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theheartsmistakes · 3 years

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The Last Night Part XX

A/N’s at the end:

Parts I-XIX:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

.XX.

Lucie was already awake when the knock came at her door. She’d been up with the sun writing a letter to Grace for her next available time to meet so that they could continue with their plan to resurrect Jesse without having to sacrifice a life. She’d been up half of the night with ghastly dreams of herself holding a knife to the neck of someone she loves. When it came down to it, even in her wildest imagination, she couldn’t bring herself to do it; not even to a stranger. When it seemed sleep would allude her, she did what she’d always do when reality came to be too much. She sat at her small writing desk pressed underneath the window so she could see the moon and the stars once the clouds had broken away enough. She started a new story. Disappearing into a different reality with new, but familiar people, and stayed with them until dawn. In her alternative universe, there was no mention of demon attacks, murder rates, or pretentious leaders. Instead, they flowered with friendships and love pursued, sustained, or left in need of resuscitation. The pages smelt soft as if sprinkled with powder. She wrote until her wrist ached and her fingers locked and she was forced to rest.

Lucie had just finished buttoning the pearl buttons down the front of her dress when a small knock came at her door. She picked up her gloves and companion hat and glanced once at the drying pages on her desk.

Her hands were stained with black ink that even the fiercest scrubbing wouldn’t remove. Her once clean and neatly trimmed nail beds were all colored with ink. When she woke this morning, she found a mark on her chin, across her forehead, and even some on her bottom lip. Luckily, those came off with a bit of soap and warm water. She recalled the hands of a painter that once did a portrait for the Institute. Not only his hands were riddled with color, but his clothes and his traveling bag as well. An artist doesn’t need to speak or show off their work to be known as an artist. An artist wears their work wherever they go.

She smiled to herself as she opened the door to find their butler with a letter sitting on a silver tray.

“The post arrived,” he said and lowered the tray for Lucie. “Breakfast shall be ready shortly. Are you in need of any assistance this morning.”

As soon as she saw the neat, elegant gold lettering of her name on the smooth parchment, Lucie nearly leaped onto the letter.

“No, thank you,” she fumbled. “That will be all.” And shut the door with her foot.

Without a letter opener close by, she used her finger to slide underneath the wax seal and pulled out the letter, tossing the envelope aside as she unfolded the paper.

Dear Lucie,

I am writing to request your assistance with some correspondence letters I have been needlessly putting off for the last month. If you find yourself with some time today, would you be so kind as to come by the house at any time after noon. The back door will be open. You can see yourself in.

Best,

Aunt Cecily

Clever girl, thought Lucie. Pretending to be her Aunt as to not give away their agenda. Perhaps she did not give Grace the full credit she deserved.

She folded the letter into a small rectangle and stuffed into the bodice of her dress. As she turned to leave, her gloves slipped from her hands and her mouth dropped.

Jesse leaned against the door. With his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes held her face with a rage that rivaled even her own anger.

“And what is it that you want?” She asked with a slight break in her voice.

Jesse’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not going.”

Lucie scoffed. “And are you going to be the one who stops me?”

“Yes,” he growled.

“Is this how it’s to be?” She brushed a curl away from her face. “I do something you don’t particularly agree with and you suddenly become my own personal poltergeist?”

“When you’ve left me no other choice,” he said. “I’m trying to leave you alone. I realize I made a mistake by taking advantage of your ability to see me. I’ll never forgive myself for giving into the selfish ideology that after so many years alone, I finally had someone to talk to, that it never occurred to me the wild, beautiful girl would try to resurrect my lifeless corpse.”

“A terrible mistake on your part,” said Lucie, picking up her gloves from the floor.

Jesse stepped away from the door. “I tried staying away from you, but that clearly hasn’t worked. You’ve just managed to get yourself into even more trouble.”

“I need you to move,” said Lucie.

“Lucie, you cannot go there. It’s dangerous. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever they’re planning, it will not bring me back. Not as I was and not as I am now.” He reached for her, but his hands stopped in the air, as if he suddenly thought better of it. His expression softened. “In truth, this is something that I never wanted to confess to you, I’d hoped that you’d simply just let me go. But I realize how important it is now. Lucie, the way you think you feel about me, I don’t feel that way about you.”

Lucie rocked back on her heels just a bit. “And how is it you think I feel about you?”

“An infatuation,” said Jesse. “I’ve let it go on because there’s not many people to talk to when no one can see you. I’ve been alone for so long, quietly observing everything, but never able to engage. And then one day, I heard a girl’s voice in the forest, calling for help and I felt this pull to answer her. A pull that I couldn’t ignore. I never expected you to be able to see me— much less communicate with me, but you could. And it felt like dry land after months at sea. I’ve been using you, Lucie. Selfishly using you, because I couldn’t stand to be alone any longer.”

Lucie’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying these things so I won’t go.”

“It’s true,” said Jesse. “Lucie, you’ve been a great friend, but bringing me back to life won’t make us more than that.”

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. He was just trying to push her away; protect her. But the doubt crept in all the same. He never once insinuated that their relationship was anything more than a strange friendship. If he were all she had to talk to in the world, she felt she would have clung to him, if only not to be alone.

Warmth spread across her cheeks. She had to look away from him. She needed to leave. “Please move,” said Lucie quietly.

“Are you still—“

“Move,” she said again and his form brushed aside as if shoved by the wind. Jesse stumbled for a moment, while he gained his bearings again, Lucie pulled open the door and left.

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, but she managed to hold them back. If this was his truth, it was best she knew. Still, the anger boiled inside of her until she almost turned around twice to tell him that she wasn’t bringing him back so they could ride off into the sunset together. She was giving him his life back because he didn’t deserve to die when he did. The way he did. He deserved to live and if she could give that to him, with nothing in return, then that would make her happy.

But if that wasn’t what he wanted, then perhaps it wasn’t her place to force it upon him.

She ran past the empty drawing room and turned the corner to descend the hallway to the dining room when she stopped.

Standing outside the door, pacing like a nervous jungle cat in a cage, was Cordelia. As Lucie approached, it seemed she was speaking in an entirely different language to herself, muttering to hands without noticing Lucie’s approach until she stood right behind her.

“Oh!” Cordelia stumbled back, clutching her chest. “Lucie, I didn’t hear you.”

Lucie appraised Cordelia, her hair was pulled back and braided into a coronet that ran into a braid down her shoulder. Her dress was a soft honey color that swooped across her chest exposing her delicate collarbone. The intricate beading had spots missing, but Lucie could still tell it was one of Cordelia’s most treasured items, if only because she’d never seen her wear it before.

“You look lovely,” said Lucie, running her fingers over the soft silk of the skirt that held Cordelia’s curve closely.

“Do I?” Cordelia blanched. “I supposed I’m trying to make a bit of an impression today.”

Lucie looked around the empty hallway. “On whom?”

Cordelia blushed. “It’s a bit of a long story, and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable by telling you this information, but James and I may have kissed last night.”

Lucie’s eyebrow jumped and her traitorous heart ached. “May have?”

Cordelia grinned down at her distressed leather boots. “All right, we did. But before we could discuss it, my brother walked out and said all of these awful things to him. I haven’t been able to talk to him yet. I feel terrible.”

“Is that why dinner was so awkward last night?” asked Lucie, recalling the silent meal that passed between everyone except for the adults who kept attempting to make conversation, but couldn’t manage to get more than a few words out of the young adults sitting at the end of the table. No one would make eye contact and Cordelia just pushed the vegetables around her shepherds pie. Lucie had just assumed it was because she didn’t like shepherds pie. “Is James in there now?”

Cordelia shook her head. “My brother is sitting in there alone. A ploy to be sure James and I aren’t alone together. I was hoping to catch James before he came to breakfast, but I haven’t seen him come down. Oh, do you think he’s avoiding me?”

“No,” Lucie assured her. “He’s probably dressing as we speak and taking just as much care as you have.”

“Is it too obvious?”

“No, just the right amount of obvious,” said Lucie. “Sometimes I think my dear brother needs a brilliantly lit beacon for a sign and even then it might wallop him over the head before he saw it. Why don’t you go find him now and I’ll distract Alastair?”

“Because I can’t risk someone seeing me go into his room alone and I can’t very well speak to him freely in the open hallway,” said Cordelia, burying her face in her gloved hands. “I was hoping to catch him before breakfast and ask him for a morning walk. I don’t know what to do, Lucie, I’ve never been in this sort of situation before. And now I have Alastair hovering around me like a judgmental headmistress at a convent.”

“Have you a lot of experience at convents?” teased Lucie.

“You know what I mean,” said Cordelia.

Lucie smiled and patted her dear friend between the shoulders. “I do. Now, here’s what we’re going to do—“

Before she could give Cordelia her plan, James ran into the hallway. His hair stood up from sleeping on it wet and his gear was buckled incorrectly as if he’d done it in a hurry and without glancing in a mirror. Lucie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She looked over at Cordelia who was beaming as if a witchlight had been stuffed inside of her.

“The post arrived—“ James started but was quickly shushed by a gloved hand over his mouth.

Cordelia lunged at him. “Shhh… we must be quiet. Alastair is there.”

James stiffened. “Good. I mean to speak to him.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” said Lucie, blocking the door. “I think the two of you have more to speak about than you and Alastair. Besides, it’s barely nine in the morning. That’s far too early for blood shed.”

James took Cordelia’s hand as if in some sort of act of defiance. “I am not going to sneak around your brother. I’m not going to sneak around anyone. We’ve spent far too much time in secret, I won’t do it anymore.”

Cordelia seemed to melt into herself as she leaned towards James.

Lucie snapped her fingers between them. “That’s wonderful, but now is not the time. What was in the post?”

James tore his eyes away from Cordelia to look back at his sister. He looked at her with a confused expression as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“The post,” Lucie demanded. “You said the post arrived. What was in the post?”

“Right,” he shook his head. “Magnus replied. He said that he found it suspicious that we chose to write him a letter rather than show up at his door unexpectedly and unannounced as history suggests. Suspicious and intriguing, he said, so he’s invited us over this afternoon.”

“Wonderful,” said Cordelia. “How are we going to get past my brother?”

The three of them thought for a moment. If Alastair had any suspicion that Cordelia would be going off with James alone, he’d be sure to insist on joining or not allowing it at all.

“You’ll tell him you’re coming with me,” said Lucie. “I have to go to Aunt Cecily’s this afternoon to help her with some correspondence. You can tell him that you’re joining me. James, what time are you supposed to patrol with Matthew?”

“Noon,” said James.

“That’s perfect,” said Lucie. “You’ll look as if you’re going off to meet Matthew to patrol and Cordelia will look as if she’s joining me to go to Cecily’s except Cordelia will hop into your carriage instead of mine.”

James and Cordelia stared at Lucie for a long moment before either of them said anything.

“That brilliant, actually,” said James.

“I know, now fix your gear,” said Lucie. “You look like an idiot.”

Lucie speared another sausage onto her fork from the steaming plate in the middle of the dining room table that had been neatly done up with slow burning candles and plain white china plates. Tessa and Will had left the Institute early to attend a meeting with the Counsel. Sona was being visited by a Silent Brother who insisted on keeping a close eye on Sona’s pregnancy due to her age and fragility.

The meal prepared was as extravagant as the table setting: piles of fresh sausages, perfectly browned toast with freshly churned cinnamon butter, golden scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and bowls of seasonal fruit sprinkled with sugar.

The smell wafted through the Institute like a beacon.

Lucie sat beside Cordelia who sat opposite Alastair. He’d finished his breakfast before they left James to ready the carriages. With his plate cleared from in front of him, he flipped through the mundane newspaper occasionally glancing up to examine the two girls opposite him.

The silence between the two Carstairs was palpable. If Lucie wasn’t so nervous herself about having to go to Grace and tell her that she no longer wanted to help bring Jesse back, she might have tried harder to fill the silence. But with her own thoughts racing with the truth Jesse had shared with her, she couldn’t bring herself to even try.

“What are your plans for today?” Alastair asked gently. “I thought we could go to the park and get some fresh air. Maybe that will help to restore some of your memories.”

Cordelia’s fork clanged against her plate. “Lucie’s Aunt needs help responding to correspondences today. I’ve been asked to join her.”

“Oh,” said Alastair. “That’s all right. Do you need an escort?”

“No,” said Cordelia sharply. “James will be busy patrolling with Matthew so you needn’t worry about the two of us sneaking off together.”

Alastair’s mouth stiffened. “Cordelia, I know that you’re angry with me, but—“

“I’m not angry,” said Cordelia, pushing her plate of food away. “We can walk around the park tomorrow or perhaps this afternoon. There are some things we aren’t finished discussing, but if you’ll excuse us, our carriage should be ready and Cecily is expecting us.”

Lucie followed Cordelia when she stood up from the table, but before she turned to leave, she saw Alastair look down at his hands resting in his lap. His mouth muttered something under his breath, probably something he wanted to say to Cordelia, but couldn’t bring himself to. For all of his faults, and he had many, Lucie could recognize the love in his eyes towards his sister.

The two girls left the room, hurrying through down the hallway towards the front doors where two carriages waited. James sat in the driver’s seat of the open one that was mostly used for transporting items. Balios stood patiently while James hopped down and assisted Cordelia into the spot beside him on the bench.

“We’ll meet back at the Institute at three,” said Lucie, that would give them plenty of time for Magnus to muddle through Cordelia’s mind and James to look for the book while she abandoned her plan to help Jesse. “We need to come in together so no one will be suspicious. Good luck, Cordelia. If anyone can find your lost memories, it’s Magnus.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Cordelia and nodded at James to leave.

Lucie gathered her dress and climbed into the carriage waiting for her. She took her seat beside the window on the plush velvet bench and tried not to think about what she was about to do.

Jesse’s words played over in her mind until eyes burned. Maybe it was foolish of her to believe that there was anything more there; that he might actually care for her. Perhaps she did spend too much time in her fairytales that she’d lost touch of reality. Perhaps this was all for the best. She could focus on her training, on becoming parabatai with Cordelia, and finish her manuscript for publication. She’d have to think of a clever pen name, possibly a male one like Jane Austen had, so that her audience would expand past bored housewives.

And perhaps one day she’d meet someone. Alive, preferably, and her feelings for Jesse Blackthorn would be just a distant memory that she tucked into a box in her mind until they’re completely forgotten about, consumed by other things.

She wondered if he’d forget her too. If that was something he could do.

If it was something he’d done already.

It was nearly noon when the carriage came to a stop outside of her Aunt Cecily’s house. She did as Grace instructed and went around the back. The house looked dark when she approached the door though the garden. There was no light coming through the windows, normally Cecily had the doors open to let a breeze inside and some of the stuffiness out or the housemaids were hard at work dusting rugs, hanging laundry, or pouring out dirty mop water, but there was no such activity. Perhaps Grace preferred everything to be quiet.

Lucie rapped her knuckles on the dark wood once. “Grace, it’s Lucie. I don’t want to frighten you by barging in.”

After a moment, when she heard nothing, she tested the door knob and found it unlocked. She pushed it open on its aged hinges and walked into the kitchen. The curtains had all been drawn leaving the room dark except for small slivers of light where the sun came in through a break in the curtains. Flakes of dust danced in the air as Lucie passed through to the front drawing room.

“Grace,” Lucie called as she checked the chairs and the lounge sofa where they’d shared their bargain. The room was empty and quiet except for the sound of the old grandfather clock ticking away the seconds. “Grace, are you here?”

A chill drifted through the thin fabric of Lucie’s sleeves. There was a faint smell of burning wood.

Lucie turned towards the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“I don’t find this humorous,” said Lucie, and walked slowly up the stairs despite her instincts telling her to stop. “If you’re hiding because you don’t want to help me, well I’m here to tell you that I’ve decided to put an end to our plan. Your brother is adamant that he doesn’t want my help to bring him back and wishes to terminate all contact with me, so you can stop the theatrics now.”

She reached the top of the landing where the hallway split in two directions: West and East. Lucie glanced to her right and knew her aunt and uncle's room to be down at the end and Anna’s room being the first door on the left.

The sound of shuffling feet came from her left. She glanced in that direction just as the skirt of a white dress drifted into a doorway.

Lucie released a sigh and hurried towards the door. Words laced with venom filled her mouth as she stomped down the hallway and nearly kicked open the door.

“I sincerely hope you—“ The words were cut short. Laying in the center of a four poster bed in a black tailored suit, like he’d just risen from a nap, was Belial.

He grinned that cunning, familiar smile at her. “Good,” he said. “You received my message.”

A/N: Happy Halloween friends! I hope you all had a wonderful and safe holiday whether it was spent watching scary movies alone or with friends, safely trick-or-treating in a neighborhood, or partying it up sipping booze through a straw and hole in your mask while dressed like Napoleon Dynamite or a ninja turtle (I'm not judging). Live your best life! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. We are starting to get back into the thick of it, and I for one, am excited. Please give it a like, tell me your thoughts on this chapter, reblog if you feel so inclined, and if you haven’t all ready give me a follow. I post about books, romance, and zero politics. Next update is coming at you, Nov 15!

#The Last Night #the last night fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #chain of gold #chain of gold fanfic #jordelia fanfiction #jordelia #james x cordelia #lucie x jesse #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #the last hours

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stormcloudrising · 4 years

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Yo! I read your honeycomb posts diagonally, liked it. I have to rrad them more carefully later. I also saw the honeycomb = Eyrie, which I'm writing about too for my analysis on Sansa I. I'm here asking if in taking your notes on this, you saw Sansa and honey associations. I mean honey, not bees or the like,

Hi,

Thanks for reading and the question. Also, apologies for the delayed response. It’s been a bit crazy the last few weeks with both work and life.

As I stated in my essay, honey was considered nectar and the food of the gods in Greek mythology, and I believe that Martin is symbolically using it the same way in regards to both Bran and Sansa. In the case of Bran, the association is clearer because George often gives us the young Stark’s thoughts as he eats food or drinks wine flavored with honey.

Bran drank. The potion was thick and chalky, but there was honey in it, so it went down easy.

A Clash of Kings - Bran I

Bran's wine was sweetened with honey and fragrant with cinnamon and cloves, but stronger than he was used to. He could feel its hot snaky fingers wriggling through his chest as he swallowed. By the time he set down the goblet, his head was swimming.

A Clash of Kings - Bran III

In the example above, Martin literally associates honey with the fire of the gods as it snakes through Bran’s chest. It’s so potent, his head is swimming. Understanding the symbolism of honey as the food of the gods, helps you to see the progression of the mentions in Bran’s chapter and the metaphoric usage of the word throughout the text by Martin.

Having said all that, recognizing the honey symbolism in Sansa’s arc is not as easy as with Bran because I think that Martin is saving the revelation of her greenseer abilities for TWOW. In the instances when honey appears in her chapter, she is simply commenting about its presence in the scene and as I say, the symbolism is more in abstract . It is still there but it may not be specifically about Sansa. Like in this scene.

Petyr yanked on the other boot. "I've had about as much home as I can stomach. We'll leave for the Eyrie this afternoon." He kissed his lady wife and licked a smear of honey off her lips, then headed down the steps.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

As the Eyrie is a symbolic honeycomb, Lysa as its ruler is the metaphorical queen bee. Petyr licking the honey from her lips can then be seen as him stealing her power or her icy fire. He’s doing so through enticing her to give it away. And how is Petyr doing this? Well, mint is a bee balm and George in making it a favorite of Petyr is his way of carrying through the symbolism of Petyr stealing the honey of the queen bee.

Aside from the symbolic connection to bees that I discussed in my essay, probably the most important honey reference in the entire series occurs in a Sansa chapter and is about her and Jon. I am talking about The Bear and the Maiden Fair, which is sung by Butterbumps when Olenna interrogates Winterfell’s daughter about Joffrey. I also discussed the implications of the song here.

Also, as I talked about in my essay, The Evolution of Val, dark honey is very closed in color to chestnut. In actual fact, it’s dark brown with red highlights, which is very similar to Alayne’s hair color. She colored her red tresses chestnut brown but as always happens when you dye your hair, the original color eventually returns. Sansa’s red hair keeps peeking through and she is running out of dye.

To understand why the Bear and the Maiden Fair with its theme of honeyed-hair is so important to Sansa, one must understand why the Wildings consider redheads lucky and why it is said that they are “kissed by fire,” as the two concepts are synonymous.

To have kissed by fire hair is to be blessed by the gods. In symbolic terms, it’s to be blessed with the “fire of the gods.” I suspect that the Nissa Nissa, who was quite possibly the first greenseer was a redhead. It’s not clear whether she was a full COTF or a COTF/human hybrid but I think the evidence points to her being a redhead. And although the Wildings may have forgotten the original meaning, they remember enough to think that having red hair to be blessed by the gods or to be lucky.

However, as we’ve seen over and over in the text, being a redhead is actually not that lucky as the fire of the gods is not meant for everyone. The text is filled with an abundance of deaths of characters with red hair. And those who are lucky enough to attain the power of the gods—starting with Nissa Nissa, must pay a very steep price.

Let’s just think about the featured redheads in our story. Catelyn, Rob, Ygritte, Dalla, Lysa, and Beric are all dead. Jon Connington is not yet gone from the world but as he’s infected with greyscale, his future is not bright. Things are also not looking that promising for little Rickon. He’s still alive but his fate in the books will most likely be very similar to that of his character on the show. The same is probably true of Melissandre. In fact, she may already be dead and is just some version of a fire wight.

Then we come to Bran and Sansa. Bran almost died and while he survived, his payment for accessing the fire of the gods was the loss of the use of his legs. Sansa’s direwolf was killed by her father, who was in turned beheaded in front of her. She also suffered at the brutish hands of Joffrey and the Kings Guards. Is this sufficient payment for her accessing the weirwood net? Only time will tell but knowing George and the unlucky nature of the redheads in the books, I would say the answer is no.

Also, except for Dalla, Lysa and Ygritte, all the redheads I listed above were literally touched by the fire of the gods in some manner. Think of the Stark kids and their warg and or greenseer abilities; Jon Con and his greyscale, which is said to have been created as a result of a cursed placed upon the Valyrians by a Rhoynar king; Beric and Cat who both returned from the dead; and of course Melisandre and her powers.

These are an awful lot of redheads tied to the magical storyline. Compare this number with the other characters who are also connected to magic and you arguably only have Arya, Dany, Jon, Euron and Patchface. See the difference.

Yes, sometimes a black box is simply a black box. However, when you see a theme playing out throughout the text and how it’s symbolically linked in numerous ways to a specific character then you have to start wondering if George is trying to say something.

To have “kissed by fire hair” is symbolic of being blessed by the gods or having the ability to access the power of the gods. Honey is also symbolic of the food or fire of the gods. And so, when in the song, George tells us that the fair maiden had honey in her hair, he is implying that she is most likely a greenseer—and one with red hair. I say that because of the emphasis George puts on dark-honey hair as well as Alayne’s chestnut colored hair. As I’ve stated, dark-honey hair is brown with red highlights ala Alayne’s.

Now of course, the Bear and the Maiden Fair is also filled with sexual insinuations as implied by him licking the honey from the maiden’s hair…the Lord’s Kiss anyone. In many world myths about the bear and the maiden, the “honey” is not always freely offered. It’s sometimes taken by force or the maiden is enticed with some element. Think of Petyr’s symbolic use of mint, which is a bee balm.

Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. His mouth was on hers, swallowing her words. He tasted of mint. For half a heartbeat she yielded to his kiss . . . before she turned her face away and wrenched free. "What are you doing?"

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

However, force or enticement does not seem to be the case in this particular instance as the song suggests that the maiden freely offered up her honey to the bear. And so, whatever happens between Sansa, the fair maiden, and her bear, her fire will be freely given.

I suspect that in TWOW, we will see more blatant passage of honey being tied to Sansa. This will a result of what I believe to be her greenseer abilities but also a result of the Persephone theme running throughout her arc.

OMG…this response turned out to be extremely long. Apologies for making you read so much (assuming that you did).😊

ETA to add that redheads were probably also probably considered lucky because their hair matched the color of the weirwoods, which are sacred to the old gods and those who follow them.

#sansa stark #role of honey in asoiaf #Bear and the maiden fair #asoiaf

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knittastically · 4 years

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A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 28

POSS/PROB NSFW, Depends on your POV. THE DECISION IS YOURS

This is a looooong Chapter be warned.

Thank you all for your patience this chapter has been a long time coming but serious Family issues took precedence, as indeed they should. It is likely that this will be the last chapter for a little while. However I am not abandoning the idiots just yet and have several ideas for future chapters. By way of a change I might have a dalliance with the rather lovely John Porter.

Raymond de Merville did not die on a beach in Ireland, of course he didn’t. He made it back to Rouen and has decided to marry a feisty little baggage called Isabé.

A fiction, based hardly at all on a fiction, with the addition of some other fictional characters and one or two real ones

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18

Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26

Part 27

You can also find all chapters here on AO3

If you want in or out of the Tag List (at the bottom of the page) just let me know via message and it’ll be done in a flash.

Squinting against the first vicious rays of sunlight, my head pounds. Not for a moment did I think I would spend my wedding night sleeping in a hard chair. My back and neck are stiff. Ribs and chest ache from the effort of screaming, yelling and crying, and each time I swallow my throat burns. Raymond was right, I did not close my eyes that night but not in the way he insinuated. I need something to drink, to slake my thirst and ease my throat but there’s nothing to hand, more fool me! The water ewer and basin are in pieces on the floor, the cups are God knows where; as for wine all that’s left is a dark stain on the wall ending in a sticky puddle glueing potsherds to the floor.

The bedchamber looks like a battlefield and most things that could be used as a missile have been. The footstool is upended in the corner, food is scattered on the floor, and along with my shift, my wedding gown is a crumpled, wine stained, rag flung under the table. Turning stiffly, I look across to where Raymond is sprawled face down across the mattress, his head is turned away from me and one of my shoes lies next to him on the pillow. It was the last thing I threw at him but I missed; it bounced off the wall, and all night it has laid where it fell, bastard I hate him! Raymond mumbles in his sleep but barely moves, and the distance between chair and bed might as well be a chasm between us.

My eyes prick with tears as I remember him speaking the words that bound us together. His beautiful eyes sparkling as starting with my thumb, he placed the ring over it and then each finger as he declared. “In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.” Finally, he placed it over my ring finger with the words; *Lo te esposy, Molher* and slid it gently down over the knuckles. Then drawing me towards him he whispered. “Mon amour, Mon coeur, Ma Vie." "The words are inscribed inside the ring Isabé, never forget them.” Despite his large, calloused, soldiers’ hands, his touch was gentle as he cupped my face, his lips soft and warm as he brushed them against mine, but his eyes, oh God, his eye sparkled and flashed, speaking silently of things to come.”

I pull my cloak tightly round me; not for warmth, just the comfort of it. My eyes are gritty, and with a sigh I lean back in the chair praying for sleep. I am in that drowsy half world between sleeping and waking, and I feel as if I am floating.

“Mon Amour, Mon Coeur, Ma Vie:” The soothing words slide into my ears as I feel the gentle brush of lips and beard against my forehead. “Raymond?” “Shhh my love, hush. He settles me down into softness and slides in beside me.

“Fuck” I feel him jolt, then something hits the floor...the shoe

Earlier

Raymonds fingers snag a little on the delicate fabric of my gown as he slides his hand oh so slowly up the inside of my leg and as he presses a kiss to my knee, I feel the heat of his mouth through the silk of my wedding gown. A slow, easy, confident smile settles on his lips as he hesitates for a moment before brushing the tips of his long fingers up along the crease of my hip and hidden from view cups his hand gently over the mound of soft flesh between my thighs. It was the lightest touch, but my breath catches, and my eyes widen as I hold his look hoping to stare him down and conceal the fact that I burn for him. He is so sure of himself I swat his hand away and hiss at him “You are too forward My Lord, are you trying to claim a husbands rights before you are my husband, be I careful I don’t say no to you and leave you on the Cathedral steps.”

“Mon Coeur, we both know that I have already claimed a husbands rights in part, and I don’t recall any complaints from you.” The slight breeze ruffles his unfashionably short hair, Raymond is ever the soldier and doesn’t subscribe to the longer, sleek styles favoured by the courtiers. His broad smile reaches his eyes and settles into creases around them; eyes full of mischief. “Chérie, be careful” He warns me with a low growl that it’s a mistake to dare him, because where I am concerned, he will always take up the challenge.

“I said nothing.” “Perhaps not in words my darling, but your eyes, they say a great deal” He smirks at me. “Now we should go, it would not do to keep His Grace waiting.” And as he mounts up on Diable, Mattieu barks out the order to the escort and we make our way into the city and towards the Cathedral.

“Raymond why couldn’t we have married in the family Chapel?”

“I should have preferred that Chérie, all this overblown nonsense just for show but protocol demands that the Baron de Merville marries in the Cathedral, in full view of everyone. Perhaps I should have eloped with you that would have been easier still.”

“Pfft, eloping is a young man’s game, I wouldn’t have wished to put such a strain on an old soldier” His eyebrows fly almost to his fringe, then he raises just the left one. “Most considerate of you.” He drawls, “I shall ask you in the morning whether you still believe me to be an old man or not.” The corner of his mouth lifts in a lazy smile, and heat rising in my cheeks isn’t entirely due to the sun beating down. It is only as we are being greeted by His Grace that I realise Raymond has called himself Baron.

Archbishop Robert III Poulain waits before the great West Doorway of what is no more than a glorified building site. A raging fire 9 years ago saw to that and not much remains of the once magnificent Cathedral; a few stones here and there, some of the columns and the Tour Saint Romain. I catch sight of Henri and he blows me a kiss it’s the sign we agreed and I heave a sigh of relief.

We stand before His Grace as he blesses us with Holy water and begins the ceremony. **“Raymond Christophe de Merville vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Pelletier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?”**

Now is my moment, and taking a deep breath, I draw myself to my full height, which is to say the top of my head is somewhere near Raymonds shoulder and I speak out in as firm a voice as I can manage. “Your Grace, Pelletier is not my name.” Surprise registers on his face and he gapes a little as he looks from me, to Raymond, to The King and back again to me. I hear the gasps and muttering of the congregation nearest to us.

“Isabé, what are you up to.?” Raymond hisses. “Don’t worry.” I slip my hand into his, gently squeezing his fingers, it gives me courage and I continue.

“My name was created to protect me.” Archbishop Poulain regards me through narrowed eyes, I hesitate and wonder if I am doing right but it is too late now, and I plough on. “The name I wish to have recorded is Isabé Aaliz Fournier – Bouvier” Those nearest to us gasp, the significance of birth and ancestry is not lost on them, and both men are well known. Blanche, Henri and of course Sebastien are the focus of everyone’s attention; Sebastien Fournier smiles at me whith such a look of pride and joy on his face. Henri nods, Blanche presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss, she is the one who will have to bear the gossip and tittle-tattle, yet she has agreed to this.

“I love you, my beautiful, fearless Lioness.” Raymond raises my hand to his lips.

The sun beats down hot and unrelenting and my heart is pounding so much I can hear it.

“What are you waiting for Poulain?” The King’s words ring out above the commotion. “Record the name and continue with the ceremony.” and with his voice only a little shaky the Archbishop begins again.

“Raymond Christophe de Merville, vis accipere Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier hic præséntem in tuam legítimam uxórem iuxta ritum sanctaæ matris Ecclésiæ?” It’s credit to Raymond than when he answers his voice carries only the faintest hint of a laugh

“Volo”

His Grace still glowering asks in a sharp voice. Isabé Aaliz Fournier - Bouvier, vis accípere Raymond Christophe de Merville hic præséntern in tuum legítimum marítum iuxta ritum sanctæ matris Ecclésiæ?

“Volo”

I smile up at Raymond as he removes the small gold ring from the little finger of his right hand, it is blessed by the Archbishop, returned, and Raymond speaks the words which make me his wife.

We are married in law and all I want is for us to leave now, to escape from the clamour of the guests and the heat of the day but the Nuptial Mass must be endured, and it is interminable. At last we kneel as the canopy is lowered over us, a pristine white veil the size of a bed sheet; sheilding us from everyone but God, and as we prostrate ourselves on the cool newly swept floor, it is held only inches above us. We are now one body, one flesh and protected by the Almighty. I’d rather be protected by Raymond; he is a far more ruthless bodyguard. As we wait for the final blessing, he shuffles closer to me and not caring whether anyone sees him strokes his hand down over my back, though the whole congregation must surely have heard my squeak of surprise as he squeezes my arse. I glare across at him, his face is a picture of innocence as he whispers. “Soon, Mon Coeur, Soon.” “You are shameless My Lord” I hiss back at him, but my feigned annoyance doesn’t stop the heat I feel.

The moment we stand to make our way to the great door, a blur of dark hair and blue gown speeds towards Raymond. “Papa,” With a squeal, Nicolette launches herself at her father and he sweeps her straight up into his arms, beaming at her. “Papa, can I ride home with you on Diable?” he kisses her cheek. “Oh, little sparrow I don’t think that is a good idea.” The corners of her mouth turn down as she frowns at him, then wheedles. “Please Papa, please.” “Sweetheart, you know he is an ill-tempered brute and with these crowds he might not behave.”

From the corner of my eye I see Eleanor pushing her way towards us, ignoring the contemptuous, disapproving looks of her “Betters”. “Nicolette, that is not the way to behave in church child.” Her boisterous daughter flashes her a mutinous look then settles herself against Raymond, then twines her arms around his neck as she nuzzles her nose into his beard and kisses him “But he likes me Papa and I’m not scared of him, I feed him apples.” I hear the slightly strangled noise in his throat as he croaks. “Eleanor?”

“Don’t look to me on this Raymond.”

“What have you been up to you little imp, the truth now hein.” She drops her head and pouts; Raymond catches my eye and I press my lips together in an effort not to laugh. “I just go to the stables and hide until the boys go away, then give them to him, it’s alright I do it just the way you showed me with my pony, and he doesn’t hurt me, it tickles my hand when he takes them.” She giggles. “He puts his head down and lets me stroke him.”

“Christ and all his saints, I’ll have the hides of those idiot stable lads.”

“No Papa, I go in and hide until they’ve gone away.”

“Oh, she is definitely her father’s daughter Raymond.” I grin at him he gives me “That” look, rolling his eyes at me

“Sweetheart, he’s dangerous.” He kisses the tip of Nicolette’s nose. “Not with me.” Nicolette sets her mouth in a tight little line and juts her chin out.

“Nor me.” I remind him quietly as I rest my hand lightly on his arm. “Now stop trying to frighten her and let her ride with you.” I wink at Eleanor; her smile is warm and genuine.

“Before you go Madame.” Eleanor steps towards me. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

“For God’s sake then ask me Eleanor, there is no need of formality, it is Isabé to you” I drop a sisterly kiss to her cheek. The wife acknowledges the "Sometime Mistress," she and Nicolette have my friendship and protection.” let the hypocrites think what they like.

“Isabé, when his Majesty leaves here, I am ordered travel with him to Paris and then I go South. I have no idea how long my commission will take me away from home and from Nicolette; would you be willing to care for her whilst I’m away?” “Of course Eleanor, don’t worry on that score. Besides, I think she would run rings around her Grandfather in a very short time” “Between you and me, Isabé she already does.” I lay a hand on her arm. “We shall take great care of her;" Raymond is standing beside me and I smile up at him in time to catch the look that passes between them and it unsettles me.

By the time we reach the Chateau, I fell hot, sticky and more than a little crabby; people have been crowding around us pressing and shoving and I am glad the Hall is cooler, sweet with the scent of herbs and decked out in as much finery as could be gathered together. The colourful banners sway in what little breeze comes through the doors. Every table is covered with a linen cloth, cleaned and bleached until it is pristine white and the best of the household table ware is set on it, heaven knows where it was dug it out from, but I suspect most of it hasn’t been used in years.

Fournier strides over, and I move to embrace him, I know that all eyes are on us, but he catches hold of my right hand and bows to me. His voice is solemn but his eyes twinkle. “Welcome, Madame de Merville.” Quietly he adds, “Daughter” Protocol has been preserved,

“Forgive me for yesterday…. Father, I…” He cuts me off quietly, “Daughter, there is nothing to forgive.” And with a broad smile he steps back, turns to face the high table and slams the point of his staff to the floor to bring everyone to order as Philip Augustus King of France takes his place as guest of honour.

Du Four has surpassed himself, and my Father has likely bankrupted the household. A wedding feast is a costly business but when The King is guest of honour, then you had best be ready to ignore the expense and simply raid the coffers. Imported wines and the best Ales flow freely, attentive pages make sure that cups are never drained. Dish after dish of food is served all bathed in rich sauces thickened with almonds or cream and flavoured with herbs or expensive spices, dried fruits, lemons and bitter oranges. When you feed a king, then there is no budget.

But I have little appetite, excitement and nerves have seen to that and so I only manage to pick at one or two mouthfuls. A stream of guests keeps me occupied as they offer gifts and congratulations and my face aches from smiling politely. Raymond coaxes me to eat, offering me choice morsels speared from his own platter. “Isabé” he strokes my leg “I wish you would eat something, because I can promise that you will need your strength, you won’t close your eyes before daybreak.” His voice is husky and seductive as he offers me another titbit, this time from his fingers, brushing them gently against my lips, coaxing me to part them.

I see the wolfish glint in his eyes, he is playing me the bastard. Too little food and a little too much wine, makes me reckless and two can play at those games. I keep my own eyes firmly fixed on his as he pops the morsel into my mouth. Closing my lips around the tips of his fingers, I gently suck the rich sauce from them. Does anyone notice? I don’t care if they do. Even bolder now, I slide my hand up the inside of his leg, barely ghosting over the fabric, but he feels it. Up and up to the join of hip and thigh until I can go no further, still our gaze is locked, still he is daring me, and I take the challenge, rippling my fingers over his groin. There it is, that soft rumble in the back of his throat, as his eyes widen, then flutter closed for a moment: suddenly he slaps his large hand over mine. From beneath his heavy-lidded eyes he watches me for a moment and catches his lower lip between his teeth biting hard. Then he leans across to me. “Mon Coeur, you had best be careful what games you choose to play, because if you keep teasing I’ll not wait to get you into bed, I’ll haul you behind the screens passage and fuck you where we stand no matter who sees.”

Oh, and he would do it, I know he wood and though his voice is no more than a whisper, it is as hot as hellfire, I turn away and reach for my wine, the cup shakes in my hand as I take a mouthful. I am served right; I should know better than to dare him. There are times when I can barely withstand Raymond’s powerful heat, it makes me wary and wanton in equal measure, as I glance back at him, he is grinning, I still can’t hold his look so I bury my face in my wine cup once more, and thank God I am rescued by His Majesty.

“You know Madame, not once did I imagine I should ever see Raymond married, except of course to his chosen profession”

“Not even when the redoubtable Eleanor Forrestier crossed his path Sire?

“Not even then, nor even after the birth of their daughter, despite scandalising everyone by living as man and wife. Somehow the thought of marriage didn’t seem to appeal to either of them.” He smiles reassuringly at me; does he sense, I wonder, that deep down I still have fears and misgivings concerning them?

“Well Sire I can see how a life in your service that is dedicated to diplomacy, espionage, and assassination wouldn’t easily lend itself to marriage, particularly if both husband and wife are employed in the same profession.” My voice is sharper than I’d intended, but Philip choses to ignore it, other than to raise a brow. He steeples his fingers, pressing them against his lips as he watches me closely. His smile broadens.

“But then, he came across you Isabé, and…” A string of foul oaths to my right interrupts the conversation, and I turn in time to see Raymond trying to get out of his seat. I hadn’t realised he was so drunk, though no doubt he’s had years of practice hiding the effects when it was necessary to do so; but tonight he has failed and has managed not only to entangle himself in his cloak but has somehow caught the hem of it firmly around chair. I snigger as he tries to free himself; glowering at me, he wobbles, trips and lands flat on his arse with chair on top of him. I try not to laugh, but it’s impossible, the shock on his face is comical. I hold my breath waiting for the tirade, but he just blinks, clearly confused as to how he ended up on the floor. Then starts to giggle like an idiot, whilst an unfortunate page tries to haul him back onto his feet. No easy task as the lad is slight, no taller than I am, and Raymond is flailing around like a cat on ice. Finally, he is upright.

Swaying, he points at me, leers and pokes me on the breast. “Soft” he slurs, then adds in a whisper, which is anything but. “Need to piss, will come back and we’ll dance.” He turns away too quickly, sweeps around in a full circle and looks mightily confused when he sees me still in front of him, rather than the exit to the kitchen. With careful, over deliberate steps he shuffles himself about then lurches through into the screens passage, presumably heading for the courtyard. I shudder, God help him trying to negotiate his layers of clothing.

“Your husband seems to have a liking for the wine tonight Madame de Merville.” I hesitate for a moment; the sound of my new name is still very strange to my ears.

“Indeed, sire too much of a liking it seems, and forgive me, but I think what you really mean is that he’s as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, if he drinks any more I should think he will have difficulty in raising a smile let alone much else this night; though at the moment Majesty I am more concerned that he will stamp my feet to a bloody pulp whilst we are dancing. I look away, oh God my tongue has run away with me and I will no doubt be disgraced by my over familiarity.

Even over the racket, anyone close by, hears me. Conversation tails away, Gaultier presses his lips into a tight thin line fighting a laugh. His Grace the Archbishop splutters into his wine cup, then frowns at me clearly shocked by my impertinence. “Isabé Aaliz”, Maman gives me my full name; a clear sign she is displeased, and Philip Augustus just stares at me. Then I see the twinkle in his eyes: his lips twitch, curl, then widen into a smile as he throws his head back, and he slaps both hands down flat on the table as he roars with laughter. “God and all his saints, but Raymond will have his work cut out with you Madame.” Then he whispers, “Now I know why the hard-bitten bastard fell for you Isabé; you are definitely the woman for him.”

He takes my left hand and raises it to his lips; then plucks the exquisite brooch from his own cloak and pins it to mine; the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed it marks me out as being in the King’s favour. Philip’s smile is broad and genuine, it’s clear that he has a real affection for Raymond. “Oh, and what a wife, quick, clever and beautiful: He is my Wolf Isabé, my eyes and ears, the guardian of my peace and dispenser of my justice. I appoint you "Keeper of my Wolf," keep him well, I wish you both long life, great happiness and God willing an heir.”

Before I can reply a page sidles up to me.” Madame, a message for you from the Seneschal, he regrets the intrusion, but he requests your assistance with an urgent matter” Frowning I scan his face. “Urgent?” “Yes Madame, it something he insists only you can resolve.”

Raymond, it can only be Raymond, blind drunk, and belligerent or slumped in a heap somewhere, sleeping it off and snoring like a hog, well he can damned well wait.

“You may tell the Seneschal I shall be there as soon as I can.” The lad is flustered. “Madame I am to say the Seneschal begs your pardon, but it is something that must be done straight away.” With shrug I turn to Philip.

“Majesty, I beg you to excuse me, it seems….”

Go, Isabé and when you return, then honour me with a dance.” He waves me away with a broad grin. I drop him an untidy curtesy, I have never really mastered that art, then follow the page towards the kitchens. The heat, smell and noise is enough to almost knock me flat and I stand in the doorway, peering through the smoke and steam, Fournier is not in the kitchen, nor is he in his makeshift office, I can’t see him amongst swearing, sweating pot boys and kitchen maids. Du Four is bellowing at the top of his voice, but he catches sight of me and jerks his head towards the door, yelling “Outside Madame.” I push my way over to the door, but Fournier is nowhere to be seen.

A strong arm snakes firmly around my waist, as a large hand is clamped firmly over my mouth, stifling my strangled scream, and in a panic I thrash and squirm to free myself “Hush my love, hush, be still.” The voice, the familiar chuckle, it’s Raymond, my first thought had been Théo. He presses his lips to my temple and as he sets me set down wrapping his arms more gently around me, I am conscious of the hard-muscled chest rising and falling against my back. It dawns on me that he isn’t slurring his words and relief gives way to anger as I twist around. “You aren’t drunk at all you bastard” I confront him punctuating the words with smacks to his chest. Raymond laughs “Forgive me my darling, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just needed to get you out from the hall and this seemed the best way.”

He lowers his voice, to a seductive growl and it washes over me. “This is our wedding night Chérie and I’m not fool enough to render myself drunk and incapable; you see I intend to give you my absolute attention and nothing is going to hinder me in that.” His mouth is a feather touch on mine, he flicks his tongue against my lips, and I can’t help the mewl that escapes me. I know well what that tongue can do and can already feel heat flaring in my belly. “As for the other question, there is no way on this earth that we will spend our first night together to the accompaniment of a drunken rabble, prancing around outside our chamber, singing filthy songs and yelling even filthier jokes to encourage us.” Another kiss, his tongue flickers against mine. “Nor do we have need of the Archbishop, sprinkling Holy water and muttering incantations over the bed.” The third kiss and he scrapes his teeth over my lower lip and whispers against my mouth. “Because I am sure we can devise a suitable benediction of our own.” There is no mistaking the desire I his voice, but we have been missed, and the rowdy guests are already spilling out into the courtyard, and are dammed if they are going to be denied the traditional wedding night revels. “To bed, to bed, to bed.” The chanting grows louder, and the cry goes up. We have been seen Raymond is ready to fly.

“Chérie, hold tight to my hand, stay close by and when I say run, then run like hell.”

I catch sight of His Grace, walking towards us Philip is beside him, the guests are getting closer yelling and singing, Raymond grips my hand and growls, “Now, Isabé, move, now!” turning quickly he drags me along with him. I gather my skirts up out of the way and even though he shortens his stride, I struggle to keep pace with him as we dash across the courtyard; Raymond slows, dips and lifts me up slinging me over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Before I even have chance to settle, he quickens his pace and with his arms wrapped around my thighs to keep me steady, runs towards the exercise yard as I bounce up and down on his shoulder. My veil and hair hang down and as I grip his belt with my right hand, I wriggle to get more comfortable’ “You have a very nice arse Raymond.” I yell up at him “very nice not an old man’s arse at all nice and firm.” I can’t help but giggle as I stroke my other hand over his backside then squeeze, hard. He missteps slightly and growls. “Behave woman, else I shall wallop yours and you’ll not sit down for a week.”

The laugh bubbles up in me. “Pfft I doubt I shall be doing much sitting My Lord.” Without answering he sets me down beside the massive gates leading to the exercise yard, shoves open the wicket and pushes me inside. I hear the door being slammed and barred shut behind us as we head for the tower in the far corner and I wonder what the hell we are doing going into a storeroom; when my eyes become accustomed to the dim light, I realise it’s not a storeroom, it’s a sally port. Guillaume is waiting inside for us with his own horse and Diable, who is snickering and pawing at the ground. The floor slopes downwards to another doorway directly opposite; it’s as high and wide as the one we have just entered, large enough for a mounted horse to pass straight through from one side to the other without the rider even lowering his head.

“All is ready as you ordered Monseigneur, Matthieu is out there and waiting.

“Thank you, Guillaume” Raymond heads through the second door to speak to Matthieu and has soon as he is gone, Guillaume whispers to me.

“Isabé I beg you if you can’t love him, then for my sake be kind to him, he deserves that at least, but I hope you can love him and love him well.” Before I can answer Raymond has returned and without a word lifts me up onto the stallions back and springs up behind me, as soon as he has gathered the reins up in his right hand, he clamps his left arm around me and with the slightest kick to the horse we are off. “Are you happy Mon Coeur?” His lips are soft against my temple and I purr a “Hmmm” in reply, as I lean back against him and close my eyes, lulled by the rhythm of the horse’s gait and the sway of our bodies. But as we pass through the city and finally through Western gate, I realise that this must have been well planned, we are not challenged by any of the watch or the guard despite it being long past curfew. And I know that for protection we are being followed by Guillaume and Matthieu, because occasionally, I hear other horses behind us, not too far distant.

It seems Blanche and Henri have given over the Manor to us and in turn they will occupy our chamber at the Chateau. The guest chamber is newly decorated, the bed is piled with pillows and draped with the best of the household linens and coverlets, the walls have been freshly lime washed. Lanterns with beeswax candles are placed around the room casting patches of soft light on the walls and floor; trays of food and wine have been set out and the well-wishers from the household have left, all that is except for Jehanne. She busies herself pouring scented water for me to wash, then sets too detaching the necklace she has used as a jewelled fillet to secure my veil. Raymond lounges against the far wall and glances out of the window, not that there is much to see in the dusk.

“Jehanne you may leave that; my wife has no need of you now.” There is a tenderness in his voice as he says, “my wife”, but Jehanne only looks up sharply and stares at him, from her expression, you’d think Raymond had asked her to strip naked and juggle candle spikes.

“M’amselle Mercier I am asking you to leave, I am perfectly capable and more than willing to help Madame disrobe, I’m sure you understand.” He winks at her; she sets her jaw and squares up to him feet planted slightly apart, hands on hips

“Raymond forgive me, but Jehanne is not your servant to dismiss, even though she is now part of your household.” “My love.” He smiles indulgently. “We have no need of Jehanne, these rough hands will do just as well. He strokes his fingers down my cheek.

“Monseigneur, tonight most of all, it is right and proper that I am here to help Madame.” Jehanne is on her high horse, her tone is cool, polite, and completely lacking in any respect whatsoever.

“Jehanne.” Raymond steps towards her. “Tonight, of all nights I have no mind to allow anyone other than myself to help my Bride disrobe. The choice is yours, go now, else I shall sling you over my shoulder and dump you on your backside out in the corridor.” Raymond growls at her, but it is not very. The time for curfew has passed, but no one stops us as we make our way through the city threatening, and she will not give.

“I have my duties. Monseigneur” and as she steps towards me again, Raymond hefts her up off her feet and shrieks like a doused cat; he strides towards the door and as promised carries her out: her face is purple with fury. “Descoteaux, to me now!” he bellows and immediately I hear the Captain thudding up the stairs, just in time to see his Lord setting Jehanne down on her backside. “Take this baggage away man, and tell whoever is to bring our food in the morning to knock then leave it outside the door.” Stifling his laughter, Mathieu helps Jehanne to her feet, and before he can answer Raymond, the chamber door is slammed shut.

He sees me struggling to unpin the necklace Jehanne used as a fillet, it is fixed so securely to my veil and the band beneath, that if I continue to worry at it, I’ll likely tear the delicate fabric. “Isabé let me.” He is careful, deft and practiced, of course he is; I wonder how many times he has done the same for Eleanor, he lays the necklace on the table, then unpins the veil from the band. “Chérie,” He draws me towards him, and threads his fingers through my hair, his lips are warm and soft against mine. “Mon Coeur,” he whispers. “I have some news that you should hear, though I doubt you will like it; I had planned to tell you this tomorrow but there is no easy way and I suppose sooner is better than later.” He smiles at the anxious look on my face. “Sweetheart, I have an assignment from His Majesty, a week from tomorrow I must leave Rouen and travel to Paris, where I shall take command of the Kings forces and then travel South.” He flashes me a rueful smile as he pours two cups of wine handing one to me.

I can only stare at him and feel a knot forming in my stomach. “Be calm Isabé.” I tell myself, “Be calm you are not a silly girl you are the bride, if not yet the wife of Raymond De Merville.” But it seems my heart is hell bent on ignoring my head.

“You must think I’m an idiot Raymond. Now I understand the look that passed between you and Eleanor, when she asked me to take care of Nicolette.” I had meant my words to be cool and calm, but I sound like a petulant child.

“What?” Cocking his head on one side his face smooths and slides into a benign mask.

“There.” I poke him in the chest and step back. “There, is the, inoffensive, calm expression of the King’s Ambassador, I see what the two of you are about now, conniving and scheming. You promised, me, the pair of you that you would not fuck each other in your bed Raymond, but I grant there was no mention made of any other.” As I raise my hand to wallop his face, he grabs my wrist stalling the blow; his fingers digging hard into my flesh. When he speaks, he is considered and careful, as if he is trying to make Nicolette understand something. “No, Isabé, you do not see; you do not see at all.”

“Then forgive me for being stupid and help me to grasp what you mean, My Lord; what stamp of man waits until his wedding night to tell his Bride that he is leaving in a week to travel South, and with his bloody Mistress.” I wrench my arm free and as I step back, he steps forward, his eyes burning like blue fire, we are almost toe to toe, he towers over me, but he lets go a breathy grunt as I slam my balled fists into his chest.

“Don’t you dare tell me that you hadn’t planned all along to keep her as your Mistress you scheming bastard. No, you have taken great pains pretending to put her aside, just to mollify little Isabé.” I aim my fists at his chest again, but this time he grabs at both my wrists.

“Shut up Isabé, I made a promise and so did Eleanor, as I stand by mine, so she will stand by hers.”

“You can’t tell me that your paths won’t cross Raymond, if you do, I shan’t believe you.”

“Mother of God, listen to yourself woman!”

“Let go of me you arse.” Twisting and turning, I try to wrench myself free of him, but he tightens his grip on my wrists. “I said let go, if you think I’m spending my wedding night with you, then you had best think again, you are lying, conniving shit.”

I’m in no mood to play the Lady, I scream and curse him with every barrack room oath I have ever heard Hénri use. He loosens his grip slightly and as I yank my arm away, I aim a kick at his shins for good measure; he shifts smartly to one side so I miss, of course.

His eyes are even darker now, I know that look, he is fiercely angry, and though his voice is low it sends a shiver down my spine; calm, angry Raymond is enough to chill my blood, and I step back quickly.

“There is no plan between us Madame. “I have my assignment, Eleanor will have hers, our paths may cross but it is unlikely and that is an end to it, she will be well on her way before I even leave Rouen.

“So, you say. His Majesty says jump and you ask, “How High” then run off South to fuck Eleanor up, down and sideways. Well do it and get a bastard son on her and name him heir into the bargain. It will save me the trouble of it all. You should have married her she would make you a far better wife than I will.” I will not let the tears fall no matter how much they sting and burn; I refuse to let him see me weep because of her. Suddenly he lunges at me and grabs at my shoulders hauling me forward until I slam into his chest. Pressing his forehead to mine, he is so close that I can’t see his features only the furrows and frown lines on his brow. His eyes glitter, but not with anger, with sadness and I feel the heat of him through my gown.

“I have no need to get a son on Eleanor, nor even on you Isabé, I already have a son.” He breathes out the words like the last whisper of a dying man, nonetheless, they are as solid as a punch to my stomach. I can’t speak, my heart is pounding and as he steps away the words slowly seep into my brain. Raymond’s face is so pale in the soft light, that his scar seems even more livid against his ashen skin, and realise from his shocked expression that he had not intended to tell me about his son; at least not yet.

The keening starts deep in my chest, rises and when it escapes, the howl of a wounded animal echoes around the room. I lurch towards the table, grab anything within easy reach and launch it at him, apples, chunks of bread, platters. Few of them connect as I hurl them, but I need to smash, break and destroy something, anything to help release the anger and pain. “My God you bastard, you conniving, scheming, lying bastard.” The words drop from my mouth like venom.

“I did not lie to you Isabé”

“Bollocks!” I step toe to toe with him. I swear I see the slightest grin ghosting across his lips, but when I blink it’s gone. “So you did not lie, but were you ever going to tell me I wonder?” I have to tilt my head back a little to stare him in the eyes. Or were you just going to keep quiet, until the day a strapping young man strides into the Chateau, demanding his right of inheritance. Strutting around while I smile graciously, forced accept that any son, I may bear you is disinherited. Am I to sit there like some silly, obedient little fool as the bastard is made heir while the household looks on in pity?” There is no answer from him.

“Where is he Raymond” I growl at him. “Is he in Rouen with his whore of a mother or have you hidden the bastard elsewhere, Paris perhaps? “Answer me Raymond. You miserable prick, damn you ANSWER ME!” I snatch up the ewer then send it crashing to the floor, sprays of water and shards of pot spatter over Raymond’s boots. The wine jug is next and as I grab for it, Raymond lunges across, but I snatch it out of his reach, slopping some of the contents down my wedding gown. An arc of wine shimmers in the candlelight as the pot sails past him and smashes to pieces against the wall, staining the new plaster.

In a flash, he has me whirled around and pinned against the table, knocking the breath from me. “A warning Isabé, I beg of you, for your own sake, never, never speak of them in that way again, you know nothing of it” His voice is breathy and cracked, his eyes full of such pain, and sadness as he blinks furiously, and I realise he is blinking back tears, but my heart won’t soften “They have names, they are Theodora and Christophe and I have neither seen, nor heard of them for over five years.” With a deep shuddering sigh, he scrubs the palms of his hands up and down over his face and back up through his hair making it stick out at wild angles, and he looks every one of his forty-eight battered, hard fought, years.

“I am going to bed Isabé.” His voice is barely a whisper, he seems broken as he stretches out his hand to me. I answer him so quietly I doubt he hears, “If you think I’m going to lie with you, wedding night or no, then you had best think again Raymond; you would have no joy of it, and you would be as well to shove your pizzle into a knot hole than force me.” Oh, he hears me, and grabs arms digging into the flesh above my elbows. “You are my wife Isabé, mine in body and soul; my property to do with as I wish, and no one would condemn me if took you against your will. But think on this; whether drunk, sober or crazed, I have never, in my life forced a woman against her will and never shall.

He is hurting, I can see it in his eyes, but for a second, there is such tenderness there as he strokes his fingers down my cheek, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before he turns away. I watch him for a moment as he starts to undress, then turn my back. The bed creaks as he slides beneath the covers and I sneak a glance and he is laying on his side with his back to me. In a last act of pettiness, I fling my shoe at him, it bounces off the wall and lands beside him; he doesn’t even flinch. Arsehole.

NOW

The sun has moved, and a soft light filters into the room. With a loud, unladylike yawn, I stretch to ease my aches, my headache has gone, and I feel better than I had expected to. As I lay back against the pillows, I remember strong arms, soft kisses and gentle words. Raymond! at least he cared enough to rescue me from the chair. I catch sight of him, arms folded legs crossed at the ankle, he is leaning against the wall by the window; and my breath stalls in my throat as I stare wide eyed. Except for his bandage, he is naked and I can’t stop myself looking him over from head to foot and back again, then down once more following that narrow line of hair that tracks a path down his belly, to the dark thatch below. Though I am still furious with him, it doesn’t keep me from staring with more than a little lust. Oh, there is no mistake, he is impressive even at rest. I catch him as he watches me from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, a gentle smile lifting one corner of his mouth; Soft light plays on the curves and planes of his broad shoulders and chest, and the lean, hard muscled limbs of a fit, fighting man. Gods saints, he is much more than handsome, he is beautiful.

Shifting his stance, Raymond holds his arms a little away from his body, palms towards me. The gesture of a supplicant seeking absolution for his sin of omission, and I am the only one who can grant him forgiveness. We need to settle this or live in a bitter sham of a marriage without love or respect, and barely enough politeness for appearances sake. Flinging the covers aside, I slip from the bed and start to cross the room to him.

“No, let me speak Isabé.” He holds his hands up as a barrier. “Can you forgive this stupid old fool, I had not meant to hurt you, but I have lived too long using secrets as my protection.” He inhales a deep breath, and I wait.

“I will not lie, there is a place in my heart which is held secure for Theodora and Christophe, it is locked to everyone else, even to you Mon Coeur, and, I will never give up trying to discover what became of them. This time when I step forward, he doesn’t stop me.

“Raymond, I should know better, you are not some idiot youth still wet behind the ears, you have had a hard, dangerous life, you have a past. It was naïve of me to think otherwise. There is room in everyone’s heart for any number of people Raymond, but you must promise that whatever space is left in yours, belongs to me.”I settle my right hand gently against his chest twisting my fingers gently amongst the hairs.

Stretching up on tiptoe, I slide my hands over his cheeks up into the longer hair on his head. Threading my fingers through it I draw his face towards me. My kiss is not tender, it’s fierce and needy as I push myself hard against him and as he groans into my mouth I unlace one hand from his hair and I slide it between us a, laying it almost along the length of him. It would take a hand much larger than mine to cover “La Bite.”

“Have I married a shameless baggage?”

“It will be your good fortune if you have, My Lord” With a deep, rumbling laugh he lifts me up, bracing his arms beneath my backside as I wrap my legs around him, I am greedy for him; Raymond knows it and picks his way carefully through the potsherds and missiles of the battlefield that is our chamber to carry me to bed; or so I think. The bed may be close, the table is closer, and he sets me down on the very edge, and shoving aside those things I didn’t hurl at him, he sends them clattering to the floor as I wrap my legs even more tightly around him. “Raymond!” Laughing and wriggling against him, I pretend to push him away in indignation, but he holds me firm. “You could at least have carried me to the bed.”

“Well it’s a step up from a stable my darling, and at least you won’t get straw stuck in your hair.” he kisses the soft skin beneath my ear then nips it for good measure. I smack his head. “No, but I’ll likely get splinters in my arse.”

His voice is a low murmur, washing over me. “Then my penance shall be to pick them out for you and kiss each wound to soothe it” “Oh that voice, I'm certain he could simply talk me to ecstasy.” I shiver as he skims his hands down over the curve of my hips, over my thighs and he frowns a little as his fingers gently track the long scar.

“Does it still give you pain Chéri?” he clips at my lips with soft kisses.

“Not so much, just sometimes when I have walked too far, or have stood for too long.”

Head on one side, he grins like a naughty little boy as he strokes his hands back up the insides of my thighs, barely touching the skin as he eases them apart slightly; and when he brushes his fingers oh so gently against those dark curls, I shudder and his name bubbles out of my mouth in a curious little squeak. “Christ Jesus, but you are beautiful, Isabé”

I’m sure he means it; I hear the desire in his growl; but still I must fight down my fears and uncertainties about Theodora and Eleanor. Those fears fade a little when he kisses me, and I realise from his feral look that he is hungry for me. But he is a master of control, and in his own sweet time, he tracks a path down my body, searching out those sweet. sensitive places as he peppers my skin with gentle kisses, nips and sweeps of his tongue. Chuckling with the simple joy of hearing me mewl, sigh and purr out his name. My nipples are tight and aching before he even sets his mouth to one, tracing lazy circles with his tongue raking it with his teeth, caressing and nipping the other with his fingers, lavishing attention on both and as I thread my fingers into his hair, he bites harder, strong teeth leaving marks of love and possession, I can barely think straight, the ache and heat between my thighs is raging and I feel the wetness there.

“Raymond” Whimpering his name, I unhitch my legs completely from around his waist parting them, inviting him. I know where I want that clever mouth and talented tongue to be, I know what it can do, and that thought alone sends that sweet ache searing through me again.

“Tell me what you need my beautiful isabé.” His hands flutter over my body, his touch sends fire through me.

“Your mouth, I need your mouth” I stutter and sob out the words. Eyes sparkling he shoots me a wicked grin. He understands, though he pretends not to. Stroking back my hair he drawls into my ear. “My Mouth, then tell me hein; where is the ache you need me to ease?” he kisses the soft skin between ear and jaw, “Is it here, my sweet?” He slides his lips down my neck. “ Or here?” A nip to my collarbone, “Perhaps this is the place.” Lowering his head further he licks at my left breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue. I am wriggling against the table keening in desperation as he laces the fingers of one hand into my hair, twisting it tight as he pulls my face towards him. I open my mouth to his and then a sweet shock almost lifts me from the table as he gently trails one finger down between my thighs and slowly slides it inside me. I can hear how wet I am, and he sets a slow, easy, rhythm that matches the dance of his tongue against mine. A second finger follows, then a third stretching, stroking, coaxing.

“Is this what you need Isabé, is this what you want my sweet wife, does it please you my love, or do you need more from me?” he whispers against my lips. Incapable of speech, I dig my fingers into his shoulders, then rake them hard down his chest, over his nipples, stroking down to his cock, trailing my fingers over the velvety skin. Sweet retalliation as swears, shudders and groans his head lolling back a little. But he snatches my hand away.

“No Isabé, there will be time enough for you to discover my needs and desires but for now.” He drops to knees and looks up at me his eyes burning. “For now, you are everything.” I see the smile on his lips before he dips his head and at that first soft breath, that first teasing kiss my, back arches and my hips snap forwards, but nothing stalls him. Delicate teasing kisses, his beard rasping against tender flesh, as he sucks, laps and scrapes with his teeth; growling out his pleasure. He holds me steady and I whine his name, as again he slides one finger then another inside me setting up that sweet aching rhythm matching the teasing of his tongue. I am burning, but not in hell, though the heat of me is enough to set fire to the air, I am certain of that.

As the tightness settles deep in me, I clench myself; Raymond is relentless with his tongue and fingers. I claw at his scalp, grabbing at his hair as if doing so will stop me flying away, my thighs tense and begin to shake, I am gasping as if there is no air in the room.

“Come for me my darling, break your chains, fly, show me passion, show me your soul.”

I scream oaths, words of love of love and Raymonds name, they bounce from the walls, as I fracture and fall, but not just once. He shatters me again and again before he puts me back together with soothing words. I cling to him as he gentles me with soft caresses, if he leaves go of me I know I shall float away. My shoulders heave as I gasp for breath, sweat trickles between my breasts and long strands of hair stick to my damp skin. Wrapping his arms more tightly around me Raymond holds me steady and whispers; “I am not finished with you yet.” I taste myself on his lips as he kisses me; I barely have strength to wrap my arms around his neck as he lifts me and carries me to bed. For certain my own legs would not hold me, they tremble too much.

“We are in no way finished my sweetheart” he settles me among the pillows, Languor has settled in my bones and I watch him from beneath half closed lids, as he slips his arms beneath my thighs, lifting them over his own, and as he settles himself, I catch him licking his lips. Raymond is so tender, and with gentle movements he presses little by little, pause by pause until he is deep within me. I push my hips upwards wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper still. A long rough sigh of pleasure swirls around and he stills for a moment searching my face. “What’s wrong old man have you tired so quickly?” His eyes fly wide open “You, my darling wife may come to regret those words.” I stop his mouth with my fingers, and wiggle my hips. “Oh, I do hope so, Raymond I do hope so.”

He hovers over me, his forearms either side of my head as a broad smile lights his face. The lines of sorrow and pain have disappeared, replaced by love in the deep, blue fire of his eyes. He is giving me time; my husband is in no way lacking and I remember overhearing a kitchen maid whispering to her friends, she had it on good authority that. “Sieur Raymond is hung better than his stallion.” and I bite my lip trying not to snort. Raymond frowns a little mistaking the sound for one of pain. “Isabé, Mon Coeur, for God’s sake, say if I am hurting you” I reach a hand up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. “Raymond, my love I won’t break, though I might bend a little.” There, I’ve said it. “ My Love." I have said it, and meant it.

I hear a clatter and thud somewhere in the distance as our breakfast is set down in the passage and Raymond bellows towards the door. “Take it away, it will be long past breakfast before we are done.” I hear a girlish giggle as the housemaid picks up the tray and scuttles off, no doubt to give a lurid account that “Monseigneur and his Lady are “Putting the devil into hell.”

In the shadows of the Chateau stables two figures stand close together, for all the world they look like lovers embracing, but one mistake, one unwary move and the embrace will prove fatal for one of them.

“Be still Fontaine, the knife is exceedingly sharp, a sudden move and it will easily pierce your skin, and should you try to harm me, you would get no further than the courtyard; there are bows trained on you. Her words ghost against his cheek as low and soft as a lover’s. He holds his breath, shifts slightly and feels the point of the dagger press hard against him, it has pierced his clothes, now it pricks against the skin of his groin and he winces. “This is a warning to you Théo, when you travel South, I shall be there watching you every step of the way though you will be hard pressed to see me.

“Do you think I'm frightened by threats from de Merville’s Whore, I am not travelling South bitch.” The point of the double-edged dagger is pushed a little farther and he hisses in his breath.

“Oh’ but you are Fontaine, less chance for you to conspire against the King, with that bastard John Lackland and if you even look sidewise at Monseigner Raymond or Isabé beefore we leave I will slice you into ribbons and feed you to the pigs. Now be a good boy and run back to your Maman” Eleanor stands aside to let him pass and as he walks by she adds. “You might want to tell her, His Majesty knows her trade and recommends she retires, she'll understand. I suggest she takes his advice for if she persists, then one day they'll be fishing her body out of the Seine.” As he turns to look back at her, Eleanor has the pleasure of seeing his face grow pale.

“I’ll see you dead before I’m done, Fontaine you bastard!”

When I wake, Raymond is sprawled on his back still sleeping, the fingers of his left hand are tangled in my hair; I am curled against him, my left arm is draped over him and my left thigh pins his legs to the bed. Taut and firm beneath my cheek his stomach rises and falls with the steady rhythm of his breathing. If Raymond is asleep then a certain part of him most certainly is not. I giggle to myself as I shift a little and trail a finger down the thick vein along the back of his cock and press my lips together to hide a snort as it twitches upwards. Very gently I curl my hand around him, caressing the velvety softness to set up a gentle rhythm, pulling the skin a little further back each time I stroke my hand up and down him. “You witch Isabé.” His voice is a sleepy, guttural, whisper, and as I brush my lips against the tip of him, his hips snap upwards and he curls his fingers even more tightly in my hair.

Now, it is my turn; and my revenge will be so very sweet.

*I marry you wife* this is later medieval French from the region of Bordeaux, taken from a record held in the cathedral there. It is from a much later date, but I just wanted to create the sense of a service which would have been conducted in a mixture of Latin and Old French

**Do you take (bride's name), here present, for your legal wife according to the rite of our holy mother, the Church?**

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chiimmchiimm · 4 years

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❝𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 !¡ 𝓈𝒾𝓍 ❞

CHAPTERS “ 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 - 06 - 07 - 08 - 09 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 22 - 23 - 24 - 25 - 26 - 27 “

The northern jail was the most dangerous in the country, social scum, thousands of criminals were locked behind their bars. Who would tell poor Blair that he would end up there because of his father’s mistake. The problem was not the lack of hot water, but that inhuman obsession that many of the prisoners had for “new toys.” Rookies had two options; be submissive and abide by veterans’ orders or suffer the dangerous anger of those disturbed minds. It all started one night when Blair had the bad idea of going to shower alone.

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: Jungkookoffender au x (female: Blair) 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒: smut.(later), offender au, fluff, angst. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈: 4.6 k 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑔: +18 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: abuse ,very violence, , sadness, psychological abuse, dirty lenjuage, muscles, oral innuendo, insults.

With the help of my arms I push my body up to stand up. Curved back to back placing the pelvis in front, preparing a habitable posture to run as soon as I saw my integrity in danger. There was something in his wicked pupils that shouted his change in mood, because as soon as we made eye contact a crooked smile hugged the corners of his lips. However, the duo of friends I had at their sides could not be more tense with my appearance. Thirteen lifted half of his arm so he could see perfectly how his fingers curved in repetitive movements to indicate that he wanted to be followed. He took a step toward me but before taking another, he stopped.

"Model your right hand, Graff." He paused his voice to sound more threatening. I look sideways at his friend and he nodded. Putting his hands in his pockets, he went inside the closet where he had come from. Swallow nervous saliva while anticipating what would happen in that cleaning room. It gave me an obsessive compulsive disorder and I started to blink madly as it swelled and deflated my chest. When I entered the room the first thing I saw was how he supported his body on one of the walls. The only reason to catch his breath, right now, was to know that he was not annoyed. I run my tongue down his lower lip before dramatically separating them in a snap. "Have you heard the whole conversation, little nosy one?"

If you call conversation to threaten a person based on a wooden bat ...

"Yes," he said, lowering his tone to a whisper. Thirteen leans forward to hear me. Soon, my cheeks are intensely dyed a fiery red because of the shame that begins to shake me. I bowed my head so that I didn't see my shyness but I had forgotten that it is very insightful and never loses a single detail of my reactions. A laugh destroys me inside, and I can't recognize whether he is laughing because he is amused by the situation or is simply making fun of how pathetic I am. I prefer more for the second option because it hits him more with his bipolar personality.

"What am I going to do with you, Barbie? You ignore me. You do what you want and on top, now it turns out that you listen to my conversations."

He laughs again and my body is startled by his hoarse vibrato. If he were not in such a compromised situation, he would accept that his laughter is somehow charming.

"Start by not calling me that, please." I don't like it. ”I suppress a babbling, lowering my tone of voice. How do I have my eyes glued to the ground? I step backwards when I see how it progresses. I close my eyes as a frightened groan gets stuck in my throat, my back collides with the redness of the door. I feel his laughter closer, his breath moves the loose hairs of my badly made ponytail. The door creaks when it supports a hand and bends. I am cornered between your body and the door. I clench my lips in shock at the sensation of the moisture in his mouth brushing the skin of my ear.

"And what do you want me to call you? Because I can think of an endless number of nicknames with whom I could call you, right now." He sighs against my cheek as he draws a smile on my skin. My neck is tipped when I feel the humidity of a little kiss What the hell really this guy has a serious problem of mood swings My body tenses accordingly and I renew myself uncomfortably against the door I cling the other cheek to the door by inertia I want him to stop kissing me but my body does not respond Another kiss lands against my face, this time, a short distance from my right corner, his fingers catch my chin to lower my neck and place his palm behind my neck, turning my head so that I could face it, but what I see leaves me freezing, it has dilated pupils and its shortness of breath falls on the skin of my lips, and although it seems to me like a horrible person, I cannot help being enraptured with the intensity of its Jose, he squeezes my fingers in my neck and brings me closer to the point that our noses touch in an insinuating way. His gaze falls on my parted lips and I open my eyes to the fullest when I feel his head bow.

I put my hands on his chest and with a push I stick to the door.

“What-what is it?” I ask on the verge of mental collapse. My cheeks have blushed more at the thought that Thirteen wanted to kiss me. Because I would have done it if I didn't push it back. The bitter taste fades with my saliva the moment my mind punctuates my passivity in the matter, a small part of me still wondering what would have happened if I had let it shorten the distance. I push away the stupid idea when I shake my head slightly. Next, I notice that the pressure in my neck disappears when he removes his hand. He walks away and frowns. He seems as or more disoriented than me. He caresses his face with his palm and then turns to turn his back on me. He took his back off the wall and slowly approached him. "Jungkook?"

The muscles of his back tense when he pronounced his name. He turns sharply and gives me a cold look.

“Who the hell do you think you can say my fucking name?” Cut the distance in desperate screams. My back bounces against the door when I back off clueless. "Don't do it again, do you understand?" Fuck. ”He curses through a loud growl. "You are not worth a shit, little bitch. Reserve your character because of how much you are going to get fucked by the pussy hole you are going to wear out."

His fingers stick to my forearm to push me away from the door. The door knocks my body to the ground, kneeling. The patella burns after impact. I put my hands on the tiles to stand up. A prick pierces my spine when I straighten. I hear steps approaching and I get stiff. Have you regretted having left and come to hit me? I try to run to the door but it opens before it arrives.

I stay on site. And only when I raise my head and recognize the person, I sigh in relief.

“Blair, what are you doing here?” He asks calmly as he grabs the folder by putting it under his arm. Listening to Garcia's soft voice forms a smile on my face. One that is erased when I sin and I am confident. I groan over the cramp that buzzes down my knees. I doubled because of the thinness of my legs and I don't fall because Garcia holds me by the arm. "Hey, what happened to you?"

I don't know what makes me decline if his tone of concern or the fact that the tears had spent too much time holding back. I don't think so, it just happens.

"I can't anymore ... I just ... I can't."

His finger caresses the skin of my arm in small circles. His intense gaze tells me that he will not judge me and that he is here for me. Then, I sink my head into his chest. At first, his arms are hanging but it is not long until I feel the strength of his muscles hold me back. I don't know how much time he spent crying but when the wetness wet my face he separated me embarrassed by the fact that I wet his blue shirt. Two big brands expand through the area of his chest and I put my lips in response. But instead of bothering to have shattered his uniform, he shows a small smile that brings me joy.

"I'm sorry." I mutter my head as I absorb through my nose. His concise laugh makes me lift my head. His eyes wrinkle in a tender way, it's amazing.

“Are you going to tell me what you are doing here?” He lowers his head to the height of my eyes. Adjust a sympathetic smile, I know you won't judge me. But that doesn't matter because I can't skip the jail rules. Because being a dummy means spending a whole day with your head in a vater. So, I explained the first reason why I had finished in this closet. I wasn't lying because, after all, it was what I would have done if I hadn't met that psycho.

Spending all the time observing the spaces through which he passed was not pleasant, on the contrary it was very stressful. The lump in my throat was falling apart as I moved away from the dark corners. The clarity of the sun filtered through the red bars that held the patio door. I was forced to freeze when the door opened, the memories harassed my mind, but when I saw a girl of extreme thinness pass my breath back to my body. It was too much. I couldn't scare myself for everything.

"Inmate 646 goes to reception has a vis a vis"

I paid close attention to the mechanical voice coming out of the speakers in the corner of the wall. I raised my eyebrows when confusion struck my understanding. Vis a vis? I have not requested that such permission be granted. I turn around and head towards the west wing counter. An officer welcomes me with a neutral smile. It is almost scary to see that the skin does not move with the smile.

"646?"

Seat.

"You have a family vis a vis. Do you want to receive them?"

“Who?” My question seems to cause a sharp pain in my belly because he clenches his annoying lips.

"Yes or no? Inmate."

"Yes." I agree. Swallowing a myriad of words to answer their abuse. This is outrageous. Prison officers treat us as contagious parasites. By God, most of the people who lived with me were no more thieves or drug addicts but even the worst monster in the world deserved the least respect.

He left the counter and went through a door to exit later by another that was next to it, outside this one, to open the door to me tiredly. Inside it was a rather narrow corridor that led to another door that was opened by another woman . It looked like a maze with so much door and turn of the aisle.

"You can't touch, hug and pick up things. You will be registered before and after the visit. Any questions?"

I deny

Press a red button and the doors open. The mechanical sound distracts me enough to not realize when it has disappeared. A man approaches me and places some handcuffs after telling me that it is for the safety of the visitor. Another negative aspect of this place does not take into account your good being because you are only a constant threat. I had almost forgotten how annoying and cold they were around my wrists. Point in front of me to move forward.

The tables are intrinsically ordered six by six. I hear cries, laughs, the screams of a woman when she meets her apparently boyfriend or husband, emotions spring up for people. My breath cuts suddenly when I visualize my father's striped suit. My mother is by her side, her couture dress takes the envious looks of some women. Slowly, I just sat at the table. Although I notice my mother's plea to direct her gaze, I do not. All my attention is on the man in his side. My father. The culprit of all this. His rehearsed smile gives him a perverse touch in contrast to my father's guilty gaze. Raising my chin I spit my first words.

"What a pleasure you honored me with your disgusting presence, father."

His laugh rumbles in my ears like a hint of warning.

"I see that the discipline of this place has not placated your bad education, daughter." Pause her voice at the last word to create more tension. My mother cleared her throat to end the brief discussion that is beginning to form. My father watches me with his classic upper air. Of course he doesn't give a shit that he's paying for his mistake. He seems to enjoy his freedom and not have a single regret.

"Please, it's not the time." My mother says through a desperate whisper. Intercala the look between my father and my body. A wry smile embraces my lips when I see my father lie on his chair. "Blair?" He names me with so many regrets that my head turns on its own. "Please, don't disrespect your father."

He raised his hand and interrupted.

"I respect people who deserve my respect."

I try to get up but my wrists hit the table and I fall back into the chair.

"You should thank me. Your life was boring. I give you the opportunity to live new experiences." the hypocrisy in his smile makes me sick. How can you talk so boldly knowing that I carry your blood? Well, in a way, that was never an issue to denigrate me as a person. In an elongated sigh he leans forward and clasps his fingers to speak as if it would be a meeting of his low business. "It was my turn to bribe the prosecutor to get your trial going, so show me a little more respect, fuck."

“Do you want me to thank you?” I stifle a grunt, squeezing my tongue against the palate. He let out a dramatic laugh as he leans back in his chair. He lifted his lips only to ironize a sigh. "Not even in your fucking dreams."

This time, my comment affects him because he clicks his tongue as he deflects his head.

"Both you and my mother know that I am innocent and who committed the fraud was you." I will not lie at the trial. I'm going to sink like you did with me, I swear, father.

“Blair!” My mother cries out in shock. “Please don't say those things.

He stamped my wrists against the cold table. The sound that wives make when hitting the steel surface takes all my mother's attention.

"I hope one day you will realize the monster you have as a husband." And I also hope that when you do it is not too late.”

Without further ado, I got up from the table being careful that my wrists will not hit the table. In the background I listened to my mother's pleas but I kept going with my head up. A large part of me wanted to turn around and hold her in my arms, but a smaller one, I was furious with her for allowing that cocoon to ruin my life for her salvation. What I can't understand is how he managed to stamp my signature on those documents. He must have faked it. I keep a low profile when I go back down that long hallway. When the same woman from before sees me immediately, she gets in my way with a dominant posture.

"Spread your arms and legs. Come on." Humming in a way too burlesque, he shakes his club to follow his instructions. I purse my lips but I pay attention. He bends down and starts to feel from my ankles to the upper part of my legs. I get stiff when his hands slide over my inner thigh, near my parts. Instinctively, he waved my hip and I am a confusing step back. The woman frames an annoying eyebrow at my lack of collaboration. "What do you do? Open your legs again and don't move."

"I barely lasted a minute. He won't believe he has given me time to put anything in."

The woman stands up with a rough and dry look.

"Take off your pants, panties and stand against the wall."

I widen my eyes at his demand.

"What are you saying?"

"You make me cool? Do you want to spend the week in isolation?"

Then, I respond in the same way as he crossed my arms.

"No. It just seems too excessive that I want to urge so thoroughly."

The woman emits an annoying growl but when she opens her mouth to spit at me with her little shame, the sound of a few steps retracts her. I watch the blue uniform as soon as Garcia appears through the entrance door. He looks at us both as he frames an eyebrow high up. The officer swallows saliva and then retires behind the counter.

“Everything in order?” His question is directed towards me since the officer has tried to hide behind the cold metal of the bar. The woman swallows nervously as I lick my lips before responding. To his surprise, he didn't give it away. I nod slowly taking a small smile from the man. Now that I notice, he has a very pretty smile. One that is consistent with his baronile features and muscular body. I shake the hostile thoughts of an imaginary kick, it's neither the moment nor the place. I feel terribly embarrassed by my lack of decorum. He is just a kind officer, nothing more. But his voice makes me delirious when a whisper calms down. "Come with me."

Before following him through the door I take a look at the crazy lesbian who has tried to spread herself, she is rigid and I glare at her before going out the door.

"How was everything? I was told that you had a family vis a vis."

I deflect my distressed eyes. My withdrawn sigh causes some attachment to me. I am really grateful to have met you. He is, without a doubt, the best person I've met here, except for Sole, of course. I clench my lips with some nostalgia as I tell him the scene so tense that I had with my parents. At all times it does not emit a word, just nod sympathetically and let it end. And my heart leaps excitedly against my chest, for so long that I didn't feel confident with someone. Telling the final scene I support my tired back on the wall, then I sigh and squeeze my eyes when I close them.

"I need to get out of here, this place is going to drive me crazy."

"Well, if you run away or make a deal with the police ..." he jokes.

My eyes open alone.

“A deal with the police?” He took me off the wall and he raised his eyebrows in response. “Is there perhaps such a thing? I thought it was just a hoax that was used to give emotion to the detective novels.

"Yes and no." He answers with a pun. "How will you know these sites are too dangerous to infiltrate agents." Even being the best agent in the world you can end up in trouble. You know the rules of the jail on the issue of traitors ... So, the police choose prisoners with minor crimes and offer them a deal to say what they know and fuck more dangerous prisoners. "

Like thirteen. I think inevitably.

"And you could get me an appointment with one of them?"

His incessant flickering makes me anxious.

"Do you have confidential information that may interest them?"

Surround all possible corners of the hallway with my eyes. Garcia understood that he wouldn't say another word until he was in a safe place. The doors and walls had eyes and ears embedded in their strong impenetrable structures. I could not risk Thirteen or any of his animals listening to me. Garcia understood my situation and stopped insisting.

"I'll see what I can do." He sighed with a little burden. "Well, take care, okay?"

“Wait!” My scream stopped him. He turned and waited for an explanation as he raised an eyebrow. "Does it seem illogical that you know my name and I don't know yours, don't you?"

Then he smiled.

"My name is Brain."

Brain Garcia

His name was etched in my memory. She smiled pleased by our spontaneous talk. And I was glad to remember that today was the first day since I arrived at this demon prison that I could really smile. Not for fear Not because of nerves. Brain had ripped me out sincerely. My palms sweated with the incessant friction of my hands against my pants. Although he was a kind man, his attractiveness made my hair stand on end. I bit my lip as I remembered how hot her wet lip looked. Who would say that I was beginning to like Officer Garcia? God, what things do I say.

When I crossed the door of my cell everything seemed in its place. Liberty slept peacefully on his mattress, so, deducing that it would not come out more, I pressed the button of the cell to shelter behind the bars. I walked towards my bed but when I sat on it a sob disoriented me. Looking for the owner of that drowned sigh, I found myself looking at Liberty's body. When I heard it again, I stood up and knelt beside the bed.

“Hey, why are you crying?” He lowered a whisper near his neck. Liberty hiccups a sob as her back shakes in a shiver. I rubbed the broken skin of her arm with my fingers, making the girl straighten up and look at me. His eyes were red and swollen and his lips trembling, it seemed as if he had been crying for a long time.

"Nothing happens to me." He answered defensively. Gangue an annoying protest. I squeezed my features upset but finally pulled my hand away from his body. However, when he sensed my next move, his wet wrist adjusted to mine. I undoubtedly froze at his desperate gesture. I looked at her with pity again. "Please, hug me."

I accepted her plea and soon I found her nose sunk in my chest as she took me with her to her bed. I lay under her while stroking her matted hair in caressing hair. The alarm struck in my sense of urgency when I noticed a blood stain staining his pants. I tried to straighten myself on the bed but she squeezed harder and held me back.

"Why do you have blood-stained pants?"

But he didn't answer me, he just dedicated himself to increasing his sobs and increasing the humidity of my white shirt. Specify with greater attention the surroundings of your body, I was calmer when I saw no signs of any injury. Although if I can see a mark of hands on his wrist that would later welcome a bruise. Oh my god, but what happened to this girl? A record of my experience similar memories where my mother hugged me in the middle of a panic attack when my father hit her. Liberty seemed to suffer the same evil, but more than a suffocated woman, she looked like a frightened and trembling little animal that needed human contact.

Another night I suffered insomnia. But this time not for my regrets but for being aware of Liberty's health. The next day, she woke up hungry and got out of bed as if nothing had happened. He was smiling with that grin that mocked his mouth so much when he spoke. But I was not fooled because I had dealt with that kind of performance all the time. However, life also taught me that in these cases it was better not to overwhelm the victim, the most efficient was to wait for her to speak for herself. Forcing her the only thing that would provoke would be a negative withdrawal. So, I followed her slowly down the hallways to the cafeteria.

"What a beautiful day it is, right?"

"If you say it."

"You are very pessimistic ..."

Suddenly it stops. My walking stopped also so as not to collide with his back. I frown my eyes confused by the sudden tremor of his body. A hand rushes to catch mine scaring me by the speed. His joy has gone out the window as he entered the cafeteria. Wondering what his motive would be, I turn my gaze to the same direction in which he stops in panic. I only see two people. An officer who is in charge of cleaning trays. The same stupid of the other time. And to that blond of the bat to eat calmly what seems to be a toast with some jam.

"Did he do something to you?"

Liberty shakes her head out of the trance and looks at me puzzled.

“Who?” He asks distractedly.

He nodded toward the blond and Liberty squeezes my hand so hard that it takes my breath away.

"No."

"But..."

He leaves me with the word in his mouth when he moves to the food counter. I blink in bewilderment and follow her so as not to remain within reach of unwanted glances. As the minutes go by, Liberty seems to shed that restlessness and enjoy the food, if you can delight in a pink mass of unknown origin. It seems oblivious to the world until one arm surrounds its neck. He drops the fork and looks at me abruptly. She looks scared but not horrified as last night.

"Honey, see you tonight?" You know, where ever. ”Says the blond in a whisper straight to his ear. He raised his eyebrows when his attempt to cope with a private conversation goes badly because the boy seems not to know the difference of a whisper and a high tone. Because I can hear everything he says. Liberty looks for my gaze and when she meets mine seems to beg me for a plausible escape.

"Tonight, I can't, Jimin." He clears his throat terribly before grabbing his fork again and finishing off the last pieces of dough from his tray. The answer does not seem to please the blond because he growls disgusted by the rejection. However, and to my surprise he doesn't treat her roughly, I can even see a sincere pain in his eyes.

"But ..." She shuts up when she perceives my attention and looks directly at me. I immediately look down at the plate because I feel intimidated by the pair of brown eyes. A whistle echoes through the cafeteria calling my attention. Jimin turns to see the person who demands his attention. I do that too. My heart turns off its heartbeat at the moment Thirteen looks away from his friend to me when he notices my attention. He gives me as a last gesture a smile that, far from looking charming, gives me a lot of respect. And then, the bulb in my head seems to come alive and comes on. I get up so abruptly from the table that it caught the couple's attention.

"I have to go," he announced, running over a gasp. Liberty frowns and opens her mouth but I've already run away. How did it not occur to me before? I am new to this place so I don't know much about its people but I have seen things. Things that the police officer might want to know. My head is spinning when an annoying buzzing whistles inside me. But that discomfort does not divert me from my objective. I am surprised at how little security there is in module five considering that this is where it hosts the worst of the worst. The officer does not seem to care that a prisoner of the opposite gender crosses the module door that he should monitor. He pays more attention to the newspaper article that shakes his fingers. As it is time for the patio, not a single man walks through the corridors of the cells. A point that I am grateful to satiety for not having to endure neither sluggish glances nor risque sexist comments. I release a ragged sigh of emotion when I see its doors have opened. Without thinking twice I enter the cell. I look around. The beds. Old furniture. The first thing I see comes to mind is to look under your mattress. However, when he knelt to quench my curiosity, a terribly low voice gets in my hatred.

"Well, well ... But what do we have here?"

✞

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imagining-sio · 5 years

Text

Escapism VI

A/n: I saw endgame... I'm feeling a lot of things. This story does not reflect it however so everything is fine. Not really but still.

Chapter VI:

Banana Pancakes

I felt the morning sun beam through my sheer curtains, lighting up my eyelids. I moaned in discomfort at the sunlight, turning over in my bed, revelling in the warmth. I hummed in contentment, moving closer to the warmth object. I felt a weight on my side, further envolipng my body in the sensation.

“Hey,” I heard a faint whisper, followed by a small peck on my forehead. There was a lingering sensation trailing up and down my spine, making me abscentmindedly squirm.

“Mmm,” I mumbled sleepily. I heard a small chuckle in response.

“You aren’t a morning person are you?” My neighbors voice rung in my ears. I felt a pair of lips on my exposed neck, kissing a sore spot as gentle as possible.

“Not particularly,” I groaned, my voice hoarse, finally opening my eyes. I smiled at the face before me, not caring for the fact I had realised that the only thing I had on was my bedsheets. My neighbor, now lying in my bed, in the same dishevled state I was in, propped his head up on his elbow.

“So,” he said.

“So?”

“Waffles?” he arched a brow. I rolled my eyes, a fond smile forming on my face. I mimicked his position, pulling the crisp white bedsheet up to cover myself.

“I arleady saw everything, you don’t really need to do that.” he drew circles on the small of my back. I laughed, lazily pushing his shoulder.

“I was thinking banana pancakes.” I eyed him. His eyes lit up.

“Okay!” He got out of bed, the gust of wind from the sheets sending goosebumps up my spine. He put his boxers on, and walked out of the room. I gave a puzzled expression before realizing that he had no idea what I was actually insinuating. I rolled out of bed, grabbing my underwear, which were hanging on the corner of my dresser. A risdual of the events that happened the night before.

I snatched a strewn shirt on the floor in the hallway leading to the stairs. Upon putting on, I found it was indeed not my own, as the hem hung down around my thighs. I took a small sniff of the material, the scent of my gorgeous neighbor prevalent. I could only smile walking down the stairs barefoot.

“Hey, where do you keep the pancake mix?” Bucky peeked his head out of the pantry, his dishevled hair hanging to the side. he had bruises on both sides of his neck, a result of my own accord.

“Third shelf from the top.” I said, walking over to the coffee machine, placing a pod in the brewer. I opened the cabinet above, pulling out two white mugs.

“Ah, thanks.” He grabbed the box, shutting the pantry door. I watched out of the corner of my eye as Bucky took down one of the hanging pans, setting it upon a burner of the correct size. With the flick of his wrist, he turned the dial of the stovetop. The crackle of the electricity like a rhythmic snapping until a flush of flames was heard. Bucky stood beside me as he baegan to mix the pancake batter, bumping my hip in attempts to get my attention. I bumped back.

“So I gotta question for you.” I said, setting the now filled mugs upon the counter top. I pulled out a stool, giving me a glorious view of his topless back. His skin glistened in the mid morning sun, his tattoo sleeve a stark contrast from his toned, taught back. The sizzling of the pancakes was the only sound between us.

“Go ahead.” he replied, bobbing to a tune in his head.

“Do you know what Banana Pancakes is?”

“Yeah, They’re my favorite. Why?” He peeked over his shoulder. I spurt in my coffee, bursting into a loud cackle admist my coughing. Bucky turned around, pan in one hand and spatula in the other.

“I take it that it means something completely different than actual pancakes.” He looked down at the pancakes that were sizzling in the cast iron pan.

“You could say that.”

“So what does it mean?”

“Not telling.” I sipped my coffe, hiding the smirk.

“Just don’t tell Sam.”

“No promises.” I chuckled. I eyed his behind as he turned around, finishing off the pancakes. It was a comfortable silence between the two of us. Nothing needed to be said. After ten minutes, he set the plates down, not before walking to the pantry and grabbing the maple syrup.

“So are you gonna tell about them?” I stared at his left side as I munched on my pancakes.

“Hmm,” he looked at me quizzically.

“Your tattoos.” I elbowed his arm lightly. His expression faded.

“I got them to cover up a scar. Steve actually was the one who inked me.”

“Wait, steve did this?”

“Yeah, turns out he’s pretty good at this stuff. There’s not enough income here for a tattoo shop though. So a friend of ours who went to college withhim let him borrow his shop a couple times.”

“Did you get the scar when you were deployed.” I asked tentitavely. He could only nod his head.

“I wasn’t paying attention. Lost some good people. I paid for it, though.” He pursed his lips. I couldn’t help but empathize with him, taking his left hand in my right one.

“I got tired of looking at my failure. Wanted to make something good out of it.” he shrugged, taking a bite of his pancake.

“And this spot?” I turned his arm, pointing to the blank spot on his arm.

“I’m saving it.”

“For what?”

“Dunno yet, something good, though.” He pecked my forehead. I hummed, letting my head fall to his tattooed arm, planting a kiss on the bicep.

“So, are we gonna talk about the whole sleeping with each other thing?” Bucky asked, his body tense. I looked back at my empty plate, contemplating what to say. I shurgged, finding myself without a thought on the subject.

“Do you think we should?” I looked back at him.

“So you’re saying that this isn’t a big deal?”

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying I think we’ve expressed ourselves enough. Though, I would love to see how you try to explain why you look like you got mauled by a vampire to the others.” I giggled as his hand came up to his neck rubbing the numerous marks I had left hte night before.

“I could say the same for you.” He shot back, a smile growing on his face. I laughed in response.

“I highly doubt you even know what concealer is; or how to use it.” I arched a brow. I didn’t even resist when he planted his lips on mine, his arms moving me to his lap.

“Do you really wanna do this?” he asked, tentative in his voice. As if he was scared I would actually say no.

“I really think I do, Barnes.” I cupped his cheek, my other hand carding through his hair.

“Alright then.” He wrapped my legs around his waist, abruptly standing up. The stool hit the floor with a hard thud, and I gave him a questioning look as he walked back up the steps.

“You knew the whole time didn’t you?” I said between the passionate lip locks.

“I’m not a hundred, (Y/N),” he smirked as he kissed me.

“You sly bastard.”

“You have no idea, doll.”

6 months later…..

At this point, I was living on both sides of the street. Almost half of my clothing was in Bucky’s home, and his in mine. There was a mish mash of items as well. He had bought me a toolbox, and was insistant that I learn how to fix things on both my vehicle and his motorcycle. A white helmet was an exact contrast against his black one. The only thing connecting them was a red star on the side as they sat together on the counter.

That wasn’t to say it didn’t go both ways. There were far more succulents in his home now, in little metal wine glasses sans a stem. They were scatted across his home, whether on his counter, window, or beside table. There was a lot more color in his home than the dark tones he had been using since he moved in. Red was most prevalent, given it was now his favorite blanket in the house. It was his only blanket, in a house he kept at sixty-five degrees farenhiet. I needed to work on that.

I no longer worked at the coffee shop, I owned it. Edna and Thomas had finally decided to retire, and left the buisness with me. I took on new help, a local teen, one of Tony’s little geniuses; Peter. He was an absolute sweetheart, took his job way too seriously at first, but he was starting to mellow out. I kept the same work ethic as Edna and Thomas would have, keeping it open mostly in the afternoon. When Thor’s brother moved to town, he asked if I could place him to work here. I obliged.

At first, Loki was extremely difficult and found the job beneath him. But after a stern talking to, and maybe hitting him with a book, he warmed up a bit. He stated that he had gone to culinary school, and I was adamant that he be incharge of the kitchen remodel of the back room, making it so that he could actually cook meals. He was elated at the idea, and had been wokring withhis brother to get the job done. As soon as it was, he hadn’t had a bad day at work since. It was like magic.

Today was no different. The midday rush was crowded, but nothing the three of us couldn’t handle. As peter would take orders, Loki cooked, and I would bring them their desired meal and payment. It was a well oiled machine. Of course, I would be sure to deliver coffee to the shop, every morning upon opening like clockwork. It also helped that I knew evryone’s orders by heart, and I had a wonderful someone to help bring the coffees over. Of course, he practically lived with me so it would seem natural that he would walk me across the street to my work.

As the midday rushed died off, we were left cleaning the dirty dishes, setting the vast amount of plates upon the rack. The bell chimed, signalling someone had entered. I strode out of the back kitchen drying my hands on my apron.

“I’m terribly sorry; but were closin-“ the words caught in my throat.

“Hi, Miss. Do you remember me?” Detective Danvers and her partner were standing in the room.

“Yes, Carol was it?” I closed the room to the back kitchen discreetly as possible.

“We have been mounting the evidence. And the time for the trial is fast approaching. We need you to come with us so that you can testify.” She pursed her lips, her hands shoved in her slacks’ pockets.

“Everything will be paid for. I know this is a dificult subject for you.”

“When do I need to leave with you?” i asked, taking a deep breath.

“Saturday.”

It was Friday.

I nodded my head, gnawing on my bottom lip. She pulled out a small buisness card, a number and an address on the blank side.

“Here’s where we are staying. Our room number is listed below. Don’t be afraid to call me.” She and her partner walked out the door. I looked down at the piece of cardstock, a sinking feeling seeping through my skin.

“Who were they?” Peter walked out the back kitchen. I shoved the card in my back pocket, turning to face him with a smile.

“Just people passing through. They were very sweet. Tell you what, you two can go home early today. My treat.”

“Really!” he almost dropped the plate, his extremely fast reflexes caught it before it fell to the ground.

“Thanks Ms, L/N!” he hugged me bfore he went back into the kitchen, “Hey Loki!”

I tuned out the rest. The small card in my pocket felt like I was withholding a bomb. I waited for them to both leave before I sat at one of the tables, holding my head in my hands as I could only stare at the card. I didn’t stop the tears at all.

I drove home, beginning to set aside clothing that would look professional for a trial. Something that wouldn’t make me look how I portrayed by the media. I was the informant for Danvers, not Rogg’s pet. I was essential to the investigation, not his toy. I went through hell, not his heaven. I woudl show him I wasn’t afraid of him, all while still being petrified.

“Y/n!” Bucky’s voice coudl be heard through the house, the echo reverberating all the way to the bedroom where I was. Each step he took made my stomach sink lower and lower. Dread filled my veins.

“Hey, Peter came by and said you closed early? Is sommething wrong?” He stopped in the doorway, processing the view of my clothing upon my bed, the suitcase of the floor, and my tearful expression.

“Hey, hey, hey” he envoloped me in his embrace, letting me cry into his chest.

“C’mon babe, you gotta talk me through this,” He echoed the words I would use when he had nightmares. His hand stroking the top of my head, his other rubbing along my back.

“I have to go.” I sniffled.

“Where, babe?”

“You know where.”

He pulled back, a hardened look on his face.

“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t be going.”

“Without me he goes free Bucky! I can’t let someone else face the same fate.” I rubbed my eyes. He backed away, hands on his hips.

“You wanna relive all that?”

“I have to.”

“No you don’t. You know it.” he pointed at me, his tone becoming harsh.

“I don’t trust him. After everything you said he did to you, you’re going back? You don’t think he’ll do that all over again, once he finds out what you did?”

“I’m in witness protection Bucky!”

“Then why was he here!? Explain that to me! Why was is it that I met that bastard? How are you safe closer to him than you are here!”

“I’m not arguing over this again! I made up my mind.”

“You’re safer here.”

“What would I be if I stayed?”

“Mine.”

I slammed the suitcase shut, holding back the tears.

“Get out James.” I said emotionless.

“Y/n-“

“Get. Out.” my lips quivered, I couldn’t look at him. I heard him mutter under his breath, stomping down the stairs.

“If something happens to you, don’t come crying to me!” He shouted from the front door, slamming it behind him. The thud echoed through the house, the reverb felt like a bomb went off.I stooped down to my knees, letting the tears flow like gysers. I spent the remainder of the evening alone, and packing what would last for the three weeks that I would be witnessing. Deep down I knew I wasn’t ready, I knew there would be a lot of tears to come. More than ever. Not having him with me would make it worse.

Still, I was done being afraid. I had to take a stand against him. If this was how I had to do it, so be it. My conscience is clear, he needed ot be put away. I did not care.

I dragged my suitcase down my steps, careful not to slip or fall. It was far more difficult with out the help of my boyfirend. I dressed in one of Bucky’s many band shirts and a pair of leggings, my hair in a ponytail. I oulled the card out of my jacket, pluggin the address into my phone for navigational purposes. With my phone in my waistband, I grabbed my cardigan and purse. I took one last look at my interior before walkingout my door.

A simple gaze across the street and I knew he wasn’t home. There was no life from his side of the street, the fog making it appear all the more dead. I sighed before walking to my vehicle. I opened the passenger door, tossing my cardigan and purse in the seat. I set my suitcase down, plugging my phone into the updated radio Bucky had installed in the classic car.

I shut the door, walking toward the trunk, opening the back door. I hauled the suitcase up, the heavy, hard-shelled object landing with a thud; making the car shake slightly. I shut the door with a thud, wiping the sweat off with the back of my hand. I looked up at my humble home. I knew I would return, but a gut feeling in me said I wouldn’t.

I walked back up to the passenger side, pullingout my keys from my purse. I strode up to my front door, triple checking that it was locked.

Just as I was about to turn around, I felt a hand upon my mouth, a cloth covering his hand. Colorform.

I held my breath, elbowing the assailant in the gut. He dropped the cloth, and I swatted it into one of the bushes near the door. I ran toward the car, desperate to grab the pepper spray I still kept in my purse. The man grabbed my torso, forming a chokehold upon my neck. I sturggled to break out of it, flailing widly in order to try and hit him to make the man break it. I pushed on my feet, sending us tumbling backward to the cement driveway with a thud.

I scrambled away from him, my lungs desperately clawing for oxygen. I got to the drivers door, opening it sluggishly. As I stood up, I felt a hand on the back of my head moments before it rammed me into the side of the bronco as hard as they could.

I was out before I even hit the pavement.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #marvel x reader #Biker!Bucky #biker!bucky x reader #escapism #biker!au #marvel!au #whee #I saw endgame and am dead inside

60 notes · View notes

kpopfanfictrash · 7 years

Text

Addewid (VI)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Kai (Jongin)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,768

Summary: “You cannot appeal to my better nature, for I have none. I am not human, little one.”

You’ve always known you were different. You’re able to see them, after all, able to see the Others. You’ve also always ignored them. Until the day comes where you’re forced to make a choice - one that throws your world into chaos. And sends you down a path you might never return from.

I gaze at my surroundings, passing the still-open book on the table. I don’t know how to feel, what to think. I’m not certain when my perception of Kai began to change, nor when I started to think of him as man and not other.

My gaze lifts and I draw in a shallow breath. I don’t believe everything he told me.

No. That’s a lie.

I believe him completely. Which is a problem.

VI - The Betrayal

Lately I’ve taken to watching the sunrise. Curled in the library, watching the gentle fade of black to grey on the horizon. The sun is always the same, despite the change in the rest of the world. When the light just breaks over the edge, sharpening dark shadows to day - I can almost pretend I’m home.

I’m not home, though. No matter how familiar this place becomes, it’s not home and never will be. I miss my father. He’s what I think of most as I stare at the fading stars, wondering if he’s doing the same. We used to watch the sunrise together. We’d watch it on those rare mornings I’d wake up early, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the sun rise in the east. I wish I could talk to him now, wish I could tell him I’m safe. That Kai doesn’t harm me and that I’m – relatively – happy. I hope he’s not worrying about me. I don’t know why I hope that – I know he is, I know I would be.

When I think things like this, the guilt is near crippling. This place shouldn’t be familiar to me. I shouldn’t feel comfortable or relaxed or even happy, at times. Not when my father is out there alone and I’m not. But what can I do about it? With time, everything becomes familiar. With time, one can become used to anything.

As the sun moves higher in the sky, the outline of the world becomes visible. I see that Kai is exiting the forest, dressed plainly in dark trousers and tunic. A cloak is fastened about his neck and he bends his head against the wind, his silvery hair damp and unkempt. It’s not snowing, so his footsteps leave imprints wherever he walks. A retracing of the steps he walked before dawn.

He exhales into the morning air, his breath foggy and white. When he looks up I think he’s seen me, but then he looks down and away and I know he hasn’t. Kai draws his cloak closer as he enters the house and I relax at my perch, stretching my feet on the bench.

It’s been two weeks since Maeve sent Sehun to Kai’s door. Two weeks where Kai has done precious little to explain, though I’ve asked. I thought I was learning more about him, thought he was opening up to me but if I thought that before, I no longer do. If anything, Kai has become even more withdrawn since Sehun’s visit. Refusing to be in the house with me for longer than necessary. There are many things about Sehun which bothered me, not least of all the hints he tried to drop of Kai’s past. Or perhaps it was his present – it’s all so hard to differentiate.

Kai doesn’t want to talk though, especially not with me. Based on Sehun’s insinuations, Kai seems favored by Maeve – which is odd, considering his disdain of her. Whenever she’s mentioned his eyes darken, lips tightening as he turns away. I’ve tried speaking to others in the house – Muriel, San but it’s no use. They’re all mum on the subject.

“That’s his story to tell,” Muriel explained, fluffing my bedsheets as I got ready one morning. “You won’t get a word out of me or the rest.”

Though I scowled back at her, she didn’t budge. I was forced to go about exploring on my own – something with a historically poor track record. Not that I went to the East Wing this time, though I wanted to. That girl’s portrait still makes me wonder but ultimately, I came to a point where I needed to let things go.

I found nothing and no one and came to realize there are things about my present I cannot change. I can’t leave – I physically cannot. I’ve tried. There was one night where I went out, dressed in my clothing from back home. My hoodie pulled high and my hands stuck in my pockets while walking to the edge of Kai’s grounds. I stood there in the shivering snow and stared into the dark woods, knowing then what I think I’ve known all along: that I was a coward.

I would rather live this half-life, cooped up in relative safety than risk the journey back. Oh, sure – I have reasons. There’s this magical promise I’ve made, tying me to Kai which prohibits me from going. There’s also the fact that Kai would never let me leave. We may have had a moment of understanding but he’s been clear on multiple occasions that he is bound to Maeve.

The moment he noticed me gone, he would rush after me and then – well, I can’t be sure of his hospitality the second time around. Instead of freedom and accommodations, I might find a cell. This is all surpassed by the fact that the only reason my father is free is because I am not. The only reason he’s out in the world is because I am imprisoned here. If I were to leave, to return, Kai would follow me and that time neither of us would escape,

I found that my only choice was to stay. To stay here and rot in the safety of Kai’s prison.

After realizing this, I walked back inside. There was no point in pretending any longer. It already was nearing dark – the sun dipped beyond the curve of the horizon to darken the shadows. My escape plan dashed to pieces, I re-entered Kai’s manor that night. Closing the front door and climbing the stairs to my room.

At the top of the staircase, I paused. There was a light on in Kai’s study – a soft glow spread beneath his door, which was left slightly ajar. I stared at this for a long time before deciding to enter.

This might sound crazy - but I was lonely. I had just realized I would never escape, realized I would live my life in eternal solitude. Faced with this idea, I was scared and maybe I just wanted to feel something. Just wanted to relate to someone – or maybe it was that I didn’t even know what I wanted.

The study door creaked when I opened it and I already knew that he heard. He knew when I entered, saw when I closed his door. Kai sat beside the window, his legs spread and elbows dropped to his knees. His head bent, hair falling over his eyes. There was a glass of something red in his hand.

“Kai?” I asked, tentatively taking a step forward.

When he lifted his head, I saw that he looked tired. “Yes?” Kai exhaled, looking at me.

Suddenly I wondered what I was doing there. This man – this Fey – wanted nothing to do with me. I was nothing more than a burden on him, something he’d accidentally chained himself to. He couldn’t possibly want to confide in me, couldn’t want to be close to me.

Thinking this, I slowly shook my head. “Never mind,” I said quietly. “I just saw the light and thought…” I stopped talking. I don’t know what I thought.

Though Kai stared at me, he gave no indication he’d heard. As I turned to go, a slight exhale passed his lips. “Why did you come in here?” he asked me, looking through heavy lids.

Taken aback by his question, I crossed my arms. “I don’t know.”

Surveying me, Kai slowly placed his glass down. “You’re not scared of me anymore.”

My mouth felt suddenly dry. I hadn’t known it was so obvious – either about fearing Kai before or that I didn’t now. It was unnerving to find how clearly he saw me. Kai gradually stood, then disappeared across the room before I could blink.

He towered over me, forcing my gaze to his. His eyes were bleak and there was anger there, but not at me – which is perhaps why I didn’t feel afraid.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not afraid of you.”

Kai looked down. “And why not?” he asked, his voice quiet. Deadly so. “Don’t you know what I am?”

His question made me pause. “I don’t know what you are, no.”

“You don’t?” Kai didn’t seem to believe me.

“No.” Eyeing him, I sighed. “I thought I knew what you were. But since I’ve come here, you’ve turned out to be none of those things I once thought – so now I don’t know what to think.”

Kai was silent at this. Absentmindedly, he waved a hand so that his drink appeared once more. “What did you think I was when you came?” he asked, taking a long sip.

“Fey.”

He snorted. “Little one, I am Fey.”

“Yes,” you nodded, still facing him. “And no. You’re not what I imagined Fey to be.”

He paused. “No?”

“No.” Staring back at him, I tried not to blink. “I thought the Fey were cold, emotionless. No mercy, no kindness, nothing like humans.”

Something in Kai’s eyes flickered, though he did his best to hide it. “I am cold. I have no mercy. I am not kind.”

Here, you shook your head. “You healed me when I was sick, protected me from Sehun. You accepted a promise that you didn’t want, just because I asked. All of this seems contrary to what you say you are.”

When I spoke, Kai stilled. It was like looking at a statue, his dark eyes staring back at me. “And yet,” he breathed, his hand trembling slightly. “You don’t know the whole truth of me.”

“Then tell me.” I must have been possessed, that was the only explanation. Somehow in my madness my hand reached for his, responding to some unsaid urge to comfort him. The surprising thing was, that as my hand curled around his, Kai didn’t move. His fingers moved almost in response, closing around mine.

He looked helpless at that moment, slightly desperate. “Do you know what Sehun asked, that day he came? Do you know what Maeve ordered me to do?”

I shook my head no.

“That family,” Kai said, swallowing hard. “They were rebels. They attacked members of Maeve’s guard and killed them all. Horribly, brutally so – these rebels were Unseelie too, after all.”

“That’s – horrible,” I said, wincing at the thought. “Why would Maeve order you to go see them then, after all that?”

The corner of Kai’s mouth lifted, a manic gleam to his eye as he let go of my hand. “Little one.” His eyes hardened. “I am Maeve’s right hand. Her Enforcer. The order was that not a single rebel be spared.”

Horror churning through me, I struggled not to look away. “You… what?”

Kai watched me step backwards – seemed to expect it. “Her orders were to go to them and leave no one standing.”

I felt dizzy then, the nausea rising like bile in my throat. Is this where Kai went every day? Is this what he did? Death, destruction, madness. That is what Kai was. Realizing this, fear crept into my stomach.

Kai must have seen it return to my eyes, because he drained the rest of his glass. “I kill, little one,” he whispered. “I kill and maim and hurt for her Majesty. That is who I am. Now are you afraid?”

I was. And I wasn’t.

It made no sense, I didn’t understand half of it myself but part of me wanted to run and the other part needed to stay. Because as awful as his words were, as awful as what Kai had done was – I couldn’t stop looking at him. Couldn’t stop thinking that despite all this, he was sitting here. Drowning his sorrows in the near dark. Sitting alone in his darkened study. Why would he be like this, if he had no compassion? Why would he push me away if he didn’t care? Because that was what he was doing, I realized.

But all of this was just served to confused me further. All of this made him even more maddening because, if he had this compassion and anger, why pretend he did not?

Kai disappearing, reappearing to sink into the chair by the window and he waved his hand once more. Watching the glass refill to its brim. Sensing that now he truly did want to be alone, I turned away. As I walked towards the door, wrapping my mind around everything he’d said, only one thing remained clear. Before leaving, I paused in the doorway.

“Kai,” I said, waiting until he looked up. He seemed surprised to find me still there and his hand tightened around the glass. “I can’t deny that I’m scared,” I admitted. “I’m scared of you, I’m scared of this place, I’m sacred of many things in my life. What you did…”

I lost my words, trailing off into silence. There wasn’t a sentence able to describe a life taken.

“I don’t know why you do what you do,” I managed, the words softening the longer I looked at him. “But sitting here, I see a man unhappy with what he’s done. I see a man who wants more – and that man I am not afraid of.”

I left then, shutting the door behind me.

Which is why today I sit and watch him leave the forest and wonder where he’s been. Who he’s seen, what he’s doing. Wonder if I’ll find him again tonight, drowning his sorrows in a darkened room. I also wonder why I care. I don’t, I tell myself. I don’t.

Behind me, the library door opens.

It surprises me when Kai enters, his cloak gone from around his neck. He stops at the bottom of my ladder, peering up at me. “Good morning.”

I close my book, looking down. “Morning.”

He appears nervous, his arms laced tightly behind his back.

I stand then, climbing gingerly down from my bench. I’m dressed in jeans – jeans, my leather jacket and a t-shirt. Kai raises his brows when I drop to the floor before him. “You’re going to wear those clothes out,” is all he says.

I shrug. “Yes, well. If I were wearing a dress, you’d have had a much too exciting view.”

Kai’s cheeks flush, a fact which gives me no small pleasure. He shakes his head, as though to rid himself of the image. “I came to say I’ll be gone for a while.”

“A while?” I glance at the door. “Why?”

Kai tilts his head. “I’ve been ordered away by Maeve. I’ll be going rather far, even for the Fey.”

“Oh,” I say, exhaling. “Is it… the same as last time?”

Kai merely looks at me, though his face hardens. “No, this is surveillance. I will still be away for some time, though.”

“Alright,” I say, staring back at him. “Will it be okay, you being so far?” I blush when I realize how the words could be misconstrued. “I mean, because of the Addewid.”

“Yes.” Kai’s expression doesn’t waver and I wonder if he even thought about the other possible meaning. “It should be fine, I won’t be leaving Faery. Or even going to the Otherworld. All the same, don’t leave the house while I’m gone.”

“Oh?” I arch a brow. “Don’t leave?”

Kai’s lips flatten into a line. “You are not to leave my grounds. You are not to answer the door. You are not to speak to anyone but the servants of my household.”

“Right, yes. The rules.”

Kai’s eyes narrow at me. “Do you remember the last person who came to my door? Don’t go outside.”

I can do little but nod when he says this. The last person to his door was Oh Sehun. If Kai had not been here, I shudder to think what might have happened. There are far worse things in Faery than Kai.

Nodding once, he turns to leave the library. Before he disappears, he glances over his shoulder. “I’ll be back.” His expression softens then, becoming almost hesitant. “I don’t want to go,” he murmurs, before disappearing out the door.

I only stare after him, my thoughts catching on themselves. I can’t move past his statement, struggling to think around it. It’s the first time Kai has mentioned wanting anything. He’s spoke of what he does, what he is. Never before what he wants. For some reason, it feels intimate. As though he’s let down a wall and I can’t decide how I should feel about it.

And then I find myself half-walking, half-running. Exiting the library to rush headlong after him. I’m not sure what to say – or if I say anything at all. I can’t tell him I don’t want him to leave, because I’m not sure that’s true. There’s a sinking understanding in my stomach as I run, a leaden knowledge that I see something good in Kai. I see something human, something to protect. No, I realize, heartbeat thudding. I don’t want Kai to leave here.

When I reach the landing, I see both doors are firmly shut. Muriel looks up at me, raising her eyebrows. “He’s just left,” she informs, noticing my appearance.

My feet stop beneath me, and I stare at shut doors. “Right,” I swallow, nodding. “I – okay.”

Unsure what to do, I turn back the way I came. Arriving to my room and slamming the door shut behind me. I don’t know how to feel – not about myself, not about this place, not certainly not him. My gaze darts towards my door, as though he might enter. Which is silly, and not just because Kai rarely comes here.

Falling onto my bed, I stare up at the ceiling. Listening to the gentle tick of the clock and the beating of my own heart. Somewhere far off, a door slams. The rest of the manor is silent. Rolling over in my bed, I stare at the books on my nightstand.

For some reason, I never gave them back to Kai. They sit staring from my table, as though trying to speak to me. I sit up, running a finger along the edge of their spines. It suddenly occurs to me that not a single one is non-fiction. Or at least, not what I’d consider non-fiction.

Perhaps these things really did happen, once upon a time. But in these books the stories are all captured as fantasy, ones with morals and silly characters. Kai reads Faery tales. The thought makes me smile and I pull one into my lap. Flipping open the nearest page and starting to read.

Sometime later, I realize the light has disappeared. I’m squinting at the page, trying to decipher the fading letters and I sigh as I stand from my bed. Stretching and placing the book back on the table. I should eat. This is the driving motivation to bring me downstairs, leading me down the twists of the front staircase.

Knock.

I pause. My footsteps falter when someone knocks at the door. “Muriel?” I call. No one answers though, so I take a step forward. “San?” My gaze swings towards the door.

Knock.

What if it’s Kai? My thoughts spiral as I take another step, then another. Kai might have returned, might be injured. What if he physically can’t open the door? I can’t leave him out there alone. But then my hand falls from the doorknob. Kai told me never to open the door for anyone.

I glance behind me. Still, no one comes to the front hall. “Kai?” I call, listening intently to the other side.

There’s silence. And then – feebly, a slightly garbled, “Help.”

It’s Kai, there’s no mistaking his voice. My hand closes around the handle, I’m not even thinking as I throw the door open wide. “Kai?” I gasp, the word dying on my lips when I see who’s there.

“Hello, love.” Sehun’s golden eyes gleam, and he smiles. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

It’s not Kai. I stumble backwards, realizing my mistake. Of course Sehun can mimic Kai’s voice. Of course and realizing this, I attempt to shut the door. Throw it backwards as I stumble into the hall.

Sehun catches the frame easily, pushing it open to step inside. His boots click on polished floor and I look frantically about me for a weapon. Something – anything to keep him off. Grabbing a candlestick from a nearby table, I brandish this shakily in his direction.

Sehun merely chuckles. “You think can defeat me with that?” With a wave of his hand, the candlestick flies from my grasp to his. He throws this to the side. “Pity, you would be fun to play with. I can’t dawdle for long though, since I believe we have company.”

Before I can react, he’s behind me. One long arm wrapped around my torso to press me to him, despite my attempts to get away. “Shh, shh,” he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “We have a long way to go. We need to get going before your lovely Prince returns.”

Ignoring these words, I continue to fight. Stepping on Sehun’s toes and relishing in the hiss he makes.

“Ah,” he laughs. “No time for that sort fun. Let’s go.”

For a moment, I think we’ve teleported. That’s how fast he moves but no – Sehun is just running. Moving so fast the room is a blur. There’s a sudden jolt though, his shoulder crashing against the doorway as something strikes him from behind.

Sehun swears, whirling to face the hall and thrusting me before him. “Don’t throw anything else,” he laughs, watching as Muriel raises another plate. “You might hit her.”

Muriel pauses, her face drawn and pale.

Slowly, Sehun takes a step backwards. “One wrong move,” he warns, continuing to walk. “And the girl dies.”

Muriel’s grip tightens but she doesn’t throw it, her wide eyes fixed on mine. Tremblingly, she jerks her head towards the other end of the hall. “San,” she calls, her voice calm. “Find the Master.”

I don’t see what happens next because Sehun’s arms suddenly close around me. Jerking me backwards and breaking into a run. The icy wind whips my face and I have no choice but to lean forward, his arms steel pinchers around my body.

A chill goes down my spine which has nothing to do with the cold. I’m trying to move, I’m trying to get free but Sehun doesn’t seem to notice. He holds my limbs as loosely as though I were a doll. Barely noticing the pressure I make, because to him it’s nothing.

I’m helpless. Completely and totally helpless.

[Master List]

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kalendraashtar · 7 years

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Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VI)

Part VI – “My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder”

Twenty-eight

She didn’t come back after that night – I knew she had gone back to Boston, to take control over her life. I waited. The phone never rang to give me news or an explanation, inexplicably silent even though I was certain she could find the number had she wished to. And I waited. My mailbox was painfully empty every day, while I dreamt of letters touched by her fingers, read aloud by her warm voice. And yet I waited.

I waited because I had no choice – I was meant to wait for her. Our lives were inextricably connected, vessels adrift on the sea with an intended destination written in the stars. I had tried to forget her before, to live pretending I wasn’t waiting – and that had hurt more than the hours I spent awake at night, looking at the spot where she once had laid by my side. But there was that small fraction of time, that heartbeat, just before I opened my eyes in the morning, where everything was possible – and I was happy.

Sometimes I would catch myself checking the weather in Boston, wanting to know if she could see the stars in clear skies – at least I could share that proximity with her. I wondered if she had drank coffee, dark and strong, while her eyes were still half-shut. If she had decided on a specialty yet. That was better than wondering about her marriage – every time I turned my thoughts to Frank, the idea of her being touched by him brought me to a blinding state of anger and fear. I would go outside in those occasions to run, as fast as I could for as long as I was able, until I had fled myself and was somewhat free.

I enjoyed teaching and found great solace in my students, curious and lively little fiends, always looking for trouble. I dedicated myself to the task of keeping their spirits sharp and their curiosity burning.

I had my old friends, with whom I shared whiskey glasses and laughs at the pub – keeping a respectful distance from the place I knew Laoghaire still frequented. They kept me grounded, even with their crudes jokes about my bachelor status. While I was laughing, it was easier to wait – I could almost push Claire to the back of my mind, where she would curl and sleep, satisfied.

Saturday was born in blazing glory, sun shining high in a cloudless sky like a treasure’s coin. I accepted the chance to spend the morning exploring the paths at Arthur’s Seat, pushing myself to the limit. I reached the summit with a delicious pain at each breath intake, the air fresh like crushed mint, filling my chest with the pulse of life.

Back at my apartment, I made plans to shower and spend a lazy afternoon reading and napping on the couch, while I stripped off my sweaty t-shirt, heading towards the bathroom.

That’s when the doorbell rang.

I opened it without thinking twice, expecting perhaps to see Angus or Willie, swinging by to challenge me to watch a rugby match or play a chess game.

Her hair was a bit shorter than the last time I had seen her, framing a face that was slightly flushed from sunlight and anticipation. She was wearing a white sundress and I realized I had been wrong – my memories would never be more than a pale comparison to the woman who stood before me. Her arms were bare, with no visible marks, her flawless skin resembling a painting.

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly, her eyes quickly tracing the lines of my exposed chest before she looked at my face, expectant.

“Of course.” I moved to the side, allowing her in. I brushed my hair with nervous fingers, desperately looking for an old t-shirt to dress. Eventually, I settled for the one I had been wearing, smelling faintly of sweat and crushed leaves.

“I wanted to come sooner.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been in Scotland for a couple of days, but had to take care of some papers to start my surgical residency here and find somewhere to stay permanently.” Claire searched my eyes. “I’m moving back to Scotland.”

“Aye.” I said in a husky voice. “I’m glad to see ye, Claire.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jamie.” She smiled, more confident. “These past two years, I -“

“Ye dinna have to explain anything to me.” I interrupted, feeling strangely hollow, fighting against anger which came with a sense of relief.

“I think I do.” Claire insisted, stepping closer to me. “I want you to know that I heard you, Jamie. I didn’t want to make promises until I truly meant them. I had to finish school and decide what I really wanted for my life.”

“And did ye?” I croaked, folding my arms in a defensive gesture, pre-emptively shielding myself from bad news.

“Yes.” She whispered. In that moment she reached out with her hand, offering it to me with her palm down – naked. Her wedding ring gone. “I divorced Frank more than a year ago – and never lived with him again after I was here.” Claire searched his eyes. “With you.”

“Then why did ye never wrote or called?” I asked, hurt creeping into my words. “Why did ye waited two years to show up again?”

“I had to be worthy of you.” Claire said simply, twisting her hands – her fingers touching the ghost of the ring that once had been there. “I had to make sure I was coming because it was the right thing – not because I was wrecked. You offered me everything and I wanted to have something to give back.”

“I missed ye.” I admitted in a whisper, as her hand touched my cheek – I closed my eyes, surrendering to her caress. “A Dhia, I thought I’d go mad with the idea of never seeing ye again.”

“I missed you too.” She gasped, her body so close to mine I could feel the swell of her breasts, the compelling heat coming from her skin. “I haven’t realized I could barely breathe until now.”

“Are ye here to stay then?” I asked serious, our eyes locking. We were gently swaying along some music we could both listen, too eager to stand still, too afraid to finally meet in quietness. “Because if ye’re not…”

She silenced me with her trembling fingers, touching my mouth, learning the shape of my lips. I almost moaned with the pleasure of her touch, so sincere and tender.

“I’m here to stay.” Claire assured me, tracing the line of my chin, where stubble prickled. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have ye in any way I can.” I whispered, my voice almost breaking with emotion – and yet, stronger than ever before. “Always.”

“Jamie…” She sighed with a smile, her forehead leaning against mine. “May I kiss you?” I realized she didn’t wish to rob me another kiss, a thief taking something precious, covered in the night’s cloak.

“I thought ye’d never ask.” I gave her a lopsided smile and our lips finally met, a kiss eighteen years in the making, hesitant at first and then all-consuming.

We spent the afternoon discovering each other, laying in the living room’s rug, slowly and languidly displacing clothes in order to kiss another inch of skin, to draw shapes of desire with our fingertips.

I opened the first buttons of her dress, tracing with my tongue the curve of her breasts; she insinuated her hands on my shorts, caressing the fine copper hairs of my thighs. I nuzzled her neck, softly biting her until she moaned, so I could reward her with a soothing flicker of my tongue. She laughed and playfully clawed my back, making sure I too would wear medals of our war, marks of the victor. I marvelled with the roundness of her arse and the feel of her swollen lips, battered with kisses, ever-wanting. I was mightily aroused – that much was evident to us both – and yet I didn’t move to enter her. I didn’t wish to precipitate the voyage we had started together, to hasten something that would come naturally to us, as each one of our meetings through life had. I would finally get a lifetime of her and planned to savour each small conquest.

“Are ye hungry?” I asked eventually, kissing her shoulder. She looked dishevelled and wanton, pure lust and love in the shape of a woman – I’d never seen her more beautiful or desirable.

“I’m starved.” She laughed, nuzzling the hollow of my chest one final time. “Will you feed me then?”

“Ach, I’m too knackered to cook.” I admitted, playing with her curls – already sorely missing her lips on mine. “But there’s a fantastic Mexican place nearby – I’ll buy ye dinner.”

“If you’re planning to intoxicate me with Margaritas,” Claire sat up and started to compose her clothes. “I have to say it’ll probably work like a charm.”

We left the house walking hand in hand, like two loved up teenagers, giggling and teasing each other. I’d pull her against me once in a while to kiss her again, to the general amusement and surprise of people around us. I didn’t know such happiness was possible – I felt my chest so full that no space was left for regret or doubt.

We were talking about plans to spend Sunday together, when we heard the commotion. A loud crash, someone screaming – the air was thick with tension, harder to breathe in. I felt Claire gripping my hand one final time before she let go, prepared to face what was certainly coming around the corner.

A man with a black ski mask emerged from the sizable jewellery store, which had imposing diamond rings and golden necklaces peeking through the window displays. He carried a dark sports bag at his shoulder and in one hand sported a menacing revolver, while the other grabbed a shrieking shopkeeper by the hair. Blood dripped from the side of her head, where she had probably been pistol-whipped, her eyes blank with shock.

An alarm went off inside the store, an unnerving sound that made me shiver, the hairs on my arms erecting in fear.

The robber shouted something – a car was waiting near the curb, another masked man inside it. He forcefully pushed the woman against the sidewalk, her head bumping against the edge with a nauseating sound of crushed eggshells.

I think I screamed, trying to stop Claire from moving – I knew she would go. She had healed me times enough for me to know that she wasn’t capable of witnessing suffering without trying to interfere.

It happened in a second and yet I saw it in slow motion – how she kneeled next to the woman, trying to stabilize her neck, to evaluate her wounds, calling for her with the lips I just had kissed moments before. The man in the ski masked turned and looked at her, laughing at the sight of her unfruitful gestures – she held his gaze in defiance, insulting him with her sharp tongue.

I was already screaming before it happened – I could see it so clearly and yet I was powerless to stop it. The gunshot that announced the ending, loudest even than my heart breaking.

I ran to her, trying to catch her before she fell on her back. For a moment I thought he had missed her – but a drop of red appeared on the white of her dress, spreading quickly across her belly like a net of poison, a cloud of blood drenching the fabric.

She looked at me with her eyes wide open in painful shock. I sobbed and cried for help, trying to keep her with me through a stupor of despair, my hands pressing the wound as my heart’s blood left her body.

“Jamie.” Claire whispered weakly, searching my eyes. And I started to pray, as sirens wept around me.

Note: I know it’s angsty but - hey- it’s canon! :D

#A Lifetime of Her #Part VI #My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder #Twenty-eight #Jamie and Claire #Outlander fanfiction #Lover You Should've Come Over #ANGST just so you know I know

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andersunmenschlich · 7 years

Text

Genderswap: The Chessmen of Mars

Prince Taran Taran of Helium rose from the pile of silks and soft furs upon which he had been reclining, stretched his lithe body languidly, and crossed toward the center of the room, where, above a large table, a bronze disc depended from the low ceiling. His carriage was that of health and physical perfection—the effortless harmony of faultless coordination. A scarf of silken gossamer crossing over one shoulder was wrapped about his body; his black hair was piled high upon his head. With a wooden stick he tapped upon the bronze disc, lightly, and presently the summons was answered by a slave boy, who entered, smiling, to be greeted similarly by his master.

“Are my mother’s guests arriving?” asked the prince.

“Yes, Taran of Helium, they come,” replied the slave. “I have seen Kanta Kan, Overlord of the Navy, and Princess Saral of Ptarth, and Djal Kanta, daughter of Kanta Kan,” he shot a roguish glance at his master as he mentioned Djal Kanta’s name, “and—oh, there were others, many have come.”

“The bath, then, Uthian,” said his master. “And why, Uthian,” he added, “do you look thus and smile when you mention the name of Djal Kanta?”

The slave boy laughed gaily. “It is so plain to all that she worships you,” he replied.

“It is not plain to me,” said Taran of Helium. “She is the friend of my sister, Carthoria, and so she is here much; but not to see me. It is her friendship for Carthoria that brings her thus often to the palace of my mother.”

“But Carthoria is hunting in the north with Talia, Jeddak of Okar,” Uthian reminded him.

“My bath, Uthian!” cried Taran of Helium. “That tongue of yours will bring you to some misadventure yet.”

“The bath is ready, Taran of Helium,” the boy responded, his eyes still twinkling with merriment, for he well knew that in the heart of his master was no anger that could displace the love of the prince for his slave. Preceding the son of The Warlord he opened the door of an adjoining room where lay the bath—a gleaming pool of scented water in a marble basin. Golden stanchions supported a chain of gold encircling it and leading down into the water on either side of marble steps. A glass dome let in the sunlight, which flooded the interior, glancing from the polished white of the marble walls and the procession of bathers and fishes, which, in conventional design, were inlaid with gold in a broad band that circled the room.

Taran of Helium removed the scarf from about him and handed it to the slave. Slowly he descended the steps to the water, the temperature of which he tested with a symmetrical foot, undeformed by tight shoes and high heels—a lovely foot, as God intended that feet should be and seldom are. Finding the water to his liking, the boy swam leisurely to and fro about the pool. With the silken ease of the seal he swam, now at the surface, now below, his smooth muscles rolling softly beneath his clear skin—a wordless song of health and happiness and grace. Presently he emerged and gave himself into the hands of the slave boy, who rubbed the body of his master with a sweet smelling semi-liquid substance contained in a golden urn, until the glowing skin was covered with a foamy lather, then a quick plunge into the pool, a drying with soft towels, and the bath was over. Typical of the life of the prince was the simple elegance of his bath—no retinue of useless slaves, no pomp, no idle waste of precious moments. In another half hour his hair was dried and built into the strange, but becoming, coiffure of his station; his leathern trappings, encrusted with gold and jewels, had been adjusted to his figure and he was ready to mingle with the guests that had been bidden to the midday function at the palace of the Warlord.

Jed Gahani ...a strange warrior whose harness and metal bore devices with which he was unfamiliar. Even among the gorgeous trappings of the women of Helium and the visitors from distant empires those of the stranger were remarkable for their barbaric splendor. The leather of her harness was completely hidden beneath ornaments of platinum thickly set with brilliant diamonds, as were the scabbards of her swords and the ornate holster that held her long, Martian pistol. Moving through the sunlit garden at the side of the great Warlord, the scintillant rays of her countless gems enveloping her as in an aureole of light imparted to her noble figure a suggestion of godliness.

“Taran of Helium, I bring you Gahani, Jed of Gathol,” said Jane Carter, after the simple Barsoomian custom of presentation.

“Kaor! Gahani, Jed of Gathol,” returned Taran of Helium.

“My sword is at your feet, Taran of Helium,” said the young chieftain.

The Warlord left them and the two seated themselves upon an ersite bench beneath a spreading sorapus tree.

“Far Gathol,” mused the boy. “Ever in my mind has it been connected with mystery and romance and the half-forgotten lore of the ancients. I cannot think of Gathol as existing today, possibly because I have never before seen a Gatholian.”

“And perhaps too because of the great distance that separates Helium and Gathol, as well as the comparative insignificance of my little free city, which might easily be lost in one corner of mighty Helium,” added Gahani. “But what we lack in power we make up in pride,” she continued, laughing. “We believe ours the oldest inhabited city upon Barsoom. It is one of the few that has retained its freedom, and this despite the fact that its ancient diamond mines are the richest known and, unlike practically all the other fields, are today apparently as inexhaustible as ever.”

“Tell me of Gathol,” urged the boy. “The very thought fills me with interest,” nor was it likely that the handsome face of the young jed detracted anything from the glamour of far Gathol.

Nor did Gahani seem displeased with the excuse for further monopolizing the society of her fair companion. Her eyes seemed chained to his exquisite features, from which they moved no further than to a firm pectoral, part hid beneath its jeweled covering, a naked shoulder or the symmetry of a perfect arm, resplendent in bracelets of barbaric magnificence.

Excerpts

Today, Jane Carter, Warlord of Mars, with Dejan Thorin, her mate, led in the dancing, and if there was another couple that vied with them in possession of the silent admiration of the guests it was the resplendent Jed of Gathol and her beautiful partner. In the ever-changing figures of the dance the woman found herself now with the boy’s hand in hers and again with an arm about the lithe body that the jeweled harness but inadequately covered, and the boy, though he had danced a thousand dances in the past, realized for the first time the personal contact of a woman’s arm against his naked flesh. It troubled him that he should notice it, and he looked up questioningly and almost with displeasure at the woman as though it was her fault. Their eyes met and he saw in hers that which he had never seen in the eyes of Djal Kanta. It was at the very end of the dance and they both stopped suddenly with the music and stood there looking straight into each other’s eyes. It was Gahani of Gathol who spoke first.

“Taran of Helium, I love you!” she said.

The boy drew himself to his full height. “The Jed of Gathol forgets herself,” he exclaimed haughtily.

“The Jed of Gathol would forget everything but you, Taran of Helium,” she replied. Fiercely she pressed the soft hand she still retained from the last position of the dance. “I love you, Taran of Helium,” she repeated. “Why should your ears refuse to hear what your eyes but just now did not refuse to see—and answer?”

“What meanest thou?” he cried. “Are the women of Gathol such boors, then?”

“They are neither boors nor fools,” she replied, quietly. “They know when they love a man—and when he loves them.”

Taran of Helium stamped his foot in anger. “Go!” he said, “before it is necessary to acquaint my mother with the dishonor of her guest.”

He turned and walked away. “Wait!” cried the woman. “Just another word.”

“Of apology?” he asked.

“Of prophecy,” she said.

“I do not care to hear it,” replied Taran of Helium, and left her standing there. He was strangely unstrung and shortly thereafter returned to his own quarter of the palace, where he stood for a long time by a window looking out beyond the scarlet tower of Greater Helium toward the north-west.

Occasionally he thought of the Jed of Gathol, and then he would stamp his foot, for he was very angry indeed with Gahani. The presumption of the woman! She had insinuated that she read love for her in his eyes. Never had he been so insulted and humiliated. Never had he so thoroughly hated a woman.

“Gahani of Gathol has asked permission to woo you.”

The boy sat up very straight and tilted his chin in the air. “I would not wed with a walking diamond-mine,” he said. “I will not have her.”

“I told her as much,” replied his mother, “and that you were as good as betrothed to another. She was very courteous about it; but at the same time she gave me to understand that she was accustomed to getting what she wanted and that she wanted you very much. I suppose it will mean another war. Your father’s beauty kept Helium at war for many years, and—well, Taran of Helium, if I were a young woman I should doubtless be willing to set all Barsoom afire to win you, as I still would to keep your divine father,” and she smiled across the sorapus table and its golden service at the undimmed beauty of Mars’ most beautiful man.

“Our little boy should not yet be troubled with such matters,” said Dejan Thorin. “Remember, Jane Carter, that you are not dealing with an Earth child, whose span of life would be more than half completed before a son of Barsoom reached actual maturity.”

“But do not the sons of Barsoom sometimes marry as early as twenty?” she insisted.

“Yes, but they will still be desirable in the eyes of women after forty generations of Earth folk have returned to dust—there is no hurry, at least, upon Barsoom. We do not fade and decay here as you tell me those of your planet do, though you, yourself, belie your own words. When the time seems proper Taran of Helium shall wed with Djal Kanta, and until then let us give the matter no further thought.”

“No,” said the boy, “the subject irks me, and I shall not marry Djal Kanta, or another—I do not intend to wed.”

His mother and father looked at him and smiled. “When Gahani of Gathol returns she may carry you off,” said the former.

“She has gone?” asked the boy.

“Her flier departs for Gathol in the morning,” Jane Carter replied.

“I have seen the last of her, then,” remarked Taran of Helium with a sigh of relief.

“She says not,” returned Jane Carter.

The boy dismissed the subject with a shrug and the conversation passed to other topics.

“Who is there but knows of the loss of the Prince Taran of Helium?” [Gahani] replied. “And when I saw the device upon your flier I knew at once, though I had not known when I saw you among them in the fields a short time earlier. Too great was the distance for me to make certain whether the captive was woman or man. Had chance not divulged the hiding place of your flier I had gone my way, Taran of Helium. I shudder to think how close was the chance of that. But for the momentary shining of the sun upon the emblazoned device on the prow of your craft, I had passed on unknowing.”

The boy shuddered. “The Gods sent you,” he whispered reverently.

“The Gods sent me, Taran of Helium,” she replied.

“But I do not recognize you,” he said. “I have tried to recall you, but I have failed. Your name, what may it be?”

“It is not strange that so great a prince should not recall the face of every roving panthan of Barsoom,” she replied with a smile.

“But your name?” insisted the boy.

“Call me Tura,” replied the woman, for it had come to her that if Taran of Helium recognized her as the woman whose impetuous avowal of love had angered him that day in the gardens of the Warlord, his situation might be rendered infinitely less bearable than were he to believe her a total stranger. Then, too, as a simple panthan [soldier of fortune; free-lance warrior] she might win a greater degree of his confidence by her loyalty and faithfulness and a place in his esteem that seemed to have been closed to the resplendent Jed of Gathol.

“Let Ghek drop behind to your side,” said Taran, “and fight with you.”

“There is but room for a single blade in these narrow corridors,” replied the Gatholian. “Hasten on with Ghek and win to the deck of the flier. Have your hand upon the control, and if I come far enough ahead of these to reach the dangling cable you can rise at my word and I can clamber to the deck at my leisure; but if one of them emerges first into the enclosure you will know that I shall never come, and you will rise quickly and trust to the Gods of our ancestors to give you a fair breeze in the direction of a more hospitable people.”

Taran of Helium shook his head. “We will not desert you, panthan,” he said.

Gahani, ignoring his reply, spoke above his head to Ghek. “Take him to the craft moored within the enclosure,” she commanded. “It is our only hope. Alone, I may win to its deck; but have I to wait upon you two at the last moment the chances are that none of us will escape. Do as I bid.” Her tone was haughty and arrogant—the tone of a woman who has commanded other women from birth, and whose will has been law. Taran of Helium was both angered and vexed. He was not accustomed to being either commanded or ignored, but with all his royal pride he was no fool, and he knew the woman was right, that she was risking her life to save his, so he hastened on with Ghek as he was bid, and after the first flush of anger he smiled, for the realization came to him that this fellow was but a rough untutored warrior, skilled not in the finer usages of cultured courts. Her heart was right, though; a brave and loyal heart, and gladly he forgave her the offense of her tone and manner.

...behind him came the sudden clash of arms and he knew that Tura, the panthan, had crossed swords with the first of their pursuers. As he glanced back she was still visible beyond a turn in the stairway, so that he could see the quick swordplay that ensued. Son of a world’s greatest swordswoman, he knew well the finest points of the art. He saw the clumsy attack of the kaldane and the quick, sure return of the panthan. As he looked down from above upon her almost naked body, trapped only in the simplest of unadorned harness, and saw the play of the lithe muscles beneath the red-bronze skin, and witnessed the quick and delicate play of her sword point, to his sense of obligation was added a spontaneous admission of admiration that was but the natural tribute of a man to skill and bravery and, perchance, some trifle to womanly symmetry and strength.

She fought coolly, but with a savage persistence that bore little semblance to purely defensive action. Often she clambered over the body of a fallen foe to leap against the next behind, and once there lay five dead kaldanes behind her, so far had she pushed back her antagonists. They did not know it; these kaldanes that she fought, nor did the boy awaiting her upon the flier, but Gahani of Gathol was engaged in a more alluring sport than winning to freedom, for she was avenging the indignities that had been put upon the man she loved; but presently she realized that she might be jeopardizing his safety uselessly, and so she struck down another before her and turning leaped quickly up the stairway, while the leading kaldanes slipped upon the brain-covered floor and stumbled in pursuit.

She was smiling and the boy smiled back at her. There was a slightly puzzled expression on his face—there was something tantalizingly familiar about that smile of hers. He had met many a panthan—they came and went, following the fighting of a world—but he could not place this one.

“From what country are you, Tura?” he asked suddenly.

“Know you not, Taran of Helium,” she countered, “that a panthan has no country? Today she fights beneath the banner of one mistress, tomorrow beneath that of another.”

“But you must own allegiance to some country when you are not fighting,” he insisted. “What banner, then, owns you now?”

She rose and stood before him, then, bowing low. “And I am acceptable,” she said, “I serve beneath the banner of the son of The Warlord now—and forever.”

He reached forth and touched her arm with a slim brown hand. “Your services are accepted,” he said; “and if ever we reach Helium I promise that your reward shall be all that your heart could desire.”

“I shall serve faithfully, hoping for that reward,” she said; but Taran of Helium did not guess what was in her mind, thinking rather that she was mercenary. For how could the proud son of The Warlord guess that a simple panthan aspired to his hand and heart?

”They have the appearance of splendid warriors,” said Tura. “I have a great mind to walk boldly into their city and seek service.”

Taran shook his head. “Wait,” he admonished. “What would I do without you, and if you were captured how could you collect your reward?”

“I should escape,” she said. “At any rate I shall try it,” and she started to rise.

“You shall not,” said the boy, his tone all authority.

The woman looked at him quickly—questioningly.

“You have entered my service,” he said, a trifle haughtily. “You have entered my service for hire and you shall do as I bid you.”

Tura sank down beside him again with a half smile upon her lips. “It is yours to command, Prince,” she said.

...darkness came and Taran of Helium bid his panthan search for food and drink; but he cautioned her against attempting to enter the city. Before she left him she bent and kissed his hand as a warrior may kiss the hand of her king.

“By my first ancestor!” she swore; “but it was simple and I a simpleton. They tricked me neatly and have taken me without exposing themselves to a scratch; but for what purpose?”

She wished that she might answer that question and then her thoughts turned to the boy waiting there on the hill beyond the city for her—and she would never come. She knew the ways of the more savage peoples of Barsoom. No, she would never come, now. She had disobeyed him. She smiled at the sweet recollection of those words of command that had fallen from his dear lips. She had disobeyed him and now she had lost the reward.

”But I am a prince,” cried the boy haughtily, “and my country is not at war with yours. You must give me and my companions aid and assist us to return to our own land. It is the law of Barsoom.”

“Manator knows only the laws of Manator,” replied U-Dor; “but come. You shall go with us to the city, where you, being beautiful, need have no fear. I, myself, will protect you if O-Tar so decrees.”

As they halted at the foot of the marble steps, the proud gaze of Turan of Helium rested upon the enthroned figure of the woman above him. She sat erect without stiffness—a commanding presence trapped in the barbaric splendor that the Barsoomian chieftain loves. She was a large woman, the perfection of whose handsome face was marred only by the hauteur of her cold eyes and the suggestion of cruelty imparted by too thin lips. It needed no second glance to assure the least observing that here indeed was a ruler of women—a fighting jeddak whose people might worship but not love, and for whose slightest favor warriors would vie with one another to go forth and die. This was O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, and as Taran of Helium saw her for the first time he could not but acknowledge a certain admiration for this savage chieftain who so robustly personified the ancient virtues of the Goddess of War.

But Jane Carter did not know! There was only one other to whom he might hope to look—Tura the panthan; but where was she? He had seen her sword in play and he knew that it had been wielded by a master hand, and who should know swordplay better than Taran of Helium, who had learned it well under the constant tutorage of Jane Carter herself. Tricks he knew that discounted even far greater physical prowess than his own, and a method of attack that might have been at once the envy and despair of the cleverest of warriors. And so it was that his thoughts turned to Tura the panthan, though not alone because of the protection she might afford him. He had realized, since she left him in search of food, that there had grown between them a certain comradeship that he now missed.

”You shall not lack for warriors,” replied the jeddak. “One of your beauty will find plenty ready to fight for him. Possibly it shall not be necessary to look farther than the jeddak of Manator. You please me, man. What say you to such an honor?”

Through narrowed lids the Prince of Helium scrutinized the Jeddak of Manator, from feathered headdress to sandaled foot and back to feathered headdress.

“’Honor’!” he mimicked in tones of scorn. “I please thee, do I? Then know, swine, that thou pleaseth me not—that the son of Jane Carter is not for such as thou!”

A sudden, tense silence fell upon the assembled chiefs. Slowly the blood receded from the sinister face of O-Tar, Jeddak of Manator, leaving her a sickly purple in her wrath. Her eyes narrowed to two thin slits, her lips were compressed to a bloodless line of malevolence. For a long moment there was no sound in the throne room of the palace at Manator. Then the jeddak turned toward U-Dor.

“Take him away,” she said in a level voice that belied her appearance of rage. “Take him away, and at the next games let the prisoners and the common warriors play at Jetan for him.”

”It is O-Tar’s wish,” explained U-Dor ... “that he be kept until the next games, when the prisoners and the common warriors shall play for him. Had he not the tongue of a thoat he had been a worthy stake for our noblest steel,” and U-Dor sighed. “Perhaps even yet I may win a pardon for him. It were too bad to see such beauty fall to the lot of some common fellow. I would have honored him myself.”

“If I am to be imprisoned, imprison me,” said the boy. “I do not recall that I was sentenced to listen to the insults of every low-born boor who chanced to admire me.”

E-Med crossed the tower chamber toward Taran of Helium and the slave boy, Lan-O. She seized the former roughly by a shoulder. “Stand!” she commanded. Taran struck her hand from him and rising, backed away.

“Lay not your hand upon the person of a prince of Helium, beast!” he warned.

E-Med laughed. “Think you that I play at jetan for you without first knowing something of the stake for which I play?” she demanded. “Come here!”

The boy drew himself to his full height, folding his arms across his breast, nor did E-Med note that the slim fingers of his right hand were inserted beneath the broad leather strap of his harness where it passed over his left shoulder.

“And O-Tar learns of this you shall rue it, E-Med,” cried the slave boy; “there be no law in Manator that gives you this boy before you shall have won him fairly.”

“What cares O-Tar for his fate?” replied E-Med. “Have I not heard? Did he not flout the great jeddak, heaping abuse upon her? By my first ancestor, I think O-Tar might make a jed of the woman who subdued him,” and again she advanced toward Tara.

“Wait!” said the boy in a low, even tone. “Perhaps you know not what you do. Sacred to the people of Helium are the persons of the men of Helium. For the honor of the humblest of them would the great jeddak herself unsheathe her sword. The greatest nations of Barsoom have trembled to the thunders of war in defense of the person of Dejan Thorin, my father. We are but mortal and so may die; but we may not be defiled. You may play at jetan for a prince of Helium, but though you may win the match, never may you claim the reward. If thou wouldst possess a dead body press me too far, but know, woman of Manator, that the blood of The Warlord flows not in the veins of Taran of Helium for naught. I have spoken.”

“I know naught of Helium, and O-Tar is our warlord,” replied E-Med, “but I do know that I would examine more closely the prize that I shall play for and win. I would test the lips of him who is to be my slave after the next games; nor is it well, man, to drive me too far to anger.” Her eyes narrowed as she spoke, her visage taking on the semblance of that of a snarling beast. “If you doubt the truth of my words ask Lan-O, the slave boy.”

“She speaks truly, O man of Helium,” interjected Lan-O. “Try not the temper of E-Med, if you value your life.”

But Taran of Helium made no reply. Already had he spoken. He stood in silence now facing the burly warrior who approached him. She came close and then quite suddenly she seized him and, bending, tried to draw his lips to hers.

Lan-O saw the man from Helium half turn, and with a quick movement jerk his right hand from where it had lain upon his breast. He saw the hand shoot from beneath the arm of E-Med and rise behind her shoulder and he saw in the hand a long, slim blade. The lips of the warrior were drawing closer to that of the man, but they never touched them, for suddenly the woman straightened, stiffly, a shriek upon her lips, and then she crumpled like an empty fur and lay, a shrunken heap, upon the floor. Taran of Helium stooped and wiped his blade upon her harness.

Below him Taran of Helium saw a great field entirely surrounded by the low building, and the lofty towers of which that in which he was imprisoned was but a unit. About the arena were tiers of seats; but the thing that caught his attention was a gigantic jetan board laid out upon the floor of the arena in great squares of alternate orange and black.

“Here they play at jetan with living pieces. They play for great stakes and usually for a man—some slave of exceptional beauty. O-Tar herself might have played for you had you not angered her, but now you will be played for in an open game by slaves and criminals, and you will belong to the side that wins—not to a single warrior, but to all who survive the game.”

“It is within this amphitheater that the justice of Manator is meted, then?” asked Taran.

“Very largely,” replied Lan-O.

“How, then, through such justice, could a prisoner win her liberty?” continued the boy from Helium.

“If a woman, and she survived ten games her liberty would be hers,” replied Lan-O.

“But none ever survives?” queried Taran. “And if a man?”

“No stranger within the gates of Manator ever has survived ten games,” replied the slave boy. “They are permitted to offer themselves into perpetual slavery if they prefer that to fighting at jetan. Of course they may be called upon, as any warrior, to take part in a game, but their chances then of surviving are increased, since they may never again have the chance of winning to liberty.”

“But a man,” insisted Taran; “how may a man win his freedom?”

Lan-O laughed. “Very simply,” he cried, derisively. “He has but to find a warrior who will fight through ten consecutive games for him and survive.”

“I shall not desert you, Ghek,” said Taran of Helium, simply.

“Go! Go!” whispered the kaldane. “You can do me no good. Go, or all I have done is for naught.”

Taran shook his head. “I cannot,” he said.

“They will slay him,” said Ghek to Tura, and the panthan, torn between loyalty to this strange creature who had offered its life for him, and love of the man, hesitated but a moment, then she swept Taran from his feet and lifting him in her arms leaped up the steps that led to the throne of Manator. Behind the throne she parted the arras and found the secret opening. Into this she bore the boy and down a long, narrow corridor and winding runways that led to lower levels until they came to the pits of the palace of O-Tar. Here was a labyrinth of passages and chambers presenting a thousand hiding-places.

...

In a dimly-lighted chamber beneath the palace of O-Tar the jeddak, Tura the panthan lowered Taran of Helium from her arms and faced him. “I am sorry, Prince,” she said, “that I was forced to disobey your commands, or to abandon Ghek; but there was no other way. Could xe have saved you I would have stayed in xyr place. Tell me that you forgive me.”

“How could I do less?” he replied graciously. “But it seemed cowardly to abandon a friend.”

“Had we been three fighting women it had been different,” she said. “We could only have remained and died together, fighting; but you know, Taran of Helium, that we may not jeopardize a man’s safety even though we risk the loss of honor.”

“I know that, Tura,” he said; “but no one may say that you have risked honor, who knows the honor and bravery that are yours.”

She heard him with surprise for these were the first words that he had spoken to her that did not savor of the attitude of a prince to a panthan—though it was more in his tone than the actual words that she apprehended the difference. How at variance were they to his recent repudiation of her! She could not fathom him, and so she blurted out the question that had been in her mind since he had told O-Tar that he did not know her.

“Taran of Helium,” she said, “your words are balm to the wound you gave me in the throne room of O-Tar. Tell me, Prince, why you denied me.”

He turned his great, deep eyes up to hers and in them was a little of reproach.

“You did not guess,” he asked, “that it was my lips alone and not my heart that denied you? O-Tar had ordered that I die, more because I was a companion of Ghek than because of any evidence against me, and so I knew that if I acknowledged you as one of us, you would be slain, too.”

“It was to save me, then?” she cried, her face suddenly lighting.

“It was to save my brave panthan,” he said in a low voice.

“Taran of Helium,” said the warrior, dropping to one knee, “your words are as food to my hungry heart,” and she took his fingers in hers and pressed them to her lips.

Gently he raised her to her feet. “You need not tell me, kneeling,” he said, softly.

His hand was still in hers as she rose and they were very close, and the woman was still flushed with the contact of his body since she had carried him from the throne room of O-Tar. She felt her heart pounding in her breast and the hot blood surging through her veins as she looked at his beautiful face, with its downcast eyes and the half-parted lips that she would have given a kingdom to possess, and then she swept him to her and as she crushed him against her breast her lips smothered his with kisses.

But only for an instant. Like a tiger the boy turned upon her, striking her, and thrusting her away. He stepped back, his head high and his eyes flashing fire. “You would dare?” he cried. “You would dare thus defile a prince of Helium?”

Her eyes met his squarely and there was no shame and no remorse in them.

“Yes, I would dare,” she said. “I would dare love Taran of Helium; but I would not dare defile him or any other man with kisses that were not prompted by love of him alone.” She stepped closer to him and laid her hands upon his shoulders. “Look into my eyes, son of The Warlord,” she said, “and tell me that you do not wish the love of Tura, the panthan.”

“I do not wish your love,” he cried, pulling away. “I hate you!” and then turning away he bent his head into the hollow of his arm, and wept.

“...I had never thought to live to see the time when the way of a woman with a youth, or a youth with a woman would change. Ah, but we kissed them then! And what if they objected, eh? What if they objected? Why, we kissed them more. Ey, ey, those were the days!” and she cackled again. “Ey, well do I recall the first of them I ever kissed, and I’ve kissed an army of them since; he was a fine boy, but he tried to slip a dagger into me while I was kissing him. Ey, ey, those were the days! But I kissed him. He’s been dead over a thousand years now, but he was never kissed again like that while he lived, I’ll swear, not since he’s been dead either.”

Genderswapped from The Chessmen of Mars by Edgar Rice Burroughs (1922)

#books #genderswap #The Chessmen of Mars #Edgar Rice Burroughs

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