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todisturbtheuniverse · 4 years

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FIC: Set All Trappings Aside [2/8]

Rating: T Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Pairing: f!Adaar/Josephine Montilyet Tags: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Class Differences Word Count: 3500 (this chapter) Summary: After months of flirtation, a contract on Josephine’s life brings Adaar’s feelings for her closer to the surface than ever. It highlights, too, all of their differences, all of the reasons a relationship between them would not last. But Adaar is a hopeful woman at heart; if Josephine can set all trappings aside, then so can she. Also on AO3. Notes: While the context for this story is the Of Somewhat Fallen Fortune questline, some of the conversations within it didn’t quite fit for this Inquisitor. The resulting fic is a twist on the canon romance. This Adaar and Josephine have featured in other fics, so you may miss a little context if you haven’t read Promising or Truth-Telling, which both come before this one.

Chapter 1 here.

Once they'd crossed the Waking Sea by ship, Adaar convinced Josephine to ride in the wagon with Vivienne—who could both entertain her and protect her, should it come to that—and rode slightly behind their little party on horseback, watching the open plains around her with unease. She'd never been wound so tight in her entire damn life. Which was saying something, after the last several months.

It was just...she had been the target then. Her, and all the idiots who tagged along with her, who had magic or steel to protect them.

Not Josephine. Josephine was supposed to be safe. Tucked away in their lofty mountain fortress, where the worst that could happen to her was a particularly annoying noble with an axe to grind.

But who knew, with the House of Repose, if even Skyhold would be safe? It was a sleepless thought, one that had kept Adaar awake every night since they'd left Val Royeaux.

Cassandra appeared ahead, guiding her horse around the wagon. "Nothing," she said in response to Adaar's raised eyebrow. "It's not a good location for an ambush, Inquisitor. The House of Repose surely knows better."

Despite that, she rode with only one hand on the reins, the other resting on the grip of her sword. Her shield hung ready from the saddle. Not one to be caught by surprise, Cassandra. Adaar had always appreciated that about her.

"They will wait until we're in the mountain pass, if they plan to attack at all," Cassandra continued.

Usually, Adaar appreciated Cassandra's pragmatism, too. Right now, however, it was about as welcome as a kick in the stomach.

"If," she repeated, holding desperately onto hope. She wondered if she could convince Josephine to lie down under one of the wagon benches the entire way up the mountain. "You don't think they will?"

Cassandra hesitated. "I do not know. I believe Josephine knows better than us, but I also believe that her judgment is clouded. I will feel more certain once we have Leliana's input, but by then, the mountain will be behind us."

"So prepare for the worst, then?"

"It has not failed me as a strategy so far."

Perhaps Adaar could persuade Josephine to put on a spare set of armor. Anything that might prevent an arrow from piercing the oilcloth covering on the wagon and driving straight through her chest.

"Forgive me for prying," Cassandra said, interrupting Adaar's catastrophizing, "but I do not think I have ever seen you this agitated. You always make light of danger."

And Cassandra hated it. In the beginning, she'd usually had a choice word or two about how Adaar ought to take all this more seriously. The comments had eventually tapered off as Adaar did her job and did it well, despite her habit of taunting demons, rogue templars, ancient magisters, and whatever else had ears.

"That's when the danger is coming for me," Adaar said, "not someone…" I care about, she thought, but decided against it. "...else," she finished.

Cassandra shifted a little in her saddle. "Have you…" she began, then paused, mulling over her words the way only Cassandra could. She didn't mull, actually; she deliberated.

"Have I what?" Adaar prompted.

Cassandra shook her head. "Never mind. It is none of my business."

"No, no, go on," Adaar said. Cassandra could hardly make things worse at this point, after all. "I've certainly badgered you enough with my invasive questions. It's only fair."

"When you put it like that." Cassandra wore a trace of a smile now. "You are...fond of her."

Adaar pulled a face. "Yes," she said, which had the merit of being both true and not incriminating.

Cassandra snorted. "I would never have suspected that you could be as recalcitrant as me," she said, very dryly.

"Every day is an opportunity to learn new things," Adaar told her, grinning.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Very well. Are the two of you involved?" Before Adaar could recover from Cassandra's bluntness—really, she ought to have braced for it—she went on. "I feel as if Leliana would have complained of it to me if you were, but perhaps there are things in this world she doesn't know."

Adaar laughed. "First of all, no, there aren't. And second of all—no. We aren't."

"I see. My mistake—it seemed very much as if…"

Adaar cleared her throat. "I don't really think it would be proper, would it?"

A crease appeared between Cassandra's brows. "Because you are the Inquisitor? I didn't imagine you thought yourself that far above us."

"No, no, not that." Adaar fiddled with the hilt of her belt knife. "She's a noble. Until all this...business...I was a mercenary. We just don't fit."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cassandra's frown deepen. "Does she think so?"

Adaar recognized the early signs of Cassandra's stubbornness, and dug in her own heels, too. "Don't know. Haven't asked."

"Then how do you know that you don't fit?"

"Call it an educated guess," Adaar said, exasperated.

"If you are a simple mercenary, then it would hardly be an educated guess."

Despite her annoyance, Adaar chuckled. Cassandra's frown twitched toward a smile again. They rode on in companionable silence for a moment as Adaar considered.

"Even if she does feel the same," she ventured, "could her...society...ever accept me? Nobles strike me as snooty." It was the most toothless word she could think of. Nothing compared to how they really were. How she knew some of them to be.

"You aren't without rank," Cassandra pointed out. "It's unusual—"

"Savior to some, damned heretic to others, yes."

"But it affords you some status," Cassandra pressed. "Besides, the Montilyets are minor nobles at best, given their troubles."

"Someday—and I hope it is soon—the Inquisition will not be necessary any longer, and then I will be what I always was. And once this is all done, she will only have risen."

Adaar could see Cassandra marshaling her arguments. Bless her. They had become friends, despite all the business at the beginning, and Cassandra was loyal to her friends.

But Adaar didn't want to argue, not about this. She didn't want to get her hopes up. She got them up every time Josephine looked at her, anyway; she didn't need more encouragement.

She didn't need hope to turn into expectation. She'd really be in trouble then.

Luckily, because they were friends, she knew exactly how to put Cassandra off the topic entirely. She sighed, adopting a mopey, lovelorn air. "It's no good, Cassandra, though I appreciate your optimism. It just isn't meant to be."

Cassandra gave an indignant huff, exactly as expected. "Long though I have loved silly romance novels, I have always thought that they were unrealistic. I see that you are determined to live one out page by page, however."

"It's a good story, isn't it?" Adaar said, shooting a smile sideways at her. "A quick, loveable rogue—nice woman, really, despite her spotted history—pining after a lady of means. Her feelings all the more pure for knowing they can never be returned—"

"I think you are determined to be star-crossed," Cassandra continued, radiating disapproval.

"Is that so?"

"It is," Cassandra said. "I'll leave you to your pining."

Adaar laughed; Cassandra dug in her heels and sent her horse back to the front of the wagon, leaving Adaar alone.

It was sort of funny, when she was bantering about it with Cassandra—laying it on real thick, too—but as the quiet grew around her, the humor faded. She had hoped, long and hard, that this infatuation would simply melt away, that she would someday cross Josephine's path without light and warmth filling her up inside and spilling over, but by all indications, she was more deeply entrenched than ever.

A pity, and a shame, that it had taken her near thirty years to find someone she liked as much as she liked Josephine. Given the state of the world, she doubted she had another thirty years in which to find someone else.

She rode up behind the wagon and dismounted. A few quick steps closed the gap again; she left her reins loosely looped around the back post, then heaved herself up and through into the covered compartment, a welcome stillness after the gusting winds of the plains.

Vivienne looked up with a smile. "Good of you to join us, my dear. I'm sure Cassandra can handle the watch."

"Actually," Adaar said, though it was always daunting to order Vivienne around, "would you mind taking the rear? I just need a bit of a rest, then I'll head back out."

If Vivienne thought this unnecessary, she didn't voice it; she simply inclined her head with a duchess's worth of grace and brushed past, out into the cold, leaving the wagon empty except for Adaar and Josephine.

"Inquisitor," Josephine said in greeting, with a dip of her head.

"Ambassador."

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence held. Adaar sat opposite Josephine, moving with the rattle of the wagon. Astonishing how little room there was for her legs in a space like this. Josephine didn't look uncomfortable in the least, one ankle tucked behind the other, small book open on her lap, dark blue skirts perfectly arranged. It was a simple dress, comfortable for travel, paired with boots rather than slippers.

Simplicity suited her. Finery suited her. What didn't suit her?

Oblivious to her internal dramatics, Josephine asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Adaar said, automatic. "Doubt they're going to come out of the fields and try anything in broad daylight."

She shut her book. "I meant...is everything all right, between us?"

Adaar cast her a puzzled look. "Of course."

Josephine let out a relieved breath. "I'm glad to hear it. I did not like arguing with you, and we have not spoken much since…"

Adaar cleared her throat, rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry. I've been preoccupied."

"Yes. With protecting me." Her eyes were very soft, warmed by her small smile. "Thank you."

"Of course," Adaar said again. All the other words seemed to have flown out of her head. All those reminders not to turn hope to expectation had fled with them.

"I have devised a plan," Josephine said, straightening up a little. "The du Paraquettes cannot overturn the contract at present, lacking status as they are, but if we can raise them to nobility again…"

"Would they agree to that, do you think?"

"Let us hope I can convince them. But if we could restore their status, I imagine that they would agree. It seems a fair trade."

For a moment, Adaar's hopes lifted. If these people could just be given status like handing out candy, then maybe…

"Didn't realize you could elevate people just like that," she commented, in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"Certainly not just like that." Josephine toyed with one frayed corner of her book, frowning, eyes a little unfocused. "I will need to offer someone...maybe several someones...a few favors. But it can be done."

Adaar could imagine how much more costly the favors would be for a Vashoth. She set the idea aside. "I don't love the sound of that."

Josephine waved this away. "No different than the capital I've traded for the Inquisition. Simpler, even. It will only cost time."

"I guess you would know. I personally don't have much experience trading in these intangible debts."

"Do not sell yourself short," Josephine chastised. "You've brokered many deals for the Inquisition."

"With much smarter people pointing the way."

"You forget that I stand at the war table with you," Josephine said, lips quirking in a smile. "I know what cleverness you are capable of, whatever modesty you hide behind."

The praise warmed her a little. "Still, I know nothing about turning ordinary folk into nobles. I'm afraid your cleverness will have to suffice for this one."

Her head tilted, hazel eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Perhaps. But turning ordinary folk into legends? You know something about that. Surely that is the greater challenge."

She really knew how to cut through all of Adaar's admonishments to herself. A handful of words in Josephine's mouth was as deadly as one of Adaar's knives.

"I would hate to always be the target of your honeyed tongue," she said, with a slightly helpless grin; she hoped it looked careless rather than besotted. It was the best she could manage. Truth, disguised as jest. "My insides are all a-flutter."

For a moment, it looked as if Josephine might press the topic further; then she sat back, a more somber set to her mouth. "It will not be easy," she said. "But it can be done. Despite the arguments I imagine Leliana will make."

"Well, tiebreaker," Adaar sighed, some of the tightness in her chest easing. "I outrank her."

Josephine inclined her head. "Thank you."

Her fingers ran down the edges of the book's cover again, and Adaar noticed the feather charm dangling from the marked page. She remembered the letter she'd sent with it from the Hinterlands, the bruised wrist she'd nursed while she'd written it. She could hardly believe such a paltry little thing had made it out of Haven when they'd fled.

But Josephine had rescued it, somehow, for some reason.

It was a small space, easy to reach across and touch the dangling feather. Josephine's fingers paused in their tracing.

"You don't have to…" Adaar paused, tried to get her words in order. "I know these are useless trinkets."

Josephine looked up, eyes meeting Adaar's. "I happen to like them. Besides, it makes a pretty bookmark, doesn't it? Hardly useless."

They were treading dangerous territory. Adaar should not have leaned forward. It would be so easy to close the remaining distance, touch her fingers to Josephine's cheek, tip her chin up…

There had been other moments like this, and every one of them, Adaar could have sworn that Josephine was expecting just that. Waiting, her lips slightly parted, her eyes focused so intently on Adaar's. Hoping.

But she shouldn't. Couldn't.

She sat back. "Well, then," she said. If her voice was too loud for the space, if it pushed out all chance of intimacy, that was for the best. "I won't question your tastes, which I know to be very fine."

She told herself that she was imagining the flicker of disappointment in Josephine's face. Easy to do; whatever Adaar thought she had seen one moment was gone the next, as if it had never existed.

"You have a knack for finding pretty things," Josephine said. "And in the strangest places."

"Maybe it's hereditary. My dad was the same way. By the time my parents made it to the Free Marches, he'd picked up all sorts of things on the road. Cleaned up some of them to sell, but kept a fair amount of the rest." She managed a chuckle. "Drove my ma up the wall, the way she told it, but I liked the things he found. He always remembered exactly where he'd picked it up. Or he was a convincing storyteller, I suppose."

"Another inherited trait, I believe," Josephine said with a smile. "What happened to it all when you left the farm?"

"I left it with Jana—the neighbor I told you about, the one looking after the place. It's probably all still sitting in a crate in the corner of the root cellar. I took one thing with me, but in the interest of not jingling with every step…"

Josephine smothered a laugh with her hand, as if the idea delighted her. "A different combat strategy, certainly. What did you take with you?"

Adaar reached into her coat and pulled a tiny journal from one of the interior pockets. She flipped to the center and retrieved a folded piece of paper, then unfolded it and handed it to Josephine.

It was a drawing. A sketch, really, of a miniature hourglass, a chain threaded through one end. Not the original sketch; no, she didn't dare carry that out into this dangerous world with her, not after what had happened to the object itself.

"It's pretty," Josephine said, "though I admit, not what I expected."

"It's just a stand-in, unfortunately. I lost the hourglass at the Conclave." She cast a miserable look at the paper in Josephine's hands. "Dad had it made from little pieces and materials he'd picked up on the way south. Sand from the shores of Par Vollen. Wood from a tree he liked as they passed through Antiva. A little gold embellishment from the melted-down remnants of the first gold coin he ever scraped together."

Josephine's face had fallen. "I'm so sorry."

Adaar shrugged one shoulder. "He wouldn't hold it against me, but...I kept it safe through so many jobs. Guess the Fade was just too much for it. Still feels weird, not wearing it."

Josephine looked to the paper again, her eyes moving from one detail to the next. "Why an hourglass?"

"My name means time, in Qunlat."

"Adaar? I thought that meant cannon."

"No, my given name—Herah."

"Herah," Josephine mused. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken Adaar's given name; her heart lurched to hear it in Josephine's voice.

"Because I ran out their time under the Qun," Adaar explained. "But gave them more time, somewhere...else. Somewhere free, in their opinion. The sand ran out, but then the hourglass turned."

Josephine was smiling, widely and warmly, as though truly touched. "That's a lovely sentiment."

"Yeah," Adaar said, but her agreement felt a little hollow. She accepted the paper back from Josephine. "What does it mean when the hourglass breaks, though?"

Josephine pondered that for a moment. The wagon rocked, and Adaar listened for any indication of a disturbance, but there was only the wind, rustling past; the horses, their steps heavy; Cassandra's muttering up ahead, if she wasn't mistaken.

"Perhaps it is as your parents said," Josephine said at last. "Your time with the Valo-kas ran out, but your time elsewhere began."

"That's a nice way of looking at it."

Adaar tucked the paper away again, safe in her coat. The original sketch—the one with her dad's notes, written in Qunlat before the painstaking translation—was safe in her Skyhold loft, hidden away.

If Skyhold fell, after all, she had probably fallen with it.

"Speaking of Jana," Josephine said, "have you heard from her recently? I know that you were concerned about Duskfield."

"I got a letter from her just before we left Skyhold. Seems as if all is well there, for now."

Josephine's lips pursed in thought. "If you'd still like to check in on them, I'm sure I can find some business in the area—an excuse to make the trip."

"I would, but...when this business with the House of Repose is done, maybe. So that you're free to—well. If you still wanted to come with."

The offer hadn't been made so long ago, but it had been made without any firm plans. They'd both been low at the time, vulnerable. Maybe Josephine hadn't been serious, or had thought better of it since. But she smiled, and the strength of it creased the corners of her eyes.

"Of course. I would love to see where you grew up." She tapped a finger against her lips. "It is a little hard to imagine you tending a farm, though it sounds like a peaceful life."

"It was," Adaar sighed. "I might even go back to it someday."

Josephine cast her a surprised look. "Really?"

Adaar shrugged. "Assuming I survive all this, then...why not? Settling down never held much appeal to me before, but after the last few months, I think it would be a relief. The mercenary life would seem like a demotion after the Inquisition, and it's probably best for everyone if I fade into obscurity, anyway."

Josephine chuckled. "Well, when you put it like that. So long as you promise to visit me in Antiva during your retirement. The Montilyet vineyards are renowned, you know."

"I suppose I could crawl out of my hermitage for that," Adaar said, grinning. "Assuming this wine is as good as you say."

Josephine raised one eyebrow, as if challenging her. It was hard not to lean in again. There was so little space in this cursed wagon, and they were already too close.

"There is plenty of it to sample at Skyhold," she said. "And we have other business to handle when we return, aside from my personal affairs. A working dinner may be in order."

Well, at least there would be a pile of convoluted requests to keep Adaar's head on straight. And a table between them, for good measure. "By all means," she replied. "You have full reign over my calendar. Pick a day, and I will be there."

"Perfect," Josephine declared, like she'd won something. Adaar wished she knew what.

Go to Chapter 3 -->

#josephine montilyet #inquisitor adaar #f!adaar x josephine #f!adaar/josephine #dragon age #inquisition #friends to lovers #developing relationship #mutual pining #class differences #universe writes

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elspethsunschampion · 7 years

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Fact or Fiction: Chapter Fourteen

Rated M for abuse, sexual content, and discussion of rape/non-con. Canon-typical violence.

Summary: It’s Ral Zarek’s sixth year at Hogwarts. And everything would be fine if Jace wasn’t totally occupied with his new girlfriend, to the point where it’s honestly kind of weird, and Ral’s starting to be concerned. Now if only everyone would stop telling Ral he’s just jealous and LISTEN to him…after all, he’s NOT just jealous, right? (Sequel to Send to Sleep.)

Ships: Jace Beleren/Ral Zarek, Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Hermione Granger, Nissa Revane/Chandra Nalaar, Elspeth Tirel/Teysa Karlov

A/N: Many, many thanks to @paperclipminimizer for beta-ing and checking my timeline, as well as answering all my questions about Harry Potter. Thanks also to Juri, @dragons-suck, and everyone on Sketchydoodles’ Vorthos server for listening to me rant about this thing as it took shape.

Also available on AO3 and FFnet.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen: Mending Touch

Jace poked at his food. He was huddled in his cloak in front of one of the many little alcoves in the library. Technically, food wasn’t allowed, but Jace didn’t give a fuck, and the teachers seemed willing to overlook minor infractions on his part right now. Which they damn well should, he thought bitterly, and then felt his stomach turn over. He didn’t deserve special treatment, no matter what anyone said.

He probably should eat. He was hungry in a sort of distant way, but everything seemed so tasteless that it was difficult to get himself to eat. And Ral still wasn’t awake. He kept asking and asking, but every time he asked he got the same answer, “he’s doing fine, but the nerves aren’t healed yet, it’s better if he stays asleep.”

How did they know? He’d tried reading everything he could lay his hands on about the Cruciatus Curse, but he’d had to stop doing that after he’d thrown up over a part of the Restricted Section he probably shouldn’t have had access to in the first place. He’d managed to clean it up and leave before anyone found him, but the books hadn’t been happy. Several of them had followed him around for the rest of the day, complaining in rustly, incomprehensible voices.

Someone shoved a very garish image of a cartoon sandwich into his head. Mirko could have been subtler, but they seemed to be trying to make it easy for Jace to know when someone else was in his head. Jace was very carefully not thinking about the fact that, although it was true that Mirko could get under the protections of his cloak, he was pretty sure he’d heard snatches of other thoughts even from inside. That shouldn’t be happening. That shouldn’t be possible.

“I’m not hungry,” Jace sighed, out loud. His stomach rumbled. The cartoon sandwich grew eyes and looked at him accusingly. “Okay, I am hungry, but I don’t want to eat.”

Ral wasn’t eating, after all, Jace thought mulishly. Of course, he was in the hospital wing and getting all of his food magically, but it sounded suitably dramatic in Jace’s head. There was the suggestion of a sigh in the back of his mind, and a cold wind brushed against his neck like a not-quite-corporeal touch. The banishment had left Mirko somewhat less willing to take a solid form. Jace was just glad that somehow the boggart had managed to use their connection to hang onto his memories, in spite of the love potion clouding his mind at the time.

“Jace?” Jace froze. It was Professor Lovegood’s voice. Pulling the hood of his cloak up, Jace felt for his wand, wondering if he should try out that invisibility charm he’d pulled out of Liliana’s head. Before he could make up his mind, Kallist shot up into the air, spitting lightning in every direction.

“Kallist, no!” Jace hissed, but it was too late. Professor Lovegood poked her head around the bookshelf.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “You know, if you get the books some rubbing alcohol, they’ll probably calm down.”

“The books?” Jace echoed, trying to sound innocent. One particularly irritable one chose that moment to snap closed on his ankle, and he yelped.

“Yes, I upset them earlier this year, so I’ve tried to make sure I knew the kinds of things they liked.” Jace hadn’t paid much attention during Herbology this year—or any class—so he wasn’t sure if Professor Lovegood usually had that wide, vaguely dreamy smile on her face.

“Um, I see.”

“In any case, Hermione—Professor Granger, I mean—sent me to tell you that Mr. Zarek is awake.”

Jace stopped trying to surreptitiously nudge the book away and looked up at her. It was suddenly difficult to breathe. “He—he is? Is he—okay? Can I see him? Or—does he—want to see me?”

Professor Lovegood smiled. “He’s feeling much better, although his nerves are just a little oversensitive still, so Madam Pomfrey is trying to get him to stay in bed. I think his exact words were, ‘Tell Jace to get his ass down here, or I’ll soak the entire Hospital Wing.’ You should probably go down, because I think Madam Pomfrey looked like she really wished she could give him detention.”

Ral was bored. After his first waking hour of lying around in the hospital wing, most of the tingling pain in his nerves had subsided, leaving him slightly achey and very restless. Madam Pomfrey always seemed to force people to stay in bed about five times longer than they wanted to, and Ral was getting really concerned about Jace. Jace had already had issues that Ral didn’t really know how to help, though he thought he’d been getting better. But now—

Someone knocked on the door. “Who is it?” he yelled irritably. If it was Madam Pomfrey with another foul-smelling potion, he might just “accidentally” have an electrical outburst and shatter the damn thing.

The door opened a crack. “It’s me,” Jace said, so quietly Ral almost didn’t hear him. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” Ral wriggled upright. “How are you?”

Jace stopped in the doorway and blinked. Kallist was hovering nervously over his head. “I—I’m fine. How are you?”

“Aching a little, I guess. I don’t think I still need to be in bed, but you know what the teachers are like. Way too careful about all the wrong fucking things.”

For another moment or two, Jace dithered in the doorway, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in a way Ral hadn’t seen him do in years. Finally, he practically ran across the room to Ral’s bed and sank onto it. “I’m sorry,” he muttered into his cloak. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” Something wet fell onto Ral’s hand.

“What the fuck,” he said stupidly.

“Do you, um—” Jace paused. “Sorry. Just—just a sec.” His voice was wobbling. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What the fuck, Jace? No!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Jesus fuck, why?”

“For ignoring you. For not listening to you. For not responding to your IMs over the summer, and being a fucking dick to you this whole year. For getting you—for—for—”

“Oh my fucking god,” Ral said limply. “You were literally under a spell, Jace, what the hell? Do you really think I’d blame you for that? What the shit?”

The little pile of misery under the cloak tugged at his hair. “You should,” he mumbled after a moment. “I should’ve—”

“—thrown off the most potent love potion any of the professors have ever heard of, gone toe-to-toe with one of the most powerful dark witches in history, and nearly fucking killed her into the bargain?” Jace blinked at him. “Because you kind of did all that, you idiot.” A tiny lightning bolt from the cloud above him suggested that Kallist agreed with Ral’s assessment. “Now get over here.”

“Are you—sure?”

Ral rolled his eyes and felt that strange staticky sensation rise up along the back of his neck again. Ever since he’d woken up with his nerves still twitching and jangling and oversensitive, it had been all too easy to trigger. And for once, he’d discovered there was something he wasn’t in too much of a hurry to research. He really didn’t want to know any more about the effects of the Cruciatus Curse than he already did. Well. Not yet, anyway. He made a mental note to come back to it in a couple weeks. “Yes, I’m bloody sure,” he grunted, and a spark materialized at the tip of one flopping lock of hair and sizzled down onto the sheets near his hand.

“Right.” Jace took a deep breath and slid down the bed to him. For a moment, he sat still, then he had a hand out and bunched in the hospital robes Ral was wearing. “Oh, Ral,” he said, wearily. And then he was pressing his face into Ral’s chest, and to Ral’s consternation and horror, he was sobbing. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Oh, fuck, I thought—oh fuck, what did I do?”

You were supposed to hold people when they broke down like this, right? Ral gingerly put one hand on Jace’s back and tried not to think about the fact that he was stupidly oversensitive right now. “You didn’t fucking do anything,” he said, biting his lip because Jace was squirming and that was not fucking fair, universe, that was goddamn fucking cheating. Jace was definitely positively one-hundred-percent not in a good mindset to be dealing with Ral exploding romantic feelings all over him. It could wait.

No, it can’t, caroled a particularly annoying segment of Ral’s brain as one of Jace’s hands brushed across his collarbone.

Yes, it damn well can, Ral told it fiercely, but he did press his face into Jace’s hair, because he wasn’t a goddamn saint.

“Shut up, we’re both fine,” he mumbled angrily. “Also, I have these sweet new stripes in my hair now.”

Okay, so he actually had asked about those. Is that normal? he’d said to Professor Granger, fingering the long white streak as he stared in a mirror. I look like fucking Rogue, he would have said, except she probably wouldn’t get it.

It’s been documented in other cases of the Cruciatus Curse, Professor Granger had answered. I don’t believe it’s exactly common, and, no, so far no one knows exactly what causes it. As you might imagine, no one has been exactly eager to do an in-depth study.

“You look like Rogue.” Jace managed a laugh.

Right, they’d seen the film together, hadn’t they? Because Jace was still huddled in his cloak, as if he’d never come out again, so he probably hadn’t read Ral’s mind just now.

“Well, um, actually…” Jace sighed. “The cloak hasn’t been entirely cutting it since I woke up.”

“Oh. Well, shit.”

“It’s easier with people I’ve read a lot, and I can turn it off if I focus,” Jace explained. “But it is sort of there if I’m not thinking too hard.” He put a hand to his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I’ve dealt with worse shit.”

“You mean like this whole year?” Ral tightened his arm around Jace. “Look, I’ll, uh, I’ll try to keep my thoughts quiet, okay?”

Jace rubbed a hand over his eyes. “It’s fine. Really.”

There were huge, dark circles under his eyes. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“Uh,” Jace replied, staring vacantly for a moment. “Oh—I mean, I was in the Hospital Wing unconscious till a couple of days ago.”

“Have you slept since a ‘couple of days ago’?”

He looked to the side. “I tried,” he muttered. “But you were—I didn’t know if you’d be okay—and it was my f-f-f—”

“If you say it was your fault again, I will punch you,” Ral said. “And then I’ll probably get detention, and that will be your fault.”

Thank god, Jace laughed at that, though the sound was a little wobbly. “I haven’t really been able to sleep, I guess.”

“Well, Madam Pomfrey keeps trying to tell me I’m not allowed to set foot outside of my bed, and you clearly need to be in bed way more than I do. So why don’t you stay here and sleep?”

Jace gaped at him. “I haven’t been sleeping with you this whole semester and you—you want…”

“I dunno if we’re quite at that stage in our relationship yet,” Ral grinned, getting a frustrated scowl from his friend. “Yeah, yeah, of course I do. How many times do I have to tell you none of this was your fault, I don’t blame you, you’re my best mate, and—and—” also I’m gay and have more than strictly platonic feelings for you and please don’t be reading my mind right now, Jace, because I don’t think I could deal with that on top of everything else, “—and that’s never going to change,” he finished, a little lamely.

“Ral—I do not deserve you.”

“No one deserves me,” Ral grinned. “I am too awesome for that. But if anyone did deserve me, you’d be on top of the list.”

“R-Right.” Jace tugged his hood down, but not before Ral saw the easy blush rising to his cheeks. “Okay. Well. I guess I should try to get some sleep, huh?”

“You should. You really should.” Ral tried not to reach too much as Jace laid down and slid back against him, but he was pretty sure Jace would have to be deaf not to have heard the low noise Ral made when Jace curled into his front. Thankfully, Jace didn’t say anything; he just took Ral’s hand and pulled it around to his chest so that they were spooning. Not quite how they usually spent the night together, but Ral was definitely not going to complain. Although he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get any sleep at all.

#mtg #fanfiction #fact or fiction #readmore #my writing

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