banging their spears on their shields once before marching out of the halls, returning to their posts, or the barracks as some of them had been woken from their sleep. Once the guards had left, all that remained in the hall was Lord Ector, Master Owen, the Britanian Lord Forlæ, and young Kay. The Lord placed his hand on Lord Ectors shoulder, saying something quietly to the taller man before leaving the North Key as well, leaving only the three of them. Lord Ector ran his free hand through his beard, looking down at the red bundle in his arms, his brow furrowing. If Kay did not know any better, he’d have said that his father looked almost sad, but the Lords of the Key’s did not have the privilege of sadness. “Kay,” Ector finally spoke, looking to his son, kneeling down so that he’d be close to eye level. “Come meet yer new brother.” Kay was fourteen when he first called Arthur his brother. Though they had spent the first six years of Arthur’s life together, studying together, and training together. Arthur had called Kay brother many times, and as far as he knew, that was fact. That he had straight golden hair didn’t make the boy question for a moment who his family was, even when it was obvious to everyone else. The boys were by the stream one hot afternoon, cooling off after a long day of training. Kay had found a particularly deep part of the stream, and had submerged himself under the water. He had been under for several minutes when he burst out, Arthur clapping in celebration from a more shallow part of the stream. Arthur was fit for his age, but was nowhere near as tall or muscular as Kay had been even at six. “That’s amazing Kay!” Arthur called out as Kay waded pack to the shore where they had left their tunics. “I bet you could stay under like that for nine whole days if you wanted!” “And why would I want te do that?” Kay chuckled, tossing the younger boy his tunic. “Myrrdin says that generals use boats to get behind their enemies,” Arthur said, pulling his shirt over his head as he came ashore. “But boats are easy to see unless it’s night time, and then it’s hard to sail them. You could just swim up behind them though!” Kay smirked at Arthur as he plopped down on the shore, pulling on his boots. “I guess all that time ye spend readin’ aint wasted after all.” “Myrrdin says that reading is never a waste of time,” Arthur said proudly, looking up as he laced his boots. “‘Tis if yer on the battlefield,” Kay retorted, standing back up, smirking triumphantly down at the younger boy. Arthur scrunched his golden eyes for a moment, looking back at the stream momentarily. “Yeah…” he finally said, almost solemnly. Kay had to resist the urge to break out laughing at Arthur’s sudden seriousness, holding his hand over his mouth momentarily. “Dun’t think about it te much,” He said, ruffling the younger boys hair. “We should get back to the castle, Father’s gunna start worryin’ soon.” The two boys walked their way through the forest, Arthur going on and on about some story that the Stranger had told him about how humans had the skill to use the gifts of all the animals of the forests. Kay couldn’t tell you what the younger boy was trying to get across, he was too busy watching their surroundings. As they got closer to the Keys, they entered a small village that encircled the keep. As they walked down the main road, Kay noticed a group of three young boys whispering to each other. One of the boys turned to look at Kay, another seeming to try and pull him back, but he was too late. “Looks like de Ogre’s out walkin’ ‘eir pet bastard!” the boy called out, his friend pulling at his shirt. “I’m sorry m’lord, ‘e don’t know wot ‘e’s sayin’,” the wiser of the boys said, prostrating himself. “Nah, I know exactly wot I’m sayin’!” The boy said, walking towards the two Lordlings. “Hey, Kay, let’s keep walking,” Arthur said, pulling on Kay’s sleeve. Kay clenched his jaw, turning his head up to the boy, and began walking again. “That’s right!” The boy shouted back. “Go home to daddy Britanian!” It took less than a second for Kay to get back to the boy, his fist having a quick and hard meeting with the boy’s face. The smaller boy reeled back, barely keeping his footing before Kay grabbed his shoulders, bringing his knee to his chest. As the boy collapsed to the ground, Kay felt the metal head of a shovel slap against his back. He staggered forward, but wasn't stunned for long. He reeled around on his heels, grabbing the shovel so that the boy couldn’t swing it at him again. The boy that Kay had knocked down took this opportunity to kick out Kay’s legs, knocking him onto the cobblestone street, pulling the boy with the shovel down with him. The brash lad was the first back on his feet, beginning to kick at Kay when in a flash he was knocked down again. Arthur had leaped into the frey, quite literally, tackling the older boy to the ground. Arthur began punching wildly, his pupils dilated to slits in rage. The boy who had the shovel was the second to rise, running over to help his friend by trying to pull Arthur off of him. Kay was having none of it however. He forced himself off the ground, and grabbed the boy by the back of the neck, lifting him off the ground. Kay quickly brought his fist to the boy’s stomach before dropping him to the ground, where he promptly vomited. It was then that the guards arrived. Two of Kay’s father’s men had been summoned, the wisest of the boys from early standing meekly behind them. One of the guards shouted for Arthur to stop, and as if a spell was being broken, Arthur snapped back to reality. He got off the older boy whose face was bruised and bleeding, Arthur’sown knuckles looking worse for wear. The guards looked at each other, clearly trying to figure out what to do, when one of them looked back at the boy that had fetched them. “Go fetch two litres boy!” he said, returning his attention to the Lordlings. “Yer fathers gunna hear about this.” Once the boy returned with two simple litres, the five boys were all lead back to the keep by the two guards, Arthur and Kay having to help carry the injured boys as they went. Once they arrived at the keep, one of the guards split off, taking the boy who fetched them towards the northern Key, saying that he was to speak with the lord. The injured Lordlings and the two other boys were all taken to the Physician’s study, where the Stranger was waiting for them. He gestured for them to place to two litres on a large stone table that occupied the center of the room that was normally full of clutter, but looked as if it had recently been cleared. “Thank you for bringing them to me so quickly,” the Stranger said, looking over the two boys carefully. The boy who had hit Kay with the shovel was small and mousey, with long dirty brown hair, and a small button like nose. The Stranger lifted the boys head, and gave him something to drink from a small vile, before laying his head down on a pillow he placed on the hard stone table as the boy drifted off to sleep. The other boy was taller, more wiry, his hair had seemed brown to Kay earlier, but it was hard to tell with the mixture of blood and mud that was currently soaking it. The Stranger wet a rag, and began cleaning up the boy’s face, who winced as the rag was dabbed on his sore skin. “What on earth were you thinking?” The Stranger finally said, not looking away from his work. “I expected this kind of behavior from Kay, but you know better Arthur!” “It was all my fault, don’t be mad at Arty,” Kay said, glaring up at the back of the old man’s head. “It wasn’t just his fault!” Arthur complained, grabbing Kay’s sleeve. “It was two against one, so I joined to make it fair!” “And do you think it was fair for two peasant boys to be fighting with the sons of a lord?” The Stranger asked, walking over to his shelves to grab some kind of paste that he began rubbing into some of the boys wounds, eliciting a high pitched groan from the lad. “No, no it’s not,” Arthur said, looking down at his boots, shifting his weight between his feet awkwardly. “But, maybe... maybe we could make it up to them?” “And what, praytell, do you propose could make up for such a throttling?” The Stranger asked, placing what looked like wool on the boy’s more serious wounds, as he wrapped his face in bandages. Arthur looked up at Kay, with those big golden eyes of his. Kay had never been able to say no when the younger boy looked at him like that, so Kay thought of what his father might do. “We could ask father te give them werk in the keep,” Kay finally suggested, proud of the solution he had arrived at. The Stranger finally turned to look at the two Lordlings, a sly smile on his face. Since taking up the position of Physician of the Keys, the Stranger had somehow managed to turn his glowing green eyes into regular ones, but he still had a strong aura of power. The Stranger opened his mouth to speak, but as he did, the door to his chambers burst open. Lord Ector ducked under the door way, looking around the room until he spotted Kay and Arthur standing in the corner. “What in the god’s names were ye doin’ beatin’ some street urchins?!” He bellowed. “These are our people lads, ye can’t just get in a fight with them ‘cause they said some unkind words.” He continued, lowering his voice, as he knelt to be eye level with the two Lordlings. “My Lord, if I may?” The Stranger said, not giving the boys a chance to respond. “Your sons have come up with a fine way of making up for this transgression.” Ector glanced up at the Stranger, and then back to his boys. “And what is this solution ye came up with?” he asked, placing his large, muscular hands on their shoulders. The boys explained their idea, offering suggestions of what specific jobs the boys might be good at, the still conscious boy Saxton offering advice. Apparently the smaller boy, Jarry, was from a family of farriers, and would be good as either a stable hand, or a blacksmith’s apprentice. Saxton claims that he didn’t have any particular talent, but he was strong. Lord Ector decided that Jarry would work in the stables if his family approved, and on weekends would be allowed to help the forge master, who would decide his future career in the castle. As for Saxton, he was to be trained as a guard. “Anyone who can take a Queis in a fight, is best kept close. Don’t need that kind of strength rallying against us.” As for the two Lordlings, they were tasked with cleaning all the weapons and armor of the Key’s guards for the next month. It was during one such late night that Arthur finally asked Kay a question that had been weighing on his mind. “Why’d you take the blame for the fight?” Arthur asked, not looking up from the helm that he was polishing. “What de ya mean?” Kay replied, glancing down at the younger boy. “It was my fault, you only joined in to protect me.” “But, you didn’t make me…” At this point, Arthur looked up from his work, stopping what he was doing. “I fought because I chose to.” Kay stopped his work for a moment looking up at the wall. “I guess, I dunno. I guess I was just trying to protect you. I know how much you hate when Myrrdin is angry with you.” Arthur was once again looking up at Kay with those big golden eyes, his cat like pupils large and round in the dim light. “Thank you.” “What’re brothers for?” Kay was twenty three when he first bowed to his brother. He had grown to over seven feet in height, his orange hair had grown down to his shoulders, and his beard had grown in thick and full. They’re father had past away several weeks ago, and one of the matters that Kay became responsible for was looking over the treaties and oaths that his father had made. He was surprised for about an hour when he learned of the promise that he’d made to the Stranger when Arthur became his ward, and that it also contained Lord Forlæ’s signature. He summoned the Stranger to his father’s, well, now his study. Upon the Stranger entering he told his guards to leave, and placed the piece of parchment on the desk that divided the two men. “I see you’ve finally made it to the important treaties my Lord,” The Stranger said, bowing down deeply. “How did ye get mi father to agree to this?” Kay asked, the venom barely hidden in his voice. “Do you disagree with the treaty my Lord?” The Stranger said, standing up, a knowing smile dancing across his lips. “Surely your father’s death defending against those warlords makes it clear that a clear king is needed.” “Don’t, use my father’s death as leverage druid.” Kay said, clenching his jaw as he glared up at the still standing man. “Take a seat. I may not like how ye do things, but ye’re right, the lands do need a king. Albion is at war with itself, and it threatens to spill over into Britania, even as the Britanians debate, and discuss bloodlines to decide the next King.” “And so you will win Arthur a crown?” The Stranger asked, taking his seat across from Kay. “I will honor my father’s word, yes,” Kay said, looking down at the document before him. “I’m just worried about Arty, he’s barely a man.” “He has been raised since birth to be a king,” the Stranger said, his voice suddenly solemn. “And you have been raised to serve him.” “I guess it’s time to do what I was born for,” Kay said, smiling broadly, the prospect of what was happening finally truly dawning on him. “Saxton, come in please!” The door to Kay’s study opened, and the young man that had recently been named Master at Arms entered. “How can I be of service m’lord?” He asked, bowing slightly. “Please fetch my brother fer me, I have somethin’ te tell ‘em,” the Master at arms nodded, leaving, and closing the doors behind him. It was not long before Saxton returned, Arthur at his side. Arthur had grown much in the past few years, he’d allowed his blonde hair to grow out much like his brothers, the hair growing from the top of his head had grown lighter over the years, resembling a vibrant gold more than the dark blonde of the lower portion, and a bright yellow stubble had begun to grow from his chin. He was wearing simple chainmail under his blue tunic emblazoned with the twin silver Keys of the house of Queis. He had a long sword hanging from his belt, and a buckler strapped to his left arm. Apparently the young lord had been standing the wall, heavy bags clear under his eyes. “You requested my presence brother?” Arthur asked glumly, barely seeing his brother. “Oh, I’m sorry, I did not see you there Myrrdin, good evening.” “Oh it’s quite fine my boy, I was just going,” the Stranger said, standing up and beginning to leave the study, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Take a seat Arthur, you look half dead.” Arthur reluctantly sat down, absently looking around the room, before looking up at his brother. The excitement had faded from Kay’s face as he watched his brother struggle to stay awake. Kay closed his eyes, steeling himself for the task ahead. “Arthur, do you know how I first met you?” Kay asked, trying his best to sound cheerful. Arthur looked at him a moment, confused at first, and then questioning. “I assume when I was born,” Arthur said, furrowing his brow, seeming more awake than he was previously. “You definitely seemed close to newborn,” Kay said, quieting his voice slightly. “Myrrdin had brought you to us, to raise you, under the orders of the late King Uther. Apparently he named you his heir.” It took a few moments for the information to fully sink in, as Arthur stared up at his brother. He blinked after a few seconds, his eyes widening as he gripped the carved wood of his chair. “I’m sorry, I must have heard you wrong,” Arthur said, his voice unsteady as he stood up and leaned over the desk. “It sounds like you’re saying I’m not a Queis!” “I’m not saying that at all,” Kay said, standing so that he was once again taller than his brother. “You may not have the giant’s blood in your veins, but you are without a doubt my brother! And you will be my King as well.” “I don’t want to be king, I want to be a knight! I want to be a knight of the Keys, to defend the border between the realms!” Arthur complained, walking over to a portrait of the now late Lord Ector and his wife, both having the red hair of an Albian. “I wanted to be your knight.” Those last words were spoken almost at a whisper. “You’re meant for better than serving a lord like me Arthur,” Kay said, placing his hand on his shoulder. “It would be my honor, to serve, as your night.” Arthur turned around as his brother knelt before him, unsheathing the Falchion that he inherited from his father and presenting it to his younger brother. “I pledge my sword, and my lands to you, King Arthur, the Future King.” Arthur closed his eyes, breathing in deeply as he looked down at his brother. Arthur took the Falchion in his hand, gently touching it to his brother’s shoulders as he spoke. “Rise, Ser Kay, first of my knights.” Kay was fifty- six when he said his last words to his baby brother. War had come to Camelot once again, but this time from within. Lancelot’s transgressions forcing Arthur’s hand to, though Gawain took no small part in encouraging Arthur, to make siege to his greatest Knight’s keep. It was in the siege camp that Kay received the falcon that told him of yet another betrayal back in Camelot. Kay wasted no time in finding his brother, who was in the process of putting on his glistening white armor. Arthur’s hair had only grown longer with age, the bright blond resembling the frill of a dragon, his beard thick and pointed, and his moustache curled. “Brother, I have news from home,” Kay said as he ducked under the tent flap. “At last, I’ve begun to worry that something had gone wrong.” Arthur said, as a squire fastened his greatsword ExCalibur to his back. “No one’s attempted an invasion, have they?” “No my King,” Kay said, struggling to meet his brother’s eyes. “Not exactly.” “What’s gone wrong Kay?” Arthur said, strapping his dagger to his belt. “Mordred has taken the crown, my King,” Kay said, looking down, sadly. “He’s mustering the remaining forces at Camelot to march on our flank. I was only notified thanks to a very brave cook.” “Well the cook will be rewarded greatly upon my return,” Arthur said, walking past his brother and through the tent flaps, Kay following close behind. “What do ye plan te do my King?” Kay asked as Arthur called for his white stallion. “I’m riding home, I want you to send whatever forces you can spare to catch up to me within the hour.” Arthur ordered, mounting his horse. “I’ll see you upon my return.” “Yes my King, may you have a quick victory,” Kay said, bowing to his younger brother. “Relax for once Kay, I might be dead when I return,” Arthur said, looking out towards the way he was about to ride, taking his spear from his squire. “I don’t need my Seneschal right now.” “Don’t die on me Arty.”

Just say you won’t let go

I met you in the dark, you lit me up you made me feel as though I was enough

She couldn’t shake off the trepidation that told her they weren’t going to get out of this one. The smell of fear was burning in her lungs with each ragged breath she took. A sour acidic flavor churned in her stomach, rising up into her throat. There was no safe place to pause; no where to rest and ease the fire in her muscles that begged for rest as the sound of clanking footsteps followed.

Sprinting to the left and to the right, whirling past pedestrians and salesmen peddling their wares, she ran. There was no thrill in the adrenaline. Only panic, even as the shouts of anger from the near-impacts chased after her more than the fading echo of predators on her tail.

Essätha squeezed by the nearest stall and into an alleyway. She panted for air, gulping it down hungrily. The whirlwind tangle of her knotted hair stuck to the nervous sweat that dampened her forehead, obscuring her sight. She pushed the dark ringlets aside wearily. A flash of red fabric and a dark shadow blurred into focus and the Yuan-Ti reached out, snagging the lightweight cloak of the figure before they could pass her hiding spot. The medallion holding the garment in place strained, but didn’t unlatch. It choked the individual, who stumbled as she released them and nearly collapsed to their knees before leaning heavily to the nearby wall.

Her eyes moved tensely down the avenue as more phantom figures began to dash into hiding. A smog of wispy violet formed around her shaking fist like a sudden storm. Her jaw clenched, and began to relax as the curls of magic blooming up her arms began to evaporate from her rigid fingers.

“Take a breather, kid,” she puffed. Wobbly on shaky limbs, she advanced further into the darkness of the side street. Her eyes moved all around them, above them, to the front and back of the alley in search of danger that might yet be stalking them.

Ravamora wheezed, which sounded like the closest thing to an answer she was going to get. She leaned heavily into the brick building to their right, giving Essätha the room to pass her. The young elf girl looked exhausted, and she regarded the sentiment in equal measure. The volume of her afro had increased tenfold into one enormous mop of turbulent deep umber.

Using the cover of the wall for balance, Essie approached the newly arrived characters with a sigh. “Sulhadur, Adela, have you seen anyone else?”

Adela jumped. Her tail tucked nervously against her legs as she reached for the heavily armored Paladin, giving a short shake of her head. The lone earring she still had dangled and flashed in the light of the sun bouncing off the Dragonborn’s armor; the other nowhere in sight. She looked as though she’d just climbed out of bed. Hair tousled, wild eyes, missing jewelry and her shirt ruffled like she’d been restlessly tossing and turning.

“Penimra and Abe turned left from us, I lost sight of them.”

“Pri, Amon, and Aylin were behind us when we scattered,” Sulhadur rumbled, casting a glance behind himself. “I don’t know where they went to.

She frowned and squeezed around the bulky armored scaly lad as he spoke. He grunted, pressing a hand to Adela’s backside gently and the other to her shoulder. His claws dug into her flesh anxiously, ready to haul her back at a moment’s notice.

“Essätha.”

He wasn’t fast enough to clamp his fingers down and hold her firmly in place as she slipped out of the protection of the alley. She just wanted a better look.

A wall collided with her in a flurry of limbs and yelps. Thrown bodily to the ground, her butt immediately hurt more than her aching calves as she hit the stone walkway.

“Oh, Jubäta.”

Whimpering, her eyes moved up to the heavy furry animal standing over her. They let out a pitiful apologetic whine for knocking her over. Droopy jowls dangling before her eyes, and a slobbery tongue rolled out to lap with concern at the sticky perspiration on her forehead.

“Lord Caesar, no,” she groaned, pushing at the mastiff’s bulky head. He stepped over her, and her sense of smell was grateful for the aroma of the city over the dog breath that had been wafting over her face. Or the weight of the beast, which was doing nothing for her bruised tailbone and collapsing lungs.

Sul stepped out from the security of cover, grabbing carefully hold of the hound’s spiked collar. Caesar huffed like a dejected puppy, sulking after the Dragonborn as Aylin came bounding down the lane in their direction. Behind him, their golden cleric was running as fast as their short legs could carry.

Essätha flipped over to her palms to crawl a short distance and accept Adela’s offered hand of assistance. They gathered back into the shadows, with two more still compressing themselves to the narrow passage.

“M’lord Amon?” Essie wheezed. Her palms fiddled nervously together as she tried peering out at the road, expecting to see the older nobleman hurtling valiantly by.

“He went looking for Abe and Penimra,” the small Thri-Kreen rekmarked while trying to spring open their tightly coiled antenna and adjust their flowing maroon robes. “The traitorous guards were right behind them. I am sorry; I would have followed him, but he fled into the crowd too fast. This one saw which direction Aylin headed to follow Caesar, and choose to keep the more vulnerable party member safe.”

“The dog was the least likely one to lead us into danger,” Aylin stated matter-factually. “I knew he would follow his master’s orders to find Essätha. There was a chance that would connect us up with larger numbers, and I was right.”

She winced as the dragon placed a hand to her arm, distracting her from the masked-mans words. His touch was faint, but it startled her as dappled orbs of light and glow began to encircle her limb. It washed into her golden skin, illuminating her. The pain in her back eased as well as her bum from the collision with the dog, and with the ground.

He sent Caesar to come find her?

Her heartbeat jolted fearfully. She knew she should be touched at the consideration, but there was no room for the feeling in her chest.

What happened, if the trio got captured? What happened if they were killed? They weren’t together. She wasn’t there to protect them. This was a disaster, this was all a complete fucking mess.

Aylin squished himself to the side of the building to move past her numbed statue-like pose. The murmurs of the voices around her were muffled. In the back of her head she knew she should join their concerns. Checking on each other, reassuring that everything would be okay. Coming up with a plan as a group no less would be the most productive matter. But she couldn’t shake the terror of knowing they were out there, alone.

“We have to tell Queen Morwen about the guards; she’s not safe,” Essie mumbled, vaguely aware of the movement of her own lips.

“That’s a big duh, Essie,” Ravamora reported with a deadpan gaze.

“I knew there was something off about them,” Adela chipped in, rubbing her hands self-consciously up and down her arms. “I could feel it. They gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“You get these heebie-jeebies about everything,” Aylin purred. He grinned, the holes in his mask changing over from a blank slate gray to a harmonious sunny disposition of gold. Out of all of them, only the bard of course still looked stunning. His marble-like pale chest reflected with just enough sheen to look attractive, rather than dingy.

Clearing their throat politely, Pri’cha raised both arms on the left side of their body to wave them around for attention while chirping: “It is not a matter of who was right and who was wrong.  We know that the cult of the Raven Lord has invaded the palace, and that puts the Queen, the city, and the country in great danger. It is highly likely that the guards who following are going to be on high alert, and any spies they have in the capital will be searching for us as well, if they aren’t already.”

Taking a deep breath, Essätha nodded with understanding. “You’re absolutely right. We have to focus. We need to stay together. But we need to get access to Her Highness, before something terrible happens.”

In an eruption of voices, Sulhadur began to speak at the same time as Rava. They paused, tried to start again, and Adela jumped in to speak over them both. Aylin began to grow frustrated, and tried to barge in on the elf child’s defense so she could get a word in. Their priestess watched helplessly, trying to soothe them all with curt tugs on the sleeves and hems of their attire to bring them to order once more.

Essie rolled her eyes at the commotion, and they fell upon Caesar who was staring up at her. His big ears flopped low and wrinkles tugged down by gravity into a worrying frown. Patiently waiting and watching.

Debate later, action now.

“Caesar. Caesar my sweet boy,” she cooed, gesturing to the enormous pooch. He wagged his tail stiffly with worry as he approached her. Her fingertips grazed the top of his head while kneeling down low, looking into the beast’s beady dark eyes. He was smart; smarter than they gave him credit for. Perhaps...

“Lord Caesar, can you find daddy for me? Where’s daddy? Find Lord Amon. Find him.”

“Aroof,” he wisely answered, shaking his body from side to side so loose hairs floated off him. He turned to trot around her, forcing space between and around people’s legs.

Trotting after him, Essätha turned to glance back at the deliberating group to hiss: “Come on. We need to find the others.”

They exchanged glances, and swallowed their words. Only Adela offered her a look that seemed irate with being bossed around, but there was no objections. No one was willing to leave anyone behind to be captured, maimed, or eliminated. They’d made it too damn far, seen too much, became closer than the bonds of family in some cases.

Grouping together, the dread of the open streets yawned before them as they left the safety of the tight space. Hair’s on the back of Essie’s neck stood up with nervous awareness as she tiptoed cautiously out after the furry mammoth of a hunting companion.

There was no telling how many eyes of these strangers glancing their way were simple civilians. They didn’t have a clue how many people in the Queen’s court were safe to try gaining access to Her Majesty after the confrontation. They were in danger as much as the nobility, and the people in this city. Once misstep; one word spoken out of place, and they could be drawing targets on themselves and any kind soul who offered them sanctuary or a word of help. The die were not in their favor.

With the click of Caesar’s toenails on the road worn and smooth from years of use leading them, they followed in a huddled, tense group. Sul remained in the back; far behind  her and the canine leading them, and Rava and Pri’cha flanking the other two caster’s hidden among their ranks

Weaving in and out of the throngs of people going about their daily lives and business, Essie kept her weary eyes moving. She forced a smile to anyone who stared a moment too long in their direction, trying to formulate questions on such an odd group of individuals. Or maybe they were more concerned with their appearances; with large sacks and weapon hilts dangling beneath their cloaks and wrapped in their belts. Adventurers weren’t exactly unheard of, brazen crooks could just as easily manipulate the look to situate their needs.

They moved along avenues and streetcorners through more vacant areas of the city into more populace ones. Lifting his head, Caesar circled the same spot a few times, and turned to look up at her.

“Boof.”

“Which way, Caesar? Find m’lord Amon,” she pleaded.

The mastiff whimpered, placing his nose to the ground. He inhaled deeply a few times. Trotting left, then right, he snuffled the filthy pavement for clues. He’d head one way for a moment as if he was growing confident, then turn around and start again.

“I think he lost the scent,” Ravamora remarked in a hush. “There’s a lot of people around here.”

Doubt began to trickle in. As her shoulders visibly fell, Caesar froze in place. His tail erected in a serious disposition, and then began to lash like a violent whip. With renewed interest and vigor, he took off bolting down the lane with more grace and speed then one would expect of such a lumbering beast.

City residents parted the way for them with squawks and curses as they barreled through. Essätha tried to shout an apology where she could, running breathless in chase after the dog as he charged down the path. He hooked a hard left. Flying around mobs of people shopping, walking, carrying their goods, he carved the way through them. People scrambled to get out of the way.

Taking a right and another left, the mastiff lead them down a deserted lane. He bellowed a tremendous bark, cause a head popped up from beneath a set of discrete set of stairs that lead to a low-level shop.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

Amon was the first to scramble out, barely missing knocking his head against a sign hanging a short distance from the stairwell’s entrance. It showed a very suggestive figure of a tiefling on it. Night club. A perfect time of day to utilize the area, with the sun hanging above, no one was going out to such a location anytime soon.

As Abe helped Penimra squeeze his corpulent frame up the narrow steeple, Caesar went hurtling to his master. He headbutted the nobleman’s leg full-charge, forcing him to stumble back. Amon kept from falling by grasping a hand into the dense coat of the dog’s dense fur to keep from hitting the ground. There was just enough time for him to recover his stance, plant his feet, and take the sudden impact of a second being to smack into him.

Essätha dug her fingers into his shoulderblades, and breathed a shaky rush of heavy air into his chest. The aroma of home awakened her senses. A quiet pine forest and dewy morning grass, with the faintest hint of rose oil. The friction of his kept beard nuzzled the top of her head as he squeezed her firmly in return, right over the thunder of his heartbeat. A billowing breath of relief fanned across her as he held her close.

“Oh thank the gods,” she breathed, leaning back. Her eyes moved over the pleasant bliss of his elated expression. Over the curve of his mouth tugged up in the corner, to his broad nose, the shine in his eyes that were like twilight where she found herself in a steady realm. The calm of the ocean’s depths; immersed in an inky black, where few came to see the fascinations at the bottom of the sea and feel the serene safety of bioluminescence life all around you, or the soft rippling sand beneath toes kicked up as you dove and swam the valleys of a mysterious world.

Relaxing her death-grip from Amon’s back, she turned to meet Abe’s friendly smile and extend a hand out towards him. He swallowed her fingers in his palms, patting her scaly patch gently. A twinkle glimmered in his eye and his ponytail had fallen apart. Cascades of white seafoam seemed to spill over the teal color of his skin.

“Thanks for nothing,” Pen grumbled irritably, finally turning to them while wheezing for breath. He places a hand to a critical hip, glancing down at the stairs as he continued, “I was hoping to wait for this place to open.”

“Penimra, that’s a uh, lady’s stripper club. You do know that, right?” Adela stated, pointing up at the club’s sign.

The warlock’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, inspecting the feminine shape of the figure. His big pointed ears drooped, and his shoulders sagged. He released his dignified posture, and in doing so he slouched and sank into his neck like a man turning to a withering husk.

“Oh. That’s disappointing.”

While Aylin gave the high-elf a sympathetic pat, Essie’s gaze panned over the group. Surveying them up close, no one appeared hurt. It allowed her to relax, feeling the rhythmic circles of a gentle hand moving along the slope of her spine. She turned her face up towards him, grateful for her beloved Lord’s thoughtfulness.

“We’ll have to think of another means inside,” Amon reported, his voice carrying with authority. “We’ll draw attention trying to go through the front gates again. It’s hard to know who we can trust to take us directly to Her Majesty Morwen. The first person we make contact with could be another worshiper of the Raven Lord’s cult.”

“I could try finding us a safe way in,” the smallest elf chimed in, rubbing her hands together like a goblin out to steal lunch.

“Rather than risk you being captured alone, maybe we should try something else?” Adela advised. “Look for an underground group of thieves and information traders; maybe see if there’s any gossip about any prisoners who got into the citadel before? We could narrow it down and try paying someone off to find access in.”

“I can’t believe the following for that maniac has infiltrated the capital,” Essie mumbled. If they were hiding in plain sight, right around Queen, posing as guards and devoted council, where else were they? Where weren’t that? What signal were they waiting for from the Raven Lord to act?

An ominous growl reverberated through the youngest Paladin. His watchful glare moving up and down the street pinpointed a group of men wearing the Queen’s banner colors moving down the road, heading briskly in their direction. Nothing written in their faces exactly said hostile, but neither did it say friendly. And judging by their pace alone, one could say that any which way, it wasn’t good news they were bringing.

Caesar raised his hackles, mimicking the threatening snarl in the back of his throat to Sul’s own. Fur rippled up to stand along his spine as he bared his teeth menacingly at the approaching group.

“Move now, talk later.”

Heeding Sul’s words, Essätha clenched her hand to Amon’s as the group made a dash down the street once again. This time, she was determined not to let anyone them fracture and split up.

The callused lines of Lord Amon’s hands she knew so intimately held to her with vice-like strength. It was a comfort as they took the winding roads and shot through the alleys, the number of guards seemed to increase with every turn. The more that seemed to materialize in doorways and around corners, the less they followed. Instead, their eyes were the trackers; their numbers closing in around them.

“Why aren’t they attacking?” Pri’cha inquired, their mace bouncing at their hip despite their lower hands trying to keep it from jumping too much.

“Because they don’t want to start a scene,” Abe gruffed informatively. “We’ve still not been charged with anything; it would look suspicious for them to arrest fabled heroes in front of a crowd of people.”

A scene.

They didn’t want to make a scene.

“I know what we need to do!” Essie announced, panting heavily. Her eyes fixated on Amon, then looked nervously around the others as she stammered, “We need to head to the market street, where it’s the most busy and there’s lots of eyes.”

The nobleman nodded, escorting them to the left as he rasped, “It’s this way.”

“You gonna give us a heads up on this plan?” Pen snorted, trying to catch his breath.

As they cut through a vacant lane, Pri’cha let out a squeak as a bold woman dressed in civilian garb jumped for them. The bug’s feet staggered, reaching for their mace as they were knocked back by the impact. Before they could deliver a blow, however, the red dragon stampeded straight into the woman, leaving her laying sprawled out in a daze on the streets. Caesar snapped his jaws in her direction as they passed with an audible click as the spy scrambled backwards to avoid his teeth.

They were getting bolder, Essie realized with dismay. Before long there would be no where safe to run. They’d herd and carol them right where it benefited them the most, out of sight of prying eyes to take care of business.

As they headed for the heart of the city square, a mass of armored men stood watch before the market. They formed a human chain, blocking much of their view of the stalls and merchants. One guard gestured towards them as they thundered down the road, getting the entire band of false watchmen to turn their attention on to them.

Close enough.

Yanking Amon’s hand, Essätha turned to him abruptly. He faltered to a stop, mouth hanging open and gasping for air like the rest of them as they clumped up into a crash collision meters away from the human barricade.

This would have to do, and she prayed it worked and drew in the desired crowd.

“Propose to me!”

A deep maroon color deepened the flush already in the Illiad heir’s face from running. He balked at her, as a unified gasp murmured through the rest of the noisy bastards.

“What-?”

Digging her fingernails into his hands, she hissed with insistence, “Pretend to propose. Do it. It’ll draw attention, and where there’s a crowd, there’s chaos. We can use confusion to our advantage. They won’t be able to drag us willy nilly with onlookers surrounding us.”

His mouth worked, but Amon could only release a choking sound similar to that of a man laboring for a last breath. The clench in his jaw tightened with a reflexive memory as he turned to look at the troops now beginning to close in on their position, and around to the rest of their friends huddled close. Their faces fierce; many tense with hands poised and ready to grab the nearest weapon or in Abe’s case, to the mastiff’s collar.

Finally, his gaze circled back around to land on her.

Different emotions moved in the space between them like a twister. Fear, then anxiety, followed finally by acceptance. The nobleman’s throat jumped as he swallowed thickly, squaring off his shoulders in preparation. He breathed out raggedly, taking a step back to timidly lower himself to one knee.

It seemed to slap her stupid, how wildly insane this idea was. She hardly seemed to notice the shadows of their friends, taking a respectful step back as she became lost in the gentle lines of Lord Amon Thomas Illiad’s face, and the brimming light reflected from his adoring regard and up to her. It was sincere and honest, like the sun that you knew was always there, even when you couldn’t see it.

He smiled. It was genuine and tender, and tugged on her every heart string as she released a startled gasp. The sound was as real as his well manicured beard, the texture of his linens, the easy smile creasing around his cheeks, and the warm love in his face. More real were his eyes she found herself lost within for what seemed like the millionth time. They were real as time itself, and all things that would come after.

His hand was real, as it took one of hers. Each ridge worn rough from combat, but his strength was careful and delicate. He held to her hand with just enough pressure to keep her steady, least she float away into the clouds of seventh heaven from such dizziness.

She knew that even if this nut-brained failed, someway somehow, she would be okay. Everything would be okay.

“Oooohh my gossshhhh,” Adela cried aloud, cupping her face with her hands. “Isn’t that adorable?”

A faded rose color began to burn into Essätha’s face. She shyly glanced away, and back to Amon as people began to turn towards the squeals, awes, and quiet forced sobbing of their friends. At least, she thought it was forced. It was too muffled by the drum of her beating heart to be sure.

The Lord of the Emerald Expanse opened his mouth, and closed it. He swallowed, and captured her eyes in his own. Gaping at the light tawny butterscotch, his anxiety seemed to melt the remainder of its icy grasp away. He fished into his waist coat pocket, never removing his eyes from hers as he produced a small velvet box.

Essie no longer heard the shuffling feet of onlookers prying close, following the squeal of Adela’s voice. She no longer heard their friends. She only heard her heart as it leapt to her throat, and the gasps her lungs would allow her as she lost the ability to breathe.

He looked stunningly handsome. Slightly vulnerable, his hand shaking and eyes gentle and imploring as he tightened his grasp upon her. He fumbled for half a second with both hands to open the ring box, and reveal the impressive ring situated carefully inside.

She didn’t even look at the ring. The only thing that captured her attention from it was the glint it gave off from the sun’s rays, and nothing more. The real thing she wanted, that the very core of her soul reached for with feverish longing, was the look in his face. That otherworldly happiness, the fondness and want that couldn’t be replicated. He looked at her, and it changed his entire appearance. The rigid stiffness was lost, his face smoothed and relaxed, the tightness in his scrutinizing eyes faraway with thought became sharply attuned to her. As cool and dark as their color, they seemed to scorch her skin as he looked upon her, burning her face and down to her throat with a dark blush.

He didn’t need to say a word. His expression said it all, and she was mesmerized. Entranced; in awe with a hand to her chest and her fingers curled within a protective hand as his thumb glided and traced between her knuckles, and up over the scales on the back of her hand. Smooth and gliding, gentle as the breeze.

Maybe she shouldn’t have made him do this. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Suddenly the guards did not matter; their friends, the crowd. The moment mattered. He mattered.

And she wanted this in ways she never thought she could. In feelings she couldn’t even describe, that made her eyes well up as her breath hitched. It was too real. The way his eyes moved over like velvet strokes of his callused hands, the way his tongue nervously moved over his lips, the shake in his hands that only eased when their gazes met. She felt it all. His every breath was in her lungs; tasting of ambrosia hope and yearning dreams.

He opened his mouth, and it startled her before the first word even came out, how instant the answer was in the back of her mind. Picturing quiet nights by the hearth, the winding roads of Briarton, the endless supply of books and laughter. His laughter most of all, and the smile he’d wear every day that made her insides turn to goo.

“Miss Essätha Meduza,” Lord Amon whispered, his voice soft and silken. It was spoken only to her, only for her, with love and commitment. It came with the embrace of his hand holding hers a little tighter in a way that told her all that she already knew. That his words were honest and true. That what he said next, it would all be hers. That even with his heart lay bare before a crowd of strangers, his intentions were only made with honor and authenticity. Not for the people, this was all for her.

Yes. Yes a thousand times, she wanted to cry, gripping her fingers into his palm.

“From the day I met you, I knew you were an incredible woman with a merciful and patient heart,” he rasped thickly. “You’ve showed the world great kindness, even when it held a wall to you. Your devotion to caring for others has been one of the most admirable traits I’ve ever witnessed. You blind me and silence me all at once with awe, yet invite to reveal to me a side of the world I only ever saw in glimpses, now revealed to me through your guiding hand.”

“It is a place of light and of color, filled with selfless actions and understanding. You are the patron goddess of the kind of world I want to make. Filled with thoughtful actions; calm and careful, gentle and generous. You give and you give; showing the world the beauty of your heart and baring your soul with every good gesture you bestow.”

The nobleman soothed his fingertips against the back of her hand. A deep, massaging gesture pressed into the soft tissue in swirling circles that dragged the air out of her lungs.

Essie was at a loss for words. She had fallen too far into his eyes. It was no trap. It was shelter; safe and warm. And the people around them; distant as they were, couldn’t even see it. They had no idea to the pull, the power of his gaze and the places it took her to. Outsiders looking in, and all they saw was an aristocratic gentleman kneeling, and the scaly commoner woman he was proposing to. They didn’t see the beauty she saw in this man, or the light radiating from the very essence of who he was.

The nobleman brought her hand closer, his voice wavering as he continued: “You have given me so much. Joy beyond measure, conversations filled with intellect and wit, laughter worth more than all the riches of the world, second chances and courage. You have given me my ambition back, which burns brightest with your encouragement. I believe in the possibility of things, and feel free to be myself and to openly question even the most mundane thought without ridicule. You have given me your loyalty, your companionship, your trust even when you were afraid of how I would react, because the world had taught you not to trust.”

“I want to give back, to the inspiring woman I adore, every day,” Amon murmured. “I appreciate all that you are, Essätha. I see in you your charm, beauty, good intentions and will. I want to show the world how you make me better; and be the partner you deserve to have by your side. I want to stand by your side. I want to have your back. I want to be the one who is there, tucked in bed with you at night. I want to listen to your dreams, and help achieve them. I want to be there for you when it feels too heavy to carry to help brace the load, and to share your smile and chase happiness when there’s not a care in the world. You make me believe in everything. Anything. That all things are possible, if we try.”

“And I don’t want to just be Lord Amon Thomas Illiad, anymore,” he choked. The tears swimming in her eyes were no longer just in hers, anymore. They were reflected in her beloved Lord’s. Dense and wet, filling up the corners of his eyes.

“I want to be your m’lord Amon. I want to go on that next grand adventure, with you. I want you, Essätha Meduza, more than anything. I want you in my life, always. To have and to hold. To cherish and to love. To share my quiet mornings with, drowsy before my coffee. To share my afternoons with. Wherever we need go, we go together, hand in hand. To share my evenings with, enoying a meal for two and a lifetime of stories and merriment that leaves our faces hurting from all the smiles and laughter. To share my nights with, rolled up together, and knowing no matter what happens everything will work out; every day will be better than the last, because I have you.”

“We could walk that uncharted path, together. I could face it all, with you. I believe in you and I. It’s an open road, filled with twists and turns and we’ll never know what lies ahead, but I don’t fear the unknown. I have no second guesses; no what-ifs. My future is where you are; wherever you go, for you will always have my heart, and I will always be at your side. Always.”

“I ask you to be my friend, my lover, my partner and my dependable equal in all things; in this life and what lay beyond it,” he announced, a sound of vigorous strength returning to his tone that grated with the intensity of his emotion. “I ask you, Essätha Meduza, to be mine, as I am already yours. Will you do me the greatest honor and privilege, of being my wife? Will you marry me, my darling Essie?”

The future was not carved in stone. The world was never made with guarantees. At least, not for her.

But looking into his face, his features whispered to her promises and vows, only meant for her eyes. His words only meant to resonate the way that they did, in her ears. There were things said and unspoken even now, where no language could explain or come close to defining the way he looked at her now. Tremendous love and respect; it said he would hold her hand to that brilliant and shining future, and he would never let it go. Through the good and through the bad, he would be there.

With all of her being, she trusted him. His every word, his every breath. He pledged to her his heart, his acceptance, his life and all time, his commitment to her and her alone. All his flaws, all that he had. And he meant it. He would hold nothing back. He would be there for her through it all, forever hers.

The group of eavesdroppers had turned into a swarm. The court of the Raven Lord began to melt back into the shadows, grimacing at a missed opportunity. Too many eyes and ears on one spot. The marketplace itself was beginning to spill out into the side road to see the proposal. They couldn’t risk the reveal this early, when the king was close to checkmate.

Bashful from sweet words and humiliated by the stray tears on her cheeks, Essätha brought her hand from over her heart to wipe her face. The grin she wore was foolish and broad as she flexed her fingers to his gentle hand with conviction.

“Yes,” she crooned softly. In her chest, she was distinctly aware of the enlightened sensation of floating. She was untouchable; flying high, lost in the banks of clouds and an endless sun burning inside her. Every fiber of her being sang in a chorus; yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!

Amon’s boots slid across the pavement with enough zealous to nearly have his scrambling face-plant in the street. It was so real. It was all so real, the jubilee in the air, the ecstasy of his expression. It was easy to forget that it was not.

The world was drowning in cheers and shouting. Whooping and whistling. She couldn’t be sure he heard her as he reached for her, and although she expected the frenzied kiss of hysterical joy, his hands were light as he placed the ring box back into his pocket and came to her face. They were extraordinarily and incredibly soft; like he was handling a fine antique worth more than all the world’s gold. Careful not to shatter. Just enough to hold her cheeks with the barest touch, and wipe carefully around her eyes.

Faint as the beat of a butterfly’s wings, she whispered in a hush, only to him, “You already have all of me, m’lord. The answer is yes. Infinitely and always, yes.”

He leaned in with a breathless sigh. Relief. Want. Desire in his eyes, and the drawn out ‘aww’s and squeals of friends and strangers around them as he brushed a tender, soulful kiss of affection to her lips.  The kind that made her shiver; outlined to the shape of his mouth, leaning in to him, steady and reliable. The softness of his awaiting breath as her arms looped around his neck to encourage him eagerly closer, and inhale him. The gentleness of his lips, and she dissolved. He scorched her from the inside; etched in her bones, lighting her into a scalding inferno that burned hotter than the planet’s core but didn’t burn.

How strange it was, to care so deeply for another. To trust without a shred of doubt. And to want what once felt like a fantastic dream, knowing what she was. Her own people disgusted by her own ideals. The world rightfully weary of something folks hissed about in warning to children, explaining how if they weren’t good a Yuan-Ti might just gobble them up.

But Essätha wanted this. This moment could last eternally, and it would be enough. She believed in him. She trusted her Lord Amon with her life, her secrets, her insecurities. She trusted him with her heart; still learning, still growing. There was still so much learning for her to do, but every moment with him, she became more of herself. True and authentic. Unashamed, confident, powerful. She could be crazy and enthusiastic around him. Wild chaos, juvenile actions, silly comments and poor jokes, and he loved her. He honestly, openly, sincerely loved her for being her; just how she was and with the changes she may undergo with time.

It was everything she hungered for. It was the easiest yes of her life.

Even if it wasn’t real.

They smiled against each other, sharing soft pecks in front of a throng of eyes. But the ones she was staring into were the best and brightest of all, and the only ones she could give in to; weak-kneed and willing to boldly love and adore with all of herself.

Amon placed a hand to her waistline then as they turned to the crowd. She had great difficulty releasing her giddiness. Still turned into his side, a hand to his mid-back and the other to his chest while her eyes devoured his marvelous features. Such perfect structure in his face, and what a captivating eyes and wonderful smile that she still yet wanted to kiss over and over and over again.

“Congratulations!”

“Well done!”

“That was beautiful!”

Flush, she rested her head against Amon’s shoulder as the deafening applause continued. Her eyes skimmed through the many faces: from Abernathy’s dark blue face stained with tears, to Adela’s sage nod of approval, Rava’s stupified look and Pri’cha’s shocked mandibles spread wide and beyond.

Then she stiffened, watching Sul bare his teeth to a man that slipped past Penimra whom was sulking with his arms crossed, and straight in their direction. Aylin reached out for the stiff collar of their coat, but the Dragonborn was quick to snatch the Drow’s arm away before he could touch the cloaked figure. It was a gesture of warning, not wanting to cause any advances from the Queen’s facade guards waiting to pounce.

Her dearly beloved nobleman’s fingers hooked tighter against her side, dragging her nearer. His smile was as forced as her own now as the man respectfully bowed their head before them. When he spoke, it came out a whisper but deep; rumbling like thunder before a storm.

“Best wishes to the happy couple,” the dark-haired man uttered low. “That was very clever. I’m sure that we will be in touch. Every engagement deserves a surprise wedding gift. May your time together be… ceremonious, and worthwhile. While you have it.”

She was astonished how calm Amon’s expression remained before the spy. His steadfast placid nature was in his posture, but she could feel the weight of the threat in his arm. He pulled her closer still; the bite of his fingers firmly engraved in her side. Creases around his mouth became tighter, and the color of his lips lighter with tension through the bluff of peace he masked before the Raven Lord operative.

“You dare to threaten us?” Amon murmured beneath his breath, leaning towards the man with a sneer. “Tell your master to come offer his empty threats himself. His is invited and more than welcome to delivery his words of gratitude on his own behalf. We would be happy to see him.”

“And tell him I hope he kept the receipt for the gift,” Essie added in a sugary sweet tone, batting her eyelashes. “It’s going to be returned. With interest.”

The servant of the Whispering Shadows smirked at them with mocking, and bowed politely once more. He turned to pass through the herd once more, only to find seven sets of eyes piercing into him. The noisy bastards collected into a barrier encircling the man’s escape, their faces grim and menacing.

He waited with unnerving patience. Still grinning as finally, Sul stepped aside with a scoff to allow the villain to pass. They had not nearly enough evidence to start a quarry here, in front of all these civilians. It would start a panic. People would get hurt. The entirety of the Queen’s guard; both those secretly entwined with the Raven Lord and those committed to Her Majesty, would have every reason to lock them up for brawling in the street. Their accusations unheard, and before they could get a word of warning out or surround the Queen for protection, they would be tossed in the dungeons.

The city would be left more vulnerable than it already was. Effectively arrested, and no longer able to move the across the chess board. The defiant last line of defense between a madman and the way of life they knew, vanished.

As the miscreant passed, their friends moved close to embrace them as the edges of the crowd began to disperse and thin. Abe, closest to them, growled quietly: “We need to make a fast exit, while we still have cover from the crowd and the gossip of the city’s attention on our side.”

Essätha nodded, much with the rest of her comrades as they broke themselves free of the mass and squeeze past the onlookers. Even Amon, who dropped his arm from her side only to hesitantly take her hand.

She glanced to him. His expression fierce briefly, as he searched the crowd. Then distracted; like he was focused with great interest on something far, far away from here.

With a squeeze on his hand, she encouraged him along through the mob of congratulatory people slowly moving back down the streets once more. Her smile ever genuine, as Amon moved up to be near to her and accept the kind gestures with dignity and thankfulness. Eager greetings, and even more fervent replies. He passed her a sentimental smile here and there, moving to brush a romantic kiss to the back of her hand as they moved through the city. Eyes twinkling warm with devotion. A sign of benevolence to the grip holding her hand.

It was real. Him. What they shared. It was all so very, very real.

But she had to remind herself, and the small quivering disappointment in her fragile heart, that the engagement was not.

And the truth was a very hard pill to swallow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was dark out, but clear to see. The moon a waxing gibbous; her glow helping to light the warehouse outside the city they had taken refuge in for the night. The only other glow was the lantern dimmed low for just enough ghastly light to add a sense of security in the old building that creaked ominously in the night. The masses of their group huddled around close to its flames that provided no warmth, with their bedrolls unfurled like a sleepover in a circle all around it.

Essie waited as patiently as she could for Amon to return back to their shambling camp. He’d taken Caesar with him whilst mumbling something about patrolling the exterior of the building. Her mind was working too fast. Pondering away at the day’s events, and the things that made no sense within it. But it had been a long day, and maybe in her excitement, her mind was tricking her.

“I’m going to go check on Amon.”

No one looked up to her. Many of them sleeping, and those who were not going in a drowsy half-awake state. Weapons kept watchfully close to them as they meditated or ate their rations with growing dissatisfaction in their features.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Rava pointed out. “He brought Caesar with him.”

“But he’s been gone a while,” she trailed off. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe she was being too curious, and butting into his space too much. It had been a very eventful day, and she’d really thrust the spotlight on him…

“Go to him.”

She raised her head, staring tiredly in Penimra’s direction. The flickering gloom of the dancing fire left shadows streaked across his bulky mask.

“Excuse m-”

“Go,” he gruffly stated, turning his face quickly away from her. “It’ll be quieter around here anyway if you’re not here to whine… and you’ll get the answers you want.”

Her smile lifted as she looked to the warlock. He was quick to turn his masked face away from her, and avoid the appreciative regard she gave him. It gave her the last little incentive push; more his wording than his tone. The high-elf seemed to understand her position for reasons she didn’t understand but had no urge to question. And with his encouragement, she dusted herself off and got off her bedroll to prowl into the awaiting darkness.

She walked through the large building, squeezing past boxes and barrels to make her way to the front. The double-doors had been left open a crack, letting in of the cooler night air. There was a hint of cedar and rose wafting in, and that of dog. It brought a smile to her lips as she laid a hand to one of the doors and eased it gradually open to see Amon’s silhouette standing outside while the hinges squeaked.

Caesar’s head jerked up and whirled towards her. He let out a greeting boof, wriggling his body as he went from sitting to standing beside his master. It alerted the nobleman to her presence, as he removed his hand from the top of the canine’s head to glance back towards her.

Essätha cleared her throat sheepishly. “Seen anything unusual out here?”

Amon smiled nervously. “No, unless you were to count seeing a heavenly being as unusual.”

“Uh-huh. That does sound rather unlikely, m’lord,” she laughed, slipping out of the stockroom.

“I thought so too, once,” he drawled quietly, offering out his hand to her with an endearing smile. She took it, her shoes kicking away gravel and squishing springy overgrown weeds to meet him at his side. It felt natural. A place she belonged.

“You did?”

He nodded. Avoiding the playful skepticism in her voice. He raised her hand to place a kiss to her knuckles, skimming his fingers over her digits against the side of her hand.

“It seemed impossible, but I see her every day. Though she still overwhelms me, I know that she is real. And as I hold her hand right now in mine, and stare into her eyes; I know that I am the most blessed man on the planet, for she has entrusted me with her heart. A remarkable gift and an honor to love and to hold, for she is the most extraordinary angelic woman I have had the privilege to meet.”

Wrinkling her nose, she stuck out her tongue in his direction and scoffed, “You are a terrible flatterer.”

“I can not help it. You are easy to admire, my dear.”

The Illiad heir wore his best smile for her. It sent a fluttering of wings beating in her tummy as she reached up, caressing her free hand against the his face. He was slow to reach up, pressing his other hand atop hers to keep her touch favoring against there. Her palm to his cheek, fingers circling against the curls of his sideburn whiskers.

“I love you, m’lord Amon,” Essie stated; her voice filled with confidence and predilection.

There was half a second of nothing and everything, all at once. The moon’s light curving over his features and engulfed in his eyes, which covered her in a sanctuary she came to call home.

The moment he inhaled; shocked, ready to give her his love vast and constant, she pressed close to steal his words, and seal his promises with a kiss. Warm and inviting; spilling heart from her fingertips down to her toes in tingling waves. Sweet and soft, where they followed each other in mirrored harmony.

Breathlessly sighing, she released him from the trance to blink innocently up into his stunned expression. His mouth, still slightly parted, worked up and down in a speechless pattern as he drank her in. Bathed in moonlight and flickering stars, the ebony hair on both of their heads washed with a faint gleam and skin luminescent.

Her eyebrows drew closer as he wordlessly continued to try forming a sentence. The nagging question was still in the back of her head, and she couldn’t shake it.

“M’lord, why did you just happen to have that in your pocket, anyway?”

Confusion flitted over him. At his side, the large canine gave a soft whine, nudging his head with encouragement to the nobleman’s leg.

It was then that the alarm rounded his eyes, and made his throat jump in a loud and nervous swallow.

“H-Have what,” he muttered, splotches of maroon beginning to form spontaneously on his face and neck.

“The ring?” Essie pressed, stroking her fingers from his cheek to his chin. He relaxed his hand from atop hers enough for her to drop it lower still, coasting it down his throat and feeling him tremble like a leaf beneath the whispered contact. Finally pausing, coming to a stop over where his heart beat the loudest beneath her touch on his chest.

The rhythm seemed to increase tempo the longer she kept her hand there. A reassuring pressure, listening to the hitch in every breath he now took.

Amon’s horror began to gradually melt away to reveal his nervousness as she waited with a persistent patience. He ran his tongue over his lips a few times, trying to open his mouth where only a squeaky wheeze would escape him. It happened almost half a dozen times in a handful of minutes as her smile grew sympathetic and a bit worried. The ring had some sort of importance, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall seeing it before; nor the box. The velvet container seemed to intimate to be a gift for Lady Josephine, and she had her doubts it was a memento for or from Miss Marie.

A deep and sudden rush of respiration gasped forth from him, and Amon tried to tear his eyes away from her. They immediately came right back to her imploring and curious expression; now engraved with worry. He squeezed a bit tighter to her hand, reaching up to ruffle his hair into a mused mess before dropping it to his side, and fishing into his jerkin pocket.

Wearing the most helpless, guilty expression as the man deflated, he held out the velvet box in her direction. The intensity of his eyes fixated on her caused her face to morph into a darkened rosy blush. She felt much like she did back by the city square when he proposed to her. It was the same look, that made her feel for just a small moment in time, like she had become the center of the universe.

“It’s for you.”

She met his gaze, dumbfounded. The gears in her head churned over the anxious rasp of his words, as her eyes were drawn to his hands. He let go of her to fumble with the top of the ring box, nearly dropping it twice as he cursed quietly, before opening it with quivering hands. They shook so badly, that he could not hold the ring box steady enough for her to get a good look at it, until she squinted and reached up to steady his hand with her own.

A heartfelt sigh escaped him. Visibly calmed beneath her touch, her eyes darted over the large set of diamonds arranged on the white gold band. The inside of the box was clean vibrant satin, and the edges of the dark velvet outside had worn marks like he’d spent much time rubbing it off in his fingers.

It looked expensive. The amount of detail alone in the craftsmanship of the band as it weaved around looked intricate and like a technique difficult to master, let alone the karats it had between the multiple smaller cuts and large center stone. There appeared to be script written inside the band, but it was impossible for her to make out the foreign tongue.

Essätha’s mouth began to open slowly, ignoring the quiet whining of the pooch at her side.

“It’s… stunning,” she breathed, hardly capable of words. It was more than stunning, it was a piece of art. Beautiful and bold. No one would be able to miss it; between the size and the sparkle it gave off in the moon, the diamonds had clearly been picked by a master who knew good quality and clarity.

But it looked like… The ring appeared to almost be a genuine…

“I was waiting for the right opportunity,” Amon wheezed, his voice cracking with emotional stress as he looked from her, to the ring, and then to the ground.

… was it a… no, it couldn’t be…

Frustrated, the nobleman let out a groan, his words cascading out like a waterfall: “I don’t know why I pulled it out like that, I just panicked in the moment. Most gentleman are prepared for those sort of things; I didn’t want to appear insincere. It wasn’t how I meant to propose to you, Essätha. I wanted the moment to be special; I wanted it to be perfect, just the two of us.”

Oh gods. Oh gods it had felt so real. It felt so real and that’s because… It was real.

“I was a fool,” Amon rushed, frustratingly snapping the lid shut to hold the box in a white-knuckle grip. “I wanted- I wanted the moment to be just right. The atmosphere and the romanticism we should have had. I’ve been trying to prepare a speech for weeks, trying to get it right; trying to figure out what to say. It wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. Pelor I- I wanted to sweep you off your feet. The gesture was supposed to be grand and intimate and perfect and I- I’m sorry Ess’. I want to do it the right way, not because of pressure and not before hundreds of people.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask you and I blew it. The timing, the situation. I meant every word of what I said; every word, but I wasn’t prepared, I might have missed something I-… I want you to know how much you mean to me; how much I love you, what kind of world I envision when I’m around you and it’s perfect. I want to be your husband; I want you in my life, always, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, through the hard times and the best days of our lives. I- I just- I wanted-”

“M’lord,” she cut in. The strength of her own voice surprised her. It felt like the world had disappeared beneath her feet long ago, and she had skyrocketed up to the stratosphere. The conviction in her tone was enough to drop him into silence, staring at her with a mixture of twisted agonized fear and timid acceptance.

Dragging in a fresh breath of air into her lungs, it felt like the first breath she’d taken since she was a babe. Something about the world suddenly seemed newer; brighter, less intimidating. It reflected back to her what Amon had said, about the winding path. Life was a path where you could not see around the bend to the next outcome, but the people you cared about were always traversing along that very same path. They’d keep you safe, where they could.

Marriage opened up an entirely new path. One she would never walk alone. One that she could see when she closed her eyes. It smelled like Amon’s cologne, Briarton’s woods, and Caesar’s dirty fur in need of a bath. It looked like the eyes of the Illiad before her; fathomless, thoughtful, touching like the arms that secured her in a comforting embrace at night. It sounded like his voice; lulling, deep, rolling off thunder with an effortless humored tone. It tasted like his skin, his lips, his hair; the aroma of a hard day, the wine on his tongue and salt on his skin. It felt like home. It felt like belonging.

She raised their conjoined hands to hold them tight, and against his chest. His eyes which dared to search her, trying to pull something from her in his aching fear of the unknown. The truth of a future he dared to believe in, not knowing if it was about to be shattered.

Essie smiled, holding firm to his fingers as she murmured, “It was perfect. You could have asked me without the sweet nothings; dirty, wet, cold, in just five simple words, and it would have been perfect.”

“My answer will still be yes, when; or if, you’re ready to ask again. It will always be yes. You will always be my yes, Lord Amon Thomas Illiad.”

Amon stood mute. His mouth hung open like a fly-trap for a short period, until he finally snapped it closed and visibly allowed himself to swallow and breath, as though the function had been turned off. In his hands he opened like a flower blooming to reveal the ring box, with her hands cupped around his own.

He dropped to one knee before her, slowly. Caesar; though she did not notice him, took a few respectful steps back to sit neatly, and thump his tail into the dirt like a sign of knowing. Her beloved Lord’s eyes never leaving hers, as he turned open the top once more to show her the glimmer of the ring nested inside once more.

“You are the only one for me, my darling Essätha Meduza. You make life meaningful, beautiful, and expand the horizons into infinite possibilities. I want to be there for your every smile; to keep you safe and well, to support you and help you climb higher in your goals, as you have done for me. I will be your strength when you want to rest, and carry you through, as you have done for me. I want to cheer you on as your biggest supporter and be able to tell you I love you, every day, as many times as I can for the rest of our lives.”

“Will you do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the world, and allow me to take your hand as Mrs Essätha Meduza Illiad, my wife?” Amon whispered in a fluctuating tone of adoration. “Will you marry me, Essätha?”

Droplets welled up along her eyes, and overflowed the dam. She nodded wordlessly, holding to his hands as tightly as she could muster all while losing herself in the color of his eyes.

“Yes m’lord Amon. Forever and beyond; today and every day thereafter always, yes.”

As he turned over her left hand over in a delicate hold to slip the ring on her third finger, she barely managed to get out through clipped sobs, “It will be my greatest pleasure to stand by your side. You have made me proud to be myself and to love myself. Almost as proud and happy as I am to know you, to love you and to have you; and the pride I have to the wonderful, beautiful man you are. I promise I will be the best wife I can possibly be; I will never let you down-”

“You never do,” Amon assured her soothingly, resting the ring snugly against her knuckle. It was a perfect fit. It made her wonder on all the times she’d tried on jewelry in store or on Adela’s behalf, that he might have been calculating the right fit the entire time.

She hiccuped through her blubbered weeping, grinning so hard her face hurt from it. Her fingers flexed, feeling the strange new weight of the cool metal warming to her temperature. Like the vows of marriage itself, it was not a burden to carry,  but a sacred reminder. No matter how tough times got; no matter the disagreements, it was a symbol of their commitment, that they could get through it, together. They would work through the differences; show understanding, and remember their love and all the reasons they fell into it as they faced whatever the future had in store for them.

Her fiance moved to stand on his feet once more, and she clung to his fingers that encompassed her hands. Liquid would temporary blind her vision, before trickling down the tracks already made on her face.

“M’lord-”

He hushed her gently, reaching up to smear away the beads of tears rolling down her cheeks and beneath her eyes with a fond smile.

“If it would be alright with you, I would very much like to kiss my fiancé, now,” he mouthed; silken words breathed close to her face.

Tongue-tied and mouth agape, she nodded. There were no words left with no breath in her lungs.

There was little room for anticipation. It was not like the previous kisses of the day, where they stood in content limbo, lips barely apart. It was a thrill; a rush. His lips descended upon hers as soon as he released her hands and the box, which clattered gently to the ground. And he kissed her, and he kissed her, and he kissed her until she grew light-headed and the only thing keeping her from crashing was his arms around her waist and her pitiful loose grip desperately in his sleeve fabric. There was no room for air between them; a fusion of intimacy and passion.

Nudging his snout between them, Caesar gingerly retrieved the empty ring box in his drooly jowls, and took a respectful step back. His tail whipped excitedly in the air as he held his head up high, offering the retrieved item up to his master who was far too preoccupied to notice the canine’s good manners.

“I love you Essätha,” he gasped; mouthing against her as they devoured each other, her tongue skimming the seams of his lips.

Muffling a quiet mewl to his crushing lips; a skip in her pulse, she managed to affirm back with strength in her voice, “I love you too, m’lord Amon.”

And she would. Eternally and beyond that, for all time and when there was no such thing as time, she would love him.

So they stood there, snogging and running eager hands over clothes in a sensual embrace. Two small pieces in the world; little blips that felt the infinity of time in the shape of lips, the tangle of hands in hair, the hunger of warm bodies pressed close and the promise of things unsaid by the voice but communicated in the hum of their presences so close.

The future was theirs for the taking, however they wished to make of it, together. Love the key; the concrete stability that bloomed all things from understanding, mercy, kindness, sympathy, giving. It was love that connected the world and its people, and it was love that made even the worst of wounds heal over time. What they shared was pure and beautiful; it was truth and it was happiness, and it was all theirs. This moment, their lives, their choices, their love it was theirs.

She would make her Lord Amon proud. She would be the most considerate, open, loving woman and wife. Faithful only to him; loyal to his needs, guiding and following and being there, with him. They would see their way through the ideal future they wanted, hand in and hand. She would put her best self and her best foot forward, with no doubts. Only love, belief, and strength.

After all, she was Essätha Meduza soon-to-be Illiad. There was nothing she could not do; nothing she could not accomplish. Especially if she had him, her Lord Amon.

Thursday 11/15/18

Today was a good day......I’ve been running a fever and doctor said it was probably a virus.....oh great.....it’s making me feel a bit sleepy but I’ll live

My room has been crowded all day.....again I turn silent but still listening to everything I hear...getting some new regulars that are really nice.....Big Daddy a Dom....Jenn a Domme and Kai from Nikki’s has been hanging out with us too... she is unhappy being unowned and I can relate to that

Gidgette my “little” friend has been coming in lately....made me curious  if I could make a mini me so I have been trying to put one together.... she is adorable with auburn hair..... I will buy her a few outfits and bring her out to surprise Gidgy….I know in my heart that I am not a little....I love being a full grown woman …. sexy...vulnerable yet strong and wise just like my sisters....

Haven’t seen m’Lord in 2 days but I think he’ll be around tomorrow... he’s a Nurse and works 24 hour shifts....I wish him the best on his busy schedule

What I liked: meeting with and talking to new people in the room

What I disliked:  This damn fever....crosses my fingers that all will be well tomorrow

Quotes from movies/tv/other media that I say/use in conversation on a regular basis:

“Which way do you want to go?”

“No good, can’t hear you.”

“Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave!”

“They don’t even have dental.”

“Because she doesn’t love you!”

“Your Honor, the comedian clearly stated!”

“You can’t tell me how to live signs!”

“Why’dya do that?!”

“Look at all those chickens!”

“You’re gonna look at me and tell me that I’m wrong, am I wrong? She wore a crown and she came down in a bubble doug!”

“DISGUSTING!”

“Hi Billy!”

“Amuck Amuck Amuck!!”

“Mind yo business David!!”

“I’m looking through the windshield and I’m not gonna hit anyone, but no.”

“You ain’t gettin me to no secondary location!”

“SOUP SOUP!!”

“That seed salesman sure saw us comin. No he saw you comin!”

“Oh I’m not allowed to sneeze?!?”

“Back from the dead Fergus!”

“Those poor icecubes!”

“Could you not? Thanks”

“Dogs are people too Haley!”

“Either don’t be dumb or be dumb in silence, don’t involve me!”

“Cat! I’m a kitty cat! And I dance dance dance x2”

“DOES ANYBODY WANT A WIFE?!?”

“ I am confusion!!”

“You stole my pen!!”

“Beggars cannot be choosers m’lord”

“It’s called a lance... hellooo!”

“DO NOT SHH ME AND SPARE HIM NOW BEGON, GO!!!”

“Moles don’t eat dirt, worms eat dirt”

“You and your family will be cursed for always and eternity!”

“It’s so hot Sam, but I feel so cold”

“Well that’s too damn bad!”

“Paranoid!!”

“Tricky tricky tricky”

“Ah murdered by pirates, heart torn out and eaten, meet Victoria. Can’t quite decide what sounds more fun.”

“What do stars do?”

“My safe word is pineapple juice!”

“Honey, you missed auburn big time!”

“Boy you must be outside your mind!!”

“Who you callin’ a cooty queen, you lint licker!”

“It’s the leaning tower of cheesa!”

“Face it girls, I’m older and have more insurance.”

“There’s no crying in baseball!!”

“The staypuft marshmellow man.”

“Hey Benny, looks to me like you’re on the wrong side of the river!!!”

“I.... am a librarian!”

“I shall simply deny you the crown and... live.... forever!”

“After all that I do, after all I have done.. it’s never enough!”

“There was a bee.”

“Of course not mother, I’m only here for the food!”

“Apartipferdak... wha?... apartipferdak scabber, rapfer tik scabber!”

“He needs some MILK!!!”

“I will cut his heart out with a spoon!!!”

“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!”

“And daddy! They took my boot!!”

“No mas pantalones.”

“Did not know who it was fuckin with.”

“Ish guud!!”

“I want it now!!”

“Give me yor FUCKIN MONEY!!”

“Me having sterk??”

“Albuquerque! See I can do it too. Snorkel!”

“This is why mom doesn’t FUCKING love you!”

“Right to jail.”

“GO ON DARLIN CRYY!!”

“Be careful chilren that’s a lotta sodium”

“I’m legally blind!”

“Now you know I aint allowed to think”

“And then I’ll smash it with a hammer!”

“Say what again, say.what.again! I dare you I double dare you mother fucker say what one more goddamn time!”

“Ur no good duck! U’ll never be shit, ur just like ur father!”

“You Know Why!”

“Coincidence? I think not!!”

“You better get yo ass out this bed!!”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“pushing pushing”

“Mistakes were made”

“YOU are NOT a very nice old MAN!!”

“She’s not alone.”

“Lookin strong John!”

“I am Steve Rogers”

“What is this contraption? May I have it?”

“Vere is dis ootah anyvay?”

“Onion. Pan. Sizzle.”

“That’s why we call it justice, because it’s just us!”

“The moon spirit is a gentle loving lady, she rules the sky with COMPASSION and… LUNAR GOODNESS!”

Wanted to spend another week with Chapter four of “The Wayfaring Stranger” so here’s a Preview.

County of Grantham March 1936 

In the Season of 1936 there were many topics of fascination that percolated through London. The Spanish War, the coming grandeur of the Berlin Olympics that the Third Reich was planning, and of course, the Grantham County Power Plant. It seemed a strange topic, all things considered, but it was the details that most people were interested in. It was the first, fully modern, electrical plant in all of Yorkshire, which was a feat in itself. But the more interesting aspect had been that the power coils and generators, which cranked out a much more powerful and efficient charge, had been designed by Ms. Sybil Branson herself.

Never before had such a thing been attempted by a grown woman, much less, by a girl who was yet to have even been presented to the king … which ever brother that might be these days. There were many that doubted the validity and safety of these mad plans presented. Some called it the very apex of what it is to spoil a child. What qualifications did Sybil Branson have to take on such an experimental task? They warned Lord Grantham of the perils. He being, not only the grandfather, but one of the patrons of the new plant, along with his daughter Mary and Grandson George Crawley, who also had his reservations.

But George’s troubles were for other reasons than a lack of faith in his best friend.

It had been an uphill battle for the girl. She worked long and hard on her plans and blueprints, living in the quiet exclusivity of Crawley House, away from the distractions of Downton Abbey life. There were many long nights, George hunched over the study table pouring over medieval maps and texts, while over at his desk a lovely girl scribbled her formulas and calculations. She sipped coffee, pencil behind her ear, soothing her doubts in the smiling picture of both her mommy and mama on George’s desk. Every time she had misgivings about the enterprise, feeling that George wasn’t voicing some objection, if only to spare her. She only had to see the two women that were everything to her, and remind herself that if they could be revolutionary in their time, than so could she. The only thing she wished was that there was someone to tell her she was on the right track. The old professors, like all good Englishmen, were afraid of change. The board of directors was biting their nails in anticipation, good or ill, of the young girl’s designs.

Her family wasn’t any help either. George had some idea of what she was talking about, but recused himself of opinion, much to her anger. Donk pretended he knew about what his gorgeous genius was talking about. And mama just smiled and blinked, making it seem all so encouraging by kissing her on the cheek with as much enthusiasm as Lady Mary Crawley showed anything. But Daddy didn’t hear a word. Tom Branson would soon glaze over at his daughter’s passion, spending more time glowing proudly at his rare and special girl rather than the plans spread out before them. God, in those moments, had he wished Sybil had been there to see what a marvelous creature she gave her life to bring into this world. But when he began stroking her hair, the girl would only huff and bump his chest with her shoulder in chastisement of his distracted mind.

When the time came to present to the board, she was going up against two other firms in the whole Empire. She fretted all night, wondering what she should wear. She had kept her Aunt Rose, Mrs. Baxter, and Granny up half the night, raiding her, Aunt Rose, and even their Granny’s wardrobes for just the right clothes. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, she came into her room to find that Mama and Anna were laying out a new outfit for such an occasion. Lady Mary told the girl, with great arrogance, that she might not know how her daughter’s “Contraptions” might work, but she jolly well knew how to dress for success. Both her mama and Anna swore it as “the ticket”, the secret weapon she needed to get over the top. It was true that when she stepped out of her daddy’s car with Thomas Barrow, her temporary assistant, there was not a snappier looking young engineer in the world. With legs born for those high heels, body meant for that satin skirt, and combination of sun glasses and hat that oozed young and professional.

When she arrived with Donk’s suitcase, rolled blue prints under arm, and coolly confident smirk, she was the talk of the Ripon office building.

The words of the day were affordable, modern, and easy to maintain. Sybbie, with Thomas’s help, presented her new machine to the world. Every weapon at her disposable was used on the board. She smirked at Donk, used Mama’s familiar turn of phrase to entice her. She near abused her credit as a daughter of a ‘working class bloke’ on those who valued such things. And for everyone else … well, Sybil Branson had been and would always be quite the fetchingly beautiful thing. But it was her charm that won the day, for it was considerable and inebriating once she got going. A girl raised by Ladies Cora and Mary Crawley was born to turn heads with her wit and social skills that rivaled the queens and princesses of old. But in the end, she found that the only hold out was George. He sat quietly, forefinger curled under nose, thumb under chin, elbow propped on the arm rest. He was a sphinx, unreadable, hardened to every trick employed by the lovely and fashionable girl. And when she was done, soaking in the standing ovation with a relieved smile, her heart sank to see that George was the only one still sitting, the weight of the world in his eyes.

For two days, the girl showed up to wait outside the deliberations. She paced the hallway, idly played a walking game of hopscotch with the linoleum tiling, and sat with her hand intertwined with Thomas’s in her lap as they stared at the door. But on the final day, suddenly, the door flew open to the sound of George matching shouts with their Donk and a waspish Lady Mary.

“Then, I’ll see you in Hell!”

The Earl and his pale and sleek business woman daughter looked shocked and deeply insulted at George’s final retort to Lady Mary’s parting words. Sybbie was also shocked watching a dark and furious George stalking away. His goggles were already on his forehead, while he shoved his hands into his long and supple leather gauntlets in disgust. Suddenly, papers and plans fell to the linoleum floor of the Ripon office building when Freddie Moorsum pursued the younger man down the hall. His glasses were obscured on a face in distress. He walked fast after George, though he was unable to keep up with the young racer.

“You can’t walk away, M’Lord! The county, the boys, they’re all counting on you to hold those toffy, high society, bastards, accountable! If you walk away from this you’ll damn yourself and it’ll haunt the county for generations! You know I’m right, you fool! Come back and fight damn ya! TAR YOUR HEELS COWARD!” He roared at the young man that disappeared around the corner, bumping a secretary whose files and papers went fluttering everywhere.

“Sir, I believe His Lordship is quite done with this conversation …” Thomas Barrow, ever the butler, and ever the guardian of Downton Abbey’s nursery, no matter how old the former occupants had gotten. He halted any further pursuit of a clearly enraged Master George.

“Get off me, Chump!” The pencil of a man with parted dark hair and his mother’s face under glasses slapped the svelte and athletic butler’s hand off his shoulder. He then turned to Sybbie who was watching in silent confusion. “Congratulations, and long live Morgana Le Fey, Queen of bones!” He snarled at the girl.

“I think that’s quite enough of that, Mr. Moorsum!” Lady Mary Crawley said with a dark look of rancor as she exited the room. It looked as if she might have left the conference room in order to go after George to continue their argument in private. But in his absence, and very outraged that someone would talk to her daughter in such a manner, Mary was cold and angry when the rest of the board exited.

“You’re all fools! You are all damned fools! They’ll die and all for a young girls pretty smile and tight arse in silk!” He shouted.

“How dare …!”

“Barrow, might you escort Mr. Moorsum out!” Lord Sinderby immediately bared Lord Grantham, who had made to aggressively stride forward in defense of his cherished and beloved little girl.

But there was not a hint of remorse in the man’s eyes for saying what he had. Somehow he thought, even for the friendship of his late mother, that Lord Grantham would see things clearly. Instead, he was infatuated with his genius granddaughter, believing that she could do no wrong. He took it as a slight and a betrayal to his mother’s memory.

“This way, sir!” Thomas Barrow’s hands were made out of iron in his angry grip on the lapels of the Engineer.

“You fools! The whole lot of ya! You’re all fools!” He raged in tears as he was dragged away by Mr. Barrow, Lord Sinderby following to make sure the accoster of his niece and nephew was truly gone.

For a long moment the raven haired young woman watched with a frown as her competitor disappeared with the strong arming Thomas, and a glaring Uncle Atticus with his hands behind his back. When she turned back her Donk looked incredibly rattled by the whole situation. But when she asked what had happened, Lady Mary only told her not to worry about it. But the girl saw that her mama’s eyes were cast down the hallway to the sound of George Crawley’s Indian Motorcycle revving angrily in the distance. They all flinched when they heard him speed off in a terrifying lit.

Sensing the trouble that was entering the girl’s mind, Lord Grantham ensured her, unconvincingly, that it was just the usual “Greek Drama” of the losing side of these local contract disputes. However, she had certainly not thought that George was one of these sore losers. But when she voiced this opinion, no one said a word for a long moment. Till, Lord Grantham assured his granddaughter that George wasn’t not on her side, it was only a question of something else entirely that had nothing to do with her. But she could tell that whatever George and Freddie Moorsum had fought with them over, for the last two days, had penetrated their Donk’s mind. And his heir’s point of argument, in particular, was entombed at the very center of his thoughts. Possibly, it even found incredible validity in the receding tide of the infighting. But Lord Grantham only smirked when catching Sybbie’s tenuously inquisitive eyes.

The old man took her in his arms paternally.

Suddenly, a big, toothy, grin came over the young woman’s pallid face when her grandfather whispered the word “Congratulations” in her ear while in their deep embrace. When she slipped back in his arms, mouth agape in shock, the old lord only nodded his head. It was just in time for Atticus and Thomas’s return. The girl gave a squeal and leapt into the butler’s arms, shouting to the roof tops that they did it. But Barrow only smoothed the girl’s hair back and corrected that she was the one who did it. To that the man got a kiss on the cheek. In fact, they all did, even those who were not her family. But when Lady Mary, half-teasingly, reminded her daughter that an excess of joy was as vulgar as an excess of tears, the girl jovially pounced on her mama. She swept her off her feet, pelting her entire face in a cascade of kisses in her arms as she rushed down the hall. The girl looked like a Hammer Film monster with its bride as she shuffled awkwardly with her mama in her arms. Before turning the corner, a resign but clearly annoyed Mary made a motion for everyone to follow.

When they got back home from Ripon, both family and staff were there to throw Sybbie a surprise celebration. The girl had never been so touched, getting suddenly weepy to see her granny standing with Marigold, Rachel, Aunt Edith, and Aunt Rose, along with all the faces of her happy childhood. All of them there to cheer and celebrate what she thought, at the time, would be her greatest accomplishment in her entire life. There was cake and punch, and a celebratory dinner planed with all of her and Marigold’s new friends for later. Her Donk stopped the festivities, momentarily, so that he might say a few words of his genius granddaughter. But all he could find in the moment, looking at her with such love, was that her mommy would be proud. She would be so very, very, proud of this day.

It was the only thing that Sybil Afton Branson had only ever wanted to hear all of her life.  

Mortality and Mercy in King’s Landing: ASOIAF/Shakespeare Meta

I have talked myself into talking about ASOIAF and Measure for Measure. So here it is. Measure for Measure is a fairly obscure play of Shakespeare’s, at least among the general public. Yet many Shakespeare critics and scholars especially in the late-20th Century, consider this a masterpiece...Bertolt Brecht even called it “Shakespeare’s most progressive play”. One reason why Measure for Measure isn’t culturally famous is that it lacks the distinct qualities you usually look for in Shakespeare. It’s a play without any single main character. More than that, it’s also a play that’s hard to summarize, because more than any Shakespeare play, it is a dynamic work, one which feels less structured and more freely-moving than his other works. How Measure for Measure starts gives no hint for the direction it would go in the next scene, or the scene after that, and each new scene drives and flows from the actions of the previous. If ASOIAF is Shakespearean, then it is the Shakespeare of Measure for Measure.  For the purposes of this meta-essay, I am going to only compare parts of this complex play to ASOIAF, and limit my focus on select comparisons: Tywin and Acting Hand Tyrion/Duke and Angelo. 

The plot of Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure begins when the Duke of Vienna, Vincentio transfers power to Angelo, over the latter’s reluctance:

ANGELO: Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure. DUKE VINCENTIO:Angelo, There is a kind of character in thy life, That to the observer doth thy history Fully unfold. Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, they on thee. ... Hold therefore, Angelo:-- In our remove be thou at full ourself; Mortality and mercy in Vienna Live in thy tongue and heart:... Take thy commission. ANGELO:Now, good my lord, Let there be some more test made of my metal, Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it. DUKE VINCENTIO No more evasion: We have with a leaven'd and prepared choice Proceeded to you; therefore take your honours (ACT 1, SCENE 1)

The first scene of the play establishes that Angelo is reluctant to take his roll, but Duke Vincentio insists. Angelo will become the Acting Duke of Vienna where he expects that the authority and position will reflect his character and views. Angelo is reluctant to do so, his responsibility is great, “Mortality and Mercy” etcetera, but Vincentio insists and Duke Angelo complies.  In ASOIAF, the Hand of the King is a position that transfers hands and offices multiple times across all five books. But there is a difference in kind and degree. The Duke is making Angelo his substitute and replacement. He is going to be Acting-Duke, whereas in no-real-way does the Hand of the King entirely substitute the King. The only true analogue for this in ASOIAF is when Tywin at the end of AGOT makes Tyrion the Acting-Hand. 

“Joff’s only a boy,” Tyrion pointed out. “At his age, I committed a few follies of my own.” His father gave him a sharp look. “I suppose we ought to be grateful that he has not yet married a whore.” ... ... “The city?” Tyrion was lost. “What city would that be?” “King’s Landing. I am sending you to court.”It was the last thing Tyrion Lannister would ever have anticipated. He reached for his wine, and considered for a moment as he sipped. “And what am I to do there?” “Rule,” his father said curtly. Tyrion hooted with laughter. “My sweet sister might have a word or two to say about that!” “Let her say what she likes. Her son needs to be taken in hand before he ruins us all. I blame those jackanapes on the council—our friend Petyr, the venerable Grand Maester, and that cockless wonder Lord Varys. What sort of counsel are they giving Joffrey when he lurches from one folly to the next?...” 

----    He pointed a finger at Tyrion’s face. “If Cersei cannot curb the boy, you must. And if these councillors are playing us false …” Tyrion knew. “Spikes,” he sighed. “Heads. Walls.” “I see you have taken a few lessons from me.” “More than you know, Father,” Tyrion answered quietly. He finished his wine and set the cup aside, thoughtful. A part of him was more pleased than he cared to admit. Another part was remembering the battle upriver, and wondering if he was being sent to hold the left again. “Why me?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. “Why not my uncle? Why not Ser Addam or Ser Flement or Lord Serrett? Why not a … bigger man?” Lord Tywin rose abruptly. “You are my son.” ... --- “One last thing,” he said at the door. “You will not take the whore to court.” Tyrion sat alone in the common room for a long while after his father was gone. Finally he climbed the steps to his cozy garret beneath the bell tower. The ceiling was low, but that was scarcely a drawback for a dwarf. From the window, he could see the gibbet his father had erected in the yard. The innkeep’s body turned slowly on its rope whenever the night wind gusted. Her flesh had grown as thin and ragged as Lannister hopes.Shae murmured sleepily and rolled toward him when he sat on the edge of the featherbed. He slid his hand under the blanket and cupped a soft breast, and her eyes opened. “M’lord,” she said with a drowsy smile.When he felt her nipple stiffen, Tyrion kissed her. “I have a mind to take you to King’s Landing, sweetling,” he whispered. A GAME OF THRONES, TYRION IX

When Vincentio is transferring power to Angelo in the opening of Measure for Measure, there’s no specifications on how to use power. There is an acknowledgement of solemn responsibility, there is an acknowledgement of duty, and there’s an acknowledgement of tasks, but Duke Vincentio insists that Angelo take it all and use his power as he sees fit. Tywin makes Tyrion his Acting-Hand, and likewise directs him to hold mortality and mercy (i.e. Heads, Spikes and Walls and the lack of that) but he is specific in regulating on whom that power must be used, and more importantly he insists that said authority limit and operate on him too. He insists that Tyrion abandon his well known profligacy but Tyrion chooses to defy his father despite having visible proof of how Tywin treats the smallfolk in front of him, as the body of Masha Heddle the Innkeeper sways in sight of Tyrion’s love-nest.  When Angelo becomes Duke in Measure for Measure, we see the effects of his position immediately. As soon as he comes to power, he mounts a crackdown and makes prostitution illegal in Vienna:

POMPEY:You have not heard of the proclamation, have you? MISTRESS OVERDONE:What proclamation, man? POMPEY:All houses in the suburbs of Vienna must be plucked down. MISTRESS OVERDONE:And what shall become of those in the city? POMPEY:They shall stand for seed: they had gone down too, but that a wise burgher put in for them. MISTRESS OVERDONE:But shall all our houses of resort in the suburbs be pulled down? POMPEY:To the ground, mistress. MISTRESS OVERDONE:Why, here's a change indeed in the commonwealth! What shall become of me? (ACT 1, SCENE 2)

And presented in juxtaposition, when we consider the excerpt from AGOT we can see Tyrion’s actions to take Shae to King’s Landing to be an incredibly callous gesture, because the end result of discovery will not damage and hurt Tyrion, but Shae instead, and all out of a selfish rebellion against Daddy’s conservatism. In Measure for Measure, the liberal Duke enables the reign of the far more conservative, and insecure Angelo, who doubtful about his own virtue asserts his probity by taking it out on the people. Tyrion as Acting-Hand alternatively proceeds to both obey his father, and serve his family dutifully, but also privately subvert his father’s norms out of rebellion and pique. To return to MEASURE FOR MEASURE and its proclamation...One of the things about ASOIAF that is perplexing, or one of its problems, is that on one hand GRRM intends the work to draw from the “real history” of the Middle Ages but on the other hand, many parts of his books don’t really have anything to do with the actual middle ages (let’s say 1066CE-1500CE at a rough number). A good example is the series particular interest in puritanism and sexual propriety and how characters and society is defined by attitudes that is either open or closed about sex. Baelor the Blessed for instance is a pious monk king who cloistered his sister-wives, and actually tried to end prostitution in King’s Landing by closing the brothels and sending prostitutes out of the city. 

Their path took them past the statue of Baelor the Blessed, standing tall and serene upon his plinth, his face a study in benevolence. To look at him, you would never guess what a fool he'd been. The Targaryen dynasty had produced kings both bad and good, but none as beloved as Baelor, that pious gentle septon-king who loved the smallfolk and the gods in equal parts, yet imprisoned his own sisters. It was a wonder that his statue did not crumble at the sight of her bare breasts. Tyrion used to say that King Baelor was terrified of his own cock. Once, she recalled, he had expelled all the whores from King's Landing. He prayed for them as they were driven from the city gates, the histories said, but would not look at them.

A Dance with Dragons - Cersei II

Before we meet Stannis Baratheon, we are related to the fact that in his time on the Small Council, an attempt to get rid of prostitution in the city. 

Lord Renly laughed. "We're fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember the time he proposed to outlaw brothels? The king asked him if perhaps he'd like to outlaw eating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it..." .........

"The boy says that they visited a brothel."

"A brothel?" Ned said. "The Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King visited a brothel with Stannis Baratheon?" He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lord Renly would make of this tidbit. Robert's lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannis was a different sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty. A Game of Thrones - Eddard VI

@racefortheironthrone informs me in response to a question I asked that this didn’t really happen in the middle ages, because he says, and I quote: “If anything, it was usually the reverse - brothels were seen as a necessary evil to prevent adultery (the church was worried about horny men sleeping with married women, not married men sleeping with sex workers), sodomy, and masturbation, so in some places there were state-sponsored brothels, in other places particular streets or districts were designated for the purpose, etc.” 

There have been many scholars and historians interested in the social discourse of sex work, and how to tackle it. I cannot claim to be an expert in the sociology of it or any such thing, but I think you can sort of get at a general attitude and thesis. In general, prostitution and social attitudes to it revolves around concerns and fears of a public externalization of the private life. Brothels exist publicly, and are known, even in ASOIAF, but there is a distinction between those who openly visit it, and those who practise it privately. This divide between the private and the public is part of how brothels are seen and appreciated throughout the books.  And in Measure for Measure, the division between public and private is a major part of the plot. Especially when we consider Claudio, the nobleman who is arrested, shamed, and sentenced to death for the crime of impregnating a woman out of marriage:

CLAUDIO Fellow, why dost thou show me thus to the world?

Bear me to prison, where I am committed.

Provost

I do it not in evil disposition, But from Lord Angelo by special charge.

ACT 1, SCENE 2

Claudio is not ashamed so much for being caught, but for being paraded by his crime, which is part of the punishment decreed by Acting Duke Angelo. As Hand of the King, Tyrion deprecates the Public in favor of the Private.  In his time as Hand of the King, Tyrion imprisons Grand Maester Pycelle for his lack of celibacy but he does it privately rather than publicly. Angelo is his Opposite. Tyrion resents the Public of King’s Landing for seeing him as a twisted little monkey demon and does nothing to win them over. The Public Shaming is very much Tywin’s thing, who in A STORM OF SWORDS, takes over as real-Hand, while Tyrion is made into Master of Coin. Tywin, Westeros’ fiercest misogynist, erects his actions on public order by ordering the whipping of Alayaya, the prostitute Cersei arrested, mistaking her for Shae. He takes this further:

Whilst Tyrion lay drugged and dreaming, his own blood had pulled his claws out, one by one. "I want you to go to my sister. Her precious son made it through the battle unscathed, so Cersei has no more need of a hostage. She swore to free Alayaya once—""She did. Eight, nine days ago, after the whipping."Tyrion shoved himself up higher, ignoring the sudden stab of pain through his shoulder. "Whipping?"

Tyrion shoved himself up higher, ignoring the sudden stab of pain through his shoulder. "Whipping?"

"They tied her to a post in the yard and scourged her, then shoved her out the gate naked and bloody."

She was learning to read, Tyrion thought, absurdly...Alayaya was a whore, true enough, but a sweeter, braver, more innocent girl he had seldom met. Tyrion had never touched her; she had been no more than a veil, to hide Shae. In his carelessness, he had never thought what the role might cost her.

A STORM OF SWORDS, TYRION I

It’s not enough however for Tywin to punish Tyrion by proxy, by bringing force on those beneath him, violating his sense of power and ability. Tywin takes this further by humiliating him with his most bizarre joke:

"It is a tax on whoring," said Tyrion, irritated all over again. And it was my bloody father's notion. "Only a penny for each, ah . . . act. The King's Hand felt it might help improve the morals of the city." And pay for Joffrey's wedding besides. Needless to say, as master of coin, Tyrion had gotten all the blame for it. Bronn said they were calling it the dwarf's penny in the streets. "Spread your legs for the Halfman, now," they were shouting in the brothels and wine sinks, if the sellsword could be believed. A Storm of Swords - Tyrion V

Tywin and Tyrion is a more intricate look at the same concept we see in Measure for Measure. The substitution of the authority, the assertion of force from authority to people below, the attempts to regulate society by regulating public morality, the focus and attention on sexual matters where the looming threat is to make private all that is public. Tywin is shrewd and cruel in the way that he arranges actions so that Tyrion is seen as the authoritarian monkey-demon while Tywin is seen as the man of probity. Privately of course, Tywin is a creep whereas in the course of ASOS, Tyrion is revealed as the monkey demon. The result of this complex gaslighting eventually leads to tragedy in ASOS, whereas Shakespeare in Measure for Measure can merely make it comedy, satire, not able to extend beyond the norms and problems he faced. 

Of course one can’t blame the bard, he lived in the era before the Civil War, before the Puritan regime banned the playhouses, the brothels, the sporting houses and other places. George RR Martin writing in the late 20th Century, remembers the McCarthy era, the puritanism of the 50s, the counter-revolution of the ‘80s in America. To Shakespeare and his audiences, the situtation he was describing did not seem likely yet, seemed to exist on the level of satire rather than the real. 

“Our daddies used to joke about the two of us, growing up and falling in love.” / fkskskkk i am. tired. but lemme crawl over & throw this at u, because. because.

        a snort.

                ‘       wouldn’t go as far as callin’ the fat old king that,    i wouldn’t.     but   …    ’       there ‘s a place in storm’s end.     one they call the holy wood for the fact that they’re nurturin’ what the common folks have called the sacred stags,    they are.    they’re no mere animals,   m’lord,   ‘s what one o’ the keepers here ‘ave told him the first time gendry was asked t’ venture out,    make peace wit’ the deers,    they are in all o’ us,   and us in ‘em.    ‘specially if you’ve got,   ye’ do,   the blood o’ your house.    what they feel,    ye’ feel the most,    m’lord.    and what ye’ feel,    they’ll react the quickest t’.     gendry never understood much the logic behind it,    didn’t think ‘t was too real ‘ven in the beginning,    but now     -     he knows the deers that’re surroundin’ them is at peace,   somehow;    curious o’ the smell of her,   maybe,   who hails so far from the north,    but they’re brave creatures.    a fawn is even nudgin’ their snout,   it is,   for the winterfell lady t’ pet.   gendry’s own hand is already reachin’ o’er to caress a few passing does.    it helps.    if the deers are calm,   gendry’s own heartbeat follows     -    n’ he needs ‘em,   he thinks.    bein’ around arya again,   hearin’ what she’s suggestin’    …    gendry isn’t sure if he’s happy or in pain all o’er once more.

           ‘      i heard tales s’ well,   aye.    robert wanted t’ join our houses,   wasn’t it?     though m’pretty sure,   i am,    he was speakin’ o’ your lady sister and the late boy-king joffrey.     ’       plus,    ye’ wouldn’t love me.    why would anybody?    when i asked,   arya.    ye’ left.     but gendry doesn’t say all o’ that,    he merely hushes a whinin’ doe.

    meme.

for the prompts thing, may i please request 43 and John/Penny brotp?

This has taken absolutely AGES to do!!   But finally - here you go!!

43. “She’s been missing sinceFriday and you’re not worried?”

John and Penny BROTP   For Akireyta

“She’s been missing since Friday and you’re not worried?”General Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward looked at his erstwhile RSM, and currentMinder for his daughter.  “What the helldo you think you’re doing!  That isexactly why I employ you – to know where that girl of mine is at alltimes!  God knows what she could be upto!”

“Hwell, M’Lord, I know in which general vicinity she’sin.  And I know ‘oo she’s with.  I just don’t know ‘her h’exact location andwat she’s doing there.”

Lord Creighton-Ward took a deep breath.  “All right then, Parker.  Who’s she with.”

**~**~**~**~**~

“I cannot believe I agreed to this.  Tell me again why I did.”

“Because you like a challenge, John.  And I asked nicely.  And you owe me a favour after the thing with the British SpaceAgency.”  Lady Penelope Creighton-Wardpeered over John’s shoulder to where he was delicately attaching a smallcomponent into the computer mainframe. “Are you nearly done yet?”

“Almost.  It’stricky.  Another reason I need to askwhy.  There are easier ways to do this.”

“you know, if you stopped complaining, then you might getthrough this faster.”

John turned to her and raised an eyebrow.  “And yet again I find myself asking why Ikeep agreeing to your suggestions.”

Penelope patted his shoulder.  “Because I’m irresistible, John.   Oh, and because it gets you out of theartificial atmosphere of Thunderbird Five.”

John soldered the last wire in place, long fingers delicate.  When it was done he sat back on hisheels.  “London, you said.  A couple of days in London.  Tea. Scones with cream.  Fish andchips.  This is not what youpromised.  We are not in London.”

“Well, that’s entirely your own fault, darling,” Penny retortedand then stopped and raised a black-gloved finger to her lips.   She moved noiselessly across the floor andpeered out the door cautiously.  Shedarted back to John.  “Are you finished?”she asked urgently.  “Because I think itwould be best if we left now.”

John rose and sighed. “Really?   You were supposed to bekeeping watch.  I’m done now.  I’ll be able to access this from anywherenow.”  He took a step towards the door,but her hand stopped him.

“Not that way.  Thereare intruders.”

“Other than us?  Arethey having some sort of intruder open day or something?”  John’s voice, although quiet, was richlysarcastic, and Penelope couldn’t help but to smile.  John always managed to keep her from takingherself far too seriously.  

“It would appear so; however I suspect that we don’t want tospend time with these people.”  Herfinger tapped her lower lip.  “Time forplan B I think.”

She turned to the backpack that John had carried andrummaged, pulling out two small round objects. “When I throw these, run in the opposite direction.   We may have to do some climbing.”

He loved Penny, truly loved her.  But her Plan B’s tended to sometimes be alittle sketchy.  And he didn’t fancyclimbing either up or down the building.

It was then that he saw it. There would be no noise, no running. And he had just the equipment needed to make it an effective exit.  John reached out and grabbed Penny’sarm.  “No,” he hissed.  “This way!”

 *~~**~~~***~~**~*

“Good morning, Daddy!” Lady Penelope’s voice was chipper, bright and she bent down and kissedthe top of her father’s head.

She had managed to conceal her surprise at seeing herfather’s car waiting for her and John after they disembarked the Euroexpresstrain in London.  John hadn’t missed theway her eyes widened though when the car driver wasn’t Parker, and when theypulled up at Lord Creighton-Ward’s townhouse. “How lovely of you to send somebody to collect us.”

John Tracy looked startled and ducked his headslightly.  “Sir,” he managed to croakout, aware of the fact that he looked less than well-turned out.

Lord Creighton-Ward put down his tablet and deliberatelydrank some of his tea before answering. “How was your weekend?” he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

Penelope breezed to the sideboard, picked up a plate andstarted to serve herself from the breakfast dishes laid out, gesturing at Johnto do the same.  “Interesting,” she said,taking her seat.  “I’ll have tea please,Dawkins.  I believe Mr Tracy will aswell.”

John wished he could be as nonchalant as his bestfriend.  But he couldn’t get rid of thethought that they had spent the weekend breaking into and stealing informationffom the man seated at the head of the table.

The toast was dry in his mouth, and it seemed as if it had alife of its own – crumbs falling like a toasty hailstorm.  Desperately he took a gulp of the tea beforehim.  It was hot, civilised; and Johntook comfort in the fact that If Lord Creighton-Ward blamed him for all of thismess, he wouldn’t have offered him breakfast.

He  hoped.

“Interesting transport method you used.  Any reason why you chose it?”

Penelope sipped her tea and daintily ate a piece oftoast.  “I was hoping you could explainthat.  I was most surprised to find thatsuddenly and inexplicably both Parker and the Rolls were unavailable.  I must admit, it did make the task you setrather more…. Challenging.”

John spluttered. “Hang on…”  He looked at LordCreighton-Ward.  “You knew?”

Hugh Creighton-Ward raised an eyebrow.  “I knew about the task I assigned mydaughter,” he said.  “However, I did not expect her to vanish completely.Iwas most perturbed by Sunday morning.  Ispent a very very uncomfortable few hours with Jeff Tracy until we finallytracked you both down.  Amazing technologythat satellite has.”

He rose and went to the sideboard, coming back with twoplates which he put on the table in front of Penelope and John.  “For crying out loud, eat you two!  It’s bad enough you look like street urchinsat the moment, but when Sylvia comes down, it will cause her to shut upsomewhat if she can see you are eating at least!”

He harrumphed as he sat down again.  “I dare say neither of you would turn down ahot bath and a change of clothes anyway.” He tried, he really did, to sound gruff. But he was proud of his daughter, and impressed by John.  

They were damn good!

There was silence at the table as John and Penny ate, but asthey finished Hugh settled back with a fresh cup of tea.

“So, tell me from the beginning.”

Everything will be okay

I found this sitting in my WIPs, dusted it off, and finished it half-awake... whop

- - - - - - - - - -

It was still an inky black outside as Amon’s snoring stuttered, and came to an abrupt stop. He squirmed beneath the covers against soft curves and gentle arching angles until his chest sought out more of the warmth he craved. He could smell the harmonious floral accents in her hair as he buried his face into the black locks; locking his arms tighter around his wife nestled so close. She breathed a sigh in her sleep, as though given some great comfort by having him closer.

Blurry-eyed and tired still, the nobleman stared with half-lidded eyes at the back of her head before burying his face into the back of her neck. He’d thought he’d heard something, but whatever had stirred him awake had grown quiet now. It must have been some nocturnal beast outside outside the manor. Everything here was snug and safe. The steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply beneath his hand; the slowness of her pulse at rest as she breathed soundlessly, it all assured the slumbering soldier inside of him that he need not be so alert. He was still her protector; words written even in their vows, but there was nothing to keep her safe from other than the chill of the night, perhaps.

He sighed against her nape, waiting for sleep to claim him once more. The lull of a silent night all around him, the moon dim and blotted beneath heavy clouds. He began to drift off once more…

The slap of bare feet against wood floors stirred him.

Amon raised his head to squint with confusion towards the door. Essätha stirred as the bed creaked and he pulled away, offering a lonely and lamented moan of protest.

“M’lord…”

He kissed the side of her neck softly, stretching out against her back once more. “Go back to sleep.”

She breathed out slowly with content, and settled back into the bed to huddle beneath the covers. He would smile at how beautiful she looked; how wonderfully comfortable and delicate in his presence, but he couldn’t succumb back to the sheets. His spine remained tense, turning his neck at an almost painful angle to stare wearily towards the door.

After a few moments, he began to sink back into the bed again when a distant crash had his eyes snapping open in full awareness.

Careful to wiggle free with as little disturbance to his other half as possible, Amon tucked the comforter around Essie’s squirming form as she mumble-slurred in tired complaint. She was still wearing a frown of disappointment as he brushed her hair aside to kiss her cheek lightly that made his heart ache.

He tossed a leg over the side of the bed, and a muffled thump echoed from the other room. He looked around the room, seeing no sign of Caesar upon the floor or end of the bed. First impression had him wondering if the poor aged fellow had stumbled into something, knocking over a lamp or some trinket display in another room. But the more he strained his hearing, the more certain he could hear the dull creeping of boots against the floor.

His blood felt chilled.

Amon nearly tripped falling out of bed, his eyes searching the room. He stumbled a bit towards the other parallel end of the room, where one of his swords had been mounted for display. The weight was still natural in his hands. Turning towards the door, he felt a bit clumsy, and silly, standing there in nothing but loose slacks. What was he thinking? He was hearing things probably; ghostly visions dancing in the back of his head. But he’d rather be sure…

The nobleman approached the door cautiously, when the short cry on the other side made his breathe freeze in his lungs.

He could dimly hear Essie, rolling herself out of bed with a distressed hiss of incomprehensible words. His hand already had reached for the door, flinging it open with more force than necessary.

The man was unrecognizable. A pale, burly looking fellow. He appeared startled by the opening door; baring his teeth like a feral beast.

Amon’s firm grip on his blade loosened tremendously.

“Drop the weapon,” the man snarled. His eyes were unsure; darting around the room. He flexed his arm to better adjust the hold of his dagger he had against the girl’s throat in his arms.

The Illiad’s eyes; cold and frightful, turned from the man down to the small child trembling in his bruising grip.

“Daddy I tried to warn you-”

“Shut up.”

“Shhh, Hepsiba it’s okay,” Amon whispered in a thick voice. He moved a steady gaze on the man’s, trying to hold his attention. “Are you hurt, sweetheart?”

From his peripherals, he could see her shake her head the smallest amount. Her golden eyes were round as saucers; the whites blinding as a new moon. The perfect shield between him, and what the surging monster of hate in his chest wanted to tear into.

“Where would you have me drop the weapon?”

“Just drop it!”

“Okay, I’m putting it down. Lets not be hasty.”

As he bent slowly, he could hear the sharp inhale of his wife behind him. The robbers grip on their daughter grew stronger; yanking her against his chest as he crouched lower. There were tears in the small girl’s eyes, but she remained silent. A helpless plea in her gaze. Save me.

With his sword upon the floor, Amon revealed his palms; open and unarmed, towards the edgy man. He kept a filthy grimacing expression, the knife still touching Sibby’s outstretched throat. He pulled it free just enough to gesture towards them.

“Let the woman step beside you so I can see she doesn’t have no tricks.”

His heart was racing. Feeling the slickness of fear dampening sweat to his palms and the back of his neck, Amon shuffled just a few inches to the right to allow Essätha room to step out of the doorway. Her hands were splayed in the same manner as his own; open, revealing nothing but a terrified, gaping expression and heaving chest of fear.

“Let the child go,” Amon soothed softly. “Take anything else in the manor you wish, but let our daughter go.”

He was scared. Too scared to think rationally, now that he was caught. The nobleman could see the look in his eyes. He’d thought he was being slick; sneaking in to steal in the dead of night. He hadn’t anticipated being seen, and now that he was, he didn’t know what to do.

“And lose my leverage? I think not. You’ll come for me the moment I let her go.”

“She’s only a little girl,” Amon expressed; unable to hide the desperation in his voice. “I would never do anything to endanger my child. Please. Let her go, and take what you want. We won’t pursue you. We just want our daughter. Please,” he breathed hoarsely. “Please.”

A shadow moved behind the man, low to the ground. A glint of reflective eyes caught in the whispered lighting of the night. Not a sound was made. Not even a click of talons against wood.

The thief’s gaze danced from one of them to the other. Hepsiba remained a motionless ragdoll in the man’s thick banded arm. She sniffled, her gaze moving from him to her mother. He didn’t meet her eyes directly. He had to keep the man’s focus. If he became too unhinged or alarmed… The nobleman tried to block the horrifying image in the back of his mind. He couldn’t unsee it. The blood, fresh as a blooming rose, spilling out on the knife, over the man’s rough hands too coarse on his daughter, dripping on to the floor.

His insides shuddered violently; visible in the tremble of his hands.

The man’s conflicted gaze searched his expression for a sign of a lie. His knife-weilding hand relaxed from her neck slightly.

Caesar surged forward in a rush. Teeth clamped down on the back of the man’s bent leg, and he shouted in alarm. The knife blurred upward; scrapping against Hepsiba’s cheek. Amon lunged forward at the same time. One large stride gave him his sword, and the next had him grabbing Sibby as she hurtled herself towards him. His grip was firmer on her then it had ever been in his life as he embraced her to his side.

Cursing, the bandit lunged his dagger towards the dog. The mastiff yelped as the blade stuck to his shoulder, staggering back.

Hurtling the sword forward, Amon let out a furious cry; all the rage and terror simmering beneath the surface boiling over as he plunged the length of it through the man’s chest cavity. The blade pierced out the man’s backside and through the back of his thick coat.

The crook stared wide-eyed down at the large red stain rapidly forming on his shirt.

Snarling, the nobleman slammed a knee into the man’s face, breaking his nose. He could feel Hepsiba’s weight escape his side to flee behind him; to the cooing of her mother, as the man dropped back to the floor. He gaped like a fish out of water, clutching to his face and to his chest.

He was no match for the dog that pounced him once more; bloody fangs ripping into the stranger’s exposed throat, silencing off his agonized screech in seconds.

The first thing to burn through the haze of bloodlust and ringing in his ears was the violent, heart-wrenching sobbing behind him. Amon dropped the sword upon the ground, turning with slowness. It felt like his body was disconnected from his mind. Everything was sluggish; slow-motion, unreal.

Speckled splatters of blood were on the floor. A few dots were on the left side of Hepsiba’s nightgown, and a thin beading line welled up from where the dagger bit into the flesh of her cheek. She was half-buried into Essätha’s chest as her mother held her tight, cooing sweet-nothings in their little girls ear that she was safe now, and everything was going to be alright. She kissed the top of Sibby’s head over and over again as the child shook with her tearful wailing.

Anger burned back into his throat. The nobleman wanted to hurt something, or someone else. The fury wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to make someone bleed.

His eyes darted to where the yellowish bruise on Hepsiba’s arm was. He looked back to her face; scrunched up and weeping loudly.

He looked down to Caesar. The dog was standing alert and at the ready; glittering eyes of trust and a maw stained with red wetness. Blood wettened the matted fur at his shoulder were he’d been stabbed, but the hound seemed unfazed by it as he waited for direction.

“Caesar, search.”

Awareness lit up the mastiff’s gaze, and he instantly turned to scramble over the dead man’s corpse to dash down the corridor. If there was anyone else prowling the household, Caesar would let him know.

Amon stood protectively; a barrier wall between his two girls and the doorway to the room for a few heartbeats longer. When the dog did not return with immediate response his shoulders sagged with a bone-chilling numbness. He heaved a deep breath, turning to approach where the two were huddled on the floor. He didn’t touch her. He knew the look in his eye like a reflective mirror. The cold look of murder. A cruel, heartless man.

Essie knew that look, but his daughter had never seen the kind of creature that slept beneath the surface of his skin.

“Sibby, sweetheart,” he rasped, “it’s okay, he won’t hurt you ever again-”

Still clinging to her mother with one tiny hand, she reached out to grab at the soft material of his sleep-pants, her gaze overflowing with panic.

He took to one knee, surprised when both the two lady’s grabbed for him, and each other. Hepsiba’s open sobbing pressed to his chest, and the silent, scared glitter of withheld tears in his wife’s nestled against his shoulder. An arm wound around his shoulders, and a small fist hand digging into his the material on his knee.

The fiend snapping its teeth and twisting ruthlessly beneath his flesh cooled; the fire washed away in a torrent of tears, hurt, and fear. He grabbed for them both, drawing them against his chest. He was their champion. He would keep them safe.

Hushing them both quietly; resting upon his knees, the nobleman rubbed their backs in comfort. Holding on to strength for the both of them despite wanting to collapse into them both. They were safe. Sibby was safe. That was what mattered in the moment. Figuring out how much this experience was going to affect their daughter would be next.

Behind him, the heavy breath of the dog breathed down his neck. Caesar wagged his tail eagerly as he was looked upon, letting out a delighted borf. No danger.

“Good boy,” Amon wheezed, opening a space at his side for the hunting dog to press in. Pelor bless that dog. He tenderly lapped at Hepsiba’s face, whining as he pressed his head into her side. The child was just as happy to hold on to her other defender and friend with a grip that was probably painful, but the dog remained silent as he accepted his role as comforter.

“It’s okay Hepsiba. Shhh. You’re okay, we’ve got you. Daddy’s got you. Everything’s going to be okay.”

His little girl whimpered, pressing herself closer into the security of his embrace. He met Essätha’s stricken, horrified glimpse as she looked up to him.

“Everything will be okay.”

Her lip wobbled, and she nodded. Resting her head against his shoulder once more, she stroked the little girl’s hair as her frail little body shook with weak sobs.

With all three packed up in his arms, the nobleman rested his head partly atop Essie’s head, and partly atop Hepsiba’s. He’d keep his word. Everything was going to be okay.

Very well. *death walks into the castle until he reaches what looks like a dining area* Haven't used this place.. Ever, actually. * a small skeleton pops up* "Daddy, who is that?" *death only says two words* A savior. Let's continue. *the child follows*

A savior? Why did he all of the sudden get flashbacks of Sammy from that. He always called him ‘M’Lord’ and his savior...Could this b- No, that was the most ridiculous thing...Anyway he just continued to walk along.

Daddy’s Little Girl

Time to get aboard the family train again, toot toot! I still love the concept of family life Essamon... immensely.

With the council conference over and the townsfolk headed back to their homes and municipals, Amon allowed himself to sink into his chair at the head of the table. He wore of a smile and not for the first time tonight. The mood left behind by the departed crowd perfumed the atmosphere with good cheer and positivity. He was also shamefully a bit happy to have concluded the meeting. Giddy to be free of the work, and now open to let in the remainder of his night.

Scooting back his chair, he pushed it in and walked the left side to push in two of the chairs left jaggedly out. A housemaid curtsied as she passed him, and he gave her an appreciative smile and grateful nod as she went to fetch some of the mugs and glasses still sitting on the table.

From the dining hall he made his way to the stairwell, and strode past the open balcony that looked down to the table and dance floor. He scratched a hand to his chin and the dense whiskers that covered it with a thoughtful gaze upon the grand piano. It had been a while since they’d last held a gala. Maybe Essätha would enjoy the idea of a ball, either private to friends or family or allowing a reception of guests. Each sounded as good as the other, as long as he had the chance to dance with his captivating wife.

As he entered the hall that lead to the bedrooms, he could hear the soft stutter of a timid voice, followed by the gentle praise of another. He lowered his boots to muffle their noise, and straightened his posture as he approached the cracked doors leading into the master suite sitting area.

“A snake saw the mouse, and the mouse looked good.”

Raising his eyebrows curiously, the nobleman pressed a hand to one of the doors and pushed it open. It was nearly soundless, but what little creaks it made didn’t interrupt on the pair in the room. Stepping inside, he could make out the shape of Essie’s dark hair, braided and falling down her back. Kneeling on the floor in front of her, with a children’s book splayed out on the coffee table, Hepsiba swayed from side to side as her damp black locks were carefully braided too.

“Where are you going to, little brown moussse?” Sibby read, rasping her s’s and mimicking a voice similar to how her mother did when she read the book. “Come for a feast in my logpile house.”

Amon smiled fondly. Silently watching his two gentleladies, and listening to the spirited rise in ‘Sibby’s voice as she read her book. She kept her index finger pointed to the word as she sounded it out with purpose. She’d this one enough time that she could breeze through it without doing so, but somehow the youngster seemed keen on learning the sound of her syllables and breaking up the vowels and consonants as she learned how to read and write.

“It’s wonderfully good for you snake, but no – I’m having a feast with a gruffalo.”

“Oh no! Not a gruffalo,” Essätha piped up, leaning down to kiss their daughter’s cheek as she dropped the braid; a perfectly centered green bow wrapped around the ends.

Hepsiba giggled, rasping once more in the serpent’s voice: “A gruffalo? What’s a gruffalo?”

Having moved stealthfully through the room so far, Amon slunk low along the side of the sofa, a wild grin on his face as he raised his voice in a squeaky trill: “A gruffalo? Why, don’t you know? His eyes are orange, his tongue is black, he has purple prickles all over this back!”

As he finished the next script, the nobleman lunged over the arm of the chair with a playful snarl. Hepsiba let out a shriek of laughter, throwing herself against Essätha’s lap for protection. A heartfelt smile softened her features as she reached down, soothing a calming hand down their child’s back.

“Your father gave you a fright, did he?”

“No! He’s used that voice before, I knew it was daddy,” she defended, turning her bright eyes up to her mom, and then over to him.

There was no better feeling than those wide-eyed wonders filled with questions and innocence beaming up at him and joined with the endearing twinkle of his lover’s eyes peering up at him. Each of his girls wearing a smile overflowing with love. Lighting up their faces, and turning his heart into putty mush in their hands.

“I was reading mom ‘The Gruffalo’!” Their firstborn proudly declared. “She says I’m doing very well.”

“I can tell,” Amon praised, rising up from his crouched position. His face felt ready to split in two from grinning so hard as he circled around the remainder of the sofa, and settled down close to the duo.

“Mmmhm,” Essie hummed, stroking the top of her head. “You’ve had your bath, you’re in your nighties, and you’ve read me a book all after a day of being the most well-behaved little girl in the world. I’m so proud of you, my little viper. You were very polite and patient today, even when everyone was busy and there was lots of new people.”

The tempo of Hepsiba’s breathing increased excitedly as she whipped her face from her mother, to him, and back and forth again. She finally settled her bright gaze upon him. Her eyes, the Illiad heir realized, were a nearly identical match to her mother’s. Warm honeyed golden brown in an amber gaze, they were burning bright like the sun and ripe with emotion and kindness.

“Was I good today, daddy?” she inquired sheepishly, searching his face for a sign of his approval.

He scoffed, hardly believing she had to ask. Her eager face was crowned like a halo. Vibrant with life, wanting just a hint of his support. Something he was readily willing to let her have, never having the harsh bite of his father’s words or belittling cold stare. He doused her with compliments and showered her with love. Even when she required a gentle reprimanding, he mapped his words carefully and always ended every teachable moment by reminding her how much he loved her; how much he cared, and she would have both of these from him, always.

Having children, he committed himself to fatherhood in equal measure as he did being a husband. They both needed commitment, nurturing, understanding, courtesy, and patience. It was a balance between this, and his work, but all of it was all grand and every moment was worth it. And doing all these things made him a better man, and the best version of himself.

“You were a perfect little angel as always, my dear Marie.”

The word was slow to sink into his brain. Still smiling so gratefully down at his daughter’s marvelous face, and watching as her glee turned to doubt. Troubled, with big eyes and knitted eyebrows and a short little frown of misunderstanding.

It began to dawn on him gradually. Storm clouds rolling in from the west, and his mouth hung open in sudden and grotesque horror.

His breath hitched. His thoughts swam.

Marie Farthing is dead, you old fool.

Amon didn’t know what was worse: the cold reminder, his own thoughtless words, or the confusion on his little girl’s face as she looked from him, to Essätha.

And Essätha’s face was a muddled mix of grief and alarm.

Oh Pelor, no. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean it. ‘Sibby was not Marie. Marie was not Hepsiba. It was as obvious as the sky and sea, they were not one in the same. It was a lapse; like how parents tripped over their children’s names and mistakenly called one by another. But this was worse. So much worse, and he knew it.

Marie was dead. He couldn’t hold her anymore. He couldn’t protect her, like he once promised. He didn’t have the opportunity anymore to see who she’d become; what she would do with her life. If she’d marry and leave the estate to live in town or leave. Would she write letters, or would she stay close.

The slip of the tongue dried his mouth to ash, and choked him. Pelor don’t let her believe he thought of her as a replacement. Don’t let her think he looked at her, and saw his Marie. She was beautiful, and brilliant, but she was her own brand of Hepsiba. They were not the same. He didn’t see them that way, he could swear it.

He loathed himself. If he wasn’t frozen with revulsion and shock of himself, he might have uprooted himself to leave and lock himself in his studies. How could he call his sweet little ‘Sibby Marie. He loved them both in equal measure; he would do anything for them both if only he could, but she was not Marie. She would never be Marie he would never, never dream of comparing the two, as if his heart was so cruel, so vile as to morph the things he loved into the same hues of color, as though his daughter was not allowed to be her own person.

He didn’t mean it. It was an accident. He knew they were different he knew they were different people; he hadn’t meant anything by it it was just a mistake. By Pelor’s Light it felt like someone had carved into him like a hatched. His body broke out inn a cold sweat, his pulse running wild, a roaring in the back of his ears and a numbness making him feel clammy and stiff.

Devoured by panic, his field tunnel-visioned. He couldn’t see a damn thing straight in front of his face, and was startled by the small hand that grabbed his white-knuckled fist sitting atop his knee.

Hepsiba beamed up at him radiantly. With calm and acceptance that easily surpassed some of the wisest adults he’d ever known, she murmured: “It’s okay, daddy. I love you, and I forgive you.”

Numb with amazement, Amon stared with a rigid posture as this saintly child flung herself into his lap. Her little arms clung to him with all the might her tiny muscles could muster as she buried her face into his abdomen.

A lump rose in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it back down. Another arm joined in; sliding against his back and resting against his opposite shoulder as Essätha moved closer. In her expression she still appeared distressed in her eyes, but there was a fire of support to keep much of it pushed back. Her soft lips pressed to his cheek, and he could smell her rose-infused lotion on her skin.

“It was an honest mistake, m’lord,” Essie reassured quietly.

Yes. An honest mistake is exactly what it was. But it made him feel no less guilty and ashamed.

They might be able to forgive him, but he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself.

A muffled wailing from the other room caused him to jolt; his body poised like a tightly wound spring. The nobleman turned his haunted eyes towards the door, aware of the gentle caressing hand leaving his shoulders chilled.

“It must be feeding time,” she murmured softly.

Giving him his arm a final rub, the Lady Illiad offered him an encouraging smile before rising up from the cushions. She moved swiftly around the short table towards their bedroom, where Isabelle’s crying was coming from with slowly increased volume.

The nightmare of his words circled back to him. Moving his gaze around the room, Amon was finally left to settle it upon the regard looking upon him. He shuddered, shouldering the impulse to turn his disgraced face away. He had no right to the love and delightful marvels of such a pure babyish face. He didn’t deserve the way she looked at him, admiring and full of respect and belief.

‘Sibby grinned at him, oblivious to his turmoil as she shyly requested, “Could you read me some more of Alice in Wonderland tonight, daddy?”

With a choked sigh, he finally managed to respond in a gravely voice: “Hepsiba, I am sorry.”

She blinked rapidly, her smile fading.

“I forgive you.”

“No, ‘Sibby I-… I want you to know, that I love you, just the way that you are. Exactly as you are. Being yourself. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else, okay? I misspoke. I would never compare you to another; I would never try to make you someone you were not, or suggest that you were, or fit you into a shape of somebody else.”

“That’s okay,” Hepsiba replied, chipper as ever. She glanced around, as though making sure no one was listening while whispering low, “I called Amelie auntie Josephine, once.”

“Did you?” he murmured faintly, only partially aware.

She forgave him… just like that? At first he wasn’t sure she understood; that maybe she was offering him a sympathetic apology because he was upset. But this was a surprise, and one that he was grateful for, even if she might not fully understand the weight in his error.

Bobbing her head up and down, his little girl continued in a rushed whisper: “Amelie was making me snack, and she was taking the crusts off my sandwich like I like it, and I said ‘thank you auntie Josie’ without thinking. I was upset and scared she might be mad at me, but she wasn’t! She pat my head and we laughed and I had my snack at the table. It was good but she didn’t put as much cheese on it as mommy does which is better.”

Amon looked into the watchful gaze studying him. Her excitement about her tale began to dwindle the more the seconds ticked by. It evaporated from Hepsiba’s complexion, which became awash with fear and concern noticing his unreleased tension.

He exaggerated his sigh, and beamed joyfully down at his little blessing. Calm as a spring breeze, gentle as a flower, bright as the sun. Things like luck, chance, flukes- they were all words for the fortunate but the Illiad heir felt like he had been granted those things. He was a decent man. He tried his best; covered his debts, tried to show reason and mercy but even still, he didn’t deserve all of this.

Essätha’s love and devotion, which was a rhythm to his heart, warmth in his soul, air filling his lungs, fulfilled him. It fueled so many dreams and desires he chased. He learned again what it felt like to hope and to live. Life was perfect, as perfect as it could be, and he couldn’t imagine a way to make it more vivid and amazing.

Now he had the tireless love from his beautiful children. His firstborn little girl, so close to being the spitting image of her mother, and their baby Isabelle. And they never doubted his intentions. They only saw the good in him; the role model, the man who put them first.

He finally cleared his throat, and tried to keep the hoarseness of thick emotion out of his tone as he responded gently, “I promise not to tell Amelie you like mommy’s sandwiches better.”

In an instant, Hepsiba was grinning wildly once more. He passed her a wink as a sign of his good word, and she giggled endlessly with harmonious rapture.

“Can you pretty please read me another chapter of Alice tonight then?”

“Sure, ‘Sibby. I’d love to.”

“Great!” she huffed with excitement, letting go of him. “The book’s in my room. I’ll go get it!”

With eager laughter, his little girl spun around and dashed past the couch. She realized the error in her ways as he narrowed his eyes while tracking her, smirking slightly. She moved to tiptoe gracefully instead, passing him an apologetic glimpse as she hurried for the door.

Hepsiba was barely out the door when footsteps had him turning towards the bedroom door. A smile curled Essie’s lips as their eyes met. In her arms, the swaddled figure of their youngest lay nested in her arms. They were nuzzled against her bosom, latched on in a drowsy feeding in the loose-fitting peasant blouse. She hummed quietly for their little Belle, moving her in a gentle bouncing motion while moving around table to take a seat slowly beside him again.

Pelor, she was utterly stunning. He scooted his rear across the sofa to move closer to her, where the heat of her autumn skin called to him. He breathed her in as well as the smell of powder and baby, while curling an arm to her waist.

She gave a husky, tired laugh as he nuzzled his nose just beneath her ear, whispering as though a faint afterthought, “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“No,” he admitted. A flicker of hurt and worry began to outline her features as he reached to cup her chin, urging her closer as he uttered low, “It’s better.”

Her relieved sigh exhaled against him as he brushed a feather-light kiss to her mouth. Holding Isabelle with one arm, she reached across for him. Her thumb caressed the side of his face as, against laugh lines and up to the long strands of hair falling over his temples as he claimed the refuge that was the heaven in her soft and welcoming lips tenderly.

The excitement of astonishingly loud footsteps for someone so small came bouncing back into the room, followed by a roll of giggles. Amon barely managed to pull himself away to see the rosy color burning in her cheeks before a book was thrust in his direction, with pleading eyes and a pouty lip wobbling up at him hopefully.

Chuckling, he accepted the offered book from Hepsiba as she squeezed herself like a wedge between the two of them; making herself at home partly on both of their laps.

He grinned, his heart cascading and overfull with love as he pecked each of his beautiful girls on the head.

Cracking the novel open where the fabric bookmark last left off, Amon cleared his throat to prepare for storytelling. ‘Sibby huddled close, craning her head to look at the pages of the book as Essie rested her head to his shoulder, sighing with completion.

Better was an understatement.

This was paradise.