#she only likes men who look like they woke up in a hedge & i only like women who could throw me in the sea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grogusmum · 3 years

Text

The Hedge Witch & the Mercenary

Part 1: Bewitched

PERO TOVAR X Fem!READER

RATING: T (future chapters will be M)

WORD COUNT: 4600ish

SUMMARY: Tovar and his fellow Mercenaries stop over in your village. He finds himself drawn to you. But you’re the village witch/healer depending who you ask... naturally he thinks you're putting the whammy on him.

WARNINGS: time period sexism and discrimination against witches. Historical inaccuracies. I think that’s it if I missed anything lemme know in my DMs and I’ll add it.

NOTES: I don't know about this one, folks. Feedback appreciated.

Spanish speakers, any problems with the Spanish, please pop into my DMs and lemme know so I can fix it. No beta (sorry)

Every day you walked the path from your forest cottage to the village with your mule carrying your wares, sometimes in saddlebags or pulling a small cart, depending on the time of year. But this spring morning you woke to find Eimear (ee-mur) with a lame leg. You were sure you could heal it, but she needed to rest. So, you attached as much as you could to your shoulder yoke, filled two satchels that crisscrossed your chest, and started the hour walk into town through the forest. You hoped more than ever to have a much lighter load on the way home. As you made your way, you listened to the breeze, and the bird calls, you could smell the pitch pine on this unseasonably warm sunny day and your mind wandered to its many uses, you decided to gather some on the walk home.

Other than that, your day seemed to be shaping up to be unremarkable. You sold your balms, salves, tinctures, herb bundles. You kept your charm bags, spell jars, and anointed candles out of sight. It was common knowledge that you sold them, one only need do is ask, but you never knew when the church beadle would decide to descend on the marketplace.

Your place in the village was not an easy one. When the villagers were healthy and happy, you were the cunning or wise one, when they were suffering difficulties, you were a witch, hag, or beldam. You wouldn't mind witch so much, but you knew their meaning and yours were not the same.

They came to you for all manner of help, for midwifery, healing for person and animal ailment alike, not to mention rituals for a good growing season and harvest... sometimes they would ask for spells for love, a baby boy, vengeance or the return of a loved one departed from this mortal coil, but for those you put up some water for tea and chatted with them about their troubles and gently told them where magic like that, if the power existed at all, could lead. Sometimes you could give them something to help with the pain their hearts felt. But you knew their appreciation was conditional, you saw it whenever the beadle roamed the village, the clergy rang the bells on Sunday, and Christian holy days, especially those lain atop the old ones.

You had made your peace with it, overall, but the world had gotten a little more dangerous for people like you. More suspicion, murmurs of witch hunters and fires.

That is what you thought of when the armed men in leather armor rode into the village. You cast your eyes about the board that held your wears, making sure everything looked innocent, then you kicked yourself internally for that word. Who you are and what you did was innocent.

The mens steeds carried them through the village market, toward the inn, you looked up as they passed you. Some of them seemed too tired to do more than stare ahead, though others allowed their eyes to blatantly rove over you in ways that left you wanting to scrub your skin clean.

After the parade of, what you found out later were mercenaries, had seemingly come to an end, came the church beadle. Beadle Martin made it his business to give you a hard time. When he decided to do so, your customers usually disappeared for the rest of the day.

Beadle Martin approached your kiosk and nosed around as if he would sniff out anything unholy.

"What are you selling today, girl?"

You laughed genially "Oh, you. I left girlhood many summers ago! But you know that." You kept your tone light, waving at the items on the board, "the usual fare, sir. Preparations to solve your aches, pains, and ailments." Behind him, two more mercenaries rode up. One fair-haired with a bow and quiver and one dark, with two swords strapped across his back. The Archer stopped and nodded to the Swordsman to wait, he seemed interested in the exchange, for whatever reason.

"Anything else?" Beadle Martin asked, eyeing you.

"What you see is what I am selling, though, I do have some teas, for women troub-"

"Fine, fine," he cut across, not wanting to hear about "women trouble", which is exactly why you said it. While this often worked to get rid of him, this time the Archer laughed, his mirth carrying over to you and the beadle. Perhaps ruffled by an audience, he guaranteed you would have no more patrons today, perhaps even tomorrow. The beadle started to walk away but then turned, and said in a carrying voice, "I would make sure that is all you are offering the good Christians of the village, witch, and not tempt them with blasphemous works of the devil."

Your mouth opened, you looked around at the villagers milling around, they looked everywhere but at you. The Archer and Swordsman, one the other hand, looked right at you with curiosity, then back at the Beadles retreating back.

One woman, Johanna, had the nerve to cover her son's eyes when he looked at you, about to greet you as Malik did every time he sees you. Two winters ago, you saved the boy from a severe case of pneumonia that settled in both lungs. This was a blow, your eyes glistened, and your throat tightened.

After the beadle left, you began packing up. There was no point in staying any longer. You tried to look on the bright side, and not let tears slide down your cheek, Eimear needed attention anyway. Beltane was just around the corner, which meant preparing for one of the most raucous wee folk visits from the vale, you told yourself.

“I am very sorry. I hope my laughter did no-“

You waved off the apology, continuing to pack up, though you did appreciate it.

“Do not think on it, this is the dance the beadle and I do. You putting his feathers in a bunch makes no difference, would have ended just the same.”

“I am William,” The archer said. “This is Tovar.”

“Good day to you and welcome to Uffculme,” you said with a smile, that Tovar immediately looked away from.

“You didn’t give me your name,” William said.

“You are correct,” you said, though not unfriendly, as you put the yoke over your shoulders, and walked to the other stalls and stands. The swordsman, Tovar barked a laugh at his companion.

You spread your coin among the other merchants, purchasing beeswax, honey, flour, and skeins of yarn, before heading home. You just needed to stop at the tavern, you always traded your elderberry cordial for the clear liquor used in your tinctures.

You felt some embarrassment walking into the tavern, yoke at your neck, like a beast of burden, especially after the scene at the market. You sighed as you came in, then you saw the barroom full of mercenaries, and you groaned quietly.

Thomas, the barkeep saw you first, and put you slightly at ease, "My goodness! Where is your mule?" He shook his head with sympathy, "dear girl!"

He helped you take the yoke off your shoulders. It felt good to have a friendly interaction, reminding you that, generally, you are well thought of in the village. It is the loyalty that seemed shaky. But his boisterous voice carried and caught the attention of many of the soldiers of fortune, some of whom picked up where they left off in gawking at your frame.

Though you could not see his face, as his back was to you, the dark-haired mercenary also looked up He listened as you gave a small sigh and laugh, "It's Eimear, she has a poor hoof. Nothing I can't heal, but she mustn't take extra weight."

You pulled a jug of cordial from one of the satchels and placed it on the bar.

Thomas opened it and breathed in the sweet aroma. "Has this been setting up since fall?"

"Yes, delicious and quite potent in helping with cough and sneezing," in an undertone, you added, "and of course protection and blessings, the berries were picked under the Barley moon."

While Thomas seemed pleased with the information, the humph you heard to your left sounded disapproving, you turned to see the glaring dark-haired man. He had come up for another pitcher of ale and heard you. You could have kicked yourself, but this time your eyes met, you took in his natural pout, olive skin, his curls, and brown eyes, one marred with a scar. You felt a twinge of pain in the brow bone and orbital rim of your left eye for a moment, and felt sorry you couldn't have helped it heal. Tovar took in your face, then your eyes as they mapped his face, until they came to rest upon his eyes. He looked away quickly, clearing his throat.

Thomas poured him another pitcher, then placed two bottles of gin on the bar for you.

“Thank you, Thomas.”

“You are welcome, dear.”

As you packed the bottles in the wool to keep them from clanking the whole walk home, a straggly-haired sell-sword came up behind you. You tried to adjust your position casually, not being comfortable with him right behind you and far too close.

“Hello there, little lady,” his voice was smarmy, and though you had sidestepped, he was again, closing the gap you had made. “Care to join me... for mmmm, a drink?”

Still looking down at your bags, you rolled your eyes, then took a breath. You lifted you head and looked directly in his eyes, standing to your fullest height. While not particularly tall, you were by no means small of stature, but more importantly, you knew how to use a glamour. It was something you did not use often; you could not hold them for very long and they are best used sparingly. But this was the very situation you did use it, to radiate size and power to intimidate aggressively “friendly” patrons of the tavern or the market.

The exchange had gotten the attention of the fair one, William, he was less than impressed by many he rode with, in their interactions with locals of any given village or township they stop at. He knew who mercenaries tend to be, but the bullying, intimidation of residents, and "attention" given to women left a bad taste. His surly dark-haired companion, Tovar, while intimidating to everyone, did not push around or try to take advantage of farmers, barmaids, and so forth. Mostly he tried to ignore them. Tovar had only just made it back to his table when William indicated with a nod to look back to where he had just been. He turned and looked over at the interaction you were having with his fellow sell-sword. He didn't care about the behavior of the band of mercenaries they traveled with, as William did, but his eyes narrowed at the scene before him. When you stood, the glamour did not extend to them, but they saw the reaction on Straggly Hair, who backed up, tripping slightly.

You then smiled sweetly at Thomas, who laughed, and you took your leave.

Tovar went out to the stable to check on his horse. There was a stutter to its step he did not like. He looked for you though he did not admit that was what he was doing, he found your retreating back, yoke and all, heading down the path into the woods, skirts fluttering in the breeze. He did not know what to make of his interest, so he shoved it down and turned his attention to his horse. It had thrown a shoe and the hoof looked irritated. Did he hear that you had a mule with a “poor hoof” and that you could heal it?

He grumbled as he sat back down by William, glaring around indiscriminately.

"What is it, Tovar?"

"Hector, his hoof is not good."

"Well, the cunning woman just left, go see to it," William said slapping his knee, Tovar looked at his knee, and then William, his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

"Go, before you lose her, better to not leave it till morn, it could be far worse." William knew why he was hesitant and found it humorous.

"She won't turn you into a toad."

Tovar grumbled as he stood. He downed the rest of his ale in one and muttered as he turned his feet toward the door.

William seemed fit to burst, then added laughing, "that is, of course, if you can mind your manners !"

Tovar rolled his eyes and went to the stable. He haltered Hector, talking softly to him.

"Sé que tu casco no está bien, Héctor, pero tenemos que ir a ver a alguien, ven amigo."

I know your hoof is poorly, Hector, but we need to go see someone about it, come friend.

Tovar pulled the rope gently with a click of his tongue and the horse started to walk with him.

He made his way toward the path he saw you heading toward.

With his strides long and fast and you weighted down with the yoke and your thoughts, he closed the distance between the two of you in the forest quickly. You became aware of being followed and tensed. You figured you could swing the yoke and hit whoever was following you if it came to it.

“Stop,” Tovar grunted.

You turned, seeing the mercenary gave you a jolt of panic. You looked around, was the other sell-sword somewhere around? Were you about to be ambushed? Your heart started beating against your chest like a bird trying to escape capture. Your face must have given this away, because Tovar, stopped dead.

“I will not harm you,” He said, “ I have a horse with an injury, I was told you might help.”

You peered around him to thw horse, he seemed, for all his surliness, to be sincere.

"Your... yes, I saw- when you came through the market. Did he throw a shoe?" You edged toward him.

"Yes"

You walked back to where they stood and indicated to the back left.

"Yes"

You took the yoke off your shoulders ducking your head, then took the bags off your shoulders and placed them gently on the ground.

"Do you call him something?" You put your hand out to the horses muzzle, he met your hand with it, then you gave him a pet.

"Hector"

"Hector, I'm going to look at your hoof, is that alright?"

Tovar huffed as if he didn't talk to him all the time. You paid him no mind. Hector looked at you.

You ran your hand down his flank and down the leg and lifted it. You tsked.

"Yes, Hector. I certainly can help you." You turned and rubbed the horse’s cheek, he brought his eye level to yours.

"You are going to be fine, and you and your friend... what do you call your friend here?" You asked.

"Tovar", Tovar answered. Only then realizing you had been asking Hector.

"Yes, your William told me,” you said, turning your attention back to Hector, “you and your Tovar can go back to your fantastic adventures!"

Hector gave a huff and a whiney nodding. After a moment you laughed, "really?"

Tovar looked grumpily at Hector, then at you and back to the horse.

You began to gather your wears, Tovar picked up the yoke before you could and placed it over his shoulders.

You smiled and Tovar felt the sun come out behind a cloud. He decided it was a coincidence.

"Thank you," you said quietly.

You walked in silence until you could see your cottage.

"Here we are," you sighed, "you both must be hungry?"

"No." Tovar said eyeing you.

"Very well."

Was there not something about not eating anything a witch gives you to eat? Such piffle. You sighed.

Around the side of the cottage was a small barn, with 4 stalls, for your mule, cow, the two goats, and one the chickens laid claim to.

You greeted the animals, as you led them to the open stall. The chickens clucked in protest but settled in the loft.

"Hector, can you please go into the stall?"

Tovar was still getting over declining food when this request pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked incredulously at you and then more so when Hector began to follow your direction. Tovar took the lead after a moment, deciding Hector had moved in the direction of the stable out of habit.

You went to a cupboard that hung on the stable wall, pulling items and herb jars.

Same as last time you let Hector bring his muzzle to you, then you gave it a gentle rub. When he brought his eyes down to you, you took a moment in this eye contact with the horse. Then put your hand on his flank and dragged over his body, down the leg with the injury, and settle your hand on the hoof.

"May I?"

Hector whinnied, then you lifted his hoof.

Tovar watched. He always spoke to Hector, though, not when he thought anyone was listening. He felt a kinship with the steed, Hector was stoic, brave, and stalwart. But this... you were good with horses, Pero decided, that was all.

So why was he feeling this pull? He wanted to eat your food, he wanted more than that though the thoughts were not fully formed in his mind. He wasn't letting them. He knew what you were. He wasn't going to let you bewitch him. Perhaps you already had.

"Hermo- Curandera, what are you doing?"

"I've cleaning the hoof and now drawing out the infection, then I will put a salve on it that should help close the wound. No magic here, just good plain medicine."

Tovar could hear the smirk that accompanied that last remark. Before he could do more than half a scoff, you stood and walked back to him, cleaning your hands with your apron.

"I have apples, to share with the animals."

"No."

"I-" You started then sighed. "Very well." You knew why, and it felt as a dagger to your heart. You were not sure why. You went to the apple bin you saved for the animals, held your apron out to hold some. Crossing to Eimear, you gave her one murmuring to her sweetly. Then you gave the goats a couple, then pulled a small knife out to cut one up for Caraid, the cow. Then for good measure, you bit into the last one in your apron.

Tovar watched, Hector also watched, and then looked a Tovar with a sad eye.

"Stop it," he muttered, "you ate already, no?"

When you took the glossy green and red apple into your own mouth, Tovar looked away, nostrils flaring.

Holding it in your mouth, you went to the well to get water for the animals. When you returned, you looked at Tovar, one corner of your mouth curled around the apple into a lopsided smirk, as your eyes danced with mischief. Finishing the apple, you broke the core in two and tossed the pieces to the goats with a chuckle. Then proceeded to check Eimears hoof, in the manner as you had with Hector, hand on her flank, trailing down to her injured hoof, then letting her know you were going to lift it, with her permission.

"Ah, m'lady! Much improved."

You began feeding the animals, humming as you did. Tovar stood beside Hector, watched not quite knowing what to do next.

"If you are done with my horse, I will take my leave with him. What do I owe you?" Tovar pulled a coin purse off his belt.

"Hector should stay the night."

Tovar hands fell to his sides, "I'm not leaving him here with-"

"He should rest it," you said simply.

You attached corded sachets of St John wart around the necks of each animal.

"What is this?" Tovar flared.

"It is St John's Wart, Beltane is coming, while I am in good relations with the Kindly Ones over all- tis best not to take chances. They get, mmmm, rambunctious."

Tovar suddenly looked around.

"Who?"

"I- mmm." Your eyes swept the barn, "let me tuck everyone in."

You swooped around, getting the animals settled, finally placing some honey and apples on a plate under the oak tree beside the barn. Tovar noticed small trinkets under the tree. It did not sit well with him.

"I am not going to leave Hector here."

"That is fine, sir, stay. But please come in, and have something to eat, as you are not going back to the Inn tonight."

"I'm not hungry. " Tovar’s stomach betrayed him at that very moment, and he looked down at the traitorous growl.

You smirked.

"It is never eat what the good neighbors offer you, not witches, by the way. That is a false superstition. Come, have some stew and savory bread, I have done nothing to it."

Tovar was fixed to the spot. Isn't that what she would want him to believe? But her eyes and hair... her voice. Tan bonita.

As if against his will he walked to the back door where you waited. You looked at the setting sun- the sky shot with lilac, relieved he had relented. You entered, while Tovar lingered in the doorway.

"Hermosa," the word came unbidden, Tovar grimaced, "I will take my food to the barn."

You built up the fire and placed the stew pot on the hook arm. You placed the bread on the hearth and looked at him, a hand on your hip.

"The folk from under the hill can be," you were careful of your words, it had taken time and effort to win their trust and favor, but you knew they may not be able to resist a man like Tovar. Thank all the gods and goddesses that fair-haired one was not here, though given his place of birth perhaps he has more knowledge of the Fae. And would not need everything spelled out. "They are playful this time of year."

"Kindly Ones? Folks under the hill? Disparates." Nonsense

“Please,” you looked him in the eye. You knew he was suspicious of you, so you did not want to attempt a glamour, even if it was to protect him. It was possible it would not have worked anyway, given his disposition.

Surprisingly, it was your single word, ‘please’, that moved him, you did not plead, as you looked into his eyes, narrowed with suspension, with your open and guileless ones. As he stepped in, he looked around. Your cottage was clean, warm, herbs hung from the rafters, as did talismans. The walls were a whitewash, with a decorative design in red that wrapped around the room where the wall met the sloping ceilings. He had never seen such. The shutters of the windows were all closed, as you had been away all day, the only light coming from the fire and the open door. Your bed sat in an alcove, he looked away.

You looked visibly relieved, you opened the windows facing the sunset, and shut the door. You motioned to the table.

“Come, sit, have something to eat.” Your smile was warm, and your eyes sparkled in the firelight. Continuing to bustle about, you took two bowls a plate, and two spoons off the sideboard. Then you turned, he was still standing.

“Come,” you said again, “sit, I will not harm you. I promise.” Then you smiled, and Pero Tovar knew, you had done something.

“I am no match for your charms it seems.” He sat, with a thud of resignation.

You laughed, he closed his eyes, as if trying to resist something.

“I am doing nothing but trying to help you and your Hector.” You said as you set the table, then walked back to the hearth for the stew and bread.

Tovar kept his eyes on the table, listening to your skirts rustle, the clink of the stew pot, and then your return. He smelled the savory food, and when you placed the bread on the plate, spooned the stew into the bowls, he could smell you. He could not place the smell, but it was delicate and spicy-sweet. Maybe from your cooking or the herbs, you worked with; he closed his eyes bracing himself against both sumptuous smells. He relaxed when you bustled to the larder, for two cups of mead and a crock of butter.

He took the mead gratefully, thinking it may do him some good.

“Gracias, marip- thank you, m-miss.”

“You are most welcome, Tovar, I am happy to have someone to share a meal with.”

You ate in silence. It was rare to have anyone out to your cottage, you wished to converse, but Tovar did not seem the type to chat. Tovar watched you more than you knew, as whenever you looked at him, he quickly cast his eyes down to his bowl. Whenever he finished you offered another helping.

“Tovar, there is plenty, if you would care for more,” you said, in an undertone.

In the end, he had 2 bowls of stew and 3 generous slices of bread slathered in the sweet butter.

You cleared and cleaned the table, emptied your bags off your purchases and unsold wares, and while you had planned to make some charged spell candles, you decided it may be too much for Tovar and instead prepared to sit by the fire and do some knitting.

By the fire, you rocked and knitted, humming to yourself. Tovar sharpened his swords with a whetstone and listened.

“What are you humming?”

“Oh, I did not realize, erm, a lullaby,” you said quietly.

“Does it have words?”

“It does, it’s very old and not in English, I can try to translate it if you want to hear-“

“I would.”

It had been a long time since anyone heard you sing, you tried to not be self-conscience. You cleared your throat and sang.

song link

Éiníní, éiníní, codalaígí codalaígí

Little birds, little birds, sleep, sleep

Codalaígí, codalaígí

cois an chlaí amuigh, Cois an chlaí amuigh

codalaígí, codalaígí

Cois an chlaí amuigh, cois an chlaí amuigh

Sleep, sleep,

By the wall outside, by the wall outside

Sleep, sleep

By the wall outside, by the wall outside

An londubh is an fiach dubh,

téigí a chodladh, téigí a chodladh

an chéirseach is an préachán,

téigí a chodladh, téigí a chodladh

The blackbird and the raven,

Go to sleep, go to sleep,

The she-blackbird and the crow,

Go to sleep, go to sleep

An spideog is an fhuiseog

téigí a chodladh, téigí a chodladh

an dreoilín is an smóilín,

téigí a chodladh, téigí a chodladh

The robin and the lark,

Go to sleep, go to sleep,

The wren and the thrush,

Go to sleep, go to sleep

You finished the song and looked across the hearth, Tovar was asleep. You stood and took his elbow gently, whispering his name. He startled, his fight or flight response almost kicked in but you were looking in his eyes so softly, murmuring his name gently-

“Let us get you to the bed, it’s just here. I’ll sleep by the fire.”

Tovar tried to argue, but you insisted.

“Supongo que debería agradecerte, hermosa hechicera, porque nunca he estado tan contento de haber sido hechizado.”

I suppose I should thank you, beautiful sorceress I have never been so content to be bewitched.

Part 2: Bothered

THANK YOU FOR READING! 💚

You can find more of my work here and if you would care to be tagged for this or any of my writing fill out my taglist form

@oonajaeadira @its--fandom--darling @seasonschange-butpeopledont @jessie-writes-things @mylovelycomandante @asta-lily @writeforfandoms @tobealostwanderer @agirllovespancakes @fromthedeskoftheraven @beskarprincessjenny @jupiterfics @coffegost @littlemisspascal @honestly-shite

Thank you to @mostclevermiss for pointing out a fix needed in the spanish!

#pero x reader #pero x fem!reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pedro pascal #pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero x you

314 notes · View notes

heliads · 3 years

Text

Pietro, Not Peter (Part One)

When Y/N L/N wakes up in the middle of a strange suburban town, she’s concerned to find out that she can’t remember who she is or how she got there. The appearance of her boyfriend, Peter Maximoff, may help to jog her memory, but why is he suddenly calling himself Pietro?

series masterlist / part two

When you finally open your eyes, you realize you don’t know where you are. You’re standing in the middle of a charmingly typical suburban neighbourhood, one with perfectly trimmed hedges and a cloudless sky colored a flawless shade of robin’s egg blue. It seems like a completely normal town, were it not for the fact that you have no idea how you got there.

You look slowly to your left, and then to your right. There’s nobody in sight, nobody who you can question as to how you just appeared in this neighbourhood. You stand there for a moment longer, then this sudden, insistent thought enters your head, telling you that you should go into town. You hesitate, not sure where this all-consuming impulse is coming from, but after a moment you can’t fight it any longer and start walking.

Your feet move unwaveringly down the sidewalk, one after another. You realize that you have no idea where the town is, or what you might find there, but yet you still keep walking. Maybe your mind doesn’t know anything, but you still feel this unconscious pull that takes you up one street and down another, crossing blocks and sidewalks like you’ve done it your entire life. You don’t stop moving until you arrive at the city, even when you try to go somewhere else. It’s like you’re being pulled by an invisible string, one that won’t let you rest for even a second.

The urge to keep walking finally leaves you when you first arrive in the center of town. You turn in a slow circle, looking at everything around you. Now that that impulse in your head is gone, you notice you don’t know what you’re doing here. The only thing you do know is that you can’t leave- the second you try to turn around and head back to those home-lined streets, your feet just stop moving, cementing you in place.

You blow out a low breath of frustration. Guess you’re stuck here. Well, you might as well see what’s going on. Maybe you’ll meet someone who has any idea how you got here, or how you can leave. You try to think back to the last thing you saw, the last place you visited. With a chill, you realize you can’t remember a thing- not a person, not a location, nothing. You have no idea who you are or how you got to this city. Your entire memory is a swirling, shifting mess of nothing.

You feel panic starting to bubble up in your chest, so you try to distract yourself. Across the street, you glimpse a tall, columned building that appears to be a library. You start towards it, crossing the street and ambling up the worn marble steps. At least it’s something to do, right?

The rush of cool air inside the building is a welcome relief from the warm sun of the outdoors. You also find comfort in the form of other visitors to the library- a few men, sitting at a table in the back, some women scattered throughout the shelves, and the reassuring calm of knowing that you’re not alone any longer.

There’s a cough from across the room, and you turn to see a smiling woman seated at an information desk. “Can I help you, dearie?”

You nod quickly, rushing over to her. “I need to know how I got here, wherever here is. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I don’t even know who I am.”

The woman just sits there, the same welcoming smile plastered across her cheeks.

You frown at her in confusion. “Did you hear what I said? I just woke up in this town, and I need to get out.”

The woman leans over to you, gently placing a hand on yours in a gesture of reassurance. “Oh, honey, I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that. You can’t leave. She won’t let you.”

You stare at her. “What do you mean, she won’t let me?”

The woman glances around the library, as if checking to make sure nobody can hear her, then continues speaking in a rushed whisper. “We’re all trapped here. Nobody can leave. This is our home now. We all belong here.”

Suddenly, her comforting hand feels like a trap, her bony fingers wrapped around your wrist with an intensity that starts to hurt.

You tear her hand off of yours, backing away. Your breath feels harsh and uneven.

The woman frowns slightly, the change in her placidly happy expression almost more terrifying than what she’d been saying earlier. “Oh no, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry about that, dearie. Would you like to look around some more?”

You shake your head fervently. “I think I’m good.”

The woman’s stare feels fake, almost doll-like in its emptiness. You turn and head quickly out of the library, silently begging your heart to calm down. The second you burst through the library doors, you freeze in place. The sky, which had been sunny and bright just moments before, has taken on the cool darkness of night.

You take a few shaky steps forward, staring up at the sky. How is that possible? It seemed like it was barely ten in the morning when you first arrived in this town, and now it looks to be some time around seven pm. The night air is tinged with chill, and you wrap your arms around yourself in an effort to stay warm. The thought of staying here, in this city with that weird librarian and these paper doll people, is too much to bear, so you start walking again in the direction of the suburbs.

For some reason, you’re allowed to move out of the city now. In fact, you’re almost encouraged to do so- when your steps falter as you struggle to remember which turn was which, your feet automatically point you in the right direction.

As you continue walking, you pass by a house encircled by a pristine fence. The windows are open, and you can hear the sound of a couple arguing inside. You hear a brief snippet of conversation- the woman stops talking for a second to gesture to you through the window.

“See, you said there were no children in Westview. She’s a teenager, right there. Now will you please stop being so dramatic?”

Then, a man’s voice responds. “That’s one girl, and a girl who looks like she’s about to be in her twenties, if not already there. How do I know you didn’t just put her there to shut me up?”

You frown at their argument. What does the man mean, that you were just called there by the woman? Why would there be no other children in this town-Westview? You shiver and continue walking, although you notice that the same insistent pull of your feet has faded now that you passed the house. Maybe you were really called there by that woman, after all.

As you turn onto another block, a wind starts to blow, and you pull your arms around you even tighter. It’s freezing now, and it will probably keep getting colder all night. What are you supposed to do? Where are you supposed to go? Surely that woman has something planned for you, surely you won’t just freeze to death as you wander around on these streets. You breathe in sharply, silently begging for another one of those all-controlling thoughts to enter your head. Even being spun around like a doll would be better than this never ending wait.

Suddenly, there’s a sound behind you. You freeze, not daring to turn around. You squeeze your eyes shut tight. Judging by everything else that’s been happening in this town, you’re convinced that the sound could have come from some strange monster that’s come to kill you.

Then, a voice speaks out of the dark.

“Y/N?”

Your head jerks up, and you spin around. You gasp, the sound loud in the echoing gloom of the night. Standing before you is a boy about your age, with silver hair and a trademark grin that you’ve known for what feels like forever.

“Peter?”

A series of memories flashes before your eyes the second his name sounds from your lips. Your name is Y/N, Y/N L/N. You were a mutant, but you can’t quite remember what your powers were. As you ponder this, more memories appear and fill in the gaps. You were a student at Xavier’s School, and had been there for a couple of years. Most importantly, you remember Peter.

Peter Maximoff, the boy with the super speed. From the second he had arrived at Xavier’s School, saving everyone there in the process, you knew you were head over heels for the boy. The two of you just clicked, tossing jokes and casual conversation back and forth with ease. It was enough to just be with him, to stand side by side and know that he would never leave you. That’s how important he was to you, how strong was the bond that the two of you shared.

You had started dating around a year ago, and you were happy every day you woke up and remembered that he loved you. You remembered walking around the school with him, hands casually linked at your sides. Sometimes, you would be studying alone and see a silver blur rush past you, leaving nothing behind but a freshly picked flower in your hand and a kiss pressed to your cheek. He was determined to impress you, which sometimes got on the nerves of the other students, but you always laughed and promised you’d stay by his side forever.

Now, he stands only a few feet away from you, but a slight frown flashes across his lips.

“Pietro.” He says, and you look at him in confusion.

“What?”

He shakes his head slightly. “You said Peter. My name’s Pietro.”

You furrow your brow. “You’ve never once gone by Pietro. What are you talking about?”

Peter just chuckles, walking forward to close the distance between you and press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m pretty sure I would know my own name, Y/N.”

You shrug, feigning indifference, but your mind begins to spin. Of course his name was Peter- it had always been Peter. Why was he pretending his name was Pietro?

Peter loops his arm through yours, and begins to guide you back down the street you had just left. “I’m here to visit Wanda. My twin. Isn’t that something?”

You smile at him, agreeing, but you can’t help but feel more confused. You had visited Peter’s home many times, and gotten to know his family well. Peter didn’t have a twin sister- only a much younger one. Who was this Wanda?

Peter continues speaking as the two of you walk further down the block. “I think you’d like her. She has this super-cool power to move things around with her mind, kind of like magic. I think you could show her your powers too. You know, cause a storm or something like you always do.”

Peter says this, unconcerned, but you sneak a glance up at him.

“What do you mean, I should cause a storm?”

Peter shrugs. “You know, use your powers. I know she’ll love your weather manipulation.”

You stop walking as you realize what he said. “Peter -Pietro-, that’s not my mutation. That’s Storm’s.”

Peter slows down, turning around when he notices you frozen in place. “Well, if you want to only refer to yourself as your codename that’s cool too, but I don’t see why you’re so upset about it.”

You shake your head slowly. “No, I mean that’s the mutation of a completely different person. You know, Ororo? Our friend? I have the power to-”

You stop speaking, hit by another wave of memories. “I have the power of regeneration. I heal, remember?”

Peter frowns. “Jeez, Y/N, what’s gotten into you? That’s not your mutation.”

He looks confused for a second longer, then his face turns back into a casual smirk, almost as if someone had wiped it clean of worries.

“Anyways, can we get moving? I don’t want to keep Wanda waiting.”

You nod slowly, walking beside Peter once more. A sudden thought hits you. “Pietro, what’s Wanda’s power again? I know you said telekinesis, but is there anything else?

Peter smiles, evidently glad to be referred to by his ‘real’ name.

“Yeah, she can also do some mind control. Influencing people’s fears and thoughts, kind of like the Professor.”

You feel a wave of anxiety starting to surface. Mind control. Wanda can control people’s minds. In that moment, you realize just what’s been bothering you about this town, about that feeling that comes and goes in your head. It reminds you of when Jean or Xavier had used their powers on you, usually to no success.

Your mutation was regeneration, and it had the unintended consequence that people couldn’t use mind control on you for very long. Every time someone attempted to telepathically control you, you would unconsciously free yourself of their influence through rapid healing of the parts of your mind under their power. That was why you had recognized that insistent voice in your head- it was Wanda trying to control you. The reason you could remember who you were was that your mind was already healing.

You suppose you’re not surprised when Peter comes to a stop in front of the house you’d noticed earlier, where Wanda and the man had been arguing. Peter rings the doorbell, then looks back over his shoulder at you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. Wanda’s got everything under control. She’ll love you just as much as I do.”

He presses a kiss to your cheek, and you let yourself lean into him. If you close your eyes, you can almost pretend everything is fine. Almost.

Then you hear the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and Peter straightens up to face Wanda, who stares at him in disbelief. They speak for a little while, but you can’t quite concentrate on the conversation. Standing so close to Wanda, being so close to the woman who seems to be controlling everything in this town, is definitely having an effect on you. It’s like you can feel the power circulating around her, drawing you in. You have a choice now, the choice to run away and try to escape, or to pretend everything is fine. You realize that if you stay here any longer, you may not be able to make this choice again.

Wanda’s eyes leave Peter for just a moment to flicker over you. “Who’s this?”

Peter grins, taking your hand and gently pulling you close to him. “This is my girlfriend, Y/N.”

You smile at Wanda. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Wanda studies you for a second longer, then smiles back. “It’s nice to meet you too. Pietro tells me you have abilities as well?”

You tilt your head in agreement. “Yes, but they’re not important.”

Wanda nods in approval. Pietro beams at you, clearly happy that you’ve made such a positive impression on his sister.

Wanda clears her throat. “Well, you two should come inside. I’m sure we have a lot to talk about.”

You take Pietro’s hand once more, and follow him inside. You hesitate for just a second on the doorstep, pausing in between the open door and Wanda’s house. Wanda’s eyes flash back to you, but then you continue walking and shut the door firmly behind you. Wanda smiles just slightly, but you don’t think about that anymore. What you do think about is Pietro next to you, and how you finally have everything you want. A home, a family, a boyfriend. What else could you possibly ask for?

782 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 3 years

Text

The Belle and the Bane - Chapter II

Summary: Living with the Bane is turbulent, at best. But, you do your best to weather the storm of his moods.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 8,916

Warnings: PG-13 - Fantasy!AU, Dark!AU, Bane!Henry, Dark!Henry, Belle!Reader, Healer!Reader, Curses, Language, Angst, Light Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Very Minor Character Death, Multiple Personalities(?), Possessive/Controlling Behavior

Inspiration: My warped version of Beauty and the Beast.

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long! Muse was spazzing from this fic to that fic and this idea to that idea. You know how it goes! Forever and always, thank you to the amazing @wondersofdreaming for being my beta, brainstorm partner and encouraging me! Tell me what you think!

You woke that morning with the bright sunlight streaming into your room, as Damien threw the curtains over your windows open, letting the new day stream in, brightening the remaining darkness out of the corners of your room.

“Good morning, Ms.” He grinned at you, standing at the foot of your bed.

“Morning.” You yawned back, sitting up.

“I have breakfast ready for you.” He said, motioning to the table in the corner of your room, by one of the windows. “Also, I have some clothing coming in for you, later this morning. It's not your full wardrobe, but it's a start.” He smiled, sounding happy and chipper.

“Thank you, Damien.” You smiled at him, getting out of bed and pulled on your robe, sitting at the table and looking over your breakfast.

Nodding his head, Damien exited your room and traveled down to Henry's room, finding his master in a similar position you were, but instead of his room being bright with the morning sun, shining off the calm waves of the ocean. Henry's room was nearly pitch black, minus the raging fireplace and a few candles in large candelabras.

“Morning, Sir.” Damien said softly, nodding his head at Henry. “I hope you slept well.”

Henry took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, taking a gulp of his tea. “As usual, Damien.” He sighed. “Other than that girl you went behind my back and allowed here.” He added, with a lifted brow.

“I simply thought that some companionship would do you some good, Henry.” Damien replied, daring to use his master's first name. “Other than myself.” He added, as Henry opened his mouth.

“What companionship can she give me, Damien?” Henry asked, setting his teacup down and rubbed at his tired face. “Other than physical.” He added with a huff.

“Perhaps you should try and find out.” He replied, making Henry's messy bed. “She loves to read! She's almost completely read 'Great Expectations' and she's only been here a day. I know how much you like to read.” He explained, smiling over at him, his eyes glittering.

“I haven't read a book, in a long time.” Henry countered, his blue eyes darkening at his servant.

“Maybe.” Damien grinned, unbothered. “She can read to you.”

“I don't need to be read too. I can read on my own.” He hissed, narrowing his eyes. “I'm not some invalid.” He growled, his body tensing.

“Of course not. It was only a suggestion, she has a sweet voice, was all I meant.” Damien replied, softly. “Give her a week, Henry. If you don't find her presence wanting by then, I'll send her back home to her father.”

The muscles of Henry's jaw flexed as he contained his fluctuating emotions. “Fine.” He huffed, angrily, then winced at the loud sounding of the door bell. “Who could this possibly be!” He barked, looking at Damien.

“I had a bit of a wardrobe made up for her.” Damien replied, finishing Henry's bed. “She only came with what she was wearing, and I'm sure that wouldn't have met your meticulous standards.”

“Spending my money on her, Damien.”

“Would you rather her look a peasant, or be nude?” Damien countered, lifting a brow at Henry.

Henry sighed and rolled his eyes, turning his back on him and staring at the dancing flame of the candle on his table. Damien half smirked at Henry, and left his room, going down the stairs to the third ringing of the door bell, and pulled it open, greeting the visitors. There were two men, holding several boxes, swinging the door open wide, Damien allowed them to enter the castle and showed them up the stairs to your room. You stood as your door opened and Damien entered with the two men, directing them where to put the boxes, then shooed them out.

“Your new clothing.” He grinned at you, pulling open the boxes and removing several articles, laying them out on your bed. “I do hope you like them. I wasn't sure what colors you would like, so I tried to keep them as neutral as possible.” He explained, pulling out more and more things from the boxes.

You stood beside him as he laid them out, surprised by the expensive quality of the fabrics and their current fashion. They were all so beautiful, you had never seen anything like them. Looking them over, you picked out the outfit you wished to wear for the day, and Damien put the rest in the empty walk-in closet. He smiled as he watched you stand in the full length mirror in the corner of the room, looking at yourself from every side and playing with the flow of the fabric of the dress you wore.

“You look beautiful.” He complimented you, standing behind you with a smile.

“Thank you.” You smiled back, your cheeks warm.

Henry groaned, stepping out onto his balcony, needing a breath of fresh air, when he saw a shadow move in the neglected garden below. Frowning, he leaned forward on the oxidized railing of his balcony for a closer look. He saw the shadow again, before you rounded an overgrown hedge, your fingers lightly touching the leaves. He watched you as you explored the ruined garden maze he had played in as a child, with his brothers. Biting his lip, Henry turned and went back into his room, throwing open his bedroom door and storming down the stairs, to the back garden.

“Christ.” You gasped, running straight into Henry, like he was a brick wall. “You nearly scared the life out of me.” You panted.

Henry grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you away from him. “What are you doing out here?” He demanded, glaring down at you.

“Enjoying some fresh air and sunlight.” You replied, staring up at him, your heart pounding. “Is there an issue with that, like wandering around the house at night?” You asked, lifting a brow at him.

His hands squeezed your arms, before letting go of you as you gasped, realizing he had been hurting you. “No.” He gulped, relaxing. “But, you do need to be careful, if you turn the wrong direction, you'll end up stepping off the cliff.”

“Why would you design a garden to do that?” You asked, frowning up at him.

“It wasn't.” Henry replied, looking over the cracked and overgrown path you stood on. “There was a very bad storm, several years ago, and part of the cliff gave way, taking the back portion of the garden and a gazebo with it.” He explained to you, brushing his wind blown curls out of his face, then turned away from you, disappearing around a corner.

Blinking a couple of times, you followed after him, turning two corners, before you found him again, standing several feet away from the edge. Henry smiled at you over his shoulder, shocking you with the transformation it gave him, both physically and emotionally, he felt less threatening and harsh. You moved to stand next to him, a rush of strong ocean wind blowing against you so much, you felt the, surprisingly, gentle touch of Henry's hand rest on your back, keeping you steady as you both stood there.

“Damien said you've almost finished reading the Great Expectations.” Henry said, after a long pause of silence.

“I have.” You nodded, biting the corner of your lip. “Charles Dickens is one of my favorite authors.” You confessed to him.

“Mine as well.” Henry chuckled, looking down at you. “I've thoroughly enjoyed 'The Old Curiosity Shop'. I've read it numerous times.” He explained to you, looking out over the ocean. “But, it's been some time since I've read anything, but a financial or business report.”

“Why is that?” You asked, glancing up at him, a soft frown on your face.

“Because, life gets in the way.” He replied, his face hardening. “You should go back inside.” He said, moving his hand from the small of your back to your shoulder; turning you away from the cliff. “It's getting much too cold for you out here.”

“And you?” You replied, lifting a brow at him.

“I'll be fine.” Henry answered, in a short tone. “Go.” He barked, pointing back to the house.

Biting your lip, you nodded your head to him and wound your way back through the garden maze, finding your way back through the open veranda doors. You only whiled away most of the morning, before boredom took you, unaccustomed to just sitting around all day. So, you pulled on a coat and went downstairs, you could hear Henry and Damien's voices through the closed study door as you showed yourself out, going back down to the village to check on your father and see if any of the villagers needed you.

“Where have you gone?” Damien asked, appearing in your doorway as you removed your coat and draped it over the back of a chair. “I came to bring you your lunch, and you were gone.”

“I went down to the village.” You replied, turning to him. “To check on my father, and one of the young wives down there was in the middle of giving birth, so I helped her.” You explained to him, unapologetic for leaving the castle without notice, you weren't their prisoner, and refused to be treated as one.

“Mr. Cavill is quite unhappy about it.” Damien replied, pressing his lips together.

“I'm sure, Mr. Cavill can get over it.” You huffed, rolling your eyes at him. “He is a grown man, is he not?”

Damien narrowed his eyes at you and took a deep breath. “Well, be it as it may. If you're to leave the castle, please inform me, or I'm bound to worry you've fallen off a cliff or something.”

“I will.” You told him, your voice tight. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“That's a question I should be asking you.” He countered, a soft smirk tugging on his lip.

“No, I don't need anything from you, Damien.” You sighed, you really just wanted to soak in a hot tub of water, your back aching from bending over as you helped birth the young woman's babe into the world.

“There's nothing you can do for me, either.” He replied, nodding his head. “Yet.” He added, softly, turning and showing himself out of your room.

Sighing and rubbing at your face, you turned towards the bathroom door, stripping off your clothing as you went. You melted into the hot water, up to your neck, eyes falling shut as it slowly eased away your aches and pains, taking your worries and stress away with it.

“If I were to be stuck here for the rest of my life, the only thing I would get used to, is this glorious hot water.” You mumbled yourself, drifting off.

You were awoken in the middle of the night, shaken by your shoulders and the frantic calling of your name. You batted your hands at the ones holding and shaking you, whimpering as you were drawn out from your peaceful slumber.

“What?” You rasped, in a sleepy voice. “What!” You barked, jerking up in bed. “Damien, what in the world! You're acting as if the house is on fire.” You sighed, brushing your hair out of your face.

“It's not, is it?” You added, face snapping to your open bedroom door.

“No, no! The house is intact.” He assured you, no less frantic and antsy.

“Then, what is the rush?”

“It's Henry, he's terribly unwell, and you are a healer, are you not?” He asked in a jumble of words.

“I am.” You nodded, frowning and throwing back your blankets. “What is wrong with him?” You asked, getting out of bed and taking your robe as Damien held it out to you.

“I'm unsure, I went to check on him in his study, he always works very late.” He explained, leading the way down the hall. “He was quite pale, and I'm sure he's thrown up in the bin.”

Your frown deepened with every description Damien gave you of Henry's ailment, your brain shuffling through dozens of different possible illnesses based on them. When you and Damien finally reached the ground floor study Henry spent a great deal of his time in, you found him lying on the sofa, an arm slung over his pale and sweaty face. You knelt down on the rug beside him on the sofa, gently resting your hand on his elbow.

“Henry.” You whispered softly.

“What do you want?” Henry growled, but it sounded more like a pained whimper.

“I've asked her to look you over, Sir.” Damien replied, hovering from the other side of the couch, his face creased with concern and worry. “She's a healer down in the village.” He explained, chewing on his lip.

Henry huffed, but didn't remove his arm. You frowned up at Damien, then stood, going around the couch to whisper in his ear.

“Give me a moment with him.” You said and tilted your head towards the door.

Damien looked between Henry on the couch and the study door, but nodded his head and went out, quietly closing the door behind him. Rounding the couch again, you took up the fire poker and pushed the burning logs apart until they were nothing but glowing embers, then brought the burning candlestick on Henry's desk over to the small end table at Henry's feet on the couch, plunging the study into near darkness.

“You can take your arm away from your face now, Henry.” You whispered softly, kneeling back down beside him. “The light shouldn't bother your eyes so much.” You told him, tilting your head at him, having an idea of what was bothering him.

Henry slowly removed his arm from over his face, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the low light. His handsome face was quite pale, his eyes were red and damp, his curls plastered to his sweaty forehead. He carefully turned his head towards you, narrowing his eyes at you.

“How long have you had migraines?” You asked him, lifting a brow at him.

“Since I suffered that illness.” He replied, gulping thickly. “They're crippling.”

“I can see that.” You replied, glancing over at the waste bin by his desk, where he'd thrown up. “Come on.” You sighed, standing up. “Let's get you off to bed. You need to rest.”

“I have work to do.” Henry protested, slowly sitting up.

“It can wait, Mr. Cavill.” You sighed, shaking your head at him. “If you don't rest, you'll end up throwing up more, and probably passing out. Neither is good for your business or your health.” You protested, planting your hands on your hips.

“So, up you go.”

Henry looked up at you, narrowing his eyes at you. Both of you stood there for a long moment, staring each other down, before Henry growled and stood up. Smirking, you moved around the couch, taking up the candlestick and opened his study door. You and Henry went up the stairs to his room, you paused, resting your free hand on his thick arm as he swayed outside his door for a moment. Henry squeezed his throbbing eyes shut, reaching out blindly to open his door.

You set the candlestick aside and guided him to bed, pulling back the blankets and made him sit down, before he fell. Frowning at him, then sighing, you bent down and pulled off his slippers, setting them aside. Henry watched you through half-lidded eyes as you fussed over him, helping him remove his shirt, then piled up his pillows, so he could rest back on them, and covered him with his blankets. Moving away from him, you went into his bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cold water and brought it back to him.

“Put this over your eyes, it'll help some of the discomfort.” You told him, holding the washcloth out to him.

“As you wish.” He smirked, his tone teasing as he pushed his head back and draped the cloth over his eyes with a moan.

“How is your stomach?” You asked him, watching him gulp thickly.

“Like a raging ocean.” He replied, licking his lips and fisting his blankets, then sat up suddenly, his face going pale as a ghost.

You reacted quickly, picking up the bin by his table and thrust it out to him, just in time for him to throw up, wrenching hard. Henry whimpered as the wrenching agitated his throbbing and pulsing skull. He looked so weak and harmless, like a small boy trapped in the body of a man. Sitting on the edge of his bed, you used the damp cloth to wipe at his sweaty face, the scent of vomit was something you had grown used to as a healer. Sighing, you set the now warm cloth on his nightstand, chewing on your bottom lip as you regarded him and thought about something that could relieve the pain of his migraine and the discomfort of his stomach.

“Do you have any willow trees nearby?” You asked, frowning at him, as a solution brewed in your mind.

“Of course, what kind of question is that?” Henry huffed, shaking his head at you, then instantly regretted it. “The whole county is known for them, there's three in the graveyard alone.” He told you, gripping the waste bin, as another wave of nausea hit him.

“Good.” You nodded, getting up. “I'll be back.”

“Where are you going?” Henry demanded, as you rushed out of his room.

“Is Henry all right?” Damien asked, he had been lingering in the hall.

“He's got an acute migraine.” You told him, rushing up to your room to pull on a shawl. “I need to retrieve some things to help lessen his pain and the discomfort of his stomach. But, I'll also need hot water and a tea set.” You told him, pulling on your shawl and grabbed the sharp letter opener on top of your dresser, before running downstairs and out the front door, into the darkness.

You knew where the Bane's family graveyard was, you had to pass the narrow path that led to it on your way up the castle. The air was bitterly cold and windy, pushing off the ocean and mixing with the late autumn night. The spooky shadows of the trees that lined the path to the graveyard were frightening, but you were far too focused to allow yourself to become scared and paranoid about them. It took some doing, in the dark of the quarter moon, but you found one of the willow trees, near an overgrown, dark stone mausoleum, the names of Marianne and Colin Cavill carved on the sealed doors. You removed the sharp letter opener from the inside pocket of your robe and started cutting into the bark of the willow tree, collecting enough to fill one of your robe pockets, then started searching around it roots, running your fingers through the leafy tops of small plants, until you found the second thing you were looking for, mint. You knew you could find it here, it was how the village of Mintwillow had gotten its name, after all.

Pockets full with what you needed, you raced back up to the castle and into Henry's room. Damien had gotten everything you asked for together. You dumped your pockets out on the table beside them and started breaking up the bark into smaller bits with the mint and dumped them into the boiling water of the teapot.

“What is all of that?” Damien asked, looking over your shoulder.

“Willow's bark and mint.” You replied, stirring the concoction. “Do you have any honey?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him. “Willow's bark can be rather bitter, so the sweetness of the honey will help with that, as well as coat his throat, after all the throwing up.”

“Certainly.” He nodded, rushing back down to the kitchen for the honey pot.

“Thank you.” You smiled, pouring some of the tea into a cup, then adding a drizzle of honey into it.

“You can go, Damien.” Henry rasped, his voice now sore from throwing up and wrenching. “I'm sure she can care for me now.” He said, his eyes on you.

Damien looked between you both, then nodded his head, excusing himself. Satisfied with his tea, you carefully brought it to him.

“Sip it slowly.” You told him as he raised it to his lips, then chuckled. “It's not meant to taste good, just to help.”

“It better.” He huffed, taking another sip of it. “Or I'm going to be very angry.”

You smiled at him, unphased by his mood swings. “I've given this tea to many people over the years, and it's never failed me.” You assured him. “But, I should let you rest. Sleep is the third best thing for a migraine like this.” You told him, turning away.

Henry's hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stopping you in your tracks. “Stay.” He said softly, his tired and glassy eyes staring holes into you. “Just for a little while.” He whispered, so quietly, you weren't sure he had said anything.

“Perhaps, you could read to me? It helps me sleep.” He added, glancing at a book sitting on his nightstand.

You swallowed slowly, surprised by his request, as the heat of his hand wrapped around your wrist, pushed out the last of the cold that had settled into you, when you were outside. This was a side of him you hadn’t expected, and you weren’t sure how it made you feel; perhaps conflicted from when you experienced his normally callous mood. Licking your lips, you nodded your head at him and Henry felt relieved that you agreed to stay with him, it gave some deep part of him a great amount of comfort, so he slowly let your wrist go. You grabbed a chair from his table and brought it to the side of his bed, picking up his book and saw it was 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'.

Clearing your throat, you flipped the book open to its marker and started reading at the top of the page. Henry relaxed against his pillows, sipping the rest of the tea you had made him, before setting the empty cup aside and closed his eyes, focusing on the soft and easy rhythm of your voice as you read aloud to him.

Henry woke several long hours later, his head still throbbing, but not as badly as it had been for the last few days. He opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep from them, when he noticed you, book open in your lap, and sound asleep. You had also fallen asleep, while reading to him. Henry smirked and got out of bed, carefully setting the book in your lap aside, and gingerly lifted you into his arms, your head lulling gently against his shoulder as he carried you out of his room.

“Good mo-”

“Sshhh.” Henry shushed Damien, angrily, as he appeared on the stairs. “Don't wake her.” He growled, in an almost protective manner, then tenderly shushed you as you whimpered and shifted restlessly in his arms, hugging you closer to his chest.

“My apologies, sir.” Damien replied demurely, moving out of Henry's way and bowing his head, to hide the smirk on his face as Henry went by.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Henry carried you up to your own room, pushing the door open with his foot and delicately laid you down, your blankets still thrown back from when Damien woke you up to tend to him. He stood above you for a long moment, after covering you up, watching you snuggle and melt into the mattress and pillows, a faint and sweet smile on your lips. But, he quickly turned away as his heart started to pound and his chest hurt, like he'd been punched by a giant.

Leaving you to sleep in your room, Henry returned to his own and felt his head start to throb again.

You woke just before noon and found yourself back in your own bed, figuring Damien had brought you back to bed. Rising and stretching your stiff body from bending over Henry and sitting in a chair all night, you got out of bed and dressed, just as Damien came in, carrying a tray.

“Oh, you're awake!” He grinned, setting the tray on your table, lunch no doubt, since you had slept through breakfast.

“Yes.” You replied, stifling a yawn into your fist as you sat down at the table. “Thank you for bringing me back to my room.” You added, munching on a bit of your food.

“Oh, I didn't.” Damien replied, making your bed. “Henry did.” He explained, seeing your confused expression.

“Henry did?” You replied, slowly setting your teacup down.

“Yes, you fell asleep, while you tended to him and when he woke this morning, he found you sound asleep on a chair.” He explained, fluffing your pillows. “So, he carried you back up here, to bed.” He said it all, like it was the most normal and natural of things.

“Oh.” You gulped, picking your tea back up and taking a large gulp of it. “Is he any better?” You croaked, keeping your eyes on your food.

“He was quite well, until a few hours ago.” Damien frowned, collecting your dirty clothing. “Seems his headache has re-surged.”

“Oh no.” You cooed, frowning over at him, very concerned. “I should check on him at some point today.”

“It could do him some good.” He agreed with you.

After breakfast, you dressed and found Henry hunched over his desk in his study on the ground floor. Even standing out in the hall and peeking through the cracked open study door, you could see the pain Henry was clearly in. He rubbed at his temples at regular intervals as he frowned at the report in his hand, eyes narrowed at the black lettering. Frowning and pressing your lips together, you turned on your heels and went into the kitchen, where Damien had taken the herbs you used the night before to help Henry's migraine.

Finding and filling a kettle, you set it on the stove to boil, preparing the cup of mint and willow's bark, with a drizzle of honey and a splash of milk. Smiling, you set the steaming cup onto a small plate, carefully carrying it down the hall, and into Henry's study.

“What are you doing?” Henry asked, sounding annoyed, as he looked up from the report he had been staring at for nearly an hour.

“Damien said, your migraine returned.” You replied, carefully setting the cup down on a clean corner of his desk. “So, I brewed you another cup to help.” You told him, smiling at him sweetly.

Henry set down his neglected report and stared at the steaming cup of tea, the muscles of his jaw flexing as his mind roiled with a kaleidoscope of thoughts, before huffing and picking his report back up. “You can leave.” He hissed, not looking back at you, with a cold aura rolling off of him.

“Um..” You floundered, then let out a soft sigh and excused yourself from his study.

You made it halfway up the staircase to your room before a wave of tears hit you, no one had been so rude and cold to you as Henry was, and you had encountered some stubborn people in your practice. Taking a moment to get a hold of yourself, you continued upstairs to your room. But, it was an hour or two later that Damien appeared in your doorway with a note in his hand.

“This came from the village for you, Ms.” He said, holding it out to you.

“Thank you.” You replied, taking the note from him and breaking the seal. “Oh no.” You gasped, reading the note.

The note was in your father's own hand, but wrote about one of your patients who suffered from a chronic illness, telling you that he had turned for the worst and you needed to hasten down to the village before it was too late. In a flustered rush, you grabbed your cloak and the bag you kept your herbs in and rushed down to the front door, your heart pounding and mind racing, praying that you made it back to the village in time.

“Where are you going?” Henry's voice boomed, aided by the echo of the vast foyer.

“One of my patients in the village needs me.” You replied, startled and out of breath.

“No.” He snapped, shaking his head, rage burning in his blue eyes. “Absolutely not.”

“What!” You snapped, gobsmacked.

“You heard me.” Henry hissed at you, his body tense. “You aren't to leave this house, unless you have my say.” He told you, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “And you do not. So, go back to your room, this instant.”

You stared at Henry wide eyed, shocked and dumbfounded. How could he refuse to allow you to go down to the village to tend to one of your patients, one so critically ill. Surely, being someone that has lost loved ones to such a crippling illness would understand that need and haste of trying to cure someone with something so life altering. Who did he think he was? Your warden, keeping you in this dark and oppressing castle, cut off from those you loved, with only his hot and cold tempers and Damien the rest of your life.

“No.” You replied, your voice a mixture of stubborn defiance, shock and outlined in fear of what he would do with your disobedience. “He'll die.”

“Then, he can die and you'll have one less obligation.” Henry answered, his voice cold as ice. “Now, do as I told you.”

You gulped, watching him practically grow with his rage and impatience towards you, and your hand still resting on the handle of the front door, gripped it tighter. Henry saw the small action, like a wolf seeing the small twitch of a rabbit's body, readying itself to bolt from the reach of its mighty jaws. You had the door open by the time he took a step towards you and felt the brush of his fingers against the fabric of your cloak as you bolted out the door and into the bright light of the early afternoon sun.

Running several yards, and expecting Henry to catch you at any moment, you realized he wasn't and paused to look back towards the castle. You saw the outline of his tall frame standing just before the threshold of the doorway, unmoving to dash after you and drag you back inside. Henry just stood there, fuming with rage and shaking with something far more complex as he battled to go after you. But, after several long moments, he disappeared, the door slamming shut with an echo.

“Such a strange man.” You panted to yourself, before turning back down the path towards the village, wasting no more time to reach your patient.

“Sir?” Damien frowned, hearing the crash of the front door slamming closed from the other side of the house, and came running to make sure nothing nefarious had occurred.

“Damn that girl!” Henry roared, storming into his study.

“Has something happened to her?” Damien asked, alarmed for your welfare.

“Not yet.” Henry replied, angrily pacing the room. “She's left, after I explicitly told her not too.”

Damien's brow creased for a moment, then it dinged in his mind. “Her note, of course.” He nodded, smiling to himself.

“What note?” Henry growled, stopping his pacing to look at his servant.

“She received a note about twenty minutes ago, from her father.” He explained to his master. “One of her patients suffers from a chronic illness. Her mother cared for him before her death, and she's picked up the patients, in her wake.”

“You read the note?”

“I might have glanced at it.” He replied, smiling softly. “But, the rest of it, she told me herself.” He added, he had grown quite fond of you.

“Why didn't you tell me she received it?” Henry hissed, his lips pressed into an angry line.

“I didn't want to bother you.” Damien gulped, biting the corner of his own lip. “I know you've been very busy lately. Especially after one of the ships go-”

“I want any correspondents she gets, I don't care who they come from!” Henry barked at him. “I'll determine whether or not she'll receive them or not. Do you understand?”

“Of course, sir.” Damien nodded, nervously licking his lips.

“Clear this away.” Henry huffed, waving a hand at the tea cup still on his desk as he sat back down.

“Right away, sir.” He rushed over and picked the empty cup up.

“Close the door.” Henry called as Damien started to leave.

Nodding his head, Damien closed the door behind him and took the cup into the kitchen to be washed. With the door closed, Henry leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips to his temples. His migraine had gone away after drinking the last cup of tea you had made him, but now it started to come back, his anger with you disobeying him and leaving the house, and him not going after you, to bring you back.

“Why didn't I bring her back?” He growled at himself, pressing his fingers harder into his temples. “Why couldn't I go after her?” He panted, squeezing his eyes shut against the throbbing pain in his skull.

You sighed as you stepped out of a hut in the village, exhausted from the run to the village and the struggle to help your patient. A warm hand rested on your shoulder and you didn't need to see who it was, before you turned into the warm body it belonged to, enveloped by iron hardened arms that clasped you to an even warmer chest.

“You did your best, little lamb.” Your father's rough voice whispered into your ear, his hot breath warming the cove of your cold nipped ear. “You did your best.”

“Ma would have done better.” You mumbled into his tunic.

He smiled into your hair and brushed it out of your face, before cupping your cheeks in his calloused hands. “Your mother would have done all the same things, little lamb. She taught you well.” He assured you, before gently kissing your forehead. “I should walk back with you, it's getting too dark for you to walk alone.” He said, letting you go.

“I don't want to go back, papa.” You frowned, not willing to let him go. “Please, don't make me go back to him.” You begged, looking up into his eyes. “He's so cold and mean to me.”

“Has he tried to wrong you?” Your father frowned, a flash of anger in his eyes.

“No. Thankfully. But, all I do is sit in my room and read or stare out the window. The only person I have to talk to, other than myself, is his servant, Damien, who is a very sweet and attentive person, it's just..” You paused, your chin dropping to your chest as tears started to overwhelm you.

“It's lonely.” You sniffled.

“I know how you feel, my sweet.” He sighed, huddling you back up into his arms. “It's lonely for me as well. But, things will get better, he'll warm up to you, once you work your sweet charm on him.” He chuckled. “I've seen you melt the icy heart of so many, I doubt Mr. Cavill will be immune to it.”

“I don't know, Papa.” You sighed, fruitlessly dabbing at your tears. “He's not like anyone I have ever met before.”

Your father's roar of laughter echoed in the growing misty darkness. “The man is the richest in the county and among the elitist rich in the country, lamb. He's got airs and graces, self entitlement, ego and everything at his fingertips. He's spent his life with people at his beck and call, doing his bidding and obeying him.” He chuckled. “You've never dealt with a rich person before. But, you'll adapt, you are so much like your mother in that aspect. You are strong, independent, intelligent and like a red hot piece of steel coming out of the forge, capable of shaping and molding yourself to fit into any situation.”

“You just need to show him that.”

“So, you think I should go back to him and his dreary castle?” You frowned up at him, your stomach in knots.

“I do, lamb.” He nodded, but you could see he had knots in his own stomach. “If he ever does anything vile against you or your person, you come home, and he'll feel the strength of my hammer.” He told you, showing where you had inherited your stubbornness.

“All right, Papa.” You sighed, but straightened your stiff back. “I'll go back, for you.”

“Then, let's be off!” He said, taking your bag for you and accompanied you back through the village and up the road leading back to Cavill and his Castle of loneliness. “I'll write to you more regularly.” Your father said, as you both reached the turn on the road leading up to the house. “So, it will seem like I am with you more.” He promised, his voice slightly weak.

“I would love nothing more.” You replied, your own voice weak with tears and emotions, as you reached out and squeezed his hands.

Taking leave of your father, you made the solitary and anxious walk up to the castle, trying not to let the shadows from the trees and sudden animal noises spook you, keeping your eyes forward. Once you reached the front door you thought of knocking or ringing the bell, but knew if you did it would wake Henry and you weren't in the mood and didn't possess the strength for his cold wrath. So, you tried the handle and found it open, which in actuality, didn't surprise you. No one in their right or ill mind would try to rob the Bane, no matter how rich he might be.

You quietly closed the door behind you, before taking off your shoes, not wanting to make the old floorboards creak under their soles. Gingerly tiptoeing by Henry's study door, it was closed, but you weren't willing to risk him being inside and hearing you, before mounting the stairs, pausing with each small noise you or the house made. Only letting out a soft sigh of relief, you weren't aware you were holding, when you reached your floor, no one but you occupied the floor, with the Bane on another floor and Damien sleeping somewhere below stairs no doubt.

But, you lifted a brow at the stream of light coming from under your room door, but brushed it off.

“Maybe Damien made up my fireplace to keep my room warm, while I was away.” You said to yourself, it was something sweet and thoughtful Damien would do. “Has to be, what else would it be?” You sighed at your silly paranoia and went inside.

“So, you came back.”

You yelped, dropping your shoes and bag to the floor with a clatter, pressing your back to the now closed door and your hands to your pounding chest. “What are you doing in here?” You demanded, out of breath from your fright.

“Waiting for you.” Henry replied, leaning forward in the chair by the window, that you usually occupied to read during the days.

“In my room?” You asked, lifting your brows at him and trying to collect yourself, not wanting to give the beast the satisfaction of seeing you off-guard.

“It's only your room, because I allow it to be.”

“How kind of you.” You hissed, finally recovering yourself and relaxed. “I didn't think you were capable of it.”

An oddly sinister smirk tugged up one side of Henry's mouth. “I am capable of a good many things.” He replied, licking his lips and resting his elbows on his knees. “How was your little patient, anyway.” He asked, lifting a brow at you. “Did you cure him with your cute little leaves?”

“Don't mock me!” You snapped, hands tightening into fists.

“I'll take that as a no, then.” He smirked more at you, apparently pleased with himself.

You drew in a shaky breath and let it out, trembling with a built up amount of emotions, before suddenly snapping towards him, in a fit of rage. “You fucking bastard!” You growled, jaw clenched and hands raised.

Henry snapped to his feet, like a flash of lightning, grasping your raised wrists in his hands, instantly restraining you and pushed you up against the wall beside the window he had been sitting next to. “That is fowl language from such a sweet mouth.” He growled, looking into your angry eyes.

“Did your patient break your little heart?” He mocked you, venomously.

He didn't believe for a moment that you had actually gone down to the village for a real patient, that your father had only sent the note as a cryptic message for something entirely different. Like a lover or beloved, trying to plot something to get you away from him.

“What are you talking about!” You yelled, struggling against him, confused and frightened.

“Do you think I'm a fool!?” Henry bellowed back at you, painfully pinning your hands to the wall at either side of your head. “I know that note was a fucking lie! A feign to get away from here, probably to see some peasant lover.”

“What do you care?!” You huffed, even more confused and shocked at him and his outburst. “You'd pawn me off to anything that gave you the chance to do so! You didn't want me here to start with, I know that, the whole village, if not the county, knows that.” You taunted him, hotly.

“Yet, here you are acting like your my scorned lover!”

“Because you are mine.” Henry growled in a low tone. “My possession to do with as I please.”

“Ha!” You laughed in his face. “I am no such thing.” You huffed, shaking your head at him. “I don't belong to you. My only misfortune is being held prisoner here, with a monster as a jailer.”

You yelped as one of Henry's hands gripped your jaw in a vice-like grip, forcing your head back to look up at him. “You belong to me.” He hissed, his face so close to yours now that your noses brushed and his hot breath wafted over your face. “I paid for you. All that money your dear father owes me; for the goods he uses to sustain his profession, for the taxes on the land his forge and house rest on, and so much more.”

“He sold you to me, to have those debts paid for and cleared away.”

The dull nails of his fingers pressed into the smooth skin of your cheeks and you whimpered, pathetically, immobilized by one of his hands pinning your wrists above you, his other hand gripping your head, like a bear trap, and his body caging you in, preventing even the smallest of movements of your body.

Your rage was forgotten in that instance, seeing the true Bane, and fear paralyzed you.

“So, yes.” He grinned at you in a way that made your heart stop. “I am your jailer, and you are my prisoner, and if you ever leave this house again, you will feel my wrath. Do I make myself clear to you?”

“Yes.” You gulped in a breathy whimper, unable to move your head to nod.

“Very good.” Henry replied, tipping his head slightly to the side. “Now, that's settled.” He looked to the clock, then back at you. “It's almost two in the morning.” He moved to stand sideways, but still stood close to you.

“Go to bed.” He ordered you, his tone leaving no room to argue.

Licking your dry lips, you slowly moved away from him, to the edge of your bed and pulled down the blankets, while he approached the door. You gulped, your throat sore from where the heel of his palm had pressed as he held you. “My patient,” You dared to say, as he opened the door. “died.” You informed him, your face hardening against the hurt of losing a patient and the fear that gripped you as Henry turned around.

Henry regarded you with a tired, cold and indifferent face, but his blue eyes gave away to something deeper you couldn't place your finger on. “You no longer have any patients, real or otherwise. So, you should put your mind to other things.” He told you in an emotionless voice, then left.

“Other than you, you mean.” You said to the closed door of your bedroom.

You stood by the side of your bed for a long time, paranoid that Henry was just standing in the hallway listening in on you, which he did for several minutes, before going to his own room, before your turned and went into the bathroom, desperately needing to soak in a hot bath. You needed that delectable heat and steaming water to melt away every ounce of stress, fear and exhaustion that you had coursing through your sore body, and it did just that. You didn't get out of the tub until the water turned as cold as Henry was towards you and it was almost four in the morning. Then, and only then, did you put on a nightie and crawl into bed, using the dying light of the fire in the grate to read your current book and fell asleep as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon and tree tops.

“Good morning, Ms.!” Damien's chipper voice rang out as he entered your room with breakfast.

You groaned and tossed the blankets over your head, you had only gotten four hours of sleep and weren't in the mood for how happy-go-lucky Damien sounded, especially after what had happened with Henry during the night.

“Oh, come on!” He teased you, setting the silver tray of food down on the table. “It is a beautiful day, the sun is shining, the wind is hardly blowing and the birds are singing!” He said, trying to infuse his energetic mood into you, coaxing you up and out of bed, as he threw the curtains open and opened the windows, letting in the fresh sea air.

“Not today, Damien.” You sighed, turning your face into the plush pillow with a groan.

“Didn't sleep so well?” He asked, tilting his head at you, as he stood at the foot of your bed.

“You can say that.” Your mumbled reply answered, staring at the thin seam of light at the edge of your blanket.

“All right, then why don't you stay in bed, until you feel ready to get up and meet the day.” He suggested to you, though the concern was evident in his voice.

“Thank you, Damien.” You replied, closing out that thin line of light, plunging yourself in the darkness you felt yourself being swallowed into.

Lingering for a moment longer, Damien quietly showed himself out of your room, silently closing your door after him. You laid in bed for a long time after he left, not moving and barely moving, before letting out a deep sigh and tossed the blankets off of your body with a huff.

“Damn that man.” You growled, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Damn him to hell!” You shouted, your anger and despair culminating inside of you.

You didn't care if he could hear you, let him hear you and rot for it. You had done him no wrong, you had done nothing to him, other than the misfortune of your father giving you to him to pay a lifelong debt, before you were even born and your father owed his father, before his death.

“Why couldn't all of you died in this miserable house, that's never been a home.” You growled, beating your fists against the feather mattress. “Do this already dismal world a spot brighter for the rest of us.” You raged, jerking your body to sit up and threw your pillow against the door.

You sighed and rubbed at your face, trying to calm yourself, not wanting the Bane to reduce you to this mood and attitude, it was one thing for him to act like it and another for you to do it. Your parents raised you better and would be disappointed in your tantrum. Straightening your back and taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, you got out of bed, pulling on your robe and tied it around your waist, before moving over the breakfast Damien had made for you, it was almost cold now, but you didn't mind; your stomach was rumbling like an angry tiger.

Finishing your breakfast, you glanced around your room and sighed, there was nothing to do. But, read, that was.

Getting up, you went into the attached library, since you had finished your last book, The Iliad by Homer. You froze half way into the room, there was a package sitting on the table that hadn't been there the day before. You glanced at the door that led out of the library and into the hallway, it was closed, but the cobwebs that usually covered it, were broken and disturbed.

“Damien.” You sighed, shaking your head, figuring the man was just trying to cheer you up.

Picking the wrapped package up, you touched the delicate, fancy, black and gold wrapping paper, feeling the heft of what was inside and wondered what in the world he had gotten you. It felt like a book, from what you could feel through the paper, and you didn't want to ruin such nice, and clearly expensive, paper. So, you carefully unwrapped it and setting the paper down on the table, it was indeed a book, a hardcover of deep brown leather and gold stamping decoration on both covers and the spine.

Turning it over, you blinked at the cover.

“The Count of Monte Cristo, by Alexandre Dumas.” You read off the front cover, before opening it, a folded piece of paper with your name scrawled on it slipped out and fell to the floor, making you bend down to pick it up.

Setting the book down, you unfolded the note, then frowned and shook your head at it, it was written on Cavill Industries stationary. But, the words surprised and shocked you even more.

My actions last night were unspeakable, I do not wish to keep you a prisoner in a place that has become my own penitentiary, nor make you feel fear, while you stay within these walls.

I have my reasons, that are not your fault and beyond your understanding. Take my apology with this gift, I have read it myself, and would love to know what you think of it.

Perhaps over dinner, one night.

If you would be so nicely inclined to have it, with me. - Henry

Your mouth was agape by the time you finished reading his note, having to read it twice over to ensure you weren't misreading it. You were so taken aback and dumbstruck by it, how could this be the same man that had pinned you, bodily, to a wall the night before, telling you of the wrath you would endure if you considered leaving the castle without his permission.

Was it some sick and amusing joke of his?

Was he trying to lull you into some sort of false confidence?

Was he trying to brainwash you into falling into being his good little pet?

Or was Henry being genuine and trying to make amends for his inexcusable and ungentlemanly behavior towards you?

It was all too confusing and made your head throb.

So, you set the note down on the table and picked up the book, rubbing your palm over the orate cover, before moving over to the window seat, settling on its plush cushion, the filtered gray light coming from the cloudy sky came through the windowpane, illuminated the pages just enough for you to read by, and you quickly got lost in the world that inked its pages.

249 notes · View notes

hitoshisbabygirl · 3 years

Text

Authors Notes ♡: WHEW I LOVED THIS I had a time trying to come up with an idea and then it hit me : a princess being saved by fantasy au! Dabi. I’m still nervous with my smuts but heh I enjoyed this a whole bunch to write . Dabi is my favorite villain and I just love him so much, I tried to make him a soft inside and hard outside man in this , I Had fun for our free for all collab and I hope I help give it just a fun twist to fantasy and Halloween spirit ~ I hope you enjoy reading this and much as I did writing it ~ bunny ❥

Warnings :UH NSFW! Demon dabi has two dick (and their thick) , pet names, unprotected sex , a tad bit of a size kink? , a bit fluffy at the end but I think that’s it!

Word count : about 2k give or take!

Paring(s) :Dabi x F! Reader

Even with this being NSFW I had to make it a soft fluffy ending I’m sorry ♡

———————————————————————

Enchanted flames

Dabi

“If you have found this letter the Princess of Yuei needs your help. Meet me in the Enchanted Woods tomorrow night. Ill escape with you if you can save me from the proposed wedding - Princess [ ]”

With a sigh [. ] dropped the letter out of her window hoping someone, anyone , could save her from the doom that awaited her from an arranged marriage that had been planned from her kingdom to be to the neighboring ones prince, a smaller and very...purple hot headed boy by the name of Mineta who was unsavory for a lack of words. Sighing as she watched the paper fall she secretly wished her type of prince would come save her from this hell she expected.

As the night approached she slipped past her guards, telling them she was going out for air in her garden. The two towering men who looked down at her agreed, moving at the way to let the young woman past them and out into the halls, her dress dragging behind her as she headed out the giant doors to her garden. Taking in a breath she climbed over the perfectly managed hedges andddd off into the forest adjacent to the castle, roaming through the woods to her chosen spot to hopefully meet someone who could save her.

“Hello there little sheep, you called for help, correct?” A low, raspy voice called out as [ ] turned around , looking into the dark abyss in front of her. “ Hello? Helloooo? Who's there?” the girl called out as she heard something heavy land behind her. Turning to her right she saw bright blue eyes look back at her from the shadows. Before she could react a rather warm hand covered her mouth as the person or thing dragged her throughout the woods , the two of them slipping into the night. As soon as [ ] woke up her eyes adjusted to a dark but brightly lit and beautiful chasm, cyan and turquoise crystals of all types surrounded the room as she felt intense heat from everywhere around her. Standing up on shaky legs she felt eyes on her from behind. Letting out a deep breath she turned only to run into a barely covered chest.

Looking up from the revealed purple and pale skin , she saw those same blue eyes , lit with curiosity. “Ah you're awake..welcome little sheep to my...well..living quarters” The mystery man spoke as [ ] blinked at him, a grin spreading over his face as he continued to speak “Well i guess the princess doesnt know she isn't in her little castle anymore. Haven't those guards of yours realized they can't leave royalty alone or guys like me come along and take them out of their cute little homes” He said as [ ] gave him a suspicious look , her own thoughts taking over her face as a sense of calm rested over her features “Ohhh so you're the one who found my note..” She said as he gave her an unreadable look , soon walking away to leave the girl in her own world. “I guess he did” she thought to herself as she heard the male come back, a pile of things in his hands. “Here; a change of clothes and something to eat. I tried to be gentle taking you out of those dreaded castle grounds and through the woods but your dress isnt the smallest thing in the world” he said as [ ] let out a giggle , picking up the dark shirt and skirt he had given her along with the meal : some type of rice and meat with soup. Before she could ask the man answered “No i didnt steal it, i told you this is my home , its only natural id have something in this god forsaken place to eat.” He said as he pointed down the cave. “Theres a waterfall ahead if youd like to freshen up there.” And with that [ ] walked down the empty carved walls, finding the waterfall he was talking about.

Once she was finished getting cleaned and dressed she headed back the way she went, seeing the male now cloaked in a dark cape , fiddling with a pile of wood before setting it ablaze with a bright blue flame. “Ah i see you're finished , ILl be heading out , i'm gonna find us some more wood so you don't get cold. Theres a pot over there where you can reheat your food and get more if you like.” As he finished he proceeded to get up and head down another pathway, presumingly to the opening of the chasm “Wait!” [ ] called out as he stopped, turning to the girl with a questioning look back at her. “Yes princess?” he responded to her as she felt a unnatural wave of heat spreading to her face from simply calling her by her actual title. “What can I call you? And how long will you be gone?” She questioned. “Aw are you worried about me?” He cooed as she puffed out her cheeks “I was just curious” She lashed back as the male in front of her laughed , giving her a crooked smile. “ The names Dabi, and i won't be gone too long, an hour or so” Dabi said, giving her a smile as he started to leave again.

“Oh yeah , and there's a spare jacket in the back if you get too cold or that fire goes out.” and with that he left [ ] by herself as she finished up the dinner he had made which was exceptionally good, even better than what she tended to have at the castle. While she waited around for dabi to come back , [ ] looked at her royal dress, the red and pinks making her want to revolt as she pushed the fluffy tooled pile up into a blanket of sorts, covering her legs as she sat there thinking about her predicament “I really ran away...but what else can you do when youre gonna be married off to someone years older than you for land and alliance” she thought with a sigh as footsteps came from behind her , Dabi pulling his hood from his head as he smiled to himself at the girl in front of him “Im back princess” He declared as she turned to him, giving him a small smile as she stood up, dusting off her dress , coming up to Dabi “So...whatcha find?” She started as he pulled the bag from behind him , dumping out different goodies for the two of them. An array of food, wood and fresh buckets for water collections. “Here, this is for you too” Dabi said as he passed her a well woven balck dress, better than the two piece he had first given her. Taking in a deep breath he spoke up “I didn't want you to struggle with rags , so i got you something a little more comfortable and well...suitable for a run away princess” and with that she looked up to him and giggled which was heaven to his ears. ‘Why thank you Dabi..i'm flattered” [ ] said as she took the black dress , running to a hidden corner to change as Dabi smirked “Oh boy..what have i signed myself up for”

Weeks later and multiple posters for the lost princess later, [ ] had a rhythm living with Dabi. They cooked together and he left out to get things from shops ans out in the woods. Word spread that the princess had been stolen and the ugly grape himself had put a reward out for her safe return. Unknown to everyone she was quite content with the dark demon mage Dabi and his home in the woods. He explained the chasm as his work space, a place he could hone in on working with his flames and different elixirs that people needed. He was a half breed of human and demon, his father ridding of him to hide his affair with an otherworldly being, to keep the peace of his people and the overworld people as well. He really wasn’t a bad man, just someone who stayed in the shadows and kept to himself. And [. ] ‘s heart went out to him, as his did out to hers as she explained her own situation. ”Well damn sweetheart at least i saved you hm?” Dabi said as the two of them laughed together about their lives and what they'd like to change.

As the night drew on and they had their fair share of drinks and food that night “Thank you Dabi..for everything” [ ] said randomly as they relaxed by the fire he had started , [ ] wrapped into the oversized fur Dabi made her as the male laid against a log watching the tired girl mumble to him. She gave him a sleepy smile once he put his warmed hand on her face. “You're cute yknow...i'm not gonna let anyone get to you okay?” He said as she shook her head, moving herself closer to him , laying her head on his lap as he rubbed her head until she fell asleep, him soon realizing he was in love with the rogue princess in his lap.

As the next month rolled around , the princess and her demon mage had started a loving relationship, the two of them growing fonder and fonder of eachother. [ ] noticed that Dabi had tried avoiding being around her when she was fresh from the shower or even roaming too close behind her, he even took more time to come home with more ingredients or even sleep opposite to her. She didn't understand the switch from wanting to hold and hug her to avoiding her all day. One day she was able to catch and trap him with her. “Yes princess…?” Dabi ased as [ ] crossed her arms around her chest , the simple movement making him turn from her. “Did I..do something…?” She asked, her eyes bouncing between his as the turquoise she learned to love ignited with heat.

”Oh no doll...you haven't done a thing but make me want you even more..”

And with that comment her eyes widened. “What..?” She questioned. And with that Dabi picked the smaller girl up, pinning her to a crystal wall as she gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck.”Dabi…….?” [ ] called out as he started to kiss her neck ,running his rougher hands up the soft flesh of her thighs. “I think i'm in love with you doll..youve been invading my head or a while and all i can think about is making your cute little body want me the burning way i want you...I wanna make you cry out for me all night long...make you mines forever.....is that okay?” He whispered in her ear. With a shudder she agreed , letting him kiss the swells of her brest as he gave her a lopsided smile, picking her up and taking her to a pile of pelts and wool they made into a bedroom to rest in. Placing her down lightly he towered her , taking off his vest to reveal his toned and scarred body “Youre quite a beauty yknow...im glad you trust me…” He said with a smile as [ ] herself smashed her lips against his, cutting off his mushy talk. With a groan he pushed her dress up , letting her breast bounce out from the top. Pulling away from the kiss she helped him take off the dress over her head. With a shy smile [ ] covered ehrslf and laid back, spreading her legs lightly to expose her glistening lips to him

“Well damn, i havent even toughed you yet and youre this wet..what a little slut you are”

He growled out as he leaned back over to give her a kiss , pulling her lower lip as he licke dhis was down between her legs, giving her clit a hard suck as she whinned , closing her legs over his head as he slurped away at her pussy, making sure to watch her through hooded eyes, a tail whipping from behind him as a pair of horns appeared from atop his head, one mangled and cracked the other long and curled “Surprise” Dabi called out as his voice dropped octaves, it coming out as a low rumble as [ ] felt her walls clench at the sound , a chuckle coming from him. Going back to slurping and sucking on her labia and clit , Dabi watch with glee as the gilr under him started to shake, her hips rolling back to his mouth as he bit lightly down on her lips and pulled away from her , laughing at her pleas and whimpers “Turn sound baby and let me show you how much i love you” Dabi said , watching as [ ] rolled over arching her hips back as he smacked her ass, loving the moan she let out. Pulling down his pants he pulled his throbbing member out, rubbing it hard against her clit as she felt her heart jumped at the feeling of how thick he was. All of a sudden she felt hands pull her cheeks apart as a finger rub around the tight rings of her ass. With a gasp she looked back to see not one but two swinging dicks between the burning up male, a feral look in his eyes as he let a low rumble come from his chest “ Sorry babygirl..when I change there's more than just one of me to deal with, i promise i'll be gentle” He said as he rubbed her tight muscles just loose enough to put in the tip, her lower lips drooling as he slid his true size into her throbbing walls, moans and grunts tearing through the chasm as he pulled his hips back , starting to set a rhythm to his hips. While he picked up the pace, [ ] felt herself being full as the two dicks of his stuffed her. She could help the feeling of her walls getting tighter as she came once then twice and not once did Dabi stop, he laughed as he gave her more and more , pushing himself deeper in her as he let out what sounded like a howl of pain as he doubled in pace, reaching down to rub her clit as she screamed, soon feeling a hot and warm gooey feeling flood her senses. Dabi slowed his hips down as he pulled himself from her ass first, then from her pussy and cum started to leak from her holes.

“Shit...im sorry princess I didnt mean to go so rough…” Dabi breathed out as [ ] turned around giving him hr own lopsided smile as she saw him transform backto himself, those turquoise eyes softening as he saw the woman he had fallen for spent out from his own actions. “Geez when you said you were a demon i didnt think it was true…” She laughed as he scratched th back of his neck “Ive never transformed like this around someone….especially during sex but that means I trust you a lot….well doll..let me clean you up and then...we can go fro round two hm?” He smirked as he watched her pussy clench and relase more cum once he said that. “Mhm...clean me Dabi then we can have some more fun..”

#my hero academia #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha x reader #the circus dome collab #dabi x reader lemon #dabi x reader #dabi smut

398 notes · View notes

mochegato · 3 years

Text

Hope on Board

Chapter 25 – Out of Time

Chapter 1 Chapter 24

Dick woke up to a far too early knocking, more like pounding, on his door. He and Jim Gordon had been up half the night talking about the corruption in the police force and whether Dick should join, before deciding he could make a difference if he did. He would be able to help Jim slowly weed out the corruption if he was working with him from the inside. They’d even filled out all his applications for the Police Academy, starting in a month. He would have to be away from Marinette and the twins during the day, but he would be able to come home to them every night. If she let him. And she would know where he was.

But all that talk meant he had only gotten a few hours of sleep last night and he was dead tired this morning. He really just wanted to go back to sleep, but the pounding on the door continued unabated. He groaned and made his way to the door. “Answer your damn phone, asshole,” Jason growled at him, pushing past him to look around the room. “We’re fucking thrilled if you and Pixie got back together, but let us know you both aren’t dead.”

Dick shook his head and scrunched his face in confusion. “That we’re what? I haven’t gotten to talk with Marinette yet. I’m hoping that’s how it will go, but I think that’s probably overly optimistic.”

Jason’s expression turned in an instant from annoyed to scared. It was not a look he was used to seeing on Jason’s face. Jason never got scared, or if he did, he never showed it. “Pixie is here, right?” he asked again, enunciating each word clearly. “She’s with you.”

“No… I just woke up. I was talking with Commissioner Gordon all night. Why would you think she was with me?” Dick shook his head again, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Had Marinette planned on meeting him here? Maybe she came back and fell asleep. He ran to her bedroom to check, but the room was exactly as it had been for the past few weeks. No sign of Marinette. He returned to the living room and shook his head.

“Shit!” Jason looked around desperately.

“Tell me what is going on right now. Why did you think Marinette was with me?” Dick asked carefully. His breathing became strained. This isn’t the way this was supposed to go. He had saved her. He had stopped the Court of Owls. He stopped their plot. She was safe.

Jason pulled out his phone and called Tim, talking as he did, without bothering to acknowledge Tim when he answered and putting him on speaker as soon as he did. “She’s missed all her appointments today. Adrien said she said she was going to talk with you today. She isn’t in Adrien’s apartment or Wayne Enterprises. Her phone is in her studio, but she isn’t,” Jason answered slowly, eyes darting around as if calculating something. “We figured she must be here.”

“We didn’t set the time yet. I haven’t heard from her. When was the last time someone saw her?” Dick asked frantically, running to his bedroom to start getting dressed.

“I’m going to start going through security footage around Adrien’s apartment and her studio,” Tim reported.

Jason’s phone started flashing with another call. “Patching Adrien into the call too,” he informed them and pushed a few buttons to enable it. “Adrien, tell me you have something.”

Adrien’s voice hesitated for a moment. Dick and Jason shared an apprehensive look. “I have something, but it’s bad… Someone told me you’d know how to get in contact with Batman?”

Jason froze and looked up at Dick with a panicked expression. There was no way that was good. “I think we might have a way to contact Batman, why?”

“I know where she is, but we’re going to need Batman and his team to get her back.” There was barely a quiver to Adrien’s voice as he spoke, but years of training made it come across as clear as glass to the others on the call.

“Where is she?” Dick yelled into the phone.

“Dick? They don’t have you? That’s good… I guess. It means they only wanted her… Actually, no, wait, maybe that’s worse,” Adrien prattled.

“Who is they?” Dick demanded.

“Some people with owl masks.” There was a hedge in his voice as though he didn’t think they would believe him.

Dick stopped breathing. The Court had taken Marinette. No, no, no, no. He had stopped them. He had made sure Marinette was safe. He had protected her from them. That’s what the past few months of hell had all been about.

“You can get ahold of Batman, right?” Adrien asked again, in a more strained voice. “I know someone who’d like to talk to him.”

Jason furrowed his brow and looked to Dick to see if he had any ideas. “Who?”

“Chat Noir.”

Jason looked at Dick communicating their intentions and agreement through minute body quirks and purposeful looks. “We can get ahold of someone. We will make sure someone is on the top of the Wayne Enterprises building in half an hour. Is that enough time for him?”

“He’ll be there,” Adrien confirmed confidently.

Jason cut Adrien’s connection and glared at the floor in thought. “Why would they want Marinette?”

“The plot you stopped was all about the power grid, wasn’t it?” Tim interjected. “Trying to run up prices for some of their members who owned supply and power companies?”

“Yeah…” Dick answered uncertainly.

“Then there was no reason for them to be at the Stone concert, right? Those execs were from Netflix, no way associated with this,” Tim elaborated.

Dick drew in a deep breath and cursed. “They were there watching Marinette. They were planning this all along. They wanted Marinette from the beginning. Why?”

“Everyone go get suited up. Get there as soon as possible. I’ll text the others,” Jason stated, moving quickly toward the door so he could get to his apartment.

<><><><><>

Batman, Red Robin, Signal, and Red Hood made it to the rooftop with time to spare, since they were already close to their costumes. Nightwing, Black Bat, Spoiler, and Robin had further to go to get to their costumes and had to trickle into the meeting, but they kept track of the conversation through the coms until they could be there in person.

“Chat Noir.” Batman stepped forward and nodded.

“Batman. Bats and Birds.” Chat Noir nodded to Batman and the rest of the bats. “I was thinking there would be more.”

“They’re on their way but listening in,” Batman assured him briskly. “Let’s start with how do you know where she is?”

Chat looked over to the edge of the building at the sound of two sets of boots landing, he continued to speak as he silently acknowledged Nightwing and Robin. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on Marinette since the pharmacy incident. You might say I’ve had a catbug on her… with her permission of course. She sent the scout to find me when she thought they were in her final location. They didn’t seem interested in immediately harming her or the scout would have stayed. We have time, I just don’t know how much.”

“Do you know how she was taken?” Batman asked.

Chat nodded, annoyance settling in his expression as he did. “A couple men dressed as cops approached her at her studio and said something happened to Dick, her boyfriend… kind of… it’s complicated. She went with them. By the time she figured out they were not headed to the hospital, there was a knife digging into her bump.”

“Any ideas on why they took Pi… her?” Red Hood broke in.

“They said something about a Grayson, so I have to imagine it’s to get at Dick Grayson, the babies’ father, for some reason or to get her twins perhaps for ransom. I don’t suppose you have any ideas why they would want to get back at Dick, would you? Is he a member? Did he double cross them?” Chat mused.

“What?” Nightwing exclaimed. “No!”

“Well…” Spoiler hedged as she and Black Bat landed.

“Dick Grayson didn’t do anything to them,” Nightwing gritted out.

Chat Noir studied Nightwing carefully then suddenly whipped his head over to Red Hood, running his eyes over him in a calculated manner and moving quickly to do the same to Red Robin. “Fuck. That’s why he said you guys would know how to get in contact with Batman. That’s why you’ve been disappearing.” He stuck an accusatory finger in Nightwing’s direction. “Why the fuck didn’t you just tell her that, you fucking dumbass!”

“See! Even the catman agrees.” Red Hood exclaimed.

“She wasn’t supposed to get stressed and I didn’t want her knowing I was putting my life in danger every night, constantly,” Nightwing attempted to defend himself, but even to himself, his voice sounded unsure.

“She put up with me for years. She is perhaps the world’s foremost expert in dealing with idiots who constantly put their lives in danger,” Chat exclaimed exasperated. He had to have known that. Marinette had talked to him about how frustrated she had gotten with Chat. Hell, he was there for some of those conversations with Dick, while she glared at Chat the whole time.

“You think memories of that didn’t add stress?” Nightwing exploded, stalking slowly toward Chat as he spoke. “She still has nightmares about it. And pregnancy hormones make nightmares even more realistic. You weren’t there almost every night when she woke up crying because she saw you sacrificing yourself in new ways or when she dreamt it was me instead of you. And the last one she had before our fight… She sobbed almost nonstop for almost an hour. I was terrified for her.”

“And you weren’t there when she was sobbing because you said you loved her then ran away like she didn’t matter,” Adrien returned just as angrily, standing his ground against Nightwing. “Or when she broke down because she couldn’t trust you anymore. Because you spent months lying to her. Not because you had a secret. Secrets she understands, intimately. Because she trusted you and you lied and without an explanation, she had to assume you lied about everything.”

“I was protecting her from the Court of Owls,” Dick yelled.

“So that’s what the cult is called? Bang up job, there.” Chat growled back. He moved away to collect his thoughts and deescalate the situation. Fighting now wouldn’t help Marinette. They needed to work together to rescue her. Finally, he sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead like he was trying to ward off a migraine. “She owes me a hundred euros for this. So, what’s these guys’ deal? Do they know who you are or are they asking for ransom?”

“We don’t think they know who he is, but ransom isn’t really their deal either,” Red Robin answered.

“Why would they want her otherwise?” Signal asked.

Chat opened his mouth a few times before cocking his head to the side and furrowing his brow and grimacing as if trying to figure out how to say what he was thinking. “Could they know about… her association with the Paris heroes?”

“What exactly is her association with them?” Batman asked

Chat opened his mouth and closed it quickly. “That sounds like a question for Marinette.”

“Well she isn’t fucking here is she?” Red Hood pointed out curtly.

“Close. Very close,” he answered carefully.

“Clearly,” Spoiler huffed motioning to Chat.

“Closer than that.” He grimaced. He was definitely skirting the line of flat out telling her secrets, but if it saved her babies, he was sure she would be okay with it. He just wasn’t sure yet if it actually related at all. “But I don’t know how they could have found out. She hasn’t been around any costumed heroes in years.”

“And they said this was about Grayson,” Robin pointed out. “It is far more likely they know Grayson’s identity and this is punishment for stopping them.”

“If they’ve been tracking her since the concert, maybe earlier, it isn’t just about ruining their plans,” Red Robin clarified.

“They were doing what?” Chat’s head whipped around to look at him.

“I saw a talon at the Stone concert. That’s why I disappeared. I was investigating,” Nighwing explained distractedly. “We can figure out the reason later. Let’s focus on freeing her, making sure she’s okay. You said you know where she is. She’s probably terrified, and she doesn’t need more nightmares.”

“Yeah, she’s being held under here,” he pushed a few buttons on his baton and sent the location to the Bats.

“How did you do that?” Signal asked with amazement in his voice.

“Magic,” Chat answered, flaring out his fingers.

“So what’s the plan?” Stephanie asked.

“Oracle do you have the building layout?” Batman asked into the coms.

“I’m having trouble getting in. It looks like they have several layers of security and self-contained power. It might take me a bit,” Oracle responded.

“We wait to see if we can get insight into the building then create the plan. Our tech person is having difficulty getting in,” Batman stated so Chat could hear.

Chat nodded and teetered back and forth from his toes to his heels, anxiety ramping up in the silence. “So, any tips or tricks I should know before fighting these guys, if that’s what’s happening?”

“The guys with glowing yellow eyes are highly trained. The rest will try to kill you, but they’re like drunken toddlers, it’s the yellow eyed bastards you have to watch out for,” Red Hood answered as he leaned against the half-wall running along the edge of the building.

“They’re not drunken toddlers. They’re dangerous too,” Batman emphasized affronted. He’d fought those guys in a group. They had almost overpowered him.

“Okay fine,” Red Hood waved him off, “but not like the talons.”

“Any weaknesses for those yellow eyed talon guys?” Chat asked apprehensively.

“Not really. They’re highly trained, highly skilled, superhuman speed, superhuman healing,’ Nightwing answered.

“Fuck,” Chat answered with a whistle.

“Appropriate response,” Red Robin nodded.

“They need a substance to keep healing,” Batman corrected.

“So if we injure enough of them they won’t have enough substance for everyone?” Chat offered.

“Not the route I want to go, but yeah,” Signal agreed.

“And cold. They’re susceptible to cold,” Batman added.

“Cold?” Chat clarified, suddenly listening very intently.

“Yeah, it interferes with their healing,” Red Hood explained. “Makes it so their injuries stick.”

“So if we could make it freezing cold down there…” Chat trailed off.

“Doesn’t have to be the whole place, just where the talons are,” Red Robin mused out loud. “There likely won’t be many, if any. They can’t be expecting us yet. They were too careful. If it wasn’t for Chat’s scout, we’d have no idea. But yes, if you can make them cold, we’d have a better chance.”

Chat stopped and looked contemplative for a few moments. “Let me make a quick call.” He turned around and walked a few steps away. After a few minutes he returned. “Snowflake will be here in 35 minutes.”

“The ice chick from New York?” Red Hood asked.

Chat nodded in response. Damian eyed him suspiciously. “That’s awfully quick.”

“She’s going to catch a ride with Uncanny Valley and Uncanny will be able to hack into their security as soon as she gets here. She just has to be close. We can get the plans from her and break into their security system.”

“How can she do that? No offense to your friend, but if Oracle can’t do it, it’s unlikely anybody else would be able to so quickly,” Red Robin asked.

“Thank you,” Oracle cut in.

“Uhhh… magic?” Chat offered with less enthusiasm than before.

“Let’s move to a closer position while we wait. We’ll come up with a plan once we have more information,” Batman said already taking out his grappling hook. “We have family to save.”

Chapter 26

Tags:

@dickinette-february @demonicbusiness @ichigorose @iloontjeboontje @ladybug-182 @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @golden-promises @trippingovermyfeet @emimar7 @laurcad123 @lady-bee-fechin @thewitchwhowaited @redscarlet95 @jayjayspixiepop

#maribat #Dickinette February #dickinette #platonic jasonette #platonic adrienette #Hope on Board #Knocked Up AU #prompt - time

134 notes · View notes

reversecreek · 3 years

Text

snickers feverishly at myself for bringing in a 5th... who do i think i am? unstoppable? invincible? suddenly ripples my titanium plated pecs. maybe so. u can find her pinterest here n her playlist here.

* margaret qualley, cis female + she/her | you know bradley milligan, right? they’re twenty-four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, all of their life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to looking for knives by dyan like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole snow angels trampled through by your father’s footprints, casually reading a newspaper that’s catching flame & stubbing a cigarette against the wing mirror of a parked cop car thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is november 11th, so they’re a scorpio, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her )

HISTORY:

bradley has this memory of meeting her grandmother for the first time n everything in the room was frozen still. even the air. she didn’t feel like she cld move n she got the impression this is how it’d always been in the milligan lineage. the only thing that was allowed to act of it’s own accord was her grandmother’s eyes as she tracked every slightest flinch of muscle. when her father left the room her grandmother reached out and took bradley’s hand n bradley looked at this like it was smthn she’d never seen before until her grandmother leaned close and all she could stare at was a nicotine stain on one of her front teeth. “he’s cold, isn’t he? he’s always been cold. i don’t think he’s mine.” bradley could tell from how tight she held her hand that he was. she could tell by the way she smiled as she said it, too. the way she felt obliged to smile back.

growing up in a huge white house in aquila drive w pruned hedges sounds idyllic n looks it too. swanky cars w tinted windows in the long driveway. always men filing in and out under the cloak of night wearing expensive suits n smiles worthy of a politician’s billboard. bradley’s mum alyssa thought so too n that’s hw she got into this whole mess tbh. tony milligan is very good at advertising. he cld package a jarred human heart as strawberry jam and convince u to spread it on ur toast if he wanted to. he could make u smile politely as u ate ur own.

alyssa ws this very pretty blonde kind of mysterious presence in a room. everyone wanted to kno her story or fk her but noone rly treated her like a person more just like a puzzle to solve. john green syndrome alert..... literally manic pixie dream girled bt on turbo charge. there were vague whispers she’d run away from home when she appeared in town out of nowhere bt nothing concrete. tony decided he wanted to crack the case n once he set his mind to something there was no changing it. they wound up embroiled in a whirlwind romance. head over heels. he came at romance hard and fast as a freight train. alyssa knew he was into shady things but not quite the full extent of it n honestly she didn’t care bc she wanted security n a family to call her own n tony promised that. they were married within a year.

tony came frm money bt he wanted to carve his own path n make his own legacy. destined fr greatness he’d tell her. we’re destined for greatness. it sounds nice doesn’t it! alyssa thought so too.

(drugs mention tw) slowly over the yrs he essentially forged his own crime organisation tht only grew. he opened a strip club down the seedier side of irving called ‘no angels’ n this became the front thru which his gang ran drugs in the back (predominantly coke n they pride themselves fr having a Superior Blend apparently) as well as laundering cash n this also was kind of their home base to hang

(abuse tw) their marriage increasingly lost it’s shine n alyssa came to realise she’d been sold a lie n she didn’t rly know this person or what he was capable of right around the time bradley was born. by then it was kind of like Wow i am rly in this n there is not an exit door huh. i won’t go into details bt things were not good at all. bradley witnessed n experienced a lot of things she shouldn’t have growing up. she didn’t understand why other kids drew home in all these different coloured crayons like they were bright places to be. she didn’t understand why everyone got so excited when the bell rang at the end of the day bc she just felt sick. she rationalised tht this was normal when she was younger bc sometimes kids talked abt the monsters under their beds giving them nightmares n she thought mayb they were talking abt their dads too. as she got older she realised tht actually her world wasn’t the same as anyone else’s n she also realised no-one wld ever be able to tell her why. she started becoming friends with the angry feeling in her chest tht she used to try and swallow around this time. often she’d wander the mall for a while to put off going home. smoke on random park benches. watch trains rattle thru town from the vantage point of a random rooftop.

(abuse, missing person implied, murder implied & grief tw) when bradley was 12 she woke up and all of her mum’s clothes were gone frm their drawers. no shoes anywhere. a framed photo of them at the beach holding bradley as a baby vanished from over the mantelpiece. when bradley asked her dad what was going on, tony essentially said “it was exhausting her. being here. being your mother. she didn’t want to do it any more, so now she’s gone” n then he hugged her. little details leaked into the mix over the yrs. at one point tony dismissed her as having flown overseas to a foreign country to drink in the sun like she’d always wanted even tho alyssa always told bradley she liked the snow best (once she even walked outside as it fell in a thin lace nightgown when tony was out n when bradley said “mom you’re gonna get cold” she only tugged her down and made her do snow angels until her lips looked blue). the most significant memory bradley can never shake from her head is her mother cupping a yellow tulip at the park n saying she hated them. when bradley asked why she only turned and smiled at her as she stroked the hair from her face n then said “because they look so happy”. after bradley’s mum vanished a long flower bed at the bottom of the garden was suddenly overrun with dozens of freshly planted yellow tulips. whenever bradley looked at them out of her window she got this sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach like she was visiting a cemetery. she suspected what had happened to her mum (especially as rumours circulated within tony’s organisation abt alyssa being unfaithful with someone tht used to work fr him) bt she cld never bring herself to truly accept it. thus she ws stuck in this strange purgatory state of not-quite-anger at her mum for “leaving” and not-quite-grief.

bradley rly started to transgress in school after her mum was gone. alyssa was always kind of a character when she’d pick bradley up (wasn’t doing well n acted kind of ‘eccentric’ i suppose u cld say) so tony managed to spin it all as a child acting out in the wake of an unfit mother uprooting n abandoning. bradley became........ interesting. JKHGFSSKJGHFSGHSKFGHFG. she’d snap n resort to violence very easily. very desensitised to it. students were kind of scared of her tbh. as this progressed into proper high school she got in w the more rowdy popular crowd solely bc she was so fking.... wild for lack of a better word. rly would just do anything fr the thrill. had no sense of ‘i shouldn’t do this bc it’s dangerous’. partied harder than anyone. bit back harder than anyone. no filter. hung w a lot of guys honestly bc they had less morals n either found her scariness cool or wanted to fk <3

(hospitalisation, depression & drugs tw) she’s had. a few stints in psychiatric institutions fr various reasons tbh. missed a small chunk of her senior yr fr this but it wasn’t widely known just kind of rumoured. she showcases a lot of similar symptoms to her mum who struggled w severe depression (which was difficult to cope w when ur husband was often pouring ur prescription down the drain fr kicks) n in order to compensate fr the lows she takes a lot of things to kick them into highs. drinks n snorts too much. bradley i love u bt i’m begging u to seek healthier coping mechanisms......

as the yrs went on (especially once alyssa had gone) tony rly started trying to integrate bradley into the business side of things...... she literally. is named bradley bc he was expecting a boy n he was like well let’s still call her bradley. n had in mind she’d still fulfil the role he wanted her to of being his little protege so to speak.... both sexist n ugly all in one fell swoop...... an example of this is he literally. bought her a mint green switchblade for her 14th birthday n named it tinkerbell bc it would “die without attention” aka using it. tht sounds like a healthy gift to give a child tony congratulations sis <3

in an ideal world bradley wld have gone to uni to study psychology bc she jst wants to know how the fk her dad is literally like that bt she probably stuck around n is now managing no angels along with billy n marco (billy’s in her dad’s gang n is, u guessed it, a cunt, n marco is his sort of right hand man so to speak) bc tony’s in the closest neighbouring city overseeing a second ‘no angels’ opening up there to expand into a franchise n widen their income margins. bradley wld also be sort of used as a honey trap type deal once she got older if they needed to lure ppl places n sometimes still is bt it depends. the guys in the club all know not to mess w bradley bc she’s tony’s daughter n literally kind of scary herself sometimes bt there’s also this certain allure tht comes with being the boss’ daughter n it kind of comes across in how they act or talk abt her. yes i will kill them all n no i won’t feel bad abt it <3

think that’s kind of all u need to kno history wise... blinks one eye out of sync w the other..... runs to personality

PERSONALITY:

a phrase i wld always use to describe bradley in old intros is “like a cup of black coffee with one grain of sugar that u don’t taste until the last sip”. also dark chocolate. lime. liquorice. she’s an acquired taste n i feel like u either love her or u hate her.

cannot express how unpredictably chaotic she is..... frequently throws a drink in a stranger’s face jst to start something bc she’s bored. loves to hurl cheese slices across the room so they slap onto someone’s face out of nowhere. likes smashing things. stubbing cigarettes out on faces in framed family photographs. will literally pick a lock n then smash the window besides it to defeat the whole purpose just bc she found how neat it was boring. does anything fr the adrenaline n thrill. gets into far too many fights n fights dirty. probably been thrown out of every bar in town at least three times. banned from a bunch too.

she’s witty bt she has a dark sense of humour..... can be quite mean.......... loves to roast ppl for no reason........ honestly has some nathan young frm misfits aspects in that sense like jst seems untouchable emotionally n like she doesn’t take anything seriously n is fking outrageous about it.....

has this quality abt her tht kind of scares herself sometimes. it’s like she recognises parts of her dad in her. she’s very perceptive (bc she’s had to be over the yrs trying to read every micro-expression of her dad’s to predict what’s next) n like emotionally intelligent in a way which is ironic bc her own emotions r just an absolute minefield.... bt. she can read people quite well. gets this eerily calm look abt her sometimes n it’s jst like god what’s. she thinking. what’s she’s gna do. i’m shaking. a cool n controlled kind of rage can often be scarier than the explosive type n bradley does that well. grits my teeth n tugs on my collar....

very strong on the surface. hates being vulnerable. has this ingrained idea that crying is childish or rly any kind of emotional display within herself. 50% not taking things seriously 50% angry. tht’s how she comes across....... internally? whole different story. bt ppl don’t see that.

very cavalier abt some things. will flash her tits n not even think abt it. jst very out there...... one of her closest friends is a homeless man named joe who wears neon purple fishnets on his head n loves to spit on ppl from over an underpass. finds eccentric ppl like this funny n surrounds herself w them. loves to be kept on her toes.

LOVES driving stolen cars down the wrong side of the highway. it’s a lot.

fiercely loyal to a fault to a select few bt if u wrong her personally this can switch pretty quick. quite a force to b reckoned w n will hold a grudge. bt like. if ur a Chosen One she’d bury a body for u no questions asked.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

deals to u: bradley isn’t like full time into dealing bt she does do it sometimes.... treats it kind of like a hobby bc the lesser ranked can do tht shit as far as she’s concerned bt.. sometimes also jst gets bored n is like. why not. might be chaotic. mayb they’ll try to rob me <3 we love the thrill <3 or like..... if ur friends w her she’ll deal to u n no she will not do a friends discount <3 or if she does there will definitely be some sort of stipulation attached <3

high skl crew: if ur muse is local n ws an absolutely demonic hell spawn in high skl tht went to 1974547254 parties n was outrageously chaotic n rude then. bradley probably was friends w them <3 her friendships tend to be surface level bt they’d definitely go out a bunch bt whether they actually knew a lot abt her life is debatable bt we could explore options fr this

people who work at no angels: no angels is her dad’s strip club in irving that she kind of helps to run now. it’s kind of a shifty environment. the place where ud have an outrageous bachelor party. u go for the first time w a fake id n u get served bt u also get ur wallet stolen n ur convinced someone spat in ur drink n u also kind of think there might b a hit on u now after u made eye contact too long w a broad shouldered man smoking in a back booth. scary environment. testament to her dad as a person. maybe ur muse is a dancer there or works the bar or security or whatever u name it....

ma’am are u ok?: ur muse found bradley passed out across two bus seats one time in smudged dark eyeliner a silver slip dress n the world’s chunkiest combat boots this town hs ever seen. sometimes she winds up in spots like this when she goes too hard n it’s absolutely dangerous n reckless bt that’s jst bradley <3 mayb they forged an unlikely friendship frm this strange meeting or maybe even? dare i say it? a romance? opposite worlds colliding? good influence? let’s go crazy. release ur inhibitions. feel the rain on ur skin.

hook-ups: bradley’s cavalier abt this stuff..... very unemotional typically..... mayb we cld do an unrequited thing that wld be angsty n fun altho i won’t lie i don’t kno if she’d be the one to catch the feelings.... she rarely sleeps over bt once when she woke up in someone’s bed she hiked over to straddle them carefully as possible so they wldn’t wake up n then pressed her knife to their neck as a fun little surprise where she said boo when they opened their eyes.... she’s a lot clearly.

watermelon slugger, hiiii: bradley has this habit where she gets a bunch of watermelons n then goes to a rooftop n throws them over the edge to watch them explode when they hit the pavement.... maybe ur muse almost got hit by one once n were like WTF???????? another quirky meet cute moment like the bus one <3 can’t stop w them <3 maybe she randomly invited ur muse to do it w her when they were like. a stranger of f the street. she was bored. decided to adopt them as a science experiment. we cn elaborate on this probably....

ouch charlie: similar territory bt she also sometimes shoots pedestrians w a bb gun from rooftops. mayb ur muse wld always get hit by one on a certain route they walked n finally one day they saw her head ducking down behind a ledge n then they see her in the street one day n are like HEY IT’S YOU............. WTF? n bradley’s like ya i’m christ risen again it’s a lot to take in i know...

rly jst anything... mutually destructive friends... exes.... in one rp a character tried to get close to bradley so he cld write an expose all book about her n her family which i found so fking funny so i’ll request that again.... people she’s fought.... ppl whose gf/bf she’s fk’d n it’s caused enemy status.... someone whose place she broke into and shaved their eyebrows off in the night only to draw them on again in crudely thin permanent sharpie lines.... roommates cld be fun n sexy i’d love that actually.... jst anything rly. go wild. kisses everyone tenderly on cheeks.

#irvingintro #abuse tw #missing person tw #implied murder tw #grief tw #hospitalisation tw #depression tw #drugs tw #death tw #i think tht's all of them....... cor blimey......

15 notes · View notes

aboveallarescuer · 4 years

Text

Dany and Viserys’s relationship

This is a list of all the passages from the books featuring key moments in Dany and Viserys’s relationship.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She wondered how the ants had managed to climb over it and find her. To them these tumbledown stones must loom as huge as the Wall of Westeros. The biggest wall in all the world, her brother Viserys used to say, as proud as if he’d built it himself.

Viserys told her tales of knights so poor that they had to sleep beneath the ancient hedges that grew along the byways of the Seven Kingdoms. Dany would have given much and more for a nice thick hedge. Preferably one without an anthill.

She dreamt of her dead brother.

Viserys looked just as he had the last time she’d seen him. His mouth was twisted in anguish, his hair was burnt, and his face was black and smoking where the molten gold had run down across his brow and cheeks and into his eyes.

“You are dead,” Dany said.

Murdered. Though his lips never moved, somehow she could hear his voice, whispering in her ear. You never mourned me, sister. It is hard to die unmourned.

“I loved you once.”

Once, he said, so bitterly it made her shudder. You were supposed to be my wife, to bear me children with silver hair and purple eyes, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. I took care of you. I taught you who you were. I fed you. I sold our mother’s crown to keep you fed.

“You hurt me. You frightened me.”

Only when you woke the dragon. I loved you. “You sold me. You betrayed me.”

No. You were the betrayer. You turned against me, against your own blood. They cheated me. Your horsey husband and his stinking savages. They were cheats and liars. They promised me a golden crown and gave me this. He touched the molten gold that was creeping down his face, and smoke rose from his finger.

“You could have had your crown,” Dany told him. “My sun-and-stars would have won it for you if only you had waited.”

I waited long enough. I waited my whole life. I was their king, their rightful king. They laughed at me.

“You should have stayed in Pentos with Magister Illyrio. Khal Drogo had to present me to the dosh khaleen, but you did not have to ride with us. That was your choice. Your mistake.”

Do you want to wake the dragon, you stupid little whore? Drogo’s khalasar was mine. I bought them from him, a hundred thousand screamers. I paid for them with your maidenhead.

“You never understood. Dothraki do not buy and sell. They give gifts and receive them. If you had waited ...”

I did wait. For my crown, for my throne, for you. All those years, and all I ever got was a pot of molten gold. Why did they give the dragon’s eggs to you? They should have been mine. If I’d had a dragon, I would have taught the world the meaning of our words.

Viserys began to laugh, until his jaw fell away from his face, smoking, and blood and molten gold ran from his mouth.

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“You … you mean to ride them?”

“One of them. All I know of dragons is what my brother told me when I was a girl, and some I read in books, but it is said that even Aegon the Conqueror never dared mount Vhagar or Meraxes, nor did his sisters ride Balerion the Black Dread. Dragons live longer than men, some for hundreds of years, so Balerion had other riders after Aegon died … but no rider ever flew two dragons.”

“Tell me of this other Daenerys. I know less than I should of the history of my father’s kingdom. I never had a maester growing up.” Only a brother.

ADWD Daenerys VII

The parchment was written in the Common Tongue. The queen unrolled it slowly, studying the seals and signatures. When she saw the name Ser Willem Darry, her heart beat a little faster. She read it over once, and then again.

“May we know what it says, Your Grace?” asked Ser Barristan.

“It is a secret pact,” Dany said, “made in Braavos when I was just a little girl. Ser Willem Darry signed for us, the man who spirited my brother and myself away from Dragonstone before the Usurper’s men could take us. Prince Oberyn Martell signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness.” She handed the parchment to Ser Barristan, so he might read it for himself. “The alliance is to be sealed by a marriage, it says. In return for Dorne’s help overthrowing the Usurper, my brother Viserys is to take Prince Doran’s daughter Arianne for his queen.”

The old knight read the pact slowly. “If Robert had known of this, he would have smashed Sunspear as he once smashed Pyke, and claimed the heads of Prince Doran and the Red Viper … and like as not, the head of this Dornish princess too.”

“No doubt that was why Prince Doran chose to keep the pact a secret,” suggested Daenerys. “If my brother Viserys had known that he had a Dornish princess waiting for him, he would have crossed to Sunspear as soon as he was old enough to wed.”

“And thereby brought Robert’s warhammer down upon himself, and Dorne as well,” said Frog. “My father was content to wait for the day that Prince Viserys found his army.”

“Your father?”

“Prince Doran.” He sank back onto one knee. “Your Grace, I have the honor to be Quentyn Martell, a prince of Dorne and your most leal subject.”

Dany laughed.

The Dornish prince flushed red, whilst her own court and counselors gave her puzzled looks. “Radiance?” said Skahaz Shavepate, in the Ghiscari tongue. “Why do you laugh?”

“They call him frog,” she said, “and we have just learned why. In the Seven Kingdoms there are children’s tales of frogs who turn into enchanted princes when kissed by their true love.” Smiling at the Dornish knights, she switched back to the Common Tongue. “Tell me, Prince Quentyn, are you enchanted?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“I feared as much.” Neither enchanted nor enchanting, alas. A pity he’s the prince, and not the one with the wide shoulders and the sandy hair. “You have come for a kiss, however. You mean to marry me. Is that the way of it? The gift you bring me is your own sweet self. Instead of Viserys and your sister, you and I must seal this pact if I want Dorne.”

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Your Grace should not be here, breathing these black humors.”

“I am the blood of the dragon,” Dany reminded him. “Have you ever seen a dragon with the flux?” Viserys had oft claimed that Targaryens were untroubled by the pestilences that afflicted common men, and so far as she could tell, it was true. She could remember being cold and hungry and afraid, but never sick.

ADWD Daenerys V

“Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

ADWD Daenerys IV

“Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

ADWD Daenerys III

Her brother Viserys had once feasted the captains of the Golden Company, in hopes they might take up his cause. They ate his food and heard his pleas and laughed at him. Dany had only been a little girl, but she remembered.

She turned her back upon the night, to where Barristan Selmy stood silent in the shadows. “My brother once told me a Westerosi riddle. Who listens to everything yet hears nothing?”

“A knight of the Kingsguard.” Selmy’s voice was solemn.

ADWD Daenerys II

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.” Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter. “Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court.”

“We’ll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes.” When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle.

Kisses came easier than sleep, however. Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King’s Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this … but her thoughts kept turning back to Slaver’s Bay, like ships caught in some bitter wind.

“...He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat. Hazzea, she thought, and suddenly she heard herself say, “I have to see the pit,” in a voice as small as a child’s whisper.

Viserys had told her all the tales when she was little. He loved to talk of dragons. She knew how Harrenhal had fallen. She knew about the Field of Fire and the Dance of the Dragons. One of her forebears, the third Aegon, had seen his own mother devoured by his uncle’s dragon. And there were songs beyond count of villages and kingdoms that lived in dread of dragons till some brave dragonslayer rescued them.

ADWD Daenerys I

Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper’s dogs had murdered her brother’s son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys. Dany had only been conceived when Aegon and his sister were murdered. Their father, her brother Rhaegar, perished even earlier, slain by the Usurper on the Trident. Her brother Viserys had died screaming in Vaes Dothrak with a crown of molten gold upon his head. They will kill me too if I allow it. The knives that slew my Stalwart Shield were meant for me.

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Westeros had seven gods at least, though Viserys had told her that some septons said the seven were only aspects of a single god, seven facets of a single crystal. That was just confusing. The red priests believed in two gods, she had heard, but two who were eternally at war. Dany liked that even less. She would not want to be eternally at war.

“When I sent you down into the sewers, part of me hoped I’d seen the last of you. It seemed a fitting end for liars, to drown in slavers’ filth. I thought the gods would deal with you, but instead you returned to me. My gallant knights of Westeros, an informer and a turncloak. My brother would have hanged you both.” Viserys, would have, anyway. She did not know what Rhaegar would have done.

“You protected my father for many years, fought beside my brother on the Trident, but you abandoned Viserys in his exile and bent your knee to the Usurper instead. Why? And tell it true.”

“Some truths are hard to hear. Robert was a ... a good knight ... chivalrous, brave ... he spared my life, and the lives of many others ... Prince Viserys was only a boy, it would have been years before he was fit to rule, and ... forgive me, my queen, but you asked for truth ... even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father’s son, in ways that Rhaegar never did.”

“His father’s son?” Dany frowned. “What does that mean?”

The old knight did not blink. “Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?”

When her handmaid brought the book, Dany had no trouble finding the page where she had left off, but it was no good. She found herself reading the same passage half a dozen times. Ser Jorah gave me this book as a bride’s gift, the day I wed Khal Drogo. But Daario is right, I shouldn’t have banished him. I should have kept him, or I should have killed him. She played at being a queen, yet sometimes she still felt like a scared little girl. Viserys always said what a dolt I was. Was he truly mad? She closed the book. She could still recall Ser Jorah, if she wished. Or send Daario to kill him.

“Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

ASOS Daenerys V

“What if we were to build siege towers? My brother Viserys told tales of such, I know they can be made.”

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside ...

“Your Grace, I am sorry I misled you. It was the only way to keep the Lannisters from learning that I had joined you. You are watched, as your brother was. Lord Varys reported every move Viserys made, for years. Whilst I sat on the small council, I heard a hundred such reports. And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

ASOS Daenerys IV

She bulled over him. “You have been a better friend to me than any I have known, a better brother than Viserys ever was. You are the first of my Queensguard, the commander of my army, my most valued counselor, my good right hand. I honor and respect and cherish you—but I do not desire you, Jorah Mormont, and I am weary of your trying to push every other man in the world away from me, so I must needs rely on you and you alone. It will not serve, and it will not make me love you any better.”

“Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

“Your Grace is kind to say so.” 

“Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys.”

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. “Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late.” She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. “If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl.”

“Perhaps so, Your Grace.” Whitebeard paused a moment. “But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

“Not sour, no, but ... there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense ...” The old man hesitated again.

“Say it,” she urged. “A sense ...?”

“... of doom. He was born in grief, my queen, and that shadow hung over him all his days.”

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar’s birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much.

ASOS Daenerys III

“Your pretty crown might buy another century,” said the fat one in Valyrian. “Your crown of the three dragons.”

Dany waited for his words to be translated. “My crown is not for sale.” When Viserys sold their mother’s crown, the last joy had gone from him, leaving only rage.

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.” 

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”

ASOS Daenerys II

“My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man. I had my taste in Qarth, that was enough. I will not come to Pentos bowl in hand.”

“Better to come a beggar than a slaver,” Arstan said.

“There speaks one who has been neither.” Dany’s nostrils flared. “Do you know what it is like to be sold, squire? I do. My brother sold me to Khal Drogo for the promise of a golden crown. Well, Drogo crowned him in gold, though not as he had wished, and I ... my sun-and-stars made a queen of me, but if he had been a different man, it might have been much otherwise. Do you think I have forgotten how it felt to be afraid?”

Dany shrugged him off. “Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?”

ASOS Daenerys I

Once on a voyage to Braavos, as she’d watched the crew wrestle down a great green sail in a rising gale, she had even thought how fine it would be to be a sailor. But when she told her brother, Viserys had twisted her hair until she cried. “You are blood of the dragon,” he had screamed at her. “A dragon, not some smelly fish.”

He was a fool about that, and so much else, Dany thought. If he had been wiser and more patient, it would be him sailing west to take the throne that was his by rights. Viserys had been stupid and vicious, she had come to realize, yet sometimes she missed him all the same. Not the cruel weak man he had become by the end, but the brother who had sometimes let her creep into his bed, the boy who told her tales of the Seven Kingdoms, and talked of how much better their lives would be once he claimed his crown.

“Viserys talked of those skulls,” said Dany. “The Usurper took them down and hid them away. He could not bear them looking down on him upon his stolen throne.”

“...Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

It was not by choice that she sought the waterfront. She was fleeing again. Her whole life had been one long flight, it seemed. She had begun running in her mother’s womb, and never once stopped. How often had she and Viserys stolen away in the black of night, a bare step ahead of the Usurper’s hired knives? But it was run or die. Xaro had learned that Pyat Pree was gathering the surviving warlocks together to work ill on her.

ACOK Daenerys IV

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother’s hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac.

Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth.

ACOK Daenerys III

The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn. Xaro would have sold the crown too—the Thirteen would see that she had a much finer one, he swore—but Dany forbade it. “Viserys sold my mother’s crown, and men called him a beggar. I shall keep this one, so men will call me a queen.” And so she did, though the weight of it made her neck ache.

Yet even crowned, I am a beggar still, Dany thought. I have become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same. She hated it, as her brother must have. All those years of running from city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter. In the end it had driven him mad. It will do the same to me if I let it. Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom. No, that is defeat. I have something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the difference.

ACOK Daenerys II

She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

The Dothraki sacked cities and plundered kingdoms, they did not rule them. Dany had no wish to reduce King’s Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

But before she could do that she must conquer.

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

How could she hope to overthrow such men? When Khal Drogo had lived, men trembled and made him gifts to stay his wrath. If they did not, he took their cities, wealth and wives and all. But his khalasar had been vast, while hers was meager. Her people had followed her across the red waste as she chased her comet, and would follow her across the poison water too, but they would not be enough. Even her dragons might not be enough. Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised. The same thing happened when her Drogo died, and his great khalasar tore itself to pieces. “My brother is dead as well, Viserys who was the true king,” she told the Summer Islander. “Khal Drogo my lord husband killed him with a crown of molten gold.” Would her brother have been any wiser, had he known that the vengeance he had prayed for was so close at hand?

“I am not the frightened girl you met in Pentos. I have counted only fifteen name days, true ... but I am as old as the crones in the dosh khaleen and as young as my dragons, Jorah. I have borne a child, burned a khal, and crossed the red waste and the Dothraki sea. Mine is the blood of the dragon.”

“As was your brother’s,” he said stubbornly.

“I am not Viserys.”

ACOK Daenerys I

Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not.

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes.

“...Viserys was cruel and weak and frightened, yet he was my brother still. His dragon will do what he could not.”

“My handmaids say there are ghosts here.”

“There are ghosts everywhere,” Ser Jorah said softly. “We carry them with us wherever we go.”

Yes, she thought. Viserys, Khal Drogo, my son Rhaego, they are with me always.

“...The Hightowers are an ancient family, very rich and very proud.”

“And loyal,” Dany said. “I remember, Viserys said the Hightowers were among those who stayed true to my father.”

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

“Princess ...” he began.

“Why do you call me that?” Dany challenged him. “My brother Viserys was your king, was he not?”

“He was, my lady.”

“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is mine now.”

“My ... queen,” Ser Jorah said, going to one knee.

AGOT Daenerys IX

Viserys stood before her, screaming. “The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.” The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. “I am the dragon and I will be crowned!” he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The child kicked inside her, as if he had heard. Dany remembered the story Viserys had told her, of what the Usurper’s dogs had done to Rhaegar’s children. His son had been a babe as well, yet they had ripped him from his mother’s breast and dashed his head against a wall. That was the way of men. “They must not hurt my son!” she cried. “I will order my khas to keep him safe, and Drogo’s bloodriders will—”

AGOT Daenerys VII

Ogo and his son had shared the high bench with her lord husband at the naming feast where Viserys had been crowned, but that was in Vaes Dothrak, beneath the Mother of Mountains, where every rider was a brother and all quarrels were put aside. It was different out in the grass. Ogo’s khalasar had been attacking the town when Khal Drogo caught him.

“You are your brother’s sister, in truth.”

“Viserys?” She did not understand.

“No,” he answered. “Rhaegar.”

“This is the way of war. These women are our slaves now, to do with as we please.”

“It pleases me to hold them safe,” Dany said, wondering if she had dared too much. “If your warriors would mount these women, let them take them gently and keep them for wives. Give them places in the khalasar and let them bear you sons.”

Qotho was ever the cruelest of the bloodriders. It was he who laughed. “Does the horse breed with the sheep?”

Something in his tone reminded her of Viserys. Dany turned on him angrily. “The dragon feeds on horse and sheep alike.”

AGOT Daenerys VI

She had never seen the Seven Kingdoms either, no more than Drogo, yet she felt as though she knew them from all the tales her brother had told her. Viserys had promised her a thousand times that he would take her back one day, but he was dead now and his promises had died with him.

If I were not the blood of the dragon, she thought wistfully, this could be my home. She was khaleesi, she had a strong man and a swift horse, handmaids to serve her, warriors to keep her safe, an honored place in the dosh khaleen awaiting her when she grew old ... and in her womb grew a son who would one day bestride the world. That should be enough for any woman ... but not for the dragon. With Viserys gone, Daenerys was the last, the very last. She was the seed of kings and conquerors, and so too the child inside her. She must not forget.

“You have not laughed since your brother the Khal Rhaggat was crowned by Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see, Khaleesi.”

Dany smiled shyly. It was sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.

Dany was near tears as they carried her back. The taste in her mouth was one she had known before: fear. For years she had lived in terror of Viserys, afraid of waking the dragon. This was even worse. It was not just for herself that she feared now, but for her baby. He must have sensed her fright, for he moved restlessly inside her. Dany stroked the swell of her belly gently, wishing she could reach him, touch him, soothe him. “You are the blood of the dragon, little one,” she whispered as her litter swayed along, curtains drawn tight. “You are the blood of the dragon, and the dragon does not fear.”

AGOT Daenerys V

As Doreah and Irri arranged her cushions, she searched for her brother. Even across the length of the crowded hall, Viserys should have been conspicuous with his pale skin, silvery hair, and beggar’s rags, but she did not see him anywhere.

“Where is my brother?” Dany asked. “He ought to have come by now, for the feast.”

“I saw His Grace this morning,” he told her. “He told me he was going to the Western Market, in search of wine.”

“Wine?” Dany said doubtfully. Viserys could not abide the taste of the fermented mare’s milk the Dothraki drank, she knew that, and he was oft at the bazaars these days, drinking with the traders who came in the great caravans from east and west. He seemed to find their company more congenial than hers.

“Wine,” Ser Jorah confirmed, “and he has some thought to recruit men for his army from the sellswords who guard the caravans.” A serving girl laid a blood pie in front of him, and he attacked it with both hands.

“Is that wise?” she asked. “He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”

“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.” “Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.” “Then let us hope your brother will be wise enough not to steal anything.” Ser Jorah wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned close over the table. “He had planned to take your dragon’s eggs, until I warned him that I’d cut off his hand if he so much as touched them.”

For a moment Dany was so shocked she had no words. “My eggs ... but they’re mine, Magister Illyrio gave them to me, a bride gift, why would Viserys want ... they’re only stones ...”

“The same could be said of rubies and diamonds and fire opals, Princess ... and dragon’s eggs are rarer by far. Those traders he’s been drinking with would sell their own manhoods for even one of those stones, and with all three Viserys could buy as many sellswords as he might need.”

Dany had not known, had not even suspected. “Then ... he should have them. He does not need to steal them. He had only to ask. He is my brother ... and my true king.”

“He is your brother,” Ser Jorah acknowledged.

“You do not understand, ser,” she said. “My mother died giving me birth, and my father and my brother Rhaegar even before that. I would never have known so much as their names if Viserys had not been there to tell me. He was the only one left. The only one. He is all I have.” “Once,” said Ser Jorah. “No longer, Khaleesi. You belong to the Dothraki now. In your womb rides the stallion who mounts the world.”

A sense of dread closed around her heart. “Go to him,” she commanded Ser Jorah. “Stop him. Bring him here. Tell him he can have the dragon’s eggs if that is what he wants.” The knight rose swiftly to his feet.

“Where is my sister?” Viserys shouted, his voice thick with wine. “I’ve come for her feast. How dare you presume to eat without me? No one eats before the king. Where is she? The whore can’t hide from the dragon.”

Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.

Her voice made Viserys turn his head, and he saw her for the first time. “There she is,” he said, smiling. He stalked toward her, slashing at the air as if to cut a path through a wall of enemies, though no one tried to bar his way.

“The blade ... you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food ... is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”

“Do as she tells you, fool,” Ser Jorah shouted, “before you get us all killed.”

Viserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city ... but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel. Viserys was weeping, she saw; weeping and laughing, both at the same time, this man who had once been her brother.

Distantly, as from far away, Dany heard her handmaid Jhiqui sobbing in fear, pleading that she dared not translate, that the khal would bind her and drag her behind his horse all the way up the Mother of Mountains. She put her arm around the girl. “Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I shall tell him.”

She did not know if she had enough words, yet when she was done Khal Drogo spoke a few brusque sentences in Dothraki, and she knew he understood. The sun of her life stepped down from the high bench. “What did he say?” the man who had been her brother asked her, flinching. It had grown so silent in the hall that she could hear the bells in Khal Drogo’s hair, chiming softly with each step he took. His bloodriders followed him, like three copper shadows. Daenerys had gone cold all over. “He says you shall have a splendid golden crown that men shall tremble to behold.”

Viserys smiled and lowered his sword. That was the saddest thing, the thing that tore at her afterward ... the way he smiled. “That was all I wanted,” he said. “What was promised.”

When the sun of her life reached her, Dany slid an arm around his waist. The khal said a word, and his bloodriders leapt forward. Qotho seized the man who had been her brother by the arms. Haggo shattered his wrist with a single, sharp twist of his huge hands. Cohollo pulled the sword from his limp fingers. Even now Viserys did not understand. “No,” he shouted, “you cannot touch me, I am the dragon, the dragon, and I will be crowned!”

Khal Drogo unfastened his belt. The medallions were pure gold, massive and ornate, each one as large as a man’s hand. He shouted a command. Cook slaves pulled a heavy iron stew pot from the firepit, dumped the stew onto the ground, and returned the pot to the flames. Drogo tossed in the belt and watched without expression as the medallions turned red and began to lose their shape. She could see fires dancing in the onyx of his eyes. A slave handed him a pair of thick horsehair mittens, and he pulled them on, never so much as looking at the man.

Viserys began to scream the high, wordless scream of the coward facing death. He kicked and twisted, whimpered like a dog and wept like a child, but the Dothraki held him tight between them. Ser Jorah had made his way to Dany’s side. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Turn away, my princess, I beg you.”

“No.” She folded her arms across the swell of her belly, protectively.

At the last, Viserys looked at her. “Sister, please ... Dany, tell them ... make them ... sweet sister ...”

When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for Cart King!” And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.

The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering ... yet no drop of blood was spilled.

He was no dragon, Dany thought, curiously calm. Fire cannot kill a dragon.

AGOT Daenerys IV

Dany followed on her silver, escorted by Ser Jorah Mormont and her brother Viserys, mounted once more. After the day in the grass when she had left him to walk back to the khalasar, the Dothraki had laughingly called him Khal Rhae Mhar, the Sorefoot King. Khal Drogo had offered him a place in a cart the next day, and Viserys had accepted. In his stubborn ignorance, he had not even known he was being mocked; the carts were for eunuchs, cripples, women giving birth, the very young and the very old. That won him yet another name: Khal Rhaggat, the Cart King. Her brother had thought it was the khal’s way of apologizing for the wrong Dany had done him. She had begged Ser Jorah not to tell him the truth, lest he be shamed. The knight had replied that the king could well do with a bit of shame ... yet he had done as she bid. It had taken much pleading, and all the pillow tricks Doreah had taught her, before Dany had been able to make Drogo relent and allow Viserys to rejoin them at the head of the column.

Beyond the horse gate, plundered gods and stolen heroes loomed to either side of them. The forgotten deities of dead cities brandished their broken thunderbolts at the sky as Dany rode her silver past their feet. Stone kings looked down on her from their thrones, their faces chipped and stained, even their names lost in the mists of time. Lithe young maidens danced on marble plinths, draped only in flowers, or poured air from shattered jars. Monsters stood in the grass beside the road; black iron dragons with jewels for eyes, roaring griffins, manticores with their barbed tails poised to strike, and other beasts she could not name. Some of the statues were so lovely they took her breath away, others so misshapen and terrible that Dany could scarcely bear to look at them. Those, Ser Jorah said, had likely come from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai.

“So many,” she said as her silver stepped slowly onward, “and from so many lands.”

Viserys was less impressed. “The trash of dead cities,” he sneered. He was careful to speak in the Common Tongue, which few Dothraki could understand, yet even so Dany found herself glancing back at the men of her khas, to make certain he had not been overheard. He went on blithely. “All these savages know how to do is steal the things better men have built ... and kill.” He laughed. “They do know how to kill. Otherwise I’d have no use for them at all.”

“They are my people now,” Dany said. “You should not call them savages, brother.”

“The dragon speaks as he likes,” Viserys said ... in the Common Tongue. He glanced over his shoulder at Aggo and Rakharo, riding behind them, and favored them with a mocking smile. “See, the savages lack the wit to understand the speech of civilized men.” A moss-eaten stone monolith loomed over the road, fifty feet tall. Viserys gazed at it with boredom in his eyes. “How long must we linger amidst these ruins before Drogo gives me my army? I grow tired of waiting.”

“The princess must be presented to the dosh khaleen ...”

“The crones, yes,” her brother interrupted, “and there’s to be some mummer’s show of a prophecy for the whelp in her belly, you told me. What is that to me? I’m tired of eating horsemeat and I’m sick of the stink of these savages.” He sniffed at the wide, floppy sleeve of his tunic, where it was his custom to keep a sachet. It could not have helped much. The tunic was filthy. All the silk and heavy wools that Viserys had worn out of Pentos were stained by hard travel and rotted from sweat.

Ser Jorah Mormont said, “The Western Market will have food more to your taste, Your Grace. The traders from the Free Cities come there to sell their wares. The khal will honor his promise in his own time.”

“He had better,” Viserys said grimly. “I was promised a crown, and I mean to have it. The dragon is not mocked.” Spying an obscene likeness of a woman with six breasts and a ferret’s head, he rode off to inspect it more closely.

“I will give my brother his gifts tonight,” she decided as Jhiqui was washing her hair. “He should look a king in the sacred city. Doreah, run and find him and invite him to sup with me.” Viserys was nicer to the Lysene girl than to her Dothraki handmaids, perhaps because Magister Illyrio had let him bed her back in Pentos. “Irri, go to the bazaar and buy fruit and meat. Anything but horseflesh.”

“Horse is best,” Irri said. “Horse makes a man strong.”

“Viserys hates horsemeat.”

[...] While her handmaids prepared the meal, Dany laid out the clothing she’d had made to her brother’s measure: a tunic and leggings of crisp white linen, leather sandals that laced up to the knee, a bronze medallion belt, a leather vest painted with fire-breathing dragons. The Dothraki would respect him more if he looked less a beggar, she hoped, and perhaps he would forgive her for shaming him that day in the grass. He was still her king, after all, and her brother. They were both blood of the dragon.

She was arranging the last of his gifts—a sandsilk cloak, green as grass, with a pale grey border that would bring out the silver in his hair—when Viserys arrived, dragging Doreah by the arm. Her eye was red where he’d hit her. “How dare you send this whore to give me commands,” he said. He shoved the handmaid roughly to the carpet.

The anger took Dany utterly by surprise. “I only wanted ... Doreah, what did you say?”

“Khaleesi, pardons, forgive me. I went to him, as you bid, and told him you commanded him to join you for supper.”

“No one commands the dragon,” Viserys snarled. “I am your king! I should have sent you back her head!”

The Lysene girl quailed, but Dany calmed her with a touch. “Don’t be afraid, he won’t hurt you. Sweet brother, please, forgive her, the girl misspoke herself, I told her to ask you to sup with me, if it pleases Your Grace.” She took him by the hand and drew him across the room. “Look. These are for you.”

Viserys frowned suspiciously. “What is all this?”

“New raiment. I had it made for you.” Dany smiled shyly.

He looked at her and sneered. “Dothraki rags. Do you presume to dress me now?”

“Please ... you’ll be cooler and more comfortable, and I thought ... maybe if you dressed like them, the Dothraki ... ” Dany did not know how to say it without waking his dragon.

“Next you’ll want to braid my hair.”

“I’d never ... ” Why was he always so cruel? She had only wanted to help. “You have no right to a braid, you have won no victories yet.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Fury shone from his lilac eyes, yet he dared not strike her, not with her handmaids watching and the warriors of her khas outside. Viserys picked up the cloak and sniffed at it. “This stinks of manure. Perhaps I shall use it as a horse blanket.”

“I had Doreah sew it specially for you,” she told him, wounded. “These are garments fit for a khal.” “I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, not some grass-stained savage with bells in his hair,” Viserys spat back at her. He grabbed her arm. “You forget yourself, slut. Do you think that big belly will protect you if you wake the dragon?”

His fingers dug into her arm painfully and for an instant Dany felt like a child again, quailing in the face of his rage. She reached out with her other hand and grabbed the first thing she touched, the belt she’d hoped to give him, a heavy chain of ornate bronze medallions. She swung it with all her strength.

It caught him full in the face. Viserys let go of her. Blood ran down his cheek where the edge of one of the medallions had sliced it open. “You are the one who forgets himself,” Dany said to him. “Didn’t you learn anything that day in the grass? Leave me now, before I summon my khas to drag you out. And pray that Khal Drogo does not hear of this, or he will cut open your belly and feed you your own entrails.”

Viserys scrambled back to his feet. “When I come into my kingdom, you will rue this day, slut.” He walked off, holding his torn face, leaving her gifts behind him.

Drops of his blood had spattered the beautiful sandsilk cloak. Dany clutched the soft cloth to her cheek and sat cross-legged on her sleeping mats.

“Your supper is ready, Khaleesi,” Jhiqui announced.

“I’m not hungry,” Dany said sadly. She was suddenly very tired.

AGOT Daenerys III

Her handmaid Irri and the young archers of her khas were fluid as centaurs, but Viserys still struggled with the short stirrups and the flat saddle. Her brother was miserable out here. He ought never have come. Magister Illyrio had urged him to wait in Pentos, had offered him the hospitality of his manse, but Viserys would have none of it. He would stay with Drogo until the debt had been paid, until he had the crown he had been promised. “And if he tries to cheat me, he will learn to his sorrow what it means to wake the dragon,” Viserys had vowed, laying a hand on his borrowed sword. Illyrio had blinked at that and wished him good fortune.

Dany realized that she did not want to listen to any of her brother’s complaints right now. The day was too perfect. The sky was a deep blue, and high above them a hunting hawk circled. The grass sea swayed and sighed with each breath of wind, the air was warm on her face, and Dany felt at peace. She would not let Viserys spoil it.

Dany did not need to look. She was barefoot, with oiled hair, wearing Dothraki riding leathers and a painted vest given her as a bride gift. She looked as though she belonged here. Viserys was soiled and stained in city silks and ringmail.

He was still screaming. “You do not command the dragon. Do you understand? I am the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, I will not hear orders from some horselord’s slut, do you hear me?” His hand went under her vest, his fingers digging painfully into her breast. “Do you hear me?”

Dany shoved him away, hard.

Viserys stared at her, his lilac eyes incredulous. She had never defied him. Never fought back. Rage twisted his features. He would hurt her now, and badly, she knew that.

Crack.

The whip made a sound like thunder. The coil took Viserys around the throat and yanked him backward. He went sprawling in the grass, stunned and choking. The Dothraki riders hooted at him as he struggled to free himself. The one with the whip, young Jhogo, rasped a question. Dany did not understand his words, but by then Irri was there, and Ser Jorah, and the rest of her khas. “Jhogo asks if you would have him dead, Khaleesi,” Irri said.

“No,” Dany replied. “No.”

Jhogo understood that. One of the others barked out a comment, and the Dothraki laughed.

Irri told her, “Quaro thinks you should take an ear to teach him respect.”

Her brother was on his knees, his fingers digging under the leather coils, crying incoherently, struggling for breath. The whip was tight around his windpipe.

“Tell them I do not wish him harmed,” Dany said.

Irri repeated her words in Dothraki. Jhogo gave a pull on the whip, yanking Viserys around like a puppet on a string. He went sprawling again, freed from the leather embrace, a thin line of blood under his chin where the whip had cut deep.

“I warned him what would happen, my lady,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “I told him to stay on the ridge, as you commanded.”

“I know you did,” Dany replied, watching Viserys. He lay on the ground, sucking in air noisily, red-faced and sobbing. He was a pitiful thing. He had always been a pitiful thing. Why had she never seen that before? There was a hollow place inside her where her fear had been.

“Take his horse,” Dany commanded Ser Jorah. Viserys gaped at her. He could not believe what he was hearing; nor could Dany quite believe what she was saying. Yet the words came. “Let my brother walk behind us back to the khalasar.” Among the Dothraki, the man who does not ride was no man at all, the lowest of the low, without honor or pride. “Let everyone see him as he is.”

“No!” Viserys screamed. He turned to Ser Jorah, pleading in the Common Tongue with words the horsemen would not understand. “Hit her, Mormont. Hurt her. Your king commands it. Kill these Dothraki dogs and teach her.”

The exile knight looked from Dany to her brother; she barefoot, with dirt between her toes and oil in her hair, he with his silks and steel. Dany could see the decision on his face. “He shall walk, Khaleesi,” he said. He took her brother’s horse in hand while Dany remounted her silver. Viserys gaped at him, and sat down in the dirt. He kept his silence, but he would not move, and his eyes were full of poison as they rode away. Soon he was lost in the tall grass. When they could not see him anymore, Dany grew afraid. “Will he find his way back?” she asked Ser Jorah as they rode.

“Even a man as blind as your brother should be able to follow our trail,” he replied.

“He is proud. He may be too shamed to come back.”

Jorah laughed. “Where else should he go? If he cannot find the khalasar, the khalasar will most surely find him. It is hard to drown in the Dothraki sea, child.”

Dany saw the truth of that. The khalasar was like a city on the march, but it did not march blindly. Always scouts ranged far ahead of the main column, alert for any sign of game or prey or enemies, while outriders guarded their flanks. They missed nothing, not here, in this land, the place where they had come from. These plains were a part of them ... and of her, now.

“I hit him,” she said, wonder in her voice. Now that it was over, it seemed like some strange dream that she had dreamed. “Ser Jorah, do you think ... he’ll be so angry when he gets back ... She shivered. “I woke the dragon, didn’t I?”

Ser Jorah snorted. “Can you wake the dead, girl? Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, and he died on the Trident. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake.”

His blunt words startled her. It seemed as though all the things she had always believed were suddenly called into question. “You ... you swore him your sword ...”

“That I did, girl,” Ser Jorah said. “And if your brother is the shadow of a snake, what does that make his servants?” His voice was bitter.

“He is still the true king. He is ...”

Jorah pulled up his horse and looked at her. “Truth now. Would you want to see Viserys sit a throne?”

Dany thought about that. “He would not be a very good king, would he?”

“There have been worse ... but not many.” The knight gave his heels to his mount and started off again.

Dany rode close beside him. “Still,” she said, “the common people are waiting for him. Magister Illyrio says they are sewing dragon banners and praying for Viserys to return from across the narrow sea to free them.”

“The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends,” Ser Jorah told her. “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace.” He gave a shrug. “They never are.”

Dany rode along quietly for a time, working his words like a puzzle box. It went against everything that Viserys had ever told her to think that the people could care so little whether a true king or a usurper reigned over them. Yet the more she thought on Jorah’s words, the more they rang of truth.

“What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?” she asked him.

“Home,” he said. His voice was thick with longing.

“I pray for home too,” she told him, believing it.

Ser Jorah laughed. “Look around you then, Khaleesi.”

But it was not the plains Dany saw then. It was King’s Landing and the great Red Keep that Aegon the Conqueror had built. It was Dragonstone where she had been born. In her mind’s eye they burned with a thousand lights, a fire blazing in every window. In her mind’s eye, all the doors were red.

“My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms,” Dany said. She had known that for a long time, she realized. She had known it all her life. Only she had never let herself say the words, even in a whisper, but now she said them for Jorah Mormont and all the world to hear.

Ser Jorah gave her a measuring look. “You think not.”

“He could not lead an army even if my lord husband gave him one,” Dany said. “He has no coin and the only knight who follows him reviles him as less than a snake. The Dothraki make mock of his weakness. He will never take us home.”

AGOT Daenerys II

“Best we get Princess Daenerys wedded quickly before they hand half the wealth of Pentos away to sellswords and bravos,” Ser Jorah Mormont jested. The exile had offered her brother his sword the night Dany had been sold to Khal Drogo; Viserys had accepted eagerly. Mormont had been their constant companion ever since.

Magister Illyrio laughed lightly through his forked beard, but Viserys did not so much as smile. “He can have her tomorrow, if he likes,” her brother said. He glanced over at Dany, and she lowered her eyes. “So long as he pays the price.”

Illyrio waved a languid hand in the air, rings glittering on his fat fingers. “I have told you, all is settled. Trust me. The khal has promised you a crown, and you shall have it.”

“Yes, but when?”

“When the khal chooses,” Illyrio said. “He will have the girl first, and after they are wed he must make his procession across the plains and present her to the dosh khaleen at Vaes Dothrak. After that, perhaps. If the omens favor war.”

Viserys seethed with impatience. “I piss on Dothraki omens. The Usurper sits on my father’s throne. How long must I wait?”

Illyrio gave a massive shrug. “You have waited most of your life, great king. What is another few months, another few years?”

Ser Jorah, who had traveled as far east as Vaes Dothrak, nodded in agreement. “I counsel you to be patient, Your Grace. The Dothraki are true to their word, but they do things in their own time. A lesser man may beg a favor from the khal, but must never presume to berate him.”

Viserys bristled. “Guard your tongue, Mormont, or I’ll have it out. I am no lesser man, I am the rightful Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragon does not beg.”

Ser Jorah lowered his eyes respectfully. Illyrio smiled enigmatically and tore a wing from the duck. Honey and grease ran over his fingers and dripped down into his beard as he nibbled at the tender meat. There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

Viserys was seated just below her, splendid in a new black wool tunic with a scarlet dragon on the chest. Illyrio and Ser Jorah sat beside him. Theirs was a place of high honor, just below the khal’s own bloodriders, but Dany could see the anger in her brother’s lilac eyes. He did not like sitting beneath her, and he fumed when the slaves offered each dish first to the khal and his bride, and served him from the portions they refused. He could do nothing but nurse his resentment, so nurse it he did, his mood growing blacker by the hour at each insult to his person.

Dany had never felt so alone as she did seated in the midst of that vast horde. Her brother had told her to smile, and so she smiled until her face ached and the tears came unbidden to her eyes. She did her best to hide them, knowing how angry Viserys would be if he saw her crying, terrified of how Khal Drogo might react. Food was brought to her, steaming joints of meat and thick black sausages and Dothraki blood pies, and later fruits and sweetgrass stews and delicate pastries from the kitchens of Pentos, but she waved it all away. Her stomach was a roil, and she knew she could keep none of it down.

Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lysene girl. “These are no common servants, sweet sister,” her brother told her as they were brought forward one by one. “Illyrio and I selected them personally for you. Irri will teach you riding, Jhiqui the Dothraki tongue, and Doreah will instruct you in the womanly arts of love.” He smiled thinly. “She’s very good, Illyrio and I can both swear to that.”

Khal Drogo commanded his bloodriders to bring forth his own horse, a lean red stallion. As the khal was saddling the horse, Viserys slid close to Dany on her silver, dug his fingers into her leg, and said, “Please him, sweet sister, or I swear, you will see the dragon wake as it has never woken before.”

The fear came back to her then, with her brother’s words. She felt like a child once more, only thirteen and all alone, not ready for what was about to happen to her.

AGOT Daenerys I

Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. “This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.”

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. “Is it really mine?”

“A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess.”

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. “Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things, but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Her brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be sure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he looks for a different sort of mount.” He studied her critically. “You still slouch. Straighten yourself” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple. “You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you.

You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?” His fingers twisted her, the pinch cruelly hard through the rough fabric of her tunic. “Do you?” he repeated.

“No,” Dany said meekly.

Her brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection. “When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight.”

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our blood.”

“Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer. Daenerys said nothing. She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

He rested his hand on the hilt of the sword that Illyrio had lent him, and said, “Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?”

“She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal,” Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes ... she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt ... and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

“I suppose,” her brother said doubtfully. “The savages have queer tastes. Boys, horses, sheep ...”

“Best not suggest this to Khal Drogo,” Illyrio said.

Anger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?”

The magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense.” He turned away and clapped his hands for his bearers.

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Her brother, sprawled out on his pillows beside her, never noticed. His mind was away across the narrow sea. “We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?”

“They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio. Her brother was nodding eagerly, however. “I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing around his full lips, but her brother did not notice. Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt.

Magister Illyrio’s words were honey. “Many important men will be at the feast tonight. Such men have enemies. The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.”

“Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

The palanquin slowed and stopped. The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze. Her brother followed, one hand still clenched hard around his sword hilt.

Her brother took her by the arm as Illyrio waddled over to the khal, his fingers squeezing so hard that they hurt. “Do you see his braid, sweet sister?”

Drogo’s braid was black as midnight and heavy with scented oil, hung with tiny bells that rang softly as he moved. It swung well past his belt, below even his buttocks, the end of it brushing against the back of his thighs.

“You see how long it is?” Viserys said. “When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. “Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.”

“Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost.

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him. His fingers dug hard into her arm, demanding an answer. “I don’t know ...” she said at last, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I do,” he said sharply. “We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo. In time you may even learn to like him. Now dry your eyes. Illyrio is bringing him over, and he will not see you crying.”

Dany turned and saw that it was true. Magister Illyrio, all smiles and bows, was escorting Khal Drogo over to where they stood. She brushed away unfallen tears with the back of her hand.

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand failing to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.”

Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

#daenerys targaryen #viserys targaryen #dany passages #dany relationships #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #a clash of kings #a game of thrones

88 notes · View notes

mrs-hyperfixed-writes · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel

I have a request if you don't mind? (Totally feel free to ignore it though!) Mark is lonely after Celine leaves, so Damien and/or the DA gives him a cat (or maybe Mark finds one out in the rain and brings it in). Animals can sense the presence of the supernatural, so the cat can tell that the Entity in the house is trying to mess with Mark's head. The cat keeps ruining the Entity's plans, so it tries to get rid of the cat. When the Entity eventually tries to make a deal with Mark, he is like "WTF, no! You tried to kill my cat! (ง'̀-'́)ง"

@the-tragic-hero-and-you if you want me to stop tagging you in my Actor stories just let me know xx

If this felt a bit rushed at the end it was because I was desperately trying to get it finished and out.

She was gone.

It almost didn’t seem real. The Actor was sure that if he pinched himself then he would wake up from this horrible nightmare. This was nothing but a bad dream. That deep pit in his stomach, that cracking that he felt inside his chest, the pounding in his head. . .They would all go away once he woke himself up. He would sit bolt upright in bed covered in sweat and gasping for breath. Moonlight would stream through the windows to show the late hour and a body would stir next to him between the silk sheets. He’d look over at her and sigh in relief before sliding back down and pulling her to his chest.

But try as he might to wake himself, this was reality. How long had his Celine been gone? A day? A week? A month? He didn’t know, time seemed to blend together. All he knew was that she had left, and taken a large part of his heart with her.

***

If people didn’t know better, they might think that the manor on top of the hill was abandoned. There were never any lights on, and no one had been maintaining the flora that had once been the epitome of prim and proper. Now the hedges were overgrown and the grass tall enough to obscure any rocks that someone may trip on, the cobblestone path that led up to the front door was beginning to suffer with the weeds that had grown between the stones. But people noticed how every week two men would drive up with bags of groceries and toiletries and leave them on the doorstep of the house before driving away. And only when they were out of sight of the house would the front door creak open and a man in a red robe would take everything inside. So no, the manor on top of the hill - as desolate as it may be - was not abandoned. But life had left with the mistress of the house.

***

The wind and rain was relentless. The windows of the manor shook with the force of it. And as the wind wailed outside, Mark found that he wanted to join in. Recently, it had seemed that all he had been doing was crying and going down to his wine cellar to drink himself into a sleep. And when he wasn’t doing that, he was sitting in a bed that hadn’t had its sheets changed in weeks holding onto the pillow that she had laid her head on. It was pathetic, he knew that. His pride took a fatal blow every time he did it, but he couldn’t help himself.

Thinking about her hurt. He couldn’t even think of her name without feeling like he was twisting the knife in his chest. And she had left him for William. His brother, one of his closest friends. The three of them plus Damien had been thick as thieves in childhood. There had been no secrets between the two of them, no story too embarrassing to share.

And none of it mattered to either of them.

He didn’t know who instigated the relationship. Would it make him feel better to know? Probably not. Did they always have feelings for each other? Surely not? There must have been a time when Mark was enough in her eyes. He could have had any woman he wanted and he chose her. Didn’t that idea give her at least a little bit of satisfaction? He was rich, famous, and he loved her dearly. He had given her everything in the world. If she had asked he would have taken the moon from the sky and hung it on a chain to give to her as a necklace, even if it had sat at the bottom of her jewellry box for the rest of her days.

In the end it meant nothing. Two people he had cared about had spit on him and left him to drown in his own sorrows. And Damien? Damien. He knew. Maybe he hadn’t approved of William and Celine’s affair, but he hadn’t said a goddamn thing to Mark about it. Mark had used his wealth and influence so. Many. Times to bail Damien out of any trouble he had ever gotten himself in, but that meant nothing too. Everything Mark had done meant nothing.

Mark meant nothing.

Not even a year ago, he had been a man full of confidence and pride with a manor that was worth more than some entire towns. He had a chef and butler to take care of his needs. But now. . . Mark could barely get out of bed unless he had a drink. He had sent Chef and Benjamin home, and now the manor was falling into a state of disrepair. Sometimes he had fits of anger where he’d throw furniture against the walls. Then he’d break down, regretting all that hubris and confidence that had dictated his life.

And sometimes there was a voice. It didn’t belong to him and he didn’t like it, but it came from inside his head. Whenever he heard it he wondered if he was going mad. He wondered if Celine would be happier knowing that she had destroyed him.

You hate them don’t you? Don’t lie, it hissed with that serpentine voice.

Did he? He had known them for so long. He didn’t know if he had it in him to truly hate them. They had so much history.

How can you not? Do you think they even spared a thought for you? Clearly not while they were fucking when your back was turned. They deserve your hate.

Had they really never thought of him? Not once in their entire affair?

You’ve been forgotten. By everyone. No one is coming back for you.

It was right of course.

They deserve your hate.

They did.

You hate them.

He hated-

A loud banging brought him out of his thoughts. Those thoughts and feelings that had started to cloud his judgement dissipated like a puff of smoke. He didn’t hate them. Not yet.

That banging sounded again. The front door. Someone was at his front door.

***

It took a considerable amount of willpower on the Actor’s part to drag himself out of his bed and down to the front door. Part of him hoped that whoever it was would give up soon and leave him to his torment. Another part of him craved human contact so badly that he found himself wanting to rush to the door.

Bracing himself, he grabbed the door handle and twisted. The door creaked open, and he came face to face with the DA.

He didn’t know who he had expected. Maybe part of him hoped that Celine had come back to him. When was he going to learn that things were never going to go back to the way they were? Would he always hold out hope for a reality that was gone? He should’ve realised what he had when he had it. But he snapped himself back to reality before he could dwell on those things, and instead he turned his attention to the DA.

At their feet they had placed a single giant bag full of shopping. Past the toiletries that had been stacked on the top he couldn’t see what else was in the bag. That was strange, Chef and Benjamin had dropped off food for him not that long ago. He wasn’t running out just yet. (Y/n) looked better than Mark did, but dark circles underneath their eyes told tales of sleepless nights. He entertained the thought of them being kept up thinking of him. But surely that wasn’t true. No one thought of him. They held a black umbrella over their head. Mark noted that they were hiding one hand behind them, but he didn’t care enough to ask what they were holding.

They sighed in relief when he answered, but that was quickly followed by a look of utter sadness and a wrinkle of the nose when they took in the sight and the smell of him. To summarise, Mark smelled of a bar that had been abandoned with all the bottles on the shelf opened. He looked even worse. He looked like a dead man. It was half true.

“Mark-”

“Did Damien send you?” He asked them, a hint of the resentment he felt for the mayor creeping into his voice.

(Y/n) shook their head. “ No. But he’s worried about you. It's been a month and a half and no one has heard from you.”

Was that it? It had only been around forty five days? It had felt like an eternity.

“I don’t care,” Mark whispered, letting even more of his resentment show as he began to shut the door.

(Y/n) shot their free hand out and pushed against the door, and for all that anger that he had towards Damien, he didn’t put up a fight when they opened it again. He didn’t feel the same way for the DA. They hadn’t known. And they had been the one to comfort him when he had discovered the affair. He felt nothing but a sort of love for the DA, but right now he wasn’t of the mind to share that with them. He was afraid that whatever he felt for them - be it friendship or something else - would be rejected. And he was too damaged from Celine and William to consider moving on.

They swallowed, “Mark, I’m here because I’m worried. You sent Chef and Benjamin home and there are never any lights on and you smell as if-” They had to take a deep breath before they continued, seemingly finding it difficult to keep their own emotions in check. “I’m sorry I haven’t been up as much as I would have liked to be. I promise I’ll try to be here more. But you need something to love. You need something to keep you company.”

With that, they brought their hidden hand out from behind their back. They held a fuzzy bundle as black as the night sky. For a second, he was confused until it opened its amber eyes and stared at him.

“A cat?”

(Y/n) looked almost bashful now. “I found him two days ago. He was abandoned on the side of the road. No owner and only about a year and a half old. No fleas or diseases either. He needs a home.”

They held the kitten out for him to take. He was so small. Small enough that he could easily be mistaken for a kitten. He briefly thought of rejecting this gift, but in the end the Actor reached out and gently took it from (y/n)’s hand. Something in his heart twisted when it snuggled into his chest and let out a high cry.

Mark looked back up at the DA, stared into their hopeful eyes. “I’ll try.”

They sighed in relief. “One week Mark. I’ll come and check on you in one week. I promise.”

Hesitantly, they leaned forward, brushing his cheek with their lips. And as they walked away, Mark reached up and touched where their lips had been.

He had watched the DA get in their car and drive away before taking the bag in and shutting the door before sliding down against it, the cat still bundled up against his chest. He rummaged through the bag, finding all the food and cat toys that (y/n) had hidden beneath the shower gel and soap. Bless them.

He looked down. The little black bundle uncurled himself and looked up at Mark. It put its paws on his chest and stood upright, using Mark’s hand as a platform for support. He let out another little cry. Mark brought his head closer, and was a little surprised when it licked his nose and bumped itself against his face. It was as it was telling him it’s okay, I’m here now. Mark was interested to see how this was going to turn out.

Not that much followed for the rest of that day. Mark tried to name the kitten and failed. He fed him and tried to play with him, and when the clock struck midnight he took the cat up to bed with him and passed out.

***

Mark was cold. Colder than he’d ever been. He was caught in a blizzard, the snow coming down so thick that he couldn’t see three feet in front of him. His feet were numb. He barely had the strength to trudge through the snow, the cold sapping all of his strength like a leech. But he had to go on. He felt like something would be waiting for him if he could just keep moving.

Eventually he came to his mansion, the only sign of civilization on this frozen wasteland. The lights were on in the living room. He made his way to where the front door should have been, but to his horror he realized that it was gone, nothing but a brick wall in its place. He fought his way through the snow to press himself against the glass of the window to peer inside.

Celine was there. She was smiling and laughing, and Mark’s heart twisted and how beautiful she looked with a smile on her face. There had been a time where she had always wore that smile for him. Maybe that’s what this smile was for. Maybe she was waiting for him.

And then he saw William, and the cold that pierced his heart had nothing to do with the blizzard. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting little kisses along her neck to make her giggle before she twisted around in his arms to kiss him deeply.

Mark had to look away, the wound in his heart ripped freshly open. He felt something behind him, something dark. He was too afraid to turn around, even when he felt it idly play with the hair atop his head. Something so casual and yet it inspired such a deep feeling of fear in Mark that he was frozen.

This happiness is at your expense pet.

He didn’t like that. Both that whatever was behind him used a pet name as if to claim him and the fact of William and Celine’s relationship.

The kiss. They fuck. They spend their days together while you rot. It’s not fair is it?

It wasn’t fair. But he didn’t want to listen to this. He wanted to cover his ears and make it go away. But he was stuck. Frozen. A prisoner in his own body. He couldn’t even do a thing as he felt something long and cold - a finger most likely - trail up his spine through his thin robe. He didn’t want it touching him.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Doesn’t it?

You could make them feel what you feel. You could make them understand.

He could? He brought his eyes up to the window again. Celine and William’s passion had begun to pick up now, hands fumbling to take clothes off and share their love right in the Actor’s own home.

He wanted them to understand. He wanted -

A piercing shriek rang through the frozen hellscape and Mark felt a small piercing pain in his chest. It was as if he was being stabbed with a little needles. The presence behind him hissed, angry at the disruption. He felt it slither away into the storm. His vision began to fade at the edges, the shrieking getting louder and louder.

Mark’s eyes fluttered open. A dream. Just a bad dream. And the source of the shrieking as on his chest. His cat stood, kneading his claws through the fabric of Marks robe. When he lifted a hand to move him, the cat moved closer to his face to shriek even louder, desperately trying to wake him.

“Alright, alright. I’m awake,” he groggily said as he sat up.

The kitten stopped making that high-pitched wail, deciding instead to press his head up against Mark’s hand and give him affectionate licks. He needed to be fed. Mark picked the small bundle up in one hand and made his way down to the kitchen.

***

The Actor hadn’t left his bedroom door open when he had gone down to feed the cat. He was sure that it had been shut firmly behind him. He stepped in, and realised that it was so much darker than it should have been. Memories flashed. He remembered Celine and him spending nights in each other's arms, him and Celine talking of the future, him and Celine speaking about the family they would start. That last memory hurt more than the others.

She’s planning this with William now.

That voice. The voice that haunted him both in dreams and in reality. And in that moment Mark knew that it was the one responsible for the absence of light. His bedroom had never been a place of such pain before this moment, even when all Actor had done was curl up with the pillow Celine had used.

She shares the dreams of a family with that Colonel.

Mark fell to his knees, afraid that they would give out on their own. He didn’t want to think about William and Celine’s future children. He hated them already.

The corner of the room, it was so much darker than the rest of it. No light would ever breach that dark stain. And he knew that that was where the voice was coming from. He stared, finding the shape of something so monstrous that the Actor’s mind could barely comprehend it.

And that stain grew. Grew until it was right in front of him and a long clawed finger reached out of that dark mass and used it to tilt Mark’s chin up.

But you can stop it. Can stop them. Why should they be happy?

They didn’t deserve happiness. They had taken his. They had spit on his.

Kill their chances. They don’t deserve them. I can help you. I can-

Mark was so hypnotized by the entity that he didn’t even see the black furry ball dart into the room. But he did notice when it planted itself between them and hissed and spat. The entity shrank back, and if Mark didn’t know better he would say it was afraid of the cat. The little black furball hissed and spat as if it was a black panther, screaming and yowling with so much anger that Mark was stunned. This cat was prepared to fight the being for him. It looked like it was about to lunge. It came to rescue him.

Without thinking, he scooped him up in a hand and bolted out of that room and slammed the door shut, shuddering at what had just gone down. And when he held the cat up to his face he couldn’t help but let out a small smile when it covered his nose with affectionate kisses.

***

It happened again. Mark had let the cat out to use the toilet, and he felt that being behind him. Felt those dark hands on his shoulder. Felt it slam the door shut to keep the cat out. And heard it whisper Damien.

Do you feel like a fool pet? Do you feel like a fool for trusting Damien? For helping him? Do you remember that scandal? The one where the Mayor was nearly exposed for gambling? It was a poker addiction was it not? He nearly gave away the entire town

Mark did remember. It hadn’t really been a scandal. Mark had got there before Damien did something drastic. Mark had paid off all his debts. Mark had paid for him to get private help to confront his addiction. Damien had said that now he would be forever in Mark’s debt.

So you do remember. You would think that a man in your debt would have told you your wife was fucking your brother.

Somewhere in the back of his head Mark knew what it was trying to do. But he was beginning to lose the will to fight. He hated this thing. Hated the way it touched him. Hated the way it called him pet. Hated the ownership it had over him. But it was so hard. And on top of that, the part of him that wanted revenge was growing. And he could do nothing to stop it.

It snaked a finger up his cheek like a lover. Mark wanted to vomit.

Then the entity let out a cry. And when Mark wrench himself free of that grip he saw his cat. He was absolutely furious, and somehow had a mouthful of darkness and was tearing into it like there was no tomorrow. The entity dissipated, leaving to presumably go lick its wounds. He looked down at that furious bundle. How had he gotten in? The was only one window open on the second -

Mark knelt. “Did you climb up to the second floor for me?”

The cat just started to climb him, coming to a stop on his shoulder and rubbing its head against his face. Mark couldn’t describe just how much he was beginning to love this cat.

***

That thing had lost its patience. Mark could feel it. A dark cloud stood before him, that entity hiding within. He had come into the living room for. . . What had it been for? He couldn’t remember. All thoughts had fled his mind when he came back to face this dark cloud. From within, he heard the snake-like voice of the entity, no longer just a voice in his head to make him doubt his sanity. Tendrils of darkness reached out, spreading that ghastly darkness out through the room, wrapping it around him. Isolating him. He could see nothing beyond this blackness.

She fucked him while you were married. She kissed you and told you she loved you all the while she was thinking of him. Would you like to know how long that went on?

Mark shook his head. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to-

A year. For an entire year she lied to year face. Neither of them even respected you enough to end the marriage first. She’d fuck you half-heartedly then leave your bed to meet him outside. So you remember your favourite spot in the garden? That was the place where they did it the most.

The Actor had proposed to her there.

You see how little you mean? You want revenge. You want to make them suffer.

He did.

You want them to feel your pain.

He wanted to make them feel his pain.

You want their entire lives to fall apart before they even realize we were involved.

He wanted-

A familiar shriek rang through the air. Mark snapped his head to the side just in time to see his cat fly at the entity. The entity let out a scream of its own, and when the cat came close enough a tendril flicked out and smacked it away. The cat hit the far wall and slid to the ground, landing with a thud. It tried weakly to get up before collapsing back onto its side and letting out a pitiful meow.

Darkness closed in again. But all Mark saw was red.

I can-

“Get out.”

Time stood still. And if Mark didn’t know any better he’d say that the entity was lost for words. Stunned into silence.

I-

“Get. Out.”

The entity laughed. You think-

Mark threw his hands up and screamed, “This is my house! You’re trespassing! Get out! Get out! Get out!”

White hot fury coarsed through Mark’s veins. It had tried to kill his cat. His anger was so extreme that it radiated out of him like the darkness radiated out of this thing. He wouldn’t stand for things anymore. Celine and William, they weren’t worth his time. They were insignificant. He didn’t care about revenge. He wanted to forget them. And he wanted to be left alone by this creature to take care of his cat. And as that horrible creature’s influence started to release him, so too did that darkness start to dissipate. Something like real fear was in the air. But it wasn’t his.

Wait! I-

“You tried to kill my cat.” Mark took a deep breath. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

The fear was thicker now, and that darkness shattered the living room window on its way out. Mark had felt lighter than he had in years. He rushed to his cat, scooping him up in his hands. The cat purred. He was going to be okay.

“My guardian angel,” he murmured. “Angel.”

Mark wondered what to do next. Taking Angel to the vet would probably be best. Then maybe beg Chef and Benjamin to come back home. And maybe, just maybe, he could ask the DA to come over for a cup of coffee.

Things were going to be okay.

#actor Mark #actor mark x y/n #markiplier #markiplier egos #the DA #Celine #William #Actor gets a cat #Abandonment #loneliness #Cheating #Honestly I can't stand Celine

62 notes · View notes