#speaking of reining it in i was drawing for hours and had to drag myself away from this wip bc too much screentime!!
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A Home Between Two Breaths
[He Who Fell in the Sea | Read on Ao3]
The snow starts just out of Luidas– big, thick flakes. A dusting, at first; they settle on Miss’s hair like fine lace, melting before she can brush them off. But now the horses wade through the drifts, nickering with displeasure when snow crumples beneath their hooves. His own coat sags, a thick, wet film against his skin, but Miss–
Well, Miss sits snugly beneath a bridled pelt, one hand absently brushing along the edge. His chest tingles with every sweep of her fingers, a shiver trembling down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold. Her heat’s been his constantly companion these past few hours, keeping him warm and wary long past when his own coat abandons him. But the colder he gets, well, the more he’s tempted to stop, to haul up to one of the inns they pass and see if they can’t generate their own heat between them.
His teeth grit down, jaw aching. If only he could bring himself to love a woman whose heart wasn’t already spoken for, given to a man who could keep her warm with far more than just the pelt off his back.
Still, taking shelter isn’t a bad idea, not when there’s no telling how long the storm will last. Lamps burns brightly in the distance, up the hill but not too far. He remembers the place; it’s not one of their usual stops– too close to the checkpoint to bother with, mostly made more for lords with carriages and delicate constitutions to care for. Pricey, and with the weather, the innkeep will be sure to wring them for more than two beds are worth, but, well–
He’s going to go crazy if she doesn’t stop petting him like this. Obi tugs at his reins, bringing himself up alongside Miss. Their knees don’t knock– he’s too careful a rider for that, even if she’s not– but he’s close enough to be heard over the howling winds. “We should stop.”
A contemplative pout settles on her cold-stung lips; she’s doing the complex calculations he’d mulled over moments ago. It’s not quite dusk– on a fairer day, they’d be on the road for another hour or two at least– but with the storm only growing stronger at their backs…
“It’ll get worse before it gets better.” The darkening sky hangs heavy overhead, only adding a more dire edge to his warning, but Miss’s jaw still sets stubbornly, the I can keep going loud in her silence. “We should think of the horses.”
“Oh!” She frowns down at her mare’s mane, snow tangling in the long, frozen ropes its settled into, and nods. “Of course. Is there some place near?”
His cowl is raised, covering his lips, but he smothers his smile, just in case. Miss might press on past wisdom if it were only herself she had to worry about, but bring the horses into it…
“Just there.” He points, voice struggling against the wind. “Up on the rise. Hopefully they’ll have two rooms ready to go.”
Miss coughs, ducking her head to cover it. Her next words are mumbled, lost in the wool of her scarf and the roar of the storm, but the winds twist and turn as they press on and he could swear–
Well, he could swear he hears, “We could do with less.”
“Two rooms,” Miss says, trying to raise her voice over the din. They’re far from the only weary travelers escaping the storm; the common room is packed wall-to-wall with boisterous custom, their coats damp but spirits as warm as the brew in their mugs. “If you please.”
“I do.” The innkeep’s round-faced, cheery, but with enough height to convey that she could, if pressed, handle rowdy customers right to the door. The kind of woman Obi would like, if her smile wasn’t already saying exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “But I’m afraid we’ve only got the one left. Busy night, you know.”
“Two beds?” he asks, already knowing the answer. If Master had been with them, three would have appeared from thin air with rooms to keep them. But with just a court herbalist and a knight, the only title between them a friendship to the wrong crown–
“One.” The innkeep’s kind enough to offer a sorrowful smile. “A nice one, though, if I do say so myself.”
A slender finger traces down his chest, as if there were not three layers of clothes and a safe distance between them, and he yelps out, “A cot?”
“‘Fraid not.” The innkeep brushes some flour off her apron, brusque yet strangely sympathetic at the same time. “All spoken for. You’re hardly the only ones who’ve had to make due with less than you came in wanting.”
Still that finger runs, collar to breast, following the length of his sternum. It should be lulling, comforting, but instead he just– “Maybe there’s space in the barn?”
Miss’s hand stills, eyes too wide, too green as she peers up at him. He can’t bear to look, not when he’s in danger of losing himself in them. The last time they’d been in the room with a bed–
Well, there’s a reminder twitching right against his thigh about that. “I’m not above a good night in the hay.”
The innkeep’s brows lift in amusement. “Full up to the manger.”
His sigh hollows him out, leaving him to slouch over the remains of his chest. “I could–”
“We’ll take it,” Miss says, stepping up in front of him. The dir glitter in her palm as she lays them on the counter. “The room, that is. And the bed.”
Obi lets out a plaintive whine, lost in the noise. “Extra blankets?”
The innkeep smiles at him, wide and wry. “Now that I can do.”
After all his years on the road, Obi considers himself a connoisseur of lodging. A adept of accommodations. A man who knows what a coin might bring him, greasing the right palm. Someone who speaks the lingo, one might say.
So when a proprietor of sleeping arrangements says one bed, he knows there’s a connotation to that. One bed, of course, but enough mattress to be shared between two. The sort of thing where one could divide between the pillows and trust that, without a very adventurous sleeper on the other side, he could expect to wake up undisturbed.
This is not that.
“Well,” Miss murmurs, taking a ponderous step into the room. “There certainly is…one.”
He’s seen bigger in the garrison. It’s only a little wider than a standard cot– meant to fit one and half maids, if only so the help might feel kingly for a night as well–
“Ah, isn’t that just our luck, Miss.” Obi lets out a noise that is somewhere between a laugh and a swan song. “In an inn full of lordly accommodations, we get…the servant’s quarters.”
Another room might have a sofa, a chaise, or, failing that, a hard-backed chair that he could at least make a credible attempt at sleep in. But this– this is a room meant for sleeping, not entertaining. At least, not if he wasn’t planning on doing it horizontal.
Which he isn’t. Not at all. That’s not what’s happening here. Between them. Ever. No matter what happened before. Master may not be here now, but Obi won’t forget him.
Again.
“It’s fine,” Miss blusters, as if he can’t hear her voice squeak up at the top of her range. “We’ll make do.”
She draws herself up, utilizing every scant inch, and officiously scurries over to the edge of the mattress, giving it the sort of calculating stare generals leveled on fields of battle. With a steeling breath, her shoulders lift, and in a smooth motion, toss his pelt wholesale onto the covers.
The wind knocks out of him, for more than one reason. “I was going to use that.”
“You are going to be using it,” she agrees primly, letting her own cloak fall, sopping, in to her arms. “In the bed. Tonight.”
His mouth works as she crosses to the one ladder-backed chair that the room provides, spreading the wet wool across it. “I was going to sleep on the floor.”
The gaze she turns to him may be wide-eyed, but it’s knowing too, braced. This isn’t a misunderstanding, it’s a negotiation. “Why would you do that? It’s freezing, Obi.”
Again, his mouth can only open and close, words picked up and quickly abandoned in his search for something other than, don’t you remember? Or worse, how could you forget?
He couldn’t, not when he’d spent the night staring up at a ceiling he hardly remembered the pattern of, listening to the soft lull of Master’s breath and wondering why, why he has to ruin everything he touches. It would be better if he listened to the songs of his sisters, letting them guide him back to the sea, pelt wrapped around him and life brought back to the simple sensation of the water against his fur–
But he’d miss her. And he can control himself just fine, as long as there’s some space between them. Which there won’t be if they’re in that bed together, his skin covering them as one body.
“I just–” he flounders under her inquisitive confusion; it doesn’t help that she’s taken off her dress as well, left in only in her underthings, every shapely curve bared to him– “it would be best.”
Miss’s fingers still on her stays, head cocked, considering. Her gaze sweeps from the pelt on the bed to her own state of undress, hesitating a moment before she takes in his position against the door.
With a long, thoughtful breath, she exhales a very firm, “No.”
“No?” His mouth works, at a loss, and she takes the opportunity to place a single, bare leg on the mattress, right along his spine. Hell, that is making it a little hard to breathe, let alone think. “That is my skin, you know.”
“And you’re going to be using it,” she informs him, unimpressed, as she drags another tantalizing calf beneath her, warmth radiating along his back. It’s the last thing he needs when she’s got that stubborn pout on her lips. “You can’t sleep on the floor, Obi. Even with seal skin, you’ll freeze.”
He’s lived in water colder and darker than nights like these, dove into deeper currents than the Lilias’s winds could ever drop, but it’s impossible to explain to that to Miss, who has only this one, soft skin. The kind that is begging him to touch it with his own, to press her between his pelt and his body, and–
“I have extra blankets,” he mutters dumbly, thrusting them out in front of him like they might ward off her arguments. It’s a weak volley, a desperate measure to avoid the inevitable rout, and she deflects it with barely more than a dubious glance.
His shoulders slump, wet fur sopping around his neck. By the victorious glint in Miss’s eyes, she doesn’t miss the moment of his defeat.
“Your should take off your coat, at least,” she tells him, so innocent. “It’d be no good for you to come to bed wet.”
Obi can’t, unfortunately, argue with her logic. He lays his shield down, the thick quilts the innkeep pressed on him falling in a slumped pile against the footboard. And with a sweep of his arms, the first of his armor falls as well, arranged flat on hearth’s screen.
It’s a relief to be rid of its damp weight; warm as it is, another creature’s fur sits strangely on him, as if his body wants to take its shape as well. And when it’s almost clinging to him, dripping sweat and ice down his spine– well, it’s a new layer of discomfort.
His boots follow, stockings soon after, though their removal is another battle, the wool sticking to every inch. When his feet finally press bare to stone– ah, the cold seeped through him more than he’d thought. For all his talk, his soles stretch against its ambient warmth and, oh, how they burn. Maybe Miss was right about sleeping on the floor; as a seal, his blubber would protect him, but as a man–
Well, he certainly lacked a certain sleekness over these bones. It was easier to forget now that he was allowed both.
Obi hesitates, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants. They were wet too– damp at the knees and clinging to his thighs at parts– but still…
“Are you coming to bed?” Miss inquires, muffled. He glances back, and there she is, smothered in blankets, radiating warmth along his back. “It’s warm in here.”
The smart thing would be to take his blankets and suffer as best he could by the fire. Or take the invitation but keep the clothes, hoping they would dry in the warmth of the blankets. But Obi–
Well, Obi hadn’t ended up on shore by being more clever than bold. He strips down to his skivvies, laying his clothes beside Miss’s on the stone. It left him far from naked– his woolens might leave little to the imagination, but they were still as thick and warm as his pelt– but the way Miss watches him–
Maybe he should risk the floor.
He shakes himself. Too late to change his mind now.
Soft fur tickles his hands as he slips into bed beside her, Miss extending from a pleasant, abstract warmth along his back, to a present, insistent heat along his side. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.
“Beneath?” he manages after a moment. “I thought you enjoyed it as a blanket.”
“We have plenty of those.” Her eyes glitter guilelessly in the dim, fingers stroking the pelt in mindless, soothing circles. “Having it under us will stop any heat from escaping through the mattress. Like a little oven!”
“Oh,” he murmurs, watching her fingers carve runnels through his fur. “Smart.”
“I thought so,” she says with no little pride. “Blow out the lamp?”
He nods, reaching over to turn the wick down, watching the flame gutter behind the glass. Even when it’s out, the fire keeps a low, merry glow, and beneath his shirt–
“Oh!” The cord lies tangled in his chain, tag and stone knotted together in a way that takes a good moment of patience and another of dexterity to sort out. Still, it’s easy work, and with a few quick loops he lifts it over his head, stone pulsing gently in the dark. “Here you go.”
He’s seen his miss in firelight, but the stone’s glow does something to the shape of her face, to the round of her eye. In her hushed awe, it’s as if he’s never seen her before. “This…?”
“Sorry I borrowed it for so long.” Her gaze darts to his, and he can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same. “Thanks for lending it to me.”
“Ah!” Her fingers reach, plucking the cord from his grasp, an infinite amount of stones glittering in her eyes. “The stone! Did you–?” She hesitates, mouth rounding around words she doesn’t say. “Did you use it for something?”
He’d hung it on a darker night than this, moon blotted out by thick, reaching branches, but as it swings in her grip, a slow, pendulous spin– well, it’s hard not to think of the shadow that approached. How confidently the assassin had slipped through the trees, fleet and sure-footed as any night creature. And then for him to pull up short, surprise writ large in those dark, fearful eyes–
“It would be a good reference point,” Miss presses, breathless. “For the future.”
He huffs out a laugh, head dropping onto the pillow. Ah, yes, he can see it now. Uses: luring assassins out of hiding. “I don’t think it’ll be much help to any of you scholars, but it worked perfectly when I used it.”
The crystal sets her face into harder angles; her cheeks sit sharp, carved from marble, and her jaw settles into a contemplative pout. It’s not answer enough, he knows, not for her, but she’s never been one to push, not even when she held a pelt in her hand.
“I’d say it was thanks to that thing that I made it to Master’s side in time.” Her eyes turn to him, wide, but it’s the least he can give her, when she’s put both his freedom and her trust into his bloodied hands. “And I was also able to pass on Mitsuhide’s message.”
“Because of this?” She cradles the stone in her hand, tender, but it’s him that she turns to, satisfaction curling her lips. “So it was helpful? I mean– it was worth having?”
“Of course.” If his grin is easy, it’s only because he’s so practiced at giving it. At least, instead of kissing her. “It would have been worth having just because it gave it to me. The rest was gravy, Miss.”
Her sigh is heavy, contented, the tension eking out of her shoulders with each second that passes until she’s settled fully into the pillow’s soft down.
“Obi?” He almost doesn’t catch her soft hum, muffled as it is. But one of her hands has dropped between them, fingers gently stroking in those small, soothing circles, and even part of him is attuned to every molecule of air in this room, if only because there doesn’t seem to be enough. “Come over here?”
He rolls up onto his elbow, so close a deep breath might make them touch if he weren’t careful. But he is. Always. “Hm?”
In a single, smooth swoop, she loops the cord right around his neck. “Eh–?”
Her smile is too much, mischief honing it sharper than any other knife he’s taken between his ribs. He hardly even feels the stab. “I bequeath this to you.”
“Eh?” he tries again, fingers plucking at the leather, since she clearly didn’t hear him the first time.
“I want you to have it.” Her gaze settles where it dangles between them, and he’s not ready for how his chest tightens with the softening of her smile. “If it was helpful to you at Sereg, I’d like you to keep it.”
He stares. But it’s precious, he nearly says, but it’s no use, not when he can’t survive her inevitable answer, the one clear in her eyes already–
So are you, Obi.
“Miss.” His voice doesn’t sound like his own, stilted and too low. “A while back, you asked about this scar.”
The neck of his woolens swoops low enough for a ragged edge to peep through, stark white against the shadow of his skin. He hooks a finger round it still, pulling it lower until he can feel the meat of that gnarled ruin against the tip of his fingers. In the pale light of the stone, he can see the way her eyes fix to it, body tense beside his.
“I never cared about getting injured.” The dark loosens his lips better than any bottle. “Or coming back. There wasn’t–” he licks his lips, only a wry smile left behind– “there wasn’t any point.”
Why worry about this strange skin when no matter how well he performed for them, his masters would never yield his reward. His pelt always laid under lock and key, a carrot and stick both: a well done job held the hope of seeing a glimpse of it, a chance to snatch it from their grasp; and a failed one–
Well, there were so many accidents that could happen to a beautiful pelt like this one. Fire. Scissors. A blade.
Obi might not have cared what happened to this body, but he could never return to his sisters with the proof of this life etched upon his skin,
His fingers clench in his fur. “Didn’t really see it as a drawback.”
The stone’s glow isn’t enough to illuminate the whole of Miss’s face, so he doesn’t so much see her jaw work as feel it, her restraint dragging her teeth down with a soft click. Her urge to speak is palpable, drawing the space between them to a taut thread but–
But Miss has always had that sense, the kind good healers always did, of when a wound needed salve or stitching, and when it just…needed to breathe. Which is what she does, muscles melting into the mattress beneath her, her fingers picking up those slow, soothing circles over his fur. If all this feeling is a festering poison, well– he needs to get it all out himself.
“I lived like that for a long time.” The words leave him on a sigh, back stretching into her touch, wrong skin as it is. “But then when I came back, and I saw your face…”
The memory burns brighter than the stone in his eyes; even now he can picture the way she stood, half turned toward him, fingers flexed in disbelief. The way steam had rose from her rounded mouth, clouding the air between them. How she had run, falling just short of being in his arms–
– and how she’d just narrowly missed the same later, her nails dragging through his pelt, jaw slack–
Ah, that’s really not what he should be thinking about now. Not when she’s pressed so tight against him.
“All I could think,” he rasps, meeting the dark evergreen of her eyes, “was how glad I was that I didn’t get seriously injured. So I could…”
Come back to you. He can’t make the words leave him; it’s too much, too far, but Miss–
She hears them anyway. Her breath catches, hand flexing flat on his pelt, a brand against his spine.
“So,” he breathes, heart pounding in his throat, “I guess I’m– haah.”
His hips jerk hard as his miss rakes runnels slowly down his spine. Every inch of his skin shivers, hair and teeth on edge, and it’s definitely…good. Too good for what he’s trying to say.
“You’re being distracting.” The warning rumbles out of him, and even to his own ears, it sounds more promising than scolding.
Miss hums, too innocent, too interested. “Should I stop?”
She does, as a demonstration.
“No!” He coughs, glad there’s no possible way she can see the heat slapped across his cheeks. “I’m just trying to–” have a serious conversation– “and you’re–” making it hard– “it’s hard enough, talking like this, when we’re on…”
Me. He can’t say that either, not when she’s looking up at him so guilelessly, eyes wide and uncomprehending.
“I think,” he grits out, finally, “that maybe I haven’t properly explained the, ah, connotations of touching…that.”
Her eyelashes flutter in the dark. “You like it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” It hisses out of him, not enough but also entirely too much. “A lot. More than I think you–”
“I almost made you…” Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and oh, how he wishes that were him. “Ah…come?”
He jerks, hands clenching in his fur to keep him still, keep him grounded. More than ‘almost,’ he nearly says, but even he isn’t so foolish. “You did.”
“Obi.” She squirms dangerously close, near enough that his cock, already hard, twitches like a mutt on a leash. “I am laying on it.”
Obi blinks, confused, but it comes to him– either keep your hand on the pelt, or lay on it.
Now his face burns. He’d said that, control hanging by a thread. Broken so effortlessly by her fingers in his hair.
“I…” His mind is blank, every thought static, but he manages, “I just wanted…”
She really, really doesn’t need to look so invested in what he wants. Not when he’s already flirting so closely with the shore.
He clears his throat. “I just wanted to say, I’ve come back.” To you is too dangerous to say. “I’m…home.”
Her chest rises in a long, hopeful breath, gaze fixed to him.
“Obi,” she breathes, laying her hand on his cheek. “Welcome home.”
He watches as her eyes flutter, heavy-lidded to half-mast, as her lips just barely part, chin angling upward, and– and on any other woman he’d know what that means. On any other woman he’d close this space between them, show her just what this man’s body could do, if he asked it, but with her–
It’s impossible. How can he fill the place Master already occupies?
He should move; he should roll back onto his side and leave her to do the same; he should know better than to have let them get this close again. “Miss–”
Her fingers sliding from the angle of his cheek into the bristle of his hair, and static sparks over the surface of his skin, chasing through his veins, curling his toes, filling him up until there’s nothing left but to ground himself at the source. He’s never been able to resist her, anyway.
He reaches for her, palm gently cupping the back of her head, but she reaches for him too, pulling him to her, and when their lips meet it’s not gentle. It’s no princely kiss, oh no, but hungry mouths needing to devour, tearing a groan from him that belongs to neither of his bodies but a different animal entirely.
She’s not close enough, not even when she rises up on her own side, pushing their bodies flush together, only cloth keeping them from the delicious friction he craves. He wants her, the proof of it obvious and hard against her hip now, but she doesn’t shy, only bucks into it, making sparks trail up his spine, behind his eyelids–
“Miss,” he tries again, but there’s nothing more to say, not when she squirms up him, pressing her lips even more fully against his. Nothing more to think when she scrapes her nails so deliciously over his scalp, moaning into his mouth.
His palm grips her hip, hard enough for him to swallow a gasp as he rolls her under him, aligning them the way they both want– at least, Miss doesn’t seem to be complaining, not when her legs wrap around his his, dragging him to her. She doesn’t complain when his tongue tests the gap between her lips, when he slips it inside her mouth entirely, and–
It’s not close enough, not when it’s never felt so right, when her body molds to fit his to perfectly. When even now he can feel her both above and below, his own skin calling to him in a way that it never has before, like he might wrap him and her in it both–
“Miss,” he moans, twisting his head away. It’s the only thing that keeps her from following him. “We should–we should stop.”
She blinks up at him, and even in the glow of the stone between them, her eyes are dark. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No! No.” He can’t imagine how she could think that, with his cock twitching against the curve of her hip. “I…you’re perfect.”
He can feel her breath catch beneath his ribs, as if it were his own, and oh, they are too close to be having this conversation. Still, he can’t bear to pull himself away, not when she bites her lip so anxiously and asks, “If you tell me what to do, I could–”
“No, Miss, it’s not–” he coughs, glad she can’t see his face– “I’m very, very interested in continuing…this.”
Her head tilts, curious, as are the fingers creeping beneath the hem of his shirt. “Then why do we have to stop?”
That’s becoming a more pressing question with every stroke of her fingers. “I’m just…” He licks his lips, mouth dry as they drift closer to his spine. His actual spine, not just…by proxy. “Maybe this isn’t something we should jump into this with both feet.”
“Ah.” Her smile is soft in the stone’s light, playful. “Do selkies get cold feet?”
A laugh huffs out of him. “We get nothing but.”
Her palm presses like a brand against his spine, drawing a low groan from his lips. “But you’ve always been so warm, Obi.”
“You are making a good case, Miss,” he admits, his hips rolling without his permission. It takes a concerted effort not to try to get Miss to repeat the noise she makes. “But I– I don’t know how this works.”
She stares, incredulous.
“I mean, obviously I know how to light fires. And tend to them,” he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her neck. “But I mean, the rest. With my…” He lets out a huff, frustrated. “I wasn’t old enough when I was…”
When he was taken from his sisters. It seems like the wrong time to be bringing up family when Miss is rubbing her bare leg against his. “I don’t know what this means, when I feel like this.”
“Obi?” Miss blinks, still beneath him. Her fingers trace the scar across his chest. “What do you feel?”
“A lot.” The admission bothers him more than he would like. “More than with…anyone else.” His breath hisses between his teeth, and finally he manages, “It’s never felt good when someone touches my pelt before.”
“Oh.” Her mouth rounds, and oh, how he wishes that were more of an invitation than it was. “Only…?”
He nods, cheeks burning. “Only you.”
“Ah.” Her palm flexes against his back. “So maybe…slower?”
“Yes,” he sighs, relief making his body sag. “ I just don’t know–” what this means– “what I can give you.”
“Obi…” He fingers trace those smooth, soothing circles, only this time on his skin. “You’re more than enough for me.”
“But I…”
“Don’t borrow trouble, Obi.” Her steady hands guide him beside her, fingers fanning out over his expanding ribs. “We don’t need to worry about tomorrow until the dawn. As long as I have you, we’ll take the days as they come.”
Miss squirms close, head resting on his chest, arm thrown tightly over him. “Goodnight, Obi. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”
A breath shudders out from him. “Goodnight, Miss.”
Her breath evens into sleep, so quickly he might laugh, it not for–
For the way his pelt tempts him, for the way the night wind calls. Even now, Miss in his arms, he hears the song of his sisters, smells the salt of the sea.
As long as I have you.
That’s exactly what he’s afraid of.
#obiyukimadness21#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#only one bed#my fic#citrusy#selkie au#LISTEN i had some fun tags#but tumblr decided to spit this out a day ahead of time#but rest assured we are really earning the 'inappropriate use of pelts' tags
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Can you do a Shownu ,warrior au, the genre is up to you 😊 I love your writing 🥰
All you can see is trees. Trees for leagues and leagues along the royal road. Not that you can really see much with how small the carriage window is. You had hoped your father being ambassador to Silla would afford a bigger carriage, but instead you had gotten this one.
“Please close the curtain,” your father says, his eyes closed as he reclines in the pile of cushions, swaying with the rocking of the carriage.
“I just want to see our new home for the next few months,” you reply, ignoring his suggestion.
You are curious about Silla, but truth be told, you’re hoping to glimpse something other than the landscape. Or rather someone.
The king of Silla had bestowed a great honor on your father. He had sent a company of the famed Hwarang, the handsome scholar warriors the kingdom is legendary for. Your temporary bodyguards have so far lived up to the renown, but none more so than their captain, Hyunwoo.
He fascinates you. Although he is just as good-looking as the other Hwarang, he is more quite and more reserved. They tease and sing, while Hyunwoo only speaks to inquire if you need anything. The others flirt whenever they see your face, but Hyunwoo only meets your eyes with a soft smile as he holds your hand to help you from the carriage each night.
There is something about him, a subtle charisma that draws you to him. His men tease him as relentlessly as each other despite his status, but it is clear beyond a doubt that they hold him in high regard. If only you could get him to say more than a few words at a time to you.
Your father speaks again. “Do you intend to keep me awake the rest of the day with that sunshine?”
Sighing, you let the curtain fall across the small window and resume your seat. “I am just curious to see if Silla is so different from home. It is strange how few birds there are.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re in a forest, but I haven’t heard a single bird for the past half hour or so.”
Your father’s face inexplicably becomes drawn. “We must-”
A horse suddenly screams in pain and the carriage jolts to stop. Men yell and metal clashes all around you.
“What’s happening?” You bolt to your feet as your heart thumps heavily and your mind races.
“Get down!” Your father reaches for you, grabbing at your sleeves to pull you closer to him, but as he does, a body crashes through the carriage roof between you.
You can’t help your scream as a man all in black, his face covered in a scarf, emerges from the torn wood. He grabs your arm, fingers roughly digging into your flesh through your clothes. Even as you claw and flail and yell, he kicks the carriage door open and drags you through it.
As he pulls you to the front of the carriage, you see the Hwarang fighting more men in black, each warrior fighting at least two attackers. An ambush.
You spot Hyunwoo with his back against the carriage, his sword trembling with the force of impact as he parries a blow to his face. “Hyunwoo!” you cry out.
His eyes meet yours. Like a tiger tossing off a fly, Hyunwoo shoves his assailant away, calling your name and running towards you with a hand outstretched.
But it’s too late. Your kidnapper forces you onto the carriage horse’s back, jumps behind you, and smacks the horse’s flank so it springs forward.
You squirm and claw, trying to fight both your own panic and the stranger’s arm that traps you against the horse's back. Your only reward for your efforts is a smart smack directly to your face. Shock and pain make your body slump, but it also loosens the long pin holding your hair in place.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper to the horse, your words lost to the sound of its pounding hooves.
Yanking the pin from your hair, you stab the horse’s shoulder. Squealing, it rears up, tossing the both of you to the road and running away.
Your lungs struggle to suck breath back into your chest. Yet even as you cough as you breathe in dust from the road, you can’t help your pride in the success of your gamble. That pride is short lived as the kidnapper suddenly grabs you by the hair and yanks you to your feet.
“Don’t come any closer, Hwarang!” he shouts.
You almost cry in relief as the dust clears to reveal Hyunwoo reining in his horse. Then, a knife, the blade thin and sharp, pricks the thin skin of your neck. Your mind goes blank and your whole body freezes.
All you can think is you don’t want to die.
Hyunwoo dismounts smoothly. “You will let her go,” he says.
The cold in his voice surprises you, as does the steel in his face and body. Gone is the amiable man you saw everyday of your journey. In his place is an avenging warrior unlike any you’ve seen before.
“I said don’t come closer!” Your captor yanks your head up and presses the knife closer, forcing a whimper from your throat. “She’s worth more alive, but I will kill her to save myself.”
“You are already a dead man one way or another,” Hyunwoo replies. He sheathes his sword. As casual as if the conversation is taking place in a friendly market, he lifts a bow from his horse’s back and pulls an arrow from the quiver on his back. “But you choose when. Let her go and you’ll live a few more days until I hunt you down. Hurt her, and you will draw your last breath where you now stand.”
“Do you think you scare me, pretty boy. You’re just a glorified doll the king likes to dress up.”
So quickly it’s just a blur, Hyunwoo fits the arrow and draws back the string. “Try it.”
The kidnapper’s warm breath hits your cheek as he scoffs. “You wouldn’t dare. You shoot me, you kill her.”
“My lady,” Hyunwoo addresses you and for a split second, you see the gentle man you know, “please close your eyes. Trust me.”
Your mind screams no, this is foolishness, but your heart compels your eyes to shut, your body tensing.
Again, the hand around your hair clenches. “What would the king think of you jeopardizing-”
Something streaks past your cheek and lands behind you with a thunk and a gargled sound. The knife and hand in your hair fall away.
Your knees buckle, but instead of falling to the ground, you fall into someone solid and sweaty. Hyunwoo’s arms wrap around you, holding you close as you cling to him and break down into tears, broken by the realization of how close you came to leaving this life.
“It’s alright.” Hyunwoo’s hand comes to the back of your head, slowly stroking down to the base of your shoulders and back again. “It’s alright, I’m here.”
You try to focus, to mirror his breath that is somehow still stable despite the way his heart is racing. You jerk back, tears still running down your face. “My father?”
“He’s safe. Hoseok escorted him away from the fighting. I’ll take you to the rendezvous point. We need to go now, in case there are more.”
You nod, then hesitate. “Is... is he dead?”
Hyunwoo stops you from turning your head with a hand to your cheek. “Don’t. You shouldn’t see things like that. He’ll never hurt you again.”
With that, he carefully extracts himself from your grip, but allows one arm to remain around his waist. Hyunwoo guides you back to his horse. Helping you into the saddle, he swings up behind you. You let yourself sag against his firm chest as his arms come around you to retake the reins and guide the horse back the way you’d come.
====
I spent an hour writing one answer, hated it and erased it, then started this and lost the first draft to a computer freeze. OTL
#shownu scenario#monsta x scenarios#monsta x drabble#shownu drabble#monsta x drabbles#shownu drabbles#kpop drabbles#warrior au
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pool flamingo
[rohan kishibe x reader]
author’s note: idk why i’m so obsessed w rohan but i’m not tryna fight it
word count: 2,188
In the midst of summer, the heat grows to levels of moderate discomfort before the clocks even strike noon, so that when it finally is twelve o’clock, with the sun in the center of the sky, the temperature is nothing less than absolutely sweltering, and it would remain as such until the later hours of evening. A reprieve from the relentless intensity is never truly achieved until the skies turn orange and then black, and the sun is replaced by the moon.
The weather gives Rohan the perfect excuse to remain inside, working tirelessly on the newest volume of Pink Dark Boy. Though it isn’t as if he needs an excuse, and he has no shame in turning down invitations to lunch or whatever else comes his way, with the blunt explanation that he much prefers to spend his time continuing his manga.
He hunches over his desk, pen flying, sectioning out each page into the appropriate number of panels, drawing scene after scene. The first draft is the final draft, the shading and the line work clean the first time around, as is to be expected. His deadline is the end of the week but he’ll be able to send it in for publishing before then.
His focus is broken at the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway and he pauses, careful to lift the nib of his pen from the paper to avoid leaving a dark spot. He listens closely as the thud of bare feet on wood flooring becomes louder while passing by the door to his study, then fading as they move away. They come back, however, now accompanied by a knock on the door.
“Rohan, come out and join me!”
Your voice is chipper, easy to surmise even though muffled. Rohan shakes his head despite the fact you can’t see, and speaks up to be heard from across the room and through the door.
“I’m busy.”
It’s quiet on the other side for a few moments, but you’re not one to be discouraged. You push on. “It’s not so bad today! There’s a breeze!”
You really are trying, aren’t you? Rohan will never tell you that had been the only prodding required, that he is already convinced and yes, he’ll go out and join you, because that would go to your head, the realization that you don’t need much to convince him of anything. And he couldn’t be having you get supercilious. There is just room for one like that in this relationship, and he had already taken it for himself.
He replaces the cap on his pen and sets it to the side before he stands, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. His muscles seem to sigh in relief, for his posture when he’s deeply concentrated is nothing short of atrocious. He doesn’t notice how long he sits, hours flying by like seconds. You’d scolded him more than once on the occasion you had come into his study with a snack and a reminder for him to rest his eyes, lamenting that he was much too young to start giving himself long-term back and neck pain. He would always wave you off and tell you he’s fine, but your soft admonition to at least do his best to take regular breaks sits in the back of his mind. He’s working on it.
As he steps away from his desk, he glances at the clock, which shows him that it’s mid-morning. If he had to guess, he had been drafting the new volume for a couple of hours so far today. That was time for you to wake up, make breakfast, and decide this was another perfect day for your summer activity of choice.
Rohan’s hand curls around the doorknob and he pulls it back, revealing you on the other side, still standing patiently, watching him expectantly. He feigns disdain, huffing loudly, but you’re undeterred, and perhaps he is wrong and there is indeed space for both of you to be smug, because the look in your eyes makes it clear you know exactly how tightly wound Rohan is around your pinky.
“Must I?” But Rohan can’t help but tease, tugging on the reins a bit, if only to see your reactions.
You scoff at the absurdity of the question and laugh. “Yes, you must! I don’t want to be out there by myself!”
The corner of Rohan’s mouth lifts, a small smile betraying his amusement. “Fine then. I won’t let you flounder around on your own.”
You smile too, satisfied that he is finally agreeing. “Thank you,” you respond playfully.
“Where would you be without me?” Rohan muses, staring down at you.
“I dunno.” You shrug. “But I’d be a lot lonelier.”
Perhaps it is the matter-of-fact tone with which you say this that makes his heart jump with something like love, and there is the nearly imperceptible melting away of a small piece of his haughty facade. You pick up on it of course—you are nothing if not observant—but you stay quiet because you know such fondness is entirely unbecoming of the great Rohan Kishibe, and you wouldn’t embarrass him by addressing it and forcing him to admit it out loud. His heart skips another beat and maybe it isn’t with something that is just like love.
“I’ll be out there in a few minutes,” he informs you.
“You better!”
He watches you walk down the hall and disappear around the corner, and chuckles as he turns back into his study to grab a few materials to bring downstairs with him.
Even if Josuke had done him the disservice of burning down his house, Rohan hadn’t been particularly bothered. Well, not about the house. Witnessing the structure go up in flames had further fueled his hatred for the high schooler, yes, but the matter of rebuilding left him indifferent. He had the money to do it and to make any new renovations he so pleased. One such addition to the Kishibe residence, version 2.0, was a pool.
He had it built for you. You would frequently visit the community pool, spending a couple of hours swimming, until your fingers were pruned and the chlorine had thoroughly seeped into your hair, prompting you to make a beeline straight for the shower upon arriving at his house. You basically live in the water, and he wanted to give you a space to swim privately, where you could have the whole pool to yourself.
And when he says it had been just for you, he meant it. Once the others had discovered what he did to the backyard, he promptly shut down any of their ideas of having a pool party. It was only at Koichi’s insistence that he had allowed it, on a particularly hot Saturday a couple of weeks ago. Thinking back on it now, he supposes it wasn’t awful, since you seemed happy to have everyone there. But even despite that, he isn’t keen on having another party anytime soon.
The light blue water glistens blindingly due to the sun and Rohan has to squint as he steps outside. White pool chairs are positioned in the shade, and he settles down in one as he observes you where you kneel on the flagstone, right at the edge of the pool, pushing giant floats into the water: first a dinosaur, then a unicorn, and lastly, a flamingo. You bought them because of the pool Rohan added, for there would never have been enough room at the community pool to use anything bigger than a simple tube. Now, you like to keep your eye out for more fun ones to add to your collection.
You watch the flamingo drift into the center, leaving gentle ripples in its wake, and then you stand, shedding your shorts and loose shirt to reveal your red one piece swimsuit. You leave your clothes in a small pile on the ground, then waste no more time diving in. Your fluid form and smooth descent make merely a quiet splash, and your figure is wavy and unfocused beneath the water, simply a group of colors moving beneath the surface. Several seconds later, you pop your head up.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” you inquire.
Rohan sits back and shakes his head. “I’m fine here.”
You grin. “Suit yourself.” You dive back under.
The heat is considerably less severe in the shade, but it’s still warm enough that Rohan’s thoughts are on the air conditioner, and how wonderful it would feel while he works on his manga. He has no qualms about keeping the air on full blast, as it was currently, the rooms kept cool for your return back indoors. Better to be too cold than too hot.
His newest volume is almost finished now, a few pages short, and he’s itching to get back to it. He tries to feel exasperated about being outside, playing it off as if he’d been dragged out here by no will of his own, just as he feels whenever someone asks if he’d like to go out (And bear this weather? he asks, upfront about how stupid he thinks the suggestion is. Forget about it.) But you aren’t just someone, and Rohan wouldn’t ever be irritated with you. So for once, he forces himself to relax and endure the warmth. And you’re right—at least there is a breeze today.
A quiet clack grabs his attention and Rohan opens his eyes to see you reaching out for your sunglasses which you had set on the side to keep dry. You set them on your head and drift over to the flamingo, clambering on a little clumsily due to the wetness of your skin. The pink vinyl squelches as you maneuver your way onto the flamingo, and once you’re finally on, you roll onto your back, sighing contentedly and sliding your sunglasses over your face.
They’re heart-shaped and a shade of red to match your suit. Rohan likes them. He thinks they look good on you. And he also thinks you belong on a magazine cover or a two-page spread, a picture to complement the paragraphs dreaming of a perfect summer, of the hot sun and cold water, of wet hair and the smell of chlorine (or salt, if one finds themselves at the beach). He can’t tell if you’ve fallen asleep, but you look so peaceful, so at ease, and deep down he will admit, though scornfully, that Josuke’s screw-up did have an upside.
Rohan reaches down to the sketchbook and pen he had brought outside with him, and flips to a blank page. His gaze shifts from the paper up to you then back down again, as he recreates the scene before him in black ink, smooth, clean lines trailing across the expanse until it all comes together—clothes discarded on the stones, the blinding water, the flamingo float. Then the subject, the main focus, the sum and substance: you stretched out and relaxed, coaxing the viewer to follow your lead, to let the stress melt from their shoulders and to join you in your stillness.
All he has left is to sign the bottom corner, but while drawing had been the initial distraction from the heat, you’re the main attraction, and he stares at you instead. Rohan prides himself on his accuracy when he draws but when it came to you, there was nothing better than the real thing. And he’d attempted to before, to capture the full essence of your person—the light of your smile and the inexplicable charm you exude when your hair is wet and tangled and drops of water cling to your lashes—as evidenced by the previous pages of the sketchbook he holds, filled with pictures of you. He might never get there, might never reach the point he’s satisfied with his depiction, but he’d never stop trying.
You notice how closely he is watching you and you turn to look at him. You lower your sunglasses slightly, until your eyes are visible, and you smile, asking what it is he’s drawing.
But you know. Of course you do. So rather than teasing, he lets you have this one and tells you exactly what he is drawing. Your smile widens and you hum, returning your sunglasses to their original position. Even from off to the side, he spots the flush of your cheeks, reddening from laying in the sun, your natural blush the most beautiful one.
“Make me look good please!”
At this, Rohan chuckles and shakes his head. You always look good, he thinks. You need no assistance there. And you are the perfect summer, floating languidly out on the water with your heart-shaped sunglasses. Maybe one night he will dream of you with a mermaid’s tail, emerald scales glistening in the sunlight because you take to the water like it’s your second home and wouldn’t that be something, to have a mermaid hidden away? His ultimate secret, his ultimate muse, lounging atop a pretty pink flamingo.
#rohan kishibe x reader#rohan kishibe imagine#jojo's bizarre adventure imagine#diamond is unbreakable imagine#jojo's bizarre adventure#diamond is unbreakable#jjba#bubble-tea-bunny#queue
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Phobia ☤ Alexios
eleven - pearls and broken spears
masterlist
“Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier;
I have seen worse sights than this.”
Fate decrees two kindred souls from two different empires will find one another, and the spear shall be made whole again.
MOONLIGHT BATHES THE white stone buildings of Athens in a silver glow though the small fires scattered around the city fight the cold light with golden warmth. Alexios finds Irene where she is nearly every evening -sitting on the open roof beneath the pergola.
"I found these while seeing to one of Perikles' tasks." It's a partial truth. He'd been on the beach opening clams and oysters for hours under the hot sun hunting the gems. Alexios places seven pearls in her palm. One is pink, another a deep grey, and the others are white as seafoam.
She turns them over in her hand and glances up -cheeks flushed with warmth. Pearls had always been one of her favorite things. As a girl she'd walk along the Ephesus shore, picking discarded pearls and sharks teeth out of the sand. Her small chest of trinkets had been left behind in Persia. "I love pearls," Irene remarks -maybe one day she will have enough to string a necklace or hairpiece.
Alexios quickly averts his eyes when her gaze shifts from the gems to him. He begins undoing the ties of his greaves and bracers. The day is drawing to a close and within the confines of the villa, he feels at ease.
Irene tells him of her life in Persia before fleeing to Athens when he asks –of learning strategy under Hydarnes and having the general be her instructor. Though the memories she is most fond of is when the old general would tell her stories beneath the stars. Irene holds those stories dear to her heart. "And what of you?" She asks in turn.
"Not much to tell," he says with a shrug and bitter tone, "my pater threw me off a fucking mountain." Irene sits back, breath catching in her throat. His tale confirms what she had suspected on Samos. Before her is the boy from the mountain she had first seen in a dream so many years ago.
Alexios leans against the stone railing, crossing his arms. "I survived though and learned to look after my own." Markos had taken him under his wing, but more often than naught, there was trouble to be dealt with. Especially whenever Markos cooked up a new scheme to earn drachmae quick. Everybody benefits he would say, even if Alexios walked away with more bruises and cuts than drachmae. In the end, he supposed it was all for the best –Kephallonia turned him into a survivor.
The princess picks up the broken spear at his side. "But how do you have the other half of the spear?"
He wraps his hand around the wooden shaft, fingers brushing over Irene's. A familiar jolt of energy spreads through them both. She lets go of the spear and watches as he trails his fingertips along the edge of the blade -reverent. "My mater's pater was Leonidas," Alexios admits.
Irene pales. He is the grandson of Leonidas. She is the granddaughter of Xerxes. "What if fate brought us together to be enemies?" There is a quiver in her voice as she asks the question. It doesn't seem right for a Persian and Spartan to be on friendly terms after what happened at Thermopylae.
Alexios cups her cheek -his hands are rough and firm. "I don't think it did," he tells her, confident they had found each other for another reason -even if it has yet to be revealed. He drags his thumb across a faint, silvery scar on her cheekbone and shakes his head with a soft smile. "Why is it so easy to talk with you?" He asks.
She laughs and unwittingly leans into his touch. "I've asked myself that too." Zephyr had instilled in her that anonymity was the best protection, to be mistrustful of people until their intentions were revealed. Few people in Athens know of her past and those that do have been sworn to secrecy by Perikles. Irene can't place exactly why she trusts Alexios, but she does.
"Alexios," she breathes, glancing down to his broken half of the spear. "The spear showed me what happened to you on the mountain. It's done so many times."
He draws in a deep breath. "Sometimes I see battles of the past." He'd never told his mother what the spear showed him, he considered it part of the burden of wielding such an ancient weapon. "But it showed me a girl on a ship more than anything."
Irene shrugs. "Many girls have been on a ship," she refutes, almost afraid to think he had been presented with visions of her as well.
Alexios shakes his head. "A girl on a ship with black hair and blue eyes holding onto a broken spear in a storm." He knows it is her -has known since he first laid eyes on her in Samos. Her eyes are unmistakable, like the stars in the way they drew him in.
For the first time in years, Irene finds she believes in the gods and fate. She knows the misthios has crossed her path for a reason –even if it remains unknown. The princess leans back against a wooden post, arms crossed as she tries imagining what cruel purpose the gods have brought her and the Eagle Bearer together for. Alexios glances up at the stars and begins humming -a solemn tune that Irene has heard before but cannot place.
Irene stirs as the first rays of sun trickle through hedera growing over the pergola and finds her head is resting upon something soft and warm. Alexios. Her head is pillowed on his stomach, and his hand is twisted into the folds of fabric at her waist. A quick glance reveals he is still asleep, with a soft sigh, the princess closes her eyes again.
He intends to find Myrrine. Alkibiades, Aspasia, and Euripides all spoke of a Spartan woman and people who may know more of her whereabouts. The search will take him across the Aegean. Irene craves new adventures and wants to help –having grown more fond of the misthios and his company than she cares to admit. She wants to help him. "I can help you find your mother," she tells him.
Alexios shakes his head. Danger and death pave the road forward, he couldn't —in good conscience— ask anyone to accompany him, especially her. "I couldn't ask that of you."
Irene lays her hand atop his –feels the raised scars on his fingers under her palm. "Then don't," she says with a smile. Something about the way she quirks her lips drive him mad and she doesn't even realize the effect or control she has over him with such a simple gesture. Alexios shifts closer and finds himself wondering what her lips taste of.
He will not find out on this day. The princess turns her gaze toward the Acropolis and his lips brush her cheek instead. "Sorry," he breathes, glancing away, face turning red at his foolish and impulsive action. Irene presses her hand against his chest –his heart is racing beneath her palm. Smiling, she leans toward him placing a chaste kiss upon his warm cheek.
A moment's silence passes between them as they watch Helios' golden chariot begin its march across the sky. "To Argolis?" Alexios poses, thinking it to be a better start to his search than with pirates and hetaerae. Irene concedes with a nod, thinking it will be good to see Hippokrates again.
PHOBOS IS A magnificent beast, even so, Irene's experience with horses has left her with distaste toward them. Her own feet are more than capable of carrying her where she needs to go and when water stands in her path a ship will do. "I don't like horses," she remarks, running her hand along Phobos' mane. The beast stamps one of his hooves into the ground and snorts.
"Horses are beasts of muscle and power-" Alexios finishes tying the saddle in place on the black mount then steps in front of the princess, one dark brow raised "-you don't understand until you hold one between your thighs."
There's a flush of color on her cheeks at his clever intimation. "I know how to ride, Alexios," she bites back in a similar prurient manner -pulling herself up onto the saddle in a single, fluid motion to prove her point. He mounts behind her, taking hold of the reins.
Barnabas is to meet them in Epidauros when repairs to the Adrestia are completed. Until then, they will have to make the journey to Argolis by horse and foot. By the day's end, Phobos has carried them past Eleusis Telesterion via the Sacred Way. Alexios pitches their small camp away from the road, beneath the canopy of two prodigious olive trees. Irene unpacks their spoils from the market at the Sanctuary of Eleusis.
After sharing a small, simple meal, Alexios turns his gaze to Irene. She is still a mystery to him, but now, across the fire, he can see the cold determination on her delicate features. He can only surmise she has been looking for someone or something too. "You're searching for someone too," the Eagle Bearer notes.
Irene frowns, poking the small fire with a twig. "But I shall never find him," the princess tells Alexios, desolate. "My father was Apollonides of Kos," she explains. The Greek world regards her father's name as one of ill repute, regardless of good deeds carried out by his hand. Even the physicians of Kos give no thought to his memory. All her searches have been unavailing. "No one wishes to speak of him. It's like he never existed."
#Alexios#Alexios x OC#Alexios Imagine#Alexios Fanfiction#Assassin's Creed Imagine#Assassin's Creed Fanfiction#Assassin's Creed Odyssey#story: Phobia#my writing
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Unseen
Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343617/chapters/41107136
Chapter 5/11 of Of Wealth and Leisure
Word Count: 3145
Summary: A horseback ride through the countryside results in an unsettling outcome. (CW: very mild violence; described from an outside POV where the person only hears it).
“Do you always take this long to saddle a horse?” His voice reads entirely of mockery and his face is full of amusement, raking his eyes up and down my body as I toss the saddle attop my mare. Of course, he was ready minutes ago; he even prepared and packed away our lunches in the saddle bag. All that’s left for him is settling himself on the horse itself.
I shoot a mildly malicious glare over towards him, strands of curls falling into my eyes as I attempt to look at him teasingly. Ever since my arrival to the manor, I haven’t been keeping my hair as impeccably short. While at home, The Mage advises clean and short haircuts, as to avoid snagging. Therefore, it feels as though I’m involved in a mild act of rebellion by allowing the length of my hair to grow uncharacteristically longer. I can hold it in handfuls, and tug full curls around my fingers, too. It’s quite satisfactory to wipe it away from my eyes--it gives me a sense of unparalleled control. At times, I fear that Mr. Pitch will tempt a pull at it as we fight like schoolboys.
At this moment, though, our argumentative nature has simmered to a lukewarm back-and-forth. Especially here in our current situation, as we finish gathering everything necessary for a day’s ride through the country, do we only keep to a bicker.
At last, the rain has cleared. It felt endless, continuing on for days and days until September hit. Once it finally cleared, Mr. Pitch made the decision to tell me that he was finally ready to show me along the land. To my surprise, he took further initiative into the situation than I had and actually did get Cook Pritchard to pack that lunch.
I may owe this man my life if he continues to bring me food.
We settle ourselves upon our horses and I tip my hat at Ebb. She's smiling from beside the stable doors, giving us a quick wave off as we begin our journey onto a trail leading from their property.
Baz, of course, critiques my riding abilities as we go along.
“It’s a wonder you don’t lead,” he quips. “How long have you even been riding?”
I hesitate with my answer, knowing it’s a tad revealing. Most wealthy children learn at such a young age. “Five years,” I answer truthfully, eyes drawing down to the reins in my hands.
He sends me a look of curiosity, but as I don’t return his questioning gaze, he drops the subject entirely. “Why do you wish to take the trails at all? If you’re not a regular rider, I don’t see why it’s so appealing.”
“I wish to see the lands from the inside, not just the observational fields around it.” My attention lifts back to the world around me, eyes following the hanging branches and lush greenlife around me. “It’s nearly like a fairy tale. I’m shocked that you don’t explore it more often.”
He shrugs casually, a movement I cannot say I’ve ever witnessed him do. In fact, I’m the only person who seems to shrug as so within the household. I consider mocking him for doing so, but then again, it would be self-depreciative in the process.
I decide against it.
“You don’t agree?”
“It isn’t that I disagree. On the contrary, I do think that this land is quite magical, but I have my reasons to not explore it as often.” He pauses before finishing off his thought, biting in his lip and seeming to contemplate his following statement before allowing it out. “I fear what could be inside of it. The unknown, id I may.”
I laugh unexpectedly, then silence myself as quickly as I release the laughter. “You cannot possibly be fearful of the woods, Mr. Pitch. There’s only animals and insects to be afraid of; nothing else.”
He shifts in his saddle, and I watch as his hands grip tighter around the reins. “There’s plenty to fear,” he defends. “There’s always the possibility of people hiding in woods, or creatures we’re unaware of. I never underestimate what I could face.”
My head turns as I stare at him, eyes blinking slowly as it processes that he’s not making a joke, but rather sharing his actual thoughts. I would laugh again, but it’s not quite humorous anymore. It’s rather questionable, and concerning myself over what experiences he’s had that would lead to such superstition feels as though it would unpack more than I believe either of us are ready for.
The silence stretches out, and the only sound between us is the ground underneath both of our horses’ hooves. He seems to focus in on the world in front of us, shocking me into the observation of how hyper-aware he is in this environment. Overly reliant on surroundings and his senses, Mr. Pitch carries the unquestionable air of a man being hunted. At times, I nearly itch in ill-ease of his actions. Others, I find myself glancing out into the wood in silly fear that there would be something, but I only flicker my eyes aside to calm myself with the steadily expected stream of green.
His head partially trails, following the life around us and seeming fixated on something nearby. Clearly, he’s lost in his thoughts and finding something to focus on; a furthered part of his anxieties towards the forest and all that it holds.
I clear my throat, snapping him back into reality as I insert my voice to remind him that I'm here as well. “Care to tell me a bit about the land? What’s the history?”
He blinks a few times before finding his words again. Once he starts, he doesn’t quite stop, rambling endlessly about how long his family’s been there and the history behind it. He’s obviously quite prideful in the the air of his name; those who came before him, and who may be ahead of him. Although, it’s clear that he has a difficult time with the present. Perhaps there’s aspects of that that should be discussed.
I don’t push for any aspects of his life. I shouldn’t; he’s still got a barrier wall between himself and the rest of the outside world, not letting us into his fortress of a mind. I wonder if it’ll ever crumble.
After a point, we find a cliffed clearing overlooking the land around us. It sprawls out, showing a full view of where the rolling hills touch the sky and sink deep back into the ground. It’s absolutely breathtaking.
We dismount, spreading out a blanket and taking a seat with a decent distance between each other as he unpacks the food. I dig into it shamelessly, trying to time myself as I stuff the meal down into my mouth.
I feel his eyes on me, making me squirm slightly in my spot as I stare back. Trying to mock him, I raise an eyebrow much like he would. He makes it seem quite easier than it is; I raise both of mine at him instead. “Is there an issue?”
“You always eat so quickly,” he observes plainly, staring at me. “Any particular reason why you eat so quickly?”
His words make me bristle, growing defensive within seconds. It’s part of me that I’d rather keep hidden; parts that spread rumors, but never get confirmed. Where I’m from. How The Mage keeps me. “It’s easiest that way,” I shrug, looking out over the land as I take another mouthful of my sandwich. I make a mental note to thank Cook Pritchard for the extra serving. “If I eat a lot at once, I can be more productive with my time and get to my next task faster.”
He chews slowly, watching my movements as he analyzes what I’ve said.
I’m not quite expecting his reaction. “I think you’re lying.”
“Pardon me?” I stare at him, expression reading exasperated but body filled with dread. Of course I’m lying. I would rather eat the rock we’re sitting on than tell the truth about my life to my arch nemesis (although, I’m hesitant to call him such now). But, despite my best efforts, he read clearly through my efforts in disengaging the conversation beforehand.
“You and I know quite well that you don’t do anything that would be considered productive,” he says, looking bored for a moment before his face breaks into a grin, telling me that he’s simply mocking me again. I feel myself exhale.
I finish my sandwich and dust off my hands on the cloth we’re sitting upon. “Yes, well, I believe in fast eating to save time,” I say once I swallow, throwing him a look of annoyance. “Unlike some of us who eat as if they own time itself.”
“I enjoy savoring my food.” He lifts his nose snootily, scrunching his eyes and shaking his head condescendingly. “Life should be enjoyed, not rushed through. Luxury is something we can afford.”
The cloth beneath me drags a little as I turn on my hip, facing him with an elbow propping me. “Yes, well,” I begin, voice dropping to a private murmur. “While I can afford luxuries, it’s useless to me to sit around and mindlessly chew for hours. I’d much rather spend such time on other luxuries--more interesting luxuries.” I see his face flush with my words, slowing down his movements to observe my speaking. Between us, his hand drops and rests out in the open. I briefly consider taking it into my own before realizing how odd of an idea it is.
He makes a show of swallowing the rest of his meal, head facing me as his hands prop him up. “I’m allowed my equal luxuries.”
“And what are those?”
To that he laughs, face turning sour towards me. “What, are you saying that you don’t witness me doing anything of my interest within your months living in my home?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head in the slightest. “I’m stating that your so called equal luxuries are unknown. I’ve seen you read, and heard you play your violin, but I barely consider those equal luxuries to other privileges you and I hold.”
As if it were a challenge, he turns his head up as he grows a smirk. “Alright then, Snow. Fair enough. How about I exercise our luxuries and take us out to a play. I’d fancy one this Friday, in fact. We should take a carriage into town.”
My face mirrors his, a smile spreading across my cheeks as I nod. “Why just one? We should go spend a weekend in London and see various shows.”
He grows pinker as he laughs, a brilliant red complementing his soft brown skin. “I’ll take such an offer, Snow. It sounds like a luxurious enough investment of time.” We smile at each other, unsure of whether it’s genuine or an outrageously misunderstood argument turned competition. It’s easiest to go with it anyway, unquestioned as to what the intentions of it are.
I begin to consider what that weekend would entail; a hotel stay, perhaps a shared room. Dinners together. Intimate, city outings. It would be a lie to say that it isn’t absolutely appealing...
With that turn of conversation, though, we wordlessly agree to stand and pack up our picnic. After it’s set away, Mr. Pitch turns to me and exhales. “If you don’t mind me, I’m going to take a quick stop in the woods to take care of business. Will you watch the horses?”
“Of course,” I say mindlessly, still somewhat enthralled with the overlooking view to care to look at him. “Should it only be a second?”
“Yes, yes. It’ll be a snap.”
I hear the crunching of the ground behind me; twigs snapping and leaves rustling, and it grows further with time. It takes an unexpected extra few seconds before I hear startling noises; further rustling of leaves, muffled shouts, and the kicking of underbush. In a rush, I glance to my horse and grab the sword I’d brought (Mr. Pitch had mocked me earlier for my decision to bring it, it’s clear it was the right choice) before charging into the unmarked path within the trees.
The shouts grow louder before I hear a yelp of clear “Help!” in Mr. Pitch’s voice. It draws me in, rushing inwards and slicing anything that gets in my way. When I find him, he’s laying panting and injured on the ground. He hisses in pain, gripping his leg as rustling of the trees quickly sounds as if it’s further and further.
Dropping to my knees, my hands search his body to find injury, which doesn’t seem to be anywhere but his leg (except for his roughed-up shirt and trousers). “Good God, man, what happened?!”
“What do you think happened?!” He snaps before groaning in agonizing pain. “I-I was attacked; I didn’t see who, but he came from behind a-and…” His eyes dart around in a panic, leg still in his grip. While I’m the furthest thing from a doctor, it’s clear that the injury lays deeper than skin.
I shakily stand him up, having him lean entirely on me as my eyes dart around. “Should I look for him?”
“No, dear God, no,” he cries, arms wrapped around me tightly. “Don’t be a tit--get me home, damn you.”
We’re stumbling and completely uncoordinated, but I manage my way through the woods and back to the horses, who seem a bit spooked but still present. I hoist him up onto my horse and climb on in front of him, which leads to him wrapping his arms around my waist without being provoked to. While I’d hate to admit this given our particular situation, but it makes my skin prickle at the sensation of being held.
I snap for the horse to break into a gallop, and luckily Mr. Pitch’s mare has been well trained enough to follow as we rush back down the path towards the Grimm-Pitch residence. It’s somewhat bumpy, and with each hit to the ground, I hear a groan emerge from Mr. Pitch’s throat as he clings to me tighter. This isn’t quite the intimacy of our situation that I’d envisioned, but it’s somewhat acceptable from me.
Bursting into the clearing, workers startle and stare as I push onwards towards the stables and house. Shocked servants start spilling out, trying to get an eyeful of the scene. It doesn’t do much justice to us, though, as we need more than rubberneckers to help. As we pull in, Ebb leaps urgently and drags Mr. Pitch off, finding a seat to settle him onto as she elevates his foot. The flooding consists of everyone--the family, the servants regardless of closeness to him, and even some workers fill into the stables to see what had happened to him.
Immediately, it turns into an investigation. Mr. Grimm hovers over me and glares at me all accusatory as I'm stepping away. He begins closing in, forcing me to back up shakily and spread my arms in case I tumble. My vision blurs, adrenaline overloading me and hitting at such an inopportune time. “What have you--”
“He didn’t do it!” Mr. Pitch breaks in, hissing in pain as his leg gets wrapped. “It wasn’t him, he rescued me. Leave Sir Snow alone.”
I pant, staring upwards at Mr. Grimm as he recoils and stares down upon me before flicking his head towards his son. “Then what in the world happened?”
“Attacked-someone followed us.” His fists clench, exhaling through his nose as his jaw sets while he's breathing out something unheard. “It wasn’t him, father,” he continues audibly, “leave it.”
So he does, leaving me trembling in my spot as countless people fuss over Mr. Pitch and his wounds. In the process, we exchange unsteady glances, to which he doesn’t seem malicious or disgusted, but rather seeking pity and comfort from me as he’s cared over. Someone asks which doctor they should call, pressing ice to his wound as I clear my throat.
“Send a telegram for Doctor Wellbelove. He’s a friend of mine; he’ll treat Mr. Pitch well. Just mention that Sir Snow is sending for him.” That deserves me a thankful exhale from him, face dropping and head rolling down as he flinches in pain and focuses on his somewhat ragged breaths. Eventually, I take a chance to go kneel beside him and look over his injuries as my mind runs through our conversations.
The woods. The way he looked so dazed and unsettled while he looked out among it. As my mind traces back, I can’t help but ponder whether or not there was something he could sense that I couldn’t. If my obliviousness was too heavy; if I should have been more alert the entire trip.
Furthermore, it raises more possibilities, and darker ones at that. Is there a spy attempting to assassinate Mr. Pitch? Was this a failed mission for his throat? And, if so, is it someone on the grounds?
My mind flicks through possibilities, working itself up further before suddenly going static at the touch of Mr. Pitch’s hand against mine. I startle, then raise my head to meet his gaze. When I meet his, he’s staring at me with mild concern as he exhales. “Thank you,” he says, just quiet enough that it’s only me hearing him. At first, I believe I’m mistaken, but the hand still pressed to mine is telling me elsewise.
In a simple returned nod, I smile sadly and chew on my bottom lip. “I am a hero, after all,” I mumble in efforts to defuse the situation, and much to my surprise, it works.
“Always the hero.” He looks down, clearly still in pain but trying desperately to hold it back. “I apologize for this; I suppose it means our leisurely break will have to be postponed to a more convenient time.”
“Suppose I can always go without you.”
“You will not,” he remarks, “and, not to mention, that the theatre will be quite bland without me.” Somehow, despite the urgency and desperation of the situation minutes ago, I smile at him and exhale out somewhat of a chuckle.
“I doubt it will be,” I tease, still grinning from ear to ear as he smiles back.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Ebb at the edge of the stables, by her house. I can’t quite read what her expression is, feeling overwhelmed and chaotic from the moment at hand. The situation was absolutely unexpected; from a pleasant exchange one minute, to so utterly terrible and barely understood the next.
I can’t help but wonder if she’s disappointed in me for leaving him alone. After what he said on the trip there, I can’t quite believe that I had either.
#carry on#fanfiction#snowbaz#fanfic#fic#mine#of wealth and leisure#victorian au#simon snow#tyrannus basilton grimm-pitch#tyrannus basilton grimm pitch#baz pitch#simon#baz#hehe the story picks up from here babes
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The Drustvar Chronicles
Chapter 3 (part 1)
By the time they had pulled into the small grove, the sun had long settled beneath the horizon leaving nothing but twilight lingering in a blue violet sky. It was over an hour later that Priscilla sat by the fire Eldridge built, fussing over her security system as the clever woman unraveled a few tangled spots before steadily wrapping the cord from palm to elbow with glance toward the growing darkness every now and then.
There was a growing unease in her stomach as the night hours steadily took hold, thrusting the haunted lands into heavy darkness. What darkness meant to other in Azeroth held no comparison to the darkness that dwelt in Drustvar. Pris turned her gaze to Eldridge then Bandit before she drew in a breath and rose to her feet,”I am going to finish setting up the perimeter traps. I trust you can handle finishing setting up camp interior? And I pray you are cooking, I tend to be terrible at it.”
Turning, she head the edge of the light given off from the well made campfire and began the process of setting up her tricks and wards. Yard by yard, the thin, barely noticeable wire was stretched from tree to tree only six inches from the ground with little jingle bells attached. A sound alarm to alert them of any physical threats animal, human and… others alike. Once she was certain that they were well in place, Pris returned to the center of camp and opened one of her hat boxes to withdraw a series of what looked to be dreamcatchers. In fact, they looked extremely similar to those made by witches as hexes.
“I crafted these myself. My mother had developed a pattern in the webs that acted as natural wards against witch hexes and spells. I’ve improved on her techniques by adding these herb bags containing various combinations that aid against certain targeted spells, the primary one being a natural ward against their ability to enter our minds.” She turned back to him as she tied off one and smirked,” The last thing I need is you suddenly attacking me in the middle of the night.”
Wandering off to another spot, she set up a different one still speaking to him,”And make sure Bandit doesn’t cross the ward lines as he would be a favored target as you are well aware. I do not relish the idea of harm coming to such a beautiful beast.” A fourth and a fifth one were set up as she continued along until there were nine in total set in place. Three by three, as her mother always said. Pris was brushing her hands off to be rid of remnants of brush before settling down on a makeshift stool created by an old log turned on it’s side.
“So, you will take first watch as I requested? I will take the late watch?”
Small flames fluttered before Eld’s blue eyes as he gently added his own breath to their life, the orange and red growing stronger as they began to feast on the bits of tinder had begun it with. Soon a true flame had grown stronger and brighter, already the ancient fears of mortals settling back with the coming of the light to counter the dark. Sadly the shadows in the small glade only lengthened and grew with the coming of fire, dancing wisps flickering as the hunter gently adding bits of firewood to their glowing shield. The grim line that was Eld’s mouth only grew harder as he watched their joyful dance before pulling himself up from his knees and heading back to the wagon for more gear. Bandit always at his master’s heels.
The pair would begin breaking down Ol’ Prissy’s yoke and reins, the ox giving a heavy snort as the wood was lifted from his mighty shoulders and set aside in the drover’s seat. A heavy pat and affectionate scratch provided to the beast of burden before his own feed and water were set before him. The final piece for the draft animal was one of the heavy blankets from the wagon, the great thick linen garment cast over his back and cinched with a few hemp strands of rope. Prissy deserved some comfort in this journey as he did near all the work, a final pat given to the flank of the ox before Eld returned to the back of the wagon.
A pot, a satchel, and a dark iron tripod were dragged out of the wagon with more grunts, Eld directing most to Priscilla as she prattled on to fill the quiet of the glade. Tension was working it’s way between his shoulders as he knelt down next to the fire again, laying another log to stoke it further before setting up his cooking tripod. It was all ordinary and expected for a campsite, the tripod set and chain holding the pot above it before he returned to the wagon for some water rations to fill the cast iron for stew. Paper packet were dumped into the pot before the savory aromas of vegetable stock began to fight back against the autumn air, offering comfort to the travelers.
Priscilla continued to talk and talk as he continued his own work, letting her do her own thing as he trusted in the animal that prowled about their light more than anything she was doing. A pair of potatoes were drawn out of the bag, his gloves soon pulled off and tucked in his hat before he dusted the spuds clean of his bag’s debris. Fishing into his leather satchel again he’d draw out a black billfold and unfold it revealing utensils, an old fork, a solid spoon, and sharp steel knife. The fork and spoon running away together to offer room for the knife and potatoes to work. He supposed it was all rather mundane work, but it kept him occupied and kept his thoughts clear for who or what was haunting the wood tonight.
Bandit sat ever vigilant next to his master as he prepared their meager trail feast, the black eyes of the dog keeping an eye on the female as she worked her magic about them. He didn’t move unless Eld did but whenever he had time to sit, he was locked to her as if to gauge her for how much she might need him. His head cocked as she talked and talked, it was strange for him to hear a voice for so long and at such length. A short yawn and whine following as the warmth of the fire began to sink into his fur before giving a sharp shake of his thick body, the master giving a sharp word to him before he adjusted how he sat.
“Mmhm,” was all Eld replied as he heard her joke about him attacking her in the night, deciding to keep his own tricks to himself before breaking up a few peppercorns to be tossed into the bubbling meal. Using the edge of his cloak, he’d grasp the chain that held the pot so close to the flames and gently pull it up to reduce the heat and let the potatoes cook and thicken their dinner.
With dinner set the older man would find himself sitting on the ground, stretching his legs a bit toward the fire to let them warm while he made himself comfortable against another log that Pris had brought for him. His eyes would look across the flames at her as she set the final dream catchers, memories of some of his previous assignments coming to mind at their sight. Eld prayed they would not end the same.
Finally the witch hunter would speak, Bandit relaxing just the same before laying down with his thick head laying in the human’s lap. “I promise you, Ms Adams, Bandit will steer clear of your security net. He knows his place.”
The final question came as he silently nodded to her, his bare and scarred hand coming to rest on the dog's head with a soft touch. Idly he would scratch the beast behind the ear as he deemed it best to reply, “Yes, Ms. Adams. I will take the first watch.”
A cool breeze gently sprang up and bustled through the trees above them and just same tried to rile up the catchers she had placed to ward them through the night. The did not budge or quiver with the assault of whatever storm giant’s breath had come down from the mountain, standing resolute in their combined strength and workings of the detective. The hunter said nothing and continued to rub the dog's head, a certain mantra forming from his affection for the beast while the fire crackled.
Again his own voice would break the new silence, “I trust you have brought adequate bedding and crockery for the trip? You may have the wagon for your quarters. There’s a few sacks of feed for Prissy that should help make you a bit more comfortable in there.”
His eyes would cast over to his steaming pot as he nodded and gently shoved Bandit off him, the dog looking hurt a moment before adjusting into a comfortable sleeping spot again. The same edge of his cloak pulled to lift the rim taking up the spoon and giving the pot a stir, nodding with satisfaction at the floating taters and bubbling vegetable soup he’d thrown together.
“It’s not the Recluse but it’s hot and ready.”
( @priscilla-adams @eldridgecandell )
#The Drustvar Chronicles#Ashes & Embers#Forced Hands#priscilla adams#eldridge candell#order of embers#world of warcraft#wyrmrest accord#roleplay
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Vanderweek: Day 4: Loyalties
@vanderweek
He knew he was being unreasonable. That was why he was so irritated. Vanderwood paced on his balcony, chain-smoking. He’d never felt like this before. He didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling. All he knew was that he didn’t like it.
Nor did he like the way Zen flirted with Jaehee. No, sir, he did not like that at all. It only happened when she went to see him after one of his shows. Zen would flirt with Jaehee, and did it right in front of Vanderwood. Did he not understand that Vanderwood could snap his neck with one hand? It was rude, that’s what it was. It was beyond rude. It was disrespectful.
Jaehee moved in with Vanderwood three months ago. Zen knew this. He helped her move in. He’d also spent the entire week prior acting as if he were a jilted lover and pissing Vanderwood off to no end. Every chat was all about how Jaehee shouldn’t be so quick to trust a man after dark.
Vanderwood lit another cigarette. The little shit even tried to lecture Vanderwood about how to treat Jaehee once the moving was done. You’d have thought that Vanderwood was some stranger, not the man who’d been dating and sleeping over with Jaehee for months.
He’d let it slide, chalking it up to Zen’s version of friendly teasing. But it hadn’t stopped. And Jaehee did nothing to back Zen off, either.
“Zen!” she’d called after the show that evening. “You never cease to amaze me! Your voice just improves with every performance!” she’d crooned at the actor.
“With ladies as beautiful as yourself watching, how can I do less than improve?” Zen responded with a suggestive wink. “I couldn’t have you feeling you’d seen it all before.”
Vanderwood had clenched his jaw and tried not to give in to the urge to drag Jaehee away right then. She blushed and got so flustered she couldn’t even reply as Zen turned to speak to another fan. He didn’t even say goodbye to her. He acted like she was nothing but another person to stroke his overblown ego, and she lapped it up like a starving animal.
“What am I?” he growled to himself. “Runner-up because that ass couldn’t love anyone but himself? Why is she like that around him? She has me now.” His eyes narrowed as he looked into the condo.
Jaehee sat, legs crossed, absorbed in the video of the show they’d just seen. She didn’t even speak to him once they got home. She just tore off the cellophane wrapper and started playing the DVD. She didn’t even seem to care that Vanderwood wasn’t near her.
He couldn’t help it. He wondered if she had wanted to be with Zen before he showed up in her life. Maybe she still did.
That was a sobering thought. He flicked the remains of the last cigarette off the edge of the balcony irritably. Resting his elbows on the railing, he took a slow breath. Had he interrupted the development of something more? Should he step aside?
“Like hell I will,” he grumbled, lighting another cigarette. He wasn’t going to jump ship. He wasn’t going to just pack it in and go away. Jaehee had made a commitment to him. They weren’t engaged, but she’d already promised to be with him, told him that she wanted that. All Vanderwood knew was the moment Zen appeared or was mentioned, that promise seemed worth about as much as the ash that fell as he smoked.
There it was again, that angry, defensive feeling Vanderwood didn’t know how to describe. It left his stomach rolling with volcanic acid. It left him feeling a little afraid, too. What if she did want out? He wasn’t going to force her to stay, but he didn’t want to have things end without even trying.
He looked over his shoulder again, watching Jaehee sway to the music of one of the numbers playing on the oversized TV screen. No, there was only one way to win, and that was to win her over so thoroughly she’d give up on Zen. Maybe he could do it well enough that she’d even see that Zen would never care for her like Vanderwood did.
The last cigarette fell into a bucket of sand by the door, smoke rising from the half-smoked tobacco as Vanderwood went inside. He closed the door softly and crossed to stand behind the couch, looking down at Jaehee. His therapist had told him to be honest about his feelings with Jaehee. He didn’t know how to be honest about this. How could he be honest if he didn’t know how to explain it, himself?
She hadn’t noticed him come in, and didn’t notice him standing behind her. He was close enough to see the wisps of fine hair that curled against the back of her neck. He was right there, but she had eyes only for Zen. Vanderwood swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned over her shoulder.
“Hey babe, doing okay?” he asked, nuzzling her neck gently.
“I’m fine,” she answered, pulling away. “There’s only about 20 minutes left to this. You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, not even looking at Vanderwood.
Vanderwood reined in the urge to just pick her up and carry her off to the bedroom right then. He still allowed himself to imagine his fist going through the TV. He wouldn’t do it, but it felt better to think of putting his fist through the actor’s face, at least symbolically.
“Are you sure you can’t finish it in the morning?” he asked, trying again to draw her attention away. This time he traced his fingertip down the back of her ear.
Jaehee swatted his hand away. “Marion, please? It’s only a few minutes more.”
Vanderwood felt as if he’d just been slapped. He stepped back, blinking in confusion. Had she meant for that to be the message, that he had to wait until she was done thinking about Zen?
Defeated for the moment, Vanderwood retreated to the shower. When he emerged, Jaehee was already in bed, reading a book.
She looked up as he entered the bedroom, smiling. She closed the book and slid it to the nightstand on her side of the bed. “Feeling okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he lied. He flipped the blankets back on his side of the bed and stretched out. He didn’t feel much like talking to Jaehee right then. He’d just gotten himself calmed down. He lay, facing away from her, and turned out the lamp on his side of the bed. “See you in the morning, babe,” he said.
The blankets shifted and Jaehee slid across the mattress until she was pressed against his back. Her arm rested over his side. Propping her chin on his shoulder, she asked, “What’s wrong, Marion?”
“Nothing,” he sighed. “I’m just tired. You gonna read some more? You know the light doesn’t bother me.”
“No, I hadn’t planned on it. That’s why I put the book down when you came to bed. I was only waiting for you.”
Vanderwood let a grunt slip at that. She sure as hell hadn’t been waiting for him a half hour ago.
“Hmm?” she asked.
Vanderwood detested the idea of getting into this before going to sleep. It was a sure recipe for him to need to sleep on the couch. Jaehee was persistent though, and he knew that if he tried to get out of it, she’d only keep pushing the point until he was angry again.
“You weren’t waiting for me earlier,” he muttered. He felt stupid and childish saying the words. It sounded like he was sulking. He wasn’t sulking, he reminded himself. He just didn’t want to play second string to another man.
“Earlier?” Jaehee repeated. “You mean when I was watching the video?” She chuckled. “Marion, you know that I hate to be interrupted when I’m watching one of Zen’s recordings.”
“We had just left the live show.” Vanderwood rolled to his back, giving Jaehee an irritated look. “The instant we got home, you forgot I was even alive.”
“Oh, did I? Is that why I know that you had eight cigarettes before you came in?” she countered.
“Nine.”
“What?”
“I had nine. There was a half pack out there. That’s ten. There’s one left. I had nine.”
“Marion,” Jaehee rebuked gently. “Eight or nine, I was well aware of your location and what you were doing. I assumed that if you were troubled, you’d talk to me about it when you were ready. You were as prickly as you could be the entire drive home. Every question I asked got met with monosyllabic responses. I thought you needed space, so I gave you what I could of it.” Jaehee pulled his arm over her shoulder and rested her head on his chest as she spoke. “If you’re ready, I’m here to listen. If you’re not, then I’m here to be near you. Don’t act like I did something wrong though, hm?”
Normally this move would have melted every ounce of resistance out of Vanderwood like shaved ice under a summer sun. The feel of her head on his chest, the scent of her hair so close, the way her body fit perfectly under his arm when they lay this way, he had no resistance to any of it.
Tonight, he didn’t even try to resist, he just didn’t care. He didn’t care that she was right there with him, right then. He was still stung. “And why do you think I was so tense on the ride home?” he challenged.
“I’m not sure,” Jaehee admitted. “Everything was fine before the show, and during it. Then we got in the car, and it was like you couldn’t stand to speak to me. I don’t know why you were tense. I’ve been waiting for you to tell me.”
Vanderwood couldn’t believe that she didn’t know what she’d been doing. He sat up, dislodging her rudely. “What man wouldn’t be tense after watching his partner throw herself at some airheaded ass who doesn’t know anyone exists unless they’re worshipping him!?” he snapped. He stood, taking up a pillow. “I’m sleeping on the couch. It’s not safe for me to be in here tonight. We can talk about it tomorrow if there’s anything to talk about.”
“What does that mean?” Jaehee asked. “What do you mean if there’s anything to talk about?” Her eyes flashed dangerously at him. “And exactly when did I throw myself at Zen? I assume that’s who you’re referring to?”
“When haven’t you?” Vanderwood growled, ignoring the warning in her voice. “Isn’t that how we met? You pissed off some fan of his because you were always throwing yourself at him?”
Jaehee’s mouth hung open. “You… you did not just…”
Vanderwood felt ashamed. That was a low blow. It was lower because it wasn’t entirely true, just true enough to strike deep. Nothing she’d done had been deserving of having her life threatened. It didn’t matter if she’d been going home with Zen after his shows, she wouldn’t have deserved that.
He stared at the floor, gripping his pillow in his fist. He couldn’t look at Jaehee, not now. Not after saying that, he couldn’t.
“Maybe you’re right,” Jaehee said in a cold, measured tone. “Maybe you should sleep on the couch tonight. If you don’t want to, I will.”
“I’m sorry,” Vanderwood attempted.
“Oh, you went so far beyond sorry just now. Who the hell do you think you are? How dare you!?” she spoke in that same voice.
“I said I’m sorry. I just, look, you …”
“Goodnight, Marion,” she snapped, rolling to face away from him and turning off her lamp.
Vanderwood didn’t know whether he was angry, hurt, or ashamed anymore. He slunk to the couch and laid in the darkness feeling like he’d just blown everything. At the same time, how was he supposed to react? She had been like this as long as he’d known her. Her fervor for Zen shouldn’t leave him feeling excluded, shouldn’t leave him feeling invisible just because Zen showed up or was on the TV screen. He went too far, but she’d been going too far all along.
He turned, facing the back of the couch, unable to sleep. When he closed his eyes, he saw Jaehee fawning over Zen. When he kept his eyes open, his thoughts rambled on about how wrong she’d been, and then how wrong he’d been. He was caught in hell, tormented by the three demons at once, and he didn’t know how to get out of it.
Failing to sleep, or even find enough peace to consider resting, Vanderwood rose and returned to the balcony. He only had the one cigarette left, he reminded himself on the way out. He’d have to remember to buy more in the morning.
He took up the pack and flipped the top open, and froze. He knew that there had been ten left when he got home. He had counted them. How were there two left if he’d had nine? He looked at the bedroom window, surprised to see the light on again. Jaehee was awake again?
Carrying the pack, Vanderwood went back inside. He collected his pillow from the couch and opened the bedroom door. He took a breath as he stepped through, bracing himself to beg Jaehee’s forgiveness. He wasn’t willing to let go of the matter of her obsession, but he wasn’t going to make her wait for an apology, either. That much he knew needed doing right then.
Jaehee sat on the bed, her knees pulled up under her chin. She glanced up at Vanderwood as he came in but didn’t speak.
He didn’t need his training to gauge her mood. She was angry and hurt, and he knew he was the reason for both. Standing by the bed, he ran his free hand through his hair.
“Look, I told you I was an ass. I went too far. You didn’t deserve that. Also,” he flipped the pack of cigarettes at her. “You were right.”
“Right about?” she asked, ignoring the pack as it tumbled to the bed beside her.
“Eight, not nine. There’s two in there.”
“And you think that matters now?”
“Probably not, but you’re right, you were watching me. You were aware of me and what I was doing. I wasn’t even aware enough to get it right. I also wasn’t aware enough to know that you were keeping tabs on me.” He sighed helplessly. “I’m an ass. I’m sorry, on all counts.”
Jaehee’s eyes narrowed as she weighed his apology against her own thoughts and feelings.
Vanderwood felt like he was on trial.
“Are you ready to tell me what all this is about in the first place?” she asked cautiously.
He wasn’t, but now he didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t talk to her now, the fight would only start again, and he’d make it all so much worse. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain whether he was truly welcome or not.
“After the show, we went to see Zen. He didn’t even say hello to me. He flirted with you, though, right in front of me.” The anger began to nudge its way forward again. “You acted like you’d been acknowledged by the love of your life or something. I didn’t even exist.”
Jaehee sat up, crossing her legs and watching Vanderwood in surprise. “You were jealous? Is that what this is about?”
“If it was only this time, I wouldn’t care,” Vanderwood defended. “But it’s always like this around him. I feel like I interrupted something between you. He speaks, and you act star-struck and lose all sense. He even tried to give me some speech when you moved in, like he didn’t trust me to be around you. He’s always going on about himself. I don’t see what you see in him in the first place. He’s just an actor!”
“No, he’s not “just” an actor. He’s one of the rising stars of the nation. It’s exciting to be close to him and watch him move forward. It’s exciting because I enjoy his acting and singing. It’s exciting because I’m watching my friend succeed at chasing his dreams. I don’t get that chance. My dreams are benched, possibly for life, so I take the enjoyment of his success and let myself have that little bit.” Jaehee scooted closer to Vanderwood before she continued.
“As for how he acts about us living together, he’s like that with everyone. You never saw how horrified he was when MC took off with Saeyoung. He practically accused Saeyoung of kidnapping and a hundred other unbelievable things. I don’t know why he does it, but it’s not just me, or you, it’s how he is with every woman he knows personally.
And you did not interrupt anything. Honestly, Marion, where would you get such an idea? Do you think me so feckless that I’d just dump one man and move on to the next just because I saw a new face? It’s more than a little insulting.”
Vanderwood stared at his leg in shame as Jaehee clarified things for him. He should have just talked to her instead of getting angry, and jealous, if that’s what this strange emotional stew was. He felt her hand over his and looked up sadly.
“Marion,” she said, more gently now. “I moved in with you. I came home tonight, with you. I’m sitting on our bed, talking to you. What does that tell you about where I want to be?”
Vanderwood couldn’t have felt more like the biggest jerk on the planet if he had tried. He shrugged. “I am sorry about what I said earlier. I was out of line.”
“You were, but I accept the apology, on the condition that you never go there again.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Marion, what will it take for you to believe that this is real? You were ready to walk away after the camping trip. You were ready to walk away the night you had that first nightmare. Now you act like you were wondering if you should be here, yet again. Is there anything I can do that will make you stop doubting? I can’t go on like this forever. I’m not ready to leave, but it has to stop.”
Vanderwood measured his height and found he’d shrunk down to about two inches tall. She was right. He’d been ready to run all along. His own fear of not being deserving of her was constantly in their way. If he hadn’t been afraid that he didn’t deserve her, he wouldn’t have cared who tried to flirt with her.
“I don’t know, babe. Maybe I’m just too messed up. I’m trying, but you know I’ve never had a real relationship before. I feel like I’m making stupid, high school level mistakes. You’re always waiting for me to catch up. It’s not fair to you,” Vanderwood berated himself. He looked up to find Jaehee’s face only a few inches from his own.
Jaehee leaned in and kissed him, softly.
Vanderwood felt like his heart would break from the tenderness of it. He’d hurt her. He’d been such an ass, all night, and here she was, still accepting him.
She broke the kiss and slid back toward her side of the bed, patting the space beside her. “Come here, Marion,” she said softly, stretching out on her side.
Vanderwood crossed the space and folded his arms around her, cradling her tenderly. “I don’t deserve you, babe,” he murmured.
Jaehee lifted her head and smiled slowly. “That is, thankfully, not something you get to decide. I get to decide if you deserve me, and one bad night isn’t going to make me say you don’t deserve me. I do think, however, that I need to do something about your concerns about where I want to be.” She trailed a finger up the inside of his thigh. Watching his face, she smirked slightly. “You just stay right here, Marion Vanderwood. I’m going to show you all the things I’ve never considered doing to Zen.”
By the time Jaehee had finished expressing that sentiment, Vanderwood’s mind was scrambled. He didn’t know where she’d learned all those tricks, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel bad anymore. However foolish he’d been through the evening leading up to this, he had no doubt about Jaehee’s loyalty to him left, and no energy with which to feed his own feelings of being undeserving. He just felt desired in ways he didn’t know a man could feel, and a deep peace followed him into his dreams.
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heath/legault drabble - flowers
They had left the ground covered in blood. Blood spilled from allies, from enemies, and from former friends they were now forced to turn against. The bodies of the fallen were scattered, twisted and broken in the dirt.
Bern once meant home to him. After this, he doubted it ever could again.
After the battle, there was no time to even pause. They were hunted people in the middle of a hostile land, and so they marched; exhausted, battered, bruised and bloodied. The injured were treated on the road as best as they were able. They did not even stop to take meals, instead opting for a few stolen gulps of water from a canteen.
Seeking to avoid all major towns and pass through undetected, their journey took them over wide, uncultivated fields in the Bern lowlands that bordered some of the smaller villages. The soil was acidic and dry, but great swaths of hardy, low-growing shrubs absolutely coated the landscape. The shrubs were dotted with hundreds of tiny little lavender flowers, which turned the fields a hazy purple, the air hanging thick with a sweet, gentle scent.
Legault gazed out across it all in a bit of a daze, thinking it seemed incredibly jarring and bizarre to be surrounded by such pleasantness after the sort of day they'd had. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still see the fields of dust and death, but when he opened his eyes-- just the peaceful lull of spring and all these flowers.
Heaths, his mind supplied. They were walking through Bern's heathlands. Legault glanced to his left, at the stony-faced wyvern rider some paces behind him that was leading his mount by its reins.
For a moment, Legault considered slowing his pace to let the man catch up and then making some comment to him about his namesake, but he decided against it. The wyvern rider looked as though he was worn down to the very quick. Legault hadn't been the only one today who was forced to turn weapons on former colleagues and friends.
He felt a pang of empathy, wishing he could do more. To let him know that in the very least, he understood that sort of pain. But every time he had reached out to Heath, the man had only drawn back. He doubted that would change now. So Legault turned his sights back to the purple fields, simply giving a small sigh.
It was a mercy when they finally stopped for the day. Even though they'd planned to continue marching in a few short hours, any sort of rest was met with open arms.
Legault spent the time pushing through the crowd around their supply caravans, accepting the rations that were doled out and eating stale bread and chipped beef. It wasn't enjoyable by any stretch of the imagination, but his neglected body was still grateful for the nourishment. He felt a lot better afterward, eventually heading away from the noisy group around the supply wagons and wandering sort of aimlessly past the few tents that had been put up. They were still in the middle of the heathlands, and sometimes a drunken bumblebee would bump past his face, on an urgent mission of pollination.
On the outer edges of their makeshift camp, he spotted Heath, back propped against a support beam for one of the tents, arms crossed and tucked tight about himself. He was dozing in the shade the tent cast, his face relaxed and finally free from the harsh strain it had been under all day.
Legault couldn't help but obey the compulsion to draw closer, and soon he was standing over the man, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a little errant green strand of hair fluttering slightly under his breath. He just looked so different this way. It wasn't just that he finally looked peaceful for a change; Legault could notice the very soft creases around his mouth and eyes that denoted smile lines.
Heath was a man who smiled frequently, once. Laughed, even. Legault wondered what that had been like.
He suddenly realized how heavy his limbs felt. The weight of the day was catching up to him, and watching Heath dozing in the shade was making him feel tired himself.
He knew the man would be irritated if he woke and found him there, but Legault plunked down on the ground in the shade beside Heath anyway. Absent-mindedly, his fingers fiddled with a sprig of flowers from one of the nearby bushes. He gazed off into nothingness for a while in contemplation, before eventually bringing his focus back to the little flowers in his hand. He glanced to Heath and smiled a little at a silly, random notion.
Because Legault became so absorbed in his new activity for quite some time, almost slipping into a meditative state, he was startled when a voice eventually interrupted him.
"Legault? Come on, you're just sitting there?"
He glanced up-- it was the Ostian spy, Matthew, dragging along a crate far too large for someone of his strength. The man let the crate sink down and he frowned, adding,
"What . . . what are you doing?"
Legault shrugged a little, admiring his own handiwork. He pulled another piece off of the nearby bush and plucked another tiny heath blossom off, carefully sticking it into Heath's hair. It joined the many others, the wyvern rider's hair filled with dozens of the little purple flowers at that point.
"Decorating the cranky wyvern man?"
Matthew didn't look too amused.
"Uh-huh. So why am I working my butt off like some chump while you're just picking daisies?"
"They're not daisies, Matthew. And you'd have to tell me that."
His new companion sat down heavily on the crate he'd been dragging.
"Good question. I guess it's break time."
"There you go."
Legault picked another flower and nestled it into one of Heath's white locks of hair, then repeated the procedure. Matthew watched for about a minute before speaking again.
"Seriously, though, don't you have anything better to do? We leave in just a little while."
"Shh. You're going to wake him."
"Oh, Matthew, there you are! Hector's been looking for you."
Matthew looked on in horror as Serra approached, her pigtails bouncing as she bounded up.
"What? I've been gone for like two minutes. This isn't fair. I want a break."
"Hi, Legault! Don't complain to me, Matthew. I'm just the messenger. I wouldn't even need to run around all about looking for you if you were doing your job."
Matthew glared.
"Oh, I'm sorry, who's the one dragging around crates full of anvils? Yeah, that would be me!"
Legault winced at their volume.
"You guys--"
It was already too late, though; Heath stirred in his sleep and blinked awake, looking in a foggy confusion at the people gathered around him. Everyone was silent a moment and Heath frowned.
"What . . . why is everyone looking at me."
Serra giggled.
"Looking very nice, Heath."
Matthew hopped to his feet.
"Uhh, we were just leaving. Serra, help me with this."
"What?! These hands are for healing, not lifting!!"
Matthew waved at her.
"These hands aren't for lifting either! Just get one corner, ok?"
Serra made a sound of disgust, but she bent and gave a half-hearted attempt at grabbing a corner of the crate.
"I can't believe you're making a lady lift, Matthew!"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a horrible person. You're not even lifting anything. Put your back into it."
The pair made for a terribly noisy and slow exit, half-dragging, half-carrying the crate away, Serra complaining bitterly all the while. For a little while, Legault and Heath just watched them go; at some point, Heath stretched against the tent pole he was propped against. He spoke in a voice still a little roughed with sleep.
"So why are you still here?"
Legault smiled languidly at him, not put off by the man's usual acerbic nature.
"I ask myself that every day."
Heath grunted, looking annoyed, but before he could say anything else rude, he was interrupted by a yawn. It sort of deflated the effectiveness of the scowl he then aimed at Legault.
His sleep-tousled hair being completely filled with little purple flowers removed a lot of the scowl's effectiveness too, of course. Legault smirked.
"Now, there's no need to be cross with me. I tried to get them to be quiet, you know. I know the value of letting a fellow sleep."
Heath seemed to process this and his irritated look softened just a little. He rubbed his face and mumbled tiredly,
"Do you know how long until we move again?"
One of the tiny flowers was jarred loose from Heath's motion and it drifted gently down in front of him to the ground. He blinked at it. Legault answered,
"About an hour, I believe. I could wake you when it's time, if you'd like."
Heath shook his head.
"No, I won't be--"
He paused as a tiny shower of flowers went flying from his hair. Puzzled, he reached up and brushed at his head.
"Aw, wait, you're going to ruin it!"
Heath brushed more of the flowers out and glanced to Legault, confused.
"Ruin what? What did you do to me?"
"At least-- here, admire it a little before you destroy it, hmm?"
He took the shield resting on the ground that Heath normally wore at his side, flipped it over to its underside, and handed it to Heath.
Heath peered at his reflection in the metal and said shrilly,
"Legault! Wh-why?!"
Legault opened his mouth to answer the man glaring at him, but then he just sighed. He smiled a little, though his eyes were melancholy. After a contemplative moment, he finally answered.
"You just looked so content. I wished it could last, I suppose."
The wyvern rider continued to look at him, but all of his irritation seemed to slowly bleed out. Legault watched the man's eyes, which seemed to glaze over in thought. He couldn't tell what he was thinking, quite honestly. Virtually everything about Heath was still a mystery to him.
Then the man's hand shot out and grabbed Legault's wrist. Legault winced, automatically twisting his wrist and preparing to pull him off, but stopped short when he saw Heath wasn't snarling angrily.
He was just . . . staring at him. His expression was unreadable.
Legault swallowed, staring back, confused.
Then Heath tugged Legault's wrist, gently, pulling him closer. It wasn't by much-- a few inches at most-- but it felt much, much closer. A dizzy little charge looped up Legault's spine. He was so preoccupied with Heath's eyes that it took him a moment to notice the man had used his other hand to pluck a little sprig of flowers from the bushes they were sitting upon.
Heath slowly reached over and tucked the sprig lightly behind Legault's ear.
Then he released Legault's wrist and leaned back against the tent support beam, crossing his arms and settling in again as if ready to return to his napping.
"You're one weird guy," the man murmured, looking sidelong at him. A gentle smile played at the corners of his lips.
Legault honestly took a moment to process what had just happened.
Then he smiled, this time not a sad smile; rather, a silly little thing that started out small and spread into a wide, dumb grin that lit his entire face.
Heath slipped his eyes back shut and chuckled quietly.
It was a lovely sound.
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The Defiant Penneth
Words:2700
Request: Can the reader be Legolas’s little sister and their father treats her like she could break at any moment and raises her as a “princess” but she is actually really tough and Thranduil finds out in a shocking way?
TRANSLATIONS:
Tithen Pen-Little One
Muindor-Brother
Naneth/Nana-Mother/Mama
Ada-Father
Penneth-Young one
HERE IT IS:
“Steady now Tithen pen.” Legolas whispered into the young elleths ear. (Y/N) huffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not little Legolas! I’m almost a hundred years old.” The fair haired elleth muttered to her brother who with a soft chuckle straightened out his sisters arm so as to help her with her shot. Their father had been adamant about her not training to be a warrior but rather a lady of high society. He didn’t wish for her to work with weapons and learn to fight. Ever since their mother had died soon after she was born he had been fiercely protective of her always making sure she was safe and sound. Legolas understood where he was coming from—but didn’t like why he did it. The thing was that (Y/N) looked exactly like their late mother. The only thing was that she had of her father the great Elvenking Thranduil, was his fair skin. Unlike his wife, Thranduil has much fairer skin than the late queen. When she was an infant Legolas would remember his father staring into his little sister’s eyes. As if to hold onto a memory of their late mother.
As a young elf, Legolas somewhat became jealous. However, as he matured he soon understood the pain and longing that his father went through as the years went on without his queen and their mother. He understood that (Y/N) was the last remnants of her that he had. And he wanted her not to become spoiled by war and fighting. She was his precious princess. And he couldn’t lose her.
This was the way things had been for a while. As a young elleth (Y/N) had been fine for she mostly spent her time either in the library, by her father, and or on her beautiful black stallion Faenor. However, Thrandiul was worried about the stallion and for a while banned her from riding the beast for he thought he was too wild for her. She could only ride the calm silver mare the king himself had picked out for her. However, as he restricted her from this she only wished to ride the beautiful stallion more and at night would sneak out of her chambers and go for long rides. After a while the king found out and a fierce fight ensued between daughter and father but alas the king’s words and demands fell on deaf ears and soon after he realized that she would not be swayed. Understanding and with a certain amount of pride for his daughter’s fierce spirit he allowed her to keep riding Faenor and soon she was almost always on the beasts back riding through the forest. However, her father always made sure a few guards went with his daughter while she went out for fear of intruders and or threats to his daughter’s life.
However, as the young elf grew into her teens she wished to learn how to fight with a bow and arrow like her brother and Tauriel the female elf and captain of the guard. Her father refused and she soon became once again defiant.
And that’s where they were today. For many years, against his father’s wishes Legolas had taught his sister to shoot. He understood his sisters wish to learn how to fight and thought it would be well to teach her how to shoot at the very least. Every elf should learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. It was in their blood. And so almost every week, Legolas would take his sister to a private meadow away from any guards or onlookers and teach his sister how to shoot for a few hours. He enjoyed these times with her for it strengthened the bond between older brother and younger sister. She was a great shooter. Determined and focused, no matter how much she didn’t get her shots right. She was a trueborn fighter. Just like her father. If only their father could see the potential his daughter had.
“Alright then. Draw the string back.” Legolas advised his younger sister. She did as she was told and he stood still. “Line up your shot and when you’re sure of it loose.” He said. With that the Elven Prince stood back and watched as his sister waited as she lined up her shot. Then quick as a hare she let the string go and it flew with a whoosh!
And hit dead center.
“Well done!” Legolas praised his sister. She looked at her brother and gave him a wide smile at his praise. “Thank you Muindor.” She replied. Legolas nodded. “Go get your arrows. I think that’s enough for today. It’s almost sundown. Father will be wondering where we are.” He said. With a nod (Y/N) ran off to retrieve her arrows. As she did this Legolas went to go prep their horses for the trip back to the palace.
As he was untying the horses reins form the low branch on which he had tied them to he saw his sister approaching her arrows all back into their quiver made of white buckskin. Her bow was made out of a beautiful red Pauduk tree. Her quivers were made of the same wood with beautiful swan feathers. Legolas had them made as a gift to her and she loved them with all her heart. Legolas kept them in his own chamber so as to not make their father suspicious but the minute they were out of the castles sight she would take them with pride and love and sometimes they would sit by the stream together and care for their arrows. She took care of her arrows with great pride and love always making sure they were in top shape.
“I’m ready to go.” She said. Nodding, Legolas mounted his horse and his sister soon followed. “Would you like me to take the arrows now?” He asked his sister. (Y/N) smiled and shook her head. “No I’d like to keep them on for a while. Just until we get to the edge of the woods. Then I’ll give them too you.” She said. Legolas nodded. With a smile his sister then gave her horse a slight urge using her heels and a quite word in Sindarian and Faenor soon was trotting away. Legolas did the same and followed suit.
As they rode through the forest together then looked around for something to do. “We should grab a buck or something just to throw father off the trail.” (Y/N) suggested. Legolas nodded and they went off hunting. Soon they found a large buck grazing. “Why don’t you take it?” Legolas said. With a smile, his younger sister quietly dismounted and started to quietly make her way towards the edge of a log where she hid. Then slowly and quietly drawing an arrow she slowly notched it and drew the string.
Suddenly a loud growl and cry distracted her. Without warning an orc jumped out from the bushed and attacked the young princess. With a cry (Y/N) let the arrow loose and it missed by a mile. Legolas with a cry drew his own bow and started to aim however another orc soon appeared and attacked Legolas with a sword. Due to the close range fighting Legolas was having a difficult time fighting off the orc. (Y/N) however was now pinned down by the orc that had her. “LEGOLAS!” She cried out in terror. This made the elven prince fight even harder and quickly drawing his dagger from his boot sliced the orcs throat. However, as he got up the orc had his sister in a grasp his sword to the elleths throat. “One step elf and she dies.” The orc hissed out. “Let her go!” Legolas spat.
The orc laughed. “I don’t think so puny elf.” The orc sneered. “I think I’ll take her myself…she looks tasty…” The orc said smelling (Y/N)’s fair hair. She cringed and gulped. Then she elbowed the orc in the face. Suddenly the orc reeled back and (Y/N) scrambled out of his grasp. However, he grabbed the hem of her dress and started to drag her back.
Suddenly out of nowhere an arrow flew into the fight. It hit the orc in the chest. With a cry the orc reeled back and a few more arrows soon joined the fray. Soon the orc lay dead on the ground. Spinning around to see who their savior was Legolas blinked.
There on his large elk sat their father Thranduil his bow in his hand. Around him on horseback were 10 guards including Tauriel the captain of the guard. The Elvenking quickly handed a bow to her and quickly dismounted.
“Father I…” Legolas started to speak but his father paid him no mind. He quickly passed Legolas and ran to (Y/N) who lay on the ground covered in leaves and…blood. The king quickly helped the young elleth up. “(Y/N) are you alright?” He asked his daughter worriedly. The princess nodded. “I’m fine Ada.” She said almost with a huff. Suddenly their father was all serious. “On your horse—now. We will speak of this when we get to the castle.” He said. Then he grabbed his daughters arm and lead her back to the group. As she started to walk towards her own mount their father pulled her away. “You’ll ride with me.” He said in a tone that mean there was no arguing. Sighing approached the large elk and with a boost from her father sat astride the great and majestic beast. Soon he joined he sitting behind her and his arms wrapped around her as he grabbed the reins. He soon ordered a guard to grab Faenor.
Their ride back to the palace was silent. As they came into the courtyard a few heads of the palace ran outside. One of them being the head of the house Rathal. Their father quickly dismounted and soon helped his daughter dismount. Then he turned to Rathal. “Take the princess back to her chambers and clean her up. Make sure her injuries are taken care of. Once she is taken care of bring her to the throne room.” He ordered. Rathal nodded and stepped forward. “Come your highness.” He said softly to the princess. (Y/N) sighed and with a final glance to her brother and father soon followed the male elf.
Without looking to any of the guards the king started to take off his riding gloves. “Take my elk and the princesses to the stables. Legolas get cleaned up and I will have someone come and get you when I am ready to talk to you.” He said. Legolas had dismounted by this time and nodded. “Yes father.” He said softly. But the king could not have heard his soft reply for he was already heading across the walkway into the castle.
(Y/N) sat on the bench as the healer dabbed some poultice on her neck where the orcs sword had nicked her fair skin. “There, that should do it your highness.” The healer said. With a soft thank you the princess went to put the final touches on her hair. As she finished her hair she stared down at the silver circlet that lay on her table. It was a silver circlet with silver cherry like blossom flowers decorated all around it. With delicate fingers she picked it up and placed it on her fair hair. Then getting up she left her room and walked down the hall to the throne room. She knew her father had told Rathal to take her their but she didn’t wish for this to be done.
As she approached the throne room she could hear shouting and fighting. As she got closer she recognized the voices of her father and brother. Quickly slipping into the throne room unnoticed she hid in the shadows. Nearby she noticed her bow and arrows were on the floor. She quickly and quietly went to retrieve them. As she got closer she could make out her brother and her fathers words.
“—a child!” Her father cried.
“Father she isn’t just a child. She is almost a hundred years old. I was using a bow and arrow long before that!” Legolas shot back.
“She is not you!” Thranduil snapped back.
“And she is not Naneth!” Legolas snarled back. “Naneth is gone!” He cried.
The Elvenking stopped and went rigid. With a slow turn he gazed upon his son fury shining in his blue eyes. “How dare you—.”
Whoosh!
An arrow was now lodged into the king’s wooden throne right by his head. Legolas and the king whipped around looking for the culprit.
(Y/N) stood by the door of the throne room her empty bow raised. “Enough!” She cried. The king stood there his mouth agape in shock. The princess stepped forward. “Legolas is right Ada! I am not Nana and I never will be! I don’t wish to be cooped up in this darned castle. I wish to run and ride and explore!” The princess cried from her place. She now was standing beside her brother.
The king stared at his two children and sighed but then as he thought about today’s events anger and fear gleamed in his eyes. “I almost lost you today! Both of you! I can’t lose you! I am doing this for your own protection (Y/N)!” He said to his daughter and son.
The young elleth shook her head. “No you’re doing it for yourself. I would be better prepared if I knew how to shoot. And that is why Legolas has been teaching me! I could have easily have shot you but I didn’t! Because I’m good with a bow! Legolas can tell you! I want to learn how to fight!”
Legolas nodded. “She is right Ada! She is quite skilled with a bow.”
The king glared at the two and sighed. “I am furious that you disobeyed my orders.” He said. “I could order that thing to be destroyed.” He said pointing to his daughter’s bow.
“Over my dead body.” The princess snarled.
The king blinked in shock at his daughter’s defiance. “You watch your tone penneth!” Their father warned. He then sighed and became calm. “However…in the past I have been selfish. I understand why you wish to learn the ways of a bow. That is why…I shall allow it to continue.” The king said.
“And if you—.” The princess started but stopped. “Wait really?” She said.
The king nodded. With a gasp and a large smile (Y/N) gazed at her father. “Thank you Ada—.” She stared but the king held up a hand. For a second (Y/N)’s face fell.
“However—from now on you shall do this in the courtyard. Where I can keep an eye on you and no orcs can interfere.” He said with a small smile. The young elven princess gasped and rushed up to her father and flung her arms around her father who blinked in surprise. “Thank you Ada.” She said softly. He smiled and wrapped his arms around his daughter. “You’re welcome penneth.” He said kissing her head.
With that she ran out the room. Legolas gazed at his sister as she ran out the room and then back at his father. “Why did you allow it?” He asked him.
Her father watched as his daughter raced out the room in excitement and looking at his son he sighed. “I knew she would be unhappy if I hadn’t. It would have broken her heart. I want the best for her and for you. You both are my world. I realized that I wasn’t helping her or you by not letting her learn. I was harming her rather than helping her.” He said softly. “She has her Naneth’s determination.” He said softly.
Legolas shook his head with a smile. “But she has your fire and spirit Ada. She always has.” The young prince said to his father. The king furrowed his eyebrows in wonder at his son’s words. Legolas with a bow turned and walked out of the throne room. However, he missed the wide grin on his father’s face as he left.
#lord of the rings#elf reader#legolas x reader#thranduil x reader#The Elven King#the hobbit#elven reader#i wrote this#don't steal#reader insert#one shots
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The Heretic Chapter 2: Followed
Even though the leather was of heavyweight it gasped at the wind and impulsion of the mount. Engulfing the rough terrain with her long strides with ease. Even with the heavy armor, the swift mare handled the uncivilized terrain with agility and poise. This is what she had been born for; to charge bravely into the thicket of uncertainty, whether that be an enemy or uneven footing. Built like a siege weapon in her own right to carve through armies.
We quickly navigated past the white-knuckled peaks of the frostbacks, speckled with relentless persecution from the elements. We didn't stop until we reached the summit of the yawning valleys.
The mare was heaving, each breath arduous in the chilled air. It was the heavy armor and the fact that she was meant for charging rather than prolonged endurance.
They were behind us, we had to throw them off since we couldn't continue and remain ahead. Thinking fast, I listened to ice breaking in a brook not too far, hidden by the snow-capped trees and bushes. Her hooves sunk into the snow heavily and she struggled across the virgin snow, making our trail even more evident. There was a muddy bank free from the ice and snow, sloppy and wet from the melting ice around it. I steered her right into it.
I pressed my right foot into her lower belly and pulled on the right rein, pivoting her hind legs and made tight circles in the mud. Confused, She slipped and slid but did what I asked, leaving profound tracks in every direction. She breathed hard and grunted when I finally freed us from the dizzying pirouette.
We launched forward into the stream, no time to think or ponder my handy work. I could hear them now, drawing close. At it's deepest the water rose to the mare's hocks, we slowly diverted around slippery rocks and chunks of ice, any sound we made could blow our cover. My heart beat fast and unsteady, waiting for a shout of recognition from my pursuers.
I spotted a thicket nestling on the brook's edge and we left the icy water, though the chill still clung to our bones. The tangled grass masked the hoofprints well enough for us to leave the stream. The clinking of the metal armor jabbed at the late winter silence. Since running was no longer an option, hiding was the next. But with every step the plate mail rubbed against itself, clinking and clanging. Frustrated, I dismounted and the mare sighed with relief and stretched her neck.
I led us into a more covert section of brush, then began the complicated process of dismantling the armor, placing each piece down as quietly as possible. I left her with the soft padded under armor infused with strategically placed chainmail for extra protection. This would take a great deal of burden off of her back and allow us more speed if needed. I tiptoed back to the stream, conscious of my steps and left the mare ground tied.
Finding the thicket I crouched low and surveyed the movement amongst the trees across the stream.
Soldiers on foot marched behind a party of horsemen, already had they discovered my decoy and were off in the projected direction they thought I'd taken. When they were a safe enough distance I released the armor into the deeper part of the stream. The impatient water carried it along, twisting and turning the pieces until the heaver parts sunk below to be pushed by the undercurrent.
They would find it. I knew. But hopefully, they would take pause at the discovery. Any scrap of time stolen was precious and by then I would be long gone.
I let the mare rest. Just the mare. I could not be so fortunate. Eyes always searching the open pockets of brush, waiting for an ambush. The mare ate the snow when she realized we weren't going back to the stream to get water. I kept her close to me, I didn't want her to wander off and reveal our location.
No doubt Leliana's agents were picking over the area. We moved on an hour before Dawn's first light. We made pace at a slow trot, pioneering the unpolished terrain with fragility on my mind. If this horse was to be of any later use, I would have to keep her from going lame.
This wasn't the maintained highway leading up the mountain to Skyhold. It was the rough path we had taken the night Haven was destroyed. The ruins, the aftermath poking through the snow still carried ghosts, the memory of those who did not make it. It was amazing to see what structures had survived--or well what was left of them. It hurt. Time had not healed the wound of what could have been, what I could have done differently to save more lives.
The mare picked up speed upon recognition of the place. She carried me all the way to her old food trough outside the collapsed barn. Except there was no food trough. Just a pile of rubble. It was eery, this place. I could still hear the alarm bells and shuffling of feet, the scuffling of heavy armor in panic. I could still see the blood painting the white snow, the bodies limp with horrific faces.
This place was a field of debris and a graveyard for so many. The Marquee had petitioned the Inquisition to restore Haven, to erect a new chantry and a prosperous village. Resources could not be allocated at the time and the Marquee's complaints were...quelled, in a manner of speaking.
He wasn't wrong, technically I was the culprit who dealt the final blow. Mine was the hand who triggered the avalanche. 'Countless died for her sake, what was a village or two?' Were the final words in a last letter sent from Orlais. He's been silent ever since. The howling winds tore at my hair and I turned the mare Southwest and we moved on. I had taken what water I could carry, knowing the streams were good camping, as did the Inquisition, I couldn't stay there.
The chill dragged behind us, hanging on my every breath. It hurt. The rations that were placed in the saddle bag would only last me a week and three days if at most. I would have to head towards a village, it was unavoidable. I shook my left hand and flexed my fingers, it had been bothering me all day. Muscles straining and burning there was no relief. I must have injured it somehow. The anchor awoke, static emerald scattered its light. I hissed in pain. The light leather glove could do nothing to conceal it. Cold leather hit my skin as I shoved it under my hunter's coat.
I directed the war animal with one arm. Peaking out of the snow down the valley was an orb, bathing the area green, fizzling with satisfaction. Mocking me. Beyond it, was a hooked rock formation, protruding from the cranky granite mountain. That would be my shelter for the night. The sun had already sunk into the Frostbacks cradle and only ambient light remained vigilant, it's last protest of the impending dark. The orb reacted to our approach and I was too exhausted to care. Blinking and flickering in all it's might, oozing green intentions and thus melting the snow. My scream ripped through the iced air. The horse panicked and sidestepped, ears flicking in all directions. I grabbed a hold of my left arm and bit my lip. Warm liquid poured down my chin. It consumed me, my body twisted out of the saddle and another muffled cry beat against my lips. There was an eruption of green and I felt the snow-covered rocks dig into my head. The howling winds sounded so close. One thought drifted above the others, they sound so familiar. The dull pain in my head folded my eyes and I swear that wind wasn't wind at all. "Wolves..." I whispered before the black took me.
'The anchor is slowly devouring you.' he murmured. Turning her palm over, he noticed that it had burned a hole through her glove. 'Has it been used in offence?' I heard him question. It was so cold, so cold. The air like daggers, piercing my lungs with each breath. I could feel my heart beat slowing and lungs burning. I was dying and I knew it. Freezing to death. The ringing in my ears grew more urgent and loud. The wind screeched, blowing me back. Salvation was lost. I awoke in panic. Sweat dripping down my neck. Everything aches, but I can breathe and I am indeed, alive. I lifted my head from the cot and instantly shook my dysphoria.
I found the camp. I had somehow found the camp in the blizzard. That at least was real. I was safe from dying, from the elements at least. There were voices all around but petitioned off by the worn tarps of the tent. I squinted at the blue haze before me, it emanated from the sealed entrance and wandered into the small lit hearth a few feet away.
Its heat magically directed, weaving through the components of the air and embracing my body. The unforgiving cold was tied off like a tourniquet. It could not surpass the magic to sink its icy claws into my flesh. I had never seen this before.
Nor was there anyone to explain it to me. The tent was empty other than myself and the twitching embers. Blankets and wound dressings were placed nearby. However, it looked like they were never used.'
I woke with large intakes of frozen air. There was no tent. No warmth. Nothing but a memory to comfort the mind and a dream to twist it. The perpetual stars reached down to me and the relentless frosted needles of early spring were a reminder of reality. The pain was gone for now though the hand still glew. Throbbing its resonance with my breath. My glove was torn apart as if something was trying to claw it's way out.
#DA: Inquisition#dragon age fanfic#solavellan#moon'hwa lavellan#dragon age#theheretic#solas romance#fen'harel#the dread wolf#wtf am i doin with my life
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Egyptian Nights (Part 3 END)
greek!TOMXegyptian!READER
(2,420 words) Warning: Swearing, violence, major sadness,
A/N: This part is super long and really really deep and dark. REMEMBER You didn't live in ancient Egypt and neither did I so I don't know the geography, All my knowledge of Egyptian history is from Assassin’s creed origins so correct me! ENJOY ps I wanna hear feedback plz Also Part 1 and 2 are really short lol
Masterlist Requests PARTS: One Two Thx to @kingquackdaddy again!
Splashing water on your face you shake your hands dry of water, it was another hour till you’d reach Giza. Your feet ached your head pounded and your stomach burned. The sun hung high in the sky as its rays beat down on you. The journey had come with few incidents until now, a loud shout from behind you snap you from the trance you had lulled in to. Turning, you see two Roman soldiers riding up to you, swords drawn “That’s her the slave that escape” Stopping your draw your sword prompting the men to jump off their mounts “Don’t be foolish desert dweller” one says as your rage bubbles up inside cursing under your breath you lunge at the man with a heavy sword strike. Your sword clashes with his as he smirks “Foolish girl” he says before blood begins dripping from the side of his mouth, looking down you twist your dagger deeper into his side, the next shouts as he runs at you, sword poised to impale you. Quickly turning he plunges his sword deep into partner so far it protrudes from his chest on the other side. Pushing the corpse, it falls on the man, bring your dagger to his throat he struggles under his fallen comrade “May you walk the Duat forever” you snarl slicing the soldiers throat.
Having taken one of the men’s horses you made it to Giza quite quickly, starring up at the Pyramids you remember back to the time Tom came back from a long journey and told you of seeing them, and watching the sunset from the base. He promised one day you’d see them together, he promised one day you’d be free together. Now it was your turn to make a promise “I’m coming, my love” you whisper again clicking your tongue the horse trots down the sand and into the small village.
A merchant on the street stops you “Those are nice swords maybe you can help me with something” waving him away you snap “I don’t want to buy anything” stopping you again he shows holds up a shiny pendant. When your eyes meet the small metal end of the necklace you hold back a scream of rage. Grabbing the small man by the neck you squeeze “Where did you get that, it belongs to someone I am looking for.” You snap as the man chokes back a frightened squeal “The guards dragged a man, I can’t breathe” the young man chokes as you loosen your grip “They dragged him to a cart and rode off, I have no idea where they taking him” the man pleads as reach your free hand to your sword “West, okay. They headed west. The guards might know more” letting go of the man you throw one of the Roman soldier’s coin purses at him “Thank you” you say kindly placing Thomas’s necklace around your neck.
Slipping into the tent you read the words slowly and carefully: Commander the slave has been causing us much more trouble than he is worth, I have suggested punishment but you refuse. I have taken it upon myself to get rid of this man, he is on his way to Siwa as I write you. Please forgive me for going over your head and getting rid of him. Your loyal servant Huskro. The words tore at your insides, how could he not be here? You didn’t come all this way for nothing, rushing from the tent you take a torch from its place on a pole throwing it at the cloth shelter you mount your steed. As black smoke rose in the sky hoofbeats against sand trailed away from the small Roman camp.
The desert rose and fell in the distance as your horse galloped over the seemingly endless sand dunes. With the sound of a distant cry you pull on the reins of the horse, the crying sounds close yet so far, as if it was all around you. Sliding off the side of the chocolate steed you call out “Hello” the cries become more desperate as you recognize the sound, it wasn’t just crying it was the sound of a child wailing. Calling out again the cries get closer, following your ears you run into the distance towing your horse behind you. The screams sound as though they are right next to you when your eyes meet a small colorful mound in the sand walking over to the small bundle of blankets you peel one back and the crying stops. Lying in the sand was a child, with eyes, a deep brown with his hair sat in curls on the top of his head. Reaching your hand out the baby screams and begins to ball once again, “Hush now child, you are safe” you shush pressing a hand to the child’s cheek. The skin feels as cold as ice as you brush against the soft cheek. Looking around you see no sign of life anywhere, feeling the child skin send a chill down your spin how was this possible, the hot sun burned the back of your neck as you stared at the child in awe. “Who left you” the question seems to calm the baby as its mouth opens “You” it whispers in shock you scramble to your feet and watching on in horror as the child is devoured by the sands. Shaking your head, you collapse into the dry hot sand your breath heavy as a man walks up to you “Rest now my love, Rest now” the man says as you feel yourself lift off the ground.
A wet rag sat atop your head as you sat with a jolt. Reaching for your dagger you find it missing “Calm down Madam, you had a nasty time out there” a raspy voice says snapping your head in his direction you find an old man sitting on a small stool eating something the smelled delicious out of a bowl. “Where am I?” you ask calmly spotting your weapons across the room “Siwa” the man says slurping his soup “I am Heroth, I found you in the sand sea, brought you and your horse here” he says as you sit upright grabbing your head as it throbs in pain “You’ve been out for almost a day now, you might want to eat something, drink too. The desert, it’ll get you if you aren’t careful.” Reaching for the cup on the table you bring it to your mouth. The tastelessness of water never felt so good as it washed away the dry cracks on your tongue “Thank you” you breathe grabbing the bowl and bringing it to your mouth “I’ve never seen a women like you, armed and eats like a true soldier” he laughs as he stands “Where do you hail from?” he asks grabbing your weapons and bringing them to you “I was the Queens slave in Alexandria” you say chewing the bit of food in your mouth “Long way from home don’t you think” he sighs taking a seat again “I am in search of my husband, in Giza I was met with nothing but more directions.” “Your husband, who is he?” Heroth asks “Greek man, brown curls, eyes dark like the coat of my stallion.” You say praying the man can lead you to your lost love. “If he was a slave, he would have been sold in the town square, the only Greek I’ve seen was a weak looking fellow beaten pretty bad.” The words the old man spoke tore your heart in two. “I saw him from my shop, he tried to escape, fought well for a looking so frail. They sent him to the garrison up on the hill. Amun be with him up there.” The man says saying a little prayer “How long ago?” standing your strap your belt on sheathing your sword and dagger “Two days, but before you depart some advice. I know you must love this man very much to come all this way but you cannot take on the whole guard by yourself. Cleopatra abandoned us, the Romans have oppressed and abused us. Give me one hour and I will get enough men together to give us a fighting chance.” The man pleads “You are honorable and brave old man” you smile “But I will not ask farmers and merchants to throw away their lives for me and my love.” You say as he grabs your arm “We aren’t doing this for you, Egypt has changed, it’s time the people, farmers, merchants, and slaves rise above those who would keep us down. We do not do this for you, we do this for Egypt.” The man says his eyes show pure rage and hate for the words he speaks are true. “You want to fight, then let’s fight” you snap rushing with the man into the heart of the city
“Y/n” a deep voice whispers in the night, turning you see Heroth accompanied by three dozen men armed with knives, pitchforks, swords, spears, bows, and even more weapons. “You are all willing to fight for your home” you shout quietly a chorus of cheers erupts over the men as they rally together. “Aren’t you gonna inspire us” a small voice in the crown squeaks “Um, I’m not a leader. I came here for one thing and that was to find Thomas, the love of my life. I never expected to bring with me a group of men brave enough to fight for their homeland. Some of you may lay down your lives on this night but if we succeed in freeing your home this will be the first step to freeing Egypt.” You shout as the men cheer “For Egypt” Heroth shouts “FOR EGYPT” the men shout as your storm the gates of the garrison.
Swiping your sword at a Roman soldier you sever his arm as another man stabs him with a long-pointed spear. The battle was in full rage now and it was your mission to find Thomas and no one would get in your way. Running through the smoke of battle you hear the distant battle cries of the townspeople. A large guard holding a heavy mace rushes at you weapon raised, meeting his pace you kick off a box jumping over the man’s attack. With the quick flick of your wrist, you release your dagger and let it fly into the mans back. Screaming in pain he turns to you, mace dragging on the floor he grunts swinging the large metal rod at you. Dodging it you swiftly slice his arm causing him to shout out again. Slamming his mace into the ground again he misses, lifting his weapon quickly he throws it at you. The heavy weapon slams into your leg as you scream out in pain, lumbering forward the man picks up your fallen sword raises it high above his head bringing it down fast he stops blood dripping down from his lips “Brute” the voice so quiet over the loud sound of battle you barely hear it until the small woman grabs your hand helping you to your feet. “Find your husband” she nods running back into the fight. Pulling your knife from the soldiers back you run to the prisons.
Scanning down a long row of cells you come to one three men inside breaking the lock with your blade the men rush to their feet “We must join the fight” they say along with small thanks “Have you seen a Greek, brown hair?” you stop one of the men “In there” he nods back to the cell before running off to join his fellow men. Pulling a torch off the wall you enter the small large cell scanning the floor you spot movement. In the dark corner of the cage lying on his back was Thomas. “Tom” you cry dropping your torch in the sand rushing to the side of your tattered love “Y/n” he chokes voice weak and dry. “It’s me, my love, I found you” Tom’s body was just like how Heroth described frail and beaten. Many bruises littered your husband's skin as his eye had swollen shut, his right arm appeared broken and his knees were bloody. His white skin was smudged with dirt and blood. The whites of his eyes were as red as the blood that poured from the open wound on his head. “You found me,” he says quietly tears sting your eyes as he chokes out words. Pulling the small flask off your belt you pour the water down his throat, “Our child” he says tears dripping from his eyes “Lost, like I thought you were” you cry as Tom coughs violently “We need to get out of here” you breathe grabbing his shoulders you try to lift him. Screaming out in pain you place his head on your lap “Please don’t leave me” you says softly as outside the cell men fight “I can’t move, you have to leave me” Thomas cries as you run your hand through his matted hair “I just found you, I won’t lose you again” you snap as he musters a weak smile “I will…” he coughs again clutching his side “My dearest Y/n, I will wait an eternity for you in the field of reeds” Tom smiles as you lean down and place a kiss upon his lips. “I love you” you sod, as a loud shout of unintelligible words sounds from outside of the cell. “I will forever be…” Tom chokes out as his breathing slows “yours” he says as his lungs expel one last time. Tears pour down your face as you hold the body of your husband in your hands “Thomas” you sob resting his head on the floor, pressing a kiss to his lips you cry out curses in Egyptian “We will walk together my love” you says through ragged breaths pulling your dagger from its place on your belt you raise it “Forever” you breathe plunging the metal deep into your abdomen letting out a shaky gasp you collapse to the floor, reaching over you grab Tom’s hand squeezing as the man rushes your side “We won” he shouts as the life leaves your body
A cool breeze blows through the vast field looking to your right you see Thomas holding a small infant in his arms “Meet our son” he says handing the small child to you with a smile.
@midtownvaledictorian@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked@tiemeupspidey@champagneholland@fangirltopic@marveltomjunkie@kingquackdaddy@panicatttckiss@seilamigliorcosacheabbiamaivisto @casualprincess77 @ging3r-fall@rivedale @hollandosterfield101@parkerscupcake@lanilovespsychos@clairesrainbow@tryn25 @chrisayy3
#tom holland#tom holland fanfictions#tom holland imagine#tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfiction#hollander#peter parker#spider-man: homecoming#egypt#egyptian#tom#holland#ancient egypt
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Styles Towers. || 4
Author’s Note: Hey hey!! Here is part 4!!!
Rated M for Mature audiences.
Chapter One.
Chapter Two.
Chapter Three.
Don’t forget the other links:
The first book Can also be found on WattPad, HERE
The first book found HERE
You can find my blurb Master list HERE
|| While you were sleeping. ||
|| Harry ||
I smile to myself as I overhear the sound of Elise’s heels echoing against the flooring downstairs and leisurely making their way to the staircase. I look at the suit on the bed, somewhat eager to get it on.
I never thought the day would come that I would be impassioned to draw on a full suit that’ll be inconvenient by the end of the evening, but I am. It has been four weeks since the car accident and the last two weeks have been hell for a recovery, my body still isn’t the way it used to be, it aches, it’s still weak, and it still feels the aches it did when I was reclining upon the road.
Elise saunters through the bedroom door and I give her a grin as I greet her, but she barely gives me one in return. I frown for a moment but brush it off as she kisses my cheek.
“How was your day?” I challenge, running a towel through my damp hair as she sits on the edge of the bed and slips off her heels.
“Long and exhausting,” she responds with a heavy sigh, closing her eyes for a few moments. “What time do we have to leave?”
“In an hour,” I respond, clutching my button down and gliding it up my arms as Elise executes her fingers through her hair.
Elise and I grow withdrawn as we both get ready for the charity event, I give her some space, taking note of her sluggishness and her tiredness. I know what it’s like to wake up at four in the morning and having to get through a whole day plus night dealing with things, I know how much it must be hurting her. But, after tonight it should be mainly me getting up at four and she can sleep and relax. That’s of course if she continues to work under me and not Logan. If she stays in my—our— business, I do not expect her up and Adam before the sun even rises. Quite honestly, I want her to relax for a little while and let me take back the reins, she’s exhausted as it is, I’ve executed enough stress on her, the least I can do is take it all back.
I wait downstairs for Elise, my eyes watching the time religiously— I hate being late, but I can tolerate it this one time for Elise. I’ve come to learn that waiting on Elise is one of the small things life has to offer. “Elle, sweetheart—,” I begin to tenderly call from the staircase but stop when I see her reach the top. My eyes glisten as she flawlessly steps down the staircase in a white dress that compliments her in every damn way. To say the least, I can’t help but still drool over her.
She reaches the bottom of the stairs and I kiss her cheek, knowing well enough that kissing her lips will ruin her lipstick, and as much as I have done that purposely in the past, I can’t tonight. “You look lovely,” I compliment here, appreciating the fact she still makes my heart flutter in my chest. She could come down these stairs in sweatpants and my t-shirt and I’d still swoon over her. I take Elise’s hand and escort her out of the house.
Elise and I slide into the back of the car, our driver closing the door behind us. The moment I get settled, Elise rests her head against my shoulder and grows quiet, poor thing, I can tell she is exhausted and probably can’t wait to hand the reins of the business back to me.
I slide out of the car as my driver opens the door and I stand and offer my hand to Elise, she places her hand with mine before elegantly getting out of the car and adjusting her dress. I take a breath as I gander up at my building, something I have managed to neglect for the last few weeks due to certain circumstances.
Elise presses her hand to my arm as we step inside my building and we make our way towards the same area I hold all my capital events, Christmas parties, welcoming parties, charity events, you name it. It’s always the same room, just dissimilar decorations and setups. The doors slide open upon our arrival and we both take a step in, my eyes instantaneously glimmer as they meet the beautiful setup Elise managed to organise, from lights to flowers, to a black and gold colour scheme.
I really did get lucky with her, I swear.
“This looks lovely, truly.” I kiss her cheek, proud of the fact she put this together with such short notice and little experience with things, Anastasia presumably helped her, but there is no doubt in my mind that Elise did most of the work, she isn’t like me and passes things off to people of more experience, I tend to just swipe my card and have Anastasia do what needs to be done decoration wise.
“Ah, the man of the hour,” Niall welcomes me, shaking my hand before engulfing Elise into a warm embrace,
“Mate, that is you, this is all for you,” I shake my head, not wanting any sort of spotlight on me.
I may be leisurely stepping foot back into the world of business, but this event is focused on charity and formally announcing Niall as a partner in the business, he has earnt his position, especially with how highly Elise has spoken of him since I’ve been absent.
“And you, Elise, ain’t you just looking wonderful tonight, still glowing.” Niall chuckles and I roll my eyes impishly towards him.
“She is gorgeous, isn’t she?” I grin, more than delighted to show her off and throw her out into the spotlight, she deserves to be told she is beautiful, “But, you should go flirt with Anastasia, I hear she is still on the market,” I wink, purposely watching Niall clench his jaw to stop him from blushing at the sound of her name.
Oh, how I have missed being light-hearted with him and with everyone.
“Oh ha, ha, you are hilarious. So, I guess you’re not firing me?” Niall teases me and I wrinkle my brow for a moment, trying not to smirk and remember my little emotional outburst that was a little overly dramatic.
Elise chuckles, her small laughter beside me bringing me more merriment than anyone could possibly imagine, “Niall, it was a really bad day. You’re too… re…re..” I trail off, struggling to think of the word I am looking for.
Fuck.
“Reliable,” Elise whispers just for me to hear as she kisses my cheek,
I clear my throat, “You’re too reliable, can’t get rid of yeh,” I recover my small stutter and lapse of thought.
“How about you fly the coop? I know a few men waiting to speak to you about business.” Niall subtly eases his way into a small convincement of luring me into business conversations.
I look towards Elise and she gives me a tender smile, “I’m going to get a drink, I’ll catch up with you in a bit?” She proposes and I bite my lip, not really wanting to stray away from her, I feel more at ease when she is by my side, but I nod my head. She leans up and places a small kiss to my lips, “Niall, watch him,” Elise instructs protectively.
I talk business with a few men, one particularly boasting about how well Elise was with him when he proposed a pitch to her. I’m more than proud of my wife, she deserves more credit than she has received.
I, for the life of me, have no idea how she managed to win over this man, a man that Niall had struggled with previously, but what I do know is that Elise is one hell of a woman.
I smile as the man continues to tell me about his encounter with my wife, honestly, I’m nothing but proud and honoured.
“She’s a quick learner,” I nod, his wife interrupting the conversation with a courteous smile,
“Where is your wife? I have yet to meet her. I’d love to meet the woman who is highly spoken of,” she courteously questions, causing me to realise that I haven’t seen Elise in quite a while, she has been MIA since she left me with Niall and that was at least an hour ago.
“She’s around here somewhere, by the end of the night I’ll be sure to introduce the two of you,” I assure the lady as my eyes subtly pry around for my wife. I don’t know where she has gotten herself off too, but she can’t be too far.
The lovely couple excuses themselves and I find myself ultimately free of business for a moment.
I finally have a whole moment to myself to breathe in and out. As much as I have been eager to get back out into this world, my body fucking hurts, maybe Elise was right, I should have taken more time to rest, but I’m going insane having to sit in the house and do absolutely nothing.
My eyes scour the congregation of businessmen and women in their optimum attire as they mingle and network.
I hearken to the sound of glass breaking by striking violently to the floor and I flashback.
*** ***
My body stiffens as it is moved forward with a bounding motion from the unforeseen eruption of the car hitting something before glass smashes into smithereens and falls around me, everything rotating rapidly for a moment as it feels like the vehicle is tumbling. I take heavy breaths for my eyes attempt to focus on myself; I tilt my head down and distinguishes glass in my lap and all around me and sinking into the skin of my hand. I lend an ear to a few voices in the distance and they leisurely get closer before the vehicle door is hauled open, glass hacking to pieces further and falling to the ground out of the car as the door unlatches. I cock my head to the side, a shadow leaning in and unclipping my seatbelt as he careens over and drags me out. Pain lathers through me as I’m moved and I do my best not to moan in constant, agonising pain.
I’m rested on the terrain and the man hovers over me, my vision striving to focus. Bitter words are spat around and my wedding band is taken from me and heaved to the ground….
A voice resounds from a distance as I open my eyes to encounter someone hovering over me, the voice sounding familiar, “Harry, oh fuck… hey, hey, stay with me,” the voice instructs as my eyes struggle to stay open, “Harry, you have to keep your eyes open, help is on the way… Harry, c’mon for once listen to me. Fuck,” … “open your eyes, damnit Harry, if you don’t fucking open them I swear… I swear. Just open them.” The voice continues to whisk through my ears against the whistling of the wind around us. “Fuck, I have to go.” He murmurs as my vision has a stumble and grants permission to me to make out his features, distinctive features I’d never expect to witness while I’m close to dying on the ice-cold, stiff ground.
I use all my energy to raise my arm and grasp his attention, my fingers agilely managing to catch the material of his suit jacket. “Don’t leave,” I cough, the words hurting my throat like knives slicing me with every breath,
“I have to, I’m sorry,”
“Elle,” I dryly manage to get out, just wanting Elise to be watched over and looked out for.
“I’ll get her, she’ll be okay.” Logan gives me a nod before he’s transiting away from me, leaving me on the cold hard ground like the other men did.
*** End of Flash Back ***
I take a deep breath, the fracturing glass being enough for me to be suddenly assailed by the same pain I did that night, the painfulness of glass prodding into my skin, the feeling of my head delivering a blow to the window before the car flipped, and the impression of withering away leisurely to my death.
“Where’s Elise?” I grab Niall, not bothering to excuse my unsatisfactory manners as he turns to me, instantly stopping his conversation with three men.
Niall glances around and shrugs his shoulder, “I don’t know, mate.”
“I need Elise,” I horse-whisper, my hands beginning to shake. Niall flicks his head and gestures for me to follow him. We step out of the crowded area of men and women, I lean against the wall as Niall pulls out his phone.
“Ah, there she is,” Niall instantly points out, shoving his phone in his pocket as Elise walks towards me from the lobby.
“Where have you been?” I interrogate in a bit of an erosive tone, forgetting that the world doesn’t, in fact, revolve around me. Niall leisurely backs away and Elise takes a breath,
“Outside.” She informs me, “what’s wrong?” She delicately questions as I yank at the tie around my neck, feeling far too constricted and trapped as it’s around me.
Her hands effeminately push away my own and she helps me out, loosening my tie as I take a few deep breaths. ”I-I, I can feel the accident and the pain… it’s, it’s going up my arm and my back. A glass broke and suddenly it just started,” I get tongue-tied.
“Take a few deep breaths, take off your jacket,” she instructs and I do as she commands.
I slide it down my arms and permit it to drape over my arm. “Turn around,” she gives precise instructions and I turn my back to her.
Her hand graciously presses to my arm before I feel her hand caressing my back and massaging it soothingly, “breathe, you’re right here with me, you’re not anywhere else but with me.” She whispers in a sweet way, “you’re okay, forget about everything and just focus on us… it was just a memory.” … “here, talk to me about something,”
“What about?” I sigh, unsure of what to tell her, I don’t think she wants to hear more about how glass shattering managed to trigger pain to shoot through my body; I don’t think she wants to hear about any of it.
“Anything, tell me about the song you wrote,”
“Elle,” I breathe out, the thought of opening up about my veiled interest just never settles with me.
It’s a part of me that I attempted to forget, it comes with obscure shadows that I prefer to keep far away from me. Music used to be my escape— it used to be my saving grace— then it became a benighted, twisting rupture that suffocated me and made me weak at the knees. But, if I can’t tell my wife, who can I tell?
“I wrote it when we first started dating, I hadn’t played the piano for years until you came along, I just—I wrote a melody that made me think of you, and this sounds cheesy and cliche, but it’s true. I wanted a melody to keep me humming along so I didn’t entirely lose touch with that side of me. Over the years, I played it when I needed a sense of calmness, it always seemed to work.”
“Why have I never heard you play it? The most I’ve really managed to catch is a few chords from your guitar and that was rare.” Elise questions, her hand still rubbing soothing circles over my back.
“I don’t play unless I’m alone.”
“You should play more,”
“Too many memories,” I shake my head, the reasons for stopping being far more ferocious than the reasons to start.
I gave up most the music and creativity when I went head first into business concerns. I made a decision to put my efforts into my establishment and to keep my mind off of the things I didn’t want to remember or know of.
“Bad memories?” Elise in a low voice cross-examines, her hand leaving my back and I turn to properly face her.
I don’t have to say a word or even nod, just one gaze into my eyes and she knows the answer, “I’m sorry, maybe we should make new memories with it. You’re pretty good at this music stuff,”
“And you, my dear, are dreadful at melodies,” I chuckle, giving her a wink in reference to when she sat beside me and pressed random keys to echo a terrible melody.
“I never once said I was good, you should teach me.” Elise smiles as I gingerly curl my arm around her to bring her closer to me.
“Mmm, if you flirt a little more, I just might,” I respond with a small grin, the idea of sitting down with her and showing her how to play the piano or guitar fills me with a sense of blithe, I don’t know why, but it does.
Elise delicately envelopes her arms around my neck and presses her lips effortlessly against mine, “I’ve said this a lot, but I love you,” she whispers against my lips, pecking them one last time before moving to stare into my eyes.
“And I love you,” I smile, moving to allow my hand to push some of her hair away from her face. “I should probably get back in there… wanna stand with me in case I forget more words and make a fool of myself?” I challenge, wanting her to stay by me as I mingle. I’m not usually the indigent type, but at the moment, I want her around me, she’s my sense of security right now, essentially my left hand.
Elise coincides and we make a move back into the corporative civilization. men instantaneously surround me with their cocky grins and piercing eyes that want my attention and solutions to their business issues. I don’t have much to say to them, this night isn’t about me. Well, it is, it’s my first step back into work, but I don’t want to everything to be about me.
I take the time to look at Elise and I cock my head to the side, something about her seeming off, she doesn’t seem bubbly and delighted, she’s no longer glowing— something just seems off with her. She fakes a smile as the businessman informs her on some sort of story that I know she’s not interested in, I don’t blame her, she’s presumably displeased of all the business talk.
Niall comes along with his charming smile and lightens the mood into a conversation that isn’t entirely revolving around business. Elise strays away from me and is swallowed by the crowd and disappears.
|| Elise ||
“Hey, sweetheart, can I buy you a drink?” Harry smiles as he encounters me sitting by the side of the bar, doing my best to stay out of conversations and away from the business civilization.
“I don’t know, my husband might get a bit mad,” I wear a smile up at him as he with great care takes my hand and laces his fingers with my own,
“Ah, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, love. Any drink, it’s on me.” He grins, leaning down and settling a kiss to my cheek. “You look ravishing tonight, as always. Making my heart weak in this dress,” he whispers subtly,
“Is the CEO flirting with me?” I merrily giggle, and he cautiously tugs at my hand to signal for me to stand on my feet.
With great effort, I exert force against myself to my feet, his arm instantaneously wrapping around me graciously before kissing my lips affably, “who wouldn’t flirt with yeh? You’re gorgeous.” He beams blissfully and I rest my hands on his chest, leaning up and kissing him again lightly, well aware that we aren’t alone and there are probably business executives surveilling the two of us.
“You brush up quite lovely yourself in this suit, your wife must be one lucky lady,”
“I’m just one lucky man to have her,” he shakes his head, “would you like a drink?” He proposes and I shake my head, courteously declining a drink from the bar. “Mhm, okay… where have you been running off too? Can’t seem to keep you close to me for too long.” Harry interrogates,
“Just talking to people and taking care of things, hey, I was kind of wondering if we could leave soon, or if I could?” I sweetly propose, taking note of how most the charity has already been made and donated by everyone and how I’m not as a matter of fact required. I’d much prefer to be cuddled up in bed than standing here in heels and a dress.
“In about an hour,” he nods, “why? Is it that boring?” He examines,
“No, no, I uh- I hate to sing the blues, I’m just worn out, been up since four.”
“Okay, just another hour, okay?” Harry reasons and I agree, not wanting to force him to leave right at this instant, although, it would be quite a blessing.
“Works for me, but I kinda need a few more kisses to get me through the hour.” I grin, his own lips forming into a smile,
“Anything for you,” he whispers, leaning down and kissing my lips lightly.
I do my best to keep myself engaged and interested in the multiple conversations, but it’s hard when I have many things running through my mind. I’m not in much of a mood to be at this sort of event, I’m doing it just for Harry’s benefit.
These events sometimes get repetitive, I have been to so many and sometimes they’re boring and old.
After being up from four in the morning and barely sleeping, to begin with, all I want is to get to our bed, but here I am, standing in heels that are killing my feet, and a dress that is a little tight but classy enough to still wear. I pulled it out of the wardrobe this morning, I figured it would be a good chance to wear the white dress while it’s still semi-warm. I won’t get to wear it after a few more weeks, probably won’t get to wear half my clothes in a few more weeks.
Harry politely excuses the two of us and leads me away, our hands intertwined,
“Would you like to dance?” Harry proposes, gesturing towards the meagre dance floor of couples slow dancing, I shrug, unsure of whether Harry truly wants to dance, I know he isn’t a fan of it and usually fights me when I endeavour for him to slow dance with me.
I look up at him as we come to a standstill, “are you sure?”
“Yeah, c’mon. It’s the least I can do,” he nods, guiding me towards the dance floor and drawing me closer to him.
His hand presses to the small of my back and he looks down, watching his feet as he leads, doing his best not to step all over me. He sighs as he catches the edge of my dress and I give him a stifled laugh.
I let go of his hand and with great care ruffle the end of my dress into my hand to pull it to the side before I place my hand back with his and he takes the lead, swiftly swaying as I lean closer and lean my head on his shoulder, our bodies being as close as possible and intimate.
“I’ve told you a lot, but you’re breathtakingly radiant, I’m the luckiest man in this room, hands down.” … “I’ve heard a considerable number of good things about you, I’m beyond proud to have you as my wife, honestly,” Harry speaks in a low voice as he concentrates on his feet.
“I’m pretty lucky to have you here, still.”
“Not goin’ anywhere anytime soon, sweetheart,”
“Good, I’d miss these moments too much,”
“What, you’d miss the terrible slow dancing?” Harry snickers, “I’m sure your dresses would be pleased not to have me step all over them.”
“No, I mean just having you around and close to me,”
“I know what you meant. I’m not going anywhere,”
“Promise?” I breathe,
“Promise, love you too much… someone has to keep you on your toes.”
I chuckle delicately as he whispers sweet nothings while we slow dance together, deriving great pleasure from the closeness of our bodies, an intimacy we haven’t felt as much as we used to.
We’ve been disconnected physically. I take a heavy breath before taking a step back and disconnecting Harry and I from our slow dance. “Elle?"
"I just- I’ll be back,” I murmur, needing to draw myself away from everyone and everything.
Harry graciously grasps my hand and draws me back, “just give me a minute,” I speak in a low voice, the two of us getting interrupted in great timing. While Harry is forced to take his attention away from me for a brief moment, I slip away from him and transit out.
I’m startled when Harry steps in front of me as I’m sat upon the stone wall of the small garden bed.
“Elise, I’ve been looking all over for you,” Harry murmurs ill-fatedly, something telling me that he’s no longer in the sweet mood he was in around an hour ago.
“I’ve been out here,”
“I see,” he nods, “it would have been nice to have had you in there, a lot of people have been asking for you, love.”
“Harry,” I sigh, “I’m not feeling too well,” I inform him, not wanting to hear about how people have been asking for me or how the business world has missed him.
Quite frankly, I do not give a damn. That is not my priority right now.
He fixes his eyes upon me and sighs as he takes his jacket off and steps closer to me. He drapes his jacket around me and kisses my forehead, “Want me to take you home?” He proposes and I shrug, leaning forward and resting my head on him.
I feel his hand press to my back and rub small circles on it as I close my eyes and breathe in his scent.
We stay like this for a few minutes, the fresh air and his warm touch putting me at a bit of ease. “Elle, come on. I’ll take you home if you’re ill.” He murmurs, his hand no longer rubbing my back, forcing me to lift myself away from him.
I take a breath and slide off of the stone edge with Harry’s guidance, Harry’s jacket falling to the cool ground. I sigh and stare down at it, not wanting to bend down.
As if he reads my mind, Harry’s words assure me, “I’ve got it,” he leans down and grabs his jacket, grimacing dimly and doing his best to disguise his own pain from me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, but he shakes his head before gliding his jacket up my arms so it can’t fall off.
“How about we stay up in the penthouse for the night? It’s more convenient.” Harry proposes as we walk side by side back towards the entrance of his tower.
I give him a nod, not caring too much about where we stay, I just want to get in a cosy bed and feel the warmth of fresh sheets between my body as I’m wrapped up in a comforter.
Harry and I step into the Penthouse and the lights shine intermittently I incline my steps towards the extensive window that has a flawless semblance of the city below us— something I immemorially enjoy admiring. I step away and shuffle towards the bed and pick up my clutch I previously threw to the bed. I open it and look down into it, my hand reaching an item in it and carefully placing it in the draw while Harry’s back is turned. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as Harry turns around, his hands wrestling with his tie as he cocks his head to the side.
“you alright?” He challenges and I give him a nod,
“Yeah, you?”
“Pretty damn sore,” … “probably shouldn’t have moved around so much,” he continues while he grabs hold of a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the wardrobe. “here, I’ll help you out of the dress,” he steps closer to me As he throws his tie to the bed along with the clothes he intends to wear to bed.
I stand up and observes him unbutton his shirt, his eyes wincing as he slides it down his arms. “Turn sweetheart,” he instructs and I turn my back to him before his hands bear down on to his jacket I’m still wearing, gingerly gliding it down my arms and placing it on the bed.
I feel a small cold chill run through my body as my shoulders become exposed to the cool air of the room. Harry’s hands rub the sides of my arms for a moment before he kisses the slender column of my neck, leaving a small trail of kisses to my bare shoulder before unzipping my dress and allowing it to waddle up on the floor around me.
Harry sweetly glides his button up to slide up my arms and I turn back to face him, my hands moving to start buttoning them but Harry graciously pushes them away. He gives me a tender smile and buttons the shirt to my liking. I thank him with a small kiss on his lips before I sink myself into the bed and pull the covers around me.
Harry claims his side beside me, eventually, and wiggles around for a while, doing his best to get comfortable beside me, unaware that I’m still awake.
I let out a sigh and move closer to him, my hand resting on his chest, “sorry, darlin’ thought you were asleep.” He says in a low voice,
“It’s okay.”
“Do you want to cuddle, sweetheart? Come here,” he instructs and I move and become comfortable while nestled against him, his warmth radiating ideally onto my body.
He kisses the top of my head, “how are you feeling?” He whispers as his hand outlines random shapes and patterns on my arm.
“The same,” … “so, you didn’t tell me how therapy went today.” I change the topic, remembering that Harry had a session this morning.
“Ehh, so-so. Didn’t go nuts this time and try fire, my trainer,” Harry chuckles, “I just find it… what’s that word I’m looking for? Fr- its when something’s annoying… damnit…”
“Frustrating,”
“Yeah, it’s frustrating because I feel like I’m a child having to relearn how to do things and having to regain my strength. Not to mention my vocabulary has gone to shit.”
“It’ll get better, it’s just temporary.”
“Thank god for that, Niall had to cover for me a few times.
“Do you feel any better, Elle?” Harry wearily questions as my fingers trace one of his tattoos for the hundredth time,
“No,” I mumble with a heavy sigh and he draws the comforter to better cover me, “Harry?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“You know how you always say I can come to you with anything and tell you anything?” I bring into question as his fingers dance around on my arm, drawing patterns,
“Yeah, what is it, Elise? Should I be worried?” Harry challenges with a tint of apprehension to his voice.
I carefully sit up and force his arms away from me, “Elle, what’s wrong?” He instantaneously interrogates.
“I uh-, so I have something for you, something to tell you,” I mumble, my nerves pulsating through my body and my breath beginning to hitch in my throat, if I didn’t feel sick earlier, I definitely feel unwell now.
I lean over and open the bedside drawer, my fingers coming into contact with the highly polished paper and catching it between them. Harry cautiously sits up with a small moan and I settle the picture so all he can see is the backing of it. He flicks his eyes between me and the photograph and raises a brow before his hand reaches for it and he turns it over.
I observe as he looks with a fixed stare at the sonogram for a moment before he turns his head to gaze at me,
“Love,” his breath hitches in his throat and I feel my own heart hammering in my chest.
“I’m pregnant,” the words ultimately scamper away from my lips that have been harbouring in the news since I found out. I had endeavoured to tell him the day of his accident but he was too much in a rush to realise what I was attempting to allege. “I found out while you were sleeping,”
His eyes look back and stare at the sonogram resting in his hand as the silence of the room plays mind games with me.
I can’t handle the silence— I can’t handle his silence.
“I need you to say something,” I talk in a whisper, my nerves continuing to hum through my veins, anxiety beginning to tick me like a ticking time bomb.
He focuses his attention on me with gleaming, glossy eyes, his bottom lip quivering as a tear collapse from his grey eyes.
He places the sonogram down to rest on the comforter before he’s staring at me again, the silence annihilating me.
He doesn’t say a word, instead, he kisses me sweetly and delicately, just enough to put me at ease.
His hands cup my face as his lips part from mine, “I don’t think I could be any more in love with you, than what I am in this moment… we’re going to have a family,” he whispers with a smile and I nod, pressing the pad of my thumb to his cheek and wiping away a stray tear. “Can… can I?” He gestures towards my stomach that isn’t showing. I give him a nod and he presses his hand ever so delicately to it.
I press my hand over his and settle into him, a tender kiss pressing to the top of my head…
Stay tuned: A plot twist is coming next Chapter! :) xx
#Harry styles imagines#harry styles prompt#harry styles prompts#imagine harry styles#harry styles blurbs#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles preference#harry styles preferences#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfics#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfictions#harry styles writing
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The Forging of the Wolf, Chapter 3
I finally finished the next in the Aedion prequel. Read Chapter 1. Chapter 2.
Aedion shifted the pack on his back and squinted up at the fort that towered up the hill above him as he sucked down some water from his skin. The sun had dropped just low enough in the sky to glare over the spiked tops of the protective walls, and they probably still had an hour’s climb before they reached it. Breiner had been distant the whole trip down, over the border into Adarlan, the grudging bond they had been forming at the war camp thinning until it had all but disappeared. Indeed, Aedion had been nearly silent for the ten day trudge, talking mainly to Deaghall and Iain, ignoring the glares and occasional small stone missiles sent his way by Burr and the other boy he thought of only as Burr’s shadow. The few younger boys didn’t harass him but followed him at a discreet distance with wide eyes that made him self conscious.
All but four of the prisoners of war had been released before leaving the camp. Aedion had watched them file out, and Deaghall had tactfully ignored the wetness on his cheeks as person after person had touched their brows in honor as they passed him. The four who were retained had been kept in the prison wagon and fed and watered exclusively by Breiner’s most trusted guards. He didn’t know who they were or what they’d done to result in being dragged along on this miserable journey, but he wished he could help them somehow. Unfortunately he had no leverage. Yet. A situation he planned to change, however long it took.
Hoofbeats sounded behind him just as he was starting up the hill, and he paused as Breiner trotted up, then reined back to a walk without looking at him. They walked next to each other in silence for a while, the lord standing in his stirrups as his big chestnut dug in to climb. Soon they had far outstripped the other soldiers, and Breiner said out of the corner of his mouth, “I want you to take care at this camp.”
“Oh?” Aedion replied after a brief hesitation. He waited, his huffing breaths matching the horse’s as they climbed, but the older man did not continue. “Why?” he finally asked, stealing a glance up from the corner of his eye.
Breiner’s lips were pressed, tension in every line of his face. “I don’t know why they insisted you boys come to this camp.” There was a long pause where Aedion almost gave up on getting more information, but then he continued. “We’ve passed within a few miles of two other training facilities, including General Paget’s, both more suited for training younger soldiers than this one. I would have expected to leave you at one of those, and I know Paget wanted you. This general has…a reputation, though.” Breiner glanced down, making sure Aedion was paying attention. “He’s got a bit of a loose interpretation of ethics when handling prisoners.”
Despite himself, the boy huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t aware Adarlan had any ethical regulations when it came to their enemies.”
“We do,” Breiner assured him. “But Perrington seems to operate outside the law.” Aedion’s heart sank like a stone. He had heard that name. Met him, in fact, almost a year ago, right before everything went to hell. “He’s the younger cousin to Duke Perrington,” the lord went on, “the King’s Hand.” Ah, so not the same man who had stared at Aedion and Aelin across the dinner table with fathomless black eyes, but a relative. “And he’s part of the reason Adarlan’s forces have the reputation they do. Be on your guard.” They reached a more level spot and Breiner clucked to his horse, sending him into a brisk trot. Aedion watched after him, mulling over the cryptic warning. He ran his thumb over the subtle ridge of the scar his teeth had left in his palm all those weeks ago. Aelin. Rhoe. Evalin. Quinn. Orlon. Cal. Marion. Elide. Ren. A pass of his thumb for each name, over and over, with each step he took towards the gate that now loomed close.
*****
As Erik trotted Farus towards the gate, two of his personal guards flanked him on their chargers, Adarlanian colors flying on the standard held by Alfi. The rest of the soldiers and camp workers were behind them in a loose formation, Aedion at the head with two of the younger boys behind him, the prison wagons and their guards in the center. All these boys would be better off in Paget’s camp, he thought irritably as the remainder appeared over the crest of the hill.
He halted Farus to one side of the gate as was protocol, Alfi and Iain continuing over the draw bridge and through the paired gates into the fort proper, setting themselves at the head of the lines his soldiers would form. Erik watched his men approach, Aedion’s golden head bobbing along at the front. Shit, he thought, he should have told Aedion the required procedure, and he couldn’t break his position now. But the boy paused and made a bit of a show of pulling out his water skin and taking a drink, acting more winded than he no doubt was, allowing himself to be overtaken by the soldiers. Clever boy. When the three younger boys behind him, red-faced and sagging, followed suit with expressions of relief, Erik was struck again with just how canny the prince really was. How well-schooled already in the leading of men.
Deaghall approached the boys, leading Burr and Dain, and ushered them into the lines now forming as the men entered the gates. The two older boys made to step on Aedion’s heels as they walked too close behind him, but a well-timed kick up from a booted heel caught Dain on the shin and they backed off a pace. Erik fought to keep his face straight as Manas’ son furtively tried to rub his shin on the back of his other calf as he walked. Then they disappeared through the opening and he turned his attention to the prison wagon that was now approaching. The half-dozen guards that surrounded it looked grave rather than relieved as they passed him. They all knew what was likely to befall those men.
Finally the last stragglers, wounded men who were well-enough recovered to make the journey, limped past and joined the lines, and he sent Farus through at a slow trot. The horse’s fancy gaits were the reason he’d chosen him, despite the fact that his red coat was considered unsuitable for an officer, blacks and grays being more desirable. But he heard the murmuring from the fort soldiers and residents as the huge stallion pranced between the lines, shining copper in the setting sun, while he sat tall in the saddle. The prison wagon was rattling off towards the holding cells as he rode to where Perrington was waiting. He swung off of Farus and handed his reins to Iain, who had fallen in behind him as he passed before facing the general.
“Walk with me,” was all Perrington said as he turned on his heel and strode towards the largest of the houses. Erik had never been to this particular fort, but all the permanent forts were set up in roughly the same alignment. A gravel center square faced up to the general’s luxurious home. A large dining hall stood opposite, and the barracks were in neat lines to one side. The armory was adjacent to the large stone keep behind the main house, the stables beyond that. Stone towers stood in each corner of the camp, with archers manning the upper floors. Perrington’s living quarters were a bit more spacious than most, and more luxuriously appointed, Breiner noted wryly as he passed into a salon that could have satisfied the King himself. Perrington seated himself in a large chair, and gestured Erik towards a low couch.
“So,” Perrington drawled, “I understand you have brought me five Terrasen prisoners.”
“Four, sir,” Erik corrected. “I was ordered to release the rest.”
The general cocked his head, fingers lightly resting on his lips as he studied Erik for a moment. “Didn’t I understand that you were to bring me a prince of Terrasen? Did I not in fact see him myself, lined up with the other youngsters? Or did you hope to sneak him past me?”
The heat rose in Erik’s face, and not for the first time he hated his betraying coloration, the flush that showed even through the deepest tan. “I apologize, sir, I was not under the impression he was considered a prisoner.”
Perrington’s knuckles were white on the arms of his chair as he leaned towards Erik. “Have you gone mad, or is it simply that you have the heart of a nursemaid beating under your armor? Are you running a sanctuary for wild beasts at that godsforsaken camp of yours?” When Erik remained silent, the general rose slowly and stalked over towards a table that contained several bottles of amber liquid and a stack of glasses. Erik had snapped to attention the second the general had stood, and so he remained as Perrington poured two glasses and handed one to him. “Speak, man,” Perrington ordered, waving him on.
“Sir, I’ve had two months now to observe the boy. He’s a natural leader and a natural warrior. He’s respectful. The other boys follow his lead and the prisoners adore him. We can use him, sir, to subdue the people of Terrasen with less loss of our own forces.” Erik took a sip of his drink, more to be polite than because he wanted it. If he was being honest with himself, all he really wanted was a good meal and to find one of the camp women willing to share her bed.
The general sat back in his chair and surveyed him, amusement seeming to play on his features. “A natural leader. Everyone follows his lead.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t you see, Erik, that this is precisely why he’s so dangerous? You’re looking to shelter a snake and then you’ll be surprised when it bites you.” He drained his drink in one gulp, and there was a long pause, broken by the small clink of the glass hitting the table.
“Did you ever wonder why I was made general and you were not?” Perrington laughed drily at the surprise no doubt written across his face. “You bested me in every fight in training; you were a gifted speaker, and you’re an excellent strategist. Don’t think all that went unrecognized.” He shook his head pityingly. “But you bought too much into Brullo’s teaching. You subscribe to the idea that there’s some sort of moral code when it comes to our enemies. And that’s an idea that some day is going to get you killed. Probably by this creature whose throat you should have slit when you had the chance.”
Erik mulled this over for a moment. He had his own theories why, though he had surpassed Perrington through their years of training, the other man had advanced farther than he had, and it had more to do with their last names than with some sort of excessive moral squeamishness on his part. True, Perrington had excelled in the “Enhanced Interrogation Techniques” while he had performed abysmally. After all, he had always believed that torture was, in the end, unreliable. Strong men would withstand it, and weaker ones would say whatever they thought you wanted to hear to get it to stop. Brullo, his mentor and one of the main trainers of officers, had lectured that compassion towards those we conquered built loyal subjects, while suppression bred rebellion.
Unfortunately, the latter seemed to be the way Adarlan was leaning in recent years.
He thought back to his relationship to Aedion, those first moments of calculated violence, his stubborn willingness to die… When it came down to it, he was certain that he had won the boy over more by vomiting after his threatened rape of that girl than by the threat itself. He raised his eyes to meet Perrington’s cold black stare. “With all due respect, sir, I maintain the belief that we can expanded our kingdom far more successfully by assimilation than by wanton destruction. Talented young men who can be cultivated to our side can sway the minds of the people.”
The condescending smirk that had settled on Perrington’s thin lips did not falter as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a letter, then slowly unfolded it. Erik could see the seal of the King at the bottom. “Well,” said the general sardonically, “I see that you have retained your habit of pretty speeches. And it appears that you are an equally gifted letter-writer, given that you have persuaded His Majesty.” He indicated the letter. “But I am not blinded by weak compassion or visions of grandeur. I will be watching that boy, and when he shows his true nature - as he will - I will be waiting. And he will be praying for the noose before I’m done. Now,” he tucked the letter back into his pocket and rose with a startling shift in his tone, “I’m sure it’s been a while since you’ve enjoyed the comforts of a solid roof over your head and sharing your bed with a woman. Have a good evening.”
*****
Aedion strode out of the mess hall, needing fresh air, needing…a break. When first he and the other boys had been shown into the trainee barracks, he had been relieved to be accepted by the few dozen Adarlanian boys with no more interest than the others, just a line of casual glances up as he tossed his pack down on the assigned bunk. But Burr and Burr’s shadow had known a few of the other boys, and by the time they were sitting down to dinner there were murmurs all up and down the table, stares and glares and subtle posturing. Thankfully the boys didn’t know his true title. Clearly being a “recruit” from Terrasen made him an object of curiosity at best, more likely one of derision. He couldn’t imagine what creative torture these other boys would come up with if they had known he was a prince and a member of the Terrasen and Wendlyn royal families. Not that it mattered. His thumb ran automatically over the scar on his palm, and he headed across the gravel square, looking for the stables. Surely Breiner wouldn’t object if he checked in on Farus after their journey.
The scent of horse and hay hit his nostrils and he followed it to a stone structure with a few small paddocks outside. Ducking through the door, he blinked in the lamp light. There were several wisened men and young boys setting out hay for the evening, but nobody paid him any notice as he walked down the aisle, looking into the rows of stalls. Farus was in a large loose box down at the end, and he stuck his head over the door and whickered at Aedion. Rubbing the glossy neck, he fed him an apple he’d snagged from the dinner table. The two had made friends in the weeks at the war camp, Aedion having long been comfortable with horses from his frequent assignments to stable duty for various infractions. Plus Farus didn’t give a shit where Aedion came from as long as he brought apples.
When he had spent long enough with the stallion to earn suspicious looks from the stablehands, he found his way out the back door. Creeping along the grass through the dark, he nearly tripped over a person who was crouched peering around the corner of the barn, just barely catching the scent of lavender and mint in time. He side-stepped at the last second, his boots crunching suddenly on the gravel path and earning a startled feminine yelp, then a hissed, “Shhhh” from the other.
“I didn’t say anything,” he whispered.
“Well don’t start now,” she spat under her breath, standing and spinning to face him. He couldn’t see much of her in the dark, just that she had lighter hair that gleamed silver in the moonlight and that her head barely rose to his chest. He ignored her and crept forward and peered around the corner of the barn himself, expecting something dramatic like an execution or a fight, though he heard nothing more than the usual sounds of movement and conversation. Instead he found a collection of men and women mingling in the square. Several of the men he recognized from his own camp.
“What are you hiding from?” he asked, still keeping his voice low. When there was no answer, he looked back at the girl to find her leaning away from him, face still hidden in the gloom. She responded with an imperious wave, a silent order to keep his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure why he obeyed but he turned his attention back to the milling forms out in the lit courtyard. Some of the voices reached him, and he realized abruptly what was going on - a negotiation for the sharing of beds. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks and was grateful for the dark, determinedly avoiding any glance at the girl. Breiner seemed to settle on a voluptuous woman in a laundress’ outfit and they strolled out of view. Deaghall soon disappeared as well, and in just a few moments the square was clear.
A rustle behind him drew his attention back to the strange girl. Without a word to him, she had turned to make her escape, but he slipped around her and cut her off. She pulled up abruptly with a curse. The moonlight hit her face now and that was real terror he could see in her eyes. Taking a step back, he raised both his hands and murmured, “Easy, easy.”
“I’m not a horse, you prick. Now leave me alone.” She pulled her cloak closer around her as she started to push past him.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I just wanted to ask if you were okay.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “What, do they breed saviors where you come from? Just go back to your friends and get rested up so you can learn how to kill people tomorrow.” With that, she shouldered him out of her way and disappeared into the gloom.
*****
Delaney scurried through the shadows, still keeping an ear open for the sound of male approach. Thankfully this new group was small, only a few officers, and the grunts wouldn’t dare try for that privilege. When she reached the row of huts reserved for the camp workers, she slipped through the back door of the fourth one and up the ladder into the loft. Judging by the noises emanating through the single interior door, her mother was entertaining that tall brown-haired lord. Her brother had moved to the barracks last spring, so she only had her sisters to be careful of as she shucked her shoes and crawled under the blankets that covered their pallet. Another night safe.
As she cuddled in against Avis, her mind went to the tall boy behind the stable. His accent was odd, and his voice still had the inconsistency of transition despite his lanky height. He must have come with the soldiers, though he certainly seemed surprisingly unaware of the rhythms of training camps. At least for now. Give him a few weeks and that careful consideration he’d given her would be trained right out of him. Avis wrapped a thin arm around her and drew her in closer. The sound of the child’s breathing was as good as a lullaby, and her last conscious thought was to wonder how the boy had moved so quickly to cut her off.
*****
The next few days quickly settled into a rhythm that was not dissimilar to that of the war camp. Each of the boys was assigned to help in an area of the camp in the morning, and afternoons were reserved for training. The main difference was the size, this place encompassing many hundreds of soldiers and trainees and the necessary staff to support them. Aedion’s first week he was to work in the kitchens; evidently they rotated through there, the armory, the stables, and the gardens, one week at each place.
He quickly won favor in the kitchens by tackling the giant stacks of dirty dishes without complaint. The weeks at Breiner’s camp had taught him how to be both efficient and thorough, and with him washing and an unfamiliar Adarlanian boy drying they worked their way through the dishware with alacrity. As they reached the end, the wizened old creature who ran the kitchens approached and eyed him carefully, calling out, “I don’t know about this new girl. She seems too pretty to be a kitchen maid. Or a soldier.” There were sniggers around the room and Aedion grinned down at her. “I think we should make sure she gets sent to Rifthold. No doubt she could entertain Prince Dorian quite well, even if she’s a few years older.”
A twinge shot through Aedion’s heart as he remembered the black-haired prince and his “fine lady” manners, but he laughed as he held his hands out to the crone. “I don’t know,” he replied, “I don’t think they’d let these anywhere near the prince. He might be contaminated.” She inspected his large hands, callused and flecked with scars, nails chipped, and patted him on the arm with a cackle.
“Well, then, we must find a way to make you useful here. Even if we can barely understand a word you say!” A chorus of comments on his accent and his pretty face and the length of his hair followed as the other boy showed him where to stack the clean dishes.
Training was similar to at Breiner’s camp, with somewhat stricter discipline. Aedion quickly fought his way out of his age group and was put in with the most experienced boys. Though he was superior to them as well in most regards, he was pleased to see they would learn some new weaponry that he had not yet handled. He was also to learn to fight more on horseback, something he had up to now received minimal training in.
Every night after dinner he visited the stables, giving attention to not just Farus, but all the horses. They didn’t mind his accent, or his size, or his skill, but were content with apples and neck scratches. The girl he had encountered remained a mystery, and another reason he visited the horses each night. He had not seen her again. Not that he was not at all certain he would have recognized her if he saw her, but he thought he’d recall that sweet lavender scent. He still wondered sometimes what she had been hiding from.
The shift came on the sixth day. He had noticed the black-eyed man who had greeted Breiner on their arrival came to watch training every day, had felt that cold stare on him as he parried and blocked and aimed. Perrington. He looked little like his cousin, the man Aedion remembered from the days before the world went to hell, other than those eyes.
This time, Perrington called training short and requested all attend the sentencing of the prisoners in the square. Judging by the lack of surprise, this was a normal occasion, and the soldiers and trainees all bustled onto the large gravel expanse. Aedion hovered near the back. He didn’t need to see this, his countrymen sentenced to the mines or to death. He watched anyway, feet braced apart as men were led onto a platform, their heads covered. Five men, not the four they had brought with them. He wondered who the fifth was. As Perrington’s despicably nasal voice rose over the crowd, his thumb brushed the ridge on his palm. One by one, the hoods were removed and the men stepped forward to hear their fate. “For crimes against the crown, you will be sentenced to six months in Endovier…three years in Endovier…one year in Endovier…eighteen months in Endovier.” These were all truly death sentences, nobody survived more than a few months in the salt mines; they just gave the illusion of hope for ultimate freedom. Judging by the resigned expressions on each face, the men all knew this. All for the crime of being soldiers of Terrasen, trying to protect their home from invasion.
Finally the last man had his hood removed, and Aedion gasped loudly enough to earn curious glances from the boys around him. It was Kenway, one of Cal Lochan’s favorite guards. Aedion had assumed he had gone to the butcher’s block along with Cal. His feet moved of their own accord, and he wove through the close-packed bodies until he was but a few rows from the front just as Perrington finished reading the charges against the man. Kenway was looking out over the crowd, face impassive, giving no indication he was even listening to the summary of his crimes. Just as Perrington intoned, “And for these crimes against the crown, you shall hang from the neck until you are dead,” Kenway’s eyes met Aedion’s and his eyes widened in shock before he schooled his face back into a neutral expression.
Aedion closed his eyes and began shaking, memories of riding out hunting with Kenway and Cal, Quinn and Rhoe, of sparring with sticks when he barely reached the older man’s waist, of jokes and meals shared all flickering behind his lids. This was a good man, he thought. Better than any of the Adarlanians, better than himself. Kenway had helped Aelin onto her first pony, had given Elide a bouquet of tiny daisies when she had fallen and skinned her knee, had told no one when Aedion had cried after shooting his first deer.
Without realizing it, Aedion moved right to the very front of the crowd, his eyes fixed on his friend. Kenway’s face was bruised, his lip split, and though he stood straight and proud it was obvious that he was guarding his ribs. Perrington had put his paper down and turned his attention to Aedion where his golden head shone above the surrounding men, and it was with a thin smile that he added, “Unless someone shall volunteer to take his punishment.” It took a few seconds for Aedion to realize what had been said, and he slowly turned to the general as boos echoed out around him. He didn’t know if this was regular; in Terrasen, volunteers could take on certain punishments, such as whipping or time in the stocks, for nonviolent crimes. He had never heard of this in the case of capital punishment. Though he did recall hearing that Adarlan had allowed one member of a convicted family to volunteer to take the sentence for the rest.
He could feel other eyes on him, and turned to see Breiner slowly shaking his head, Deaghall next to him looking grim. On the other side of the square, standing in the shadow of one of the buildings, was a slip of a girl in a laundress outfit, reddish gold hair curling past her shoulders, biting her lip as she studied him. Turning back to Kenway, he saw the older man looking at him with grief and love in his face, giving a barely perceptible shake of his head once he knew Aedion was looking. Perrington was still staring at him, waiting, as the moment stretched into an eternity.
Could he do it? Could he offer his life for this man, who had done so much for his country? He thought of the vow he had taken to help Terrasen, and how much better equipped Kenway was to fulfill it. He could barter his life and be reunited with his family again. Aelin. Rhoe. Evalin. His mother…
Just as he was about to take the step forward, open his mouth to call out, Kenway screamed, a vicious, primal sound, then spun and viciously head-butted the guard next to him, before throwing himself at another. Despite his bound hands, he fought efficiently, taking down two more guards with his feet so quickly nobody even reacted. The crack of one’s skull on the wood seemed to spur everyone into action, and soon he was swarmed, even Breiner, Iain, and Deaghall leaping onto the platform to subdue him.
The boy watched in silence, unable to breathe, as Kenway was dragged nearly unconscious to the edge of the platform where the gallows stood, as his hood was pulled down and a noose settled over his neck, as smelling salts were applied until he was able to rise to his feet, as the floor dropped out of the platform and the crack of his neck echoed through the square even over the jeering, as his feet kicked out briefly and went still. And still the boy stood as the crowd slowly quieted down, as the wagons rumbled over the cobbles for the other prisoners, as four men approached the brave Terrasen guard with knives to cut his body down. He remained rooted there as the sky darkened, as familiar faces approached, as gentle hands squeezed his shoulder and gentle words were spoken. It was not until there was a sharp tug on his sleeve, then a pinch to his arm, and a feminine voice whispered, “You must leave now. Come on, you must leave,” with a frantic urgency that the ground released his feet and he stumbled after the light hand on his arm, guiding him into the darkness.
*****
Erik watched as a young woman approached Aedion and plucked at his sleeve, finally convincing him to follow her. He was leaving in the morning, taking his men back to their base camp far to the south and leaving the prince behind. It was clear now why their departure had been delayed; Perrington had wanted to see his reaction to this spectacle. He must have somehow known that the prisoner was familiar to the boy and hoped to provoke a response. It had been a close thing, that much was clear. It was hard not to respect the man for recognizing that and taking the necessary steps to keep the boy alive. But now Erik must leave the boy to his fate, unable to even say farewell. He wondered if he would ever see him again.
He wondered if Aedion would have tried to save him, had he been about to hang. And knew he would have made the same decision as that prisoner had in response.
*****
Delaney dragged the boy behind her, desperate to get him off the square before the general noticed his odd behavior. She didn’t know who that prisoner was to this boy, but it was obvious to all who could see his face that he was ready to give himself over. As if that would’ve saved the man. She could have laughed at the boy’s naivety if it wasn’t so desperately…sad.
Reaching the granary, she tugged the door open just far enough to slide through, the boy following mutely. When it was nearly empty like his, it was an excellent spot to hide from prying eyes. They headed up the stairs that hugged the wall, the grain dust settling on her hair, sticking to her skin. She sat down on the small ledge that ran under the upper window and pulled him down next to her. In the moonlight pouring through the window his face was ghostly, shadows pooling in the hollows under his sharp cheekbones and obscuring much of his mouth.
The silence stretched on as the sounds outside slowly died. Everyone would be at the evening meal, she thought. She wondered if the boy would be missed. Oh well. As long as he was back in his bed by morning she doubted anyone would care. “What’s your name?” she asked, her voice echoing in the nearly empty building. He just looked at her uncomprehendingly. Some instinct told her she needed to get him talking but he might as well have been deaf and mute for all he responded. Perhaps she’d asked the wrong question, though it seemed simple enough; she tried again. “Who was that man?”
“Kenway Cranuc,” he said after another long pause, his voiced cracking. “His name was Kenway Cranuc.”
She knew that, as the general had named all the prisoners, but she nodded encouragingly. “How did you know him?”
The boy pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “He was…he was a guard, for my uncle’s friend. I thought he was taken when the rest of them were taken. I thought he was gone, I thought…” At that he broke down completely, pressing his face to his legs, lean body wracked with sobs. Hesitantly, she scooted closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, holding tight. This pose was familiar to her as for all his size, he reminded her somehow of her brother. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and waited until he began to quiet, and was still holding on when he whispered, almost too quiet to hear, “He was my friend.”
They pulled apart then, both a little awkward, and she searched for something to say. “You’re from Terrasen, then?” He nodded, not looking at her. The tracks down his face gleamed in the moonlight. “Well, that explains the accent,” she added lightly. No response. “How’d you end up here?”
“I was captured,” he said thickly, then cleared his throat. “By Lord Breiner’s men, in the last battle before Terrasen surrendered. Lord Breiner and General Paget decided to let me live.” He snorted, but there was no amusement in the sound. He cocked his head then, suddenly alert, evidently hearing something that escaped her ears. “They’re finished with the meal,” he said, with a jerk of his chin to the window. “You should go back to wherever you belong.”
Delaney shook her head. “Not yet. After an execution it’s not safe for a bit.” He flinched at the word, and she cringed internally. “He still would have been executed,” she said, and he looked at her quizzically. “If you had given yourself up. They would have hanged you, and then hanged him anyway.” She wanted to laugh at his dumbstruck expression but couldn’t bring herself to wound him any further. “It’s how they call out traitors. Not usually here, there aren’t too many of those at the fort, but it’s common in public hangings.”
“You must think me a fool,” he said, shaking his head, then shrugging. “Perhaps I am.”
“No, but I think you come from a place where honor still has meaning.”
“It doesn’t here?”
Now she did laugh, a wry, bitter sound. He accepted that answer with silence. By this time she could hear the low murmur from the nearby square, and her mouth twisted in disgust.
“Why do you hide?” the boy asked abruptly.
“Because I’ve no desire to take a man to my bed.”
He looked shocked at that answer. “Surely you’re a bit young?”
“I’m sixteen, and more than two years past my first cycle, so hardly.” It was impossible to keep the bitterness from her tone.
“But if you didn’t want to, would they truly force you?” The sympathy in his voice made her skin crawl. She didn’t want the pity of this strange, awkward boy; didn’t know what to do with it.
“What are you, a child?” she snapped. “I’m a laundress, and that’s as good as a whore. Sure they’d toss a piece of silver on my table and call us square.” He growled then, a startlingly fierce sound from his skinny frame, all the more eerie for the echoes through the mostly empty building. “Shush, shush, you’ll give us away,” she hissed, unnerved. It struck her that she was very alone with a strange boy twice her size, and she felt her mouth grow dry.
“You’ve nothing to fear from me,” he said, holding his hands up as he had the other night, and she wondered how he knew what she was feeling. He stood up then, stooping to keep from hitting his head on the strut above them. “Are you safe to get home?”
She nodded mutely, and he dusted the loose grain from his clothes and slipped silently down the curved stairs. At the bottom he stopped and gave her a little wave. “I’m Aedion,” he said, answering her first question at last.
“Delaney.”
And with that, he cracked open the door and disappeared.
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Ring of Fire
Imagine Thorin working at your family’s forge and slowly falling in love with him.
The market square was bustling as you set out a row of tarts along the counter of your stall, the awning above flapping gently with the summer breeze. Your sister, Raina leaned against the post next to you, gazing into the crowd with latent interest. Ever the gossip, she reveled in market days and the opportunity to savour the rumours swirling among the townsfolk of Ered Luin. Despite the staunch character of the dwarven race, many could not help wagging their tongues about the latest histrionics in the lives of their neighbours.
As of late, the entirety of the Blue Mountains had been bedlam with the arrival of their dispossessed Erebor cousins. Since news of Smaug’s invasion upon the Mountain, groups of road-wearied and grieving dwarves had streamed into Ered Luin with only the clothes upon their back. Abiding the hospitality of their race, those native to the western range welcomed their distant kin with open arms though the resettlement had caused quite the furor.
The last of the displaced had trickled in over the last days, only further intensifying the rumour mill. Your attention was drawn from your blind stare across the cobbled street to your sister who chattered furiously into Pia’s ear. The two were never far from each other on market days to the chagrin of you and Pia’s family. You neared as you crossed your arms and cleared your throat tersely.
“Oh, hello, Y/N,” Pia looked over without shame, her cheeks glowing with scandal, “I was just telling Raina--”
“I’ve told you several times over, I haven’t a care for your blather, Pia,” You always sounded too much like your mother when dealing with the boisterous dwarrowdams, “We’ve enough melodrama without your naïve chittering.”
“Please, Y/N,” She waved away your irritation, “Even you’d have an ear for the latest arrivals in Ered Luin,” She glanced around cautiously before leaning towards you, “Anyways, as I was about to say, I just told Raina the very same, but last night, just after midnight, Bennit, the innkeep just beyond the gates of town, says the king of Erebor, Thrain, finally arrived,” Her lips curved in a wicked grin, “As we all know, his daughter has already settled beyond Tiller’s Lane…”
“Mahal, Pia, does your tongue ever still for more than a second?” You challenged with a huff, “I have tarts to sell and little time for such nonsense. Same with Raina,” You sent an admonishing glare towards your sister, “Who has wasted entirely too much time listening to your slander.”
“Oh, but I’ve not finished,” She insisted and lowered her voice further, “His son, Thorin, accompanied him, among other dwarves. Sons of Fundin, I hear. But I suppose they’ve joined the sister at Tiller’s and--”
“Wasn’t there another brother?” You failed to rein in the curiosity she had sparked within you, “The heir?”
“Frerin, oh yes,” She giggled and it brought back your innate malcontent for the dam, “He’s gone apparently. He left them on the road but no one can say for sure the reason. Perhaps the shame is too much.”
“Shame,” You nearly spat at Pia’s gall, “Well, if a dragon flew in here and burnt that precious little smock of yours,” You alluded to the dainty pink dress she wore despite being a cobbler’s daughter, “I’d like to see you speak so then. You’d be fleeing with bows upon your heels.”
“Hmmp,” She rolled her eyes as Raina elbowed you harshly, “You’ve always been a curmudgeon, Y/N.”
The flurry of the market hushed for a second, enough to draw your attention from the impish girls. The babble of the crowd rose once more without pause and you wondered at what had caused the disturbance. You looked back to Raina and Pia who gazed into the crowd dreamily but you could not trace their eyes to the cause of intrigue. With a shake of your head, you returned to the counter and sold an apple tart to the dwarrowdam perusing your wares.
“Raina,” You called to your sister as her tittering grew louder, “Perhaps Pia should return to her father’s shop and you should return to your duties. We’ll need another apple tart up here and--”
The troublesome pair suppressed a squeal and you looked up to the shadow which appeared before your stall. You peered up at the dark-haired dwarf before you with indifference and turned to retrieve the tart that Raina made no move to fetch. Setting it among the row of pies before the browsing stranger, you stepped back and waited for him to decide on a purchase.
“Pardon me, Miss,” He looked up at you with his sapphire-like eyes, the chatter from the corner hushing as he did, “What is this one?”
He pointed to the darkest of the tarts, one of your less-popular sellers but your personal favourite. The dwarf’s voice was deep and sonorous and the bags beneath his eyes betrayed a sleepless night. You donned your best smile, not so naturally chipper as your sister, and stepped forward to the counter.
“That is our maple walnut tart,” You explained proudly, “I make these ones myself.”
“Oh,” He examined the crust with a pause, “I’ll take two.”
You turned back and grabbed another pie from the cart and placed it before him, wrapping the pair in paper for him to carry. He watched patiently as you tied them up with twine and when you finished, he offered a handful of coins you did not recognize. A few bore the bearded face of a dwarf and the other’s the likeness of a single dark mountain. Gold was gold however and this was much more than the worth of your pies.
“Oh, I think you’ve given me too much,” You picked out a few coins and pushed forward the tarts, “That should do it.”
“No, take it,” He set down the pile of gold before you, “I insist.”
He picked up the pies before you could argue further, donning the ghost of a smile which you could tell came rarely to him. He bowed his head courteously before turning away and you watched his broad shoulders disappear into the crowd. You gathered the coins off the countertop, counting them with a sense of relief. You parents could not be unhappy even if you failed to sell another pie.
“Y/N,” Raina spoke at last in a breathless sigh, “Oh, Mahal, you are utterly clueless.”
“What, Raina?” You asked darkly as you dropped the coins into the purse at your belt, “I know it’s been some time since you’ve sold a pie but it’s not so difficult as it looks.”
“No, Y/N,” Pia interjected with glossy eyes, “Oh, you don’t even know!”
“Pray, tell me what you are on about?” You glowered at her as you pulled forth another maple tart.
“That was him!” Pia squealed, clasping her hands before her chest dramatically, “That was Prince Thorin…of Erebor.”
“Oh,” You lifted a wry eyebrow, “How very droll.”
“Sister, please,” Raina scoffed, “Tell me you’re not overcome at the realization that you just spoke with a prince.”
“I am more overcome that I sold two maple tarts for the price of twelve,” You countered as another customer approached, “Now, send Pia away or I’ll drag her down the street myself.”
With a grumble, the errant cobbler’s daughter slunk away and you sold another apple tart wordlessly. Your thoughts returned to your previous exchange and your sheer ignorance at the presence of royalty. You gave little regard to title in lieu of one’s person, but you could not help but linger on the humility in the dwarf’s demeanour. Keeping your thoughts hidden from your sister, you went on with your business while resisting the curiosity brewing in your mind.
You awoke in the dull light of the rising sun as it streamed in through the wooden slats of your shudders. Raina laid next to you upon the straw-filled mattress, her snores more raucous than even your father’s. Your body was stiff from a mere three-hours of sleep and you envied the extra hour your sister was allotted. You turned onto your back with a groan, your shoulders achy, and sat up reluctantly, shifting so that your legs hung off the edge and onto the wooded floor.
You rose, pulling on a pair of wide-legged trousers and a thin-woven tunic, tying your hair away from your face. You laced your hide boots and stomped down the crooked stairs, securing your leather apron across your front. Your mother greeted you in the small kitchen, hanging a kettle over the fire before joining you at the table.
“Your father should be up soon,” She assured though you saw the concern deepen the wrinkles around her eyes, “He had a bit of a night but…he should be fine.” She reached across and took your hand in hers, “He’s so lucky to have you, dear.”
“He’d be much luckier with a son,” You squeezed her hand gently, “He’s the only dwarf blessed with two daughters but little good it does him.”
“You do well enough in the forge,” She praised with a weak smile, “He tells me you’re a natural…you’ve sure got the hands of a smith,” She opened your hand, running a thumb along the callouses which roughened your palm.
“I do the work,” You shrugged and pulled your hand away, “But father is old…and sick. You can lie to Raina but you can’t lie to me. When he is gone, it’ll only be us and…I can’t run the forge alone, just as he can’t.”
“He’s not dead yet,” She stood as she spoke quietly, “And I’ll go out and help you myself, if I must.”
“You can’t,” You shook your head as you watched her remove the trembling kettle from the fire, “You’ve too much work as it is.”
“I’ve had more,” She insisted as she set a mug of tea before you, “Now, you hush all this dark talk, it is much too early for your bitterness.”
“I know,” You chuckled at her remonstrance; she had always accused you of being the cynic of the house, “One day at a time.”
“Oi, morning,” Your father emerged in his timely manner, “Daughter,” He leaned down to peck your temple softly, “Wife,” He neared your mother with his stunted gait and embraced her lovingly, a sloppy kiss placed on her lips before she pushed him away with a giggle.
“Oh, sit down, you old mule,” She placed a cup before him as he lowered himself heavily into a chair, “Gemma brought over some peameal, I was just about to fry it up.”
“Oh, I truly do love you, my dear wife,” Your father preened and visibly salivated, “More than the day we married.”
“Another word and it’ll be sprouts and porridge,” She swatted his shoulder with her spatula as she placed a pan on the fire stove, “I swear, I spoil you.”
“You do, dear,” He agreed with a hearty chortle; a reassurance that he was not so frail as you thought, “More than you know.”
You smiled at the scene, nearly forgetting the woe that had only just shrouded your vision. Your mother went about her work with a melodic hum and your father sipped at his tea, bobbing his head to her song. For a moment, you were hopeful that all would be well and you were worrying for naught. Yet, there was that part of you which told you one happy moment could not buy a lifetime.
You wiped the sweat from your brow as you emerged from the stolid forge, your hair drooping from its bounds. You tugged at the knot in your apron ties and it fell loose across your front as you crossed the yard to the open door of the house. Your mother was in the kitchen as she always was, preparing the evening meal with Raina across from her at the table.
“Anything I can do?” You asked as you approached the table, “I’ve about fifteen minutes.”
“Your father has allowed you a break?” You mother mused, “How kind of him. Please, do not waste it on us. We can handle well enough.”
“I insist,” You took a knife from the block and sat down at the table, picking a carrot from the bunch and began peeling, “He only sent me out because I was apparently too helpful.”
“Hmm, yes,” Your mother looked your over keenly, “I never really considered that to be a flaw.”
“Aye, he’s stubborn as a dwarf,” You kidded and the three of your chuckled, “I swear, it’s the only thing that keeps him going.”
“That and the ale,” Your sister added; she was the youngest and your father had always coddled her.
You continued to skin carrots as your mother and sister carried on, their conversation little more than the repetition of the gossip Raina shared with Pia. Your sister had mentioned the night before your transaction with the prince and you had merely brushed him off as just another customer. It was thus, as you sister returned to the subject of the Erebor royalty, that you tossed the last carrot in the pot and stood, alleging that your time was up.
You left them to their chatter, catching something about how “dashing” the prince was, and you strode back into the yard. The sun was getting lower in the sky and the evening cooler, the sweat under your tunic sending a shiver up your spine. As you neared the forge, you heard your father’s voice and cringed, certain that he was once more talking to himself. Pausing to devise a way to interrupt him, another voice replied, but did nothing to allay your anxieties.
You rounded to the door and pushed it open unceremoniously, “Ada,” You greeted and stopped short at the dark-haired dwarf who was interrupted mid-sentence, “Oh, I’m sorry, have I…”
“It’s alright, Y/N,” You father smiled genially before looking admiringly to Thorin, “You’re just in time.”
“In time?” You squinted at the pair of dwarves; your father looked even older as he stood beside the prince. His grey hair was messy and straggly and the lines in his face deeper by the day. Thorin, in contrast, had a mane untouched by age and stood with squared shoulders and head high, “For what, exactly?”
“Why, Thorin, has offered his services at our forge,” He explained cheerily, “You know I’ve been hesitant to hire a hand, but he is a prince…” He looked meekly to Thorin, “Not that his work isn’t exquisite. Would you look at this, Y/N?”
Your father neared you as he held up the dagger in his hand, the silver flawless and the handle expertly inlaid with carved gems. You could not help but admire the craftsmanship of the weapon. Despite his skill, you were still wary at his offer and wondered if you would be pushed out of the forge in favour of him. Regardless of working in between house and anvil, you enjoyed your smith duties and the time it allowed you with your father.
“And? What did you say?” You crossed your arms defensively.
“Why, I accepted of course,” He answered proudly, “How could I say no to him? Aren’t you happy, dear?” Your father touched your shoulder and you shrugged him off, “You’ll have more than an old man to help you.”
“Or more than a dam to help you, rather,” You spat and Thorin clasped his lips awkwardly at your dismay.
“No, no, dear,” He took you buy the arm, angling you towards the door, “If you would allow us a moment, Thorin,” The prince nodded and your father led you outside, “Y/N,” He turned you back to him, “I am not so deaf as you think me. I heard you and your mother this morning.”
“Ada…” You breathed guiltily, “I--”
“No. no, Y/N, you were right,” He frowned with trembling lips, “One of these days, I’m gonna wake up and not be able to hold a hammer and I can’t expect you to carry that burden.” He reached up to push back a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, “I never meant to hurt you, I only thought--”
“Oh, ada, I’m sorry,” You took his hand and steadied it, “I was…scared. Please, it’s alright. He’s the best you could hope for. It’d be selfish of me to let my own pride get in your way.”
“Thank you, dear,” He leaned over to kiss your cheek, “Now, come on, and try not to look like you’re about to accost the prince.”
You chuckled quietly as he led you back into the forge and Thorin looked up from the horse shoes you had been forging that day. He set down a heavy iron U and righted his posture, greeting you and your father with a cordial smile. Patiently, he waited for one of you to speak and the elder took the lead.
“My daughter can be a bit…dwarvish,” He teased as he nudged you, “But she could use your help, though not as much as myself. If you’re serious, we’d be glad to take you on immediately,” He explained as you leaned against his anvil, “Now, this is my forge but Y/N is my daughter and that means this is her right. She has as much a say as I do and so she deserves as much as your respect. I don’t care if you’re a prince…”
“Of course, Harkin,” Thorin intoned graciously, “I’d never think of treating her otherwise.” He turned and fingered the horse shoe he had previously been eyeing, “She did this, no?”
You nodded wordlessly and he picked up the shoe, tossing it and catching it in his thick hand. “It’s well-crafted. Good balance. Sturdy.”
“Thank you,” You mumbled.
“Well, then it’s settled,” Your father patted his stomach, “I smell dinner, though, and I’m a dwarf driven by glutton, so I’ll bid you good night before my hunger gets the best of me.”
Your father offered his hand to Thorin and they shook on their deal before your father gave a hurried farewell and fled for the door. He was friendly enough in his manners but could be rather awkward when it came to formalities. You were about issue your own dismissal when Thorin spoke first and kept you from following your father outside.
“The pie was delicious,” He smiled, this time the expression was genuine, “But sadly, it did not last long among my kin.”
“Oh,” You couldn’t help but bask in the compliment, “Well, I’ve a few extra, if you’d like? I mean, you paid for more than two as it is.”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” He accepted, “My sister would be overjoyed. She’s got a sweet tooth and we weren’t afforded maple in Erebor.”
“No trouble at all,” You assured him as you turned for the door, “I’ll fetch you one now and you can be home before the moon.”
Thorin was a good worker. Everyday he arrived just after dawn and after the first day, your mother insisted he join the family for breakfast. She doted on him as if he were the son she’d never had and at times it bothered you. You knew your parents loved you but you would have been more use if you were a dwarf. Even Raina had started rising early so that she could sup with the prince and when he stayed for dinner one night, she had asked him so many questions, he did not linger for dessert.
On the odd day, your father worked alone in the forge alone but with Thorin, you were not so hesitant in helping your mother and sister prepare for market. The next day, you would open your stall as you did every week and so you were to toil away in the kitchen. It was a nice reprieve from the drudgery of the forge.
You awoke and dressed, that day in a plain cotton apron, and slunk down the stairs. Your mother had yet to wake as this was her morning to sleep in and you set up the kettle. The house was quiet but for the muffled clangs of you taking out a pan and gathering the ingredients for breakfast. You chopped some potatoes into fine chunks and seasoned them for a hearty hash, adding more vegetables to the skillet as it began to hiss.
You fetched the pitcher of milk your mother had filled the night before from the pantry but as you emerged, you nearly spilled its contents down your apron. Thorin peeked in through the curtains of the window and smiled as he saw you appear. You placed the jug atop the table and opened the door for him.
“Thorin,” You welcomed him in, “Ever early.”
“My father would be impressed,” He commented as he stayed at your heels, following you to the stove, “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No, I think I’ve got it,” You answered, he hesitated before stepping away and you listened to the creak of a chair as he sat, “Besides, you’ll have enough work as it is. I won’t be in the forge today.”
“Oh?” His tone was surprised, “May I ask why?”
“Tomorrow’s market day,” You set a lid over the pan before it could spit at you and turned to remove the kettle from the hearth, “There’s lots to be done.” You filled two mugs and sat across from Thorin, pushing one towards him, “Any special requests?”
“Well, you know my preference,” He wrapped his hand around the cup, absorbing the warmth with his palms, “Though, I think my sister may be growing tired of the same tart every night.”
“We do sell more than one flavour,” You offered with a tilt of your head, “But you seem like a creature of habit.”
“Oh, do I?” He raised a thick brow, his blue eye gleaming in the early morning light, “Then I’ll just have to send Dis herself,” He grinned as he sipped his tea, lowering it abruptly as the floorboard groaned from behind you, “Good morning, Lord Harkin.”
“For the last time, I’m no lord,” Your father grumbled as he poured himself tea, groggily sitting down beside you, “Though my daughter is a lady. You remember that, eh?”
“Ada,” You sneered at his implication as you stood, “I think the hash should be done.”
“Mm-hmm,” He eyed you suspiciously before turning his attention to Thorin, “Sure, it is.”
You grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard and set them on the counter, scooping a pile of hash onto two before placing them before your diners. You turned, keeping your face hidden from Thorin and sent a sharp look towards you father with subtle shake of your head. He merely grinned in return and took a bite of his breakfast, poking you playfully as you stepped away. Your father was surely growing more delusional by the day.
You watched your father and Thorin leave through the back door, already deep in chatter about the customs of Erebor. Your father was too curious for his own good and the prince was nostalgic for the home he had lost that he spared no detail in his descriptions. You never pressed for tales of the Mountain as you imagined it was bittersweet to speak of it.
You began to fill a bowl with flour and the fixings for pie dough and your sister came barreling down the stairs, disappointed to find you the only one there. “Where’s Thorin?”
“In the forge,” You muttered, “You’re too late, Raina.”
“Mahal, why didn’t you wake me?”
“Honestly, Raina, are you trying to drive him away? Ada needs all the help he can get out there.”
“Sure, that’s what you’d say,” She poured a cup of the now tepid tea, “You see him more than me.”
“You’re more than welcome to try your hand at the anvil, Raina,” You taunted as you kneaded the clump of dough smooth, “It’s never too late to learn.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” She huffed, “Here, I’ll do up the dough. You’re much to rough with it.”
“Fine,” You shrugged and wiped your hands on the front of your apron, “I’ll gather some of those blackberries. They look ripe and we’re out of strawberries.”
“As you will,” She waved you away, “It’s better than walnuts.”
You flicked your eyes skyward as you grabbed a basket and made for the door. You sat near the edge of the garden and began to pick the ripe berries along the back. You heard the clasp of the forge shudders unhook and the creak of the hinges as they were pushed outward. You kept at your task, filling the basket to your content and standing with a yawn.
You turned, your eyes meeting Thorin’s through the forge window and he looked down quickly. You couldn’t figure if the colour in his cheeks was from heat of his work or from being caught. Whatever it was, you had more important worries to attend to. In the kitchen, you found your mother awake and nibbling on a plate of hash and your sister rolling out crusts for the tarts.
“Here,” You set down the basket on the counter, “I’ll start on the maple walnut.”
The next day at market, you could not drag Raina away from Pia as she divulged every move of the prince over the last week. You had lectured them several times and were doing so once more as a figure appeared before your stall. You looked over to find a dam with dark hair and shining azure eyes inspecting the pies along your countertop. You were certain without asking who it was.
“Hello, Miss,” You approached the front of the stall, “Are you looking for something in particular?”
“Why, yes,” She tapped her chin with her finger, “My brother has been treating us to maple tarts nearly every night. I thought I’d buy him another but I’d like something for myself…a little more fruity, perhaps.”
“Here is the maple tart,” You pointed to the furthest of the pies, “But we also have apple, blackberry, mixed berry, pear, and peach.”
“Oh, blackberry,” Her eyes rounded, her soft lips curving, “I think I’ll take one of those. Oh, and an apple tart for my father.”
“Certainly, I’ll just wrap those up for you,” You reached back for a sheet of brown paper and some twine, packing up her wares carefully.
“My brother is Thorin. He loves your pies,” She handed over her coins pleasantly, “He’s always been one for sweets but he’s lost all his restraint, I swear,” She trilled with laughter, “I’m Dis and you must be, um, oh, I’m no good with names. But he told me he’s been working at your father’s forge.”
“Y/N, my father’s name is Harkin,” You informed her warmly, “He’s a good worker. Better than both me and my ada. And always early, thank Mahal. We had an apprentice years ago who lasted less than a week for his tardiness.”
“My brother early?” She wondered aloud with another giggle, “Well, he’s always been responsible but never famed for his punctuality.”
“I doubt we’re very far, you’re on Tiller’s--” You paused as you heard chitters from the corner and looked over to find Raina and Pia glaring back at you as they whispered, “Tiller’s Lane, right?”
“Not far, I suppose,” She agreed and glanced over at the gossiping dams darkly, “I should be on my way, but I would appreciate one more favour?”
“Which would be?” You prompted anxiously.
“The maple you use in the pie; syrup, right? Where would I go about buying some of my own?”
“Oh, well, we tap our own trees but I could direct you to another stall,” You looked around the street before you spied the dread building in her blue eyes, “You know what? I’ll send a jug home with Thorin. Free of charge. We have more than we need.”
“Truly?” She brightened as she took the pies in her arms, “Thank you, Y/N. And I shall surely see you next week for more.”
You returned a meek farewell as the buxom dam turned away and swept through the crowd with her pies. You crossed your arms as you looked back to Raina and Pia and snarled audibly, quieting them without a word. Wavering under your wrath, Pia giggled nervously before turning on her heel and disappearing up the street. Raina sighed and glanced away guiltily, searching the crowd for someone to distract herself.
It had been a long day and as the season had passed by swiftly, the sun began to descend earlier than the night before. You were hunched over your anvil, hammering out the edge of a knife, your back sore and the sweat flowing into your eyes. Your father had retired hours before at your behest and you and Thorin had remained, working in peaceful silence.
You set down the knife in the dimming shadows of the forge, the natural light working against you. You thought about sparking a lantern but you were tired and ready to be done. As it was, you were ahead of schedule in your commissions and another hour made little difference. You figured Thorin would appreciate a spare hour to himself as well and so you relinquished your hammer to anvil.
Absently, as you turned to inform Thorin of your plans, your finger brushed across the stove where you heated the iron and silver and you retracted your hand with a hiss. Cradling the burnt flesh of your hand you inhaled sharply and the prince looked up from his work. He set aside his project and rounded his anvil as concerned darkened his sapphire irises.
“Are you alright?” He tried to peek at your hand without touching you.
“I’m, ugh, fine,” You moaned, the pain bubbling with your flesh, “Oh, how stupid of me.”
“Come on,” He led you to the door, ushering you over to the well on the other side of the garden, “We need to cool it down.”
He used the winch to pull up a pail full of water and balanced it on the edge of the stone work. He took your hand and ladle water over it, fixated on your purpled flesh. The feel of his calloused palm on yours was comforting and you let him drip the cool liquid over it until it the pain lessened to a dull throb.
“I was just going to say,” You took a handkerchief from your tunic, wrapping it delicately across your hand, “That maybe it was time to call it.”
“I think that best,” He smiled as you winced, “Considering.”
“Yeah, considering,” You agreed with a forced chuckle, “Oh, Mahal.”
“Do you have honey?” He seemed more perturbed by your pain than you.
“Of course,” You replied evenly, “I mean, why wouldn’t I?”
“It will soothe the burn,” He explained, gesturing you towards the back door, “I think it wise to do so before it gets to bad.”
You walked through the door, thankful to find the kitchen empty and you fumbled around with one hand for the honey hidden in the pantry. You sat next to Thorin at the table and he took your hand gently, unwrapping it before taking the honey decisively. He spread a glob across your burn, his thick fingers so tender you could not believe they were the same hands that twisted and shaped metal.
“There,” He wrapped your hand once more and rescinded his own as if suddenly remembering where he was, “It should keep out infection, as well.”
“Thank you,” You kept your hand on the table and let your shoulders slump, “I think you’ve earned a piece of pie,” You looked to your wound helplessly, “If only I could…”
“I’ll get it,” He stood and crossed to the counter where the half-eaten apple crumble was left out, “Milk, too?”
“You learn quickly,” You kidded as you listened to him and watched the sunset through the back window, “There shouldn’t be too much work left to you tomorrow. I’ll have market work to do but if you need help.”
“I’ll be fine,” He asserted as he set a plate and cup before you, “You should rest your hand.”
“I guess,” You picked up the fork he handed to you as he took his own seat, “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”
“I don’t think that’s such a bad thing,” He grinned and took a bite of his dessert, “Mmm.”
You shook your head as you chewed on the sugary apple and found yourself smiling at the dwarf across from you. Despite the indifference you had sworn against him in the past weeks, you could not help but cherish the moment. The kitchen glowed in the dull light of dusk, casting shadows over the pair of you as you savoured the crumbly delicacy. It nearly made you forget all the other worry which had overtaken the small house in the last months.
You sat at the kitchen table with your mother and sister piecing together the pies to be baked for the next day. Once more, you found yourself longing for the forge when previously, you had relished your time away. You filled the middle of a crust with apples and spices, weaving dough over in a precise pattern as your fellow bakers chattered on.
“Oh, Y/N, you seem…absent,” Your mother commented and you looked up, shaken from the ritual of crimping crust, “Are you well?”
“Very,” You answered with confusion, “No need to worry for me, maamr.”
“I know what it must be,” She sent a knowing grin to Raina, “Your sister told me about last night.”
“Last night?” You echoed, further perplexed, “What do you mean?”
“You and Thorin,” Raina’s voice was poison, “It seems your whole aloof act is going rather swimmingly.”
“Huh?” Your lips sagged defensively, “You’ve always had a rather creative imagination…and loose tongue.”
“Dear, don’t let your sister bother you,” You mother reached over to touch your wrist, a bandage now covered your burned hand, “A dwarf who takes the time to tend to a dam’s wound’s…well, you know how courting goes.”
“Courting? I don’t think so, maamr.”
“And the pie?” Your mother prodded further, “One kindness can be overlooked, but more than…when your father first set his eyes to me--”
“Enough,” You stood abruptly, the table rocking before you, “I don’t want to hear any more.” You pointed to your simpering sister, “You best learn to control your mouth before I do it for you,” You dropped your finger and inhaled, fixing your posture, “And the both of you would do well to never mention such fancies again. I am not a dam to be sold for a price,” You seethed as you backed away from the table, “I work my way as well as any dwarf…” You neared the door and looked out towards the forge, Thorin just emerging as he wiped sweat from his damp hairline, “We’re low on apples. I’ll check the tree for more.”
You tramped out into the yard, dragging the step ladder to the trunk of the tree as Thorin approached you with a friendly smile. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his shirt clung to his chest beneath his leather apron, “Y/N, are you alright?”
“Just fine,” You answered tersely as you tore an apple from the branches, “You?”
“Um,” You felt him staring, trying to decipher you, “I’m well enough,” His eyes bore into you as you eluded them, “Here, let me steady this.”
He stilled the step ladder as it began to wobble beneath your feet. “Thanks,” You uttered shamefully, ruing your harsh manner as you searched for reddened apples, “Don’t worry about me, Thorin. I’m none of your concern.”
*One Year Later*
You could not say which was more unbearable; the forge or the back yard. The scorching summer sun had not relented for days and whether you were smithing or in the kitchen, you could not shed the constant layer of sweat that coated your body. Even the night did little to cool the air and you found yourself tossing atop your shared straw mattress, though whether it was merely the heat was questionable.
You dipped a hoop glowing orange iron into the vat of tepid water, a hiss of steam blowing into your face. As you returned to your anvil and set down what would be a decorative bangle, you heard the disordered clang of metal and a rush of fabric and hair as the dark figure to your left wavered. You looked over just as your father began to sag to the floor, his face red from heat, and you dropped your hammer to catch him before his head crashed into his anvil.
“Ada!” You whined as you carefully lowered him onto his rear, your arms beneath his as you used your knees to steady him, “Ada!”
His eyes lolled backwards and he gave no response to your pleas. Thorin approached from his other side and touched the side of his softly. The corner of his lip twitched as he glanced over at you, his blue eyes coloured with apprehension. He pushed the grey hair away from your father’s face, his thick beard tangled beneath his chin, and edged his fingers down to feel his pulse.
“It must be the heat,” Thorin explained and you heard the relief in his voice, “Mahal knows I feel a bit weary myself these days.”
“Just the heat?” You asked hopefully, clinging to the motionless Harkin, “Truly?”
“His heart is steady but slowed, his breathing even if not a bit laboured,” He examined your father as he spoke, “All he needs is some rest. And water.”
You exhaled the breath you had been withholding in your fear and Thorin hooked his arms under your father’s as you removed your own. He lifted Harking without much effort, turning him so that he was fully in his grasp, his head reclined lifelessly and his legs dangling loosely. “Get the door, please.”
“Oh, yes,” You stood and kicked yourself into action, holding the heavy wooden door as Thorin angled your father’s body through, “Maamr will be so worried.”
“Let’s do our best not to upset her,” Thorin murmured as he neared the back door, “It is nothing but the heat, remember?”
“The heat, yes,” You began to wonder if he were trying to alleviate your own worries with the diagnosis, “Maamr,” You followed Thorin inside as your mother stood over the stove, turning with a gasp, “Maamr, please, it’s alright. It is just the weather.”
“Oh, Harkin,” She neared and caressed her husband’s cheek, “Get him to the bed, quick.”
“He needs water,” Thorin instructed as he continued forward past your mother’s lingering hand, “A wet cloth across his head and a cup when he awakes and all should be well.” Your mother guided him into her bedroom and he set down Harkin carefully on their thin mattress, “Y/N kept him from worse. She caught him before he could hit his head.”
“Oh, dear,” You mother turned to you and pulled you into an embrace, “Thank you. Oh no, I knew this day would come.”
“Maamr,” You backed away from her, “It is merely the summer heat.”
“Y/N,” She grazed your cheek as she had her husband’s, “You know it is more than that.”
You looked down to hide the welling tears in your eyes, turning your back to the room to wipe away the few stray droplets upon your cheeks. “Remove his apron or he’ll only stay warm,” You ordered over your shoulder, “We must return to the forge. There is much to be done.”
You marched out of the room and through the kitchen, Thorin’s footsteps joining your own as he caught up to you in the back yard. His hand closed around your elbow, halting you, and he turned you back to him. “Y/N,” He uttered pitifully, “There is not so much work that it cannot be done tomorrow.”
“Thorin,” You shook your head, shoving his hand away from your arm, “We’re now short a smith, I think that would suggest otherwise.”
“You should be with him, at least,” He argued, blocking your path to the forge, “I’ll keep on but you should be there when he wakes.”
“He has my mother…and Raina. He always preferred her anyhow.” You sidestepped him, evading another attempt to stop you and stormed into the forge. You took your hammer and looked over the bangle you had only half-finished, ignoring Thorin’s presence as he entered and stood at his own station.
You wanted desperately to smash the silver hoop to pieces and fall to shambles against your anvil. Looking around the forge to find your father no where in sight was unsettling. Thorin’s eyes followed yours and you shifted so that he could not see your face, pretending to focus on the metal before you. You had told him many times he should worry about himself.
You had forgone market so that you could help Thorin in the forge, your father still relegated to bedrest. Your mother would not so much as let him sit at the table to eat but he seemed in fine spirits with so many doting upon him. Thorin had brought him a keg of ale and a basket of biscuits from Dis. Your mother was feeding him more heartily than usual and your sister rarely left his side as she fretted over his ever breath.
Your sister, however, was forced to leave to work the counter of the family stall and your mother had at last relented in her coddling of your father. With help from Thorin, she had him ride in the cart they used to carry the posts of their stall and they set off to market with their youngest daughter. It had been the prince’s idea as he had advised that Harkin take some fresh air and assure his friends that he was alive and well. It irked you that they heeded him more than you, your worries often ignored for the feigned expertise of the Erebor exile.
You hammered away at another horseshoe, another to add to your mounting stack. Your extra hours in the forge helped you pass the time and avoid dwelling on the health of your father. The only drawback was Thorin’s incessant gazes and concerns over your wellbeing. How could any worry about you when your father ailed?
You carelessly smashed your hammer into the horseshoe as you languished in your angry thoughts and the u broke in half with a violent snap. You grunted angrily and tossed your hammer to the floor in your frustration, sweeping the ruined ironwork from your anvil. “Mahal!” You kicked half of the shoe with the toe of your leather boot and lumbered out of the forge, swinging the door forcefully as you did.
Behind you, the door was caught before it could slam into the frame with a clatter and you heard Thorin’s pursuit. You ignored him as you entered the eerily silent house and headed for the stairs to your bedroom. You needed to be alone. You were stopped at the bottom step as Thorin’s hand clung to your wrist and you turned back, ready to cuff him across the chin.
“Y/N,” The kindness in his voice curtailed your anger, “Please, just breathe.”
“No, I don’t want to breathe,” You tried to pull away desperately, “I just want—I want--” He released you and you rammed your fist into the wall, “I don’t know what I want. I just want everything to be as it was.”
You slumped onto the bottom stair, hanging your head in your hands as you fought the urge to sob. You sniffed away your emotion and looked up defiantly, “Please, just leave me be.”
“I can’t do that, Y/N,” He squatted before you to meet your eye line, “But what I can do,” He took your hand warmly, “Is make you a tea. Can you endure me long enough for that?”
“Y—yes,” You stuttered and let him help you up as he rose, “Thank you.”
“Just sit,” He pulled a chair out before taking the kettle from the counter, “I’ll fetch some water. You just stay here. Please.”
You nodded and sat down heavily, watching him as he retreated to the yard and you clasped your hand before you as you awaited his return. He did not take long and hung the kettle before building the stove fire, all without a word. He took his usual seat at the kitchen table, looking you over.
“I know it’s…difficult,” He began, he brushed back his dampened black hair as he spoke, “Your father is one of the kindest, strongest, wisest dwarves I met, though I am still young, but…I love my father,” Your breath stilled as he had rarely spoken of any kin but his sister, “But he is tainted. As his father was and I shall surely be when my time comes to reclaim our home,” He shied away in a moment of rare vulnerability, “I only wish I had the same time with my father as you’ve had with yours.
“I do not mean to lessen your grief, at all. I only want you to know that I have carried the same burden for many years,” He scratched his beard as he forced himself to meet your gaze, “Working with your father has helped. Your family is so loving, even to me. Why should a prince ask anything of such a humble clan?”
“Thorin,” You uttered, feeling a fool for not considering his own troubles, “I should have—I never…Thank you. For everything, you know? Without you, I don’t think my father would have done so well. Or the rest of us.”
“Please, don’t,” He bit his lip before he continued, “I should be thanking you, Y/N.”
“Hmmp, for what?” You scoffed darkly.
“I would never think fate just in robbing my people of their home. Never,” His eyes glowed a fiery cobalt, “But I can at least thank the stars that I was brought here…and that I met you, of all dwarrow.”
“Thorin…” You couldn’t help a chuckle at his tender words, “You don’t--”
“I mean it, truly I do,” He ignored the kettle as it began to tremble over the fire, “I’m not so adept when it comes to…emotion but, I…this last year, Y/N, I never would have made it if it were not for you. Not your father or your family, but you.” He smiled meekly as he spoke, the glow in his eyes softening, “Sometimes, when you’re in the garden, I watch you and I’ve seen anything more…inspiring.”
“I, uh,” You rubbed your neck, heat rising to your cheeks; you had never expected a confession from this dwarf you had treated so miserably as of late, “I don’t know, um, what to say. I mean, I--”
“You don’t have to say anything, not if you don’t want to,” He blurted as he fidgeted in his seat, “I only wanted you to know. That’s all.”
“Thorin,” You shook your head with an embarrassed smile, “What I was going to say is that…you helped me, too. And I--” The kettle began to whistle and you stood sharply, removing it from the stove with an annoyed grunt, “Look, what I’m trying to say is that, I think, I, um, feel the same?”
“Are you asking me?” He rose with an amused grin, “Because I can’t answer that question for you.”
“Oh, hush, Thorin,” Your hands went to your hips as you dug your heel into the floor nervously, “You know what I mean.”
“That maybe…you love me?” His face broke into a full smile as he beamed at you hopefully, “Just maybe?”
“Just maybe,” You tilted your head as you neared him, standing on your tip toes as you looked up at him. He bent to meet your lips, a shy, swift peck upon them, and he gazed back nervously as your mouth slowly curved in response. “Maybe,” You challenged, lifting a brow daringly.
Narrowing his eyes, Thorin seized your shoulders and pulled you to him, pressing his lips to yours fervently as you giggled at his frustration. His hand tangled in your hair as he held you to him and you couldn’t help but mirror his ardor, his embrace warmer than even the forge.
“Well?” He separated from you with an impassioned breath, your own chest heaving with excitement.
“Yes,” You replied slyly, running a finger along the trim of his thickening beard, “I think I might just.”
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Apotheosis
Fandom: Mystic Messenger/Death Note (Crossover)
Characters: Rem, V
Links: AO3 | FF | Next Chapter
Summary: A few years after Rem sacrifices herself to save Misa, she's reborn as a human: Jihyun Kim.
Notes: This is the prologue for a multi-chapter fic. [See the end for more notes].
Prologue | Rebirth
The tears streaming down her face are tangible, and that’s Rem’s first realization when she feels hands under her body lifting her up, small arms flailing. She can’t see anything; it’s the opposite of darkness but that never made a difference to Rem before, discerning eyes always able to make sense of her surroundings. Now there’s nothing but the sound of foreign voices, drowned out by her own cries.
She was ugly as a shinigami; gel oozing from her head that Misa once referred to as hair, as though anything of the human world could be flippantly applied to a shinigami without a second thought. The tall body of bones made Rem look as though she’d cobbled herself together from the spoils of a shinigami gamble, held together by swathes of grey like a corpse. The pink of her lips and face, the necklace and earrings she’d found and attached to her form, seemed only to mock her for her efforts. But everything about her now is soft, skeleton cushioned in flesh and smooth skin, and the person holding Rem breathes, “beautiful,” as she hands her to another human, a word Rem never imagined could be used to describe her.
The human woman says her name is Jihyun, and from then on everything is different.
Rem’s first urge is to find Misa, but this body is limiting, small, its motions awkward and imprecise. Rem has never had to learn to maneuver herself before; she doesn’t remember how she came into existence in the shinigami world but she’s sure if floating were so arduous a process as dragging a tiny hand up to form a gesture is she wouldn’t have forgotten. Every human she’s come into contact with is large, so much larger than she is, only able to feel out fractions of them with her fingers where once she towered over them all, watched them from above instead of far below. She doesn’t cry much, and her parents note how quickly Jihyun goes quiet once he’s been provided with any sustenance he needs, sobs serving only as an unsophisticated venue for communication because he can’t yet form words. The need for any sustenance at all is another new experience; Rem can recall with detail in her mind answering the detective’s question about it by saying shinigami don’t need to eat food, but now she can hardly get enough of it, and still longs after it even when her small stomach is full. Sleep is worse, though—she dreams every night and always of Misa, the fair-haired girl who thought she could be close to God, lost and wandering and potentially in danger without Rem to protect her. Rem doesn’t know what other humans dream of, but if theirs carry this much weight as well she doesn’t know how they can bear it.
Jihyun’s parents are concerned about what they dub “insomnia” and debate taking him to see a doctor, but the plans to do so are never realized, as many of their plans aren’t. His mother is a painter, and his father sits very still with Jihyun in his lap while she recreates their likenesses on canvas, commenting every so often that Jihyun is a more patient model than his father is. Rem is uncertain that patience is an appropriate quality to ascribe to her, but in the shinigami world it’s not unheard of for one to sit still for hundreds of years, so in some capacity she understands.
What’s stranger than that is being called a model. Misa was one, and a popular one at that, though Rem doesn’t remember ever seeing someone paint her. People called Misa beautiful—angelic, even—and she was, or as close to the human concept of angels as possible anyway. Only Rem got to see her in her private life, exhausted from standing for hours for photos, her hair splayed out around her on the bed. It was blonde like no colour Rem knew in the shinigami world in all its mute darkness. Misa screamed the first time she saw Rem, terrified to be in the presence of a monster so hideous, so inhuman. Now people squeal when they see Jihyun, cooing over him in his mother’s arms and remarking on how he’s already so handsome. His eyes receive the most compliments, as well as his soft and fast-growing dark hair, and his parents are told that his skin seems to glow, the picture of health and youth. Rem is flustered by the attention but tries to receive it with grace, though it feels misplaced, like it’s not meant for her at all… and perhaps it isn’t. After all, what purpose could there be to her resurrection? Rem fully anticipated to die for Misa, watched her body flake away into the same glittering substance she saw Gelus crumble into in the shinigami world. Rem doesn’t know if Gelus returned to life as well, in the form of a human or otherwise, and with no way of identifying him it’ll be close to impossible to find out even if she tries. As for Misa… Rem knows when Misa’s death was set to occur before she killed the detective, but it’s difficult to say what number of years was added to Misa’s lifespan after Rem’s sacrifice.
Becoming attached to Misa and breaking the laws of the shinigami to save her made Rem a failure to her purpose, and indeed to her own existence. However, living now as a human child in the human world, Rem no longer knows what her purpose is. If Misa is still alive, Rem may have been resurrected to protect her once more. In this state, though, Rem is much weaker than Misa, and considering Misa’s short lifespan prior to Rem’s death and the fact Rem hadn’t killed many people in her final years, by the time Jihyun becomes strong enough to protect her Misa could already be dead.
Despite her clumsiness in mastering the human tongue, Jihyun’s parents are surprised with how quickly he learns to speak, and impressed again by his ease in learning to read before he’s even entered school. He’s not necessarily extraordinary for a human his age, but he’s certainly ahead of other children in these respects. Writing, though, is another matter entirely. Of all the skills that humans learn, Rem expected this would come the most naturally, but as if by some cosmic joke for her failure to use the Death Note correctly, she can hardly write. Her hand shakes, the pencil refuses to steady, and no matter how carefully she scrutinizes a character to copy it, the symbols are indiscernible. Typing is easier, and as soon as Jihyun has learned to type, his parents give him free rein to peruse the Internet, leaving him alone in the living room with what they call a tablet (and what, by Rem’s knowledge of the human world, is decidedly nothing like what she knows a tablet to be) to entertain himself while they attend to their personal affairs. Misa once described the Internet as scary, filled with information that can be damning, but Jihyun’s parents don’t seem concerned, and Rem can carefully press the name of the one she fell for into a search bar, her own human heart pounding in her chest.
Misa Amane.
She touches enter, and the first things to appear are small photos of Misa’s face across the top of the page. In almost all of them she has a sweet smile across her lips, energy in her eyes that are as blue as Jihyun’s in these photos, though that isn’t Misa’s real eye colour. She’s exactly as Rem remembers her, and she feels her throat tighten when she realizes she even remembers being there when at least one of these were taken.
Only one thing about Misa has changed, and that’s that, for the first time ever, Rem can’t see her lifespan. The red floating characters and string of numbers above Misa’s head were always a constant, a reminder that no matter what Rem does she can only delay Misa’s death, not stop it. Now there’s nothing but Misa and her bright expressions, Misa and her beauty untainted by the reminder of death, as though she might live forever.
Rem’s hand wavers a moment, tempted to look at more photos, to see if there are any where Misa looks older than she was when Rem left her, but she tears her eyes away from them. There is something she yet still must know, and Rem learned well from watching Misa the dangers of deluding oneself in love. Misa could never be eternal, but with Rem no longer a shinigami, that Misa at least survived is her only hope for meaning in this life.
Rem clicks on the article and holds her breath as the page loads, a foolish and whispered plea dying on her lips.
Misa Amane (弥 海砂, Amane Misa, born December 25, 1984 – died February 14, 2011) was a Japanese fashion model and actress.
The tears streaming down her face are tangible, and that’s when Rem first realizes she truly has become human.
Notes: This was inspired by AUs where Light becomes a shinigami after death, the argument being that his use of the death note during his life makes him essentially shinigami in function. I'm taking that argument and applying it to shinigami who fail their purpose, extending the life of a human instead of shortening it. Such shinigami are humanlike in their attachment to a human life, so if we're following the rule that a death note user becomes a shinigami in death, why not extend that to shinigami and have them become human in death?
As for Rem reincarnating specifically into V, on my last rewatch of Death Note I found myself continuously drawing parallels between the two characters, and thought it might be interesting to recontextualize V with this in mind.
Right now, the fic is more heavily focused on Rem's past life, but this chapter is a prologue and the focus (and naming and pronouns) will shift to be more centered on V's life soon.
I know the concept for this is pretty out there, but I hope it interests a few people.
#Death Note#Mystic Messenger#Rem#V#Jihyun Kim#crossover#fanfiction#my writing#apotheosis#vvelp here we go!
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The Defiant Penneth!
Words:2700
Request: Can the reader be Legolas’s little sister and their father treats her like she could break at any moment and raises her as a “princess” but she is actually really tough and Thranduil finds out in a shocking way?
TRANSLATIONS:
Tithen Pen-Little One
Muindor-Brother
Naneth/Nana-Mother/Mama
Ada-Father
Penneth-Young one
HERE IT IS:
“Steady now Tithen pen.” Legolas whispered into the young elleths ear. (Y/N) huffed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not little Legolas! I’m almost a hundred years old.” The fair haired elleth muttered to her brother who with a soft chuckle straightened out his sisters arm so as to help her with her shot. Their father had been adamant about her not training to be a warrior but rather a lady of high society. He didn’t wish for her to work with weapons and learn to fight. Ever since their mother had died soon after she was born he had been fiercely protective of her always making sure she was safe and sound. Legolas understood where he was coming from—but didn’t like why he did it. The thing was that (Y/N) looked exactly like their late mother. The only thing was that she had of her father the great Elvenking Thranduil, was his fair skin. Unlike his wife, Thranduil has much fairer skin than the late queen. When she was an infant Legolas would remember his father staring into his little sister’s eyes. As if to hold onto a memory of their late mother.
As a young elf, Legolas somewhat became jealous. However, as he matured he soon understood the pain and longing that his father went through as the years went on without his queen and their mother. He understood that (Y/N) was the last remnants of her that he had. And he wanted her not to become spoiled by war and fighting. She was his precious princess. And he couldn’t lose her.
This was the way things had been for a while. As a young elleth (Y/N) had been fine for she mostly spent her time either in the library, by her father, and or on her beautiful black stallion Faenor. However, Thrandiul was worried about the stallion and for a while banned her from riding the beast for he thought he was too wild for her. She could only ride the calm silver mare the king himself had picked out for her. However, as he restricted her from this she only wished to ride the beautiful stallion more and at night would sneak out of her chambers and go for long rides. After a while the king found out and a fierce fight ensued between daughter and father but alas the king’s words and demands fell on deaf ears and soon after he realized that she would not be swayed. Understanding and with a certain amount of pride for his daughter’s fierce spirit he allowed her to keep riding Faenor and soon she was almost always on the beasts back riding through the forest. However, her father always made sure a few guards went with his daughter while she went out for fear of intruders and or threats to his daughter’s life.
However, as the young elf grew into her teens she wished to learn how to fight with a bow and arrow like her brother and Tauriel the female elf and captain of the guard. Her father refused and she soon became once again defiant.
And that’s where they were today. For many years, against his father’s wishes Legolas had taught his sister to shoot. He understood his sisters wish to learn how to fight and thought it would be well to teach her how to shoot at the very least. Every elf should learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. It was in their blood. And so almost every week, Legolas would take his sister to a private meadow away from any guards or onlookers and teach his sister how to shoot for a few hours. He enjoyed these times with her for it strengthened the bond between older brother and younger sister. She was a great shooter. Determined and focused, no matter how much she didn’t get her shots right. She was a trueborn fighter. Just like her father. If only their father could see the potential his daughter had.
“Alright then. Draw the string back.” Legolas advised his younger sister. She did as she was told and he stood still. “Line up your shot and when you’re sure of it loose.” He said. With that the Elven Prince stood back and watched as his sister waited as she lined up her shot. Then quick as a hare she let the string go and it flew with a whoosh!
And hit dead center.
“Well done!” Legolas praised his sister. She looked at her brother and gave him a wide smile at his praise. “Thank you Muindor.” She replied. Legolas nodded. “Go get your arrows. I think that’s enough for today. It’s almost sundown. Father will be wondering where we are.” He said. With a nod (Y/N) ran off to retrieve her arrows. As she did this Legolas went to go prep their horses for the trip back to the palace.
As he was untying the horses reins form the low branch on which he had tied them to he saw his sister approaching her arrows all back into their quiver made of white buckskin. Her bow was made out of a beautiful red Pauduk tree. Her quivers were made of the same wood with beautiful swan feathers. Legolas had them made as a gift to her and she loved them with all her heart. Legolas kept them in his own chamber so as to not make their father suspicious but the minute they were out of the castles sight she would take them with pride and love and sometimes they would sit by the stream together and care for their arrows. She took care of her arrows with great pride and love always making sure they were in top shape.
“I’m ready to go.” She said. Nodding, Legolas mounted his horse and his sister soon followed. “Would you like me to take the arrows now?” He asked his sister. (Y/N) smiled and shook her head. “No I’d like to keep them on for a while. Just until we get to the edge of the woods. Then I’ll give them too you.” She said. Legolas nodded. With a smile his sister then gave her horse a slight urge using her heels and a quite word in Sindarian and Faenor soon was trotting away. Legolas did the same and followed suit.
As they rode through the forest together then looked around for something to do. “We should grab a buck or something just to throw father off the trail.” (Y/N) suggested. Legolas nodded and they went off hunting. Soon they found a large buck grazing. “Why don’t you take it?” Legolas said. With a smile, his younger sister quietly dismounted and started to quietly make her way towards the edge of a log where she hid. Then slowly and quietly drawing an arrow she slowly notched it and drew the string.
Suddenly a loud growl and cry distracted her. Without warning an orc jumped out from the bushed and attacked the young princess. With a cry (Y/N) let the arrow loose and it missed by a mile. Legolas with a cry drew his own bow and started to aim however another orc soon appeared and attacked Legolas with a sword. Due to the close range fighting Legolas was having a difficult time fighting off the orc. (Y/N) however was now pinned down by the orc that had her. “LEGOLAS!” She cried out in terror. This made the elven prince fight even harder and quickly drawing his dagger from his boot sliced the orcs throat. However, as he got up the orc had his sister in a grasp his sword to the elleths throat. “One step elf and she dies.” The orc hissed out. “Let her go!” Legolas spat.
The orc laughed. “I don’t think so puny elf.” The orc sneered. “I think I’ll take her myself…she looks tasty…” The orc said smelling (Y/N)’s fair hair. She cringed and gulped. Then she elbowed the orc in the face. Suddenly the orc reeled back and (Y/N) scrambled out of his grasp. However, he grabbed the hem of her dress and started to drag her back.
Suddenly out of nowhere an arrow flew into the fight. It hit the orc in the chest. With a cry the orc reeled back and a few more arrows soon joined the fray. Soon the orc lay dead on the ground. Spinning around to see who their savior was Legolas blinked.
There on his large elk sat their father Thranduil his bow in his hand. Around him on horseback were 10 guards including Tauriel the captain of the guard. The Elvenking quickly handed a bow to her and quickly dismounted.
“Father I…” Legolas started to speak but his father paid him no mind. He quickly passed Legolas and ran to (Y/N) who lay on the ground covered in leaves and…blood. The king quickly helped the young elleth up. “(Y/N) are you alright?” He asked his daughter worriedly. The princess nodded. “I’m fine Ada.” She said almost with a huff. Suddenly their father was all serious. “On your horse—now. We will speak of this when we get to the castle.” He said. Then he grabbed his daughters arm and lead her back to the group. As she started to walk towards her own mount their father pulled her away. “You’ll ride with me.” He said in a tone that mean there was no arguing. Sighing approached the large elk and with a boost from her father sat astride the great and majestic beast. Soon he joined he sitting behind her and his arms wrapped around her as he grabbed the reins. He soon ordered a guard to grab Faenor.
Their ride back to the palace was silent. As they came into the courtyard a few heads of the palace ran outside. One of them being the head of the house Rathal. Their father quickly dismounted and soon helped his daughter dismount. Then he turned to Rathal. “Take the princess back to her chambers and clean her up. Make sure her injuries are taken care of. Once she is taken care of bring her to the throne room.” He ordered. Rathal nodded and stepped forward. “Come your highness.” He said softly to the princess. (Y/N) sighed and with a final glance to her brother and father soon followed the male elf.
Without looking to any of the guards the king started to take off his riding gloves. “Take my elk and the princesses to the stables. Legolas get cleaned up and I will have someone come and get you when I am ready to talk to you.” He said. Legolas had dismounted by this time and nodded. “Yes father.” He said softly. But the king could not have heard his soft reply for he was already heading across the walkway into the castle.
(Y/N) sat on the bench as the healer dabbed some poultice on her neck where the orcs sword had nicked her fair skin. “There, that should do it your highness.” The healer said. With a soft thank you the princess went to put the final touches on her hair. As she finished her hair she stared down at the silver circlet that lay on her table. It was a silver circlet with silver cherry like blossom flowers decorated all around it. With delicate fingers she picked it up and placed it on her fair hair. Then getting up she left her room and walked down the hall to the throne room. She knew her father had told Rathal to take her their but she didn’t wish for this to be done.
As she approached the throne room she could hear shouting and fighting. As she got closer she recognized the voices of her father and brother. Quickly slipping into the throne room unnoticed she hid in the shadows. Nearby she noticed her bow and arrows were on the floor. She quickly and quietly went to retrieve them. As she got closer she could make out her brother and her fathers words.
“—a child!” Her father cried.
“Father she isn’t just a child. She is almost a hundred years old. I was using a bow and arrow long before that!” Legolas shot back.
“She is not you!” Thranduil snapped back.
“And she is not Naneth!” Legolas snarled back. “Naneth is gone!” He cried.
The Elvenking stopped and went rigid. With a slow turn he gazed upon his son fury shining in his blue eyes. “How dare you—.”
Whoosh!
An arrow was now lodged into the king’s wooden throne right by his head. Legolas and the king whipped around looking for the culprit.
(Y/N) stood by the door of the throne room her empty bow raised. “Enough!” She cried. The king stood there his mouth agape in shock. The princess stepped forward. “Legolas is right Ada! I am not Nana and I never will be! I don’t wish to be cooped up in this darned castle. I wish to run and ride and explore!” The princess cried from her place. She now was standing beside her brother.
The king stared at his two children and sighed but then as he thought about today’s events anger and fear gleamed in his eyes. “I almost lost you today! Both of you! I can’t lose you! I am doing this for your own protection (Y/N)!” He said to his daughter and son.
The young elleth shook her head. “No you’re doing it for yourself. I would be better prepared if I knew how to shoot. And that is why Legolas has been teaching me! I could have easily have shot you but I didn’t! Because I’m good with a bow! Legolas can tell you! I want to learn how to fight!”
Legolas nodded. “She is right Ada! She is quite skilled with a bow.”
The king glared at the two and sighed. “I am furious that you disobeyed my orders.” He said. “I could order that thing to be destroyed.” He said pointing to his daughter’s bow.
“Over my dead body.” The princess snarled.
The king blinked in shock at his daughter’s defiance. “You watch your tone penneth!” Their father warned. He then sighed and became calm. “However…in the past I have been selfish. I understand why you wish to learn the ways of a bow. That is why…I shall allow it to continue.” The king said.
“And if you—.” The princess started but stopped. “Wait really?” She said.
The king nodded. With a gasp and a large smile (Y/N) gazed at her father. “Thank you Ada—.” She stared but the king held up a hand. For a second (Y/N)’s face fell.
“However—from now on you shall do this in the courtyard. Where I can keep an eye on you and no orcs can interfere.” He said with a small smile. The young elven princess gasped and rushed up to her father and flung her arms around her father who blinked in surprise. “Thank you Ada.” She said softly. He smiled and wrapped his arms around his daughter. “You’re welcome penneth.” He said kissing her head.
With that she ran out the room. Legolas gazed at his sister as she ran out the room and then back at his father. “Why did you allow it?” He asked him.
Her father watched as his daughter raced out the room in excitement and looking at his son he sighed. “I knew she would be unhappy if I hadn’t. It would have broken her heart. I want the best for her and for you. You both are my world. I realized that I wasn’t helping her or you by not letting her learn. I was harming her rather than helping her.” He said softly. “She has her Naneth’s determination.” He said softly.
Legolas shook his head with a smile. “But she has your fire and spirit Ada. She always has.” The young prince said to his father. The king furrowed his eyebrows in wonder at his son’s words. Legolas with a bow turned and walked out of the throne room. However, he missed the wide grin on his father’s face as he left.
#reader insert#fem reader#lord of the rings#legolas#thranduil#the hobbit#legolas x reader#thranduil x reader#send me stuff#i love writing#elvish
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