#which again points to how finely woven she is to the fabric of the entire thing
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Finding "the meaning" to a show that could have had up to five or seven seasons but was cancelled after the second is somewhat like trying to understand a novel composed of seventy chapters by having read only twenty — there is a whole wealth of information which we do not possess that could alter our reading of any given element or of the entire thing in itself.
Still, there are always patterns that weave a story into a cohesive unit and they can help us to better grope in darkness towards comprehension. One such pattern in Warrior Nun appears to be how the consequences to mistakes, "sins" or evil deeds committed by characters manifest.
Basic storytelling usually requires characters to act on something so that complications or resolutions may arise from their choices and move the plot forwards. In Warrior Nun, many of these actions are quite tragic in nature: Suzanne's arrogance and pride lead to the death of her Mother Superion; Vincent's allegiance to the higher power he believed Adriel to be inspired him to kill Shannon; Ava's flight from the Cat's Cradle ends up damning Lilith as she is mortally wounded and taken away by a tarask... All of these events have negative outcomes and heavy repercussions on all characters directly or indirectly involved. Something changes permanently because of them, be it in the world around them or within the characters themselves.
And yet, it would seem that all of these dark deeds not only move the story forwards but might also have overall positive results. We would have had no protagonist without Ava — and she would arguably never have received the halo to begin with had she not been murdered. What's more, on a personal scale, the horrifying crime she suffers is, in the end, the very thing that allows her a second chance in life, a new life.
An act of outside evil permits Ava to grow and develop, shows her a path she would not otherwise have found. Without her own season in some sort of hell, Lilith would not have been able to advance towards other ways of being and understanding beyond her very strict limitations. Vincent and Suzanne would not have embarked on their own journeys of enlightenment without having caused the pain they are responsible for.
Beatrice might have been paying for someone else's mistakes, but she, too, is given the chance to grow into herself through it. The afflictions that torment these characters advance the overall plot, but they also advance them, as individuals, as long as they are willing to learn and keep going despite the calamities large and small that they are faced with. Beatrice keeps going after parental rejection, Mary keeps going after losing Shannon, Jillian keeps going after losing her son (in part through her own actions, adding insult to injury)... Trouble and the adaptation that follows it, if one is open enough to learn from the experience, motivates the characters, propels them forward, teaches them.
The problem of evil has occupied the minds of many a thinker throughout the ages, given how the very existence of it, evil, might call into question that of God (a good, omniscient, omnipotent one, anyway). A common way of justifying suffering (and also God), then, is by claiming, as Saint Augustine, that "God judged it better to bring good out of evil than not to permit any evil to exist".
Now, it would be rather ridiculous to say of Warrior Nun that it follows in Leibniz's footsteps, also because this philosopher, expanding on the augustinian concept, attempted to defend the goodness of a real God with his "best of all possible worlds" while all we have is... Well, whatever/whoever Reya is.
But there seems to be an inclination towards some sort of optimism as a worldview nonetheless.
Betrayals reveal truth and grant knowledge (Vincent's culminates with the coming of Adriel, which allows us to know of the threat of a "Holy War" and thus prepare for it; Kristian's gives Jillian much needed insight, William's lights up the fuse for the fight to be taken more seriously...), crimes committed willingly or not open the way for Ava (Suzanne's killing of her Mother Superion causes the loss of the halo, which is transferred to Shannon, whose death opens the gates for Ava to walk through after being herself murdered by sister Frances)... The magnitude of these positive outcomes is perhaps not "balanced" when compared to the evil that brings them about, but there is still something to take out of the catastrophe.
However tragic the tones of a given event, the show itself appears to shun the predetermination that makes tragedy as a genre; if everything is connected, here it at least appears to not necessarily drag everyone into their horrible dooms.
What's more is that this lurking "optimism" matches really well with our own protagonist's personality.
And it makes perfect sense that Ava would do the best she could with whatever she is given.
Life for her, in the conditions she experienced after the accident, would have been unbearable without some sort of positive outlook on life. However deadpan, the joking and the "obscene gestures" and whatever other forms of goofing around beside Diego are a way of turning a portion of the situation in her own favour. Proverbial eggs have, after all, already been broken right and left — might as well make an omelette of whatever remains.
Humour is just another way of looking at the bright side of something, or, at the every least, of mitigating the utter horror it might bring. If the show allows for moments of lightness, if it lets us laugh, if it takes us through a perilous voyage which still bears ripe, succulent fruit instead of the rot of pessimism and its necessary contempt for humanity, it is because Ava herself sees things in this way. It isn't gratuitous or naïve in this case, but a true survival strategy, especially as it is confronted with the morbidity of Catholicism.
Here is a religion that soothes its faithful with the promise of reward in the afterlife — how else does one charge into battle against the unknown, risking one's own death along with that of one's sisters, without the balm of believing that we shall all meet again eventually, "in this life or the next"? How else does one come to terms with the ugliness and the pain of this existence if not by looking forward to a paradise perfect enough to make all trials and tribulations here worth it?
True nihilism would have annihilated Ava. Her present perspective is what avoided the abyss.
And there is nothing Panglossian to her attitude or what the show might imply by giving us her view on things. This isn't about "the best of all possible worlds", but of making the best of whatever situation we're in, of taking what we have and doing something with it, something good, something of ourselves. It isn't God making good out of evil, but our choices.
Killing innocent people and feeling no remorse will never be the best someone can aspire to do. Sister Frances, cardinal William, Adriel all learn this the hard way.
Those who do their best find that, somehow, they can move on from whatever it was that paralysed them. Ava, most of all, knows what it is to be stuck, frozen in place; she can never be the character who refuses to grow, even through pain, lest she condemns her spirit to the same fate her body is all too familiarised with. Those around her wise enough to let themselves be touched by her, by the dynamic power she carries, walk forth with her and live.
It says very little about "God" that Warrior Nun should adopt its heroine's views and seem "optimistic" as it progresses — but it speaks volumes about the values it presents for pondering, of the inspiration its protagonists provide, and of the multiple reasons why this is a story unlike most others.
#warrior nun#ava silva#you know it's actually very funny to type this as someone who is very schopenhaurian with hints of nietzsche#but i AM doing the best i can too :)#again i will reiterate that i don't think this apparent optimism has anything to do with the classic theodicy#if anything i see it more as a cry in favour of antitheism -- this is YOUR life fuck god#life is shitty so carve out your own makeshift paradise out of the wreck you are given#and don't make things harder for anyone else in the process if you can avoid it#(but that might just be the luciferian in me speaking lol)#anywho this post is a translation of one i wrote not too long ago in cryptic english and a ton of tags#so if it seems familiar that's why#also i do find it rather telling that whenever i try to delve into how the show structures things i talk about ava#i don't set out to analyse her -- but in analysing the show i must analyse her as well if by the edges#which again points to how finely woven she is to the fabric of the entire thing#remember how i said ava is a representation of free will?#well this whole bringing good out of evil thing also touches upon it#saint augustine maintains that it is precisely free will that allows us to do it -- to choose good#of course he means it in a sense of being free to pursue god rather than evil but you see the parallel still works#(this is the post i mentioned in the last reblog. figured i'd go ahead and throw it in the wild since there are more brewing)#analysis and similar#exercises in observation
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Hi,love your writing and was wondering if I could request a John Murphy fluff/angst based on season 2or3 where the reader and him get in an argument about him ‘being with Emori’ but he likes the reader?
John Murphy x Reader: Promises
*Absolutely! Thank you for the suggestion. Also, let's just act like I haven't been MIA for literal months :)
GIF//
Warnings: None to my knowledge!
Word Count: 2078
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“Don’t go,” you begged, grabbing Murphy’s hand as it swung carelessly behind him. When your fingers touched his skin, Murphy stopped immediately. He inhaled heavily through his nose, trying to control the sadness and desire that you sent rippling through his body.
“Murphy, please,” you whimpered.
Murphy’s shoulder dropped as he let the single strap of his backpack slide down his arm. Your eyes lit up, hoping that was a positive sign. Hoping that you were enough to make him stay.
“I can’t.”
“You can,” you said assertively. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he replied, apologetic eyes looking at you between half-closed eyelids. He was right. You didn’t understand. He had nothing to apologize for. He didn’t have to prove himself to you. Or ask for your forgiveness. None of the things that his blue eyes seemed to convey.
“You don’t need redemption.”
“But if I go now, maybe when I come back-”
“What?” you interrupted. “Everything will suddenly be different?”
“Is it so wrong to want that?” he questioned softly, a shaky sigh leaving his body. You tightened your grip, white knuckles against red calloused ones. Just another casualty of his bad temper.
“Of course not. But you’re not going to fix anything by leaving. You need to stay. Stay and show them who you can be. Don’t leave and prove them right.”
Murphy dropped his head, fixated on your two hands intertwined. There was a lot more going on than the surface discussion. You danced around being in love by using double meanings and knowing glances. This wasn’t about him leaving to find himself. It was about him leaving you.
Glassy eyes meet together in a flurry of uncertainty and passion. The pit of your stomach churned as Murphy leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. They barely touched before he pulled away, eyes closed. It was a kiss that you never wanted to experience, especially being your first.
You knew he was leaving.
“Don’t cry,” he told you, hearing a sniffle escape. His eyes still rested, he quietly spoke, “I will be back. I promise. I have something to come back to.”
“Murphy, I-”
“I promise.” He now faced the reality of the situation, confronting his fears head on as he stared into your bloodshot eyes. There was no way he would ever be the cause of this again. He just needed one chance to make you proud. To clear his name.
“I promise.”
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The taste of dirt and sweat caused you to gag as you were manhandled into the unknown. You had no idea why you were the target of a kidnapping. If anything, you laid low and kept to yourself. Regardless, you followed the directions given to you, fearing what would become of your life if you didn’t.
“I’ve brought you some company!” the voice behind you bellowed. You jumped at the sudden noise, interested in the way he practically sang the announcement.
“Who?” another voice asked, seeming alert and slightly panicked. You knew this voice anywhere and it quickly became clear why you were here. Even still, you obeyed the commands given. If you spoke a word, made any noise, it would be the end of your life.
“Worried, are we?” The man started to laugh heartily as you continued to walk. Every thundering step matched the beating of your heart. What would happen when you finally stopped?
There was no response, so the man began to speak. “Someone who wouldn’t shut up about you. Scared for you. Desperate to see you.”
As if being captured weren’t enough, this was just plain humiliating. He didn’t have to recount all the times you pined after Murphy while he was gone. You lost track of the months it had been since you last saw him. This was not how you wanted to reunite.
“Who. Is. It?” Murphy asked yet again. It was dark and menacing. A resemblance of a person that he used to be. You knew that would always be a part of him. Especially when it involved people that he cared about.
“A girlfriend?” the man guessed. You cringed hearing that word, tormenting and taunting you of what never was. But how Murphy replied was even more heartbreaking.
“Emori?” The man began to cackle once more as Murphy cursed and threatened his life. It was terrible to hear the intensity of his love. How much he cared for someone else while you turned others down, waiting for him.
The man gave you one last shove, causing you to fall to your knees. Through minute gaps in the woven sack over your head, you finally caught an amber hue of light. You groaned in pain, trying your best to stay upright with your hands tied behind your back.
There was a brief moment of silence before another outburst broke out. This time, you heard the scuffling of feet against the floor. Fabric harshly rubbed against a scratchy surface. It sounded like an attempt to escape.
“Let her go!” Murphy yelled.
“Why would I do that? I have everything I need, now. Except for the information.”
“Just let her go and I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you everything,” Murphy frantically said.
“But I’m having so much fun. Maybe just one...little…” A cold blade touched your neck, causing a shriek to escape your throat. He put an ounce of pressure against your rapidly thumping artery.
“I swear to God if you hurt her I will kill you!” Murphy’s voice was full of anguish as it broke here and there. It was a frequency in which you had never heard from him. It was harrowing to witness.
The knife was removed from your neck. In a series of exchanges, Murphy gave him the answer to every single question he asked. When the interrogation was over, you were picked up and moved to a new area. Here, you were tied once more around my stomach.
Then, without warning, the bag was removed from your head. You could barely take in my surroundings before Murphy called your name. Tears fell from your eyes as you saw, for the first time in months, John Murphy. Though you had to admit, he looked worse for wear.
“Murphy,” you cried back, wanting more than anything to be able to touch him. To hug him. To take in his scent. You had been without this man for way too long.
“That’s sweet,” the man, who you could now identify as Titus, interrupted. “But I’ve got what I wanted. For now.” And with that, he turned on his heel and exited the room, leaving you and Murphy alone.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Murphy asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” you replied. “But you don’t look good at all.”
“Yeah, well, being tortured does that to a person.”
“He tortured you?” you questioned, breath leaving your body. Picturing someone hurting Murphy made you sick.
“A few times,” he shrugged.
You wanted to be happy. You wanted to ask him about his trip. You wanted to know if he discovered himself. If he found who he truly was. But you couldn’t get past the fact that he said another girl’s name.
You never claimed to be anything more than friends, but you thought it went without saying. A person doesn’t just kiss someone before they leave. Or promise that they would come back to you.
“I hate that I have to see you like this,” Murphy finally said, breaking the silence. “I always imagined coming back to camp with Jaha’s group. We just saved the human race, or something like that. But it didn’t matter, because I was looking for you.”
“Not Emori?” you mumbled, mustering up the courage to be so bold. Murphy’s eyes grew wide as he avoided your haunting gaze.
“Look, it wasn’t supposed to- she just- we were,” he tried to explain, slumping over in the process.
“I waited for you. Every day,” you admitted. “The last thing I did before I went to bed was look out the gate for you. Every morning I woke up with the hope that it would be the day you came back to me.”
You started to sob, recounting the loneliness that you felt. And the fear of not knowing Murphy’s fate. Were you holding out for someone who was dead? Was it hopeless to wish that he would keep his promise?
“I turned people down. I kept faith in you. I told everyone how proud I was. And then to know that you weren’t keeping me with you at all. I wasn’t even a passing thought.”
“It’s not like that,” Murphy said.
“But it is. She’s your girlfriend.”
“I don’t- love her,” he said softly, swallowing hard enough to make his entire throat bob up and down.
“Then what?” You were at the tipping point with Murphy. Exasperated with his short answers and frustrated with the secrets he was holding. If he wouldn’t be honest with you now, there was no way you would ever be with him in the future.
“I’ve been through a lot. More than I expected.” He stared into the distance, seemingly void of emotion. It was like he was lost, trying hard to remember something that he pushed away. “I was trapped. By myself. 86 days. You know how I spent that time?”
You shook your head in response. He was still burning holes in the wall, but somehow knew that you replied. He smirked slightly before saying, “I thought about you. And how good it would feel to see you once I was out. Granted, I went absolutely crazy in there, but you kept me as sane as I could be.”
You couldn’t help but to chuckle at this. “I can’t imagine you any more psychotic than you are now.”
“Is that so?” he bantered, catching you out of the corner of his eye.
“You’re a freak,” you teased.
“Why? Because I’ve killed a few people?”
“Yeah, that probably contributes.” The two of you shared a smile, falling back into old patterns. You missed having a person that you could shamelessly be yourself around. The quick wit and sly comments were always absorbed and thrown back by Murphy. No one else stood a chance against you.
“When he said he had someone,” Murphy carried on, “you’re the first person I thought of. But it seemed impossible until I saw you. I don’t know what came over me. I- I was blind with rage. I tried to fight my way out. Because if he hurt you-”
Murphy couldn’t bear to finish the sentence. You didn’t need him to. You knew what was left to say. You heard the distinct difference, the silence that fell, when he realized you were the captured person and not Emori.
“I know that doesn’t make any of this right, but I just wanted that feeling of safety that you gave me. And Emori was there. I misplaced it. And I’m sorry,” Murphy apologized.
“What about Emori, then?” you pressed.
“She’s a good person, and she will understand. I just couldn’t live with myself if I left you again.”
“You mean that?” Murphy simply nodded, outstretching his fingers in your direction. Even though you couldn’t hold hands, the sentiment remained as you reflected his actions. You were two people trying to make your own light in the darkest of situations.
“I love you,” you managed to choke out, taking in the dried blood on his hairline and the bruises on his skin. His pant leg was ripped at the cuff and his hands were caked in dirt. You needed him to know that no matter what happened, now and forever, that he could carry this with him. Even after death, if fate so decided.
“I love you, too,” he said, without hesitation or a second thought. It was something he wished he had told you the night he decided to leave. The only thing he regretted once he left the compound.
But he had the chance to fix all of that. And in that moment, he swore that once you escaped, he would always be there to protect you. He would always console you and your wondering thoughts. He would love you the way that he should have a long time ago.
He promised he would always find a way to come back to you.
He promised he would never leave.
He promised.
**Hey, it's Lainey. Slightly embarrassing but I am back from the grave! I hope you all enjoy this and still love Murphy as much as I do <3
#john murphy#john murphy fanfic#john murphy imagine#john murphy x reader#the100#The 100#the100fanfic#the100fanfiction#the100fic#johnmurphyfic#love#writing#john murphy fanfiction#johnmurphyimagine
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idk if you’re still taking requests so no pressure but maybe jmart 18 about jon’s scars? or,,, honestly however you wanna interpret that lol
Hehe bet you thought you weren't getting one. But of COURSE you're getting one! <3 HERE YOU GO!! Sorry it is late I am not a fast writer haha! This was a VERY interesting one to interpret and I got a little wonky and metaphysical there for a bit WHICH I LOVE and THE IDEA MIGHT HAVE BEEN A BIT LONG FOR A DRABBLE BUT! It's soft and I'm soft and I enjoyed this one SO SO MUCH ; w ; I hope you do too!!
Jon had Seen enough. Martin had decided that long ago. He had witnessed enough, been forced to witness enough, been the vessel into which literally everything had funneled into in an unrelenting typhoon of unspeakable, unfathomable horrific knowledge comprehensible only to him long enough that he damn well deserved the luxury of imperception. He had earned the right to not notice when Martin accidentally bought the wrong brand of chai, the one he insisted tasted like someone rubbed a stick of cinnamon on plasterboard and jammed it in a cardamom pod, but honestly tasted just like the one he preferred. The universe, whichever one they happened to be in now, owed him not realizing the buttons on his cardigan were one off until they were about to head out and Martin had to fix them, fingers humming with the warmth of him lingering in the cashmere every time. He deserved to forget his keys and then also have to go back to check that their flat door was locked twice, just to be sure. He deserved tossing cabbage in the trolley at the market, only to get home and realize it was a head of iceberg lettuce instead, and also he had completely forgotten the onion anyway so back he would have to go. Tiny and insignificant, patently human foibles that any normal person might tally up to a really rotten day overall and gripe about over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape he had won as gleaming, pyrrhic badges on the ruins of his humanity yanked back from the claws of the yawning, devouring dark matter of the cosmos and stitched painstakingly back together with love.
But mostly Jon deserved to not notice the way people looked at him.
He need not see the painted-on expressions of strangers that ran the gamut from quiet pity, to voyeuristic curiosity, to outright revulsion that Martin could not help but see everywhere they went. They had no idea. Not even the slightest inkling of what, exactly, had composed that magnum opus of horror and pain scarred resplendently on his flesh, his bones, his sinews and synapses. To even try know was to go mad, the mind looping through and around and between consciousness and logic and love and fear and philosophy and metacognition until it squeezed into an ouroboros black hole singularity of dense unknowing that collapsed in on itself and perished in cataclysm. They had merely gotten lucky that being extruded through the plumbings of creation seemed to straighten out their fibers enough to be woven back into the fabric of reality, but they were too kinked and snagged and gnarled to ever lay fully flat again. And that was why they stared.
The invasive beings of Jon and Martin had come to mutual terms with it long ago, but they also knew they would be forever incongruous with an innocent world, with a world where they did not belong and that collectively looked at them both like an ontological cancer, benign but festering and ugly. They would never know the thing that crouched behind the stars with pointed knees and elbows that even then, groped to find their new world in the lightless vast, and Jon deserved to not perceive any hints of that either. He deserved their quiet, their peace, their wordless human acceptance.
Jon deserved to be innocently chewing a periwinkle-painted thumbnail in front of the ice cream counter, just as he was that gossamer spring afternoon, turning woeful and forever mismatched brown and green eyes at his husband and asking if he should get mint chip or rum raisin before deciding, actually, could he have a sample of the salted caramel ribbon first? He pointed eagerly at the various frozen tubs behind the glass with his gnarled right hand, where the fingers never did quite open or close properly again, and missed in his wonderment at the veritable cornucopia of sweet delights available to him the mingled look of pity and horror on the cashier’s face as she doled out samples at his request. Martin lurked protectively behind, silent, sentinel, seeing it all, a hot brand of fury boring its way through his chest as he glared icy blue daggers at the clueless young woman, who only compounded her crimes by complimenting the permanent white forelock in his ginger curls as she took his order.
Martin snatched his double scoop of rocky road and pralines and cream out of her hand with a withering scowl and said nothing. Jon, frowning in the dread shadow of Martin’s hushed wrath and finally deciding on just the mint chip, took it upon himself to pay while the poor young woman skirted around both their gazes. They took their ice cream to enjoy in the balmy sun on the metal patio tables outside the shop under a cloud of unspoken insults and slander which Jon was more than happy to pop open the conversational umbrella beneath before the downpour.
“Something wrong?” he asked solicitously.
“Nope. I’m fine,” came the curt answer, suspiciously also lacking in eye contact as Martin stabbed his pink spoon into the rocky road.
Jon’s mismatched eyes narrowed shrewdly. There was one thing that never escaped his notice, even now, and that was the painfully obvious way Martin always broadcast his inner hurts and the physical language of his turmoil he had become fluent in over the years.
“Okay, yes you are probably fine. And I’m guessing it has nothing to do with you actually, because you’re angry and you rarely get angry on your own behalf, which means it’s probably something to do with me or some perceived slight. What happened in there? Did someone make a snide remark about my eccentric ice cream selection? The long skirt on a warm spring day? Oh, no, I’ve got it. It was probably the earrings, yes? I knew I should have gone with the feathers instead of hoops, matches the outfit much better.”
The corner of Martin’s mouth quirked up in a hapless, crooked smile as Jon coaxed a laugh out of him, and he looked up into his gaze adoringly to grant him unspoken conciliation.
“No, no not at all. Nothing like that. It’s nothing, love. It’s not a big deal. Just low blood sugar or something. Just eat your nasty mint chip or rum raisin or whatever that unholy concoction is,” Martin snorted, gesturing at his cup.
“Liar,” Jon crooned with loving reproachment, reaching out to thumb a little bit of rum raisin on the tip of Martin’s nose as punishment.
Even breathed with such unfettered, undying affection, Martin hated that word. He hated how transparent he still was to the man he loved, how much he still truly saw him, saw through him. At least all it took to compel him now was a little melted ice cream rubbed clean off his nose and a winsome smile with love-puddled green and brown eyes.
“Okay, okay… fine,” he admitted with a resigned smirk and a sigh, “I don’t like the way they look at you. Okay? That’s all.”
Jon’s brow knitted together curiously.
“Hmm? Who? What do you mean?” he asked.
“Everyone!” Martin finally effused in frustration, “Everywhere! They look at you like you’re… like you’re damaged goods! Like you’re some pitiful beaten animal on the street, or worse, like you’re some sort of- some sort of um…”
“…Monster?” supplied Jon, lips pursed and lids drooping.
“…I wasn’t going to say that,” Martin stammered.
“What other word is there?”
“Fine, they look at you like you’re a monster. They take one look at your face or your throat or your… your hand. And I can just see it on their faces. They look at you like you’re a monster, and I hate it. You don’t deserve that. You never did! They don’t even know you! They don’t know what happened to you…! And sorry, Jon, but I get angry about it because it’s not fair, and I can’t exactly go about lobbing right hooks into the faces of everyone who even looks at you cross-eyed, now can I? Much as I’d like to…"
Jon went quiet as he listened, dabbling first in the rum raisin, then indulging in a little mint chip chaser, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully as he nibbled on the plastic spoon.
“Is that what you see?”
The color rolled out from Martin’s freckled cheeks along with the very spirit from his eyes in a fog, his entire mien awash in pallor.
“What? How could you say that to me? I would NEVER think that about you, Jon! How could you ever think I would think that? I-I know I said some awful things in the past about your scars, but I-“
“No no! Martin, no! Of course not! I know you would never!” Jon cut in, reaching across the table to snatch his hand and squeeze it reassuringly, rubbing his knuckles and over his wedding ring, “You misunderstand! I was asking if that’s what you see in their eyes?”
Martin clung to Jon’s hand, heart palpitating and breath easing.
“Oh…” he blurted dumbly, flushing with lively hues of reds and golds once more, “I-? Of course I do, what else could it be?”
“I don’t see that. I don’t see that at all,” Jon answered simply, “It’s… hard to describe but, damaged goods, disgust, morbid curiosity, those are all… Hard things. They have sharp edges. And when people here look at me, I don’t feel anything hard or sharp, it feels… soft? It feels gentle.”
Shaking his head, Martin frowned.
“Gentle? How is openly gawking at someone’s scars in any way gentle?”
“It’s just a feeling I have. I suppose,” Jon mused, thumbing at his beard with his free hand as he constructed an analogy that would make sense in his mind, “Mmm… Think of it like this. Humans, life, we’re all very visually oriented creatures, right? We respond to visual cues in our environments that are universally understood. We wear these rings so that everyone knows we belong together, just the same as bright colors usually mean poison, or how specialized feathers, or horns, or dewlaps and the like let others know they’d be a good mate, or how some things look like eyes or like entirely different creatures to scare off predators, and so on.”
The creases in Martin’s forehead only deepened in confusion.
“Okay sure, but scars aren’t a natural adaptation? We don’t look at scars the same way we look at pretty eyes on a moth wing or something.”
“I know that, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jon reiterated tenderly, “What I’m saying is I’ve always felt like my scars are a visual cue, but one that says to others ‘treat me gently’, because clearly I haven’t been. And it’s… well it’s been quite nice. You were about to tear that poor girl’s head off, but didn’t you see how she not only gave me about six samples when the sign clearly said two per customer, but then she also gave me the rum raisin ‘by mistake’ and then conveniently forgot to charge for it?”
“Wh-did she?” Martin gasped in shock, rewinding the transaction to remember that indeed, Jon had only asked for mint chip, but there was clearly also a generous scoop of rum raisin in his cup, ”She did… No I… I guess I didn’t notice…”
Jon let Martin’s hand go to cup his cheek pointedly in his scarred palm, running his thumb over the soft curve of his cheek and the spray of his ruddy freckles comfortingly.
“You want to know what I think? I think what you perceive as disgust or aversion or even pity is just fear, like you had. Fear of pain, fear of disfigurement, of fallibility. People are always afraid of seeing what can become of their mortal bodies, but that has nothing to do with me, or being disgusted by me. People are, at their cores, good and gentle, Martin. I know they are, we both do. They see me, my cane, my limp, my hand, my gray hair, my face, and they don’t even ask, they just know, on some primal level, that life was not kind to me. And so in some tiny way, like free rum raisin, they almost always try to give something back to me.”
Jon had known. He had noticed. It had never escaped his perception as Martin had assumed. Jon had known all along, but it was only Martin who still saw daggers in the smiles of strangers while he had taken the last vestiges of his powers irrevocably branded on his body and soul and sowed something delicate and beautiful and blossoming in his new earth. Martin had made a weapon. Perhaps no less delicate and beautiful, but still cold and sharp and deadly. The razor white edge of the sun through frigid fog.
“I’m so sorry, Jon,” Martin choked, his throat pinching shut with the threat of tears, “I-I had no idea…. I-I only thought…”
“It’s alright, please don’t cry, darling, you have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. You only thought you were protecting me. I protected you for so long, when you were desperate to do the same for me, to save me, but had no power to do either. Now you’ve got your turn to do the protecting in earnest, and honestly, it’s a… can I- can I say hot? Can I say it’s a hot look on you? Or is that weird?” Jon asked, tips of his ears blushing coyly.
Martin managed a laugh as he sniffed back the tears and thumbed both sets of lashes dry under his spectacles.
“It’s a little weird for you, in particular, to say it, just because it’s you. But I’ll take it.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Perhaps then, Martin thought as Jon leaned over their whimsical little metal table outside an ice cream parlor by a park with a striped canopy above them and birds singing and kissed his tears away and then kissed his lips into a smile, that sharp things needn’t always be weapons. Perhaps his sword was, in reality, a spade, or a hoe, something to tend and nurture the new and fragile happiness Jon had tilled. Gentle things deserved gentle protection, and he was still going to devote every iota of his being to protecting Jon until the end of their days. After all, as they finally got to enjoy their slightly melted ice cream, Jon still dribbled a bit of rum raisin down his beard and carried on none the wiser. Martin let him go on like that, blissfully unaware, talking about Polyphemus moths and the myth of the cyclops and something about someone going about as Nobody, until he finally reached out with a napkin to attentively wipe it away.
Other than a gracefully paced ‘oh, thank you dear,’ Jon never missed a beat.
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Finaces, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 9
Author: @exquisitley-obsessed
Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF
Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien
Warnings: Mentions of sexual assault/abuse/rape + abusive families
A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3
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AO3
Chapter Nine: A Sight To See
Elain frowned down at the dress.
“I’m not sure if-”
“It’s perfect,” Nuala said firmly, glaring at her through the mirror. The surprisingly stubborn lesser fae was currently attempting to pin a handful of gemstones into Elain’s hair.
Elain just gave the fae a curt nod before looking back at herself.
Today was the day of the weekly meeting at Huckleberry Hall, i.e. Elain’s debut in the mortal realm as an emissary for not just the Night Court, but all the fae lands. How she’d gotten to this point in her life, she had no idea.
Yesterday she’d spent her time in the gardens chatting with Bartholomew, the Manor’s chief gardener. He was a sweet man that reminded her of her father, especially given all his travelling to the Continent and his collection of rare plant species in his greenhouse. He’d even promised her a few books on the matter and explained in great detail how plants can be useful for a number of things: healing, food, poisons.
He’d even pointed out the aphrodisiacs with a dopey grin, to which Elain had blushed furiously and moved quickly onto the exotic specimens.
She hadn’t seen Lucien that day.
Elain didn’t know why she was so aware of his absence given that she’d done just fine ignoring Lucien’s existence for two years. But yesterday, not seeing Lucien had thrown her balance off. When she was in the garden she kept looking up at the windows of the East Wing where his room supposedly resided. If only to catch a glimpse of red hair and a scarred face, just so she’d know he was okay.
Eventually, she’d turned in to the library to give one final assessment of her notes, and had spent the entire time trying to ask Nuala if Lucien was in the house without technically saying the words.
“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.
“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.
“Yes, that sounds good,” Nuala said without looking up.
“I…I don’t know what he does with his days.”
“Me neither,” Nuala shrugged.
“I haven’t seen him yet today…”
“Oh…shame…” From the glint in Nuala’s eye, Elain knew she had caught on to her not-so-subtle questioning.
“Yes…I wonder if he’ll be back later today.”
“Probably, considering he lives here.” Nuala was grinning now. And as Elain’s cheeks turned pink, she bit her tongue and stopped her questioning.
***
“Where did you even get this dress?”
“The Lady Morrigan gifted it to you before you left for the mortal lands, she was too late to say goodbye in person so she gave me the package.”
“Oh,” Elain nodded absent-mindedly. “How does Mor know my measurements?”
Nuala just grinned.
“Mor isn’t…talented in gift-giving, but she understands textiles like no other.”
Elain just nodded once more and shifted slightly upon dressing stand.
The dress was unlike anything Elain had ever worn before. The middle Archeron sister typically favoured dresses with full skirts and corseted bodices, all bedecked with lace, ribbon and silk, and paired with fresh flowers in her hair.
The dress she was wearing today just…wasn’t.
“Why am I wearing this again?”
“Because the mortals must understand that whilst High Fae and humans may look similar, you’re not. If you were to go in one of your standard dresses, the humans would see it as an attempt for you to ‘humanise’ yourself. Whilst common ground is important with the mortals, they must still understand that we are different. Do you see this fabric?”
Nuala took a finger and ran it along Elain’s covered shoulder, who nodded in response.
“This fabric is called Didache. It’s only found in the fae-lands, particularly the Autumn Court. It comes from the Dida-bugs of the Burning Caves who produce a fine silk-like fabric that is woven into sheets. It will remind the humans that we are different and yet-” Nuala grinned at her, “-beautiful.”
Elain blushed and nodded. The fabric was a deep forest green and yet, it moved like water. It seemed to always be shifting with the smallest of movements and sometimes, in the light, she could see not one but hundreds of shades of green flowing together, interspersed with threads of gold.
Mor’s ingenuity was shown in the choosing of this dress, as it both demonstrated a stylistic change between fae and mortal wear, and yet Elain was still able to maintain a comfortable modesty that would not outright alarm the humans.
The dress, unlike the flouncy human design, was a tight fit. It began high on her neck and covered her entire body, connecting to her hands via a tie on her middle finger. It cascaded down her body like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve. Most strange of all was how it clung to her thighs (a sensation Elain was not yet used to) before the fabric flared ever so slightly at the knees and left a small trail of watery, emerald fabric to follow her as she walked.
It was simple, yet a statement.
Elain would’ve hated to wear such a tight dress if, well, she didn’t look so good. She’d been taught her whole life that covering up was natural for women and whilst she certainly wasn’t prepared to wear the kinds of dresses Feyre sported to the Court of Nightmares, this dress seemed to call for her.
“I think Mor had this prepared for you for some time,” Nuala said, pushing the final pin in. The hairstyle hailed from the Day Court Nuala explained as she had coiled Elain’s mass of hair on top of her head whilst leaving large strands to dangle down her shoulders. Brown bands were wrapped around her head and interwoven into her curls were dark green gems that glittered in the light and made it look as though her hair was made of starlight.
It was…beautiful.
“Thank you, Nuala,” Elain said quietly when her friend stepped back to survey her work.
“No problem,” Nuala smiled, “I know it’s not your usual dress, but you truly look like a Fae princess, perhaps even a High Lady.”
Elain reddened and surveyed herself once more in the mirror.
“The others are waiting for you at the stables,” Nuala said suddenly as shadows began to coil from her hair and she extended her hand to Elain.
After peering one more time at her notes on the table, Elain turned and glared at the female she saw in her reflection. With her hair pinned back, her pointed ears were on display, slightly pink at the tips from all her flushing. The dress, the hair, her dark eyes, the flawless skin – Elain was undeniably beautiful. And undeniably fae.
With a sigh, Elain turned and grasped Nuala’s hand before she could think too much about how she looked and all that had changed.
Even if she didn’t know how to play the part of fae, she might as well look it.
***
There was a small bustling crowd around the stables of Lockhart Manor. The stables were placed near the entrance to the woods and the small trail they would follow all the way to Huckleberry Hall.
Letting go of Nuala’s hand, Elain turned to survey the small crowd. There were stable boys and a few guards, and she could even peek Bartholomew speaking rapidly to a woman in a fine dress who was nodding along with interest, Jurian a few paces behind them, looking bored as ever.
No Lucien.
The thought shouldn’t have made Elain’s heart sink as it did. She’d been awake since sunrise, having breakfast in her chambers as Nuala began the prep work for getting her into the dress. And maybe as she watched herself slowly being transformed into a fae princess; she could only think of her mate’s reaction to seeing her in such an outfit.
Turning back around, Elain’s eyes once more fell on the gardener and the woman, now pointing down at the strawberry plants that lined the pathway. It took a few more moments of staring for Elain to realise that she was, in fact, looking at Queen Vassa.
Looking over her shoulder, Elain threw a stare at Nuala who only shrugged in response. Elain turned back. How was Vassa out? The sun was at a midpoint between East and Mid-day, she should be well past her transfiguration by now.
Sighing, Elain practised walking as she made her way over to the Queen. The dress was surprisingly practical, easier to move in than any of her corsets. Instead of restricting her movements, the fabric simply glided over her skin and moved with her, no doubt catching the light as it did and reflecting a thousand shades of green.
“Queen Vassa,” Elain greeted with a small curtsey.
The Queen turned from the gardener to nod at Elain, and Elain saw how Vassa’s eyes caught on her appearance, her eyes flicking up and down her body for a brief moment, her figure seeming to still.
“You look magnificent, Vassa,” Elain smiled, hoping that her compliment was seen as nothing other than a peace offering.
Vassa was sporting a traditional human queen’s gown. The colour was a deep gold with a panel of green and crimson embroidery running up the centre of the dress. There was a low tie hanging on the queen’s slender hips and a heavy crown upon her forehead. She was the image of strength and power, and next to her, Elain felt as though she looked like the evil-fae seductress.
“Forgive me if it’s a crude question but, how are you…”
”Here?” Vassa said drily, raising a brow. Elain forced herself not to flush with embarrassment and just nodded.
Vassa sighed as though she were bored and raised her hand. Elain was unsure what she was supposed to be looking at, there were two rings on her hand and a nice set of manicured nails but-
Then she realised. The ring on her fourth finger was made of black metal and was far too heavy and brutal to be worn by a Queen.
Looking at the ring, Elain felt something coil in her gut. Turning fae had attuned her senses to magic, and thrumming from that ring was a magic that smelt like sickness.
Suddenly, Elain felt herself drifting out of her body, able to look down on herself and Vassa. As she did, she had the distinct feeling of something falling into place.
”It’s a new addition.”
Jurian's voice snapped Elain back into her body with a small gasp. He was slowly stalking up to them, cutting into a fig with his knife as he moved with a predator-like grace. “It seems that Vassa’s keeper sent us a house-warming gift. He’s only two years late.”
“Jurian…” Vassa sighed tiredly, as though she’d had this conversation several times before.
”It seems like our death-Lord, from his lakeside manor, has decided to give our dear Queen the ability to see daylight.”
Elain could only glance between the two, barely able to keep up with their bantering. She was still feeling overwhelmingly nauseous and was trying to avoid looking at the ring directly.
”Don’t worry,” Vassa turned to Elain with a sneer, “I’m not fixed just yet. The ring comes with a cost. Each hour I put off my transformation adds 24 for later.”
”Why not leave it on?” Elain said in a quiet voice, still feeling the earth move underneath her.
”Oh yes, of course, I’m sure Koschei just skipped over that in his master plan,” Vassa snarked. Elain, to her own surprise, rolled her eyes.
“Well, hello princess,” Jurian spoke before Vassa could. He talked as though he hadn’t seen Elain before.
Elain’s skin couldn’t help but prickle as she watched his eyes lapping up her figure with a complete disregard for anything else.
“Jurian,” Elain nodded, trying to drag his eyes up to her own.
“What did we do to deserve this?” His eyes met hers with a wink and then, again, ever so slowly, Jurian’s eyes ran up Elain’s body, lingering slightly on the fabric that was straining over her bountiful chest before meeting her eye. Elain didn’t deem the comment with a retort.
“Leave her be Jurian,” Vassa rolled her eyes before turning to Elain with something that looked like a coy smile. “It’s fun to see them drool, isn’t it?”
Elain, to her surprise, found herself grinning widely and nodding. If she wasn’t mistaken, she and Vassa had just shared a pleasant interaction.
Today was full of surprises.
“And they say we’re the weaker sex.”
Vassa tipped her head back and laughed, and when Elain turned back to Jurian she found him watching the queen intently, something enigmatic in his stare.
“When you’re done with girl-talk, we really must get going,” Jurian rolled his shoulders. Even he appeared dressed in his finest, and Elain wondered just who it was that must’ve pinned him down to drag a comb through his scruffy hair, now flopping back from his, rather handsome, face.
“Last time I checked Jurian, I’m the Queen, I say when we leave.” Vassa pointed a look at the man who only seemed to smile wider at her retort.
“Of course, your majesty…” Jurian rolled the word around in his tongue, “When you’re ready, my queen, I’ll be waiting for you by the gate…possibly awake, possibly napping.”
And with that Jurian turned and strode away, the woman and the female watching his retreating figure strut across the pathway.
“Idiot,” Vassa cursed under her breath before turning back to Elain. “Lucien told me this morning he’ll be arranging your transport. Apparently, we’re not arriving together, Jurian and I will be one unit, you and Lucien another. Just so you know.”
As the Queen spoke her voice steadily grew colder and colder until she was back to how she usually was with Elain, her voice monotone and her eyes bored. Elain just gave a nod and that was enough for the Queen to deem the conversation over as she turned and followed Jurian down the path. As she moved, Elain couldn’t help but notice how she tipped her head back seemed to drink in the sunlight.
Elain was left standing in the middle of a small bustling crowd, many of the guards moving to follow their Queen and keep her safe. And so, Elain went back to her search for her mate.
After searching the crowd, she allowed her eyes to close and for her focus to turn within. It didn’t take long for her to find the bond, as soon as her eyes were shut it was there, glowing bright and gold, a single thread leading from her out ahead.
Angling herself, Elain followed the bond until she heard his heart, strong and steady, filling her ears like the most beautiful drum. Opening her eyes, she saw him.
Lucien was talking to a rather nervous stable boy and Elain was rather thankful for the small chance to ogle him without his awareness.
For one thing, Elain understood the stable boy’s nerves. Lucien looked…powerful.
He was wearing the finest of his fae attire, with fine brown boots and pants, a crisp shirt, a waistcoat and then a riding jacket. Across his chest was a bandolier with an assortment of eccentric knives, all sharpened to deadly perfection. On his hip were two swords, his autumn blade and another blade but made of gold. His hair was unleashed and cascaded down his shoulders and back, and his scar made his fierce expression even more lethal.
Two years ago, Elain would’ve been petrified at such a sight. It was a reminder that Lucien wasn’t her fae prince, that even though he had the makings of a perfect husband there was something darker and more alluring that hung around him.
He was a courtier, a disowned son, a silver-tongued fox. And Elain saw that everyone underestimated him, and that’s what made him most dangerous of all.
But while any fae prince might make Elain’s heart flutter, the sight of Lucien in his most professional, intimidating glory, roused some feeling deep within her gut. It was like her entire body turned electric, and the air between them seemed to crackle as the bond tightened.
Elain watched as Lucien’s brow furrowed and his hand reached surreptitiously to his ribs. Lucien’s eyes were no longer on the stable boy and his rambling, he was looking around – he was looking for her.
Elain saw the moment Lucien laid eyes on her. He stilled, the hand rubbing his ribs going stagnant.
The world seemed to fade away as Elain watched Lucien’s eyes take in her dress. He started by looking at the neck and then, at a tortuously slow pace, his eyes wandered down and down like Jurian.
But where Jurian’s gaze had made her tired and comfortable, Lucien’s seemed to set every nerve in her body alight.
She watched him as he watched her, and she could see him pause on certain parts. Taking in the first full display of her chest, the way the fabric ran seamlessly down her waist before flaring with her hips, and then again at her thighs.
Some part of Elain dared her to turn around, to show him how the dress barely fit over her behind, how the fabric seemed to stretch as it tried to contain the slopes and swells of her body.
She didn’t know where it had come from – but she didn’t want the voice to stop.
Then, Lucien’s eyes were reluctantly dragged upwards and just before they met eyes, Elain saw Lucien’s tongue dart between his lips to wet them. For some reason, Elain had the strongest urge to clench together her thighs.
Lucien moved forward like a predator stalking prey, with a lithe grace that was reminiscent of a snake.
Elain didn’t care for the rest of the world; she just saw him. Maybe it was not seeing him yesterday, but all Elain knew was that now he was nearby, she wasn’t taking her eyes off him for the foreseeable future.
Every step was torture. Every inch closer made the bond thrum and sing with delight.
Lucien came to a stop barely a foot away from her. There was a pause of silence.
“Elain,” His voice was low, gravelly, restrained.
“Lucien,” Elain’s own voice was breathy.
And then Lucien was bending down, leaning in close almost as though he were going to kiss her and Elain – Elain didn’t recoil. When Lucien’s face was inches from her own, his eyes searing into hers, she felt his palm slip into hers. His hand was warm and much, much larger than her own, and Elain felt raw electricity jolt through her at the contact.
With a deliberate, torturous slowness, Lucien raised Elain’s hand to his mouth and placed a single kiss on her knuckles.
Many men had kissed Elain’s hand before, from old to young, bachelors to fiancés. But it had never been like this.
Lucien’s lips on her knuckles was like a promise. It was just lips on the back of her hand – it was entirely inadequate, it was nothing – and that is what made Elain’s body sing.
Lucien’s eyes never left hers, and as he straightened, he didn’t let go of her hand.
“We’re planning on riding to Huckleberry,” Lucien’s voice sounded a bit clearer, but his eyes were still dark and glittering.
“Okay,” was all Elain could manage. But her body was in overdrive, her entire existence being concentrated into the feel of Lucien’s hand in hers. One small touch and she was consumed.
“Oh look! Lucien-” Jurian’s voice swam from somewhere off to the side.
“Vassa, Jurian, you best be headed off now, you don’t want to be late to miss the guards at the northern checkpoint,” Lucien spoke without looking away from Elain, and his voice was full of such a natural command that another pulse of heat ran through her.
Elain distantly heard as Vassa, Jurian and a few guards saddled up and trot out through the gardens into the forest. The world seemed to thin around them, stable boys returning to the Manor, even Nuala evaporated into the air, until all that was left was a grey-haired horse and Lucien, with his hand in Elain’s.
“I thought we might ride together, to present a united front. But if your uncomfortable there’s another horse in the stables saddled and ready to go.” Elain could’ve sworn that as Lucien spoke, his thumb ran across the back of her hand. “It’s also just a way of me making sure your safe.”
“Are you expecting there to be danger at the meeting?”
“No, very few even know of your arrival and the mortals are in too weak a position to attack a visiting fae. I just…for my own peace of mind.”
Remarkably, Lucien seemed bashful as he spoke, his eyes breaking from hers for a moment as he shifted on his feet.
“Oh…alright.” Elain smiled up at him, and it was a peace-offering. The world seemed to still for a moment as Lucien noticed, and his gaze lingered on her lips.
Then he was clearing his throat and turning to lead her to the saddled horse, but he didn’t release his hand, instead, he used it to tug her along, as though he were entirely reluctant to let go.
“The journey is significantly shorter on horseback; we should be there in around 15 minutes.”
Lucien eventually reluctantly let go of Elain’s hand as he hoisted himself up and onto the horse.
Elain could only watch. Watch as he set himself astride the saddle, watch how his thighs – how had Elain never notices his thighs before – clenched as he seated himself upright. Watch as he flicked his hair back over his shoulder, his muscles somehow flexing through the layers of his shirt and jacket. Watch as he extended his hand to her.
Elain frowned down at her dress as a thought struck her.
“Oh…I don’t think I’ll be able to ride anything in this dress.”
Elain felt rather than saw Lucien go still.
Looking up from the green fabric, she allowed herself to assess him. Lucien’s muscles seemed to be standing on end, his delicious thighs clenched so that the tendons stood to attention. His hands were fisted into the reigns and his knuckles had turned white with his grip.
Most intoxicating of all, was Lucien’s eyes. They were glazed over and distant, as though Lucien were thinking of something intently. Or rather, picturing.
And then Elain saw it.
It was from a distant perspective and the first thing she saw was Lucien, with his browning skin on display as he laid on his back across pale sheets. His beautifully muscled legs were exposed and tensed, his torso nothing but streamline muscles, his arms bare and glorious as they tightened as he gripped onto the figure astride him. He looked so…undone, with his red hair spilling across the sheets, his face furrowed, and his mouth parted with pleasure.
The female astride Elain’s mate had her head thrown back, her golden-brown curls bouncing along with her breasts as she bobbed wildly on top of him. Elain couldn’t hear them – couldn’t hear the moans that she saw rippling from her own mouth.
Then, the pace changed, instead of desperate jerky movements, Lucien and the female’s body slowed into an easy rhythm, each of their bodies rolling together with a trained precision. She could see Lucien’s mouth moving as he spoke breathily to the female, pulling her down so their foreheads touched. She watched as his eyes grew hungrier, how the rolling gave way to thrusting, how he took two fingers and pushed them into the female’s mouth and how she sucked enthusiastically before releasing them with a ‘pop’, how Lucien then dragged those two fingers down her body, slowly, before pushing them down to where they were joined and beginning to rub against her in slow, languid circles-
The horse grunted, and Elain jumped.
All of a sudden she came back into her body, it was as though someone had been holding her windpipe and abruptly let go. Her knees felt weak, her mouth dry, and for a moment, she could barely remember her own name, never mind where she was.
“We’ll winnow.”
Lucien was in front of her now, having gotten down off the mare whilst her mind was elsewhere. He was now fiddling with the buckles on the straddle before a stable boy took the reins.
Elain looked up at him dry-mouthed. Did he know what she’d just seen? Was she even…had there been a shift in her scent? Fear tinged with excitement plunged through her.
“You okay?” Lucien murmured; his eyes concerned as they roved over her face. It looked like he almost reached for her hand again.
Elain didn’t trust her voice and could only nod in response. Lucien seemed to assess her for another moment before he held out his arm, ever the courtier. The female looked out at the stables as she wrapped her hand around his bicep, trying to ignore how the muscles shifted and tensed under her fingertips.
“Right, well…let’s go.”
As Elain closed her eyes and held her breath to prepare for the twisting sensation of winnowing, she could on think of one thing.
Elain had just had a vision; she still had her powers.
#elucien#elain#elain archeron#elain x lucien#elain and lucien#elain/lucien#lucien#lucien vanserra#elucien fic#elucien fluff#lucien x elain#lucien and elain#lucien/elain#elain acotar#elain acomaf#elain acofas#elain acosf#elain acowar#acotar#fffaf
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the lion and her sun. (4)
LOST LANNISTER PRINCESS
notes: so far, every chapter has ended with aurane rejecting oberyn sooo. and yeah some facts abt this might wrong but hey..
we gon pretend like dahlia’s exist in this universe.
and the dress she wears during her walk is très similar to the pink one shae wears in ‘the lion and the rose’. this is for lack of a better picture. (except the dress is orange)
i wrote this while watching the prisoner of azkaban.
none of that matters, but it’s important to me that you know that.
- john mulaney.
ALSO updates might be a little slower now, we’re having HUGE wifi problems at our house but i will definitely keep writing!
pairing: oberyn x oc!reader
summary: on her last day before the married life, aurane’s emotions start to change.
word count: 6.5k
masterlist
the week was coming to an end, much to aurane’s dismay. for the past three days, she had much to think about and do. her walk with oberyn had thoughts racing around in her head when she had gone to sleep that night. even resting naked against the silk sheets, her pillow pressed to her face with her sprawled out behind her head and her eyes gently shut, memories of the gardens and the prince were floating about, refusing aurane’s begs to go so she could ease into unconsciousness.
when her father had spoken of the sudden and upsetting news to aurane, cersei had spoken of how the dornish would be obligated to use the youngers lannister anyway they wanted.
“they’ll humiliate her, torture her,” aurane’s dear sister spoke. “you’re going to send her off to her death. a lamb for slaughter.”
now, as aurane watched the sun rise with the silk sheets pulled up to cover her bare breasts, she wondered if her sister, cersei lannister, who had never been wrong about anything, had seriously misjudged the martell family. the princess hadn’t been in the city to meet the common people yet and she hoped that they would be exactly like the royals of sunspear.
she could hear the bustling of early-rising maidens attending to their chores outside of her door. the child inside of aurane couldn’t wait to see what breakfast she would be brought this morning.
it must’ve been hours since she had risen from her sleep because the sun now sat in its throne in the sky and there was a knock on the door. “i have your breakfast, your grace.” a sweet voice spoke but the unfamiliar accent made it hard to decipher.
“come in,” aurane spoke, pulling up two of her pillows against the headboard of her bed and leaning her back towards them. it might’ve been the way she had slept but there was ache throughout her spine. the girl who walked in could’ve been no older than aurane. her hair was curly and frizzy and her skin a light brown. her lips were perfectly shaped and her nose curved into a more rounded one. the girl set down the tray of food at the table near aurane’s window, but before she could set out the plate, cutlery, and goblet, aurane spoke. “forgive me, but i don’t think you’ve ever served me before.”
the girl nodded and curtsied. “my name is dyanna,” she said.
“and where are you from,” aurane questioned before sitting back up and pushing herself off of the bed she’d found more comfortable than any other. along with her she took the silk sheets and held them against her chest so they covered her breasts, stomach, and ass. she sat at her table and smiled when seeing that breakfast that morning consisted of fresh bread, butter and jam, berries, and more orange juice. “dyanna.”
aurane’s interest in a someone of lower-class was unusual for any maiden to experience, even in dorne. “i’m from meereen, your grace.” before aurane could pop a grape into her mouth or slice off a thin piece of bread, she grinned.
“meereen?” she questioned, to which dyanna nodded. aurane set the grape down on her plate and sighed, the smile still lingering. “i’ve never met someone from essos.”
dyanna smiled with her hands held together. “no?” aurane shook her head before finishing half of her orange juice. in the past few days, it the only thing other than wine that aurane could drink. new flavors were being brought to her with every meal and the lannister princess couldn’t get enough.
“no. my father always kept me in the red keep,” she divulged, smearing butter onto a slice of bread and jam on half of it. “tell me, dyanna of meereen,” aurane inquired before biting down on a small piece of bread. the crust was crunchy in her mouth and the jam, the sweetness of strawberries and sugar, contrasted the tecture. “if my knowledge of geography is correct, meereen is just on slaver’s bay.”
it was hesitant, but dyanna nodded silently in response. when aurane kept eating, popping a berry in her mouth between every other bite, she confessed, “i was born a slave and raised into it, your grace,” the princess sat back, leaving her loaf of bread on the plate along with the few berries left. her gaze softened, showing that she was listening, as her eyes focused on the sea. “i was sold to sunspear and sent to work for prince doran but he freed me.”
slavery had never been something that aurane had first-hand witnessed but her beliefs on it remained negative, unlike her sister and father, who couldn’t have cared less about those born lower than them. it was always a flaw that aurane had seen. “so, you’re a free woman,” aurane looked to the coffered ceiling and clutched her goblet of juice in her hand. “but you choose to work as a maiden?”
dyanna only shrugged, her posture remaining ideal. “what could i do?”
aurane laughed before sipping the rest of her drink and setting it down next to her half-full plate. “you could own a stand in the market. or work at one at least,” aurane sat back in her seat, mindlessly letting the sheets slip a bit, revealing the top of her breast. “collect enough money to buy your own place, or...” dyanna looked up in interest and aurane smirked. “purchase your own land.”
the maiden laughed and shook her head. aurane had then finished her breakfast and felt the breeze of the dornish mornings through the strands of her hair. “i’m fine here, your grace.” aurane kindly nodded as dyanna took the tray in her arms and sighed. before leaving the bedroom and closing the door, she piped up, “oh, your grace, forgive me. i forgot to mention it, but prince oberyn has told me to inform you that he would like another walk...before the wedding.”
dyanna then shut the door behind her before aurane could smile in silence. for the short time she’d been awake that morning, the princess hadn’t once thought anything about her marriage. dorne had entranced aurane and fabricated an entire sort of bliss in her mind.
there wasn’t much to do that day anyway. the wedding was already planned and she’d already worn the wedding dress to have it sized perfectly--during which aurane had been poked with needles twice but brush it off when the maiden apologized mercifully.
another stroll around the gardens, even if it was with the prince, didn’t sound so bad.
this time, aurane had worn an outfit less revealing than her last one. she’d spent an afternoon one day diving through her dresser and wardrobes to see what exactly oberyn had given her. most were two-piece outfits that aurane didn’t see herself comfortable with wearing just yet, but others were fine dresses made of soft and translucent linens. in the bottom drawers of her dresser were at least nine different pairs of...pants? aurane had never worn pants before. in casterly rock and king’s landing, women were always required to be clothed in robes down to their feet. the princess supposed that along with a new home came new opportunities.
well, that inner voice in her head spoke at she bit her bottom lip while holding a pair of trousers that were a dark shade of brown. there’s no point in not trying.
aurane stood with the pants in her hands, naked in her room--in all of her glory--and sighed before slipping her feet through the corresponding holes of the clothing. she pulled the pants up to her waist where it had felt comfortable and tied the two loose strings along the sides together the pants tightened around her stomach.
there was nothing much for aurane to say about them except for the fact that she entirely did not enjoy them. she looked to the mirror and noticed how they bagged around her thighs as she pinched the areas that left gaps between her skin and the material of the pants. aurane pulled them off as quickly as possible and pitched them into the woven basket she’d been given on her third day for dirty laundry.
she began to dive into the wardrobe again before noticing the pale orange dress that had been hung directly in the center of her closet. the silk had nearly been invisible because when aurane slipped it onto her frame, she could see her legs and breasts through the fabric. it was then she remembered the prince’s sudden mention of undergarments and wraps that had been placed inside the dressers as well. the entire process of wearing a simple dress that fit perfectly took far too long for aurane then removed the clothing from her body, wrapped a cloth around her bust and backside, then placing the dress back on her frame. it hadn’t been too entirely hot that day, so the simple sheer fabric of the robe had been perfect against aurane’s skin.
by then, with the sun’s position in the sky, it had already been an hour before lunch and aurane’s stomach began to rumble with a yearning for the dornish food she’d grown so attached to over the past week. the princess placed a hand over her torso and sighed. she supposed it would be best to wait for oberyn to arrive just as he had the other day.
almost half an hour flew, and aurane was still waiting. as of now, she sat in a chair by her window, quill, ink, and paper in her lap as she drew the outline of the great palm tree in front of her room. she hadn’t once looked down to see what her drawing would turn out to be; it was an art technique she had been taught in king’s landing. aurane had already finished several other drawings of whatever the view from her window brought and they sat by her feet on the floor. finally, after an illusion of hours, there was a knock on her door.
aurane hated to admit that she immediately jumped off of her chair and onto her feet, running to the door to see the prince. but when she opened the door, it was a large man, taller than any other she’d seen, with rich dark skin and a bald head. “captain?” she cocked an eyebrow.
the guard nodded. “prince oberyn waits for you outside of the west wing of the castle,” areo hotah was one of the most intimidating men that aurane had ever seen and she had been trained by ser gregor in her teenages years--of course, it was never something to mention to the martells.
aurane chewed the inside of her cheek nervously and blushed. “right, um,” she said, looking back to her room and shaking her head before letting out a small laugh that didn’t change the guards’ expressions at all. “well, i guess i’m going.” areo let her leave the room before closing her doors behind her. they then walked down the hallways of the dornish castle, aurane in front with several of her guards behind her. the seven then turned a corner and was brought to another door at the end of the hallway. aurane laughed sheepishly and turned to the captain.
“the west wing is that way, your grace,” he pointed behind the group, in the opposite direction of how they had been walking. as much as aurane wanted to roll her eyes--because why hadn’t he mentioned it before?--she smiled politely and turned on her heel to the west wing.
they trailed down staircases, strolled down through hallways that all began to look the same, and took sharp turns and corners. “if you don’t mind my asking,” aurane spoke with her eyes focused on any sign of where she was in the castle. “why is the prince not at the front entrance? or the gardens?”
areo laughed deeply, a sound that came straight from the depths of his chest. “the prince has special plans today, your grace.” over the last few days, aurane had been reassured that she would remain safe in dorne. but with the captain’s sudden statement, a fear washed over aurane again.
the princess truly had no idea what was in the west wing. the east held all of the royal’s bedrooms, the north had the guest rooms, and the south was for the maidens, chefs, and laborers of the castle. but the remaining had always remained a mystery until now.
“elia martell’s room used to be here, your grace,” the captain spoke again. aurane’s straightforward footsteps began to slow in pace as the realization sunk in. “it’s been abandoned since her death.” without stopping in her walk, aurane sighed. it was quiet again, with only the marching steps of the guards, the wooden ends of the spears against the floor, and loud thoughts in aurane’s head for her to hear. “prince oberyn is just this way, your grace.” areo pointed down a staircase to where there was a little wooden door with a lining of light around it.
sickness began to overtake aurane’s body as she thought about the one specific princess who once habited this part of the castle. how aurane’s family had brutally slaughtered this princess and her children; how they sent her off as a peace treaty. aurane hadn’t noticed it, but she then stood directly in front of the door, staring at the knob. areo, from behind her, cleared his throat for it was a tight staircase and not all six of the guards, including him, could fit inside. she was knocked out of her thoughts and pushed the door open, the sudden sunlight burning her eyes from becoming used to the dim lighting of the castle. she mentally hissed and slapped a hand over her eyes before they met other brown ones.
“good morning, lion,” oberyn smiled. behind him were several more guards holding spears taller than them. the brightness of the sun didn’t seem to affect him at all as aurane gently squinted. “come, we’ll find shade.”
when aurane was by his side, he placed a gentle hand on her back, just as he did nights ago when she had silently rejected him. “and where exactly are we going this time?”
the prince chuckled. “well, you are to be a princess of dorne by tomorrow,” he smiled as they began to walk. it was then, when aurane could finally see in the light, that she noticed they were in a similar space as the docks. behind a large wall, extremely close to the ocean that aurane could almost feel it on her skin. “i figured you would want to meet the city.”
two of his guards stood by an alike door to that of what was located in the castle. it was old and smelled moldy like it hadn’t been used in a long time. aurane laughed. “a secret entrace?” she looked up to the prince with an arched eyebrow. “you really think dorne won’t like me that you had to take me to a secret entrance?”
oberyn shrugged. “i didn’t think you would want the attention.” the two guards swung the door open and aurane could instantly hear the bustling and yelling of the city of sunspear. she looked to oberyn, who stood only two inches taller than her, and sighed before ducking to fit inside the small door frame and entered the city.
it had almost been like magic because the wall had been so thick and strong it kept out all sound of a well-growing economy. as far as aurane could see, there were large structures and houses built all over the land. on the second floors of those buildings must’ve been the homes to thousands of dornish citizens because below them on the first floor were market and small shops and trading centers. it had been so similar to king’s landing yet sunspear reminded aurane nothing of home.
the prince was quiet for a few seconds because not one common person had noticed their presence. “do you like it?” he asked.
aurane smiled but oberyn hadn’t seen it. she slowly nodded as she whispered a, “yeah,” but soon caught herself in such a vulnerable state. “it’s not like i have much of a say whether i like it or not, do i?”
her sarcastic and audacious remarks had no effect on the prince anymore or, really, anyone of dorne. she hadn’t seen ellaria since she’d brought her lunch but even her maidens and servants didn’t seem bothered. it was like their pride could never be tainted. without saying anything in response, oberyn simply cocked his head and they began to walk again.
the soldiers followed a foot behind them but yet maintained a distance for a discussion or even a simple conversation to take place. at least three ladies had recognized the prince and gently curtsied before returning to their daily duties. oberyn must’ve noticed aurane’s confused state because he answered with, “everyone in dorne is treated equal. farmers and marketers are treated just how i am treated.”
even aurane had to admit that the system the people of sunspear followed was fair and nice. “they just...” she shook her head, her eyes trailing over anything to look at by the second. “they don’t look so surprised.”
oberyn shrugged. “i come for walks often,” his hands were holding each together behind his back but every part of him wanted to place just a soft, caring hold on aurane. “the guards are a requirement of my brother.”
why was he so kind? why, even after the slaughtering his family had gone through, the pain he’d felt in his life, was he so kind? even better, how could he be so sweet and patient and loving to those below him? it made a regurgitative feeling arise in aurane’s stomach and she could feel the contents of her breakfast reaching her throat before sighing and swallowing it back down, cringing in disgust.
“you’re distressed, my sun,” the pet name, which aurane had secretly grown found of but would never admit, made her slightly cower. “what’s wrong?”
the prince’s eyes trailed over the variety of fruits and vegetables being sold by one vender as aurane chose her words carefully. “i fear i’ve been...disrespectful,” it was long overdue but oberyn was patient. “from the moment we arrived in dorne, you’ve been nothing but- but hospitable and welcoming. and i’ve been...vile. and rude,” he only nodded for her to continue, sensing she had a whole loads of words to speak. “perhaps it was my sister who drove this fear into me that i wouldn’t be accepted here.”
a kind smile between a vendor and oberyn was exchanged from his viewing of the products, but he listened intently to every word. “growing up, you were taught we were animals.”
aurane nodded and laughed incredulously. “savages,” she corrected him. such biased opinions had been written in the books she’d read as a child when learning about westeros. “and during the past week, i’ve found you’re nothing like the sort.”
the prince chuckled and smiled so that butterflies flew down aurane’s throat and into her stomach, where they would remain. “oh, really?”
her eyes watched as he turned to look at every sort of item being sold that day. suddenly, his kindness was a likable attribute to aurane and she blushed with a sly smirk. “if i’m telling the truth here,” he nodded. “you might even be better than those in king’s landing.”
“well, it’s not hard to be better than a lannister.” his remark wasn’t hateful or vengeful as oberyn smirked back and for a second, aurane had forgotten that there were guards behind her or merchants and traders and farmers all around. it felt like it was just the two of them enjoying them a quiet afternoon and a simple conversation. she quite liked it. “perhaps we should find lunch somewhere.”
aurane furrowed her eyebrows with a crooked smile before hesitantly laughing. “you mean,” she found no falter in the prince’s expression. “dining in a- a what, a restaurant?”
this seemed to take oberyn by surprise because, and it was the only time aurane could find him doing this that day, he laughed unsurely. the red viper was never unsure and even he himself couldn’t say what was happening. “well, yes,” his eyes began to scan over the many shops and restaurants in search of a meal. “that is what restaurants tend to do.”
such comment was not meant to be sarcastic or snarky or rude. it was a mindless thought that oberyn had just happened speak out. “i’ve never been in a restaurant,” aurane whispered and looked to the ground. would the owners of whatever eating house oberyn picked be peaceful with a lannister princess dining in their business.
oberyn had heard her mumble but said nothing of it. there was a pit at the bottom of his stomach, it’d been there since his sister was murdered, and he hadn’t felt such sympathy in that pit from elia’s death until now, when aurane muscles grew tense because people were starting to look.
there were whispers. the worst kind of whispers; the kind where it seemed as if every person had something to say but it was impossible to make out. eyes were glued to the couple yet hands remained at their jobs. oberyn had never seen his city spark in such controversy. had aurane been right? would they treat her differently? he looked to the girl beside him and found that she was hearing the whispers too yet there was no stall in her walk. if someone had quickly glanced at her, she would glare back at them. her chin was raised high and oberyn, such as he had done with ellaria, felt compassion and admiration.
he gulped silently at the sudden change of heart in his city. as they began to walk further and further, growing deeper in sunspear, the whispers began to fade in and out. the rumored lannister princess was finally showing her face. “here, my sun,” he pointed to a small tavern with trays of produce and potted flowers in front of the windows. “i’ve been told you can handle the dornish spices.”
aurane blushed and nodded as the sudden mention of such topic caused her mind to flash to ellaria. she wanted to see the older lady again desperately and she wasn’t sure why. the entrace of the restaurant was not grand or heavenly or designed with a golden intricate design. it was a simple tavern with at least sixty plants hung and placed on the perimeter. it had been one large room and, for the time of day, strangely empty. aurane suspected that the prince had reserved it in secret but she wouldn’t comment on it.
before either of them stepped foot into the tavern, oberyn placed a gentle hand on her forearm and pointed to one of the potted plants that held six white flowers with layers of small triangular petals. a few of the flowers had a pink hue to them but the white ones took aurane by interest.
“a dahlia,” the prince smiled, gently dragging his fingers over the petals. his eyes seemed entranced over the small plant. “you don’t see them very much.”
aurane smiled and turned to oberyn. “they grow rarely in king’s landing,” her words were sweet but there was something in oberyn’s gaze that seemed so reminiscent. he was longing for something. “what is it?”
he chewed the inside of his cheek and aurane turned to the guards standing protectively behind them. even they seemed aware of whatever oberyn had been feeling. “elia’s favorite flower,” his lips curled with a raspy voice before picking the flower from it’s stem and holding it between his two fingers. oberyn then looked to aurane, who was more understanding now, and wove the flower through her hair until it sat behind her ear. aurane could only smile.
―
the day was ending and the sun was starting to set. a large lunch had filled aurane’s stomach so there was no room for dinner. oberyn must’ve been the same because on their walk back to the castle, he, too, walked with heavy feet. the guard’s behind them didn’t stumble in their steps as the sunlight was fading.
“i hoped you enjoy our walk today,” oberyn spoke, his hands behind his back as they strolled along the secret pathway. while exiting the city through the small door just as they had done earlier that day, aurane had been careful to crouch down so that her flower would stay woven in her hair.
she nodded and listened to the waves because there wasn’t much else to here. the bustling of the city was muffled by the wall but aurane didn’t mind a little of bit of silence as the day ended. “i think i did,” the dahlia, which had at first felt strange when touching her temple was now softly brushing against her skin. “and i did enjoy lunch.” she turned to the prince.
“i don’t suppose you still want dinner?” he asked politely, looking down only two inches to her height. most of the woman oberyn had been with, apart from ellaria, could only reach his shoulder but the top of aurane’s head touched just below his nose.
it was peaceful for him to watch her laugh so effortlessly and genuinely as the shore threatened to crash above the pathaway. they’d been inches away from the water but yet no sign of fear arose. “no, i think i’ve had my fill for the day.”
a nod in response before oberyn sighed, “join me in my chambers.” just as his voice normally did toward the end of the day, he sounded raspy and tired yet every part of him was awake while he looked at aurane.
was it an offer for a night of pleasure? the rumors of oberyn and his countless lovers had been spread all throughout westeros and he didn’t seem ashamed by them. aurane had no problem with bedding someone before she was married, she’d done it before, but she hadn’t thought that the prince would draw her close just for a fuck. the prince laughed and shook his head, noticing aurane’s train of thought. “i can promise you, lion, it’s not like that,” he chuckled out. aurane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment. “when was the last time you had a bath?”
they were now in the abandoned west wing that remained darker than the rest of the castle, but aurane didn’t find it unpleasant or frightening. oberyn could barely find the courage to walk around these quarters of the castle himself but aurane, who had lived with the family responsible of the death of the former inhabitant of sunspear, strolled so unbothered down those halls. it wasn’t because she had no care for elia martell’s death, if anything it was the opposite, but no--this was because aurane could swallow the lannister pride and respect the fact that her father slaughtered oberyn’s sister.
once they had arrived in the east wing, oberyn turned to his soldiers and cocked his head for them to leave him and aurane. because they had been under prince doran’s command, they each shared a glance of hesitation but one simple stern eye and a whispered “have my maidens fetch warm water for my room” and they continued to walk down the hallway, leaving the oncoming couple alone. “you wouldn’t oppose a bath, would you?”
aurane’s first experience of a bath in dorne had been lovely, mainly due to the spices and scents of the salts and soaps she combed through her hair. she sighed heavily, her chest rising with her breath before smiling, “no, i don’t think i would.” the rest of their walk was in sweet silence. the castle seemed to be asleep--the gardens were empty and the hallways barren of the normal maidens hurrying down to each room. aurane noticed that they walked past her room and she wondered just how close her and oberyn had been to each other this entire time. the floors, still a pristine polished marble, seemed to glimmer as the last of the sun could be seen in the sky. finally, they had arrived at oberyn’s door, which were exactly the same as aurane’s.
she chuckled and looked back down the hallway to where her doors stood and then back at the prince. “all this time and you’ve been down the hallway?” oberyn shrugged and opened the door for the princess. she bit on her tongue when she was instantly greeted with the overpowering aroma of citrus sugar.
“don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now?” the prince smirked and aurane showed no hesitation as she sauntered confidently into the room, soon slowing her steps.
his room had been much bigger than hers, yet held the same amount of furniture and looked still so full. the bed was placed next to the equivalent wall that aurane’s bed was in her room. the windows were so close to the bed that it seemed to her morning’s must’ve been perfect because the sun could just simply leak in through the windows and darken the skin of whoever lied upon the bed. next to the opening of the room was a desk that held what looked like to be hundreds of crumpled papers and a quill and its ink. on the opposite side of his room was a large wooden tub that could hold multiple bodies and the simple thought of who had been in there before almost sickened aurane. the tub had been filled to the brim with warm water and on a small table beside it were various soaps and salts.
it was sudden but the door had been closed and oberyn’s hands landed on aurane bare shoulders. she shuddered gently and he immediately removed his touch. “lion,” he spoke steadily and turned aurane to him.
they both turned so their backs faced each other and she could hear him unbuttoning his top. her fingers did their best to trail over the clip in the rear of her dress but fumbled over the soft fabric. she sighed and turned to the prince but found he’d already reversed back to her. his chest was completely bare as he was only dressed in his pants. he must’ve silently slipped his boots off because his feet were also bare against the marble. he cocked his head and pushed on her shoulder so she turned once again. his index and thumb found the clip so simply and undid it so the fabric feel loose against her body, but her hands flew to her chest to catch it from falling completely off. there a crumpling noise of leather dropping into a heap on the floor. water splashed apart and together until it was silent again. while keeping her back facing oberyn, aurane turned her head and met his eyes.
he sat against the side of the tub with his arms held up along the edge of the wood. “are you scared, lion?” he asked so sweetly yet remained so stern.
the only thing that stood in the way of aurane standing as naked as the day she was born in front of the prince was her hands clutching onto the dress. “close your eyes.” she whispered. oberyn only sighed and rose a hand over his eyes, gently squeezing them shut for reassurance. the dress cascaded down to the floor with an inaudible sound. she stepped one foot in the water and the warmth instantly felt calming. once aurane stood completely in the tub, she began to sink to the bottom, where she sat with the surface of her bath reaching just above her breasts.
“can i open?” the prince asked.
aurane brought her knees to her chest and spoke aloud a, “yes.” her arms wrapped around her legs as oberyn rested his hand again and smiled. somehow, despite her cowering position, aurane felt more confident than ever with all of her body exposed.
that sly smile spread over oberyn’s face again as twirled his finger for aurane to turn around. she did so and sat closer to him in between his legs. her breath almost hitched when she felt his length against her back but he didn’t act upon it. instead, he lathered his hands with a lemon-scented shampoo and combed it throughout the strands of aurane’s hair. it was a soothing feeling as his fingertips gently massaged her scalp and aurane could’ve fallen asleep right there. once her hair was completely covered in the suds, oberyn then cupped his hands into the water and poured it over her head, watching as the soap washed out fairly easily.
she chuckled. “how many girls have you given baths too?” she noted his expertise. it wasn’t every man who knew who to treat a woman’s hair--not in westeros.
once her hair was completely cleaned and dripping and pushed it to the side of her neck so her back was bare. he placed a soft kiss against the top of her spine, “do you want to know?” and began to caress her arms with the bar of soap. aurane gently shook her head and smiled. for a month, she’d be tense and anxious for what her fate awaited for her. for the past week, while remaining in her room she’d grown closer and closer to that fate and could not see perfectly clear what it was. and if it really was this, she didn’t mind. a finger was suddenly brushed over a raw piece of skin on her arm and she shivered under the touch.
oberyn’s eyebrows furrowed in concern before sitting up and looking over the top of aurane’s arm. “lion,” he cooed, gazing at the ruined skin--a scar. “how did you acquire such a wound?”
the question was one that aurane didn’t have to answer often because it was only her family who had seen it and she’d never left the castle for anyone else to glimpse her scar.
“fire,” she spoke as he continued to gently rub over the healed wound with one hand, and the other poured water over the soap on her body. the sun had now completely set and the stars were glimmering over the surface of the water. the moonlight had such an effect on aurane’s frame--there was a silver lining against her curves and edges and oberyn wanted nothing more than to cherish it. “casterly rock didn’t like how the last lannister child was a bastard, furthermore with a rumored dornishwoman. i had never seen the city until i was four namedays,” the prince remained quiet as another kiss was placed on her shoulder. “my father had been hesitant about letting me into the festivals. but my brother had begged. he said ‘she’ll never learn to be a good ruler if she can’t know her people’, so papa had my sister escort me along with four other guards.”
a kiss on her knuckles as he held her hand. “and?”
“i’d gotten lost along the way. i didn’t think it was possible for a city to hate a child so much but i’d been proven wrong.” underneath the water, aurane moved her hands in such delicate motions. “i was in alley or- something like that, i can’t remember. but there were two men there and a woman. they were sneering and laughing at the little lost lannister princess,” a kiss on her wrist. “one was holding a candle since the sun was setting for the festivities to begin, and as i was trying to walk away, they pressed the fire against my arm,” the memories were still there in aurane’s mind but they didn’t spark anger or vengeance in her. she had accepted it. “my sister then found me and my father had them hanged.”
oberyn chuckled and planted a firm kiss on her neck. the loving and affectionate actions hadn’t taken aurane by surprise. she knew of the prince’s ways and respects. “lannisters are dangerous people.”
he talked of her family as if she wasn’t a part of it. maybe she wasn’t--maybe aurane wasn’t a lannister like her father or siblings because her mother had been a dornishwoman and aurane had been born a bastard. “yes, they are.”
―
suddenly, all the peace and comfort aurane had felt during her first week in sunspear dissolved into dust and blown away in the cool evening breeze she loved to feel after the hot days of dorne. the last time she’d been pampered was her last day in king’s landing. her maidens had braided her hair and her sister had applied the sheer cover of make-up to her skin that wasn’t needed very much. during her week, aurane had dressed herself and brushed her own hair and washed her own body, but now, she sat in a chair in front of her mirror with several maidens surrounding her. one was twirling and brushing and braiding her hair, another was powdering her face, and the last was tying the loose strings in the back of aurane’s dress.
why was she so nervous? the night before had been so simple--oberyn showed love and they’d bathed and because he was so understanding, she returned to her chambers where she slept for only two hours.
a maiden giggled. “it’s a wonder, your grace,” she admired. “i sleep only four hours through the night and i always wake up with darkness under my eyes.”
aurane smiled in response and nodded quietly. her dress was the usual white, but behind it was a golden tint in honor of the lannister house, although she knew that dorne wanted nothing to do with their enemies. she looked at her reflection and her mirror and liked what she saw, but despite her beauty and fairness, her fingers absentmindedly began to fiddle with each other.
she sighed fairly and the maidens looked to each other on what to say. the oldest one, who looked about aurane’s sister’s age, stumbled on her words before noting, “i hope you know you look heavenly, your grace,” she leaned down and tucked a strand of hair behind aurane’s ear.
the princess smiled in response before the second maiden spoke, “very heavenly, indeed,” aurane looked back to her reflection and attempted to smile with pride but it came out slightly unhinged. “the prince is a good man. you’re marrying a very good man.”
a knock echoed through aurane’s room as she inhaled deeply, sticking out her chest. the first maiden went to the door and the two other followed suite. aurane did not turn to see who was at the door because she knew, by tradition, it could not be oberyn.
“my lady,” a maiden curtsied before ellaria sand could brush her off.
the older woman bowed her head back and looked to aurane. the sound of her voice, so peaceful and loving and...maternal, piqued interest in the princess and she smiled at the sight of oberyn’s lover. ellaria wore a bright yellow linen dress with golden plating on her shoulders that were attached to more honey-colored pieces of fabric that cascaded down her arms and to the floor. she looked heavenly. “are you ready, lion?”
aurane’s gaze softened and her lips parted.
tags: @ohpedromypedro @zeldasayer @pascalpapi @absurdthirst @cyarikaaa @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @pedropascalonline @pedropascalito @pedropascalitofics @honeychicanawrites @otherthingsinhead @wakalas @pedropascalispapi @heavenbarnes @qveenbvtch @foreverlostindreams @forever-rogue @arianawills @liadamerondjarin @pascalisthepunkest
#oberyn martell#oberyn x reader#oberyn x oc#oberyn x you#oberyn x ellaria#oberyn x ellaria x reader#ellaria sand#ellaria sand x reader#ellaria sand x oc#prince oberyn#the red viper#game of thrones#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x oc#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fic#oberyn martell fic
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Dwelling
TITLE: Dwelling
CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-shot
AUTHOR: MaliceManaged
ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s child wanders off into the forest. While looking for them, Loki meets the forest’s guardian and maybe falls in love?
RATING: T
NOTES/WARNINGS: I wrote this last December, but it fits the prompt and I haven’t submitted anything here in a while, so here ya go. XD
Some, uh… questionable morality and mentions of miscarriage, if y'all rather avoid such things.
________________________
The decision had not been made lightly, but in the end it was the only thing that made sense after everything was said and done. And despite what some may have thought, she had not had a single regret. The heart of the forest she had chosen to make her home in was far from any trace of civilization, the farthest edge of it miles away from the nearest town, the only path leading in and out a dirt road that was long disused.
The forest was meant to be haunted, you see; a tale she had not in any way dissuaded. And it wasn’t an entirely incorrect assessment. It had been a troubled place, until she had arrived and banished the restless beings that prayed upon the lost and unwary. Now, however, it was only the powerful and plentiful wards she had woven around her chosen territory that kept all others away, allowing close only a very select few people who delivered any supplies she might need that she could not acquire for herself by her usual means.
It was, the dark haired woman considered as she made her way through the trees, a basket in hand slowly filling with the mushrooms she’d craved for her dinner, a perfect arrangement. Nobody to bother her there, and she wanted for nothing; not even company as some would assume, as the denizens of the forest provided plenty of that if one knew how to listen, which she did. She felt a slight tug and looked down to find a stray branch of a small growing bush had snagged the skirt of her maroon dress, and she narrowed her clear silver eyes at it until it released the fabric, seeming to shrink upon itself in embarrassment. Her gaze softened and she bent down to gently caress its leaves in forgiveness, causing it to unfurl again, and she smiled slightly before continuing on her way.
A shudder through the trees as she was almost finished with her task alerted her before she felt the presence of another, and she whirled around, the beginnings of a spell between her fingers and on the tip of her tongue that she just as quickly dropped upon seeing a boy standing a few feet away. He could not have been more than eight, black hair brushing his pale shoulders in soft curls and honey coloured eyes regarding her with open curiosity, head tilted slightly to the side. She blinked once, twice, but there the boy remained, against all reasonable expectation.
Upon being sure he had her attention, the boy smiled widely and greeted, “Hi!”
“… Hello,” she returned after a beat, almost making a question, though he seemed to not notice.
“I’m Vali; what’s your name?”
“Where did you come from?” she asked instead, wondering how he’d managed to get past all the wards, especially without her notice, “Where are your parents?”
The boy cheerfully pointed in the general direction behind him then bounced on the balls of his feet a bit. “Are you a witch? A mean old man told me a witch lives here and that she eats little boys who ask too many questions.” He scrunched his face up a bit. “Father didn’t like that very much. He told me not to pay attention to cranky old men.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Good advice.”
“Are you a witch, though?”
“… Sure. Why not.”
“But you don’t eat little boys, do you?”
“Not recently.” The boy nodded, apparently appeased, and a corner of her lips twitched upwards. “Why don’t we get you back to your father, hm? He must be worried.”
“Are you picking mushrooms?” he asked, eyeing her basket, though he didn’t let her reply before continuing on, “I like mushrooms. Can I have some?”
She sighed in slight annoyance then shooed him in the direction he’d pointed. “Maybe.”
Vali grinned then turned around and bounded off through the trees, leaving her to catch up, though his much shorter legs made that fairly easy. After a while, he looked up at her. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“No, I didn’t,” she replied simply.
“But I told you mine.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Then you have to tell me yours!”
“I don’t have to do any such thing,” she scoffed, then looked down at him and scolded, “And you shouldn’t give your name away so easily in the woods.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are beings that can use it in ways you wouldn’t much like.”
“Like what?”
“Like binding you to their service.”
Vali’s eyes widened. “Would you do that?”
She snorted. “I don’t have much of a use for talkative little boys; the flowers chatter more than enough for me.”
That earned a giggle. “Flowers don’t talk!”
“Oh? Have you ever tried to hear them?” He thought for a moment then shook his head. “Then you don’t know that for sure, do you?”
His brow furrowed, but ultimately he shrugged, conceding her point. It did not take him very long to turn to another and then another subject, though, and she almost forgave the child-eating accusations thrown upon her as an attempt to get him to stop talking. Almost. By the time they neared the edge of the forest, she was quite annoyed, though she attributed that as much to the fact that it had been several decades since she had interacted with a human child as to the child himself. She also sensed a rather powerful surge of magic ahead of them that Vali was headed straight for and prepared herself for whatever it might lead them to.
Well, almost whatever. She was quite unprepared to be met with one Loki of Wherever-He-Was-Claiming-These-Days ripping through ward after ward with an increasingly frantic urgency.
The wards she’d spent a good few afternoons putting in place.
“Hey!” she called, none too pleased with him undoing all her hard work. His head snapped towards her, and the grinning boy next to her, eyes widening. She pointed down at Vali – who she now realised had an uncanny resemblance to him – with an irritated frown. “Is this yours?”
“Vali!” he called with undisguised relief and began to make for them before stopping abruptly as he got caught on the wards he had momentarily forgotten about.
She rolled her eyes then nudged the boy forward. “Well, go on.”
“You said I could have a mushroom!” he said instead, looking up at her almost accusingly.
“I said ‘maybe’, now get lost, boy.” That got a pout and sad eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers with a frustrated sigh. “Fine, take it then, you little extortionist,” she huffed, picking a few mushrooms from her basket and placing them in eager little hands, “Now go.”
With a final grin, Vali turned and rushed to his father, who met him with open arms and alternated between checking him all over for any injuries, scolding him for wandering off and hugging him in sheer relief. He only stopped when he noticed she had turned around and was heading back into the forest, fully intent on waiting until they left to return to fix her wards.
“Wait!” he called after her, and she threw her head back with a groan before turning around again. “What is your name?”
“She said you shouldn’t give your name away easily in the woods!” Vali piped up before she could say anything, causing Loki to look between them in surprise.
“Indeed, I did,” she agreed, “And you especially shouldn’t give your name to a Trickster.”
“I only wish to know who I must repay for the safe return of my child, nothing more,” Loki replied, choosing to make no mention of the really quite valuable advice she had given said child as well, on the off chance she would forget to charge him for it, “I give you my word I will not use it against you.”
She crossed her arms at her chest with a frown, considering her options. In the end she realised he might not leave until she told him, and so she reluctantly gave in. “Carlotta.”
He nodded and stood up so he could bow to her a bit. “I am in your debt, Lady Carlotta.”
She waved the gesture away with a soft grunt. “Just keep a better eye on that little menace and leave me to fix my wards.”
He raised an eyebrow, not really refuting her assessment of his son (he really couldn’t, after all, much as he adored him), then regarded the remains of her magic he’d carelessly torn through slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I… do apologise for that.”
“Apologise by walking,” she retorted, already getting to work.
He frowned, put off by her abrasiveness, but elected not to say anything more, simply took Vali’s hand and led them away back towards town. She glanced at them once and Vali waved at her, and she rolled her eyes and got back to work, a tiny smile making its way to her lips despite herself.
****
The boy was back the next day, and she groaned frustratedly as she hopped down from the tree she’d climbed to collect some fruit.
“Hi!” he greeted happily with a wave.
“What are you doing here?” she asked shortly, sure she’d have to replace her wards again, as Loki was likely not too far behind, even as she wondered how the boy managed to get past them without notice again.
“Do you really talk with flowers?” he asked instead, “Because I talked to some this morning, but they didn’t say anything back.”
“Then you don’t know how to listen, now go back to your father.”
“He’s busy,” he shrugged unconcernedly. “I got bored.”
“I don’t care. Go away.”
“Can you teach me how to listen?” he asked eagerly.
“Obviously not,” she groused.
“I can talk to ravens!” he announced, unbothered by her disposition, then frowned a moment, “Well, just two ravens. They’re supposed to be my uncle’s now, but they don’t like him as much as they like father, and they like me even more.”
“Good for you,” she deadpanned. “Come on, then; let’s get you back.”
“But I don’t want to go back yet,” he pouted.
“I didn’t ask,” she retorted as she turned him around and lightly shoved him forward.
Loki visibly sagged with relief when they walked out of the forest, and she spared a moment to feel sympathy for him; it couldn’t be the most pleasant feeling, realising your child was missing. He thanked her again, to which she grunted in annoyance before fixing her wards again and going back into the trees.
****
He was back.
Again.
She briefly considered growing a wall of thorns around the forest, but that would be quite a bit of work and for all she knew he’d find a way past that too.
“Boy, you are really making me reconsider my stance on child consumption.” Vali only giggled in response, which she’d expected, as the boy had yet to show any kind of caution towards her. “What do you want from me? You know, you’re racking up quite a debt for your father, which I’m sure he’s thrilled about.”
“I brought you something,” he announced.
“Oh?” she raised a wary eyebrow. Vali grinned and presented her with a jewelled bracelet. She blinked at it before taking it and examining it closely, noting its fine craftsmanship. She looked back at the boy and asked, “Where did you get this?”
“It was my grandmother’s!”
Her eyes widened and she quickly shoved the bracelet back at him. “You can’t give me this!”
“Why not?” Vali asked confusedly, a bit hurt that she’d rejected his gift.
“Because I’d rather not get murdered by an angry god. Does your father even know you have that?” At that the boy looked a bit guilty. “I thought as much.” She thought for a moment then sighed softly. “Look, it was a nice gesture, but I can’t take that. It’s too valuable; your father would be upset to lose it. Understand?”
Vali thought for a moment then nodded. “I understand.”
“Good, now off you go.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my forest and I said so.”
“But I don’t want to go.”
“You’ve tried that line before, boy; it didn’t help you any then.”
“Why don’t you use my name?”
“Because you don’t matter enough for me to bother,” she retorted, hoping that would drive him away. Instead he tilted his head sideways in thought. “What?”
“Uncle says that father is cold to others so that they don’t want to be around him, because then they can’t be the ones to leave him, like my mother did.”
Her brows raised half in surprise. “Your uncle told you that?”
“Well, he didn’t tell me about my mother, but I heard about it when I was supposed to be asleep. Father doesn’t really talk about her; it makes him sad and angry.”
“Ah. Well…” What did one even say to that? She shook her head. It was none of her business. “I’m not your father.”
“But you don’t really want to be alone either,” he countered.
“I’m not alone.”
“Neither is father, but he’s still sad.”
“And, what, you think I must be, too?” she scoffed amusedly. He shrugged. “Well, I’m not. So why don’t go cheer your father up instead of bothering me?”
“Father’s busy.”
“You’ve also said that before, and he wasn’t too busy not to mess with my wards again looking for you.”
“Why do you keep everyone out?”
She sighed frustratedly. “Because I don’t like people, and I don’t want them in my space. Now move.”
He pouted but ultimately allowed her to lead him back to the edge of the forest, where Loki was waiting again, though this time he hadn’t touched her wards, which she was grateful for even as she irritably advised him to tether the boy to himself or something before turning back.
****
“I’m going to feed you to a bear,” Carlotta grumbled as she walked out of the river to find Vali casually sitting by where she’d left her clothes, happily munching on some of the nuts she’d brought to snack on.
After the third time, Vali stopped coming into her forest for a few days, only to come back when she’d begun to think he was gone for good. Since then he’d been dropping by every other day, though she’d been informed by a rather frazzled Loki that it was the best he’d managed to get the boy to agree to, and since neither of them knew how in the world he was even getting in to begin with they couldn’t really do much to stop him.
What was worse, she was starting to not mind his visits as much. She wouldn’t actually say so, but, well… she had a feeling the boy knew.
“Aren’t you cold?” Vali asked as she knelt down before a rock without bothering to dress and began grinding the plants she’d gotten from the bottom of the river into a paste.
“No.”
“I don’t really get cold, neither does father.”
“That’s nice, boy,” she replied distractedly.
He leaned closer to the rock. “What are you making?”
“Nothing you need to know about.”
“Is it for a spell?”
“It’s for a curse,” she corrected, by now knowing he wouldn’t just leave it alone without some kind of answer.
He let out a soft gasp. “Are you cursing someone?”
�� “Well, it’s hardly for me,” she snorted.
“Who are you cursing?”
“Stop asking questions, boy,” she warned. She really was not in the mood to deal with questions that day, much less any in the direction he was heading.
“Why?”
“Because it’s none of your business.”
“Why not?”
“Boy…”
“But I just want to know who you’re cursing.”
She closed her eyes and took a breath before resuming her task. “A very unpleasant person,” she replied through gritted teeth.
“The person who made you decide to live here by yourself?”
And she especially didn’t want to talk about that. “Yes, Vali, the person who drove me here! Now will you get lost already!?”
The deafening silence that met the outburst caused her to look up at the boy, only to find a very hurt and tear filled face, before Vali stood and ran off, leaving her feeling unexpectedly unsettled. She almost called out to him, even, which made very little sense to her. She’d spent this whole time trying to drive him away, after all. So why did succeeding feel so very… uncomfortable?
“Oh, fuck,” she cursed aloud as the thought occured to her, “Loki’s going to kill me.”
She expected to be struck down the second she stepped out of the safety of the trees after dressing and forcing herself to go after the boy to make sure he’d gotten back alright, but while Loki didn’t look any bit pleased, he silently waited while she made her way to stand before him.
“Why my son has latched onto you as much as he has, I have no idea,” he spoke up as she reached him, “But he has.”
“Apparently he thinks I’m as lonely as you are and it’s his job to fix that.”
He blinked at that, caught off guard, then frowned. “I owe you a debt for returning him safely all those times, and that is the only reason you still stand. I will not be merciful a second time.”
Anger flared in her at his presumptuousness and she glared at him. “Or maybe you could actually keep better track of him, instead of making me responsible for him, like I told you the first time it happened.”
Loki’s jaw clenched. “You obviously do not have children,” he spat.
An expression of pure hurt crossed her face before she quashed all feelings down. “No, I don’t,” she retorted coldly before he could say anything more, “And I shouldn’t have to look after yours, so keep him out of my forest.”
With that, she turned and walked back into the trees, not really paying attention to where she stepped, and it was only the consideration of the forest that kept her from stumbling or walking into any harm. She had expected many things from that meeting, but being reminded of her deepest scars was not one of them. Of course, there was no way he could have known, so she couldn’t even blame him for it. That didn’t really stop the root that tripped him on his way back to town, but she could hardly help how much the trees liked her.
She stopped when she reached an old hollow tree, overgrown with vines and flowers since she had rid it of the tainted spirit that had once made its lair within, and crawled inside. Curling up in its shelter, she allowed herself a moment to weep.
****
She awoke with a slight start to find it was morning and she was no longer alone. How Vali had managed to squeeze into the space she wasn’t taking up without waking her, she had no idea, but there he was, facing her and fast asleep. She sat up a bit and rubbed at her eyes then froze as she realised that Vali wasn’t the only outside presence there; her gaze made its way to the tree’s opening, to be met with a pair of black boots moments before their owner crouched down to peer inside.
Loki did not look particularly amused, but neither did he seem angry, just… resigned. “So, as it turns out, my son is a shapeshifting prodigy.”
She arched an eyebrow then looked down at the slumbering Vali. “That explains a few things.”
“He also seems incapable of holding grudges, which he most certainly does not get from either of his parents.”
She frowned a bit but said nothing in response, simply lied back down and went back to sleep. When she awoke again some time later, Vali was gone, though she heard him laughing outside. She crawled out of her little nest, blinking a bit in the sunlight, and looked to the side to where Loki sat against the tree, watching his son chase a pair of ravens she didn’t know with a small smile.
“I confess a certain amount of surprise you would willingly sleep in my presence,” Loki said by way of greeting, “Especially after our last parting.”
She stretched with a pleased sigh as her back popped and moved to lean against the other side of the opening, eyes on Vali. “Even if you could get away with hurting me in here; you wouldn’t in front of him.”
“No. I would not.” He huffed amusedly. “It would seem I have gone soft; my fathers would likely be ashamed of me.”
“Sounds like a ‘them’ problem.”
There was silence between them for a while, and though it was not exactly comfortable she didn’t feel the desire to say anything more. In the end it was Loki who broke it. “It seems a trait I do share with my son is the ability to unknowingly strike a nerve…”
“And you already paid for it.”
He looked at her confusedly and she glanced down to the roots between them meaningfully, causing him to huff. “I thought that came out of nowhere,” he muttered, annoyed, then eyed her a bit warily. “You have quite a hold on this forest.”
She snorted. “I didn’t tell them to do that; I just didn’t stop them. I don’t control anything here, not by force.”
“Must have been quite the favour, then.”
“One deeply corrupted spirit and a handful of restless ghosts.”
He hummed then silence stretched on for a while longer, until he turned to look at her. “I am… sorry… for the wound I reopened.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You didn’t. Just poked at it.”
“I am still sorry.”
“Your son knows about his mother, you know.” She looked over to find a startled expression. “He heard about it once while he was supposed to be sleeping, apparently.”
He looked ahead at Vali, sitting crosslegged on the ground with a raven perched on each knee. “She did not actually want children,” he said after a moment, “And she waited until the day she left, when he was three, to tell me that. She tried, she said, but she just could not love him.” He huffed a humourless laugh. “She said she grew to resent me. As if I had forced her to have him. If I had known, I would have ended things between us long before he was conceived; I would never force anyone to go through a pregnancy they do not want. And for Vali to… I know what it is like to be unwanted, why in Hel would I risk putting my own children through that?”
“Sounds like she fucked up; though with something like this, there was probably a reason she didn’t say anything.”
“There was. Her parents. They had very specific expectations of her. I am not angry that she gave in to their pressure; I am angry that she never told me of it, when she knew I, of all people, would understand.” He shook his head. “It hardly matters now, in any case, it is done.”
Another stretch of silence then she looked up at the trees. “I was almost a mother. Didn’t really expect it, we thought he was infertile, but we didn’t really have a problem with it. Our relationship was mostly sexual, but we liked each other enough to raise a child together.” She closed her eyes and took a breath. “I lost it. Disagreement with a poison-happy neighbour.”
Loki winced sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
“She paid for it.”
“If the curse you told Vali of was for her, I would say she pays for it still. As well she should, mind, if that is so.”
“She didn’t really mean to make me miscarry. She didn’t know I was pregnant; that wasn’t a line she’d knowingly cross, as cruel as she could be.” She shrugged. “Didn’t make it hurt any less. Or make me less angry.”
He nodded then suddenly jolted a bit, as though he’d been shocked. “If Vali being here is too much…”
The laugh she barked in response silenced the rest of his sentence. “Vali’s fine. Annoyingly enough, I actually like the little brat.”
He chuckled. “He tends to have that effect. It continually surprises people that he is my son.”
They said nothing more, simply watched the boy in question resume chasing the birds that were his in all but name until he realised they were done talking about Adult Things and went over to them.
****
There was a necklace waiting for her, hanging from a tree branch in a way that suggested a bird had left it there; it was a braided dark leather cord with a cut and polished drop of an opal-like crystal. It was very pretty but quite simple, not the sort of thing that would belong to a queen. She took it with a smile and a shake of her head. She had thought maybe the boy had forgotten about his first attempt to give her a gift and her response, but really she should have known better; his thoughts ran a mile a minute and his attention span was all over the place, but he had a surprisingly good memory.
With another smile as she thought of what his reaction would be when he saw it, she put the necklace on before continuing about her current task, which proved well worth it as the boy could not keep the grin off his face the rest of the day. Loki raised a curious eyebrow upon seeing it when she met him to drop Vali off that evening, but said nothing of it, and so she assumed it was alright.
“At the rate this is going, I may as well just sign my life over to you,” Loki said amusedly by way of greeting.
“Don’t tempt me, I may just take you up on that,” she joked back.
At least, he thought she was joking. It was sort of hard to tell with her sometimes.
“Well, you’d have to explain it to my brother, but that aside, I do not believe I would mind overmuch.”
“You say that now, but once I put you to work…” she chuckled. “No, I think it’s safe to say these are no longer favours. Not that that negates the ones that were.”
“Of course not; I would not dream of trying to cheat you out of those. I rather like breathing,” he grinned, earning a laugh.
Silence stretched on for a bit until she looked down to find Vali staring between them curiously, and she cleared her throat. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get out of my forest.”
Loki jolted almost imperceptibly. “Right,” he replied somewhat embarrassed before taking his son’s hand and leading them away back towards town, privately wondering just what the Hel that was.
****
Carlotta knew something was wrong before the sound of flapping wings even reached her, she felt it in the very air; she looked up from her seat on a bed of moss to see a magpie diving for her and braced herself, arms ready and waiting when the bird turned into Vali moments before he reached her. The boy clung to her, sobbing, and she shifted him so he was cradled on her lap and rocked him slowly, trying her best to console him enough to find out just what was the matter.
Finally he calmed enough that the sobs turned to sniffling and the occasional hiccup and she asked him what happened, bracing for the worst. He was a little reluctant to say anything, but eventually couldn’t hold back anymore. “I-it’s all my f-fault!”
“What is, little one?”
“That m-my mother l-left father. It’s my fault f-father is s-sad!”
She winced, wondering where he’d heard that. “Oh, darling, no,” she said emphatically, taking his face in her hands and brushing his tears away, “That is not your fault. Any of that.”
“B-but-”
“But nothing,” she interrupted firmly. “Vali; your mother made the mistake of listening to the wrong people and regretted it. You’re not responsible for that. You didn’t ask to exist, no one does. Nor are you responsible for things going wrong with her and your father; that was between them and no one else. It may have been in a way related to you, but it was not about you, not really.”
Vali looked as though he might argue but ultimately just buried his face in her shoulder, and she sighed, kissed his head and simply held him, rubbing his back soothingly every so often.
“… Does Loki know you’re here?” she asked after a long while. He shook his head and she let out a long suffering sigh. “Of course not. Boy, you really need to stop disappearing on the poor guy.” He merely snuggled closer to her in response and she rolled her eyes. At that point, Loki always looked for him in her forest before anywhere else, but it still had to be a stressful experience for the young father. “How did you even hear about your mother, anyway? You weren’t eavesdropping again, were you?”
Vali shook his head again. “A lady told me,” came the muffled reply, “She said that I was a burden and father would be better off without me.”
Carlotta’s blood ran cold and she was quite glad he couldn’t see her face at that moment, for she could only imagine what her expression looked like as a flash of pure rage flared within her. “Did she now?” she asked, voice tight with barely controlled fury she was trying very hard not to let him notice. “Would you happen to know her name? Her full name?”
“Inge Bjornsdottir,” he replied, pulling back to look up at her, and she quickly schooled her face into a smile. “She makes dresses and stares at father a lot.”
“That a fact?” she said with a raised brow, her theory of what the woman was up to more than confirmed. Her smile took on a slight edge as a plan formed. “Vali; how would you like to help me make scones?”
Vali’s face immediately lit up and he nodded enthusiastically. “Can we put chocolate in them?”
“Sure; whatever you want,” she replied indulgently, nudging him to get up so she could stand.
She took his hand and began leading them to her house, stopping along the way to ask a bird to let Loki know his son was safely with her. Once inside the quaint wooden house she’d grown from the ground up, she set the boy on a stool before the countertop and got out all the ingredients they would need, letting him do most of the work as he wanted, uncaring of the mess they made in the process. While the first batch of scones were baking, she distracted Vali by letting him look through some of her (safer) spellbooks, and then she got to work on the next batch; for it was a rather special batch, and she did not want him learning such things at such a young age. By the time all the scones were baked and cooled and packed away in small boxes (Vali insisted on giving some to friends and family), it was quite late, and so it came as no surprise when a knock on the door signalled Loki’s arrival.
“I thought we agreed you were going to let me know before you came here, Vali,” he scolded lightly as she let him in. When the boy in question would not even look at him, Loki frowned and looked to Carlotta questioningly, who shook her head slightly and mouthed ‘Later’, causing his frown to deepen before he followed her lead. He looked around the kitchen, noticing the evidence of their day’s activity on the counters and the scent of baked goods still in the air, then walked up to Vali and ran his fingers through the boy’s hair affectionately. “I see you have been busy.”
Vali suddenly turned and wrapped his arms around his father, burying his face in his chest, and Loki looked at Carlotta in concern even as he immediately returned the embrace. “I love you, father.”
“I know that, little one,” Loki replied gently, truly beginning to worry now, “And I adore you more than anything in all the realms.”
After a moment, Vali pulled away and it was like a switch had been flipped, for he hopped down from the stool and excitedly told Loki about all they had done for the day, the baking and the books he’d read, as though nothing at all was wrong. Loki didn’t believe it for a second, but he trusted Carlotta would explain later as she’d promised, making a show of pretending to think about it when she invited them to stay for dinner and Vali asked him if they could.
After dinner the boy had finally tired himself out and Loki had to carry him back through the forest. He waited until they were at the edge to broach the subject, which she appreciated, but broach it he did. “So, why does my son think I don’t love him?” he asked, quietly so as not to wake the boy.
“He knows you love him, he just thinks you shouldn’t. And before you go blaming yourself; it’s nothing you’ve done. Apparently, one of your admirers isn’t too pleased with the idea of becoming a stepmother, and sought to remedy the problem by making him think it’s his fault you’re alone and that if he went away, you could finally be happy.”
Loki was eerily still for a moment. “What?”
“She told him it was his fault his mother left, that he’s a burden to you and you’d be better off without him.”
“Who?” he asked lowly.
She shook her head and held out the box of scones he’d noticed she had kept out of Vali’s reach as he’d rambled on about who the rest were for. “Just make sure these get to her and her alone.”
He began to protest, demand she tell him so he could deal with the problem in his own way, but as soon as the box touched his hand his words choked off and he almost dropped it. He looked between it and her perfectly unconcerned face in slight shock then nodded, understanding what she was doing. “Remind to never, ever scorn you,” he said, eyeing her slightly warily.
At that, her face broke into a wide smile that made his breath hitch slightly. “That’s very unlikely.”
****
The wards had snagged something, something powerful, and Carlotta quickly made her way towards it on the offered back of the stag she’d been conversing with. She got off a ways away with thanks and went the rest of the way on foot, not wanting to risk her friend. She knew it wasn’t Loki, as the wards would have let him in, and Vali was not that big of a presence even if he could get caught in them; so whoever it was, was a stranger.
She disliked strangers.
When she broke through the treeline, she groaned quietly as she was met with a rather puzzled looking Thor, and not for the first time cursed out the fates and their apparent liking for entangling her life with the House of Odin. At least he wasn’t unravelling the spells. “You’re trespassing,” she called shortly, getting his attention, “Turn around. Walk away.”
“I would speak with you, Lady of this forest,” he said instead, “And I had no way to send prior word, with both my brother and nephew away.”
She made her way to stand before him and crossed her arms at her chest. “Fine; what do you want?”
Thor made to get to the point, realising that what Loki had said about her brusqueness was entirely accurate, but his gaze was drawn to her neck, or rather what she wore on it, and he smiled a bit. “So, that is where that went.”
She arched a brow then brought her hand up to the necklace Vali had given her. “You know this?”
“I bought it for a maiden I thought to court, ages ago, but she turned out to be most unpleasant and instead I gave it to a friend. Curiously, it vanished recently. Now I know where.”
“The boy gave it to me; I didn’t know it was stolen,” she said, reaching behind her neck to take it off.
Thor raised a hand to stop her. “No, please, keep it. Sif only ever accepted it out of spite; she never actually wanted or wore it, she just did not want Amora to have it. I am glad to know it serves a much better purpose now.”
She frowned a bit but lowered her hands, silently glad she wouldn’t have to give it up after all, as she was quite fond of it. “So, what brings you here uninvited?”
He turned serious. “A rather less pleasant matter. It has been brought to my attention that you have cursed one of my people quite gravely.”
“You’re certain it was me?”
“The woman in question is. She claims you seek to eliminate any who stand in the way of ensnaring my brother for yourself.”
Carlotta blinked at that, then laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He caught her by the waist when her knees buckled from it, and she clung to him as she tried to get herself under control. When she finally managed to stop laughing, she stood up straight, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, and patted his arm gratefully. “Oh, I haven’t laughed that hard in decades,” she said somewhat breathlessly, then cleared her throat. “Of all the things I want in this life, I assure you, ensnaring Loki is not one of them.”
“I did not think it was,” Thor assured. “I do believe you cursed her, however, as do plenty of the mortals of the town.”
“Well, they also think I eat children, so,” she shrugged.
His lips twitched up briefly. “It is my duty as King to seek justice, you must know this. I need to know why you have done this.”
“Because she made the mistake of hurting someone I care about; and if I hadn’t been here to catch him, it would probably not have ended well.”
Thor mulled her words over for a moment. “Vali, then?” he guessed, remembering how his nephew had been a bit downcast some days before the curse had been brought to his attention. She nodded sharply. “And would I be correct in assuming her accusations as to your motive were more projection than anything else?”
“She knows exactly what she’s paying for; that’s how I weave my curses. Not as satisfying to punish someone if they don’t know what they’re being punished for.”
“There should have been a trial…” he said disapprovingly.
A sharp smirk. “Not where I come from.”
He eyed her for a moment then huffed a laugh. “I can see why Loki likes you so much. Though, I must ask…”
“And I don’t need to answer.”
“I only do not wish to see him be hurt again. Vali’s mother-”
“Was her own person, as I am mine. And the point is moot, besides.”
Thor nodded, believing he understood. “I only ask, if he ever finds the nerve to say anything, that you let him down gently. Loki is very fond of acting as though nothing affects him, but that could not be farther from the truth.”
She huffed. “Go home, Odinson. And next time, send one of the ravens; you’re lucky you stumbled upon one of the harmless wards, this time.”
****
The warning spread through the trees like wildfire – which was appropriate, all things considered – and she rushed out of the river followed by the bear she’d been fishing alongside, jumping onto her back to speed up the journey. She wove a Working along the way, aimed at the sky, and clouds began to gather where they were needed, dropping a sudden deluge upon the ground and extinguishing the flames before they could get too far, startling those responsible.
Of course, that was nothing compared to their surprise at the sight of her arrival upon a really quite large bear.
“Who dares attack my home?” she demanded, glaring at the two men and one woman before her. The woman whose haggard appearance answered the question before she could open her mouth, and Carlotta bared her teeth at her. “You.”
“We have come so that you will lift your curse on our sister, witch,” one of the men said assertively, though his fearful glance at the unexpected bear belied his tone.
“I will not; and burning my trees has just earned you all another one.”
“You will lift your curse, or we will kill you where you stand!” the other retorted, and while he’d clearly been as surprised by the bear, he was not as fearful as his brother.
She scoffed derisively. “That’s cute. Walk away and accept your punishment; I won’t ask again.” Instead they pulled their swords from their belts and she frowned a bit then hopped down from the bear’s back. “Suit yourselves.”
“You have ruined everything!” Inge spat, glaring at her hatefully before sneering, “But if I cannot have him, I can at least make sure that you will not, either.”
Carlotta rolled her eyes. “You are pathetic. Has it occurred to you that even if he didn’t love me, he wouldn’t be very interested in someone perfectly willing to traumatise his child trying to get what they want?”
“He does not need the brat, I could have borne him a hundred more!” Inge practically screeched. Carlotta merely raised an eyebrow at her, clearly unimpressed. “You will not have him!”
With that, she threw the lantern in her hand towards the trees, causing it to shatter and splatter oil over the plants that quickly caught fire. At the same time, her brothers advanced on Carlotta and the bear, forcing her to divide her attention. With a great roar, the bear charged at the man who’d first spoken, who, while bolstered some by his brother’s bravado, still flinched. Carlotta grasped a handful of air and, with intent and a thought, swept her hand out before her and sent a powerful gust of wind at the advancing opponent that threw him back, buying herself some time.
And with that time, Carlotta turned to the flames quickly spreading over her home – her charge – and grit her teeth; focusing her anger, she beckoned to the fire, calling it, enticing it to leave the plants alone - and wouldn’t it have more fun with a moving target? Something that would try to resist its bite? It could prove itself the stronger will, and she would gladly be its tool to do so.
And the flames agreed.
Following the current of oxygen she’d redirected for just that purpose, the fire left the plants and flowed towards her, enveloping a sword she’d coaxed from the very earth and air. Carlotta turned just in time to block the sword aimed for her neck and, with a roar to match her friend’s, pushed back, surprising Inge’s brother with her strength.
“You… you are no mere human,” he said in realisation, briefly glancing at Inge almost accusingly, though the gesture was missed as the woman herself was staring at Carlotta in shock.
“I’ve never claimed to be,” Carlotta retorted with a sharp grin, “You’re in over your head, silly man.”
“Whatever you are; I will still kill you!” he sneered before charging at her again.
She sidestepped his swing and brought her sword down across his back, earning a grunt of pain as the flames bit into the gash. “Yes, I can see that.”
That got an angry growl as her opponent turned and charged again, though significantly less carelessly. He quickly learned that his attention had to be focused on the fire as much as the woman who wielded it, for the way it flared towards him with every clash of their swords suggested it had a mind of its own, which was very much intent on sinking its teeth into him. Still, he was not without skill and experience, and held his own well.
Carlotta diverted bits of her attention to coax the ground to become cracked and brittle beneath her opponent, tripping him up, and to the wind to loosen the tie he had his hair in, blowing it into his face to blind him. That combined with the eager fire had him off balance enough to make up the difference in their swordsmanship; for while not unskilled, she was no warrior, never had been. Her skills lay elsewhere and she put them to good use now.
“Enough with your trickery, witch! Fight me with honour!”
She snorted. “Demands for honour from one who came planning to outnumber? Oh, the irony.”
A particularly bad stumble gave her a perfect opening to strike, but before she could take it a pained roar to the side caught her attention. Inge had decided to make herself useful by distracting the bear, giving her other brother the opening to attack her flank, and he was now aiming to take the advantage to slay the animal.
“NO!” Carlotta yelled, turning to swing her sword towards the other man, sending out a burst of flames from it that hit him right in the face, making him drop his sword with a scream of agony and attempt to put the flames out.
Her previous opponent had, meanwhile, taken the opportunity to regain his footing and slash at her exposed side, earning a cry of pain as she went down, dropping her sword and causing it to dissolve into the elements that had forged it. The man sneered down at her, “In over my head, am I?”
Carlotta made to reply but paused as something caught her attention, and instead laughed. “Oh, you’re already dead.”
“Your tricks cannot save you now,” he spat, raising his sword to strike.
“But perhaps mine can,” Loki countered as he undid the concealment spell he’d used to come up behind him unnoticed and plunged his daggers into either side of his ribs, forcing magic into the wounds to freeze his insides.
Inge cried out in shock and horror as her brother fell, though the murderous glare Loki sent her way was more than enough to keep her away. The Trickster then crouched by Carlotta, assessing the damage before taking out a healing stone to deal with it.
“That was careless,” he scolded as he worked, deeply displeased, “And all for a bear?”
“For a friend,” she retorted with a warning glare, causing him to roll his eyes.
“A friend who would have perished regardless with you dead,” he countered, then his gaze snapped up to Inge, who was attempting to sneak away with her remaining brother. “Do not even think to move.”
“Leave them,” Carlotta said dismissively, “They’ll get theirs as soon as I get back to the house.”
His jaw clenched, but ultimately he turned back to her, finishing mending the wound and ignoring the siblings as they fled. As soon as he was done, she was up and moving to the bear, murmuring soothingly at her as she checked the wound. She turned to Loki and held her hand out to him expectantly, causing him to regard her incredulously, to which she simply raised a brow. With a sigh, he took another healing stone out of his pocket and gave it to her, attempting to ignore the fluttering in his chest when she smiled gratefully in response before turning back to her friend and failing miserably. Once she was done and sent the bear on her way, he insisted on walking her to her house, to which she rolled her eyes but did not bother arguing against.
“Where’s Vali?” she asked as they walked, noting the boy’s conspicuous absence even now that the threat was over.
“Likely making his uncle regret ever offering to watch him,” he replied amusedly.
“Then why did you come?” she asked confusedly, as he’d never visited without having Vali as his excuse for doing so before.
“I wished to speak with you,” he replied then swallowed a bit, suddenly uncertain, “Am I not welcome?”
“You’ve just never visited alone before. It stands out, is all.”
“Ah. I suppose it does.” He absently picked at his left hand, trying to organise his thoughts, before stopping and turning to her, prompting her to do the same. “Carlotta, I…”
“… By the earth; you’re bad at this,” she laughed when she realised he wasn’t going to finish his sentence, causing his brows to furrow. “I already know, Loki. I’ve known for a while, actually.”
“You… know?” She nodded. “You never said anything.”
“I figured that you were ignoring it until it went away.”
“I was, actually,” he confessed. “I don’t want this.”
“That’s fair.”
“Is it?”
“No one can choose who they love, but they can decide what they do about it, if anything.”
“What of you? You know how I feel, but I do not know your heart.”
“I… am not leaving here.”
He looked away for a moment. “And what if I did not ask you to?”
“Aren’t you?”
He steeled his nerves and stepped closer. “No.”
“… Well, then. What then, indeed?”
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FF14 Write - ‘Soul’
In which Ysabet Sable makes a homecoming, and then a home.
At first, Ysabet was grateful for the dreams.
A grand verdant canopy, the feel of grass and morning dew underfoot. Sometimes, she stood alone, watched the branches sway in the breeze, heard the song of birds alien to this land. Other times, she was hand in hand with Thrjs, her fragile flower, walking slowly through familiar haunts. Sometimes, they...
At first she'd been grateful. But as the battle for Norvrandt's survival grew bleaker, they seemed only to taunt her.
It started in her own head. The treacherous thought, one she'd kept to one side since her arrival - she would never see those lands again. Leaves withered to dust in her hand.
"It was never enough for you, Mrdja."
"It was, Thrjs." Ysabet sighed. "Enough for two lifetimes, by the hyur reckoning."
"I was never enough. Don't claim you pine for me now."
Ysabet was lucid enough to feel herself smiling. "Yet you're here, aren't you?"
"Well, that only speaks to your massive bloody ego, does it not." Thrjs sniffed. "It never was nearly so charming as you seemed to think."
"You seemed taken by it." Ysabet squatted down in the grass, traced a few idle patterns in the soil with a long finger. "And we were happy, were we not? Thirty good years--"
"Thirty years!" Nails sunk into Ysabet's soft shoulder, and she cried out as Thrjs' voice began to warp, change, multiply. "You pledged a lifetime! You lie, you use, you discard! Mrdja called a lifetime of debts, and then you cast her aside like a snake sheds a skin all to satiate your--"
Ysabet jolted upright in her bed, panting and sweating. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream.
...
But she had to find a way to go back. And once she had, to go back.
They did find a way, in the end. They carved a path of blood and tragedy, mostly but not entirely that of other people.
Ysabet left Norvrandt with few regrets. Perhaps someday she could return, but there was so much to do in her world, what she still truly thought of as the real world. She'd spent her final night with Hlessi, having finally run out of ways to avoid directly telling her how she felt. Perhaps, upon their return, they'd simply be afforded time to explore...
But of course there was a new threat, since there was always a new threat. There was no time to rest, but there was never time to rest. The feeling of cold marble constricting her heart had not been left behind in Norvrandt.
The long voyage to Eorzea had been borne before. She could weather the return, hunkering belowdecks, trying to find the words to describe her experiences.
She'd been back... once. To the vicinity. But it had been another task. Helping a cause. There'd been no time to return, or, at least, that's what she'd told herself. Perhaps she'd just been afraid. At least now there was nothing to lose...
She retraced her steps. Returned to the jungle, started to... pick through... the...
It took just an hour to feel something was wrong, something deep in her tainted bones. Yet it was all as before, was it not? The sights, the smells...
But something was missing. That sense of... one-ness with country. Mrdja Camoa had been a powerful elementalist, yet she had also been a viera. She had been woven into the fabric of the place. Had she simply been gone too long? But, no, it... it went deeper, she knew.
And the secret paths did not reveal themselves to her.
She gritted her teeth. Anger built to a fine point inside her, found its way out through her fingertips. She forced the jungle to reveal the secrets she knew were hers to know, even if country did not remember her.
An arrow sped past her face, grazing her cheek. She yelped out and staggered back, before casting her eyes desperately around. She knew in years past she could simply feel any presence through the whisperings of the wood, and yet... !
She did at least hear the next arrow being nocked and drawn.
"I am Mrdja Camoa!" she cried out.
"Mrdja is dead. You merely wear her face."
Ysabet gasped. "Kjva?"
The next shot was not a warning. It sank into her midriff, sending her doubling over, gasping in agony. "This is not our way! Kjva, we greeted returners! They brought tales from afar, and so long as they did not remain... I only ask for time. A day. One day. To see you again, and Thrjs, and Ljda, to walk the old paths once more. I return from..." She spat out blood, and gambled on the truth. "A world beyond, far beyond. It had to be done to protect us all - to protect Camoa, Kj! The last thing I would wish is harm on my people. To harm you."
Ysabet heard a deep, hissing sigh from the trees. "There is a wrongness within you, Mrdja. The grove has not forgotten you. Yet... this, it does not recognise."
"I am warped, yes. The far world, it... it changed me. My dreams called me to return."
Silence in the trees.
"Are... are you well, Kj?" Ysabet asked, her voice small. "To be here alone, you must have been recognised. I always told you you would come far. Thrjs, has she... has she moved on, Kj?"
"Be quiet." Ysabet heard the bow bend again. "I see through you, Mrdja. You are here because you think Ljda will heal you. You never... never cared for any of us," said Kjva, with a sudden desperation, as though trying to convince herself.
"Is that what it will take to make this easier, Kjva?" Ysabet sighed. "Do whatever you think is right, Kj. I just ask you... do not poison what we had."
A deep breath. "We did miss you, Mrdja," said Kjva at last. "Which is why it is so hard that you had to return like this."
The arrow cut through air and drove into the dirt behind where Ysabet had stood. Kjva cast her eyes around desperately, nocked the next arrow, but all she could hear was the whispering of the wood.
Slow, deliberate steps echoed through the Gubal. Sealed for long years, and its opening was a secret that did not have to be made public. A site fit for a scholar's pilgrimage, and Ysabet was one of the fortunate few to have purged the place.
A few idle daemons had sprung back up through the cracks. Purging them counted as little more than light exercise.
Mrdja Camoa was a ghost. There was little point dwelling on that. Her home was not Ysabet Sable's. Therefore, Ysabet would have to make her own. Not like her room upstairs in the Mist, which was more a magpie's nest than anything, sometimes compared unfavourably to the site of the meteor falling. Nor her room in Kugane, fancy and presentable and not actually quite lived in. A home. Somewhere to truly make ... hers.
And this, she reflected, looking upon row after row of near-mummified pages... this could be a start.
She began to brush off the dust.
#FFxivWrite2021#soul#these always turn out better when i just crank them out first thing tbh#OC: ysabet sable
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Thanks to @morphia-writes for beta help, and to @miyuki4s for all the brainstorming help that went into this chapter!
An excerpt:
There are some things Lan Wangji cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.
Every evening, he creates a fresh talisman to replaces the one on Lan Wangji’s arm. He brews one of three different medicinal teas from Wen Qing, in sequence, and serves it, sometimes drinking a portion or two himself. He invites Lan Wangji to play Rest as a duet for the suppressed, resentful souls they carry, and then other, less spiritually charged music, and asks after his core, after their evening meditations.
Every morning, Lan Wangji takes longer than he needs to to comb his hair, and tie it up, and dress. Wei Ying looks younger in the diffused dawnlight inside the tent. Softer, sprawled carelessly under blankets with his sleep robe twisted out of place to reveal the hollow of his elbow and the line of his collar bones.
It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.
Read on tumblr under the cut!
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 |
*
It takes more than one day for a sect leader to prepare for the sort of journey they’re planning. Not because of the journey itself, Wei Ying is quick to point out, but because of all the things he has to make sure are done beforehand.
“Wen Qing is locking me in my study today,” he says over breakfast on the first day, “but Sizhui, Xiuying and Weixin are meeting with a tailor for new clothes and you should go.”
As he has been wearing borrowed or stolen clothes for several days now, Lan Wangji cannot bring himself to protest. He has no desire to wear extra infirmary underlayers while traveling, and the plain black outer layer Wen Qionglin had brought to his door was clearly intended to fit as many people as possible. Commissioning something new, or at least something altered to fit properly, is only reasonable.
Wei Ying insists that he’s already paid for the service, which Lan Wangji can only thank him for; he has no funds of his own, or reputation to call on.
“Get something you like,” Wei Ying tells him, even as Wen Qing looms over his shoulder. “Anything you want is fine.”
Lan Wangji assumes this event will take place within Yiling-Wei’s walls, as was generally the case in Cloud Recesses, but instead he finds himself following Wen Sizhui, Zhou Xiuying and Liu Weixin through a town that looks much more prosperous than the Yiling he visited thirteen years ago, and is almost certainly louder and more crowded than he remembers.
That impression may be influenced by his company. Certainly he had felt there were entirely too many people in the street when he was surrounded by onlookers with a toddler clutching at his leg, but if anything their small group draws even more attention now.
Everyone seems to know Wen Sizhui. There are street hawkers and shop owners who greet him by name, and press freshly steamed baozi and sticks of hawthorn candy into his hands, and it is clear from their comments that the townspeople of Yiling are close to their Sect in a way that is certainly not true of Cloud Recesses and Caiyi, or Jinlingtai and Lanling. One merchant is so insistent on thanking them for some past service that all four of them end up holding packages of lotus root, despite the fact that Lan Wangji can have had nothing to do with solving the woman’s problems.
The pattern continues inside the tailor’s shop—the young Wei cultivators are being fitted with new black outer yi and trousers designed to the Jiang Clan’s specifications for the upcoming archery tournament, but they are all clearly well-known to the staff. And Lan Wangji has come with the Sect Leader’s express instructions. And also the offer of his purse.
“Wei-zongzhu said you might prefer these,” one of the tailor’s assistants says, his hands full of fine-woven cream and blue fabrics, “but we do have other colors, of course.”
None of the fabrics on display are the shining, pure white of Gusu-Lan, but there is sun-bleached silk and cloud-white cotton and pale wool woven thinner than paper. It doesn’t seem to matter what he says, or how he responds: he is fussed over, and measured, and prodded. Silk and wool and brocade are draped over his shoulders and held up to his face for comparisons of shade and texture, and he leaves the shop—it is much later in the afternoon than he expected—with the black robe he arrived in newly altered and a sash of summerweight wool dyed the blue of a pale spring morning tied around his waist. Travel clothes, he is assured, will be delivered in the next few days.
He could not bring himself to commission a forehead ribbon, in any color; he is already quite certain these new robes will exceed any budget or social standing Liang Feihong could expect to claim. Wei Ying seems unconcerned.
“It’s a gift,” he insists after dinner. “Besides, you’re still a cultivator, and you’re traveling with a sect leader. It’d be weird if you looked like a fisherman.”
Lan Wangji is certain there are several measures of difference between the dress of a fisherman, a rogue cultivator, and the fabrics that were held before his face today.
“Look at this map with me,” Wei Ying says, the topic apparently closed. “I’m trying to figure out which roads are least likely to be blocked by mudslides. Wen Qing says if I get on a boat during the spring rains she’ll kill me now to save herself the trouble of burying me later.”
Lan Wangji may not have any formal responsibilities at Yiling-Wei, but Wen Qing makes it clear that she expects marked improvement in his spiritual power before he leaves her area of influence. He is given a list of meditation exercises and a schedule of daily training sessions for sword and unarmed work with her apprentices on hand to monitor his condition.
This is not a hardship. He had already planned to dedicate most of his time to this task, and the Wei cultivators have a unique style—not quite Yunmeng-Jiang, but not Qishan-Wen either. Wei Ying, of course, is the most practiced in it, and his version does not even involve a sword; Suibian is distinctly absent from their training sessions, but this does not seem to affect Wei Ying’s efficacy. Twice Lan Wangji is not fast enough to avoid the touch of a talisman to his shoulder, or his core.
He takes no actual damage from them—Wei Ying is careful in his craft, and these were written specifically for this purpose, but the failure drives him to train harder, even against other sparring opponents, until whatever apprentice is observing him steps in and orders a rest.
He spends this enforced downtime reading theory texts from Wen Qing’s library or at his guqin, picking out simple practice scores and more complex Lan melodies in the hope of re-training both his fingers and his core in the delicate language required for performing Inquiry. He works outside, in the scattered gardens, whenever the weather allows. A few hours spent alone in his shuttered room during a sudden storm proves detrimental to his focus, no matter how many handstands he does, or what other meditation techniques he tries. It is better to be out in the open air, where he can breathe more easily.
“Lan Zhan!” On the afternoon of the third day Wei Ying leans around the mulberry tree on the other side of a plot dedicated largely to cooking herbs. He looks around as if he thinks they’re being watched, and then all but runs over to crouch next to Lan Wangji. “I want to show you something,” he whispers. He tugs on Lan Wangji’s sleeve. “Come on, quick!”
“Something” turns out to be the paddock, where a 2-day-old foal is taking in the outside world for the first time under his mother’s watchful eyes. Wei Ying drapes himself over the fence and watches them both with a rapt expression Lan Wangji has never seen him wear before. Zhou Xiuying is also in attendance, alongside her wife—Feng Xinyi—who he learns is the one of the Wei Sect’s grooms.
“Xiaoying and Heitu are just one pasture over, if you wanted to meet them,” she says, which is how Lan Wangji learns that Wei Ying intends to travel by mule.
“Do you know how hard it is to feed a horse?” he says as they walk through tall grass flushed green with the rains. “Have you ever tried to train a horse for night hunting? In a Yunmeng summer? The heat is terrible for them. I think the only reason Jiang Cheng still has horses is his grandmother sent a whole caravan of grooms and breeding stock from Meishan when the war ended.” He produces two apples from his sleeve and holds one out to the nearest mule and the other to Lan Wangji. “Mules are better,” he says, his tone flippant as he pets Xiaoying’s long nose. “And almost as impressive.”
Xiaoying and Heitu are undeniably beautiful animals; good conformation, clearly healthy, and their dark bay coats shine red in the sunlight. And Lan Wangji knows that he will not be able to travel by sword for some time yet. Not alone. He cannot expect Wei Ying to transport them both, and walking will be too slow. Riding makes sense.
“Little Shadow?” he asks, of Wei Ying’s mount. “And … Black Rabbit?” They are hardly the sorts of names he is accustomed to hearing for a cultivator’s steed. There is little sense of speed, or power, or even luck in these names. Wei Ying shrugs.
“Xiaoying used to lie in the grass and pretend to be dead. Sizhui tripped over her all the time, and then she’d follow him for hours. And Heitu likes to jump, she hopped all over the place as a filly--ah! Lan Zhan!” He grins, gleeful, mischief in his face. “Do you remember the rabbits I gave you, all those years ago? And now I can give you another one! A bigger one!” Wei Ying laughs, just as he had laughed in Cloud Recesses, depositing two rabbits on the floor of the library, some sort of gift and joke and torment all in one, Lan Wangji had been sure.
Lan Wangji hadn’t known what to do then, with the boy who refused to leave him alone, who insisted on teasing him at every opportunity. Now, he stares at Wei Ying’s hands, at long sleeves pulled back to reveal his wrists, at his lips, and he knows what he wants to do.
He steps closer to Heitu, offers her his hands in a bowl instead of reaching out beyond her.
“I remember,” he says. It’s possible that his brother allowed his pets to stay, after his death.
Unlikely. But possible.
Heitu snuffles at his hands, all warm breath and soft nose in a way that is, in some small semblance, reminiscent of the soft warmth of his rabbits. She bears nothing like their fragility, but she takes the apple he offers delicately, and he keeps his fingers well clear of her teeth. Wei Ying strokes Xiaoying’s face and talks sweetly at her until she takes his sleeve in her mouth, at which point he switches over to annoyed admonishments. Lan Wangji has just stepped nearer to help him when Wen Qionglin appears at Wei Ying’s shoulder.
“Qing-jie wants to know if you finished that letter to Ouyang-zongzhu yet,” he says.
Wei Ying jerks, and there’s a sound of tearing cloth. He sighs.
“Feng-shimei told you to stop keeping food in your sleeves,” Wen Qionglin notes, even as he distracts Xiaoying with a hand on her neck. She drops Wei Ying’s sleeve and nudges her nose into Wen Qionglin’s chest. Both animals seem accustomed to his presence.
“I took it out as soon as we got here,” Wei Ying grumbles. “I wouldn’t have torn anything if I wasn’t surprised.” He sticks his fingers through the tear in his sleeve and wiggles them. The look on his face can only be described as a pout.
“I can fix it for you—” Wen Qionglin actually looks worried. Wei Ying just sighs and flaps his sleeve.
“I’ll fix it,” he says. “Why should you fix it? It’s fine.” He frowns at Xiaoying for a moment, then leans into Lan Wangji’s shoulder.
“I really can’t recommend becoming a sect leader,” he says, low-voiced, as if this will affect Wen Qionglin’s hearing. “The number of letters you have to respond to is too much work. I don’t think Ouyang-zongzhu even reads them, he just sends some new complaint every few weeks, as if I can control the weather, or the river, or how sleepy his cultivators get when they’re on tower duty.”
Lan Wangji has never heard his brother or his uncle make similar complaints, but they are Lans; they would not say such a thing even if it were true.
“Did you not choose the position?” he asks.
Wei Ying’s face scrunches up with displeasure. He shakes his head, though whether it is denial or dismissal is impossible to determine.
“I better get back to it,” he says instead of answering the question. “Before Wen Qing tells the kitchens to put radish in my food again.”
He sighs, and waves aside Lan Wangji’s bow. “I’ll see you both at dinner,” he says, and Wen Qionglin nods. Lan Wangji watches Wei Ying walk back up the hill towards the main compound until Heitu seems to take offense to his distraction and knocks her head against his shoulder, huffing at him.
“Does Liang-gongzi know how to ride?” Wen Qionglin asks. It’s a fair question: Lan Wangji does not actually know if Liang Feihong was trained in riding. He prevaricates. What is true for him is just as likely to be true for Liang Feihong as not.
“It has been a long time.”
“Would you like to practice?” Wen Qionglin asks, and Lan Wangji agrees without hesitation. Practice, and especially practice in caring for his mount without servants to help, can only improve the upcoming journey.
Wen Qionglin shows him to the tack room, and he manages to brush and saddle Heitu with a minimum of fuss. The main difference between outfitting a horse and a mule, he finds, is that Heitu’s tack includes two belly cinches, there is an extra strap that goes under her tail to stop the saddle moving too far forward, and he has to be especially gentle with her long ears while placing the bridle. Xiaoying is the more mischievous of the pair, Wen Qionglin tells him, and has to be watched carefully so she doesn’t puff out her stomach and make the cinches too loose.
Riding is initially awkward, but after a few slow circuits of the paddock he finds his seat and is able to push Heitu faster without losing his balance too badly. She takes direction well, has a steady, comfortable gait, and doesn’t startle as easily as some horses he’s ridden. He will almost certainly be sore later, especially without a dependable supply of spiritual power to speed healing, but the wind in his face and the simple pleasures of riding are more than worth that discomfort. He turns back toward the stables when they have both worked up a light sweat and sees Feng Xinyi speaking with Wen Qionglin. She smiles as he approaches, but doesn’t stay.
“I should get back to the little one,” she says. “But I’m glad to know Heitu will have a rider who knows what he’s doing.”
Wen Qionglin leads Heitu to a water trough and pets her cheek until Feng Xinyi is out of earshot.
“Wei-zongzhu trusts you,” he says. As if this is a fact.
Lan Wangji stares back at him. Wen Qionglin does not breathe, and he does not blink. He stands perfectly, unnaturally still, and waits. Apparently some response is required.
He settles on, “I trust him, also.”
Wen Qionglin watches him for a moment longer, and then nods. Then he says, “If he truly needs help, I will know. No matter where he is. And I am very fast.”
Oh.
This is probably intended as a threat.
Lan Wangji slides off Heitu’s back, so that they are eye to eye.
“I mean him no harm,” he says. In his current state of spiritual power it’s almost reassuring to know that someone else is concerned for Wei Ying's welfare. It should not be at all surprising, but he finds he is often surprised by Wen Qionglin, who has continued to move and talk and physically reside with his family for over a decade when everything Lan Wangji has been taught says he should not even exist.
Those same teachings would object to his own new existence as well; they are, both of them, supposed to be long dead.
“I will not let him come to harm,” he says, “if I can help it.”
He worries for a moment that this will be too revealing, but Wen Qionglin does not question him further. Perhaps he doesn’t need to. They are both well aware of the loyalty Wei Ying can inspire, under the right circumstances.
“I will show you where to find the saddle bags and travel rations,” Wen Qionglin decides, and he doesn’t speak of anything but Xiaoying and Heitu’s care and habits for the rest of the afternoon.
The evening before their planned departure, Wen Qing summons Lan Wangji once more to her study. Wei Ying arrives partway through her examination of his meridians and, surprisingly, sits quietly beside her desk until she’s finished. When she nods he joins them both behind the privacy screen and produces two cloth-wrapped packages—in one, two coiled lengths of red silk string, and in the other a pale jade carving of an endless panchang knot.
“Our hope is to give your spiritual power a new path through your meridians,” Wen Qing tells him as she inspects the strings. “One that minimizes the curse’s influence.” She blocks the meridians at his shoulder with her needles, and then ties one string to his arm, above the curse mark, and the other below it, each secured with a cloverleaf knot and sealed with a touch of spiritual power.
Wei Ying leans in close and presses two fingers to the talisman over the curse mark, but doesn’t touch either the silk or the jade. He keeps his silence. Lan Wangji watches his face and cannot read his thoughts.
“Just making sure this doesn’t interrupt us,” he says when he sees Lan Wangji watching. He holds up a second talisman in his other hand. “Wouldn’t want to have to start over in the middle.”
It’s a reasonable precaution: Tying the new charm is a long process, a progression of knots that covers most of his forearm. The jade panchang knot is tied in just above the curse mark, and another panchang knot of red silk tied below the wound. Wen Qing and Wei Ying both study it closely, and then she removes her needles and takes his wrist again, walking him through a slow meditation, cycling spiritual power through his body.
The flow of power is smoother, though it does perhaps take a little more time than he expects.
Wei Ying removes his fingers with a nod and a sigh. Wen Qing smiles, satisfied.
“The talisman will still need to be reapplied regularly,” she says, “but these charms together should be enough to minimize the curse’s effect on your meridians, so your core can begin to heal.”
It has already begun. He can feel the difference.
“Thank you.” The words seem inadequate, but he has little else to offer. Even this, she waves aside.
“I’m sure you don’t need my guidance for the proper exercises, but I do have many more theory texts, if you wish to read them.”
“We can bring some along,” Wei Ying promises. “Most of the best ones, we have more than one copy.”
Lan Wangji thinks of the library—of the many books that bear the same hand. Some copied by Wen Qing. Some by Wei Ying. Others in a clear, steady hand he doesn’t recognize. Of the single bound copy of the Lan Clan rules he’d found next to a copy of the Wen principles, and the books that he doubts his brother knows exist, copies of texts that were available to guest disciples studying at Cloud Recesses.
He wonders if his brother knew, when he was rebuilding the Library Pavilion, just how exact Wei Ying’s memory can be.
“Thank you,” he says again.
“Get some sleep,” Wen Qing says. “Both of you.” She stares hard at Wei Ying. “I’m not going to be the one dragging you out of your rooms in the morning. It’s no matter to me if you miss traveling during the coolest part of the day.”
Traveling with Wei Ying, and only with Wei Ying, is different from traveling alone, or with other Lan disciples, and different again from his memories of travel during the Sunshot Campaign. Then, Wei Ying had shifted through moods like ripples in water, sometimes predictable but more often not. A laugh like a clash of swords, a glare that pierced like needles. More than once Lan Wangji had found him alone but for the poor company the dead might provide, brooding under a shadow that seemed to cling to him even on the clearest of days. And then he would turn and ask if Lan Wangji knew this or that song, or if he wanted to spar, or if he’d eaten because surely it must be time for the next meal by now, and Lan Wangji would push aside his concern until hours later, when Wei Ying was just as likely to pull a prank as get in a fight with an ally. A fight with Lan Wangji himself, more often than not.
But that was the war. Decades ago, now, for everyone but Lan Wangji himself.
Now, Wei Ying laughs with more humor, and the cant of his eyes is merely sly rather than cutting. He grumbles through his breakfast and morning tea. He bickers with Xiaoying while saddling her and slouches through the morning hours until some unknown precondition is met, and then he begins talking aloud about whatever is on his mind at the moment: the weather, which continues to be wet, with cool mornings and steamy afternoons, or theories on their two investigations, or tales of past night hunts, which quickly shift into stories of Wen Sizhui, or Jiang Wanyin and Jin Rulan, and from there to the other members of Yiling-Wei, and Yunmeng-Jiang, and Lanling-Jin. Once, when they stop and take shelter under a half-repaired watchtower to wait out a storm, Wei Ying says, “Ah, Lan Zhan, do you remember that week we had rain every day, in Gusu?” and he speaks of Lan Xichen, and the Lan Sect, and what little he knows of its current status.
Cloud Recesses has been rebuilt, reportedly exactly as it was before the Wens attacked. Lan Qiren still teaches, and Lan Wangji feels a swell of relief to know his uncle still breathes. The Sect still hosts a year-long seminar for young disciples of any sect, every few years. Wen Sizhui, Liu Weixin and Zhou Xiuying have attended it, and returned with reports of young Lan cultivators who Wen Sizhui described as friendly, Liu Weixin called unbearably rigid, and Zhou Xiuying pronounced worthy sparring opponents. Lan Xichen has, unsurprisingly, built a widely-spoken reputation for even-mindedness that Lan Wangji knows he himself could never hope to match.
There is no bitterness to any of Wei Ying’s tales. No mention of hardship or enmity, over a span of more than a decade that Lan Wangji knows cannot have been easy, especially near its start. But then, Lan Wangji has long known that Wei Ying lies more easily than he tells the truth, omits more than he ever says openly. Even when he was living among the Mass Graves, quite obviously short on food, the only hardship Wei Ying would admit to was a lack of visitors, and news.
Still, there are some things he cannot doubt: Wei Ying’s love for his sister, and her children. His affection for Jiang Wanyin, and the Wens. His dedication to ensuring that Lan Wangji himself does not succumb to the curse he carries.
Every evening, he creates a fresh talisman to replaces the one on Lan Wangji’s arm. He brews one of three different medicinal teas from Wen Qing, in sequence, and serves it, sometimes drinking a portion or two himself. He invites Lan Wangji to play Rest as a duet for the suppressed, resentful souls they carry, and then other, less spiritually charged music, and asks after his core, after their evening meditations.
Every morning, Lan Wangji takes longer than he needs to to comb his hair, and tie it up, and dress. Wei Ying looks younger in the diffused dawnlight inside the tent. Softer, sprawled carelessly under blankets with his sleep robe twisted out of place to reveal the hollow of his elbow and the line of his collar bones.
It’s an indulgence Lan Wangji shouldn’t permit himself. A few moments, watching Wei Ying breathe and concentrating on the steady warmth of the soulbond under his own skin.
He turns away. Steps outside. Rekindles the fire for breakfast.
During the long afternoon of the fourth day, after they have shared a quick lunch beside a clear-flowing stream and are letting Xiaoying and Heitu forage their own meal, Wei Ying draws out Chenqing and plays songs that seem to be purely for personal entertainment; there is no spiritual power behind them at all. Some, Lan Wangji recognizes as common to drinking houses and inns. Others he doesn’t recognize at all. He is considering unwrapping the guqin when Wei Ying’s somewhat random little melodies turn suddenly familiar.
Not just familiar.
Every note is etched into Lan Wangji’s soul.
Wei Ying catches him staring. He’s not certain what expression his own face is making, but Wei Ying looks suddenly defensive. His hands drop to his lap, wrapping around Chenqing as if Lan Wangji will try to tear the flute away from him.
“What?”
“You remember.” Lan Wangji shouldn’t be surprised—Wei Ying has remembered enough of his brief time at Cloud Recesses to reproduce the Lan Sect’s rules and three different treatises, and that’s only what Lan Wangji found. But it had been only once, in the Xuanwu’s cave. That song has only ever had an audience of one.
Wei Ying frowns at him.
“What ...” his eyebrows rise high on his forehead, his mouth forming a perfect circle. “Lan Zhan.” He leans forward, suddenly eager. “Lan Zhan, you know this song?”
Of course he knows it. How could he not?
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying continues. “No one knows this song. How do you know it? Is it a Lan Clan song? What’s its name?”
Words stick in Lan Wangji’s throat. Wei Ying doesn’t remember. Not really. He looks away. At the play of light on water. The swirl of shadowy fish, underneath.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says again, moving closer. “I can never remember where I heard it, and no one ever recognizes it. How do you know it?”
No one ever recognizes it, he says. Which means Wei Ying has been playing it. For other people. For thirteen years. And he doesn’t know.
Lan Wangji swallows back his foolish hopes. The words he might have said.
“I wrote it,” he admits, to the low rush of the spring and the whisper of reeds in the light breeze.
“What?”
When he risks a glance back, Wei Ying is staring. He looks utterly shocked.
“What do you mean, you wrote it?”
Lan Wangji does not want to have this conversation. Not now. Not if Wei Ying doesn’t remember something so important.
At least, it had been important to Lan Wangji.
“We should keep moving,” he says, and stands. Heitu is drinking from the stream, but she only flicks her ears when he touches her shoulder, and doesn’t offer any more protest than a shift of her weight as he unties her hobble and mounts.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying is frowning at him.
“We are wasting daylight,” Lan Wangji tells him. It’s true enough. This break is no shorter than any other.
Wei Ying grumbles. Retrieves his things.
“What’s its name?” he asks as he settles on Xiaoying.
I have already told you. Lan Wangji locks the words behind his teeth. Wei Ying does not speak of the soul bond, never broaches the topic of their battle with the Xuanwu or anything else from their lives that occurred after he left Cloud Recesses months before any other disciple, does not remember this, despite Lan Wangji telling him, despite his clear memory of the music itself and his perfect recall of texts long burnt to ashes.
“Think about it.” He says instead, and urges Heitu into a quicker pace, too fast for easy conversation.
“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying calls after him, but Lan Wangji does not look back.
When Wei Ying catches up he speaks of other things, and does not mention the song again.
Notes:
For the curious, Xiaoying and Heitu are named as references to famous horses from Romance of the Three Kingdoms. 絶影 (sometimes translated as "Suppressing Shadow" or "Shadow Runner") was one of the horses of Cao Cao, head of the state of Wei. He famously kept running despite taking three arrows, and thus saved his rider from enemies. 赤兔 (Red Hare) was described as "the best of horses" and within the tale people considered him to be too good for his original master. After that master died he was given to a new, more virtuous hero (Guan Yu, sometimes described as an ideal incarnation of loyalty and righteousness), who he was extremely loyal to.
(on to part 11)
#wangxian#mo dao zu shi#lan wangji#wei wuxian#mdzs#mdzs fic#wangxian fic#role reversal soulmate au#turnabout verse#alex writes#the yearning goes on#as ever
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Starborn
cw: mentions of death, mild injury, fire, lmk what else
SBB says: This thing is gigantic and got completely out of hand (at a word count of 7726 oh my god) but I hope you like it anyways and find some interesting lore points! Please do yell at me in the ask box! I'll try to have Jeno's up in less time but honestly it probably won't come out until end of August just before the event ends anyways lol.
They say in Soladium that being born is as instantaneous and explosive as a supernova. Jaemin always thought that was a bit odd, considering supernovas only occur when stars die. There's never an explanation either, when he asks. It's always, you'll understand when you're older.
According to the history books, the kingdom of Soladium was birthed the same way. It appeared entirely overnight. One day there was barren land under twin suns that were far too hot for life, the next a single sun and a brilliant realm built of white gold and molten lava. People questioned of course. Where did the second sun go? How did they do this? The first king answered none of these, instead going forth to conquer surrounding realms with swift and deadly force. These realms were by no means small either, the ancient lands of Tonitrua and Beongae being some of the lands razed. Soladium was fearfully hailed as a kingdom built in a single lunar cycle and as an empire built nearly as fast.
Now, those days seem like only stories, exaggerations from history. Memory is imperfect in that way. But Jaemin, and really every royal of Soladium, knows they're real. Knows that Soladium on the surface may seem like a cheerful, festive kingdom built on the foundations of honesty and sincerity, but that it lives on a foundation of bloodshed and deceit. It's hard to reconcile at times. You would look at someone like Jaemin and think, how can he be lethal?
True, Jaemin does not look particularly deadly. He's tall but he's not broad like his brother, nor does he seem clever like his sister. Often people will whisper that Jaemin was raised as a carefree child and that his parents spoiled him despite his status as the second prince, the second heir to the throne. Jaemin's inclined to agree with them to some degree, he was spoiled and he is carefree. But like everything in Soladium, that which is bright is built on something dark. And he is no exception to that rule.
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Concentrate. Feel the heat around you. Feel it rise, heat always rises. Feel the intensity, that life breathes into—
"Your highness?"
Jaemin's head snaps up, a pure deer in the headlights look on his face as he's startled out of his training. The messenger sighs to themselves, fondly of course. It's well know that the second prince will get wrapped up in anything, and that he needs to be reminded of his other duties. But no one has the heart to tell him to stop, not when he looks so excited when he succeeds. Not when he looks so absorbed, eyes locked into whatever he’s studying when he’s concentrating. Jaemin clears his throat. “Yes?”
“I apologize for the disturbance, but your mother is requesting your presence in the courtyard.” The messenger sweeps into a bow and then straightens up, opening the door. Ah, so then it’s an immediate summons. The prince sighs, getting up and dusting off his trousers. Casual wear for the day, stuff he can run in since he had morning training with the weapons master. He nods to the messenger to lead the way, following closely behind. What could mother be summoning him for?
Even before entering the courtyard, Jaemin could sense his mother. Not through heat sensing, though he could do a bit of that as well, but rather through sheer presence. The queen was a formidable woman, even by Petramus standards. Tall, regal with a hard set jaw and narrow eyes. She was terrifying, at first glance. But underneath all that was a woman who based her strength in kindness, someone who was never afraid to stand up for justice and happiness. She didn’t back down on anything, didn’t back down from anyone. Though Soladium was a patriarchal society, the queen stood on equal ground as her beloved the king, and Jaemin admired that so.
The ideal behind marrying a Petramus princess to a Soladium prince was to form political alliances, of course, but also to try and instill a new set of values in the children of their union. Soladium’s undying determination and pride, Petramus’s stone cold analytics and cleverness. But it seemed there was still some way to go, with the first prince falling more into Soladium’s habits while the first princess fell into Petramus. Jaemin, it seemed, sort of fell into neither. An oddball.
As soon as Jaemin steps into the courtyard, the quiet chattering ceases and the queen turns with a beautiful smile. "My baby," she coos, reaching her arms out from where she sat. Jaemin immediately steps into her embrace, pressing a kiss to her temple as she does to his.
“Mother.” The queen gestures to her side to the empty space reserved for him. The bench is quite small, especially considering the size of the queen’s skirts that flare out but Jaemin still manages to sit down without accidentally sitting on the silken fabrics. “What is it?”
“My baby,” she repeats, but it’s different. A touch sadder. Jaemin leans into her touch when she cups his face with one hand, thumb caressing his cheekbone. "Oh, my precious Jaemin-ah."
He stays quiet, unsure what to say. What to ask. There have been few times in his life that his mother has taken this tone. When his grandfather died. When he was so ill they thought he may not survive. This tone is always accompanied by the pain of loss, potential or real.
"As you know," she starts softly, "You'll be fifteen soon." Between when he sat and when she began speaking, all the servants had stepped away to the edge of the courtyard, leaving only the two of them. Jaemin nods. Of course he knows, it's his own birthday for one but for two it's his Blessed day, so the entire court has been preparing for this. His birthday is happening in only a few days, but the planning for festivities has been so much longer. Months of color design, decor placement, outfit tailoring, inviting foreign royals. Of course Jaemin knows.
He also knows that Blesseddays are special. They're secretive and sacred but after a Blessed day, people change. They grow into themselves, whatever that mean for them. For Jaemin's older brother that meant becoming more confident and bold, bordering brutally honest with every passing day. Jaemin's older sister embraced her innovative spirit, devoting all her time to strategy and intelligence. That wasn't to say they weren't those things before their Blessed days, but after... It was like they'd been shocked into realizing their life purpose or something. It was, frankly, a bit terrifying for a young Jaemin. And just a bit lonely, though he'd never admit that.
Jaemin doesn't know what any of that has to do with the queen calling him today though. The way it works is that three days before the day of celebration, the person in question (Jaemin in this case) is brought somewhere (of course he doesn't know where yet) by the last person in the immediate family who had their Blessed days (Jaemin's sister in this case). Then they undergo some kind of ritual for the three days and emerge on their birthday to undergo a more public ritual. The public one is more for appearances than anything else, but it's an important ending to the whole process. The only part the queen needs to play is in the public ritual so... What's the whole point of this?
She doesn't say anything for a while, for a time that seems to stretch on and on though it's likely no more than a few minutes. Jaemin has his father's eyes but his mother's smile. A smile, no matter how small, is always the warmest thing in a room. A smile that embodies Soladium, as he's been told again and again. He offers this smile to her now, as reassuring as he can.
"I just wanted to see you," she says finally. Some part of Jaemin is confused and maybe a little disappointed. This seemed like something so serious and yet...? But he just smiles wider and tilts his head in her touch, childlike despite no longer being a child. Young, but not a child. That just seems to make her sadder, though she still smiles and boops his nose with her free hand like she did when he was a toddler. "You'll always be my baby, okay? No matter what, you'll always be my baby."
Jaemin really doesn't get it, maybe this is a nostalgia for him growing up? Still, he nods and replies, "Yes mother."
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Jaemin is awoken just as the sun begins to peak out from over the mountain tops. The break of dawn, three days before his birthday as promised. His sister, dressed in white robes with simple gold trimming herds him out of his room, ushering him into a bath first before dragging him down the hall, down the stairs, down down down. Jaemin has never been this far down. Jaemin hasn't seen another living soul since he woke up either, not in the bath, not in the halls. No knights, servants, gardeners... no one. His skin prickles at the loss of heat.
He's dressed in grandeur unlike his sister. A white shirt of satin, hand sewn with thread that is so fine and delicate it looks more like it was woven into the shirt rather than sewn in. Gems embellish the hems on the sleeves, the bottom of the shirt, the collar. And then simple slim fit trousers, in the same fashion except with some extra curling embroidery creeping up his legs. For once, he looks every bit the prince he's meant to be. And yet he feels so vulnerable, the satin unusually light and thin.
"Jaemin." His sister stops at the base of the stairs. How long have they been walking while he got caught up in his thoughts? A long ways down if the endlessly spiraling stairs above him have anything to say. It's entirely pitch black down here too, not a single light in sight. Jaemin only knows to turn to his sister by sound, by instinct. By...
Oh.
He inhales sharply. When he was first introduced to the idea of heat signatures, Jaemin was confused. Which was unusual, because nearly every living person in Soladium can pick up on heat signatures one way or another. But Jaemin had no idea what they were talking about. He was a rare case, someone who could not innately tell where heat was coming from. So they trained him from the beginning, and now he's made enough progress that if he concentrates, he can pick up strong heat signatures. But only strong ones. His sister's is not very strong, but what she's standing next to...
It's blinding. It's so, so very bright and Jaemin wants to take a step back. Something they teach you about sensing heat is to avoid things that are too hot. Most things will not fall in that range. Certainly not humans, at their internal 37°C count. Not even boiling water at 100°C. The limits alter per person but the general consensus is to cap out around 300°C. Some of the more talented individual can push it to 500°C. But this... Jaemin feels like his skin is melting, his throat is closing up, his eyes--
"Jaemin," his sister says softly. And just like that, he's back in darkness, gasping as he collapses onto the cool stone floor. For a few minutes, there's just the sound of Jaemin's wheezing. Deep breath in, hold, breathe out. Do it again.
"I won't be going any further with you. For the next three days, you'll be here alone. This place has everything you need, food, clothes, water, baths. Anytime during those days, you need to confront it. It doesn't need to be now, and it doesn't need to be in the last hour. But you must. If you don't..." She sounds so far away, echoing softer and softer. Jaemin wants to call to her, but he can't. He still can't breathe. Everything is unsteady. It's too dark, completely and utterly dark, and yet he still feels light fading around the edges of his non-existent vision. "Be brave Jaemin." A pause, so short it might not be a pause at all really. And then infinitely softer, so soft that he can barely catch it. "Until last light."
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When his eyes open again, Jaemin is 100% sure he's awake and yet it doesn't feel like it at all. Right. All consuming darkness. How Jaemin didn't break his neck walking down somehow eludes him, he's always been clumsy. He slowly gets up, but his body isn't stiff as expected. The stone beneath him is hard and cold, and yet he feels like he's just slept on the softest, warmest bed in the whole world. He rubs his eyes to try get some sensation out of them, but. It's just dark. If he strains his eyes to see then it'll definitely hurt him later. So instead he closes them, to try and trick his brain a little.
He doesn't really want to stand with how his legs gave out earlier... Earlier? How long has it been since his sister brought him down? God he doesn't know at all. He's not hungry though, so maybe it hasn't been that long. He stretches his legs, wiggling his toes and by the feeling of it, he might be okay to stand in a few minutes. But for now he just keeps stretching, slowly but surely waking up every part of his body.
After he feels enough blood in his limbs, he stands and though he wobbles a bit, he's stable enough to not fall over. He'll take that win. He doesn't recall at all what this area even looks like, so he just takes a step in a direction. There's faint heat signatures around, but most of them are near muted completely. Not entirely bizarre since Jaemin doesn't have a good track record of heat tracking anyways, but definitely inconvenient. He wants to squint but-- oh wait. His eyes are closed. After a momentary battle of what to do, he settles for scrunching up his nose and stepping towards a cluster of signatures, small ones. When he feels around them, he thinks ah okay, so this is food. It's simple stuff really, bread rolls, some fruits, a block of cheese. Probably? It feels like that anyways.
To its left are something that feels definitely like clothes, though he has no idea what kind. They’re soft though, so it probably doesn’t really matter. Who’s going to see him anyways in all this?
Somewhere further left is a kind of hallway that Jaemin finds by feeling along the walls. There at the end, the heat signature rises to a more normal view. A hot spring maybe? It’s close to that if it’s not. A slight misstep confirms it though, and Jaemin, disgruntled, hauls himself out sopping wet.
After changing into some dry clothes, he finishes cataloging (which isn't much, just a lot of soaps and an actual bed) and then sits on the floor to just... Ponder. His sister said he needed to face it, but what is it? His own weaknesses? And then there was that bright light. He's fairly certain that it had to be a hallucination or something. After all, if he saw it after being in the dark for so long, wouldn't he go blind? Or... Is he blind? No way... Except there's no way to tell because even with his eyes open, the darkness is as thick as ever. Fear sinks into his blood, cold as ice. But he shakes his head, it can't be. It can't be.
He stretches himself out on the bed, apprehension still crawling on his skin when he settles. There's a lot to consider here. So, Jaemin thinks, let's take it step by step.
First: Jaemin must complete some kind of task during these three days. His sister mentioned it doesn't matter when, only that he do it. Caveat? He has no idea how time is passing here.
Second: There are faint heat signatures all around but they're muted, even the hot spring that should be very bright. Could the mysterious light have something to do with that?
Third: What happens if he doesn't complete the task?
Third: What happens if
Third: What
Jaemin blinks, suddenly dizzy in his attempt to sit up. It's as though the bed is pulling him down, coaxing him to rest his head and close his eyes and let go of this thoughts. Oh, he thinks as he sinks back down. Maybe it's been a day already. Maybe it's night now. There's no reason for him to be sleepy though, he thinks even as he yawns. After all, doesn't that mean he was asleep on the floor longer than expected...?
——————————————————————————————————————————————
"Jaemin-ah!"
He turns, blinking. It's not dark anymore. Not at all. In fact it's very bright, so much so that Jaemin should be squinting against the shine. And yet he isn't, instead slowly twisting around with a growing smile. He knows that voice anywhere.
"Jeno!" And there in full view is Lunaste's only prince, eyes crinkled in their usual moon crescents. Jeno looks good as always, wearing a tighter fitting formal shirt tucked into newly tailored dark pants. On his ears sparkle the mark of an heir, small gem from Lunaste's mines. They're a shimmering dark blue, not unlike the night sky before the sun fully sets down. Jaemin half runs over to hug his best friend, reveling in the clean and cool feeling that Jeno always gives off.
"What, did you miss me that much?" Jeno laughs, squeezing Jaemin just as tightly. "C'mon, let's go sit. It's been ages since I last saw you."
Jaemin genuinely has no idea where they are but Jeno seems to know it well, so the younger boy just follows behind with a spring in his step. They don't walk long, just enough that Jaemin gets a bit whiny to Jeno's endless amusement. "Jenooooooo--"
"Shush you big baby, we're almost there." Jaemin's pout does nothing but make Jeno smile wider, tugging them both along until they're suddenly in some kind of clearing. A huge meadow? Jaemin's never seen it before, in either Soladium or Lunaste. But he just accepts it, trusting Jeno. The older boy takes them to a patch of grass that's mostly clear of flowers, laying down first and gesturing for Jaemin to join. It's nice out here, a light breeze ruffling the grass and the suns not too bright. Wait. The suns?
"Jaemin-ah." Jeno's voice sounds so far away. Jaemin looks to his side, and yet there's no one there. He sits up, looking around but Jeno's no where to be found. The meadow is still there though... As is a plume of smoke, slowly encircling the edges of the horizon. "Jaemin!" The boy scrambles to his feet, heart racing as he hears his best friend yell. "Jaemin!!"
"Jeno?" Jaemin yells back, eyes widening in horror at the smoke approaches. And where there's smoke, there's fire. The meadow's burning up. And Jeno... Is nowhere to be found.
"Jaemin you have to run!" Jeno's voice sounds more strangled, like he can't breathe. Did he get caught somewhere?
"Jeno! Jeno where are you!" Jaemin coughs as the smoke starts to crowd where he is, ash falling onto his skin and burning him just like real fire. There's no where to go though. Even as Jaemin turns, he's confronted with more smoke, more fire. "Jeno!"
"Jaemin you--" The rest cuts out, the flames roaring too loudly. Jaemin swallows dryly, crouching down to the floor. What can he do? He's going to be completely surrounded soon. There's no where to go--
"JUMP!!"
Jaemin's eyes snap open at the feeling of a hand on his elbow hauling him up. Jeno??? He's scuffed up, scratches and blooming bruises across his cheek and on his hands. Jaemin hesitates, mind racing too fast to comprehend but Jeno whips around with his eyes blazing. "Jaemin trust me. You have to jump." Jump where? The solar prince looks down and oh. There's a hole, about two times his width. It seems to go straight down, just down down down endlessly. Jaemin's logical brain doesn't understand, but his instincts do. And his gut trusts Jeno.
So he jumps.
Down
down
down.
Jaemin gasps, hands clenched tight in the sheets as his eyes fly open. Where is he? Why is it dark? Is he underground, is this--
His voice is barely above a whisper. "Jeno?"
Silence stretches endlessly, swallowing his soft call.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Jaemin doesn't really dream. Or at least he never remembers his dreams, so this is really unusual and quite frankly very unpleasant. He'd taken a long bath right after waking up, wincing at the sensation of hot on his skin but settling in after anyways. He's awake now, definitely.
The dream... Well, maybe nightmare would be more appropriate. Jaemin shudders thinking about how vivid it was, how he still feels his throat closing up at the vague thought of ash. Soladium residents have some heat resistance, sure, but that sensation was... Like being surrounded by...
The sun.
Jaemin blinks, understanding slowly coming through. The sun! But wait... Wasn't that just a legend? Two suns? One shot down--
No. It was never fully explained what happened to it. Jaemin just assumed it was shot down as part of the story, but in fact... What if it wasn't?
This is crazy. Jaemin, you're nuts. You're losing it. And yet in his heart he knows he's right. Something about this ritual has to do with the sun. The second one that vanished without a trace the day that Soladium was established.
You need to confront it. It. Not yourself, not them, but it. A non-human entity.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Jaemin spends the rest of the day not thinking. Honestly his head hurts, waking up with a hammering heart and a confused brain was not been a great way to start the day. And then all that thinking immediately after in the bath... Yeah, Jaemin's calling it for day 2. He still has at least 24 more hours in day three. And then... Does he technically have part of his birthday? Maybe?
He spends the day nibbling on apples and cheese and crackers. Another thing, the food is always prepared in easily eaten bites. Apples are sliced, sometimes peeled. The cheese is always cubed. Weird. Magic isn't really prevalent in Soladium, not really. The only thing really would be their heat control. Even the heat sensing doesn't seem that magical, more a byproduct of adaptation to the landscape. But there's definitely something magical about this whole thing. It's a bit unsettling.
Like the previous night, Jaemin starts to feel the pull of bed at some point, probably around the peak of the lunar cycle. He yawns as he settles down, curling up on his side and falling asleep.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
It smells like earth. Like damp earth. Jaemin doesn't hate it, but he's not the fondest fan either. Rainy days are nice, and he like them just fine, but they're not his favorite. That's just how it is. But he likes them when he can be with Jeno, then it's fun. Running around with Jeno chasing him is fun. Spending the day inside talking over snacks is fun. Finding new hiding places and cozying up is fun.
"Jaemin-ah."
"Jeno-yah."
Jeno's always been there. Jeno is reliable, like how the lunar cycle always follows and leads into a solar cycle. They may be princes of different realms, but somehow they're still best friends. Constant letters, excuses to visit. Sometimes the queen dowager of Lunaste will whisper to the reigning queen of Soladium, ah they're kindred souls.
"Jeno, I'm scared." It should feel scary to even admit that and yet it doesn't. It just comes out. Jaemin still has no idea where he is, has no idea where Jeno it. Everything's blurry, like he's looking at it through some thick frosted glass. But Jeno's there, he knows it.
Jeno doesn't ask why. Doesn't say that it's going to be fine. Instead he says, "But are you going to let it stop you?"
Jaemin almost wants to say yes. It's infinitely scary to think that perhaps the thing he has to face is what he thinks it is. But it's infinitely more terrifying to think that if he fails, he might never be able to see the people he loves again. After all, no one knows the cost of failure for the ritual, only that if you fail you don't come back the same. Or at all sometimes.
"No," he says instead. "No, this is something I have to do. To move forward." To be with everyone, with you.
Jeno smiles and Jaemin feels a warm hand over his own. "That's right. It's something you have to do."
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Jaemin takes a deep breath. He hasn't tried to heat sense much outside of what's necessary, but even then he's gotten so familiar with the space he doesn't need the sensing to tell him where everything is. But he has a feeling he should try again, maybe it'll show him what's there.
Sitting in the center (or what he thinks is center) of the room, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
Concentrate. Feel the heat around you. Feel it rise, heat always rises. Feel the intensity, that life breathes into objects. Take a deep breathe in, do you feel the warmth in the air around you? Stretch your senses out, feel for the things around you. Exhale slowly, do you sense the warmth of your own breath, your own life?
Slowly but surely the heat signatures return, muted as they were before. Jaemin furrows his brow, hands clenched into tight fists that rest over his knees, legs crossed in front. He can feel that prickling on the back of his neck, warm across his back. He peeks open his eyes a little at a time, seeing heat wrap around in wisps. The signatures of the ordinary objects have all but disappeared. The only one left is the one seemingly behind him, emitting curls of heat that flutter around the room before vanishing. It's much too bright to be the bath.
He doesn't turn around immediately, he'd be a fool if he did that. "I'm not sure if you can speak, but I..." He pauses, unsure how to say what he wants to. In the end, he settles for a simple, "But I'm ready." Jaemin squeezes his eyes shut again as the light starts to flash, brighter and brighter until the entire room is engulfed in white.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
The first thing Jaemin registers is screaming. A mix of voices, adults and children, men and women. Incoherent, though he picks up a few repeated words. Run! Hurry!
He's afraid to open his eyes, but he forces himself to and it's definitely not within the castle. It doesn't even seem to be a dreamscape, with how vivid everything is. Jaemin finds himself in the center of a jostling crowd, everyone seeming to sprint in the same direction. He turns to what they're fleeing from and...
He sees the lion emblem of Soladium. He sees gleaming gold breastplates over white chainmail. He sees a soldier slam his sword into someone who is fleeing, and watches as red stains the pristine silver metal.
Jaemin's going to throw up.
"Nana! Nana what are you doing standing there? You have to run!" What? What the hell, how can this be? It's Jeno, but he's... Younger. A lot younger. Is Jaemin that young too? Only seven, maybe eight? And how can Jeno be here, he's not a resident of Soladium. But wait, is this Soladium? Or...? "NANA!" Jaemin feels himself being yanked along the stream of people.
"Je- Nono, what's going on?" Jaemin can barely keep on his feet, tripping over himself often. Jeno's hand pulling is the only thing keeping him upright. "Nono, wha--"
"There's no time, we need to get out of--" There's a fuzzy sound, not unlike TV static.
"What??? Out of where? Where are we??" Jeno's younger look alike looks at Jaemin like he's crazy. He repeats the word, but again it's just static. Jaemin's really losing it. Jeno twists down an alley, escaping from the crowd but still moving. It's a little like going down the stairs with his sister, Jeno just keeps taking him down and down and down. At some point they enter some kind of tunnel, barely big enough for them. Jaemin has to crouch a little as he walks.
It's dark.
"Nono?" Jaemin can still feel his touch on his wrist, but he can't see him and Jeno doesn't answer. After what seems to be hours but could be minutes, they stop.
"Nana." The voice speaking is soft, a blend of an older sounding man and a young boy. "Nana, I'm gonna go ahead okay? Wait for me here?"
"Y-yeah," Jaemin-- Nana-- says quietly. "Come back soon?"
"Always."
And then Jaemin is alone.
For minutes. Then hours. Maybe a day has passed. He doesn't know, he hasn't moved. A voice inside whispers ever so faintly, maybe he won't come back. But Jaemin believes in his best friend, or this person who looks like his best friend. So he waits.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
"Jaemin?" He blinks, yawning. When did he fall asleep? Is he still in the tunnel? He can't be, it's too light out. The air is too fresh. Jaemin snaps awake, scrambling up. He nearly headbutts the person above him, who rears back just in time to avoid breaking their nose. "Jesus!"
"Wh-- Where am I? What time is it?" Jaemin tries to calm himself down, taking stock of what's around him. It's some sort of courtyard like area, but there are people everywhere. In the same clothes. Yellow blazer coats and black pants, white button up shirts. A uniform?
"You're at school and it's twelve thirty." Jaemin snaps his head to the side to look at Jeno, who's rubbing his nose lightly. "Damn, I think you actually nicked me a little with that iron head of yours."
"Jen?"
"Huh?" Jeno stops touching his face and Jaemin almost wants to cry at the sight of his best friend. Jeno from Lunaste has near perfect pale skin, his mole stark against it. Jeno-- Nono-- from wherever had the youthful tan of carefree boy. This Jeno looks just like he'd expect a teenager to, skin a bit pocket marked from acne scars, uneven redness all over, more freckles and moles. But it's Jeno, it's definitely Jeno. Jaemin really is going to start crying. “Jaem what’s wrong?”
Shit is he crying? Like for real? Ugh, gods that’s embarrassing. He shakes his head, pressing his sleeves to his eyes and heaving a breath. “It’s nothing Jen,” he mumbles. At least it’s just light sniffles and not full blown sobbing. That would be hard to justify. “Just tired and yknow how it is.” Why’s he talking like this? Maybe it’s just a tic of this Jaemin.
“Ah.” Sweet, understanding Jeno, who never questions when he doesn’t need to. “Yeah that assignment was pretty rough, I was going to strangle Hyunseok when he almost deleted our files. Here.” Oh a handkerchief. It’s just like Jeno to be a little old fashioned like that. Jaemin takes another minute to collect himself, stuffing the cloth into his pocket.
For a minute it’s just quiet and peaceful. A light breeze drifts across, ruffling the grass and just barely shifting Jaemin’s bangs. This is nice, yeah. Jaemin leans back on his palms and tilts his head up. It’s warm.
“So Jaem, I was asking about Friday? Cause I know you said you had student council stuff—” does he? “and you know how caught up you get when Donghyuck slacks off.”
Jaemin doesn’t even have to think about it for a second. “I’ll make time for you.” He always will. But of course he can’t say that part here, this isn’t his Jeno even if the beaming, crescent eyed smile he gets looks so familiar.
“You’re the best Jaem!” Jeno grabs a bag and slings it over his shoulder, offering a hand out to Jaemin. “Thanks for always being there for me.”
“Yeah,” Jaemin says with a smile so genuine it hurts his cheeks. “Of course Jen, always.”
——————————————————————————————————————————————
How much more must he go through? Somehow it feels a little like he’s been through countless iterations, countless universes. Him as a gangster, Jeno as the innocent bystander. Jeno as a celebrity, him as a devoted fan. Sometimes it’s Jaemin who is cruel and heartless, sometimes it’s Jeno who’s broken and hurting. And yet always the same, Jaemin and Jeno, Jeno and Jaemin. Tied together, always faithful to the other. Not once does Jaemin regrets getting shot at, getting strangled, getting screamed at if it means he can protect Jeno. He never regrets stealing or lying or smashing things if it mean staying with his best friend. Always, he thinks as he fades out of yet another life. I will always be there for you.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
“Sir.” Jaemin turns to see a squire, stiff in their naivety. “King Jeno has requested your presence.” The mere words send shivers throughout his skin, but he nods and dismisses the boy before spinning on his heel.
King Jeno is every bit as regal as Jaemin knew he would be. Midnight black hair coiffed just so under his crown of silver and white gold, dark sapphires embedded as accents. His expression is cold, something Jaemin himself has only seen once in his fifteen years. Somehow he suspects this version of himself has seen it far more often. Jeno looks almost bored, but his voice simmers with anger. “Na Jaemin.” Jaemin swallows but keeps his head bowed where he kneels. He hears a kind of clicking, not loud enough to be shoes but certainly loud enough to be a threat. Jeno’s rings most likely.
“Report.”
Jaemin still doesn’t raise his head as he speaks. In his memories, there are too many blood splatters to ignore. “The Southern Isles have refused to relinquish their control over the pass, they say that… that they won’t unless their demands are met.”
“And what are their demands?” The temperature seems to drop another ten degrees. Jaemin doesn’t want to say it, but he know when Jeno sounds sickly sweet like that… there’s no room for arguments.
“They’ve demanded that their prince be returned to them, no matter what. And that… and that you be removed from power your majesty.” There’s more of course, but those are minor compared to this. Jaemin knows that the Southern prince with caramel skin and a halo of golden curls is alive, but perhaps not for much longer. He prays he’s wrong, but he’s known Jeno for far too long.
For too long there is silence. Jaemin is almost shivering with how tense he’s gotten with every passing second. And then Jeno laughs, a soft chuckle that is so icy, so unlike his own Jeno, that Jaemin almost wants to curl in on himself and scream because it’s wrong. It blows into full, body shaking laughter and Jaemin can’t help flinching when he feels rather than sees or hears Jeno come close. A cold hand tilts his chin up and he meets Jeno’s eyes. Dark, black not brown.
“Is that so,” Jeno says softly. Jaemin doesn’t try anything funny. Jeno’s technically unarmed now, there’s no one else around. Just them. Jaemin could so easily overpower the King if he tried. Jeno isn’t special here, he can’t predict what will happen. And they’ve always been equal in strength. Jaemin could end it all, save the people from war. But he doesn’t. Not that he can’t, he doesn’t. Because this is Jeno, who he chose. “Na Jaemin, what are you?”
“I am your right hand, your majesty. Your shield and your spear to command as you see fit.” A practiced answer that spills as easily as oil over ice.
“Yes, that’s right,” Jeno coos, tapping Jaemin’s cheek. Has Jeno ever been this cold? Physically or otherwise? “You do as I ask.” Jaemin’s heart is hammering so hard he’s surprised Jeno can’t hear it. “And now I ask of you this.” Jeno leans in close, voice a sly whisper. “Kill the prince and send his mangled remains to them. They want to make demands of us? Of me? No. Jaemin-ah, show them who we are.”
Kill. In all the universes, Jaemin has killed before. But this is the first time he’s been asked to by someone he loves. The first time he’s been asked to kill someone he cares about.
Show them who we are. We, Jaemin and Jeno. Jeno and Jaemin.
Jaemin swallows and whispers back, “As you wish, your majesty.” And later, when he’s in the dungeons with a far familiar face glaring at him, spitting insults at him, when he raises his sword high and brings it down with all his force, all he can think is that he promised he would never turn his back on Jeno, no matter what.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
It’s quiet after he plunges the tip into the southern prince’s chest and Jaemin welcomes it. A brief respite between universes, somewhere he can rest. These breaks never last long, some hardly over a minute or two. Jaemin closes his eyes and waits, waits for the next universe to wake him up somehow. But instead he hears a voice, one that echoes like thousands of voices speaking at once.
Have you made your choice?
Jaemin blinks slowly and then stumbles back. Oh, so he’s in a corporeal form for this. Okay. It should be burning hot and blindingly bright, given that he’s staring directly at a sun. Neither sensations occur though and he tentatively steps forward again.
My choice?
The sun rumbles.
Yes. Your choice on your will.
My will?
Yes. That which makes you strong and that which makes you weak.
Oh…
You must decide now. Your will is what you are, but you may choose another way. Be warned child, your will is the strongest and weakest you will ever be. Your other cores may save you from those extremes, but you will never fully involve yourself in your fate. You may end up simply drifting along, always feeling away from yourself.
I don’t want that.
Most do not. However it is an option.
Can I… Can I ask a question?
Of course child.
Why was it always Jeno?
I cannot answer that.
What? Why?
It is simply not my place to do so. I can only answer questions about you.
Was it something I chose?
Yes. In a way.
…
In the last one. Why didn’t I stop him? Would I… would I do that in real life?
That I cannot tell you. I can only show you what could be, given the strength of your will.
What is my will?
Do you not know? Hm... A pause, as if the entity is pondering how best to answer this. You, Na Jaemin, third child of King Na Seomin and Queen Lee Minyoung, are destined to be the strongest ally. Your loyalty knows no bounds. Once you have chosen a person or a cause to dedicate yourself to, you will do so endlessly. Without question, without fear. Regardless of who you might hurt to achieve the goals they've asked of you. Regardless of what might be taken away. You will do what is asked, if that person is who you've chosen. That is your will.
That doesn't sound very good...
A will is neither good nor bad. It is, like everything, something that is altered based on what you choose.
…
It seems you’ve made up your mind.
Yeah. But one more question. Who are you? All of you?
Ahh, but you already know this do you not?
Just checking.
The entity chuckles. Are you ready to make your choice?
“Yeah,” Jaemin says with a smile. “Yeah I am.”
——————————————————————————————————————————————
“… Min”
Huh?
“Jae… min…”
Oh that’s his name.
“JAEMIN!”
“Gods above what!” Jaemin snaps as he opens his eyes, annoyance vanishing in an instant at the sight of Jeno’s tear streaked face. Actually, looking around, everyone was in various states of distress. His mother had her hands over her mouth, silent sobs wracking her shoulders as she leaned against his father who was pale but wearing an expression of pained pride. “Wh-why are you all crying??”
Jeno’s face contorts in a way that would be funny if not for the fresh wave of tears dripping down his cheeks. “You were gone for so long, I thought— we thought—”
“Gone?” Jaemin echoes, brows knitting together as he tries to piece it together. It must be his birthday right? The ritual shouldn’t last longer than that.
"You— you were— Gods Jaemin," Jeno hiccups, hands wrapped tightly around Jaemin's in his lap. "You were gone, you were—" Jeno can't finish it, instead sobbing again and releasing Jaemin's hands to pull him into a tight hug. Jaemin automatically raise his arms to wrap around Jeno's shaking shoulders, neck getting uncomfortably wet with tears. Jaemin turns slightly to his parents for clarification.
"You were dead, Jaemin," his mother says in a broken but somehow calm voice. She was just sobbing a second ago, how has she collected herself so quickly?
Dead? He was... dead?
"Your h-heart wasn't beating," Jeno cries, "A-and you weren't breathing and— Jaemin. I thought, we thought—"
Oh.
"What... What day is it?"
"It's the day after your birthday."
After?
No wonder... There's never been someone who didn't complete the ritual after their Blessed day. He... Wow.
"I came in," his sister says with an odd detachment, "on the dawn of your birthday. Like I was supposed to. And you, you were just laying there and gods..." Her voice cracks. "You were just laying there and you were so cold."
"When I saw Jaehee in her ceremony, she was sitting there like she was dead too. But she was warm when I touched her, and she opened her eyes immediately. And I saw— I saw the sun in her eyes so I knew. But you," Jaehyuk swallows. "You just didn't. We tried to look but it really was like you were dead Min, your eyes were so empty."
Jaemin squeezes his best friend tighter, throat closing up. "B-but I, I just accepted it like noona said to?"
"Accepted? Jaemin, I said confront. What do you mean accept?"
"Huh?"
"Jaemin-ah," his father says now. "When you meet the second sun, you should have seen yourself in different scenarios." Jaemin nods, that he did. "And you should have always made the same choices." Again, he nods. "And then the final scenario is the hardest, it's the one where you choose. And then you wake up."
"You, you didn't talk to anyone?"
"What?" No one seems to understand. Not even his father. "You spoke to someone? Do you mean in the final judgement?"
"No! No, I mean... After. After I made—" Jaemin shudders at the memory. "After I chose, I spoke to someone. To it."
"You..." Jaemin's sister was always the clever one in the family. "You spoke to it?"
"To them, yeah."
"THEM??"
"Gods them! Yes!" Jaemin reels back, earning himself a yelp from Jeno who gets tugged along. "Them. The second sun isn't just a sun. It's, it's our ancestors."
"WHAT," Jaehee shrieks, lurching forward as if to grab Jaemin's collar to demand what he knows. Ah, so this is what they meant when they said strongest and weakest. Her thirst for knowledge, her willingness to do anything to get it. How similar it is to his steadfast devotion.
"Stop that!" Jaehyuk hauls her back. "Stop, you're scaring him."
Jaemin's... Not scared. But he doesn't understand. "So none of you have spoken to them?" He's met with three mirrored head shakes. "Wow..."
"So what happened then?" His mother asks, the voice of calm despite how frazzled she looks. Jaemin's never seen her like this, pajamas underneath a coat, hair undone. His heart swells at the sight, at how much she loves him.
"They asked me to make my choice. They uh, they told me what my will was and how it might be... hurtful." And they mentioned something else but that's for Jaemin's ears only.
"That's it?" Ah ever shrewd, his sister.
"Yes."
"Why does it matter," comes a muffled whine. Oh shit, Jeno. Jaemin reels back but is held in place by his best friend. "He's not dead, he passed your stupid test. Isn't that enough?"
Evidently not for everyone but no one seems to want to challenge the Lunaste prince. It makes Jaemin wonder what happened when he was dead.
"We should give Jaemin some time to rest." His mother is the first to collect herself, standing and lightly dusting off her skirts. His father is quick to follow, always one to support his wife. "Jaemin-ah, although it's late, happy Blessed day." Jaemin hears the proud, unspoken happy birthday my baby.
Jeno stays behind though, unwilling to let his best friend out of sight. Jaemin understands it, he would be the same. For a while it's just quiet, Jeno clutching onto Jaemin and trying really hard, it seems, to not cry again. And it's like at that sight, Jaemin loses all his strength and pitches forward, pressing his face into Jeno's neck and mumbling, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Jen, I'm so so so sorry."
Jeno just pulls him in closer and buries his own face into Jaemin's neck. Jaemin will pretend that they're not both shaking, even though there's no one to pretend to. Cause it's Jeno.
"Don't you ever do that to me again," Jeno whispers fiercely, voice thicker and more ragged than usual. "Na Jaemin I swear I will pull you back just to kill you myself."
Jaemin laughs at that, shaking his head. "I won't. I'll never leave you Jen."
"Don't promise things you can't keep," Jeno sighs back. But Jaemin knows, feels it hot in his chest, that this is one promise he's never going to break. Not even on his life.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Notes:
- A lunar cycle is just one night. The only special time terms are solar cycle/lunar cycle instead of day/night. If it's a week, it's still called a week.
- While this event states that Jaemin/Jeno have only recently discovered they are princes, this blurb is slightly separated from that. This blurb is set in the full AU but is twisted slightly to fit the bot, thus both Jaemin and Jeno have been princes from birth. So just, don't think about it too hard?
- Inspiration: Stars are born from nebulas in which the gas and stardust in the nebulous cloud begins to collapse in on themselves from the gravitational pull. Stardust is from the death of other stars. This got a little out of hand but those various scenarios Jaemin goes through are like his own lives and deaths, so when he dies in them or when he kills in them, they "piece" together to form his will which is his strongest trait. Jaemin's a unique case where he always chose the same thing. Often people will kind of alternate their choices and whatever is strongest/gets picked the most often becomes their will.
- In the final dream sequence, Nana is Jaemin's ancestor. Naming conventions differ in the past, children would receive a nickname (Nana) and then once they became adults they would receive their formal name (Jaeyoon). In Jaemin's current timeline, you receive the name you live with when you're born. So when Jaemin was born, he was named Na Jaemin and that's just it. I can explain it more if it's confusing. Really I just wanted an excuse to make a Nana and a Jaem compared to Jaemin, yknow?
- The final dream sequence serves as the final judgement by the second sun. It weighs more heavily than others with higher emotional stakes. The reason why people lean into their attributes so heavily is because of this last scenario. In their minds, they have already played through everything that could be and will not deviate from their choices. Thus people of Soladium are considered rigid and stubborn.
- The second sun doesn't always choose to enhance positive attributes. Though Jaemin and his siblings received (in order) loyalty, cleverness and determination, others in Soladium history have received things like ruthlessness, deception and fear. Generally speaking, what attribute is chosen is what the individual's core value is, and has a lot to do with nature vs nurture.
- Don't @ me about plot holes lmao
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Helping Hands - Chapter 5
Series Masterlist here
Chapter Summary: Training with Nat doesn’t go as planned, and Fury’s plan is put to the test.
Chapter Warnings: Mentions of previous abuse and neglect, minor panic attack
A/N: The gif will make sense. :)
“Okay, stand with your feet about shoulder-width apart, and turn a bit to the side. Yeah, that’s it. Keep your thumbs on the outside of your fists. Now, use the momentum of turning your torso to put some weight behind your fist, and punch through the bag.”
The bandages wrapped over Haley’s knuckles and wrists were uncomfortable with the sweat that slicked over her skin. She couldn’t remember ever exercising, ever having a cause to break a sweat or work so hard in her life. Sure, Steve and Sam were sparring on the other side of the gym, the sounds of their blows deafening, acting as if this was just another day at the office. And for them, it was. But, to someone unused to the strain, it proved a monumental effort to fight the fatigue trembling in her limbs as she delivered punch after punch to the heavy bag that Nat supported from behind.
Haley had healed completely from her adopted wound in the span of several days - not too terribly long considering Loki had stopped her from taking the entirety of Nat’s injury. Natasha, on the other hand, was still taking it easy. Which, for an Avenger, apparently meant settling for running several miles on a treadmill and lifting her body weight in dumbells instead of kicking ass with Clint.
“You can’t walk around in tape all day every day, so it’ll hurt more, when - if, it happens.”
And that little slip-up made Haley’s entire body seize, her throbbing hands spread out against the woven fabric of the bag to tether her to reality. When. When she was going to have to face Mr. Shaw again. That’s what she was preparing for, beating up a bag of sand with arms as thick and tough as overcooked spaghetti.
“Ah shit, Hales, I’m sorry.”
Small fingers clutched hers after she dropped to her knees on the cushioned, sticky mat beneath her. She stared at them, one set littered with callouses and scars, the other flushed, but baby soft and lined with blue-green veins beneath almost translucent skin. Panic constricted around her chest so that it felt like her rapidly drumming heart would burst through her ribcage and tear her struggling lungs into ribbons with the fragments left behind.
“He’s on a mission.”
“If we don’t call him he’s gonna be pissed. You wanna deal with that?”
Cool glass pressed against her ear.
“Are you alright?”
The rough timbre of Loki’s voice didn’t sound quite right through the small speaker of the phone. She drew in a shaky breath. “I’m okay.”
An obnoxious tone sounded through the phone, and she tilted her head away from it with a grimace, closing her eyes. Everything was fine. She was in Stark Tower. She was surrounded by friends who would protect her. Mr. Shaw couldn’t reach her here.
“Darling.”
The hands holding hers retreated, replaced in an instant by a warmer, larger pair not a moment later. Deft fingers worked at unraveling the bandages protecting her knuckles. Her eyes opened to see Loki kneeling in front of her, still dressed in his leather armor.
All she could think to mumble out was, “How’d you get here so fast.”
Loki tossed the wrappings away, lifting her chin up with two fingers to thoroughly examine the distraught expression on her face. “Magic.”
The fear slowly seeped out of her at his attentions but she still couldn’t catch her breath or calm her speeding heart. Strangely, she couldn’t help but long to rub away the lines that crinkled between his brows. “You were on a mission. You’ll get in trouble.”
“You needed me.” He stood up and helped her to her feet with his hold on her hands. He didn’t let them go after she was standing, maintaining his firm grip as he led her out of the room. “You need a sports beverage and a snack. It wouldn’t do for you to overwork yourself before this evening.”
~
Had she overworked herself, or was she destined to feel this terrible regardless of her disastrous session with Nat?
Even with the soothing feeling of makeup smoothing over her skin and a brush running through her hair (there wasn’t much else to do with what little length she had), she couldn’t ignore the anxiety that weighed heavy in the pit of her stomach. It rolled through her and threatened to force itself around the lump in her throat. But practice made perfect, and she’d had years of hiding many a negative emotion and sensation.
“If you don’t stop sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, I’m gonna make you look like a clown.” Nat bopped her cheek lightly with the fluffy end of a makeup brush.
“Sorry.”
A brush painted over her lips in long, soft strokes. “We’ll all keep an eye on you. Fury has backup waiting on the floors just above and below. Even Loki is going to be there. You won’t be alone.”
All those words were meant to reassure her. But when she opened her eyes after shimmying into the dress Wanda had loaned her, she felt anything but confident in how the evening was going to go.
“I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.”
The crimson dress molded to her skin, dipping down in the back to show a considerable amount of her spine. Lace encased her arms to her wrists and all she wanted to do was tug the sleeves down so she could grasp the material in her palms. She’d never shown so much skin. Did anyone really need to see the lower halves of her thighs? That was hardly her most pressing concern, however, when she factored in her inability to walk in the black heels Nat had helped her wobble into. She felt like a toddler, desperately attempting to balance with each step.
“That’s the point. Come on, the faster we get you out there the faster this is all done with.”
It took every ounce of courage that she had within her to step into the spacious ballroom several floors down from their living quarters. The lights, scattered around the room in glowing columns and hanging from the ceiling in interesting modern fixtures, were just warm enough to contrast the black marble floor and dark walls. The music from the DJ vibrated through her bones to ratchet up her heartbeat until it matched the thudding bass. More people than she had ever seen in her life milled about, either dancing or talking or some combination of the two.
Tony had told her to make sure to be seen by as many people as possible. What did that entail? How was she supposed to act natural, while still making sure she was noticed, when she didn’t even know what ‘natural’ was? She’d never been to a party before!
“Perhaps you should first procure a drink?”
She stopped staring at a stunning woman in a dress that looked to be made out starlight, glancing quickly over at the owner of the naggingly familiar voice. It had sounded just enough like Loki to pique her interest, although there was a softness to the baritone that didn’t quite fit. Nor did the owner of the lovely accented suggestion. The man peering at her through brown, thin-rimmed glasses shot her a mischievous grin. He had auburn hair that curled at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that covered the rosy skin of his jaw.
But the eyes. Even though they were a twinkling light blue, she’d recognize that playful and earnest expression anywhere.
“Loki?”
He closed the remaining distance between them, steering her toward one of the many bars set up around the edges of the room with a gentle hand on her exposed middle back. It was as if all she could focus on was his touch pouring heat through her skin to flow through her like molten sunlight. Even walking was a bit easier with him brushing against her side, as if he lent her a bit of his strength and surety while guiding her along.
“I desired to be close to you for the evening, and my standard appearance tends to draw more attention than would suit the delicacy of the mission,” he explained quietly, his head ducked down low so his words were delivered just above her ear.
Ignoring the flush that spread up her neck at his admission - he just wanted to protect her - she settled her trembling hands on the gleaming dark wood of the bar. She took the short, wide-mouthed glass that he’d ordered, crinkling her nose at the slightly bitter condensation that tickled against her lips. “What is this?”
“Sparkling water. It will appear as if you are imbibing, but you will maintain a level head.” He angled his head toward the dance floor. “I will be close behind.”
At his clear suggestion that she continue on with the plan, she started moving about the room, cracking a smile that didn’t reach her eyes whenever she made eye contact with someone. The bitter drink bubbled unhappily in her stomach, and she couldn’t stop herself from fiddling with the orange slice perched on the rim. It was expected for the Avengers to attend the party, so she was safe in acknowledging them whenever they’d cross paths. A friendly nod from Bucky, a squeeze of her hand from Natasha, a quick hug around her shoulders from Tony and a smile from Pepper, they all helped to tamp down the edge of her nerves.
She caught the barest hint of Loki’s voice, sweetened with his disguise, at random intervals. Pleasant laughter and an airy chuckle would meet her ears over the sounds of the party, reassuring her that he was keeping his promise of remaining closeby. How she longed to change her appearance as he could, melt into the skin of another, to avoid it all and enjoy the evening. Perhaps learn how to dance…
“Your drink seems to be empty, sweetheart. Care for another?”
She snapped out of her self-pitying reverie, sighing heavily at the waiter who offered her a flute of sparkling golden liquid. She suspected it to be alcohol, but maybe a sip wouldn’t hurt to calm her down?
“Thanks.”
The crystal was refreshingly cool grasped in her hands. She sank against the wall behind her, lifting it to her rouge-painted lips to take a drink, when it was ripped from her grip.
“Don’t drink that,” Loki urged her, shielding her from view of the room with his body placed squarely in front of her. He cut his eyes at the drink between them, turning it in his grasp and sniffing the contents.
Tony, with Pepper right behind him, quickly skirted through the unaware guests, coming up to Loki’s other side with alert, tight eyes and hands flexing in front of him. “What’d he look like?”
“White button-up shirt, but it wasn’t pressed like your staff. Fair skin, brown hair and eyes, with scuffed black trainers and a skinny black tie. Not a bow tie.” Loki handed the glass off to Stark, searching Haley’s face with jaw set.
“Fury’s on it. Good catch there, Reindeer Games. Hales, you okay?”
Why would Loki keep her from trying the drink? What could’ve been in there? Poison? Drugs? Mr. Shaw didn’t like to discuss business in front of her, but she knew that Hydra had created some awful weapons that could be easily hidden in a bit of liquid.
Oh.
They’d found her. Was he here? Here to drag her back to another dank room, living out her days in endless agony and darkness, taking his injuries so he could commit more atrocities in the world? Her eyes skittered over the guests frantically even as the room seemed to fold in around her. Her quick breaths did nothing to take in any oxygen into her constricted lungs and she gasped, curling in over her arms wrapped around her stomach. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t.
The striped blue fabric of Loki’s suit was the last thing she saw before he straightened her up with steady hands on her shoulders, tugging her into him until her face was pressed into his neck, instructing her to close her eyes.
Coldness, sharper than anything she’d ever felt before, rushed over her for a split second before the sounds of the party instantly stopped. The resulting silence was so jarring that she backed away from Loki, expecting to hit the wall of the ballroom; instead, her knees touched the lip of her favorite couch in the recreation area. She sank down onto it, focusing on slowing her breathing and her heart rate as she stared up at the bespeckled version of her closest friend.
“How can I assist you?” he asked, kneeling down in front of her, his hands hovering in the space between him and her knees.
Only when the worried scrunch of his brows blurred did she realize that tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. She clenched them tight, refusing to give in to her panic, waving her hands in his general direction. “Can you just, be you, again? It’s too weird. I need you.”
More silence beyond her ragged breaths. And then gloriously soft fabric slipped over one arm, around her back, and then over the other. Her hoodie. She opened her eyes to watch Loki adjusting the cuffs around her wrists, tugging them down until her fingers could close over the edges, before sitting on the couch next to her. He looked like himself again, handsome and dark with piercing green eyes that searched her face with so much concern she thought her heard might split in two.
“I could fetch a bit of water, or chocolate. Would you prefer to get out of that dress and into something more comfortable? I promise that you are safe-”
His mouth hung open, all speech ceasing when she reached out to take his hand into her lap, lacing their fingers together. She needed the physical reminder of his presence. The warmth of his grasp and the gentle rub of his thumb over the thin skin on the back of her hand - initiated after a few moments further of him staring - did more to calm her than anything else.
“Can we just sit like this for a minute?” She hated how she sounded, weak and shaky to match the knocking of her knees, but it couldn’t be helped.
Too close. They had gotten too close and he wasn’t close enough.
He shifted and let out a deep breath. Their sides pressed together from thigh to shoulder. His other hand rested over theirs and squeezed tenderly. “Anything you wish.”
~
Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280 @bambi-butt @skiddleskaddle @lokis-high-priestess @myraiswack @ilovetardis @midgardian-mistress @lisaspageofstuff @kathrynwynterbourne @bluestaratsunrise
Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme
Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @myworddump @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare
#loki fanfic#loki#slow burn#loki x OFC#angst#fluff#protective!loki#protective loki#marvel fanfic#helping hands#hopelesswrites
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DUMPLING ch 36
She watched with a muted fascination at the gathered giants. Though she was really only able to see the world passed the tree trunks of their legs, she was well able to sense their tension. It was almost as though she could smell it, like metal and upturned earth. Guards in their red leather armor stood close to the King, hands resting upon many hilts, ready to lunge and defend their liege.
Under the thickening dullness of her mind, Nenani heard the wind-chimes. With difficulty, she braced herself against the lipper barrels and forced herself to stand onto shaking legs.
The metal dome entrapping the serpent rose up, accompanied by the grunting efforts of Farris, Saen, and Avery. A black thing lunged out of the dark, once gleaming black scales now marred with gray and bleeding pot marks and burns in a crisscrossing patterned all over its body. Guards struck down with their swords to block the creature from slithering away between their legs and gave Yale just enough time to move. Yale lunged down upon it as it tried to slither away in another direction, pushing his entire weight down onto the snake’s body and gripped the back of its neck just below the thing’s jaws. It writhed violently beneath him, bucking the giant up and off of it as though he were nothing. Large black coils looped around his neck and squeezed.
There was shouting and the scurrying of many legs, the unsheathing of swords and there was yelling. Loud enough to drown out the world. But suddenly, she didn’t feel the presence of the lipper barrels against her back and the snake loomed large and enormous before her, its body continuing to curl itself around Yale’s neck and chest and she heard her friend wheeze pitifully. There were many hands trying to pull the creature off of him, swords pointing down at him, aiming for the snake, but far too close to Yale. She weaved around the forest of dark leather boots and broke through the throng of them.
Her hands were up and all she could see was the frightened eyes of her friend as they stared down at her and it summoned from within her a bitter hatred that burned her from deep inside and the angry red and yellows of her flames shifted into a vibrant blue and white that turned the moisture in the air to steam. The fire that had before swirled around like water and vapor hardened into distinct shapes, vines with thick wickedly sharp thorns and they fell upon the serpent, ripping and burning its flesh. Wide furrows were racked across the creature, ripping it open. All around her the giants gasped and involuntarily stepped back, panicked whispers rippling through them in waves.
The snake recoiled at the her fire and she fell back, pulling it with her and she heard Yale take a loud gasping breath as the many hands of his fellow cooks grabbed him and pulled him out of the snake’s weakening hold. Someone was yelling her name.
The milky white of the serpant’s eyes met her own, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her face and her arms shook terribly as she held it there, her mind feeling as tight and brittle as a thread pulled too taut and ready to snap.
“You’re majesty! Now!”
The glowing blade of the dagger sunk into the serpent’s skull with a sickening schlk and the milky white of its eyes drained away to reveal deep amber irises just before they rolled back into the dying creature’s skull and a black mist crept out from the corners of its mouth. Maevis began to chant something loudly above her and the black miasma swirled about as though the magician’s words agitated it, hurt it, and then all at once the whole black mass of it was sucked upwards. Upwards and into open mouth of a glass jar held in the magician’s hands. He slammed a stopper into it once the black mist had settled inside. Only then did Nenani release her hold and the blue vines misted away into plumes of white steam and she fell back onto the ground, gasping, and black overtook her senses.
……………………………………….
“Hold her still,” said a voice, far off, but familiar. “That’s it. Now we just...”
“Is she breathing?”
“Stand back, dammit!”
“Go sit down, Yale!”
“IS SHE BREATHING?!”
Something pressed up against her chin and forced her head back and something shockingly cold was poured down her throat and she jolted to alertness. It tasted medicinal and spicy and it made her want to gag.
“Easy now, little one,” Maevis said, his voice gentle but tense. “Don’t fight, just drink. As much as you can.”
His voice was oddly commanding and she took several long gulps of air before she allowed more of the medicine down her throat. She felt as though she was drinking gallons of the vile brew before it stopped and she was allowed a respite. Laying in someone’s arms, she gasped and coughed, everything tingled alarmingly and her head swam and pulsed with a painful headache. She opened her eyes to see Farris’s worry stricken face above her and Maevis standing back, slipping a small flask back into his pocket.
“She’ll be fine, Farris,” Maevis said, his face set into a grim frown. “The potion’s done it’s job.”
Farris’s starred down at her and she was at a loss for what emotion she saw. His brows were narrowed, but his eyes were unfocused. She felt his arm around her pull her closer to his chest, one hand curling around her shoulder and rubbing her arm lightly.
“How do we keep that from happening again?” He asked Maevis, voice quiet and not sounding at all like himself.
“I’ll come up with something,” Maevis replied. “Her magic is all out of sorts and unfocused and spills out all at once. It needs a cap or any time she uses her fire...well. She runs the risk of...”
“So she can just drop dead?” Farris growled. “Just like that? Stop breathing and die?”
“It’s a danger all elementals face when they first come into their magic, Farris,” Maevis replied. “If they drain themselves too much too quickly, it could stop the heart.”
“Maevis,” came the voice of the King. “Do you know of a way to prevent her from spilling her magic like that?”
“I have a solution in mind. It’ll only take me a moment to procure it.”
“Then please, see to it. Once you have it, we will convene in the great hall. There’s much we need to discuss about what is to be done now.”
“Your majesty,” Maevis replied and Nenani heard his footsteps grow quieter as he left.
“Farris,” said the King, “Please see to your staff and all what needs to be tended to. I will have Donal send you some support workers to help get everything back in order. Do not be too concerned with dinner service. We’ll manage well enough with what we have in cold storage and be content. Now, where is Haiyer?”
“I have ‘im here, yer majesty,” came Bart’s voice. “He’s ain’t hurt none, just rattled a good bit.”
“I will send Lolly down in a moment to come collect him. For now, however, I will take Nenani with me. I don’t want Annie to hear of what happened until her daughter is recovered.”
“Aye,” Farris replied dully and Nenani was shifted about in his hold and laid into Warren’s outstretched hands. She was too weak to protest or ask questions so she laid passive in the King’s arms as he issued several more orders before leaving the cook camp. She closed her eyes for only a moment and then suddenly they were in a corridor, the air much warmer and smelled of dusty tapestries and old wood. Time seemed to slip between her fingers like so many grains of sand and she closed her eyes again for what seemed like only a few seconds before she opened them again and she was no long being held by the King, but nestled in a thick padding of soft fabric on a very large and long table. Glancing up, she found the ceiling to be a dizzying way up, far higher than any other ceiling she had seen in the castle. Many large windows lined the impossibly long room and in between each was a long ornate tapestry that glistened as though woven with gold thread.
“...some sort of fixture, a lantern maybe. Place them about the castle grounds.”
“And these would alert us to the mage’s magic?”
“Yes. We will need a good many of them, but I believe this will be our best chance at preventing what occurred today from repeating itself.”
“Yes, about that. What did we see exactly, Maevis? I don’t recall ever hearing of a Silvaaran fire mage do anything like what I just witnessed.”
“To be honest, sire...I am not entirely sure myself. Her mother’s bloodline is old and to the Silvaarans’ way of thinking at least, pure. Her being a fire mage is hardly surprising given her heritage. Her father’s bloodlines however are, from a magical standpoint, very unassuming. Very little to any magic at all. But the potency of Nenani’s magic I find to be...quite shocking. I’ve never seen a fire mage transfigure their flames like that.”
“When she was revealed to be a fire mage, I took it upon your authority that her fire was harmless. What she did today was far from harmless.”
“She’s only a child, sire. She wouldn’t...”
“Let us not mix words here, Maevis. She is a child with the power to kill. She is an untrained, wild mage.”
“The amulet will help. She wont be a danger to anyone...”
“...unless she feels threatened. Which you know just as well as I how probable that is. Especially now. She experienced that first hand did she not? One of the rangers? When she first arrived?”
“Ah, yes. I believe she did.”
“And if such an incident were to happen again now that she is bloomed? Am I to be content with a dead ranger?”
“I will work with her. She’s a smart girl. She’ll learn how to control it with some time.”
“I do not need to be told of her virtues. Nor do I hold any ill will towards the poor girl. But we must be sensible about this. Annie said that she had put a seal on her once before. Would it be possible to do so again?”
“...If at all possible, sire, I would very much like to avoid that option.”
“Why is that?”
“I’ve already tried once before. The Princess’s original seal broke...it broke weeks ago. When the wyvern attacked.”
“The wyvern?” A long pause. “So it wasn’t you who...”
“No. No I wasn’t the one to kill the wyvern. It was her.”
“...why did you not inform me of this at the time? Why did you lie and say you had slain it?”
“...I was scared for her. I thought...that if I could seal her again, everything would go on as normal. But the seal...it hurt her. She complained of pain constantly. The seals were never designed for the mages’ comfort, quite the opposite in fact, and I hate that I ever did such a thing to her. So if at all possible, I would like to keep her unsealed. I do not know what kind of seal Oira could manage, but...”
“Maevis, I appreciate your devotion to the girl, but we must remember the people of this country, this Kingdom. We serve them as protectors and this mage, Aidus, is a very real threat. We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted this way.”
“I do remember, your majesty. But I cannot turn my back on her.”
“Nor am I asking you to. If this amulet does as you say, then the matter is settled. Once she has recovered some, you will begin instructing her on how to manage her magic and we will revisit this at a later time.”
“She was only trying to save Yale. They are very close, those two. And anger is a very potent fuel for mage fire. She must have buried a lot of it for so much to pour out of her.”
“I do not doubt you, my friend. And the fact that no one else was burned tells me the truth of it. But she cannot be allowed to wield such power without the tools to do so responsibly and safely. As you say, she is only a child. And one who has been through much. In any case, it might prove a useful distraction for her. A constructive outlet...”
Nenani lay within the fabric, numb and filled with emotion at the same time. What had she done? She made the King angry. He sounded so angry…she didn’t mean to do it. But she did and even as she regretted it, she was still all the same glad she had. She couldn’t let Aidus take someone else from her. She couldn’t and she wouldn’t. He couldn’t have Yale. Or anyone.
Never again...
“Nenani,” came the King’s voice above her and she jerked in surprise, looking up to find him frowning at her. “You must calm yourself, child.”
It was only then that she realized she was all aflame and the fire pulsed when the surge of fear hit her.
“I’m sorry...” she said quietly.
Maevis stepped up behind Warren and reached out to pushed the fabric around her away, a gloved hand tucked itself under her shoulders and eased her up so she was sitting. “Don’t be scared,” he told her. “You’re all right now, Nenani. I have something that I believe will help with your flames.”
Something glistened in his other hand and he carefully placed a metal chain around her neck, using the tip of one finger to carefully lay the large amulet down. A familiar fire opal the size of a goose egg rested heavily against her belly, the chain being so long on her. She starred down at it, the colorful flecks of iridescent colors within the stone shining when it caught the light. There was pressure in her belly and a the feeling of something pulling at her and pulling inwards. The flames that danced around her faltered and died as the stone began to glow. After only a few moments, the light died away and she was her normal self.
Maevis grinned in clear delight and relief. “I call that a success!”
The King too looked relieved and nodded. “I am glad,” he said with a sigh and then leaned down slightly to peer at her. “Now, Nenani, did you hear what all we were just discussing?”
Without meeting the King’s eye, she nodded. “I didn’t...mean to do anything bad. I just...He’s taken so much from me already. I wasn’t going to let him take Yale too. I...I don’t even know how I did all that...I just did.”
“Do you know what happened after?” asked the King and she shook her head. “You stopped breathing, little one...”
“I...I did?” she asked looking up at him, her belly doing flips with unease.
“When an elemental uses all of their magic,” Maevis explained. “And I do mean all of it, it’s potentially fatal if emergency actions are not taken. Such as the potion I gave you. You’re newly bloomed, Nenani. And as such, you do not know how to regulate the flow of your magic. So when you used it as you did, it poured out all at once. That potion I gave you was a restorative.”
She suddenly realized why Farris looked the way he had and she bowed her head feeling shameful. After all the time having him worrying over her, she went and did it again.
“But, don’t worry!” Maevis was quick to add, tipping her head up gently with a finger. “I am going to teach you how to manage your magic so it never happens again.”
She nodded mutely. “So...did it work, at least? What you were trying to do?”
Maevis nodded. “Yes, I was able to extract the essence from the serpent. It’s locked up in the library under seventeen layers of protective spells and I may still add more tonight.”
“At least it worked,” she offered inanely.
The King nodded. “It is our hope to have a warning beacon in place soon. Maevis believes he can use the captured essence to create a barrier spells to detect the mage’s presence should he attempt to enter the grounds under guise again.”
“Which reminds me,” Maevis said, looking to Nenani with a serious expression. “How was it that you knew the serpents were Aidus’s avatars?”
“I didn’t. Haiyer did,” she replied and seeing Maevis’s bewildered stare elaborated. “He...he has an imaginary friend who he said told him to hide because there was one of Aidus’s snakes around.”
The King was not able to fully suppress the dubious smile that came to his lips. Looking to Maevis, he asked “Do you think he might be a mage as well, Maevis? That he may have sensed Aidus?”
“I do not think it so, but I haven’t had a moment to study the boy properly,” mused the Magician. “He is of the age where any magical talents would begin to show. Though...foresight is awfully rare and I’ve never heard of it appearing in the Silvaaran bloodlines.”
“I don’t...I don’t think it’s him,” Nenani said, earning herself the attention of both giants.
“No?” asked Maevis. “Why is that?”
“When he was telling me about her –his friend,” she said. “He said she was a fairy, but Mama and Lolly said fairies aren’t real.”
Maevis nodded, grinning a little.
“So you don’t think it could be a real fairy?” she asked.
Maevis and the King shared a look. “No, dear,” Maevis replied with a light laugh. “I am afraid it far more likely the little prince merely imagined this fairy friend. They are only to be found in folk tales and children’s stories.”
“But then,” she said. “How does he know who Bertol is?”
Maevis’s patient eyes narrowed and his mouth turned into a sour frown. “Bertol?”
“Haiyer said that his fairy friend lived in the mountains with a giant...named Bertol.”
Beside him, the King laughed. “Bumbling Bertol? Wherever would the boy have heard of him?”
But Maevis looked pensive. “He wouldn’t have. At least, not that I could imagine. If he does have foresight, it might explain him knowing the name. But until I have a moment with him, I could not say for sure.” Maevis tapped his lips idly as he considered the information. “Nenani, that little stone of his. Where did he get it?”
“I gave it to him when we were still out in the wilds with Keral. He was scared so I just picked up a rock that looked pretty and told him it was magic. To help him calm down. It was just a rock I found.”
Maevis’s eye opened wide, his mouth hanging open agape and he said nothing for several long seconds before he then started to giggle. Warren looked to the magician in mild confusion. “Maevis?”
“You just told him it was magic? That’s all?”
“Yes...” she replied, unsure and a little bewildered by the magician’s reaction.
“Oh my goodness,” he said, breathing heavily and then turning his gaze to Nenani, eyes bright with mirth. “My dear child. That was a blue quarts stone! You remember what I said about stones of power? That rock is a minor stone. A quarts.”
Nenani just starred, confused. “Huh?”
“You charmed it,” Maevis replied with a grin. “You implanted a piece of your magic inside when you gave it to him.”
Nenani opened her mouth and then closed it again as the King began to laugh. She regarded Maevis with pure befuddlement. “Wha...what? You...you can do that?”
Maevis nodded, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, dear. You can. It’s the same principal that works with that fire opal there. When presented with magic, it’ll pull it inside the stone. The greater the stone, the more power it can hold. A minor stone cannot hold much, but a simple charm would fit nicely. When you gave little Haiyer the stone, some of your magic was pulled into it. Charming it.”
She sat there dumbfounded and perplexed at the idea which only seemed to make the pair of giants chuckle more.
“But then,” she asked, “How does he know about Bertol?”
Maevis was unable to provide an answer, but decided that once he had a moment and things had settled, he would examine Haiyer to see if the small boy had in fact came into his magic, but instead of another young fire mage, they had a young oracle. And somehow no one bothered to notice.
“Oracle?” Nenani asked, unfamiliar with the word.
“Someone with the gift or foresight. The ability to see the future.”
“So...is Bertol an oracle?”
Maevis snorted distastefully. “Not in the least.”
“I didn’t think Oracles were real,” Warren admitted as he slipped onto one of benches alongside the long table.
“Exceedingly rare,” Maevis replied, taking a seat as well. “But they do appear in contemporary sources. Perhaps the Queen may know more.”
“Why would she know about Oracles?” asked Warren.
“Oracles are almost always found among the water mages. The water element lends itself to foresight. Her majesty would have grown up on tales of water mages, being from Ibronia.”
The King looked thoughtful and nodded. “I will ask her tonight.”
Wherever the conversation might have lead to was interrupted by the large set of doors at the far end of the room flying open and several giants pushed their way inside with quick and deliberate steps. They marched with purpose and brought with them a stiff and uncomfortable air, riddled with anxiety and anger.
“Your majesty!” said one of the giants at the front of the group. He was a giant of medium build, but his form was puffed out by a lavish green coat of fine embroidery with fur lined collar and cuffs. His face was set into a decidedly disagreeable frown and he seemed to be covered in a fine sheen of sweat.
Warren sighed and rose up from the table to meet the group. “My Lords,” he said to them collectively and then to the green coated one, “Lord Eldherst.”
“Is it true?” the green coated giant demanded. Nenani was a little shocked at how brazenly the man was speaking to the King. Lord or not, it seemed horribly rude and Nenani found herself a little offended on behalf of Warren. She knew none of the faces and it was then that she realized all of them were dressed in fine doublets and jerkins and coats. Some had jewels on their hands or around their necks. They were more richly dressed than the King.
“My lords, there is nothing to fear,” said the King, his voice both commanding and reassuring at once. “The threat has been dealt with and precautions are being put into place as we speak.”
The green coated giant huffed through his nose. “Do you mean to say that the fire mage has been cast out, your majesty?”
There was a sickening drop in the pit of her stomach and she tried to duck down into the fabric around her. Maevi’s hand rested on the table not too far from her and he very slowly began to inch his hand towards her, his eyes never straying from the group of Lords. The King stood stiffly, taking in each of their faces, and then addressed Lord Eldherst.
“No, sir. She has not,” he replied cooly. “Nor will I.”
The man did not seem to like that answer at all. “Your majesty, it is dangerous to have that thing on castle grounds!” Brown eyes abruptly turned her way and Nenani ducked into the fabric. Maevis’s gloved hands reached out to her, abandoning all pretense, and pulled her to him and folded the cloth around her more securely. Sweeping the entire bundle up, Maevis rose to his feet. The green coated man’s face turned a strange shade of pinkish purple and he waved an angry and accusing finger at her. “That thing should be brought to the Hill tribes where it’s chaos can be contained in a place of less importance! The west wing is destroyed, the kitchens are still in pieces, and now we have giant serpents coming onto the grounds and attacking our staff! That thing is cursed and we should rid ourselves of it before someone is killed!”
The large group of agitated giant lords all murmured sounds of agreement and someone from the back yelled out, “Here, here!”
“My lords,” said the King, his voice echoing through the hall. “I hear your concerns, but I must remind you all; your grievances are with the one who had caused these misfortunes and I assure you, it is not a little girl to whom your wrath should be aimed. As you all have been informed, what we face is indeed a human mage, but it is not Nenani. The young Princess is not our enemy.”
“Yes, Princess. As you have said, my liege. But is it not true that her mother was struck from the Silvaaran royal house? Her name removed from their records? What debt do we owe still that we haven’t already paid that we should take in and honor the dubious status of a human woman and her bastard?”
“Maevis,” said the King, his words sharp and angry. “Take Princess Nenani to the library and see to her recovery.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Maevis replied with a graceful, if not stiff, bow and he turned, covering her with fabric and shielding her from the eyes of the gathered lords. Underneath, she shivered and swallowed against the lump in her throat. The day’s events played inside her mind and she recalled the look of her fire when it turned blue and took the form of vines with thick thorns, sharp and curved. The gasps from the guards around her. The King’s anger. Lord Eldherst’s fear.
What did she do?
Gods above, what did she do?
#Dumpling#G/t story#g/t writing#Giant/tiny#fantasy giant#Nenani#Yale#Farris#Maevis#Warren#Eldherst#magic#g/t
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what more can I say?
There is a minor mystery for Juno to solve- why is Rita acting so strangely?
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Juno had known Rita for a very long time, he knew her better than just about anyone. So, quite some time ago, he had stopped trying to understand a lot of her decisions. There were some things that could only be chalked up as pure Rita-isms.
Something he hadn’t realised until recently, or at least hadn’t allowed himself to realise, was that following her crazy straw streams of non-logic would usually lead to a lot more fun than scowling or snapping at her would. He still felt a hot pinching sensation in the pit of his stomach when he thought about things he’d said to her in the past.
So for that and other reasons, when she came to him after their weekly family dinner, dragged his plate out from under his fork and told him they were gonna go to his room and get him dressed up nice, he didn’t immediately tell her to go to hell.
Instead he gestured with his fork at the plate, still with a good few mouthfuls of the moussaka he’d spent all afternoon making, and said, “I’m not done with that…”
“You can eat later, Mistah Steel,” Rita said immediately, stepping on the end of his sentence like he’d barely even spoken, “C’mon, let’s go to your room, let’s hang out! Like the old days, right?”
Juno narrowed his eye, not bothering to point out that they hadn’t hung out really in the old days, he’d been a sour asshole of a cliff face and she had been an undeservingly relentless tide of friendship crashing against him.
“Why exactly would I go get dressed up?” he put audible air quotes around the phrase, “We’re floating in the middle of deep space and will remain that way for the next three weeks.”
Rita’s eyes darted left and right before her grin increased another factor of ten, “I just think it’ll be fun! Who needs a reason, right?”
“Certainly not you…” Juno admitted, looking around at the kitchen.
Was it him or had the table cleared eerily quickly? Normally the crew lazed around, enjoying knowing their work for the day was done and the evening was entirely their own. He was used to Buddy lighting up the one cigarette she allowed herself per day, filling the air with a rich smell like burning flowers; he was used to Jet closing his eyes, folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, no one ever quite sure if he was asleep. He was used to doing the dishes with Rita, flicking bubbles at each other until Buddy calmly and fondly told them to quit before they turned the floor of her kitchen into a swamp. He was used to his boyfriend pulling him to rest against his shoulder and wrapping curls of his hair around his fingers, gradually getting more intimate and caring less about who was watching until Vespa would pretend to retch and tell them to get a room.
But it seemed like everyone had somewhere to be tonight, including his boyfriend. Nureyev was nowhere to be seen, which was passing strange. Juno had suggested they watch a movie together about now and he had seemed to agree but now he’d disappeared. Not completely unusual for Nureyev, obviously, but Juno somehow felt a little stood up, like a date left lingering at the bar.
“Fine, fine,” Juno sighed, “Whatever. Still don’t see what’s wrong with what I’m wearing…”
Rita looked down at his homemade tie dye shirt, the pyjama pants with the slack elastic, bright purple and patterned in cartoon bats that he’d been wearing since one not even memorable Halloween decades ago, the bed socks that didn’t match. She didn’t say anything which, for Rita, spoke volumes.
Juno pushed back his chair, rolling his eyes and walking towards his room. Behind him, Rita squealed and clapped her hands in delight before hurrying after him.
Nureyev wasn’t in there either, as Juno had been hoping. Not that they ever really hung out in his room, given that it was a tip and all the disorganisation gave Nureyev a headache. Juno thought that was kind of hypocritical, he’d seen the inside of that man’s pockets.
But he did have to admit, it was looking more and more like a teenager’s room as the days went by. It didn’t help that he hadn’t slept in here since he and Nureyev had gotten back together and now basically used it to store all the things he didn’t regularly need. The important stuff like his everyday clothes, his current book and his guitar were in Nureyev’s much tidier bunk. This was where he threw things he knew he wouldn’t need to put his hands on at a moment’s notice.
Like his wardrobe of nice clothes and fancy dresses, which Rita currently had the whole upper half of her body sunk into like she was going to end up face first in Narnia, spitting out snow.
“You got a lot of real cute outfits in here, Boss…” she called back, her voice muffled by netting and satin.
“Not your boss,” Juno yawned, flopping back onto the bed, sending a sheaf of files on jobs completed months ago tumbling onto the floor, “They’re mostly stuff for heists and the one date night a month me and Ransom get when we’re not stuck in the outer space ass crack of the middle of nowhere.”
“Nothing from the old days?” Rita hummed, reappearing briefly with a necklace wrapped around one of her space buns before plunging back in.
“You think anything from then is still gonna fit over my thighs?” Juno arched an incredulous eyebrow, “Nah, that all got left behind when we split from Mars. Besides...I dunno, I guess it wasn’t really my style anymore.”
Rita reappeared, looking like some kind of burrowing animal who’d made her nest in fabrics, “Oh I know, Mistah Steel. Cos you were kinda depressed back then, huh?”
Juno had to laugh wryly, “Yeah, I guess so. Or at least...I dunno. I was different, that’s for sure.”
Rita grinned and disappeared back into the wardrobe, “Now you got Misah Ransom. And you’re in love and happy.”
Juno felt himself blush and he suddenly became very interested in his fingernails, “I mean...I guess…”
“How about this one?” Rita burst out, holding a dress that was floor length and blue, glittering gently in the light.
Juno remembered it as soon as he saw it, it had been from a job at a Venusian casino. He’d spent the whole night with one hand idly stroking the skirts as they’d lain across his lap, he’d enjoyed the feel of it that much. As soon as he’d been presented with it, he’d thought of it as a slice of the night sky taken down and woven into a garment. He’d felt a little like a constellation come to life, he’d felt actually kind of pretty.
And, after they were back on the ship, Nureyev had disappeared under those skirts and made him feel beautiful.
Juno shook his head, “I still don’t see why we’re doing this but sure. That one works. There’s shoes to go with it somewhere in there.”
Rita found the shoes and a necklace and earring set that hadn’t been part of the original ensemble but matched very well. They were gold and gossamer thin, like the product of some jewelled spider, and they were studded part way along by miniscule stars. They looped and hung subtly, like Nureyev’s own earrings that he’d always admired.
“Aren’t you getting dressed up?” he tilted his head to fix the earring on better, looking in the small wall mirror that had come with the room, “I thought we were hanging out? I’m gonna feel like an ass looking like this on my own.”
He could see her reflection in the background of the mirror, she was checking her comms. Just as she’d done six times since they came in.
“Oh you won’t be the only one, Boss,” she said quickly, “I’ll get my gladrags on in a little bit.”
“Not your boss,” Juno sighed, “And fine, whatever. Though this is feeling more like a prank by the second.
“Not a prank,” Rita replied primly, “Just think it’ll make you feel nice. Does a lady good to beautify themselves every so often, y’know?”
Juno shared an exasperated look with his mirror self but he pulled out his old make up bag all the same. It was a mess, smeared on the inside with smudges of colour like a parrot had exploded inside it, and it’s chaos reminded him why he used Nureyev’s much more extensive supply instead.
Still, it was sort of fun, picking out shades that looked nice, playing with colour and shape. Nureyev always applied his make up too, doing it with one eye wasn’t impossible but it was harder. And he loved having his boyfriend so close, being the sole focus of every scrap of his attention. It made him squirm in a good way and often led to things that meant they had to redo the make up anyway.
But there was something fun about doing it himself too. It reminded him of being a teenager, one of the few fragments of that age that made him feel good, trying out the lipstick and mascara he’d shoplifted and suddenly feeling happy with his face in a way he never had, eventually finding words that could give him the same feeling. It didn’t have to look good, it didn’t have to be perfect, it never had. It made him smile all the same.
“That’s looking real pretty, Mistah Steel,” Rita popped up again, beaming like a proud older sister seeing her brother off to prom.
“It’s lopsided,” Juno grunted, focused on his eyeliner, “...but thanks.”
“You’re always looking real pretty,” Rita continued, her voice softening, “Does me good to see a smile on your face every day, Mistah Steel, it really does. You’ve always deserved someone like him, you know, someone who makes you smile and treats you right. I’m glad you found him and you worked out all the sticky bits and now you kiss and stuff…”
Juno turned to give her a look, “What’s with the misty eyes, Rita?”
“No reason!” she jumped, like she’d realised she was sliding down into something and busied herself looking at her comms again, her face a little tense like she was concentrating.
Juno watched her for a long minute, feeling the detective part of his brain stir. She was up to something, he could have seen that with his one eye closed. It was what she was up to exactly that he needed to find out.
“Say!” she bounced up to his side, taking his arm, “Why don’t we go up on the observation deck? Take a little walk? Maybe we can...oh! That’s it, we can take some pictures! Nice pretty pictures!”
Juno was too intrigued to argue, wanting to see where this was all going, “Why the hell not, huh? Me looking like a debutante and you still in your pyjamas. Why the hell not…”
Rita did blush, her eyes sliding down to the floor. But then she seemed to gather herself, the way he’d seen her do on so many late nights at the HCPD, so many cases that had seemed impossible, so many things he hadn’t thought they’d survive.
“Well what are we waiting for?” she grinned, tugging him up onto the kitten heels she’d found, “Let’s go see some stars!”
Again, the Carte Blanche seemed oddly silent. Juno could never forget that he lived with five other people, there would always be someone playing music or voices echoing down the halls as someone had a conversation. Jet hammering away or cursing as solder dripped on his fingers, Rita shrieking at some jumpscare in her show accompanied by the patter of popcorn hitting her bed, Buddy singing to herself as she brushed her hair out before bed, Vespa working late in the infirmary, knives and scalpels clattering out a sharp edged song as she sorted through them.
And Nureyev, always his Nureyev, humming to himself as he brushed out his hair, singing in the shower, stealing Juno’s book and laughing at the same bits he’d laughed at, talking away as he sewed. His voice, always part of Juno’s life, the constant reminder that he was there and close and Juno’s.
But it was like he and Rita were the only ones on the ship, in the universe even. There was only the click of his own heels and the gentle jangle of his jewellery, along with Rita’s heavy breathing which seemed to be getting more and more as they went along.
She was keeping something from him. Not something she did often but he could see she was practically bursting at the seams, about to explode in a fountain of confetti and probably an ear splitting scream. He was suppressing the urge to take a step back from her, just in case.
The Carte Blanche’s observation deck was right at the top, in the outermost of the ship’s bulged exterior. It required the climbing of a lot of stairs and a ladder, worming through the ship’s tightest spots, not exactly easy in heels and a long, swishing skirt. Harder even, seeing as Rita insisted on never letting go of his hand as she led him for some reason, her fingers warm in his own and trembling with the excitement she was trying to pretend wasn’t there.
If asked later, Juno would say it was because he hadn’t actually been a detective in years, it was no wonder his skills were a little rusty. That would be his excuse for why he didn’t realise what was happening until they reached the bottom of the last ladder and he heard the music drifting down.
It took him a moment to place it but once he did, he was there so completely it was like he’d slipped and ended up in another time. He was in a ballroom with towering ceilings and walls lined with impossibly expensive treasures. His dress wasn’t blue but gold and his heels were uncomfortably tall and Nureyev was beside him, slowly opening up to him over the course of an evening, ready to hear what he was saying. It wasn’t the high energy song they’d danced to, but the quiet, gentle song that had been playing as they’d ran as fast as they could back out into the night, laughter rising in their chest like champagne bubbles, a piece of a legend hidden under Juno’s skirts and his fingers wound through Nureyev’s.
Back in the moment, realigned in the here and now, Juno froze, a soft gasp escaping him.
Rita stopped, one of her feet on the rung of the ladder, turning back to him and seeing in a second what he’d realised.
“Oh no,” she moaned, her face falling into despair, “I told Mistah Ransom I’d keep it secret, I’m sorry, I knew I’d ruin it…’
Juno shook his head, squeezing her hand, “No, you’ve not ruined anything, Rita. He won’t be mad and neither am I.”
Rita looked at him doubtfully from behind her rhinestone encrusted glasses. He remembered the slow day they’d sat cross legged on his dusty office carpet and glued all of those little things on there. He’d found the bastards in the pockets of his coat for months afterwards.
“Are you sure, Boss? Cos you look kinda...pale? Like that ashy, not so good colour...”
Juno chuckled roughly, “It’s just a big deal, y’know? Everything kind of changes from this point. And I’m not your boss.”
Rita scuffed the toe of her sandal against the floor, “Maybe not as much as you think though? You’ll still have your thief and we’ll still live on this awesome ship like super cool space pirates. You’ll just get to call him something different!”
Juno considered that, feeling like he wanted to grin so hard his jaw would ache, his heart hammering against his ribs like it wanted out, “I do…”
“And...well,” Rita flashed her ten kilowatt smile, “If you wanna go steal Mistah Jet’s car and go drive off to Pluto together? We can do that right now. I got your back, Mistah Steel.”
Juno cackled, “Thanks, Rita. Maybe one day but for now...I think I’m gonna go in there.”
Rita nodded, making her space buns bounce, kissing his cheek lightly before starting back down the way they had come, “Sounds like a good idea to me. I’ll talk to ya later, Boss.”
“I’m not your boss!” Juno called after her, only realising when their voices were echoing together off the chrome walls that she’d mimicked him perfectly.
Juno chuckled to himself and faced the last ladder again, taking a deep breath. Another fragment of another time tried to press in, wanting to overlay itself across this moment, wanting to drag his thoughts in another direction. But Juno swept it away firmly. He would enjoy this. He would look back on this and feel nothing but joy.
Still smiling, he climbed, stepping up into the music.
Nureyev always paced when he was nervous. He was just so rarely nervous that many people didn’t notice.
But he was pacing now, rapidly walking the length of the observation deck, checking his comms over and over, watching the little digital numbers tick higher and higher.
Juno was supposed to be here two minutes and twenty seconds ago. That was what he had agreed with Rita, having to sit her down, hold her head and speak very slowly to make sure she was actually listening. It was all as meticulously planned as any heist the Aurinko crime family had ever pulled off, maybe even more so because this was his plan. He’d constructed this, down to the second, and he’d selected his partner carefully. He had a lot of faith in the little hacker, at least in how much she wanted Juno to be happy. He’d laid it all out for her at a table in the nicest restaurant he could find during their last stop planetside, he’d run her through every step and sub-step, every contingency plan. After she’d cried happy tears into her wine for an hour.
But now, right at the most important moment, it was falling apart. He was in position, with the music playing and the candles flickering like some of the stars outside had come loose and settled on every available surface. He was dressed impeccably, in the outfit it had taken him two weeks to decide on. It was part way between Duke Rose and Rex Glass, sleek and sophisticated but softer than he would dress for a job. He didn’t want armour for this, he wanted to be vulnerable. He wanted to wear things that would remind Juno of everywhere they’d been and every step that had brought them here. He even had sunglasses perched on his head as something of a joke.
He was as ready as he was ever going to be, sweating under his silk and mouth dry as a bone behind his perfectly lipsticked smile. But he had no Juno.
A million rationally unlikely but impossible to shake off theories vied for his attention. Nureyev knew they’d talked about this at length, he knew Juno’s past, he knew how he’d been hurt. He had been completely ready to accept that this was never something he’d want.
But he had also believed him when he’d taken his hands, a hundred nights ago now, and said this was okay. That one day, at some shining point in their future, Nureyev could ask and he would answer.
Nureyev knew that. He told himself that over and over but the possibility that Juno might have bolted was lurking in the back of his mind now, a shadow on a wall that kept catching on the corner of his eye. Maybe he’d been wrong this whole time, maybe he’d heard only what he wanted to hear. Maybe he’d dreamed the whole damn thing and was about to wake up alone in a hotel room in Hyperion City.
Four minutes now. Nureyev pressed his fingertips to his temples and willed himself to calm down. There was no time to spiral, he had to keep his feet on the ground. Losing his head had never done him any good, only telling himself he was in control until he willed it so had ever worked. If he told himself all was well then it would be, even if Juno never turned up, if he never turned up…
“Nureyev?”
His voice was soft but Nureyev would have picked it out from thousands. His heart was in his throat as he turned, a soft breath leaving him as he saw the lady life had rewarded him with, in spite of everything he’d done.
Juno looked beautiful, wearing his blue, star studded dress, a number Nureyev wasn’t likely to forget after how the night had ended the last time he’d worn it. His face was done up but it was everything underneath that made Nureyev stop, the scars and the badly healed breaks and the lines. Everything that reminded him it wasn’t a goddess he was looking at, it was something so much better. A human person, broken and tired as he was, who by some miracle loved him as much as he loved them.
You couldn’t spend the rest of your life with a goddess, after all.
It only took a second before Nureyev realised what that coy, lopsided smile meant. He knew. And a heartbeat later they were both laughing.
“I’m sorry,” Juno managed to get out in between his wheezing laughs, bracing on his knees, “I’m so sorry, go ahead, pretend this didn’t happen. Do your thing.”
Nureyev had his arms wrapped around himself, like he needed to physically hold it together, giggling madly, “Nothing ever goes right for us, does it?”
“No,” Juno admitted, finally straightening and wiping at his eye, “But I like that. We’re consistent if nothing else. But seriously, pretend I’m not a complete idiot, go ahead.”
“You’re not,” Nureyev smiled crookedly, taking a deep breath and brushing down the front of his suit, though it was as spotless as ever, clearing his throat before asking, “May I have this dance, Mr Steel?”
Juno smiled bright as a sun and held out his hand, “Thought you’d never ask.”
Nureyev had been trained in every kind of formal dance found on any solar planet, he knew every step, every combination, and he could move through them with grace and poise, every limb extending perfectly like he was underwater. Juno clearly had a scant fraction of that knowledge but what made the difference was he danced like he enjoyed it. He didn’t dance to perform, he didn’t dance for other people’s eyes. Clearly, he danced because it made him smile. And the smile he gave Nureyev as they danced across the observation deck, silhouetted before a galaxy, was beautiful enough to hurt.
It felt for a moment like they were dancing through the last decade. As the pink light from the cluster of gas and stars shifted, Juno’s face changed and Nureyev saw all the versions of his love that he’d known. He saw a scared and bitter detective who’d wanted him to save him but wouldn’t let it happen. He saw the man who’d fully intended to die for him. He saw the man who had held him and promised him his heart, only to snatch it away at the last moment so he wouldn’t see how cracked and scarred it was. He saw the man who’d bared everything to him after knocking on his door, with mascara smudges in the corner of his eyes, and made Nureyev want to stay for the first time in his life.
Nureyev couldn’t bear it any more. He stopped, dipping Juno carefully in his arms, pressing a feather light kiss to his lips so he didn’t overbalance them. Juno was laughing again as he righted them, knowing what was coming, tears already beading on his eyelashes.
Smiling softly, the thief sank to one knee and produced the ring he definitely hadn’t stolen, seemingly from thin air but actually from his pocket.
“Juno Steel,” he murmured, not seeing the point of flowery language, not right now, “I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in the whole Universe. Will you marry me?”
It was an old ring, something he’d picked up at an antique shop the last time they had been on Earth, the only planet old enough to actually have antiques. It was simple, winding silver arms holding a small diamond, nondescript so he would never have to take it off no matter what job they were on. It had a deep sense of history to it, a piece of living proof that everything difficult in their lives, everything that had hurt them, couldn’t take away the future they had in front of them. Things kept moving forward, they always had.
Juno gave a little sob when he saw it, the kind that was kind of a laugh too. He held out his hand, nodding hard, “Yes. Yes, Peter Nureyev, I will marry you.”
Before the ring was even fully on his finger, he was crashing down onto his knees to kiss him, throwing his arms around Nureyev’s shoulders. They were laughing again because how could either of them have imagined it would end like this?
“I love you,” Juno gasped, kissing him hard in between bright bursts of laughter, “I love you, I love you, god damnit, I love you…”
“Fool,” Nureyev breathed, smiling, tears running down his face and not caring, “And I love you too.”
They wouldn’t be able to do it officially of course, Nureyev didn’t really exist and they were all living outside of the law and very much wanted by several different authorities. It would be something more performative, Buddy as their captain performing the rights in something of a space age matelotage, just their little family to witness it. But it would mean everything to them.
And Juno knew exactly who his maid of honour was going to be.
#jupeter#tpp#the penumbra podcast#juno steel#peter nureyev#tpp juno#tpp nureyev#tpp rita#rita#junoverse#juniverse#proposal#just some wholesome gayness tonight#and some good good Juno and Rita friendship
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C5 - The Ball
A/N: Just shy of 19k words of Evalin being Evalin. Includes RPs with @ladyreggiewright @arin-schreave @hugo-stanton @clemencewestley and @idaliamoretti . Potential TW for the last italicized section at the end, for non-consensual kissing. ALSO I wrote one of Evalin’s thoughts before the official Theo reveal, and decided to keep it in for shits and giggles lmao
My parents picked up the FaceTime call on the first ring, their heads smushed together as they bickered over where the best spot to place their phone was, in order for me to see everyone that was there. It had been a family tradition for as long as I could remember to have a backyard barbecue on Illéan Independence Day. Normally, it was a pretty large gathering, including our family, some of the neighbors, some of my parents’ coworkers, and their families, leaving little space to walk or even sit in our average sized backyard.
From what I could see as my parents backed away from the phone, however, the event was a lot smaller this year - just my family, and June’s. Not that it seemed like anyone was complaining about that, but it did raise some questions in my own mind, especially when I considered the phone call my father had made to me at two in the morning a few weeks ago. Even Lukas had said that things were getting bad there.
I could see what he meant. It was as if none of my father’s coworkers were speaking to him anymore.
Nonetheless, I forced a smile on to my face, holding the flute of champagne Grace had had delivered to my room in the air, so that everyone gathered in my backyard in Carolina could see it. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time,” I admitted, feeling Julia tug at my hair with a towel, finishing up drying my curls before beginning to style them, “but I absolutely refused to miss the annual toast.”
“Of course,” Gabriel stated, holding the beer in his hand aloft from the Adirondack chair in which he sat. “Cheers, Ev.”
“Cheers,” I echoed alongside the rest of my family, taking about three sips of champagne before setting the flute back down on my desk. I had practically had to beg Grace to bring it up for me, spending all of forty-five minutes explaining and emphasizing just how important this family tradition was to not only me, but to my parents and siblings as well. In the end, she had relented, though Julia had grumbled about it until the bitter end.
“I wish I was there, with you,” June called through the screen, shaking her head, her dark curls bouncing against her cheeks. “Do me a favor, and find a cute man tonight, and send him my way. The guys around here just aren’t cutting it anymore.”
I laughed, assuring her, “I’ll do my best,” though I wasn’t entirely sure how many people were going to be in attendance at the ball tonight. There were the German royals, the Italian royals, and the Illean royals, of course, along with the Grahams and Wylan Caldwell, but beyond that, all I had been told was vague terms like, “palace staff,” and, “notable individuals,” which meant next to nothing to me. Maybe more specifics had been given, but I had been too focused on online classes, which had also started up this week, to pay close attention to them.
“Speaking of men,” Lydia began, setting her beer down on the brick patio beneath her chair, “has His Royal Asshole been on better behavior since we last spoke about him?”
Behind me, Julia made a noise that sounded like she was screaming with her mouth closed as she parted my hair with a fine toothed comb. I laughed, partially at the sound that Julia had made, but also at my sister’s nickname for Arin, which didn’t appear to be going out of use anytime soon.
“He’s been a good deal better, actually,” I replied, taking a few more sips of champagne. “He took me to the ballet a couple of weeks ago, and -” And we cozied up on the floor together. And we actually talked without arguing. And he called me stunning and adorable. I shook my head, feeling the color rising to my cheeks already. “It was good.”
“Just good?” Lydia raised her eyebrows, picking her beer back up and taking a long drink, glaring at the phone she was looking at me through.
It had been more than good, but I didn’t want to divulge the details of the date in front of my parents. My mother might have a fit if she found out that I had sat on the floor, even if it was within the walls of a private box. “I’ll tell you more another time,” I assured her, “but if I don’t hurry, I am going to be late.”
After a few quick goodbyes, I closed my laptop, allowing Julia to finish up on my hair, and Christina to finish up on my makeup. The dress they had had made for tonight was black, and fit me like a glove, ending with a little slit in the side down by my mid-calf. It came complete with a cape of gossamer silk, little strands of silver woven in, almost like the seamstress that had made this dress had plucked the stars from the sky to do so. I had been a little apprehensive about the cape at first, insistent that in combination with the high heeled shoes I would have to wear, it would almost certainly lead to me tripping and falling at some point, or possibly even rip the cape. However, Julia had reassured me that it would be fine, and I was in no shape to argue with her about it.
The start of the online semester had somehow made my sleep schedule even worse. At this point, I was surviving almost solely off of caffeine and sheer willpower. At the very least, the work kept me distracted, which meant I had less time to overthink that I was doing here. However, the increased workload had prevented me from seeing Arin since the ballet. Even at Wylan’s party, I had only been able to pop in for all of a few minutes, which I had spent chatting with Itzel. That had only been the week that the pre-semester work had been due. Now, with the real semester in full swing, in combination with our lessons here, and the recent slough of visiting foreign dignitaries, I was swamped. I’d actually fallen asleep in the library more than once, much to my own embarrassment. Luckily, I didn’t think anybody had noticed it, yet.
Tonight’s ball was a welcome reprieve from the work, though. I finished the last of the champagne, checking my reflection in the mirror one last time before turning towards the door, satisfied with what I had seen. Some days, I almost didn’t recognize the person I saw in the mirror. She stood with a straighter back, and a head held higher than the Evalin I had used to see in the mirror. My reflection even moved with a level of grace that I had not previously thought I’d possessed. The lessons we were getting here were really paying off, both inside and outside of the classroom.
I kept to myself as I walked down the hallway, speaking almost exclusively to the personal guard that had been assigned to escort me into the large hall where dinner was to be taking place. The meal itself flew by quickly, beginning with the presentation of the foreign royals, and then the Illean royals, and ending with everyone being ushered into the Grand Hall, which was decked out in gauzy strips of fabric and light colors, dousing the room in every color under the sun. I stared at it, wide eyed as I walked in spinning in a small circle to make sure I didn’t miss a single detail. Whoever had put this together must have spent hours planning and decorating. I wished there was some way I could pass my compliments on to them, because they deserved it.
With that, the dancing begun, a full orchestra playing a mix of fast songs, waltzes, and instrumental versions of more modern songs. I allowed myself to be swept up in it all, dancing with whoever was closest to me at the moment. After a lifetime of keeping myself so put together, so set in my rigid routine, it felt nice to just be able to let go of all that for a few hours, my only concern whether or not I could prevent myself from stepping on the feet of whoever was spinning me in circles at the moment.
After a handful of numbers, I made my way back to the edge of the crowd, needing a few seconds, at the very least, just to catch my breath, and get my bearings. Everyone here was dressed to the nines, having gone just as all out as I had. Though, I hadn’t seen anybody else with a cape, yet. Julia had proven herself to be right once again - the risk of falling had been worth the reward of standing out.
I stopped by one of the tables, grabbing another glass of champagne. There were other drinks laid out, their colors varying from vibrant shades of pink to pale hues of teal, but in this instance, I decided it was best to stick to what I knew and recognized. It had been a while since I had drank in a party environment, and I wasn’t about to go wild in front of a bunch of, “notable individuals.” That Evalin had to stay back in Knoxville for now, at least, maybe even permanently, depending on how the remainder of the Selection went.
Being so close to the Elite had me a bit nervous. I had come so far; it would almost hurt to be sent home now. My relationship with Arin was solid - I was confident in that, at least - but that wasn’t to say that other girls had had similar experiences to mine with him. From the rumors Christina attempted to feed me while I was studying, he had grown close with both Jen and Clemence around the same time he and I had begun to grown close. Leana’s name was thrown around quite a bit as well. Still, together, we only made up four of the twelve remaining girls. There were eight others that he could have been more secretive in seeing.
It had been three weeks since Alaina and Saxon had been sent home. We were due for another elimination, soon.
It was then that I laid eyes on Reggie, watching the dancers in the center of the room from where she stood by one of the tables, sipping on a glass of champagne. It had been months since I’d last been able to have a solid conversation with her, when I had leant her my ecology book. We’d seen each other in passing, but these days, all of us were so wrapped up in other exploits that it was rare to be able to get in more than a few words to each other.
Tonight, though, we had nothing but time. “Hello, Reggie!” I called out as I walked up to her. “How are you?”
Blinking a couple of times, as if I had just woken her from a stupor, she shifted her weight from one leg to the other and rolled her shoulders back. She smiled as she looked over at me, one corner of her mouth slightly higher than the other, giving me a short nod by way of greeting. “Evalin. Ça va?” Evalin. How are you.
“Ça va bien,” I answered, blinking a few times as I wracked my brain to remember the French I had continued studying on the side. I am well. It had definitely taken a backseat these past few weeks, though. Coming to a stop besides Reggie, I gestured out towards the party, fighting to find the right words through the mild haze of alcohol beginning to take a hold on me. “Um, aimez-vous cela?” Are you enjoying this? At least, that was what I hoped I had asked her.
Reggie opened her mouth, and I braced myself to receive corrections on my grammar or pronunciation. I deserved it, honestly, for not giving the language the attention it deserved, but Reggie stopped herself, smiling and shaking her head before taking another sip of champagne. “I’m enjoying myself, thank you. So are you, it seems,” she finished, raising an eyebrow at me.
“A bit,” I laughed, still a little breathless and flushed from dancing. “You look amazing, by the way! I love your dress!”
“Can’t take the credit for it.” She looked down at her dress briefly before meeting my gaze again, offering me a close lipped smile. Her face lit up every time she smiled, though I wasn’t sure she realized it. It was a good look on her.
She frowned as she took in my own ensemble, though. “There’s a cape.”
“I know!” I giggled a bit, grinning from ear to ear. “I thought the cape would be a recipe for disaster at first, but it’s been fine so far.” I hadn’t tripped over it yet, and nobody had stepped on it while we were dancing, either. It was nothing short of a miracle, though in this room, right now, it truly felt like anything could happen. I’d never felt such a sense of magic in the air, even in those happy moments with Arin on the floor of the theater. That had been magical, but in a different sense of the word.
I hoped we’d be able to recreate some of that magic again tonight. It had been so long since I’d last seen him, since he’d complimented me, and shown me that he did care about me, even if it wasn’t love yet. It was something, as he would say, and I was willing to take it from there.
I took another sip of champagne. “So, have you left the side of the room at all yet?”
“I have,” she answered with a solemn nod. “I went to the bathroom.”
I was really glad I had swallowed my champagne before she had answered. The laughter now emitting from my body had already nearly caused me to double over, and might have caused the champagne to come out of my nose. I couldn’t decide whether or not that’d be worse than getting another nosebleed.
When I straightened back up, Reggie was looking at me, her eyes almost imperceptibly wider than usual. “Oh, I haven’t danced yet, if that’s what you meant.”
I turned my head towards her, offering her a smile. “Why not?” She was an absolutely gorgeous girl, and there were plenty of eligible men here looking for a dance partner. She’d have no trouble getting someone to dance with her, if she tried.
“I don’t think I’d make a good impression if I’d attempt it,” she admitted, taking another sip of champagne as she inclined her head towards some officials, and the visiting royalty from Germany and Italy.
“You can’t be as bad as me.” I’d always had two left feet. I still sort of did, though the lessons here had definitely helped a bit, as I’d noticed earlier. I shook my head a little, still smiling as I continued, “Besides, I think everyone is too caught up in their own dancing and chatting to notice one or two uncoordinated people.” At least, I sure hoped so. That was one of the mantras I kept repeating in my head as I danced. That, and that the earlier dances were a warmup, so I wouldn’t step on the feet of the people who mattered later. I wasn’t entirely sure that the theory behind the latter statement would hold up, but it was a nice thought, at least.
Reggie bit her lip. “I’ll take it into consideration.” Then, pursing her lips, she glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes. “Any hopes for a dance partner for the evening?”
I felt my face grow ever redder, and averted my gaze to the floor, hoping Reggie wouldn’t notice. “I was planning on asking Arin, later, maybe, but I’m not sure. I might make too much of a fool of myself, in that scenario.” The last part was more or less a mumble let out under my breath. Arin was one of the only people here I actually wanted to dance with, if I was being completely honest. I had missed talking to him these past few weeks - even bickering with him. I might be eternally confused by the way he made me feel, but there was no denying that it was nice to have his attention every once and awhile, and it had definitely been a while.
I looked up at Reggie again, realizing that her name hadn’t come up often in Christina’s gossip. That was odd, considering that if any of the girls here were ready to run a country, and do it well, it would be Reggie. There was no question in my mind. So, why was Arin avoiding her, then? Or, was she avoiding him?
“What about you?” I asked, hoping her answer might reveal something.
I could’ve sworn I saw her cheeks turn pink as the question left my mouth, but I supposed I must’ve been mistaken, because she simply inclined her head towards me and asked, “You’re not sure?”
My blush deepened, if that was even possible at this point. I was likely redder than a tomato. “I would probably accidentally step on his feet,” I mumbled.
“Yes,” she replied, an amused smile flickering across her face. “that would be quite unfortunate.”
Indeed. Thanks for the reassurance, Reggie!
When I looked over at her again, she was frowning. “Are you alright?”
I furrowed my brows. “Yeah, why?” Had I voiced my thoughts aloud? I hoped not. They hadn’t exactly been the nicest words to ever have crossed through my mind. It wasn’t Reggie’s fault that I couldn’t dance, though, and I shouldn’t take my own frustrations out on her. She had done nothing to deserve that.
“Never mind.” She shook her head, turning her attention back to the people dancing in the center of the room. They spun around each other, a mass of couples smiling and laughing, just enjoying the night. That could be you and Arin, if you just sucked up your pride and asked him. I wasn’t nervous that he’d say no, but rather that he’d say yes, and then be miserable the entire time. Neither the guests, nor the cameras lining the wall, needed to bear witness to that.
“With formal dancing, you can follow Arin’s lead, I’m sure,” Reggie instructed, glancing over at me briefly with a smile on her face. “It’s usually best not to look at your feet, however, even if it’s tempting.”
“Right.” Maybe that was what I had been doing wrong. Looking at my feet had seemed like the easiest way to prevent myself from stepping on my partners feet. I flashed Reggie a small, close lipped smile, before turning back to the crowd before us. “I’ve truly never seen anything like this. It’s incredible.”
“Very,” she replied, nodding and smiling as she continued to watch the sea of people in the center of the room. The crowd seemed to be growing larger with each passing second, more couples leaving their tables and refreshments to join the fray. “I admit I haven't celebrated Illéan Independence Day in any way close to this either.”
I laughed, shaking my head. That was quite the understatement. “Me neither. We’d normally just have a barbecue, and maybe invite the neighbors and some friends over.” I turned my head to the side, looking at Reggie again. For someone who didn’t want to dance, she was utterly entranced by the people who were dancing. “Other than this -” I gestured towards the mob of people on the floor “- how have things been? I really haven’t had the chance to talk to you since we met in the library!”
“We haven't.” It seemed like she had just come to the realization herself, judging by her frown, and the shake of her head. “I suppose things have been -” she smiled again, gesturing towards me “- busy, for both of us then. I'm sorry I still haven't returned your book. I almost finished it though.”
“Oh, no worries! I’m in no rush to get it back!” I assured her, smiling as I turned back to the crowd. The idea of a book club that had first popped into my head when I had met her came back again, except this time it included not only me and Reggie, but also Arin. Maybe Jen, too, since it would make sense that she liked to read, given the amount of reading she’d have to do for law school. I liked the image of the four of us, cozied up around a table, books in hand, just reading, completely at peace.
If only we had the time.
“There’s been so much going on recently, I’d honestly forgotten about it,” I mused.
She dragged her attention away from the dancers, raising an eyebrow at me. “I presume it wasn't just the French keeping you busy?”
I had to laugh. “Clearly not, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Then, with a shake of my head, I continued, “No, I’ve been doing other work in preparation for online classes, and then we had the proposal, and of course meeting and talking to people.” It had been a crazy couple of months, a whirlwind of activity sprinkled with flakes of fun.
With a nod, Reggie replied, “Online classes are definitely time consuming. Were you happy with how your project worked out?”
“For the most part, yes. What about you?” The truth of the matter was that I was pleased with my proposal, but I wished I had had more information for the logistics of how it might be implemented. I hoped that even if I didn’t end up being involved in politics when this was all said and done, somebody would still at least consider putting my proposal to use. There were so many brilliant people in lower castes, that deserved a shot at a career they’d excel in.
“I am, actually,” Reggie answered with an absent minded smile. “Hopefully they'll assign us another one -” she paused to take another sip of champagne, raising her shoulder slightly “-while I'm still here, of course.”
While she was still here? It almost sounded like she expected to be sent home soon. I couldn’t imagine being in the palace without Reggie. Even though we didn’t talk frequently, it was always nice to see her around, and she was such a constant presence at meals, and in lessons. Who else was going to ridicule me for missing breakfast to run, or using too many exclamation points while texting? There’d be a hole if she was gone, that I was sure I wouldn’t be the only one to feel.
We’d all grown kind of close lately. There were very few girls left that I hadn’t spoken with privately - just Nemesis, Brooke, and Tavi. I felt rather attached to all of them. If only there was some way that we could all stay here, even though only one of us could win Arin’s heart.
I hoped with every fiber of my being that I’d be the one to do just that. I got happy just thinking about talking to him. It was completely irrational and illogical, and went against all reason, but I couldn’t control the way that I felt. Yes, Arin was frustrating, confusing, a tad prickly, and easily upset. He had his flaws - we all did - but he was also caring, willing to listen, and, quite simply, kind. He didn’t push others to do what was too uncomfortable for them to bear, but was willing to help them if they wanted to push themselves out of their usual comfort zones. It was difficult not to want to love a man like that.
I hoped he knew I thought that of him.
I took another sip of champagne at the thought of anybody being sent home soon. “That’d be lovely. There’s so much more I’d like to do, and yet I get the sense that my days here are numbered.” I sighed, looking over the crowd. Much like Reggie, I had considered my own fragile position in this competition. While I felt like there was definitely something between Arin and I, I couldn’t deny that his advisors would probably push some of the other girls over me. What did I really have to bring to the table, after all, besides the ability to speak Swendish, and some killer organizational skills? I may have strong feelings for Arin, but that didn’t necessarily make me worthy of being the queen of a nation. That would take a different kind of person; one with more confidence, poise, and political savvy than I possessed.
So I had begun coming up with background plans. I was a biologist. It was near impossible to imagine my life outside of the Selection without the subject I had been passionate about for nearly all of my almost twenty-one years at this point. If Proctor was going to prevent me from working in labs or research centers in Illéa, then I’d set my sights across the ocean, in the country of my grandparents. Swendway. I’d submitted three transfer applications for the Spring of 2091 - one to the University of Stockholm, one to the University of Oslo, and one final one to the Arctic University of Tromsø. Nothing was set in stone. I likely wouldn’t even hear back from the universities until October or November, but it was still comforting to have a backup plan that wasn’t writing terrible travel brochures, just in case.
I hoped with all my heart that it wouldn’t come to that.
Reggie tilted her head to the side, frowning. “Care to elaborate?”
“It’s just with the recent eliminations, getting so close to the final ten,” I began, turning my head to look at Reggie again, “it’s starting to feel so much more real, you know? We’re not just flying under the radar, sliding through, anymore. We’ve got to be here still for a reason.”
“I'm aware, yes,” she responded, looking as if she was holding in a sigh, “though, I was under the impression you are still here for a reason.”
“Yes,” I began, nodding, “arguably the same reason we’re all here - to win. I just hadn’t expected to get this close. I’ve…” I trailed off, looking at her, trying to determine if she was annoyed by my carrying on. She simply maintained her same curious expression, however. “I’ve definitely learned a lot, just from being here, which I’m beyond grateful to have had the opportunity to do, but I’m not sure I’d be able to apply what I’ve learned to my old life, if I’m to go back to it.”
I wasn’t going back to Knoxville, to Proctor, to Lukas. I refused.
Pressing her lips together, she nodded, looking out over the crowd once more. “I think you will, if that's the case. Perhaps not directly in your lab work, yet these months hold experiences that go even further than work alone.” After a moment’s pause, she furrowed her brows, as if she was confused by her own words. Knowing that Reggie was just as much of a workaholic as I was, I couldn’t blame her. We were both the type to let out work and passions eat away at us until they consumed us whole, controlling out every waking thought and second of time. That wasn’t usually seen as a good thing, but a queen would need a strong work ethic, so I didn’t think it was an entirely terrible trait.
“Indeed. Do you ever think about it - what’s going to happen in the next few months?” I nodded as I took another sip of champagne. This was my third glass, counting the one I had toasted with my parents, and the one I had had at dinner. Maybe I needed to slow my roll. I was beginning to feel more pensive than usual, which was typical of me when I drank wine or champagne.
“I try, since I prefer to plan ahead. However all the things I had planned a couple months ago didn't go as expected either, so perhaps I shouldn't even attempt it.”
I nodded, understanding where she was coming from completely. “I feel the same way. There’s so many different paths this all could take, and there’s only so many occurrences I can plan for,” I finished with a nervous chuckle. Up until a few months ago, I had had my whole life planned out, at least in a vague manner. I was going to graduate college, get a job in a lab, researching potential cures for cancer, buy my own apartment, share said apartment with a dog and some small plants, meet the man of my dreams somewhere along the way, and start a family with him. Our children would watch the two of us grow old, seeing how much we loved each other, and knowing that we loved them just as much.
She raised an eyebrow at me, the corners of her lips twitching upwards ever so slightly. “And if you could plan it?”
That was a good question. There were two main paths my life could take from here. Either, I’d make it all the way, and end up becoming Arin’s wife, or I’d be sent packing at some point. Both paths had their own unique slough of interesting consequences. The former option would mean that I’d likely have to transfer to Angeles University and finish up my education there. I’d have to learn more about what being a princess, and eventually a queen, would entail. In addition, I’d likely also face some pressure to provide Arin with a heir. Hopefully I’d have a few years before people really started pestering me about that. I was just barely an adult myself - I wouldn’t know the first thing about caring for a child.
The latter option would entail first figuring out how to tell my parents that I would not be returning home, since I hadn’t even told them that I’d submitted transfer applications to Swendish universities. The only person I had even sort of confided that to had been Jen. Then, I’d have to get myself to Swendway, and likely find some living arrangements there, make some new friends and professional connections, and figure out how to move on with my life. Ideally, I’d like to still at least be friends with Arin, but I wasn’t entirely sure that’d be possible, at least not immediately. Even just the thought of him choosing someone else over me made my heart ache. I’d better get used to it, though, because statistically speaking, that was the more likely outcome.
Isn’t the prince of Swendway around your age? Maybe you could meet him and fall in love with him instead.
That’d be ironic, and highly unlikely.
I rolled my eyes at Reggie, flashing her a crooked smile. “Do you even have to ask?”
“I was simply not trying to presume anything, Evalin,” she answered, her voice betraying her amusement at the matter.
“Naturally,” I replied with a chuckle. “What if you could plan it - what would that look like?”
“I'd make use of the experience as much as possible, of course. Finish my studies,” she paused, straightening her spine, her voice alight with passion as she spoke, “and hopefully, come back, for a job.”
So her intention in coming here had been to open more doors for her professional life, then. I had to hand it to her, that was an incredibly well thought out plan, that had been an overwhelming success, if you asked me. “Hoping to be an advisor, then?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. Lord only knew that Arin, and likely his future wife, whoever she may be, would need as many of those as they could get.
I’ll give her the job for sure, if I win.
“Possibly.” She kept her tone casual as she looked out over the crowd. “Don't plan to apply for maid, at least.”
Had she just made a joke? I never thought I’d live to see the day! “I’d imagine,” I laughed out, lowering my voice before turning back to the crowd. “You’d be great at it, though. You truly are extremely knowledgeable, and think things over very logically, which is a useful skill.”
She lit up, a wide smile flickering across her face, before it faded back into her more common close-lipped smile. “Thank you.”
Smiling in return, I shook my head. “No need to thank me -” I elbowed her gently in the side “- thank yourself, and the hard work I’m sure you put into it.”
She blinked once as I pulled my elbow back to my side, a small smile playing on her lips as her eyes scanned the room again. They locked in on an important looking man in a suit, standing against the wall by himself. A government official of some sort, then? As I pondered who he might be, Reggie cleared her throat. “Speaking of which -” she pursed her lips “- Good luck tonight, Evalin. Remember to not look down at your feet; it won't help.”
I nodded. It was clear that regardless of who the guy across the room was, she wanted to talk to him. Time for me to return to dancing, then. “Yes, thank you.” With that, I began walking off into the crowd, finishing my glass of champagne and then looking over my shoulder at Reggie. “I’ll see you around, I hope?”
Nodding, she smiled. “Of course.”
I watched as she power walked across the room, impressed that she could do that in heels. My own feet were beginning to hurt, but I knew that I’d be able to ignore that as soon as I started dancing. Surprisingly, I had found that dancing was a lot like running. If I just focused on getting through the first few minutes, my body would go on autopilot, my mind emptying itself of all thoughts as I waltzed and reeled my way through song after song with partner after partner. Some of them were more interesting than others, and I made an effort to keep track of the names of the ones I rather enjoyed chatting and dancing with, but I was beginning to suspect that I wouldn’t remember many of them come morning.
Another song ended, and I curtsied to the man I had just finished up dancing with, laughing as I turned away, my cheeks aching with the size of my unfading smile. This night had truly been exactly the kind of break I had needed.
When I opened my eyes again as I finished laughing, I was greeted with the sight of a hand in front of me. I knew that hand. I had looked upon it often, as I sat on the floor of the Angeles Ballet’s theater, my head resting on his shoulder, and his head on mine. I felt my mouth form an o-shape, and I dragged my gaze upwards, only to be met with Arin’s smiling face.
I couldn’t tell whether my face felt hot from the champagne, or something else entirely.
“May I have this dance?”
Yes, sir. In fact, you can have all of my dances, if you want to.
I placed my hand in his, the same feeling of rightness I had felt that day in the theater washing over me like a wave. “Of course,” I answered with a smile.
He pulled me closer, leading me through the first few steps of the dance. My heart was beating so loudly in my ears that I almost couldn’t hear him as he asked. “How is your night so far?”
I could barely focus, being so close to him. All that champagne had been a bad idea. My walls were lowered, my inhibitions all but gone, and yet, I was kind of okay with it. I was vaguely aware of the fact that I had to be careful, though. I couldn’t kiss him, or anything of the sort, not with all the foreign dignitaries present. It was a damn shame. He looked pretty kissable tonight.
“Pretty good, I’d say,” I answered, already laughing as I planned my next joke. My head lifted upwards, my eyes meeting his as my laughter faded into an amused smile. He had such a nice face - nice to look at, and kind, at its very core. Although, I was pretty sure I only thought that second part because of the kindness he had been showing me, recently.“Warming up, so I don’t accidentally step on the feet of anybody important, you know? What about you?”
He just shrugged. “It hasn't been too bad- just a lot of making the rounds.”
The rounds? Did he mean with the Selected girls? Here I had been, thinking I was special.
Reminder: you really are a goddamned fool.
I didn’t think it was the increased jitteriness and nerves associated with sleep deprivation speaking, this time. Or maybe it was that, just in combination with a good bit of alcohol. Either way, I had questions, and I needed answers if I had any hope of sleeping tonight.
I raised an eyebrow at him, smirking a little. “Is that all this is to you, then?”
He blinked once, as if the question had caught him off guard. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t have expected it. It had been a few weeks since we had talked, and he had just admitted to making rounds at this party. My question was the product of a logical conclusion I had drawn.
“I was actually taking a break from that, which is why I came over.”
“Good answer.” My eyes were completely lost in his face - his eyes, his lips, the way he was looking at me - as I chuckled. I had to keep talking, if only to prevent myself from doing something I’d live to regret later. So, lowering my voice, I added, “I’d hate to be just another box to check off on your to-do list.”
Not a lie. I wanted to mean something to him. I wanted him to love me.
I couldn’t force him to do that, though.
“Do I make you feel that way?” he asked, curiosity glimmering in his eyes before he looked around us, and then spun me.
I waited until after I was back in front of him to answer, too focused on keeping my balance as I spun to trust myself to talk without falling flat on my ass. Sure, he had fallen in front of me, but not surrounded by foreign royalty and the prominent political figures of Illéa. I kept my voice low as I spoke, just loud enough so that he could still hear me over the music. “Generally, you just kind of make me confused,” I answered honestly, shrugging, and still smiling at him.
He took a deep breath, something about it almost shaky to me. That mustn't have been the answer he’d wanted. Oops. “I seem to get that a lot. I'm working on being more clear.”
“Yes, you’ve told me as much before,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a reassuring smile as I recalled the time we had talked over bourbon in the hallway outside of the library. I wanted to let him know that his efforts weren’t going unnoticed. I saw him trying harder. We were kind of similar in that sense - both more willing to listen to other people’s thoughts and feelings, than to share secrets of our own. It was something we’d have to remedy, if we planned on pursuing this relationship. From what I knew, which admittedly, wasn’t much, good communication was the key to a successful, long-lasting relationship, and right now, Arin and I weren’t there. I hoped that we would be one day, though, sooner rather than later.
“I appreciate it. I’m sure I don’t make it easy either, with my constant questions, and my own -” I paused, trying to find the right word, “- omission of details in most of my answers. I guess it’s something we both have to work on, in a way,” I finished with a shrug.
A small frown crept down his face. “Are you okay, Ev? You seem a little bit off tonight.”
“Ev,” I repeated, my smile softening, my eye drifting down towards the floor to my side. A nickname. He had a fricking nickname for me. Nobody outside of my own family had bothered to give me a pet name, ever. The significance of that one syllable wasn’t lost on me.
“Oh!” My eyes snapped up, focusing on Arin again. Right, he had asked a question! “Yes, I’m good! Really enjoying myself, actually!” This is the best I’ve felt in the past few weeks. All my exhaustion, all my worries, all my plans for the potential futures in front of me were gone, tossed out the window as I looked at him. The couples around us faded into nothingness in my mind, the music itself even dimming out in my ears, until it was just me and Arin, dancing, close together.
“Are you sure?” He smiled, the appearance of it somewhere in between reassuring and concerned. “We can talk about it if you like.”
I wasn’t sure, if I was being honest. I was tired, I was stressed, and I was probably a tad overworked, though that wasn’t really an uncommon combination for me. On top of school, I still didn’t know why my father had called me at two in the morning his time all those weeks ago, or what Lukas had meant when he said things were getting bad back home. I had decided to forego the credit for my biochemistry lab, so I’d have to figure out how I would make that up at some point. I wasn’t sure what Proctor was up to, and the fact that she had been so quiet set me on edge. Lastly, I was nervous about where Arin and I stood in terms of our relationship, if we could even call it that. I knew how I felt, but his feelings were still entirely a mystery to me. I was losing sleep over it all. Most nights, I just laid in my bed for five hours, managing to sleep for maybe half of that time, until I just gave up, and went for my morning run. It wasn’t sustainable. It might help to confide in someone, about it all.
Here was my chance.
My smile faltered. Part of me still wanted to just brush off his concern and say that everything was fine, because he was already stressed enough about his own workload and problems regarding the Selection and politics. I absolutely did not want to add to that. At the same time, though, I had told him multiple times that I would appreciate him being more clear and open with me, and I’d be a complete hypocrite if I didn’t do the same thing in return.
“I’ve just been lost in thought a lot, lately. I -” I shook my head, averting my gaze to the ground the moment I heard my voice crack. I wouldn’t break down. Not here, not now, not yet. “I’d like to be more open, I think, but is this really the time and place?” I looked up at him again, trying my best to smile. Please don’t worry about me. I don’t want to put that on you. “Tonight has been a lot of fun, and you should get to enjoy it too, without having to hear about my problems, that probably aren’t even as big as I think they are anyway.” I hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was worth it to assuage even one of my worries, before taking a chance and adding, “Though, if I could ask you one question, maybe?”
He blinked, that same look of surprise flashing across his face yet again. “Yeah, of course.”
He was going to live to regret that answer. He probably wouldn’t even answer my question - or, in classic Arin fashion, he’d give me a non-answer. Still, if it meant I could sleep a little easier tonight, it would be worth it.
Here goes nothing. “Okay, you asked me how you made me feel, and I gave you my honest answer, but -” I took a deep breath, the sound of it shaky, my shoulders trembling slightly as they rose and fell, and looked up again to meet his eyes “- how do you feel about this?”
“I'm still figuring out my feelings.” His voice was quieter now, the deep breath he took a mirror image of my own. It wasn’t exactly a non-answer, but it wasn’t much of an answer, either. It changed nothing. At least he had been honest, though.
“I'm sorry if that's not the answer you wanted.”
I narrowed my eyes, offering him a small smile as I shook my head. “The only answer I wanted was the truth. I’d rather know that, than you lie and tell me what you think I want to hear.”
“Have I ever done that to you - lied, I mean, about my feelings?” His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes darting away for a moment.
This was not the conversation I had intended to have at all. Yet, I was glad we were able to finally be so candid with each other. It was a relief to get his full and real opinion, like the first, frantic breath of air after breaking through the surface of the ocean.
“I don’t think so,” I answered, shaking my head. “I mean, we talked in the hallway, after the roller skating date, and you said you basically wanted to send us all home, and then a few days later, we kissed in the library, which kind of sent out mixed signals, but -” I sighed a little “- I think that’s more on me overthinking than it is on you.” Sorry, for doing that with every interaction we have. I would’ve voiced my thoughts allowed as I looked up at him again, my smile soft, had I not remembered how often he asked me not to apologize. Hadn’t I told him I was working on that? I had to live up to my word, if I expected him to live up to his.
“Well, how do you feel now?” he asked, squeezing my hand gently.
My own gaze drifted down to our hands, clasped together like they were two halves of a whole, like they were meant to hold each other. I needed to stop seeing it like that. He clearly had feelings for other girls. It was best that I brace myself for the worst.
Yet, I couldn’t give up the hope that we might be meant to be.
“A bit better than before, now that we both know where we stand.”
He took a deep breath, holding it for a few moment, before releasing it and asking, “Tell me what you want?”
I narrowed my eyes. What did he mean by that? What did I want right then and there? To dance the night away with him, to laugh, to sneak out with him into someplace secluded, and maybe confuse his feelings a little more by stealing some kisses. Or did he mean the question more generally?
I decided the latter was more likely. “Just to get to know you - even as simply a friend! I -” I swallowed, trying to figure out what direction I should take this sentence in “- I’ve never had many, and I’d like that very much.”
I had more friends now than I had ever had before, and I was afraid I hadn’t been a very good friend to them in return. I’d been stubborn, quick to criticize, aloof, judgemental - everything a friend wasn’t supposed to be.
“Evalin, haven't we been friends?” His voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “I don't take people I don't like to the ballet or give them book recommendations, and I certainly wouldn't ask them to dance with me - unless they're so foreign head of state and I have to.”
Good to know I get the same treatment as a foreign head of state. How romantic.
How to explain myself? “No - I mean, yes, those are things friends would do - but -” my shoulders sagged, and I was unable to quite meet his eye “- I just feel like I don’t know anything about you, is all.”
Why had I said that? Fuck, I was really making a mess of what had been a nice night.
“And I know you’re working on it, and I get that, I just…” I shook my head, my eyes wide as I forced myself to offer him a smile. “Sorry, this isn’t coming out right, at all.”
“Well, what do you want to know?” He tilted his head to the side, his eyes on me, boring into me, like he was trying to read me like a book.
I mimicked his head movement as I considered his question. “Anything, I suppose. Details - I like little details. I’ll even make a trade - a detail for a detail.” Righting my head once again, I gave him a sheepish grin, though it was more genuine than my smile had been moments ago.
“Okay.” He nodded. “Then, ask.”
“Okay.” The question was, what to ask him? I stared at the wall over his shoulder, biting my lip a little as I did. The details I wanted were more personal, and not at all befitting of the time and place. Most embarrassing childhood memory? What would your ideal life look like? Tell me a story that shaped who you are today. “How do you take your coffee?”
I made a mental note to ask him to talk at some point in the upcoming weeks. We could be more open then, and ask less superficial questions, hopefully.
He paused. Then, “Usually I prefer tea, but if I have coffee I like it with a bit of milk.”
“Any kind of tea, in particular?”
“Earl Grey,” he answered, raising his eyebrows at me.
I wrinkled my nose, laughing at his answer. At home, we referred to Earl Grey as, “the British dishwater tea.” Somehow, it felt like that fit with who he was, as a person.
“Interesting.” No, this isn’t. “So, um, I guess you get a question now, if you want.”
“What's your favorite ice cream flavor?” he asked with a soft smile.
“Strawberry,” I answered without hesitation. Perhaps I could make my answer a little less superficial by elaborating. That might be a good tactic! “There was this little ice cream shop in my mother’s hometown that we always used to go to when we visited my grandparents, that made the best strawberry ice cream I have ever had.” I shook my head, chuckling as I added, “Nothing quite compares.”
“Strawberry is okay.” He looked lost in thought, as if he was mulling over my choice of ice cream flavor. “I prefer chocolate though. Always chocolate.”
“Chocolate can be good. It’s a classic,” I conceded, nodding once, then laughing a little. “As long as you don’t say vanilla is your favorite flavor, we’re good in my book.”
“What's wrong with vanilla?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, furrowing his brows.
“It doesn’t taste like anything!” I wrinkled my nose at the memory of trying vanilla ice cream as a very young child. “It’s like eating ice!”
“I can't say I agree with you there. Vanilla is a good flavor. Just not the best.”
I hummed thoughtfully, shaking my head. With a grin, I replied, “This might be a dealbreaker.”
He shrugged. “Aren't you supposed to accept all flaws in a relationship?”
“I was taught never to compromise my morals in a relationship.” I shook my head, doing my best to keep my expression serious for the sake of the joke, but I couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds. This conversation was ridiculous. I had to laugh.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “I think it's a mixed bag. Compromises have to be made.”
“Yes, of course,” I agreed, “but not all the time. People can be wrong sometimes.”
“Wrong?” He inclined his head to the side, looking at me with genuine curiosity.
“Yes.” Did he seriously not think that it was possible for some people to be incorrect? The thought was absurd! With a laugh, I continued. “Some things do have a right and a wrong answer, you know?”
“And what about right now? Is one of us right or wrong?”
What did he mean by that? I wasn’t sure if we were talking about ice cream at this point, or something more.Was one of us right or wrong about this relationship? If that was the case, I sure hoped I was right, but did that mean that he didn’t agree that we had something between us, if we disagreed on that?
Ignoring the fact that my head was spinning, I raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think?”
“Honestly? I’m not even sure anymore?”
Oh, good. “I guess we’re confused together, then,” I announced with a laugh.
He wasn’t as amused as I was, apparently. With a frown, he nodded slowly, his eyes distant even as he looked at me. “I guess we are.”
“Is there something wrong with that?” I inclined my head to the side, frowning now as well.
“Indecision isn't exactly a great quality of a future leader.”
He was right.
The song began to wind down at that moment, and I just about thanked my lucky stars. If we kept going like this, I was either going to kiss him to shut him up, and to shut my own thoughts up, or say something that would get me kicked out of the Selection for sure. Or, worse than both of those options, I might cry. Nope. I needed to get out of here. I’d ask Arin if he could talk another time, when I was more sober, and he didn’t have to make rounds, and there were no foreign dignitaries surrounding us.
“Well, just because you don’t know the answer, doesn’t mean nobody does,” I offered, fixing him with one last smile. “You can ask others for help, input, or advice, you know?”
“About us?” He inclined his head for a moment, keeping his eyes on me even as he let go of my hand and took a few steps away. So, he had meant our relationship, then. Oh, God. He didn’t feel the same way about me that I felt about him, and now he was stepping away, because either he was trying to let me down slowly and gently, or because he just didn’t know what to say.
I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of here.
“In general.” I forced a laugh, curtsying before beginning to back away. “Thank you for the dance, Arin.”
He just nodded. “Of course.”
“See you around!” I offered him one last smile and nod before scurrying off. Air. I needed air. When had it gotten so stuffy in here? I beelined for the doors to the garden, which I had heard had been decorated with lights for the guests. The cool night air would do me some good.
I grabbed another flute of champagne on my way out, downing half of it in one go. More mistakes, but if my days here were numbered more than I had thought they were, I was determined to enjoy my time here while it lasted.
I wasn’t sure where I was walking, but I didn’t really care. The cool night air felt good against my skin, and that was all that mattered to me. There weren’t many people out in the garden at the moment, and those that were walking around weren’t familiar to me. So, I took in the lights and decorations instead, just as intricate as their indoor counterparts. To think that this might be one of the last time I walked these paths…
No. I couldn’t let my mind wander down that path. For all I knew, I was just overthinking things again, and in my tipsy stupor, Arin had confused me, and I had confused him in turn. We really needed to work on our communication skills. I’d have to start asking him to clarify what he was trying to say when I couldn’t tell in the future. It didn’t matter if doing so made me sound unintelligent; he already knew that I was smart. He had called me as much before we had kissed in the library. Very smart. Stunning. Adorable. Plus, he had said he liked me.
We were going to be okay. I just had to breathe.
There was a person blocking the path in front of me. I squinted, trying to make out who it was in the dim lighting, based off of their silhouette alone.
Hugo.
It was nice to see a friendly face. Or, rather, to kind of see a friendly face, given the lighting.
I walked up to him, watching the way he just seemed to stare into the distance, looking at everything and nothing in particular, his hands in his pockets. “Stopping to smell the roses?” I asked, chuckling a little at my own joke.
He turned around, smiling softly as I came to a stop a few feet from him. “Oh, hi, Evalin. How are you tonight?”
“I’m really good, actually,” I lied, smiling as I attempted to keep the good spirits I had been in at the start of the ball alive. “How are you?”
He looked at the ground for a moment, his smile growing as he did. Someone must have made him very happy tonight, then. At least somebody here knew where they stood in a relationship.
“I'm doing really well, thanks,” he answered, glancing around. “What brings you out here?”
“The breeze,” I answered, moving to stand beside him, my attention caught by the yellow flowers that dotted the bush in front of us, “and the fresh air. I never thought a room here could feel so stuffy.” Wrinkling my nose, I looked up at him, a small smile playing at my lips.
“And this wasn't that stuffy at all,” he replied with a laugh, taking a deep breath.
I felt my eyes go wide as I considered his words. The crowds could get bigger than this? From the sounds of it, they very likely could, and often did. That didn’t necessarily seem like a bad thing to me, though. The only reason I had felt like I had needed the fresh air to begin with was because of my own thoughts, and Arin, muddling them up even further.
So I shook off my concern, taking a sip of champagne before turning to look at Hugo again. Speaking of Arin…
“Oh, while I have you here - I wanted to thank you, for, uh, encouraging -” there was a certain uptilt to my voice, like the verb I had used was the only thing I was questioning within the sentence “- me to ask Arin to take me to the ballet. We went, and it was amazing.” It really had been. I couldn’t figure out why I had even freaked out about the possibility of Arin not liking me, I realized, a smile creeping back onto my face. That entire night had been so lovely. There was no way something that wasn’t real could feel so right.
He tossed a smile in my direction, turning his head to look at me. “Did it? I'm really glad. I know he can be difficult sometimes, so I'm really glad he took you.”
Yeah, “difficult,” is one way to put it.
“You know, when you first suggested it, I thought it was crazy. I had to wonder if we were even talking about the same Arin, you know?” I snorted, shaking my head. “He’s complex.”
He raised his eyebrows at me, the movement so similar to what I had seen Arin do many times before, that it was hard for me to comprehend how I hadn’t realized they were related earlier on during my first meeting with Hugo. “Aren't we all?”
He was right. Even I had noticed how some of the traits that frustrated me the most about Arin were traits that I exhibited myself. I had likely been too quick to judge Arin, after our first few interactions.
“Arin's always been a bit -” Hugo paused, glancing off into the distance “- different, but there's some good there even if it's hard to see sometimes.”
Once again, Hugo was right, I realized, feeling my smile soften.“I think I see it, sometimes.” My voice was distant, even to my own ears, as I thought about the moments of kindness that still shone through to me - the way Arin always offered to listen, the way he never pushed me for details if I didn’t want to share, even the way he had literally pulled over the car to help me with my nosebleed. Had I offered him the same compassion in return? I wasn’t sure I had.
Turning back to Hugo, I concluded, “But you’re absolutely right. Complexity is what makes humans so human, for lack of a better word.”
He nodded in agreement, but his words contradicted the motion. “But sometimes simplicity is best - like the way those lights in the garden look, or how there's something so calming about night air.”
“That’s why science was always so appealing to me,” I admitted, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “There’s a right answer, and a wrong answer, with little room for interpretation, most of the time.”
“I like the in between - where there's no right or wrong. Where everything is open for interpretation.”
“Is that not more complex?” I furrowed my brows, turning my head to look at him once again. Did such a thing even exist? Sure, there were shades of grey in many conceptual arguments, but there was still a spectrum of right and wrong. It was what governed human morality, and the majority of our actions.
Hugo simply shrugged in response. “Not to me. It just feels right. Like that tree over there -” he pointed “- I don't need to know all the tiny details about how it works to see that it's beautiful.”
I tilted my head a bit, biting the inside of my cheek as I followed his finger to the tree he had mentioned, all the while considering his words. Had it not been for the one brain cell in my head still functioning properly, I might have started to explain xylem and phloem to him, and why they were important to the survival of the tree. That made more sense to me than the argument that the existence of the tree itself was just beautiful. Beauty was such a subjective thing. The tree wasn’t ugly, sure, but I wouldn’t have described it as beautiful, either. It was just a tree, plain and simple. Why complicate it, and assign it more adjectives?
“That makes sense,” I relented, though I still wasn’t entirely sure I agreed. “I guess just knowing the tiny details makes the big picture more interesting, to me.”
He looked down at me once more, offering me a small smile. “And that's fine. That's what makes you who you are.”
I blinked a couple of times, not prepared to handle talking with a Stanton or Schreave and being introspective at the same time. One often baffled me, and the other was something I actively tried to avoid. I was tipsy, sure, but not nearly enough to be having this conversation. Taking another sip of champagne, I nodded slowly, mustering up the courage to ask the only question on my mind at the moment. “Is my need to know everything really that obvious?” And is it as annoying as I imagine it to be?
His affirming nod made my stomach roll. “Yeah, but it isn't bad. It's just part of who you are.”
“Duly noted,” I replied, nodding and letting out a wry laugh before averting my gaze to the lights again. At least he was trying to make it seem like I was less nosy than I must seem. With a half smile, I went to ask my next question, the irony of me doing so not lost on me. “Any other facets of my personality I need to be made aware of?”
“Sweet, funny, has a nice laugh,” he answered, turning his head upwards, his eyes locking in on the stars.
“Oh.” I blushed at the compliment, finishing off the little bit of champagne I had left. I’d been expecting him to point out more areas of myself that I might improve upon, but I supposed what he had said was welcome as well. Maybe it was just the alcohol, but his voice began to mingle with Arin’s in my mind. Very smart. Sweet. Stunning. Funny. Adorable. Has a nice laugh.
I needed to focus on something else. I had come out here to get out of my head, not further into it.
I followed his gaze upwards, taking in the stars, which were surprisingly easy to see, despite the fact that we were fairly close to a large metropolitan area. I had expected the light pollution levels to be higher. Nonetheless, I squinted at the stars, attempting to see if I could make out anything familiar. My grandfather had tried to teach my siblings and I how to use the stars as a method of navigation when we were younger, but it had never really stuck with me. I did, however, recognize one constellation, shaped like a lopsided box. “You can see Lyra really well tonight,” I observed, pointing it out.
“Which one is it?” he asked, squinting in the direction I was pointing. With a little laugh, he added, “Sorry, I haven't picked out constellations since I was a kid.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassured him with a laugh, “Lyra is the only one I really know, because it made me so angry as a kid.”
“It’s so stupid,” I complained to my father. “It’s a diagonal square. How is that a constellation?”
I pointed upwards towards the brightest star in the constellation, a ball of gas three times the size of our own sun. “That bright star is Vega, which is the bottom right corner. Then, connect the dots into a lopsided parallelogram -” I traced the shape in the sky with my index finger “- and voilà - Lyra.”
I felt his eyes on me as I drew the constellation in the air, watching him nod out of the corner of my eyes when he finally saw what I was pointing out. “Aha! There it is!”
“Yep!” I offered him another smile before looking back up at the lopsided parallelogram that had the audacity to call itself a constellation - and a lyre, at that! The homonym “liar,” was more fitting, in my opinion. “It’s a funny little thing.”
He glanced over at me again. “I'm impressed. Thanks for pointing it out to me.”
“No problem,” I replied, shaking my head. “As I said, though, my knowledge of constellations starts and ends there, so I can help you no further, I am afraid.”
At that, he laughed, the sound mingling with the crickets and the low voices of the other people in the gardens. “Well, that's better than my absolute lack of knowledge.”
“Is it, though?” I angled my head towards him a bit, a small smile playing at my lips. “Hear me out - if you know nothing, nobody questions you on it, because nobody expects you to have the answers, but if you know the bare minimum about a subject, people ask you questions as if you’re an expert, because they expect you to know all the answers, even if you don’t.”
Once again, he laughed, though I couldn’t quite figure out what about what I had just said warranted such a reaction. “Well, then it looks like I need to brush up on trivial facts so I can become an expert on everything.”
If only. I laughed. “It works until someone asks you an easy question that you would know, and you answer it incorrectly.”
“Didn't you say the bare minimum is enough to make you an expert?”
No, I hadn’t. At least, I didn’t think that I had. That hadn’t been what I was trying to say.
“It’s enough to make some people expect you to be an expert,” I explained again, frowning. “Sorry, I must’ve jumbled up my words when I spoke earlier.”
“Perhaps it's the champagne?” He laughed again. Maybe that was all he knew how to do, in these types of situations.
I laughed lightly, feeling some of the heat that had left my face return. “I’d like to think I’m not that much of a lightweight.”
“The bubbles can catch you off guard,” he offered by way of explanation.
I shot him a look out of the corner of my eyes, a joking smile on my face. “Speaking from experience?”
“This isn't my first ball,” he answered, chuckling. The thought of Hugo drunk, or even tipsy, was rather entertaining to me. It seemed like something most of the members of the royal family were somehow above, though I supposed it was impossible for someone to be completely immune to the effects of alcohol. They’d probably all been drunk or tipsy at some point. They were human, after all. Why did I have to keep reminding myself of that?
I nodded. “Of course. Fond memories?”
The smile that lit up his face was answer enough. “I always take away at least one good memory from a ball.”
“Any notable ones from tonight yet?” I asked, nodding once as I looked back up from the sky. It was a good philosophy, to always look for the silver lining. It was something I should try and do more often, if I was being honest with myself. It might spare me from some of the negativity I had been feeling as of late.
Hugo averted his gaze to the ground. “One or two.”
I smiled at him, genuinely happy, for his sake. He was a nice guy, and, much like everyone else present tonight, deserved to enjoy himself. “Good. I’m glad to hear you’re having a good time!”
“Are you having a good time?” he asked, looking back up at me.
Hadn’t I already answered this question at the beginning of our conversation?
“Yes,” I answered firmly. “This is the most I’ve danced, ever, I think, and I’ve only stepped on three peoples feet, which is a personal best, for me.”
“I'm glad to hear you're having fun,” he replied with a laugh. “I know these sorts of events can be a bit tricky sometimes.”
“Thank you. It’s -” my smile softened a bit, as I considered the manner in which I’d have spent this evening if I was back in Carolina, surrounded by my family, “- different, but not necessarily in a bad way.”
“It's all about who you dance with,” he stated, smiling. “According to my sister you should avoid Clarke Monroe at all costs, ‘no matter how cute he is’.” With a laugh, he answered my question before I could even ask it. “That's a direct quote.”
I chuckled. I hadn’t met his sister yet, but she sounded like a fun girl to be around, if that sort of statement was typical of her. “I haven’t bumped into Mr. Monroe yet, but I’ll keep an eye out,” I said, nodding once. Then, sighing, I looked around us one last time, my gaze lingering on the palace doors in the distance. I couldn’t spend the entire night out here, as nice as it might be.
Turning to Hugo, I decided, “Speaking of which, I think I’m going to head back in.”
“I think I'll stay out here a little longer,” he replied, inclining his head a bit. Then, with a glance towards the palace and a smile, he amended, “Not too long, though.”
I couldn’t help but wonder who that smile might be for as I began to back away, meeting his smile with one of my own. “Well, if you find yourself in need of a dance partner, I promise to try my best not to step on your toes.”
He just laughed. “I just might take you up on that offer.”
“Well, you know where to find me if you do, but if you don’t, then enjoy the rest of the dance.” I waved one last time, before turning around and heading back inside.
True to my word, once I returned back inside, I danced until I couldn’t feel my feet at all anymore. Somewhere along the way, I had consumed another glass of champagne, though I swore up and down to myself that that would be my last one of the night. I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep before midnight, when we’d throw the powder in the air. That was the part I had been looking forward to the most.
As another song ended, I made the decision to take a break and leave the dance floor. I was breathless, and knew I was red in the face as I chuckled to myself, drunk on happiness and joy, more so than just champagne. It was time for some water, and maybe some conversation. I scanned the room as I picked up the tiny plastic cup of water from the refreshment table, my eyes stopping when I spotted Clemence sitting by herself off to the side of the room, a plate of what looked like cake on the table in front of her. That seemed odd, for her, but I shook my concern off for the moment, deciding to approach her and at the very least say hello. I hadn’t seen her in ages.
“Hello!” I called as I got closer to where she was sitting, waving to her with the hand that was not holding my cup of water.
Clemence was using a fork to cut another bite of cake as I approached. Hearing my voice, she looked up, blinking once, as if she was seeing the ball, and the people dancing around her for the first time. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, hey, Evalin.”
Something was wrong.
I frowned, pulling out one of the chairs next to her, and taking a seat. Clemence had been there for me whenever I had needed her to be. She had been the definition of a good friend, and what had I been, besides an additional source of stress in her life?
It was time to repay the favor. “Is everything alright?”
“Fine enough,” she answered with a distracted bod, taking another bite and looking around as she chewed. She didn’t sound or look fine at all. Remembering what she had shared with me the first time we had spoken, I frowned, ready to sit with her the entire night, if that was what she needed.
Before I could say anything else, she asked, “Enjoying the ball?”
“Very much,” I answered, my frown deepening despite my positive feelings towards the majority of the night’s activities. “You?”
Clemence shrugged, the smile on her face clearly forced. “I’ve had better balls, to be honest.”
Yeah, okay, Clemence. Between her faked contentment with her current situation, whatever it was, and her uppity joke, it was impossible for me to not roll my eyes. I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her, though. Hadn’t I been trying to cover up my own problems in front of everyone else I had talked tonight? We were all going through the wringer right now, it seemed.
So I offered her a small smile. “The closest I’ve ever come to a ball was high school prom,” I joked, shaking my head at the memory. At the time, it had seemed like the worst night of my life. I had begrudgingly agreed to go with a boy from my calculus class, despite the fact that I loathed his personality and sense of humor, just for the sake of having a date to take pictures with. He had insisted on my sitting with him and his friends instead of letting me sit with June, and had stepped on the hem of my dress multiple times when we had danced, staining the light green fabric brown by the end of the night. To top it all off, during dessert, he had spilled his coffee in my lap. Not exactly a night to be remembered fondly. Still, it was humorous in retrospect.
Clemence’s smile was more genuine now, as she tilted her head, a hint of curiosity glimmering in her eyes. “This must be quite the change.”
“It is.” I nodded, smiling as I looked over the crowd. I had never been in a situation like this, though as I had said earlier, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Yet, I couldn’t help but wish things were as simple as they had been before this, before the Selection. “I toasted a glass of champagne with my parents’ beers over FaceTime while I was getting ready today. They’re barbecuing.”
Her answering laugh was choked, as if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t really bring herself to. It was sad, to see her so upset. Clemence was always so warm, welcoming; she always had some happiness to bring to others. What could have upset her like this? More importantly, what could I do to help?
“I almost forgot people out of here celebrated too,” she admitted.
I shook my head. “I think they’re celebrating having off from work more than anything else,” I admitted, but that was besides the point. I turned my head to look at Clemence again, half tempted to just reach over and grab her hand, and give it a reassuring squeeze, but I hesitated. I wasn’t sure she was the kind of person that liked the sense of touch when she was upset. What if I made her more uncomfortable?
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I tried again. “You know you can tell me anything, right?” You’ve helped me so much; please let me return the favor.
She only nodded, taking another bite of her cake. “I know, but it’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be better tomorrow.”
I raised an eyebrow at her, rather skeptical of the truth of that statement, but I didn’t press her for details. If she wanted to talk about it, she knew where to find me. Instead, I could try and cheer her up.
With a small smile, I asked, “Besides today, how have things been? It’s been so long since we last talked!”
She raised her eyebrows, her eyes scanning the crowded dance floor until they settled on their target. Arin. Interesting. Her smile softened as she looked at him.
Interesting, indeed.
“Wild,” she answered, “but not unwelcome.” Her eyes were glazed over, her mind clearly not in the room at the moment.
I grinned. It wasn’t easy knowing she, along with other girls, I was sure, was developing feelings for Arin as well, but when she looked at him, she looked more at peace than she had before. She deserved that bit of happiness. I had no control over who he chose in the end, after all. Besides, Clemence would make an amazing queen.
So, why was I so torn up inside about her liking him?
“Now, that’s a change of tune I never thought I’d hear from you,” I teased, nudging her a little with my elbow.
She blinked as she turned back to me, as if she had forgotten that I was sitting there. “He’s still an idiot,” she stated, though her fond smile betrayed how she truly felt about the matter.
My heart might have broken, had I let it. I couldn’t though. Not here, not now.
I nodded in agreement, chuckling. “He has one of the worst short term memory spans I’ve ever encountered.”
“I guess he has,” she agreed, turning away with a pensive look on her face.
“No,” I explained with a laugh, “I mean, he took me to see the Angeles Ballet, and afterwards he asked me what I wanted for dinner, and I said seafood, and he said okay, and then five minutes later when we got in the car, he asked me the same exact questions again.”
She let out a small laugh at the story, seeming genuinely interested in the conversation for the first time since we had started talking. “In his defense, the ballet probably turned his brain all mushy. What did you see?”
I was kind of surprised by her answer, considering her figure skating background, but I let it slide, laughing lightly. The fans of the ballet were few and far between, apparently. “Don Quixote,” I answered. “It was the best case scenario. Had it been anything else, he probably would’ve fallen asleep.”
“I would’ve slept too,” she admitted, smiling as she looked away once again. “I performed to Don Quixote, once.”
“Really?” How had I not know that? “That’s so cool!”
She looked downright melancholic when she responded. She must have really missed her figure skating career - that much was obvious, written all over her face.. Was that why she was so sad? Did being here somehow remind her of that? Did today’s date mean something to her, in terms of her career? It was the summer, though, so that last possibility didn’t make a ton of sense.
“It was at my first Olympics,” she explained. “Seems like a lifetime ago. I was a baby.”
“If you were a baby, then I must have been a fetus,” I joked.
“Thirteen is fetus age indeed,” she teased. “Barely an actual teenager.”
“And sixteen is definitely baby, age,” I agreed, nodding. “My younger brother is sixteen now, and the rest of us definitely have the urge to protect him at all costs.” I wondered what Randall was up to now. Was he looking at universities? Had he decided what he wanted to study yet? It had been so long since we’d talked, which was kind of sad. We’d grown close the past few years, being the last kids left at home.
“I was fifteen, actually.” She inclines her head towards the size, her eyes darker as she continued to think. “So I guess it’s newborn age?”
“Wait, when’s your birthday?” I could’ve sworn she was three years older than me. Maybe I was mistaken, though. I should definitely not have any more champagne. “I’m going to be twenty-one in almost exactly a month.”
“I’ll be twenty-three in November,” she answered, raising an eyebrow at me. “Arin isn’t the only one with memory issues, it seems.”
“Right,” I said, doing my best to ignore her jab at my memorization skills. Memorization was one of my strongest assets; I was just very much drunk right now. “Okay, you mentioned you were a sixty-seven baby, but not when in sixty-seven -“ I nodded “- but I’m going to place the blame on the champagne, just this once.” I tried to laugh off her earlier insult, which she had probably only meant as a joke, but I couldn’t shake it, especially now, knowing that she actually liked Arin.
“I also said I was still twenty-two,” she replied with a wink, “but, yeah, we’ll say it’s the champagne.”
I smiled a bit, shaking my head. I remembered her calling me a baby, and saying she had been born in sixty-seven, but not when her birthday was, or her age. Oh, well. “Sorry, I must have missed that.”
“Sure,” she responded, rolling her eyes. “Not memory loss at all.”
I grimaced, inhaling sharply. If she insulted my memory one more time, I was going to lose it, which was counterintuitive to the purpose I had come over here with. “If I have early onset memory loss, that’s going to be a big problem, because online classes just started recently.” A slight change in subject, but nothing so drastic that she’d think she’d bothered me. An ideal solution.
“Oh, already? Sorry, I’m more used to the German calendar.” She patted my hand. “But I’m sure you’ll do great. You were doing fine before summer break, right?”
I had been doing much better than “fine,” actually. I had made the dean's list every semester, had made close connections with most of my professors, had secured my internship, which was coveted amongst biology majors. I was on top of my game.
Humility is a virtue, Evalin.
“Yeah, but being online is kind of weird,” was the response I settled on as I wrinkled my nose. It was odd only having power points, with limited audio lectures, and only being able to ask questions via email. “I suppose it’s only temporary, though, because eventually I’ll either have to transfer, or go home.” And by that, I mean I’ll go and make a new home for myself somewhere else.
“This Selection starts being a long pause in our lives, doesn’t it?”
I bit my lip, shaking my head before turning to look at Clemence again. “I feel like it was more of a jump start, for me, at least. It was the kick out the door that I needed.”
That much was true. If I hadn’t been Selected, I likely never would have left Carolina. I wouldn’t know nearly as much about the world, or even just this country, as I did now, and I wouldn’t have made any of the connections that had forced me to open my eyes to the problems that existed in the current day.
I probably would’ve ended up with Lukas, out of convenience. I didn’t know where that realization had come from, but it didn’t sit well with me. Had I really been that ready to settle? Thank God I had been Selected.
Clemence only nodded.
My presence here was clearly doing nothing, except for putting me in a worse mood. With a sigh, I finished the last of my water, inclining my head slightly as I put the glass down, offering Clemence another smile. “I think I’m going to head back out and dance some more. Do you want to come?”
Her wince as she eyed the dance floor answered the question before she did. “No, I’ll stay here with my cake, but thank you.” She flashed me a right smile, one of her hands clutching her dress.
If she didn’t want to talk, that was fine, I couldn’t force her to, but she clearly wasn’t okay. I just wished there was something I could do, or say, to make her feel better. Maybe I should send Arin her way. She had looked happier when she looked at him. The heartbreak would be worth it, if it meant my friends were happy.
But what if he chooses me over her? Would she be happy for me then?
I was tempted to say yes, but I didn’t know for sure.
I needed to move.
“Alright,” I replied with a soft smile, pushing my chair in and beginning to scan the crowd for my next dance partner. I needed to forget about this conversation. “Well, don’t hesitate to wave me over if you need anything!”
“Thank you, but I have a waiter dedicated to me already,” she stated, pointing towards one of the waiters with a slightly amused smile. The message was clear. I don’t need you.
That was fine. I looked back at her over my shoulder, wiggling my eyebrows with a laugh. “Well, I won’t get in the way of that! I’ll see you around!”
With that, I began to walk away, spotting a man in a suit who appeared to be in need of a dance partner. I didn’t know who he was, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of here.
Clemence waved her hand in response, rolling her eyes with a little smile. “Don’t drink too much champagne! You have no idea how many diplomatic incidents could be avoided without it!”
“Don’t worry, I’m winning all the foreign dignitaries over with my grace, charm, and good looks,” I assured her sarcastically, adding in a wink for good measure.
She laughed. “Keep up with that good work, then.”
“I live to serve,” I joked with a small, mocking curtsy, before taking the opportunity to exit.
Clemence liked Arin. She had a familial background in politics and international relations. She was beloved by any Illéan who watched figure skating, and had a truly kind and compassionate heart.
I was so screwed.
That was a problem for another day.
I lost myself in the music again, paying only the bare minimal attention to my surroundings. I was pretty sure I had seen Arin dancing with Felicity at one point, but I didn’t care to confirm whether or not I had actually witnessed that. He was figuring out his feelings, still, with a lot of people, apparently. Me. Jen. Clemence. Felicity. Probably more, if I was being honest. He was entitled to that. I just needed to stop being a jealous bitch.
By eleven-thirty, I was running out of new people to dance with. I had already had a second dance with some of the guests, though not with Arin. I had lost track of him at some point in the past hour or so, but that might have been for the better. My fatigue was starting to get to me. I just needed to push through until midnight, when we’d get to throw the powder in the air. I wanted to be here for that.
Someone was heading my way. Idalia. It had been ages since I’d seen her - since she’d almost made me cry. I had almost forgotten about that.
She looked radiant tonight as she crossed the floor towards me, smiling widely. I had seen her here and there throughout the night, either talking with the Italians, or dancing with Wylan, but she’d never been alone when I had spotted her, so I’d never had the chance to say hello. Now, though, I waved, making my way to her as fast as I could in this dress and these heels, hugging her as soon as we had made it to each other. The one positive lesson I had learned from our last conversation was that she gave great hugs, and I could have used one right about then.
Pulling away, I smiled, holding her on the shoulders at an arm’s length. “Hello!”
Her eyes were a bit wide as she looked at me, but she smiled nonetheless. “How’s the night going?”
The night had had its ups and downs, especially by this point, but I didn’t miss a beat, giggling a bit for good measure. The champagne helped. “It’s been so much fun! How’s yours been?”
“Lovely,” she answered, raising an eyebrow at me. “How was dancing with Arin?”
Well, in Arin’s own words, it sure was something.
“It was good! It was nice to be able to talk to him, even if it was only for a few minutes.” I smiled, looking for him one last time in the crowd. I wasn’t sure why. Was I hoping he’d come back over to me, and offer me another dance? That was impractical. He was busy making rounds, after all.
I turned back to Idalia. “How was dancing with Wylan?” I asked, being sure to lower my voice as I wiggled my eyebrows at her.
“Why are you saying it like that?” She asked in response, looking around us, like anyone hearing that she danced with Wylan would accuse her of committing a crime. As if other Selected hadn’t been dancing with people other than Arin all night long. “It was just a dance.”
“Okay,” I practically sang, finishing with a laugh. “Whatever you say!”
“Evalin, stop it!” Her words were annoyed, but her tone betrayed her amusement.
“Sorry,” I replied with a laugh, “as your friend, it’s basically my job to tease you.”
Idalia just shook her head. “How much have you been drinking?”
Too much.
“Just enough,” I answered with a smirk.
She narrowed her eyes, like she didn’t quite believe me, and I couldn’t blame her. However, she didn’t push it. “Well, I do have some good news.”
Thank God one of us did.
I raised my eyebrows, my curiosity piqued. “Do tell!”
“Dancing with Arin was not terrible.”
He really is making the rounds.
“No, he was one of my favorite dance partners of the night.” I smiled, scanning the crowd for him once more. He had to be out there, but there was no way he was looking for me. At least, it wasn’t likely.
“Well,” she began, chucking, “I don't know if I would say it was my favorite, but it was good.”
I opened my mouth, about to ask her what she meant by that, but before I could, someone announced that midnight was getting closer. As soon as the announcement ended, Idalia stood up straighter, and turned to face me. “We should go pick a color!”
“Yes!” This was what I had stayed for! I grabbed Idalia’s hand, pulling her behind me as I made a beeline for the bags filled with shimmery powders. “I’ve been so excited for this part!”
“Let me guess, you're doing yellow?”
“Well,” I started, my tone a mix of sarcastic and mock-offended, “now that you said that, I think I’ll have to pick something else!”
She laughed, the sound barely audible over the music. “Hey, you can do whatever you want.”
“No, I know,” I reassured her, shrugging. “I’ll just see what catches my eye.”
“I heard some are shimmery!” She exclaimed excitedly, practically jumping up and down as we made our way closer.
Her enthusiasm was infectious, I had to admit, my own eyes going wide at her description. “That sounds so pretty!” We were like two kids in a candy store, given permission by out parents to buy whatever we wanted.
Her grin only grew as we finally reached the area where the bags were sitting, her eyes drinking in every color option, considering each choice with equal time. Despite my earlier protest, my eyes were immediately drawn to the yellows. They stood out to me, their vibrant hues like little rays of sunlight, brightening my day without any effort whatsoever. I tapped my index finger against my lip, trying to decide just which shade of yellow to grab. Should I go for a darker, richer, gold, as lavish as the decorations around me, or a lighter, pastel yellow, shimmery and bright with hope?
I stopped my debate to look at Idalia, whose eyes were darting between about three different bags. “Do you know why yellow is my favorite color?”
She perked up, dragging her eyes away from the neutral tones she had been considering. “Because it’s happy to look at?”
“Because of what it symbolizes,” I answered, offering Idalia a small smile. “According to color theory, yellow represents optimism, joy, hope, intellect, and loyalty - all things I think we could use a little more of in life.” All things I could use a little more of right now.
It’d be fine, I reassured myself, as soon as I got a restful night of sleep. There would be more of those in the future, now that the craziness surrounding the ball was over. I’d have a bit more time to sleep, to relax, to talk with Arin.
It seemed like no matter what I did tonight, my thoughts went back to him.
Idalia flashed me an amused smile. “Ah, color theory. My dad was always fascinated by color psychology even if it’s a very niche subfield. Talking about it with my mom around was always fun.” That sounded like it was in character for her parents, for what she had told me of them. They sounded like lovely people, who it would be interesting to speak with, should I ever have the opportunity.
“What’s your favorite color?” I smiled, raising an eyebrow at Idalia as I settled on a bag of yellow powder the color of daffodils - my favorite shade of yellow. It wasn’t as dark and powerful as gold, but wasn’t as soft and washed out as paler shades of yellow.
She made her way over to powder bags containing more shimmery tones, smiling as she looked down upon them. “It’s been a while since I’ve been asked that one. What’s your guess?”
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I narrowed my eyes at her, as if I’d be able to see the answer on her face if looked heard enough. She wasn’t a red, or a blue - that much was for sure. Definitely a warmer color, but not yellow. That left one answer. “Based on color theory, I’m going to go with orange, because it represents warmth, fire, energy, and excitement, and you’re exemplary of all of those things.”
“Orange is at the top for sure,” she replied with a grin, picking up a bag of pearl white shimmery powder, flecked with pieces of fuscia and blue, “but if I really had to pick, I would say gold.”
Of course an Olympian athlete would say something along those lines. With a smile, I responded, “I can see that. I suppose your future Olympic gold will fit in well with the rest of your home decor when you have your own place to decorate, then.”
She laughed, dragging me by the wrist, away from the crowd of people trying to get powder for themselves as well. “I don’t know if I would go for gold decor but glad that’s where your mind is going. I’m a women of simple tastes.”
“I can also see that,” I admitted, humming thoughtfully to myself as she pulled me further into the room. “All I wanted in terms of decorations for my dream apartment was plants.”
“I haven’t even thought about moving out of my family’s home yet,” she admitted, her tone more amused than sad. That was good. I didn’t want Idalia to be sad. She was always so cheery and happy. I admired that about her.
“I thought I had a good two years, at least, until I left home,” I stated, absentmindedly smiling. I had imagined taking my college graduation photos on our front porch steps, side by side with June. I’d have been there for Randall’s high school graduation, and all of the events surrounding it. I could’ve even driven him home from his first college party, if he had stayed local as well, which I was pretty confident he would. My entire childhood was tied to that house, from the stairs I had tumbled down as a toddler, to the small bedroom where I had whispered my dreams into the dark, to the attic that contained a mystery that I’d likely never solve, now that I knew I wasn’t going back.
How long had I been zoned out for? I snapped back to the present, smiling wider at Idalia now, repeating what I’d told Clemence earlier tonight. “I’m glad this kicked me out the door a little earlier, though. I think I’ve learned more in these past few months than I ever have before.”
Her smile faltered, and she asked, “Is everything alright back home?”
The question caught me off guard. Without a real answer to give her, I sighed. “I think so? We FaceTimed today, and everyone looks well, but I did have an odd phone call with my father a few weeks ago.” I shook my head, looking down for a moment before meeting Idalia’s gaze again, this time forcing myself to smile. “I’m probably just overthinking it, don’t worry!”
She ignored my request, and frowned, definitely worrying. “Is he concerned for you?”
“He seemed like he was, but I was more concerned as to what he was doing in the lab at two in the morning.” I closed my eyes, shaking my head in a short, rapid motion at the memory of the phone call. When I reopened my eyes, I looked at Idalia, waving my hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. “Seriously, don’t worry about it though! That’s my job,” I finished, nudging her with my shoulder, hoping the playful gesture would ease her worries.
She didn’t seem convinced, but luckily for me, the countdown to midnight started right then. We joined the crowd, practically squealing with excitement as we screamed along with the countdown, out voices lost in the cacophony of shouts around us. As soon as we hit the end of the countdown, I looked over at her, throwing most of my powder into the air, being sure to save a small amount in my bag. I looked up, watching the different colors descend back down upon us all like a tangible rainbow dissolving after. It was magical, in every sense of the word. I was beyond glad that I had stayed for this, instead of calling it a night early.
I turned to Idalia again, a mischevious grin spreading across my face as I reached for the remaining powder in my bad, flicking it towards her. She gasped in response, glaring at me as she flung her own remaining powder at my chest.
I could only laugh as I crumpled my now empty bag in my hands, shaking my head just to watch some of the powder drift down, out of my hair. “Thank you,” I began, turning to Idalia once more, “for keeping me company at this point, when I know there’s other people you probably would have loved to throw powder at.”
“I came to throw the powder with you because I wanted to!” She looked downright offended that I’d suggested otherwise.
“Well, thank you nonetheless.” I offered her the biggest smile I could muster, though it wasn’t much. I hugged her once more, waiting until I had pulled away to add, “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m dead tired.”
“Alright,” she conceded, smiling back at me as she pulled away. “Do you need me to come along? I can come back right after.”
“Only if you want to. You by no means have to,” I answered with a shrug. Idalia was too nice to be true. How had I found such a good friend?
“I don’t know if I trust you to make it back,” she admitted, hooking her arm through mine. “I’ll take you back.”
We were silent the rest of the way back to my room, pausing only long enough for me to hug her goodnight before she turned back the way we had came. As soon as I was inside of my room, Julia, Christina, and Grace were all on their feet, rushing towards me to help me undress, to assist in removing my makeup and contact lenses, and, of course, to ask for more details about my night. I gave them as much as I could bear, watching their face light up when I had mentioned dancing with Arin, in particular. They knew just how hopeless I was, and I think they sort of loved me for it, somehow.
I frowned as I looked in the mirror, noticing just how covered in glitter I was. “Should I shower before getting into bed? I’d hate to make you have to wash glitter out of my sheets tomorrow, but I am exhausted.”
“I’m sure,” Julia said, crossing her arms once she had handed off my dress to Grace. “How much sleep did you get last night?”
I just shook my head, exhaling heavily through my nose. “Not much, but still, I can stay up the extra fifteen minutes it’d take me to shower. I’d hate to create more work for you.”
“Nonsense!” she scolded, ushering me towards my bed, going as far to pull back the sheets to make it easier for me to get in. “If you made any less work for us, we’d all be out of a job!”
“I just have one last thing to do, then,” I decided, sidestepping around her, and then walking towards my desk and pulling out a piece of paper. I had planned earlier on on writing Arin a note, to send tomorrow or later in the week, depending on my own schedule, and I’d be darned if I was going to forget to do it.
The note itself only took me a minute to write, though I didn’t pay close attention to my diction, or the legibility of my handwriting, too eager to get into bed to bother with that.
Arin,
Do you have any spare time to talk, this week, maybe? I’d like to clear the air. I’m genuinely very sorry if anything I said at the ball upset you - not that this is any excuse, but I had five glasses of champagne on maybe two and a half hours of sleep (if that), and didn’t stop to think about how bad of an idea that might be. Though, I think I was only three glasses of champagne in when I danced with you, but my point still stands. I had no intention of worrying you, and again, am truly sorry if I did.
I’d also like more details, if possible. I was a tad too afraid to ask deeper questions at the ball, what with all the people and cameras around. It didn’t feel like the right time or place for it.
Sincerely,
Evalin
P.S. - in case I wasn’t clear, I like your nickname for me.
Julia watched as I wrote, sighing as I stuck the note against the screen of my open laptop, to ensure that I’d see it tomorrow and remember to send it. “Now, bed,” she commanded as soon as I had finished.
Too tired to argue, I just smiled in response, slowly maneuvering myself under the covers as Grace and Christina crossed the bedroom, making their way to the door. As soon as they were out, Julia flicked the light switch, whispering, “Goodnight, Evalin,” before leaving the room herself, and shutting the door behind her.
Sleep took me instantly.
--
It was dark. From where I lay in the backseat of June’s car, the only light I could see came from the taillights of the car in front of us. I remembered seeing stars when we had arrived at the party, but I couldn't now. Her stupid car roof was in the way, too busy shielding us from the rain that wouldn’t stop hitting it to let us see the stars. Logically, I knew we wouldn’t have been able to see a lot of the stars anyway, with the rain clouds blocking them, but I would have liked to see some. I would have liked to see that stupid lopsided parallelogram that my grandfather loved so dearly.
I laughed. Everything was funny to me, especially the way that neither June nor Lukas found anything funny. “We’re going to have to stop for gas,” Lukas said from the passenger seat in the front, which was funny. We hadn’t driven far - only the twenty minutes to campus - and June had had more than enough gas on the way there. Where had her gas gone? Maybe it had grown legs and had walked away, and there was a big gasoline man walking through campus right now. That would be funny.
“Shit, really?” June asked through gritted teeth. I closed my eyes as she changed lanes, likely to pull into a gas station. I didn’t open them again until we had pulled up to a pump, the faded white and green coloring that I could see through the window letting me know that we must be at the twenty-four hour Gasoline Haven about fifteen minutes from my house.
Fuck. My house. My parents. “June, I can’t go home like this,” I groaned. I was so very, stupidly, foolishly drunk. How many shots had I taken? I’d lost count after eight. I doubted I’d remember this tomorrow. That was not funny. Why the fuck had I done this, and how was I still even alive?
“I know,” she reassured me, turning around in the driver's seat to face me as Lukas got out of the car, walking around to the gas pumps. “You can stay with me tonight, like you told your parents you were doing originally.”
I nodded, offering her a toothy grin as I pushed myself into a sitting position. “That’s why I love you.”
She smiled in return, opening her mouth like she was about to respond, only to be cut off my a sharp rap at the driver’s side window. She rolled it down, listening to Lukas as he yelled something, his voice completely drowned out by the rain, for me. “Fuck, okay,” June said, swearing more as she fumbled with her seatbelt, “I’ll go inside and pay.” With that, she exited the car, the annoying beeping noise signalling that she hadn’t closed her door all the way.
The sound of the rain got louder as her footsteps retreated, and the door to my left opened. I laughed as Lukas leaned into the car, bracing his forearms on the seat and smiling at me. I smiled right back, blinking slowly as I said, “Well, hello there.”
He said nothing. While my eyes were closed, he must’ve leaned forward, because the next thing I knew, his lips were on mine, strong and frantic, and all wrong. My eyes flew open, but all I could do was watch, and try to say something, anything, but my words were swallowed by his mouth. I was paralyzed, whether by fear or drunkenness, I didn’t know. I couldn’t lift my arms, to shove him away, and I couldn’t back away myself, not without opening the car door and allowing myself to tumble onto the wet pavement.
I stared at him in shock as he pulled away, instinctively attempting to bring my knees to my chest. I couldn’t unscramble my thoughts quickly enough to form a coherent sentence. Only one word rang through my mind. “Bad.”
“Why won’t you admit that you love me?” he asked, smirking, something sparkling in his eyes as he looked at me. I didn’t like it. I wanted him to go away. This was not funny.
I shook my head, trying my hardest to get the right words out of my mouth. “I don’t love you. I definitely don’t love what you just did.”
He raised his eyebrows, as if I had somehow challenged him, inviting him to rise to the occasion and prove me wrong. Except, I wasn’t wrong. I was never wrong. He was wrong. Something about him had always been wrong.
This was wrong.
“Would you like me to try something different?”
“No.” I shook my head again, but the gesture meant nothing to him, and he came in for another kiss. I tried to kick him away, but the motion seemed to do nothing. He was completely undeterred.
I heard footsteps splashing against the pavement as he pulled away. June’s voice cut through the noise of the rain. “What are you doing back there?” June would help me. June always helped me.
“Making sure she has her seatbelt on, now that she’s sitting up,” Lukas answered, reaching for the seatbelt as he spoke, slowly dragging his fingers diagonally across my chest as he made to fasten the buckle.
This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. Lukas would never.
“She said she wants to stay at my house tonight,” Lukas announced as he got back into the passenger seat of the car. I hadn’t said that. This was not funny in the slightest.
“No,” June told him, but I knew he mustn’t understand that word. Hadn’t I told him no? He had heard me, and had kissed me again anyway. Despite being blackout drunk, I knew with clear certainty that I was lucky it had stopped there, that June had come back just then. “She has to stay at my place, or her parents will worry, and we’ll all be busted. Besides, I’m the nursing major. I’ll handle this.”
All I could feel was the chill of the car window against my forehead. All I wanted to do was forget about this.
Maybe it was a good thing I was blackout drunk.
--
I awoke in a cold sweat, my mouth open as if I was screaming silently, my breathing rapid and shallow. Reaching for my phone, I clicked the power button, the time blinding me as the device flashed to life. Four o’clock. It looked like it would be yet another, almost sleepless night for me, then.
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“I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” with hurloane, perhaps : o?
((Hey what's up I wrote this on a nine-hour flight and it ended up being almost 3k words lmaooooo. Sorry again for the wait!))
Hurley turned the corner into the alley and saw the blood black and bright as motor oil in the nighttime. She had been expecting and dreading it.
"Shit, Sloane." She didn't remember until a moment later about using real names out in public, nor did she particularly care at the moment. She ran forward to where Sloane sat slumped against the wall and slid to a stop on her bare knees.
Underneath the black, beaked helmet, her breathing came out ragged. She brushed away Hurley's hand when she carefully tried to lift the bird mask away. "Alright, Curls, I'd say you're the healer of our team, right?" Her hand rested on her belly, over the spot where the thin wooden shaft stuck out of her. "Do I leave this in me or pull it out now?"
"Sloane, you need a fucking hospital," she hissed. "I'm taking you."
"Oh, and you're going to check me in there, Lieutenant? That'll look good."
"I'll just drop you off and go if that's what you want! I'll be anonymous."
"No. They could still figure out who I am there, even without the mask." She pushed herself up slowly against the brick wall with one hand. "Besides, I'm not even that bad."
"Sloane..."
"I'm not! Just..." Behind the helmet's dark visor, it was difficult to see whether she was making eye contact. But she turned her head fully toward Hurley for the first time all night. "Just help me out a little now, alright? Then I'll take care of myself afterward, I promise."
She tried to give Sloane a glare that she couldn't sustain for long. She wouldn't be able to see her disapproval in the dark anyway. Hurley finally relented and let out her held breath, though it left her feeling no more relieved. Drops still fell from Sloane's stomach now and again. "If you're going to run, you should take the bolt out. You might bleed more, but it's better than risking more internal damage while you're moving around," she murmured. Then she paused and placed a hand over Sloane's, where it rested over her gut. "Would you...would you rather do it yourself or should I..."
"Could you?"
For a long time, Hurley took in the cold air. Still holding her breath, she wrapped her hand firmly around the shaft of the bolt. She kissed the only exposed part of Sloane's skin that she could reach, where her neck met her collarbone, and then pressed her forehead gently against her chest there, mingling their cooled sweat. Then she removed the serrated arrowhead the only way that one could when one was without anesthetic, surgical tools, and time.
The gasp that came out of Sloane would have been a scream if she'd had just slightly less self-control. "Sorry, sorry, shh..." At once, Hurley tore the fabric from the bottom of her gi--first-aid kit wasn't as easy to reach--and started to press it against the wound. She imbued it with what healing magic she could, but a few seconds of contact would never be enough. It took time to restore flesh. Sloane shook against her but still stood. She shouldn't have had to. Absurdly, she wanted Sloane collapsing into her, wanted to take on all her weight, though it would never have been possible now. "I know it hurts. I'm sorry. I'm..." She swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry..."
"No, it's fine," she croaked. "I asked you to do it."
"Well, you didn't ask for this! I'll kick their asses for you, alright? They're not getting away with this."
Sloane simply took the fabric from her hands and pressed it to her own stomach as she began to move away. "We'll talk later, okay? I'll get--shit." Hurley heard it, too, a second later. The click of crossbows being cocked and footsteps rushing down the street. Without another word, she took off running around the bend.
That left Hurley to turn around and face her troop of fellow officers as they rounded the corner--bows drawn, and by the gods, she was going to report every one of them later for aiming a weapon without a target in sight.
"Hold your fire!" she blurted. Only when they all stopped and stared at her blankly did she realize that she ought to justify that. "Ah...these are apartments along this alley. All of them, I think. I'm not going to have stray bolts going into folks' homes while they sleep!"
It wasn't a good lie. She would've known that even if she hadn't seen the confused glances they gave each other. There was a reason she normally left the lying and the acting to Sloane. But anyway, her officers were meant to listen to her whether they believed her or not. "The Raven's still running. Took off down Hoopoe Street in the direction of Town Hall. You both, head west and see if you can cut her off!" And like that, she sent them off in different directions, none of them the way in which Sloane had gone. Later, they'd talk around the water cooler at the office about how the thief had slipped off again, how they'd practically had her in the bag before she'd just vanished like shadow passing into darkness.
Hurley followed them, but before she did, she looked back to where she had last seen Sloane run, really.
It was difficult, when she got back to the office in the wee hours of the morning, to convince her superiors that she was simultaneously too hurt to perform the rest of her shift and not hurt enough to be immediately sent to an ER. The signs of a scuffle with the Raven helped, though--she hadn't even thought to point out her torn clothes until someone mentioned it. In any case, after filing the most perfunctory of reports, she sped on foot through the city to the safehouse that Sloane had set up for herself. It wasn't soon enough that she finally got to the door and rapped out the special, encoded knock signaling that it was her.
There was silence from the other side for so long that she started to wonder whether Sloane had gone elsewhere, or whether she had made it anywhere. Already, Hurley had wasted so much time trying to get the militia off her back without them suspecting how urgent it was. She might not have been quick enough.
She was just preparing to knock again when she heard shuffling from deep inside. It must have gone on for a couple of minutes before the door finally creaked open. Through the crack slipped a hand clutching the shining, gold-painted horn of her familiar ram mask.
She blinked at it. "Why--"
"Just put it on!" Sloane's voice hissed from inside.
Hurley obliged and stepped through to see Sloane still in the helmet that enclosed her whole head. Without a word, and without allowing for a chance to ask how she was feeling, she turned and walked away. Sloane was a good actress, Hurley reminded herself. She was pretending not to care. That didn't mean she might not have also been angry about being shot by people under Hurley's command.
"You know, Raven, I think I recall you being the one who wanted to keep this on the down-low." The call came from the living room of the abandoned apartment, slathered in mock-sympathy. "Just between us and all that. Wouldn't want word getting back to the other racers that you weren't in top shape."
"Yeah, well, you're shit out of luck, because it's no one you can gossip with here. It's just my partner."
That word again. It was the only one she had ever heard Sloane use to refer to her, to what they were to each other. "Racing partner" is what she meant, of course. Hurley wasn't sure if she intended for the plausible deniability about what sort of "partners" they were aside from that. But no other word like "girlfriend" or "lover" had been used by either of them, at least not out loud. The question had been, after maybe the third instance of supposedly "no-strings-attached" sex, Hey, so is this a thing now? and the answer had been, Looks like it. It had seemed simple and natural. They hadn't been anymore specific than calling it a "thing" at the time.
Though it wasn't like they talked about their relationship with anyone but each other regardless.
"Oh, I know who it is." Hurley pushed past the old woven rug that hung in the doorway to come face-to-face with someone who looked as though every part of them had been stretched out. They were human, tall and narrow as the gap between jail bars, with long arms full of measly muscles and straight hair down to their knees. There was smile on their face and a shine in their eye. "Well, hello, Ram! You clean up alright. I'm used to seeing you covered in dirt." They said this as Sloane sat down in front of them and they laid hands back on her belly, where the wound had begun to close up.
Hurley took one look at Crane and then glanced back Sloane's way. "Raven, seriously?"
"What? They know what they're doing!"
"Why, thank you! I absolutely do know what I'm doing," said the person who, despite not having won a race in months, could easily clinch the award for Shadiest Cleric on the Racetrack, and Most Likely All of Goldcliff. (Honestly, maybe they were lying and were actually some bizarre kind of warlock.)
"They're going to bleed you dry at best and might make it even worse if it suits them. You know that, right?"
"On the contrary, I think you'll find that I'm doing a fine job stopping her bleeding, no thanks to you."
"Hey, I didn't ask you to come and watch," Sloane said with a half-shrug, as though entirely unbothered one way or the other.
She was a good actress. But that, quite frankly, was a little much. Hurley chewed on the tip of her tongue until it just barely began to hurt. It was bad enough, she thought, that she wasn't the one doing the healing right now, that someone else was laying their hands on her. She could, just barely, watch strands of this asshole's foreign magic slither like worms into Sloane. But to imply that she'd ever choose not to be by Sloane's side was adding too much insult to injury.
On the other hand, it wasn't like this was anything new. Given how many racers engaged in worse illegal activity on the side, rivals were always loathe to show their faces to one another, let alone share personal details that could be used against them. For her and Sloane, that had always meant keeping their closeness under wraps in front of everybody. In front of criminals and law-abiding citizens alike.
Finally, Crane stepped away and let Sloane run her hand over the spot that had just healed. "See, now, you're good as new! Be back to eating shit on that racetrack in no time. That'll be 700 gold, my dear."
"That's a funny way of saying 300 gold," Sloane quipped back.
Seeing where this was going and not especially keen on a five-minute-minimum bargaining session over how much Sloane's actual life was worth, Hurley stepped forward to drop a sack of coins into Crane's hand. "That's 650, alright? Now please leave."
"Ram, fuck's sake, don't give into them like that!"
"Aw, very sweet of the little sheep."
"Fuck you," Sloane said. A selfish part of Hurley hoped that was for her.
"So it's true, then?" Crane's grin stayed smug, but it was no longer satisfied. There was something new in the way they held themself. The way their head tilted as though trying to see from a different angle, the little bounce in their knee as they stood there. Behind those thin, grinning lips, they salivated for an answer. "What they say about the two of you, I mean."
"They say a lot of things about us. Now kindly fuck off out of my safehouse." Her tone was flippant, but the skin stretched taut over her knuckles as her fist kept tightening at her side. She had one arm outstretched toward the door, and that was held tensely, too.
But she might have just said yes. There weren't many these days in the racing scene who didn't at least suspect, and these were people who would wear their "lucky" boxers for two months straight if they thought it would let them win a race or outrun a cop. If they had a suspicion, any inkling of what might give them even the barest advantage, then they were acting on it already. Sloane lost nothing by confirming what everyone already thought they knew anyway.
As for what the pair of them stood to gain? Admittedly, Hurley wasn't quite sure. Maybe freedom, or maybe just a way of knowing that they'd been free all along. Free to share their victory kiss out in the open, drenched in sweat and the sun and the clamor of the crowd and each other. They didn't always have to crash together rough and quick as they ducked down a shadowed alleyway after a race.
"Sure, sure." They sneered. "I was just wondering if I could tell everyone that I heard wedding bells."
Her fingers uncoiled only to snap to the handle of the dagger at her thigh. Her shoulders were forward, the ruff of feathers around her collar seeming to puff out like the neck of a frilled lizard. She walked at them quick enough to startle them back a step, the black beak of her mask inches from their eye. Hurley had seen her like this before, this posturing. There was a time when she might have fallen for it herself. That was before she knew to look for the quickening of Sloane's breath, the way her whole body stiffened as if bracing for a blow. "Crane, if you fuck me over--"
"Alright, alright!" Their hands were up in front of them. "Fantasy Jesus Christ, you woke up on rather the wrong side of the bed, didn't you?"
"I got shot."
"And you're a very bad sport about it." They spun on their heel and raised their hand without looking back. "Happy trails, you two."
Sloane slumped as soon as their footsteps had faded completely. She was stable now, and the only blood left in the room had long since dried to shit-brown, but exhaustion pressed down on her like a hand on the place where her neck met her spine. Hurley saw it and had the thought, as though it had been whispered to her without warning, One of these days, I'm going to make you honest.
As soon as she sat on the bench, Hurley joined her. "Sloane?"
Sloane turned her way. This time, when she tried to lift the raven mask away, she wasn't prevented. For the first time since yesterday, she saw bright green eyes underlined by dark crescents, looking her softly all over. She brushed aside the strands of hair that had been plastered to the side of her face by sweat since last night, rubbed lightly at the indents in her skin that had been left by the mask. She closed her eyes slowly when Hurley ran a thumb over her cheek, and she turned her head to the side when Hurley tried to get a better look to see if she was okay, and this was how Sloane loved her, by giving way to her like this. And this was why she loved to be loved by Sloane, because she relented for no one else, because she let herself be cared for by no one else. This belonged to Hurley alone.
Though that didn't mean it always had to he behind closed doors.
"What are you lookin' at?" Sloane finally murmured with a small, tired smile. "I know I look like shit."
"I'm sure I do, too. We both haven't slept." In the growing light just before sunrise, she could see what she hadn't before, the smaller cuts across her chest and over her arms. Nothing big, but there, and red. "They missed all of this."
Sloane raised her brows a little. "I didn't ask them to take a look."
"You shouldn't have to ask." Hurley stared her down on purpose as she said it, to make sure the words stuck out to her.
It was unclear whether they did. She glanced away and scratched at her hairline. After seeming to think for a moment, then, she quickly said, "Well, they would've charged me more for that, I bet. Speaking of which, I guess this means I'm paying you back, huh?"
"You're an ass," Hurley said just before kissing her, slowly this time. Sloane placed her hands over Hurley's where they rested against her damaged chest, keeping them pressed there. She had her eyes closed, since she didn't have to look to feel the way the warm healing magic flowed from her fingers and into Sloane's body. She could sense the cuts in her skin closing one by one.
If she could help it, she'd always be the reason Sloane turned honest. She'd be the reason Sloane showed her exhaustion, the reason she felt safe enough to doze at dawn in a run-down old apartment the way she was now. She'd be the excuse for Sloane not to play hard all the time.
And it didn't have to be now, but someday she'd love her so hard that they'd have to be out in the open about it.
#and that's all the fic requests! thanks everyone!#hurloane#hurley#sloane#taz balance#taz fanfic#fan fiction#taz#the adventure zone#the zone cast#taz hurley#taz sloane#ask meme#anonymous#injury cw#blood mention
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Hope is afraid of thunderstorms and Lizzie comforts her?
Read on Ao3 | Send me Legacies Prompts Here
Title: Stormy Weather
Ship: Lizzie Saltzman/ Hope Mikaelson
When Lizzie was little, she was afraid of thunderstorms. They had always seemed so much bigger than her. Each one taut with rolling clouds of purple and slate gray, filling the sky until the air around her felt green and positively charged with electricity. Josie would sit outside with their father, curled in his lap as the two of them watched the water fall in sheets, collecting against the awning of the back porch.
Lizzie would pull the comforter from her bed and hide in the darkest corner of her closet with the blanket pulled over her head. She could hear her heartbeat, but never over the thunder, and smell the sourness of her breath. She pinned her hands over her ears and struggled to count to ward off the demons that growled just past a thin sheet of glass.
One summer, when it would rain every single night, Caroline joined her.
She didn’t say anything at first; instead, she sat cross-legged next to her on the closet floor. It was a ploy, and Lizzie knew that because but still, she lifted the blanket slowly and blinked in the darkness at her mother, who blinked right back.
Then another crack of thunder shook the house and Lizzie squeaked before burying her tear-streaked head into Caroline’s embrace. She thought it would be better to hear someone else’s heartbeat rather than her own damning one.
“Shh, it’s alright,” Caroline said as she smoothed her touch over her daughters back “Did you hear that?"
Lizzie pulled back and blinked at her like she had lost her entire mind. Of course, she had heard it. The entire town had heard it. More than that, she felt it. The ground shook and the light that had just filled the sky quickly followed with an earthshattering tumble.
Caroline chuckled, and the sound was soft, angelic “Okay, point taken… I mean, do you know what that is?”
Lizzie didn’t answer. She knew what the rain felt like, had tasted it and reminisced in the sting that it pressured close to her skin. Her ear was pressed flush against her mother’s chest and her fingers nervously played with the charm at the end of her necklace.
“Up past those big clouds, there’s a bowling alley.”
“A bowling alley?” Lizzie’s voice was that of a mouse, broken and frayed.
“Oh yeah, a really big one too, it has a thousand lanes and every size shoe you can ever imagine. It has the best and greasiest pizza and the fries-“Caroline paused to lament “the fries are the best thing in this entire universe.”
Lizzie pulled away with a puzzled look on her face, fingers still gripping the fabric of her blouse. There was no way she would believe that an entire bowling alley was nestled in the dark and looming clouds. And even if she did (which she didn’t’) how would her mother know so much about it?
“Angels from all over the world go there to bowl.” She continued just as the rain picked up, the wind hissing with the raging storm “That thunder? That’s just the angels getting a perfect score.”
She frowned at her mother and thought about the way that each loud and rumbling burst of sound was the equivalent to ten ivory pins falling to a glossy floor. Everyone would clap and an obnoxious animation would flash across the screen.
Another hiss of thunder rolled through the house then- and Lizzie was so focused on the score of the roll, that it didn’t scare her as much. The wind still whistled and the lights would flicker, but nothing about it was as detrimental as it had been only a few moments ago.
Caroline pulled her close and Lizzie breathed in the even scent of lavender and rainwater, and everything was going to be fine, she decided, even if the world was clouded in gray.
Lizzie didn’t’ hate storms anymore, but she didn’t’ actively go out of her way to get caught in the middle of one. Not until her junior year at the Salvatore school, when a hurricane grew at the edges of the coast and the lights buzzed with the tooling energy in the air.
The wind howled like a rapid animal and the power had flashed away entirely a few minutes ago. She had signed and fished for a candle in the side drawer before lighting it and returning to her book as the large oak trees scraped close to the windows. Entirely too invested in the woven tale of a court case in the Deep South. She didn’t want to admit that she had gone far past the required reading for her English class, but she had.
She had grown used to the creaking of the old Salvatore school, and even more so, it’s sounds during a storm like this. The structure would groan like a chain-ridden spirit searching for its next victim. And even she could admit that it made her hair stand on edge.
Her unripe eyes flicked towards the door to the room. Lizzie hadn’t heard the slight knock over the hissing wind. But she did see it slowly open and reveal a mousy looking Hope, wrapped in one of the throws from the leather sofas in the study. She had her own copy of the book clenched against her chest- and she was oh so drawn into herself.
Lizzie sat forward from her bed frame. Hope Mikaelson coming in here like this was rich. Her father was right down the hall and MG was on the floor below them. She looked none too happy about her choice either but still didn’t move. “Hi,”
“Hi?” Lizzie frowned “What are you doing here?”
But she knew the answer already; because Hope had the same exact expression on her pale features that Lizzie used to get right before she grabbed the closest stuffed animal and did a swan dive into her closet. Hope Mikaelson was afraid of storms.
Lightning illuminated the room, casting a lattice of white against the floor and a nice rug that Lizzie had picked up in Richmond. Hope flinched but schooled her expression once the thunder had passed.
“I thought that we could talk about the book…to get a better understanding of it. But we don’t have to.” She hesitated for a moment and took a step back.
“Wait. Come in and close the door, we can talk about it.”
Hope struggled to hide her relief and gave off a curt nod instead before doing as she was told. She stood at the bottom of Lizzie’s bed for a moment and then sat on the corner with her fingers running over the spine. She had gotten an older copy wrapped in leather from the school's large library.
Her fingers clenched the blanket as another round of thunder shook the ground, a train that had fallen from its tracks. Lizzie could swear that her eyes flashed a deep gold, if only for a moment before she swallowed thickly and opened the book to a random page.
“So, your opinions on Scout?”
Hope’s fingers left little sweat marks against the edges of the paper and Lizzie closed her own book before setting it next to the candle on the nightstand. It had been straining her eyes to keep going- and now she had a necessary distraction on her hands.
“Hope, are you afraid of storms?” She approached the situation with delicacy.
“What? No. God, No. They’re natural things, right?” She scoffed but grimaced shortly after. “It’s kind of loud, is all. And then the power went out.”
Lizzie watched the way that Hope struggled to hide her the way she shook by shoving her fingers under the blanket she had brought in with her, and it tore at Lizzie. She had never seen the other girl in a state this close to breakdown before.
She scooted closer to the nightstand and peeled back the covers, Hope looked at her expectantly before Lizzie lifted her eyebrows in invitation. It didn’t take much more than another flash of lightening for her to spring forward and climb into the warmth that the Gemini twin had to offer.
Hope smelled like fresh vanilla and the fire that she had been curled up next to until the power decided to pull away. The old book sat in her lap but she didn’t’ seem to shake as much with Lizzie’s shoulder pressed close to hers.
“It used to rain a lot in New Orleans,” Hope said, her voice a small whisper, “And my father… he liked the way it filled the atrium, how it felt like our own personal world while the city around us crumbled and the blood filled the drains as it washed away from the streets. My family was the cause of most of it, and I always liked the fresh feeling after a storm. But then they would work hard to paint the town red again, so it didn’t matter so much.”
Lizzie found herself taking Hope’s hand in hers. She squeezed it and tried to quell the way that it trembled. “I used to be afraid of them too, you know? But one day, my mom sat with me and told me that it was just angels in the sky.”
“Angels?” Hope’s voice was that of a mouse, broken and frayed.
“Oh yeah, they’re bowling too. So all that rain you hear, it’s clapping and the thunder, the thunder is every single pin being knocked down.”
Hope’s expression was pensive for a moment before her fingers tightened around Lizzie’s as another rumble rocked the sky. But it loosened soon after and her breath evened out. “Yeah, okay. A bowling alley.”
Lizzie nodded with a triumphant smile and picked the book from the nightstand back up before turning to the page she had dog-eared. Hope kept her fingers intertwined with Lizzie’s and slowly lowered her head onto the girl's shoulder, both of them reading the typed paragraphs in the dull light of a candle, and the waning bolts of lightning.
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Armor, Fire Emblem Three Houses One Shot
Summary: Hilda teaches Byleth the importance of a nice outfit, much to Claude's pleasure.
Read on AO3.
“Is there something I can help you with, Hilda?”
The woman in question did not stop staring at Byleth. It was worse than when Claude first met her. She would catch him out of the corner of her eye staring at her, studying her like he would like to take her apart and figure out how to put her back together again. Byleth crossed her arms over her chest, fingers tapping out a silent rhythm against her skin as she waited for an answer.
Hilda took another long moment, eyes narrowing as she leaned forward to take in Byleth’s new posture. “Professor,” she finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “we need to do something about that outfit.”
Byleth, stunned, could only blink at the other woman. That was not what she expected at all. “What?”
“It’s terrible,” Hilda deadpanned. “We have to do something about it.”
“Why?” Byleth looked down at her clothes. No one had said anything about them until now. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Professor!” Hilda stepped closer and placed her hands on Byleth’s shoulders, staring straight into her eyes. “Think of it this way, your clothes are a type of armor. Your outfit creates a first impression. It can make a statement as soon as you walk into a room. Do you want to make people think you’re a kind and charismatic leader, or stoic and strict? Or do you want to give the impression of purity and innocence? You can use your clothes to make sure people don’t underestimate you, or get them to do just that when it is to your advantage.”
Byleth tilted her head, the only indication she was thinking over what Hilda had said. “That seems like a lot of work for a bit of fabric to pull off. So far my actions have spoken loudly enough for me.”
“True, but you weren’t Rhea’s heir until now,” Hilda pointed out. “You’ll be pulled into Fódlan’s politics now, more so when the war is actually over and you’re rebuilding society. You need to learn now how to use your clothes as another weapon in your arsenal.”
“I thought you said they were armor.”
Hilda rolled her eyes and grabbed Byleth’s hand. “Come on.”
Byleth was too startled to resist. She was not sure what Hilda had planned, but there was a part of her that was actually curious. And it wasn’t like she would be trapped if she became uncomfortable or this little excursion took too long...at least she hoped so.
Hilda marched her straight to Dorothea’s room, not even bothering to knock before throwing open the door. Dorothea and Petra did not look surprised at all when Hilda showed herself into the room. “Hello, Hilda,” Dorothea greeted cheerfully. “Oh, and Professor!” Her entire face lit up when she caught sight of Byleth behind Hilda, a brilliant smile crossing her face.
“Dorothea, we’re going to dress up the Professor.”
Byleth, for the second time that day, found herself simply blinking in surprise. She was pretty sure her ears were actually ringing from that shriek. How was it even possible for someone’s voice to get that high?
“Now, Hilda-” Byleth tried to protest, but was immediately cut off.
“She refuses to see the advantage of a nice outfit,” Hilda explained.
Byleth did not like the look the two women shared. The part of her that had stayed around Claude too often wondered if they had staged this whole set up.
“Think of it this way, Professor,” Dorothea said, her voice dripping with poisoned honey, “when Claude walks into a room, what happens?”
Byleth thought for a moment, more judging what answer would diffuse the situation than having to remember what happened whenever Claude made an entrance. Her eyes were always drawn to him...She cut herself off before she could fall too far down that rabbit hole. “It depends on what he wants. Sometimes he had everyone’s attention immediately, or else he goes completely unnoticed.”
“Exactly, but let’s focus on that first example. He uses his wit and charm to gain attention. Now, not that you aren’t charming, but that kind of entrance just isn’t you. But you can pull off that same thing with a simple outfit change.”
Seeing Byleth was still not convinced, Hilda once more joined in. “I know it’s hard, but imagine if Claude couldn’t talk. He is going to a meeting of the Alliance Lords, so he still needs to gain immediate respect. His appearance will be the first thing they notice.”
“Breaking out his nicest clothes is not necessary in this case,” Dorothea smoothly took over the explanation. “It would seem like he was trying too hard. But he’ll still wear formal clothes that show both wealth and position, something that walks the fine line between showing off and showing up.”
Byleth had no idea what that meant.
“Now, picture him at an event such as a, let’s say a ball. There is no way he can command the attention of the entire room in his usual way, not without making a social faux pas, and in most circumstances that won’t gain him anything. He is going to use his posture and his clothes to draw in everyone’s gaze. Especially if he is trying to gain the attention of a certain lady love.” Dorothea winked, that lovely smile not slipping from her lips.
Byleth blushed. She now had the image of an impeccably dressed Claude, his hair swept back, and green eyes sparkling as he looked at her while knowing that everyone else could not take their eyes off of him; knowing that Byleth would not take her eyes off of him. And if she could match him? She imagined Claude’s eyes going wide as he first saw her, his mouth opening in a soft ‘o’ of pleasant surprise.
She wanted to put that look on his face. Perhaps there was something to what Hilda and Dorothea were saying after all.
“Claude is a duke, so he would be knowing how to…” Petra hesitated, turning to Dorothea as she tried to remember the turn of phrase, “....make an impact.”
Dorothea smiled at her, soft and loving, and nodded proudly. “See? Petra agrees. Now, with so many new allies arriving, we really should show you just how impactful our little theory can be.”
“And it would just be a coincidence that we’re throwing a small party to welcome said new allies tonight?” Byleth pointed out.
“My,” Dorothea gasped, “I completely forgot about that! Hilda?”
Hilda shook her head, trying her best to look innocent. Byleth did not buy it for a second. The two were devious.
But the look she pictured on Claude’s face still held her mind. She wanted so badly to see him look at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the entire world. Byleth sighed deeply and nodded her consent.
Hands were immediately on her, and Byleth lost herself in the frenzy. She was still confused, but she found herself actually enjoying it all. By the time Petra was braiding her hair, telling stories about Brigid, she was smiling along with Hilda and Dorothea, offering her own quips and earning laughter from the other three women.
“There,” Hilda finally said. “You’re going to make his jaw drop.” She looked very pleased with herself.
“Him?” Byleth questioned, feeling strange with the long skirt of the dress caressing her legs. “I thought this was for our allies.”
“Oh please.” Hilda waved her off. “You’re not stupid, Professor.”
Byleth only smiled softly and shook her head again. She couldn’t be mad. She had wanted this for so long, and Hilda had gone out of her way to arrange the possibility of it becoming a reality.
/
Claude could not believe his eyes. Byleth was always lovely, but he had not expected this. The black dress hugged her torso and legs, only flaring out just under her knees. It created a soft effect, making her seem like she was gliding. The sleeves did the same thing, clinging tight to her arms only to flare out dramatically right above her elbows. When she moved, she sparkled, and Claude could see small beads woven into the cloth. Her hair was done in a dozen complicated braids, swept up to reveal the smooth skin of her neck A belt of silver in the shape of the ever changing phases of the moon completed the whole thing.
She was wearing the night sky.
When she turned to greet some minor noble, Claude could see the entire back of the dress was open, held together by black criss crossing ribbon.
A spark of jealousy shot through him. He wanted her attention on him.
“Claude, your jaw is on the ground,” Lorenz pointed out, sounding much too pleased.
Claude’s mouth shut with a sharp click, causing him to wince as his teeth knocked together. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, not even looking at the men sitting with him as he stood. He even ignored Lorenz’s not so quiet comment to Sylvain about Claude being completely love struck. It was true, but still something he would have to pay Lorzen back for. Just now right now. Right now there was something much more important to do.
Byleth looked up as Claude approached, her face lighting up at the sight of him. Her smile went straight to his heart like an arrow. “Claude.” And the happiness with which she said his name certainly did not help.
“My, my, what do we have here?” Claude teased. “You look lovely, Teach.”
Byleth flushed, Claude’s breath catching as a soft pink touched her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Hilda and Dorothea said I should try some new outfits.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Claude? The Margrave’s contingent is here.” To his credit, Lorenz sounded sorry for interrupting.
“Of course they are.” Claude sighed and shook his head. “Will you excuse me, Teach? Seems I’ve got some matters to attend to.”
Byleth nodded, but she could not hide the sorry he saw in her eyes. As soon as he could, he was going to be back at her side.
/
Byleth sighed as she finally escaped the light and heat of the crowd. Tables had been pushed aside and someone had arranged dancing. She was immediately pulled into dances with partner after partner, seeing Claude in the same situation as herself. They had tried to reach each other, but there was always another noble to appease.
Right now, she just wanted to breathe.
“Hey, good to see we had the same idea.”
Her head shot up, her heart still managing to leapt for joy despite its inability to beat. “Claude!”
Claude stepped out of the shadows, his green eyes sparkling as they looked her up and down brazenly. Byleth felt herself suppress a shiver under that gaze. “Careful, my friend, if you keep looking at me like that I’m going to get ideas.”
Byleth forced herself to meet his eyes, remembering Hilda’s words about these strange clothes being her armor. They most definitely were not, not in the traditional sense, but she had seen Claude’s face when she walked into the room. She had never before been able to disarm him so easily. And Hilda was right, that did give her a certain kind of strength.
“What kind of ideas would those be?”
For a moment, Claude was speechless. Byleth could practically see him thinking, his brain trying to process what she had just said. But just as he did with everything else, Claude adapted quickly. He stepped toward her, his carefree smile gone.
Claude reached up a hand and caressed her cheek, sending a jolt of want through Byleth. “Ideas about how much I want you by me always. Ideas like how I want to see you smile, or be there for you when you cry. Ideas about how much I want to kiss you.”
Byleth leaned into his touch, her hands reaching up to lay against Claude’s chest. She could feel his heartbeat against her palm. It was fast, faster than normal she suspected. “I wouldn’t mind that at all,” she admitted.
She had barely gotten the words out before Claude’s lips were on hers. It was desperate, like he was afraid she wouldn’t be there if he let go. Byleth kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him as close as she could.
When Claude broke away, it was all too soon. “By, I…” Was all he got out before he was kissing her again, trying to tell her everything he was failing to put into words, too overwhelmed to string his thoughts coherently. He pushed her up against the stone wall, Byleth moaning into his mouth as their bodies pressed together.
This time when Claude moved from her lips, it was to trail kisses down her jaw and neck. Byleth tilted her head, offering the long expanse of skin up to Claude’s eager mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair, and when she pulled he nipped at her shoulder. “Claude,” she moaned, only to realize how loud her voice was in the quiet of the night.
Byleth brought a hand up to cover her mouth, but Claude caught it, kissing the tips of her fingers. “I want to hear every little noise you make,” Claude said, his voice heavy with desire.
“Then we should probably find someplace we won’t be interrupted.”
Claude straightened, taking a step back from her. Byleth’s fingers tightened on his shoulders, desperate to keep him close. What had she done wrong? “Claude?”
He took a deep breath, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. “Byleth, I want this, I really do, but I want more than a single night. I want you, and I don’t want to ruin this.”
Her fingers tightened in his hair again, and she tilted her head up to kiss him. It was much slower, as gentle as their first was desperate. “I have wanted you for so long now, Claude. I love you,” she finally admitted.
“I love you too, By,” was the answer, Claude doing his best not to let his emotions overwhelm him. “I want to show you how much.”
Byleth smiled, pulling him flush against her and relishing the feel of his desire against her hip. She rolled her hips, drawing forth a groan from her partner. “So, your room or mine?”
Claude burst out laughing, shaking his head as he grabbed her hand and began walking her toward the dorms. “Yours is closer, and I don’t want to wait any longer than I have to.”
She did not remember the trip to her room, only the quickly stolen kisses and the desperate caresses. Byleth was honestly surprised they made it to her room at all. As soon as the door closed behind her, Claude had her pushed up against the wooden barrier, kissing her so desperately Byleth felt her legs go weak. His hands explored her body with more confidence, drawing delightful little sounds from her.
Her own hands were busy with his clothes, undoing buttons and untying laces, shoving the fabric away from him as soon as she could get it out of the way. “Well this isn’t fair,” Claude joked between kisses. “You’re still fully clothed, and here I am in just my small clothes.”
Byleth grinned and shoved him back, using the movement to push herself off the door. “What are you going to do about that?”
Claude matched her grin. Grabbing her shoulders, he turned Byleth around and began to undo the black ribbon keeping her dress together. She sighed happily when she felt his lips worshiping every inch of skin he revealed, until the black fabric pooled around her feet.
Byleth stared down at the fabric, leaning back into Claude’s warm arms.
“By?”
She shook her head and turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck as she brought him close for a quick kiss. “It’s nothing, just something Hilda said. She called my clothes my armor. I was just thinking how appropriate it is that the man who taught me love and joy is the one to remove them.”
Claude buried his face against her neck and moaned. “Do you have any idea what you do to me when you say things like that?”
“I’m hoping you’ll show me,” Byleth teased, shoving Claude back onto the bed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes: Yeah, I did that.
I was going to write more, but honestly those last lines were the entire reason I wrote the story, and after that nothing I added on really seemed to fit. So, no, not sorry at all.
#fire emblem#fire emblem three houses#fire emblem fanfiction#claudeth#claude x byleth#my fic#my writing
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