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cryptidcorners · 2 months

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on my knees begging for more of prince! Danforth, ;0; gnawing on the iron bars of my enclosure for part 2

Horse Riding — Prince!Derek Danforth x GN!Reader [ Part 2/? ]

Pt. I .

Description: It's been about a week since you last seen Prince Danforth, your childhood sweetheart, spill dark secrets about his House. As if you weren't worried enough, Derek reveals some life changing information — the possibility of a conspiracy between Kingdoms.

# Request: "on my knees begging for more of prince! Danforth, ;0; gnawing on the iron bars of my enclosure for part 2"

# A.N: more prince Danforth!!!!!! I'm absolutely amazed by the amount of love my writing got! thank you! also I may be posting this on AO3 ! So stay tuned :3c

Media: The Beekeeper [ AU ]

Character: Derek Danforth [ AU ]

Tags: DND/Fantasy Inspired AU, Royalty, PLOT, Lore Dumping, Friends to ? ? ?, Romantic Implications, Horse Riding, Nature Walk, Fluff, Slowburn, Childhood Friends, Character Reveals, Flirting, Catching Up, Sweet Talk + Reader is !GN.

Warnings: Mentions of War/Isolation, Conspiracy, Childhood Trauma/Abuse, Assassination, Mentions of Substance Abuse

TOS. Derek Dandorth Master List {TBW}.

It had been a fortnight since you had seen Prince Danforth. You had enjoyed your time with him more than anything, that kiss was still lingering in your mind and lightly kissed your skin with warmth. Yet, the haunting discovery that he had revealed beneath the isle of paintings detailing his ancestors had left your bones rushing cold.

You couldn't daydream about his lips against your skin, or fingers intertwining together underneath a veil of moonlight, there was a possibility of him being mistreated — how he confessed he felt like a humming bird tethered in a gold cage with disloyal eyes around every corner — and your mind couldn't abandon the thought. It was almost feverish; it hurt to even scavenge a nightmare that raw, but you couldn't betray him that way.

"I promise, I'll tell you everything." He said, his forehead gently brushing against your own, he was so close you could remember his breath soothing your jaw, your lips. There was something so tragically intimate a lot that moment. How Derek had so many secrets and this was one of those rare, naked occasions where he was being faithful to himself. Where he had trusted you. Alas, he bit back everything. Derek was not only afraid for himself, but for you, and you only.

He swore under his breath with that twinkling smile that could soothe even the deadliest of vipers. Then, he had pulled away and part of you still craved that closeness, "I love you too much to let you get hurt because of my ignorance. Time will tell, just be patient." Derek's obvious attempts to shy you away from your worries didn't work.

You were still driving yourself mad thinking about him. Thinking about those secrets. Thinking about your kingdom. So many people you cared so deeply for could possibly be in danger.

"Pardon me, Noble Talis?" your secretary tip toed across the overflow of documents and books scattered across your floors. He stiffened, clearing his throat and dove his gaze into his papers. "The Danforth House has arrived for your date? By the Weeping Woods."

"Don't worry, I haven't forgotten." You answered as your eyes searched through what used to be your bedroom. Your treasury, statues and silk coated mattress were blooming with rogue papers. You had forgotten you had been busy these last few days researching as much as you could. With no leads, it went as frustrating as you could expect. "I'll be down in a moment," you stumbled through the floors. It was hard not to slip. "I just need to find my trousers,"

Maybe your date with Derek could give you some answers to cool whatever firey whim was dancing in your head. The Weeping Woods was apart of your land and you knew it better than anyone. It was secure, private and lush. Derek could tell you everything he needed to and if there were spies looming in Tallis, well, you had no present conclusion on what to do next, but you were sure if you got your answers everything would be easy to map.

You prayed he wasn't hurt in any way. It'd just kill you to see him in pain, even if you hadn't seen him in a long time, you still loved him — Derek was your best friend. Hopefully you would be proven wrong. Of course he wouldn't be injured. Why would Queen Danforth sent her ill son to Tallis — one of their greatest patrons? Yes, yes. He's probably safe and sound, fresh as a daisy.

You had rushed down the steps, formally greeting your loyal workers until you had reached the grand, pearly doors and tugged your best smile together. Once opened, the gentle morning light had calmed your nerves well enough to face the royal carriages mounted below. Your eyes had searched and searched, but no Derek.

You began walking down, only remembering a few faces. Micky Barnett, or Sir. Barnett was Prince Danforth's second, his loyal secretary. So, you inhaled sharply. "Greetings," you bowed your head lightly, "um, where is Prince Danforth? I figured he'd be here . . . waiting for me." Disappointment clinged to your tone. Did he not want to see you personally? Or was something wrong?

Oh Heavens, you were overthinking again.

Micky adjusted his collar and then took out his pocket watch. Probably to distract his eyes, he felt slightly intimidated by your presence. He sucked his teeth, "Went to the stables a few minutes ago. Said he was waiting for you,"

"Ah, thank you, Sir. Barnett." Relief washed over your body language and your shoulders fell and you couldn't help but smile softly. As excitement began to rile, you bowed your head a second time and fixed your wear. Derek had flashed in your mind and it was already naming you so flimsy. How did he do that?

"No problem, Noble Tallis." He smiled lightly.

You didn't know Micky very well. But you knew that he and Derek were closer than anything and that they were inseparable, even when they were children. You had a few vague memories of running across the palace but they were thin in your mind. Silence began to trail and he was swallowing his breath, as if secretly begging you to leave.

You didn't want to talk to him further anyway and you just wanted to see the Prince once again. You were eager, desperate even.

How was he? Was his skin and hair as fair as you last saw it? Was his smile still great enough to make you fuzzy? Was he alright?

You couldn't keep boiling yourself with these questions because you were nearing the stables and you had to keep your sight pierced. Though, Derek wouldn't be much of a challenge to find since he was always making himself stand out like a sore thumb with blinding jewelery and rich gowns.

Your boots seeped into the mud and you strolled through the flattened yard. There was no sign of him. Though, you had noticed a horse was missing from her post. Before you could even think, the stomping of hooves began to present itself closer and closer within range. You spun around to see a tall, white coated mare flicking her tail with a sparkly silhouette perched on her sattle.

"Beautiful weather, were having?" Derek smiled. His grip was tight on the reigns, and his cheeks reddened apologetically. "Sorry I wasn't there to greet you. I was far too educated, I mean, horses! With you!"

"Well, hello to you too." You replied, "And it's no problem, I was taking a bit long to get downstairs anyway."

"Oh, how come? Royal duties?" Derek tilted his head.

Or a mountain of rubbish research flooding your room. "Yes, but it was nothing important. Nothing at all,"

He chuckled and slowly trailed behind you. You could hear his horse growing tempered at the lack that of speed, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary. The mare he has selected was Blizzard, an impatient, thrill chasing creature who was always overwhelming to handle. Though, Derek was enduring her quite fine — how curious.

"Well, what are you waiting for? You wanna ride or what?" He challenged, his face beaming with excitement.

You had decided to your own horse, Quail, a thundering mare with a golden flease and dune-like eyes. Derek may have gotten the quickest horse, but you had the wittiest. You knew this forest and you were sure to throw him of course — and lead him far away from the palace, where you could finally talk.

You both had arrowed through the marshland, crushing bushes, twigs, leaping across boulders and streams. The adrenaline was running hit and sweat was pearling on your skin, which was already halting your breaths. Derek was nearing the front, "You'll need to be a lot faster if you want get the best of me." he cackled.

"It's on, pretty boy." You teased.

"Oh, resorting to pet names, are we?" The Prince was shining with competitiveness, his thirst for victory was nothing but blazing. He howled loudly before urging Blizzard to increase her speed. You could taste flakes of dirt hitting your face as he descended into the woodland, so you steered and rode downward. You were above Derek now, galloping quick enough to jump down and stumble back into the lead.

"What? Where did you—" he rasped. "Oh, cheater!"

"Not a cheater. Just smart!" you cooed.

Laughter shot through the forest like gunfire. You felt like a kid again and for once, you weren't thinking of all the bad in the world. Just Derek Danforth. Your faces met for a few seconds and you swore he was feeling the same thing.

There was a brook by the edge of the woodland and you were both determined to hoof it to your now titled finish line. It was neck and neck, but Quail bucked herself toward as quick as the breeze itself and came to a sharp halt at the rim of the tiny shore. Derek scrambled a few seconds after, huffing.

"It feels nice to beat you again." You turned to see a messy Prince catching breath above a seemingly indifferent steed, "Oh, you look rough."

"It's been a while." Derek insisted, running his hands through his blond locks. He smoothened his face, "Plus, I was just going easy . . ."

"Someone's a little sour." You snickered, basking in the crown of glory.

"Prince Danforth is never sour." Derek protested. His tone was still soft however and he narrowed his gaze lightly across the greenery. "It's fantastic here. We don't have wild life in our House, it's mostly just stone."

You slipped off your saddle and tied Quail to an oal tree, which acted as your post. "Well, would you like to explore? We can walk around, maybe catch up?"

Derek glared into the apex. Then licked his bottom lip and nodded, face softening. "I'd love to." You could get lost in him for days, weeks even.

The trees soared into the deep, blue skies and families of wildflower webbed across the thrush landscape. Sunlight was flickering through the waving tree branches and the scent of the sweet streams coarsing through the grass land and cattails was blooming in the air.

You both began walking down the trail, Derek's hands were binded behind his back. He drank up the scenery, tone no longer holding a seductive ring, but rather something comforting and domestic. "It's been so long since I've been in Tallis. I missed it so much. Well, I missed you more."

Your face warmed, but you couldn't fall for his charm right now. You had to ask, "Derek, about the royal ball—"

"Before you continue." He interrupted, "I have something to show you."

You shut your mouth and watched him dig his gloves into his pocket, taking out a thin slip of paper carefully. It was an envelope with a yellow print of a bee, but it looked like it had already been opened.

"Derek, what is that?"

"Read for yourself." He extended his hand and you took the page, gripping it tightly. The edges were spoiled with age but the handwriting was careful and nearly perfect. Your eyes ran across the text, you read outloud:

*May it please Your Majesty, it has come to my attention in the body of Talis that the public is stirring suspicion. Your patrons have been growing jaded — whispering about abandoning your allyship in return for relations with Queen Talis, along with her court — and our scouts have been following as best we can to gather as much as possible.*

*The previous shipments mentioned in your previous encounter with Adam Clay will be returning shortly. Due to the seas opening for the other Houses our services may be sluggish.*

*I pray our meeting under the blue moon is still in session. We've decided to take heavier precautions this time around, and our smiths have created some keys as a way to monitor members. A lot of spies have been discovered this fortnight.*

*— Best regards, General*

"General?" You echoed, "What kind of name is that?"

Derek explained, "That's what I said! Look, it mentions an Adam Clay, my mother has been meeting him. It looks like she's involved with something. Just don't know what," he continued. "I did some research in my study. The symbol belongs to a Clan of bounty hunters, Beekeepers, they've been around for centuries now."

This was so much to take in. "What would your mother need assassains for? She has her royal guard. You don't think she's . . . planning to use them on anyone, are you?"

Derek was stunned and there was doubt shading in his dark eyes. His response was atypical, "I don't know, Tallis. I never expected this from her and it's making me worried. I think my subjects are spying on me, now."

He took your hands and you traced your thumb against his fingers softly. Derek exhaled, "I trust you with this information. Your library is more bigger than mine and by now, I think my mother is ordering to destroy any books relating to it."

You drew him close. "Derek, this is madness. We need to tell the other Houses about this and—"

"No! No, you can't. If you do, my mother will probably send those hunters. She won't hesitate to kill people!" Derek snapped and his nails dug into your arms. "Promise me Tallis, swear to me that you won't tell anyone. I'm begging you." He shook your wrists, "Please?" his voice lowered.

"I promise." You nodded gently. "I won't tell a soul." Derek dropped his head and his gaze was wrinkling with tears. He was rambling, "Thank you. I knew I could trust you,"

Then, he straightened himself and hummed softly. "I apologize if I got too intense, it's just been so much to hold in. It gets so overwhelming,"

You pulled him into a light embrace. If there was the possibility of war brewing, it could result in the tranquil society the Houses built to collapse into ruin. You could see blaze cutting the air, the rolls of remains and the charred bits of what used to be utopia.

You melted into his arms to fend off the nasty wolves clawing in your mindscape, holding him tightly. You ran your fingertips across his shoulders, seeking great comfort in touching the wear he was clad in. Derek breathed into your neck and you shivered, "I hope this didn't muck up our date."

"Not at all." You whispered, "It actually put my mind to rest." and you opened the gap between yourselves once again. You grew flustered, "And it was fun racing you and all."

"You're acting as if it's all over." Derek said softly. "Our date is supposed to last all night isn't it, hm?" He took your hand. "Let's not let it go to waste."

— — —

14 days ago . . .

His fingertips graced the edges of the envelope, eyes hawked on the golden print with a perplexed gaze. Derek was resting on the foot of his bed, palm running across the darkened monarch's pelt. He was locked within his chambers, isolated from outside theory. He didn't know why he was so fixed on the design of a silenced envelope. For some reason he couldn't open it. It felt wrong. Like some outside force was intertwined with his brain — compelling him, tempting him to shove it back into the enclosure of his cabinet — yet, he finally sucked in his nerves and tore up the flap.

Now this was no time to think about manners. He acted as if he had lost the lion shares, feeding on scraps as his eyes ran across the page. The letters were in careful writing, yet the page was stained with age.

*General*? Who leaves their name as *General*? An alias, perhaps? He then noticed the engraving was stamped onto the page. The same bee.

His hands pryed into the envelope and dragged out a curious, long blue key. The same symbol on the blue stem.

Why was his mother involved with all of this?

Derek stuffed the key into his pocket, along with the envelope. This symbol felt familiar.

He quickly exited his bedroom, racing down the hallway and warmly greeting a few cleaners sweeping the quartz floors. Derek rarely went into the library. He already had a shelf full of heavy reads he never escaped to, the only people he figured would go inside would be Wallace or his Queenship herself.

They were both busy tonight and if anyone was inside he'd pester them away; he was Prince after all, even if his power worked to an extent.

The trip through the labyrinth of contents was overwhelming at best. He had nothing but candlelight flickering in the darkness and even with the vague light he knew there wasn't anything about bees.

Maybe he was working in the wrong sections. The note mentioned something about scouts, shipments and the blue moon — nearly a few twilights a way.

War.

Derek quickly raced through the isles with firefly light and hushed breaths, eyes flickering through large titles overhead until he found his designed genre. His hands traced through the engraved books, until he found it. The bee symbol.

Not just one book. Nearly a dozen. How far did this history go? Whatever, he took all of them; scattering the books all across the table. He took the nearest he could see through his bubble of fire and flipped as fast as a hummingbird. Bounty hunters, assassins, advanced weaponry. They were cunning as foxes, dripped in light iron and skill.

"Beekeepers," He whispered. "Why would you talk to my mother?"

"You shouldn't be here." A voice commanded. Derek felt his hair stand up, but he tightened his fist and gazed behind his shoulder with nervous eyes.

Wallace Westwyld had seemingly manifested from the darkness, only now arriving into the bubble of flickering candlelight. "What are you doing, Master Danforth?"

"Catching up on reading." He swallowed. "Just needed something to help me sleep."

"I never took you for the historical type," Wallace's gaze didn't stir. "Regardless, you should be returning to your room. It's late,"

He wondered what Wallace was doing out so late himself. But, he couldn't harness anymore suspicion. He stood up, cleaning the sand from his eyes. "Yes, you're right. I should. Goodbye, sir."

MWallace's gaze fell to the books scattered across the tabletop, and his face stretched out in shock. He muttered, "Oh, child. What have you gotten yourself into?"

#👑 derek danforth #derek danforth x you #derek danforth x reader #writers on tumblr #josh hutcherson #writing #dnd #fantasy #josh hutcherson x reader #💌 request!#love this silly guy sm #au #the beekeeper #mike schmidt #josh futturman #derek danforth

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isaut · 10 months

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𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒈𝒐 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒊𝒊𝒊.— dehya x fem!reader. 2.3k. drabble.

dragonspine is cold. don’t ask why they have to climb it. you’ve heard of only one bed. now get ready for only one tent. minors and blank blogs dni. fantasy au tag.

Dragonspine chills to the bone. Each step is more painful than the last, with your muscles straining against the snow, with your fingertips losing blood in your snowboar fur-lined gloves.

Your compatriot seems to be doing better than you, not that she’s any more used to the weather than you. Instead of her normal attire, Dehya is dressed in warm pants and shirt. You regret having chosen your traditional dress, as your stiff fingers hold it as you climb another stair.

“Dehya,” You call, taking a deep breath of the chilled air.

The woman stops and turns, one foot on the next stair. “What’s the matter?”

“We need to stop for a second,” You say, each word punched out by a breath of fog.

“We’re close to the top of the mountain,” Dehya responds. Her lips are chapped from the cold. “We can rest when we get there.”

You shake your head. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

“If you stop here, you’ll freeze to death,” Dehya says, “C’mon, we’ll get a fire started as soon as we get up there.”

Nodding, you wipe your hand under your nose, displeased with your body’s natural reactions to the cold. You sniffle.

Dehya sighs, and comes down a stair towards you. She places a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to meet her gaze. Warmth emanates from her hand, from her eyes.

“Are you going to let a human best you?” She asks, the challenge laced with teasing.

“Fuck you,” You reply, shaking her hand off your shoulder and gathering your dress again. With a huff, you start up the stairs again, passing her.

Dehya laughs from behind you. “You’re the most prideful woman I know, y’know?”

You ignore her as you carry on. Prideful people aren’t often fond of the truth.

—

From your perch on the ground, you watch as Dehya lights a fire using nothing but her fingers. It roars to life, illuminating the darkness of the ruins. With that settled, Dehya unloads her claymore from her back and props it up against one of the stone walls.

“Elves not built for the cold?”

“I’ve spent the past three hundred years in the desert,” You retort, reaching your hands out to feel the warmth of the fire. The warmth aches.

“That’s fair,” Dehya says, sitting down beside you. She lands with all her weight, resting her arm on a raised knee. “How are you feeling?”

You shrug. “I miss my tower.”

Dehya grins, just for a moment, at that. “What’s it like up there?”

“Up where? In my tower?”

Dehya nods.

“I don’t know… It’s nice. Got everything I’ve ever wanted,” You say.

“Really?” Dehya asks, standing up to make some food. The cooking pot clangs and creates as it sits above the fire.

You watch with interest. “Yeah. View of the kingdom, tomes galore.”

“Are they all for work or do you have some for pleasure?” Dehya asks.

“Books?”

“Yeah, books.”

“I like a healthy mix,” You say. After a pause, “What are your quarter’s like?”

“Nothing fancy. Just me and a few other guards. Really we just need a place to lay our head down and clean the grime off.” She glances up at you, the flames casting dancing shadows across her face. “How are your fingers feeling?”

You look down at your gloved hands and flex your fingers. “They hurt a bit, but I think I’m just gaining sensation in them again.”

Dehya leaves her cooking post, coming over to kneel before you. “Let me see.”

You offer her a gloved hand. As she begins to undo the buttons on the glove, you quickly snatch your hand back. “What are you doing? I’m going to freeze!”

“I need to make sure you don’t have frostbite,” Dehya says, taking your hand back and continuing to take off your glove. “A mage with no fingers isn't very useful to us right now.”

“I can always conjure more,” You reply, but let your remove the warm glove from your hand.

The wind whips against your exposed skin, the fire strong enough to cook but not strong enough to dissuade the chill. Dehya examines your hand with careful fingers, manually opening and closing your hand, pushing your fingers back and forth. Satisfied, she puts your glove back on.

“Looks good, my lady,” Dehya says, patting the top of your hand after doing up the buttons. “Dinner will be ready in a few moments.”

At the title you sigh, shaking your head. “I’m no lady.”

“No? You act plenty like one,” Dehya notes, placing her hands on her knees as she stands.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask.

“My father told me to not say anything if I had nothing nice to say,” Dehya replies, procuring cutlery from her sack and removing the dish from the fire. She sits back down beside you, offering you one of the wooden utensils. “Didn’t bring plates.”

You choose the spoon. “Beggars can’t be choosers, isn’t that a saying too?”

“Considering yourself a beggar?” Dehya asks.

“Currently? Yes.”

Dehya sighs and takes a bite of the curry in the pot. “You know, I used to be a beggar.”

You pause, spoon hovering against the edge of the pot. “Really?”

“To a degree. Swords for hire are beggars in some way, don’t you think? Always waiting for the next person to hate someone enough.”

“Or love someone enough,” you counter, helping yourself to a spoonful of curry.

Dehya slowly slides her fork out of her mouth. “Not normally the first thing people say.”

You shrug, “I’ve been around for a minute. The curry’s good.”

Dehya smiles softly. “Thanks. Glad it’s up to your standards.”

You fall silent, happy for the rest and the warmth in your stomach. You try not to eat too much, wanting to make sure that the human beside you ate enough. You’d be fine.

With only a few bites left at the bottom, Dehya tips the pot in your direction. “Do you want to rest?”

“No, no, you eat,” You insist. “I’ll be fine.”

Dehya’s gaze is skeptical, but she coneeds and finishes the meal. With a grunt, she stands up and stomps the snow off her boots.

“I’m going to go rinse this out. Can you set up the tent?” Dehya asks, offering her hand out to you.

Although a bit perplexed by her hand, you take it after a moment to pull yourself up. You wave your hand over the dirty dish, watching as it magically cleans itself.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, not expecting such a menial task to feel so exhausting. Must be the chill. The lack of life in the middle of a snow mountain and decapitated ruins.

Dehya’s hand quickly rests on your shoulder, steadying you.

“It’s clean,” You whisper.

“Not worth passing out for,” Dehya says, shaking her head. “Have a seat, I’ll get the tent set up. You need to rest.”

“I can help set up the tent,” You say.

“You should have eaten the rest of the curry,” Dehya murmurs, leading you back to where you had taken dinner.

Despite your protests, you sit back down, resting your head against your knees. You can hear as Dehya sets up the tent, the rustling and clanking of it all. Without realizing it, you lean back against the crumbling stone, head lightly knocking against it.

“Hey,” Dehya says, quickly coming to your side. She crouches back down, blue eyes massed by worry. Her hand cradles the back of your head. “Hey, what’s going on?” Her hand slides down to cup your cheek instead.

“‘M just tired,” You reply, leaning into the warmth of her hand. “I’ll be fine after I’ve had a night’s sleep.”

Albeit being unconvinced, Dehya doesn’t know what else to do but take you for your word. She carefully helps you up and into the tend, where you happily (and ungracefully) lower yourself down upon the furs that have been laid out.

“Can’t wait to get off this mountain,” You murmur to yourself, resting your head on your arm. A few dancing lights erupt in the closed space, illuminating the tent with a warm, otherworldly glow.

“You’re tellin’ me,” Dehya says, crouching down outside the tent with the flap open. “I’m gonna keep watch, do–”

“Come keep me warm,” You state, your dignity at the base of the mountain when you last felt your toes.

“Someone has to–”

“I’ll listen. Just need to trance,” You interrupt her.

Dehya glances over her shoulder at the unforgiving wilderness surrounding you. You hadn’t seen many monsters or wild beasts on your way up. The fire was extinguished, along with its smoke.

Sighing, she climbs into the tent with you.

There’s no space. She lowers herself on the furs, laying on her back and staring up at the red trap above you both. Glancing over, she can see you, the tips of your ears twitching slightly with the cold. You huddle closer to her, not quite touching.

“Don’t be weird about it,” You whisper to her.

With a sigh, Dehya rolls to face you. Her breath is warm against your nose.

“Be weird about what?”

You crack open an eye. Survey her expression. Her eyes are bright, her brows raised and pinched in worry. Her head rests on her arm, just like yours. Her other hand clutches her cloak around her tightly.

Taking it as a sign of chill, you press yourself into her. She smells like oud and honey doused in campfire, the opposite of the snow and pine that cloud your senses.

You can hear Dehya’s gasp, despite how small it is. It takes a moment for her body to cooperate with her mind. You settle against her, her arm comes to wrap around you.

“I just need to trance for four hours,” You murmur, words slightly slurring from exhaustion. She can feel the warmth of your breath against your chest. “Then I’ll take watch.”

Your breathing evens out. The faerie lights tick out one by one as you succumb to human sleep.

Dehya takes a deep breath and settles into her position. She resigns herself to her fate of taking watch all night, listening to the deathly silent woods. But nature is quickly drowned out by your breathing, by the faint hint of perfume still clinging to your skin.

Dehya can’t help but fall asleep.

There’s something wet at the corner of your mouth. There’s footsteps crunching on the snow.

Bringing a hand to your lips, you quickly wipe away the saliva that had slipped out during your slumber. Your ears twitch, listening to the sounds around you.

Footsteps, both heavy and light. Guttural speech.

You wish to curse, but keep it to yourself, placing a hand over Dehya’s mouth and shaking her awake. Dehya’s eyes fly open, confused and startled.

You bring your finger to your lips, the universal sign to keep quiet. Then, you motion to your ears, then to outside the tent.

Dehya’s eyes widen in understanding.

She wraps her hand around your wrist, moving your hand away from her mouth. Both of you rise to your knees. Your ears twitch slightly, trying to listen the best you can to the world around you.

You hold up three fingers to Dehya, signaling how many of them were around.

Dehya nods. Air fills the space above your palms as you shuffle towards the tent flap. It flutters from your magic made air.

Coming up behind you, you can feel Dehya’s breath on your neck. You take a deep one of your own.

The Hilichurls are speaking to each other now. One more deep breath. You will yourself to leave the tent, pushing yourself out into the blistering cold.

Another round of blistering cold leaves your palms, shoving a hilichurls out of your face from where it had been keeping guard. There’s a magician, an archer, and one who hastens to pick up their great axe from the ground.

Dehya’s warmth radiates off her, intervening in your space. She makes a break for the disoriented greataxe wielder, her own claymore erupting in fire in her hands.

The chill is already starting to seep through your bones. You divert another gust of wind, sending it against the archer to collide with its magic wielding brethren. How such a species learned the arcane arts, you’ll never know.

The two collide in the snow, and lay there for a moment. You send another blast of wind at them, this time disrupting the snow beneath to send them flying up into the air.

The archer dissipates upon impact. The mage, however, your churlish equal, roses upon its stubby legs once more. It looks fine, much to your dismay.

You send it back again, blasting it into the ruin wall with another gust of wind. Then another. Your heart thuds in your chest, knowing that if it was to unleash any of its ice magic upon you, you’d be done for. You’d give into the elements.

Behind you, you can hear Dehya. Can hear the sound of metal on metal, of metal hacking into flesh.

She’s still talking, so you imagine her to be alright.

It only takes another blow against the wall for the mage to disappear, just like its archer. With that handled, you turn to assist the knight.

Dehya seems to have things under control, as the grand hilichurl falls to its knees the moment you turn around. You watch as Dehya places her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“I shouldn’t have slept all night,” You say.

Dehya lets out a breathless laugh. “You drooled on me.”

You roll your eyes, but come closer to her. As a by product of her battle, she’s relit the cooking area. You crouch down next to it, warming yourself back up.

“Not that I mind,” Dehya says, her fingers, still warm, sliding your hair to reveal your ear. She traces the shell and you don’t pull away. Because she’s warm. Only because she’s warm.

“We should get to the top as quickly as possible,” You say. “I’m ready to be off this mountain.” I miss the normality of my palace.

#dehya x reader #fantasy au #.ophelia #love this au sm you don’t understand #wrapped this up quick because i am excited about the next thing i wrote #and im too lazy to change titles in gdocs #library

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