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gingerlurk · 9 months

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 5: The Family

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You make some hard choices. Din makes a relatively easy one.

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence. Creepy cousin. Reader gets a backstory and childhood nicknames. Smut: Masturbation (m). Uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, A03. Thank you for reading!

You’re being escorted down an ornate hall, in a daze, drowning in emotion. You’d been near catatonic since the moment your Uncle had declared you a bride-to-be, to be sent to a neighbouring system to enshrine an alliance and propel his domain to new heights. To be sent into the belly of a beast.

No one cheered or made herald at the announcement, but they did clap politely and recite the Family maxim: Accipe quod debes.

Take what they owe.

They’d all known. Every one of them knew this was going to happen and they’d let you walk into it without warning. Even Avon.

You haven’t felt this lost since you were newly orphaned, walking these halls for the first time without your mother beside you. When the air splits apart with warning bells, you barely react. But your retinue freaks out. Despite being apparently skilled household personnel, they turn into a squabbling mess of panicked shouts and confused orders.

Through their frantic cries while pushing you down the hall, you ascertain that it’s raiders. Organised criminal units from the quarries, with highly trained assassins known as reapers. Murmurings of their plot to attack the Estate have been reported for some time but ignored by your hubristic Uncle. No way would they attack here, they wouldn’t dare.

You round a final bend and your group meets a furious assault.

Your senses sing to life, and you start to move.

The Mandalorian thunders up a flight of stairs three at a time. He shoulders an elaborate garden gate out of the way so hard it careens off its hinges. Hallways flick by as he searches for you, thinking on a loop, never should have left her, never should have left her, never should ha--

He rounds a corner and it’s like being thunderstruck.

The glittering golden fabric of your evening gown spins up a storm in the hall. In the frenzy of at least three reapers being tossed left and right by the gold whiplash, he makes out your figure. He sees you take one of them in hand and use the leverage to leap into an almost tender embrace in the attacker’s arms before hurling your weight down and converting it into a savage throw.

The sprawled figure doesn’t gain any purpose before glimmering wisps of expensive fabric are secured around his neck as you heave upwards. You don’t let go until the body is too heavy to carry.

A second reaper charges at you but you stay hunched until he’s about to barrel into you, then you straighten suddenly and he careens high. As he sails over you, the last of your luxurious skirt goes across his airway and you jerk it across your shoulder with a snap. The body thuds to the floor, neck lolling.

Din watches you drop the dead weight to the ground and sag against the wall, heaving. Without hesitating he makes his way toward you, so frantic as to miss your shoulders tense and your sigh of resolve as you ready for more fight. When you whirl with an almost staggering rage, he stutters, but your eyes clear in recognition instantly.

‘Thank fuck it’s you.’ You throw yourself into his hard, unyielding façade with a puzzling lack of care. Strong arms circle and squeeze his waist and he sucks in a breath. Din doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so after a moment he pats your upper arms a few times. His heart is battering itself against his beskar armour and he prays you cannot hear it.

You look around him. ‘Where’s Grogu?’

As if on cue, the kid bobs around the corner, making a beeline for you. He babbles a noisy string of sounds as you crouch to tug at his ears. You look up.

‘Follow me?’ It’s a question. Din smoulders, picking up the child.

‘Lead the way.’

You run.

‘Wait!’ You skid to a halt in front of a door. Mando stops, looking back. ‘Can you open this?’

‘Do we really have t—’ He cuts himself off and moves to the door, scrutinising the keypad. He holds the edge of his gauntlet against it. A loud bang with a puff of smoke obliterates the instrument. He locks his stance and reefs the door sideways one handed.

‘Subtle,’ you say, stepping inside your Aunt’s antechamber.

Your Aunt is a cold and distant shut-in who relates more to chemical suspension processes and program matrices than people. Among many predilections of hers is a fascination with formulating alchemical and nano compounds of varying purposes and effects.

It remained a mystery just how they were used, but few rivals and detractors stayed in the political landscape for long around here.

She also took great delight in displaying her creations.

You take down a dainty, glittering bandolier. Once slipped over your head, the thing is double lined with tiny capsules from collarbone to navel. You turn to a nearby drawer, tugging it open to withdraw a tiny sidearm, an obvious custom job. You feel about yourself and find a spot of fabric such in which to tuck it.

Somewhat armed, you feel a little better. You duck passed Mando leaning against the doorframe and sense him straighten up to follow.

You’d grown up on these grounds, so you knew the ways to take to avoid the worst of the bedlam erupting across the Estate. A few scuffles and several minutes pass before you slow; the three of you edge to the hangar opening and peer in.

From the shadows, your heart sinks. By the Crest stand a couple of household guards, some hangar grunts and, pacing furiously between them, your cousin, Avon. Cracking knuckles with a face of fury.

You study the scene and have a tiny battle with yourself, reaching a conclusion that elicits a pained tug in your chest. You turn to Mando.

‘I have an idea.’

Avon waits by the ship with his cobbled together retinue. If that creepy bounty hunter tries to take his cousin back off this rock, as is his suspicion, by damn is he going to make sure she stays put.

Plus, the chaos wreaking havoc would be a great cover to dispose of that weirdo.

As if summoning said chaos, he whirls at the sound of a deafening explosion to see the aft hanger start pouring smoke. From the haze he sees her sprinting towards him, barefoot, gown in shreds and face alight with terror.

She barrels into him and starts shrieking. ‘He’s here. He’s here! He’s right behind me!’

Perfect, Avon thinks. He wraps a protective arm across her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry,’ he tells her. ‘You’ll never have to see him again.’ He juts his chin to the party. ‘Head him off, do not let him into this hangar!’

The men turn on a deferential dime and scurry toward the obscured opening.

His cousin spins in his grip and grasps at his shoulders. ‘He’s dangerous,’ she stammers. ‘Are you sure those men can handle it?’

He hates seeing her upset. After all these years. Even though he knows he can’t protect her from his Father’s plots, he’ll still try. He pulls her into a hug and she burrows into his chest, hands clasped between them in a frightened little prayer. ‘Oh please, oh please…’

‘Relax,’ he puts a hand in her hair, head resting on top of hers. ‘You’re safe, Sunbeam. You’re not going anywhere tonight, hear me? They’ll take out that sicko and we’ll turn his hunk of junk into scr— urk!’ A painful spike radiates from the side of his neck and begins to burn a path across his whole body.

What? Confusion and vertigo assault his senses. He feels himself falling, the fire being followed by numbness, by nothing. Puhh… He strains to look up through vision being splotched with black and red and sees the face of his cousin, his little Sunbeam, a look of grief painting her features. Then he sees nothing at all.

You keep a tight hold on his shirt front with one hand and the little vial with the other. When you know the toxin is doing its work, you let the glass cylinder fall and grab at a shoulder, crouching slowly to the ground with his folding body.

Laying him down as gently as possible, you kneel next to him to whisper a pathetic little ‘sorry’.

You don’t get to keep vigil very long. The Mandalorian strolls from the dissipating smoke, your loop of toxic weaponry draped over a shoulder, to make his way to you. After a moment’s observation, he leans down. You feel his cloak drape across your shoulders. Oh, you’re shivering. Grogu appears beside you to put a gentle little claw on your hand where it’s dropped by your side.

Mando pulls Avon’s unconscious body across a hefty shoulder. Moving to the bench seating running along a wall, he lowers the body there, orienting him so his airway is unobstructed.

It’s so simple. And you’re so grateful you could cry. He turns back to you.

‘How long will he be out?’

‘A couple hours, I think.’

‘Ready to go?’

It’s not even a question between you.

‘Lead the way,’ you say.

Hours later, Din fidgets with an aggressive restless want, but tries to still himself enough to sleep. Shifting in the pilot seat, propping a knee on the console, he tries to clear his mind, let his thoughts wash over and away down the current.

Yet he can’t stop thinking back to earlier.

That particular section of hyperspace had been almost devoid of starlight, so the dim glow of the cockpit’s instruments mostly reflected its interior back at the three of them, huddled in separate trains of thought. Din couldn’t resist taking the chance to look back via the reflection, telling himself he’d just be checking on her.

She still had his cloak wrapped across her shoulders – the bandolier by then hanging in Din’s weapons locker. She had her knees drawn up and curled into herself, knuckles tensed against dark fabric. She seemed to be gazing into the black. It was hard to tell just going on the warped glass of the windows, but he’d been sure she was crying.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Kicked himself the instant it passed his mouth.

Kicked himself again as he saw her rub hard at her eyes and cheeks, pushing away as much emotion as humanly possible.

‘Oh, yeah,’ she sniffed. ‘Yeah, yep. Okay.’

A few blistered exhales out.

‘Just trying to figure how he could have simply sold me off like that. Down the river of greed and power and wealth. My own uncle, guardian for nearly all of my life.’ She’d scoffed, run a hand along the bank of inputs beside her and stood.

‘Guess family isn’t really worth much these days,’ she said, so sadly. ‘Accipe quod debes.’

She’d twirled the cloak off of her shoulders and draped it carefully over her vacated chair.

‘I’m gonna-- Is it okay if I go get some sleep?’

‘Cabin is all yours,’ he’d said. Then after a beat, added, ‘As long as you need.’

Now, he’s fighting a tight, hot compulsion to storm into that cabin and drop to his knees beside you. Offer himself to you; let you take anything you want.

He recalls the sight of you slipping that ribbon of multicoloured vials across yourself, adjusting it against the golden fabric hugging your torso and hips.

You’d looked powerful. And so damn beautiful.

Fussing and fidgeting for another few minutes, Din finally tells himself that he’ll never settle unless he releases the pressure. It’s just biological functioning, he lies to himself.

Huffing with embarrassed surrender, he nudges at his belt and pants until his cock is free. Rock hard and leaking already, he closes his eyes and lifts his chin while rubbing two fingers over the slick head. Maybe holding his gaze away from it won’t make what he’s doing feel quite so damn wrong.

He fists himself in his gloved hand and makes long aggro stokes – half pleasuring, half punishing. The snick, snick, snick of skin under friction fills the cockpit. He works at himself and barely manages to keep the vision of you at bay, a luscious glowing vision of breasts and ass and hair and lips.

And clever eyes, and quick hands, and laughter like music.

Din switches his hold to use two fingers and thumb, focused in on the frenulum. Efficiency now. Just finish it.

The feeling of your arms wrapped around him fills his mind’s eye without invitation and he grunts, cupping his free hand to take in his spent load. Panting for a moment, he tucks himself away and grabs an engine rag to wipe his glove off. He stuffs it into the top of a boot, to discard later.

Leaning back, he doesn’t feel that much better, but his eyes do feel heavier and he is able to slip into a restless slumber.

Waking with a start sometime later, Din automatically moves to check on the kid – his higher functioning taking time to engage. He’s halfway to Grogu’s little space before it all floods back.

He lets his shoulders slump in shame. Then they rise in concern.

Grogu’s space is open and empty.

‘Kid?’ Din calls. Nothing. ‘Grogu?’

A soft little ‘ehhh,’ comes from your cabin. What the--?

Din moves to the door that’s half open and glances in. You’re on your side facing away from him, blankets pooled at your waist and your sorry excuse for a dress barely covering your back and shoulders. But Din scarcely notices that, because Grogu’s big ears tweak and his shy face peers over you at him.

He’s been curled into your side.

‘Grogu,’ Din whispers. ‘Come here, leave her be.’

The child frowns but edges up into a crouch, grunting a little with effort. As he moves, your arm falls softly away to rest at your side. You’d been holding him in your sleep. The shame in Din’s chest turns to a sharp ache.

‘S’okay,’ you mumble, voice thick and weary. ‘He can stay if he wants to.’ You don’t turn from the wall and Din only just catches your next words. ‘S’nicer than being alone.’

This is all too much. Move into action, that’s what he knows how to do.

‘We are going to make a landing soon. Nowhere special but thought getting you some- some actual clothing was in order.’ You start to roll toward him, but he doesn’t think he can bear the sight. So he barrels on, ‘Just head up when you are ready. We will make it quick.’

He spins and stalks away.

Mando had left you wrapped in a blanket seated in the cockpit to head into the tiny settlement he’d found. You’ve no idea of the customs of this place or what their fashion is like, but Mando had also said he’d take you to Navarro where you could get a more substantial and useful wardrobe.

The choice of planet confused the hell out of you, and you’d said as much. But he’d haltingly explained that he had some land there. A modest home. An in with the local law.

You were fucking floored. Just when you thought you had some small measure of the man.

You stare out across the alien landscape and think.

‘Alright, here’s how this’ll work,’ you shift your crossed arms and instead plant them on your hips. The surprisingly well-fitted tunic and pants combo Mando had picked up for you casts you with an imposing silhouette and you’re thankful for it.

You’re proposing something crazy and you desperately want him to say yes.

Mando hadn’t offered to take you onto his ship again, but he also hadn’t made any indication he was planning to leave you somewhere either. You’d tuned up his diagnostics panel without asking and he’d simply nodded in thanks.

Was this just a thing now? Did he think you were onboard as a matter of course? Or was he afraid? Afraid that you’d reject him again?

Reject his offer, you correct yourself.

So you’d decided to be the one to make the arrangement formal, and then some.

You approach him while he’s doing maintenance on his Amban sniper, the Crest’s hold open to cool evening air and a bright twilight. He’s giving you his ‘passively listening’ posture, so you just steel yourself and get on with it.

‘There’s only so much I need to be doing on the upkeep of this old girl,’ you put a hand to the side of the Crest. Mando’s head snaps up. ‘And Grogu will usually either be with you, someone you trust, or just fine here. I don’t need to be like his babysitter or anything.’

The baby totters on a nearby rock, waving his short arms at a group of fireflies hovering overhead. ‘Ah!’ he squeaks in wonder, and sits hard on his butt.

You smile. ‘Not that I wouldn’t mind spending all day with that for entertainment. But you already have your ways of looking after him. And I also get the sense he can look after himself…’

You sweep your hand across the ship’s hold and turn to him. ‘So where does that leave me? Lounging around while you’re on jobs? No thank you.’

The man in front of you is as still as stone. You take a breath and lunge into your proposition.

‘So I’ll partner with you, on jobs.’

Mando gives an incredulous huff. But he tilts his helmet in what you believe is an ‘intrigued’ kind of gesture, so you push on.

‘You know I can handle myself. I can be useful to you. I’ll learn, maybe increase the work…’ you trail off, your words sounding painfully silly all of a sudden.

A pause so long the twilight has turned to dusk. Grogu trudges in and settles into his pod with little huffs and grunts. Din watches him with what you see is a deep softness.

‘Okay,’ he finally says. Wow, that took a lot less persuading than you were prepared for. ‘On a condition.’

Oh.

He slides the rifle from his lap and stands to clip it back into its holdings. Then he steps toward you.

A chill hits you and you shiver in your two-piece ensemble.

‘I have seen that you can handle yourself. There is no question there,’ he rasps. You shiver again, less from the cold this time. ‘What I would like you to tell me is… How?’

‘Huh?’

‘Those cards, the ones you say you hold to your chest.’ You swear his head dips slightly, like he’s looking down to where he just mentioned. ‘If you tell me about some of them and your answers satisfy me... We may have an agreement.’

‘May?’

‘That is the current offer.’

You sigh. You want this. Just do it.

‘Which ones would you like to know about?’

‘Where did you learn to fight the way you do?’

Oh good, an easy one.

‘Well for all my Uncle’s many, many shortcomings as a guardian and father-figure,’ you look down for a moment, feeling sad. ‘He did have a strangely strong desire to ensure I could defend myself. Sort of disconnected from how he really saw me in the end, and I doubt he ever paid any attention to the instructors I requested and the lessons I took. But he let me seek out and train with any master I could find.’

You smile. ‘I loved it. It was one of the few nice parts of my upbringing.’ You look up, shrug. ‘And in subsequent years, I’ve travelled a lot, not always in peaceful parts.’

You wait, Mando gives you a small nod.

‘Okay.’

‘Any other cards to flip for your pleasure?’ You’re pushing it. But you’re baring yourself so you’re feeling pushy.

‘Languages. I have seen you fluent in several.’

‘Oh, that’s just rich schooling.’

‘Right.’ Mando seems to gather himself. ‘That makes sense. One more card then.’ You try not to let your shoulders tense. You know what he’s going to ask. ‘The one thing that your… wealthy upbringing does not explain… is how you know your way around ships so well. Especially old class models, like the Crest.’

There it is. The hard one.

You contemplate lying. But you figure he’ll see right through you. So you straighten up, turn to look out into the darkness, away from his stare, and tell him what happened to you.

‘My Uncle may have conveyed a… jovial and floral air in his dealings. But politically, strategically, he was a fucking animal. Everything about his outward appearance was a calculated contrivance. Anything was fair game.’

You catch his nod from your periphery, as if he’d figured this out already. Fine, keep going.

‘One of his most secret and vicious weapons was my Aunt,’ you murmur, going back into that place and time you’d spent so long trying to push away.

‘You saw what she liked to do with compound alchemicals. It was a hobby of hers that she took into her “work” of contributing to the prosperity of the Estate and Uncle’s power lust. In the case of that particular undertaking, bumping off threats.

‘Another project she had dedicated years to was ways to make the workers of the Estate… well, not the best they could be really… But the most skilled, the most efficient, the most knowledgeable in their field. Elite and untouchable, to give her and Uncle’s empire its edge.’

You decide you may as well sit down, and lower yourself to the floor, knees pulled to chin. You sense Mando shift and retake his seat.

‘In one of her many… experiments, she worked with a mind flayer.’

‘How would—’ Mando cuts himself off. You don’t turn, just continue.

‘A modified one. Augmented to… I couldn’t begin to understand the fuckin’ tech but basically, to implant stuff. Programs she’d design to dump all the necessary know-how, skills, background, or whatever, whatever was needed for whatever job needed doing.

‘It was known to be painful, and dangerous. It rearranged neural pathways, forced the brain to change to accommodate the new stuff. Sometimes people went mad. Others died.

‘I was a kid, fascinated by the workers who would go into that room and come out dull and glazed. It was also highly secret so of course I wanted to see.

‘One afternoon, when I thought my Uncle and Aunt were off at some function, I snuck in. Didn’t touch anything at first, just, just poked around some. I um, I tripped and like, activated it. It freaked me out and I screamed. Turns out my Aunt wasn’t out and she burst into the room, furious.

‘In this- this fit of fury she grabbed me, shoved me into- into the beam of the thing. Held me there. I was probably screaming, trying to fight, but to tell you the truth I don’t really remember it all that well.’

You stop to swallow a few times, willing the tears to leave you alone. The stoic presence beside you is a strange comfort.

‘I was in a coma for weeks. They thought I might not wake up at all. But I did, and I had uh-’ swallow, breathe. ‘I had lost a lot of my memory, of my early life… My uh- my mother… and her voice.’

But there it is, burning tears make you stop and you cup your face in your hands, still trying to breathe deep so you don’t go do something stupid like sob. You rub at your face and look back out into the night.

‘Anyway, what was up in the lil’ ticker was a hypercharged datadump of the last program that had been loaded – ultraclass gunship mechanic with pre-empire specialisation. The poor sap who’d been awaiting that particular implantation was intended as a gift to my Uncle, a surprise from my Aunt for his vain little vintage ship hobby. I think they both always resented me for ruining it.’

You huff an exhale and feel oddly buoyant.

After a while, ‘I am sorry,’ Mando whispers. ‘For making you share that.’

You decide to tell him the truth. ‘S’okay,’ you say. ‘Kind of feel a little lighter from the telling of it.’

You feel compelled to tell him something else, something you’ve never told anyone: ‘The strangest part though, even though I know I have this skill with ships because of the program dumped into my under-formed brain… It’s almost like there’s more going on. Sort of, like… preternatural. Like ships speak to me or something. It’s weird.’

Okay, that was probably an overshare.

‘Uh, never mind…’

But he speaks. ‘Your skills with tech go beyond ships – programming, electrical…’

You shrug, ‘One takes a kind of logical path into another, I guess...’

He nods.

You sense the approaching rush of a decision from Mando. He’d leaned way forward as you were talking, but now he straightens.

‘We have an agreement.’

Your head snaps up to him.

‘We have an agreement?’

‘Yes.’

You smile. The growing darkness of the outside encloses your little patch of light as you and your companion look to each other.

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#remembered the break #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #mandalorian and grogu #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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draguta · 11 months

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.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-eight.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: ptsd

chapter word count: 4709

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Avon

You weren’t sure how long you lay in that bath, letting the warm water wash over you, warm your chilled bones, the soap stinging at your eyes as it bubbled on the surface. It could have been hours - it could have been days for all you knew.

But you still felt dirty, still felt the mark of Hybern’s fingers on your skin as if they had left behind a dirty trail. No matter how much you scrubbed and scrubbed at your body, that lingering touch still remained, and it made you nauseous.

Because for the first time in months, you had allowed yourself to revert to who you had been Under the Mountain. You had stood there, unmoving and allowing a male to run his hands over your body as if he owned it. It was the same as you had been - a whore. Only this somehow felt worse, because this time you weren’t weak, there was no one there forcing you to allow it to happen and you were certainly strong enough to defend yourself, and yet…yet you had allowed it - allowed him to put his hands on you, to marr and dirty your skin - and you had simply stood there and done nothing.

And why? Because you had been scared - because that male who had stood in front of you in that throne room, he was everything that you had learnt to fear. Everything that you had been told to fear.

He was right. You were weak.

You heard the front door open downstairs, the muffled voices of Tamlin and Ianthe. Lucien had remained hovered by the bathroom door as you bathed, but the retreating thuds of his footsteps against the wooden floorboards told you enough; he was heading downstairs.

Somehow, you were thankful for that. He didn’t need to see you like this, to know what the King had reminded you of, how he had brought all of your shame to the forefront for you to wear like a badge of dishonour. He wasn’t the first person to have called you a whore, but he was certainly right when he had said it.

You weren’t a warrior, not really. No matter how much you wanted to be.

You had told Lucien what had happened, between breathy sobs upon arrival back to his room in the Spring Court. And you had begged him not to tell Tamlin. Why, you weren’t entirely sure. If Tamlin knew what the King had done - what he had tried to do - there was always the chance any alliance between Hybern and Spring would turn to dust just as quickly as Tamlin’s claws would likely appear.

But…the way he had looked at you Under the Mountain, as if you had chosen that life for yourself, as if you had lost all of your morals. You didn’t care what Tamlin thought of you, but you couldn’t stand him looking at you that way again - couldn’t stand anyone looking at you like that ever again.

The blood from your knuckles ran red in the water, turning it a milky-pink tone; you’d scrubbed at your skin so hard that it had bled, but it hadn’t made a difference. You were dirty, and that dirt still remained.

You ran a hand over your face, dunking your head under the water again. Ten more minutes, you told yourself. Just ten more minutes to soak - to wash - and then you would get out.

Ten more minutes.

“You can’t ally with Hybern,” Lucien said firmly, taking the steps down two at a time. Tamlin paused, angling his head to the side. He jutted with his chin - they would speak in the study, away from prying ears. Lucien followed behind them, eyes narrowed on the backs of Tamlin’s and Ianthe’s heads until they were safely inside the study, door closed behind them.

“We can’t ally with Hybern,” Lucien said again, more firmly this time.

“I know it’s not ideal-” Tamlin began, but Ianthe interrupted him.

“I think the alliance Hybern is offering us is incredibly generous,” she crooned. “And lucrative for us.”

“How is it lucrative for us Ianthe?” Lucien sneered. “Because it would give you a more lucrative position for yourself? Isn’t that right?”

Ianthe huffed, and opened her mouth to send a retort back in his direction; Lucien sized himself up, ready for the verbal sparring that was no doubt about to come. But Tamlin shot Ianthe a glare, and continued before she had the chance, “I know it’s not ideal, but it is an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to be on the wrong side of history,” Lucien ground out, remembering the promise that he had made to Y/N the night before. ‘I choose you, Y/N. And I will never stop choosing you,’ that’s what he had promised her, and he had no intention of breaking that promise. Yet, the words were there on the tip of his tongue, the one thing he knew would halt Tamlin’s plans, would put a stop to this alliance before they even got started - Hybern had touched Y/N, had made her so terrified that she had come running and trembling into his arms, had begged him to take her home, hadn’t left the tub since they had returned.

But she had pleaded with him not to tell Tamlin, and even when Lucien had argued back, she had still held strong in her decision. Tamlin shouldn’t know. And so, he bit his tongue.

The High Lord let out a sigh. “Nothing is confirmed yet,” he said finally, green eyes flicking up to meet Lucien’s. “We’ll look into other outcomes - other routes - first. Who knows, maybe someone else will be able to help us get Feyre back first.” He paused, turning away from both Ianthe and Lucien, the former of which bristled at the idea that her plan was being reconsidered. He ran a hand along his jaw, inhaling deep through his nose. “Go to the Day Court. See if Helion, or one of those scholars he has running around his libraries knows of any way to break Feyre’s bargain with Rhysand. Do what you must.”

Lucien’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief. It wasn’t ideal - Hybern was still on the table - but at least Tamlin was willing to look at other options. At least their deal wasn’t finalised. But to go to the Day Court, to leave when Y/N needed him more than ever…

“Someone needs to stay with Y/N,” he said, so quietly that he wasn’t even sure the High Lord and his Priestess had even heard him. “She’s…She’s struggling today.”

Tamlin grinded his teeth. “Do you have any other requests?” He snapped. Lucien licked his tongue across the front of his teeth, but shook his head. “You have one hour, and then I expect you to be ready to go. Every minute wasted is a minute longer Feyre has to stay in that place.”

He bowed low, confirming that his High Lord’s orders had been accepted, and turned for the door.

An hour. That was all he had to keep Y/N from shattering, to bring her back to the present and remind her that she wasn’t Under the Mountain anymore, that she wasn’t what Amarantha had made her into.

Before he knew it, he was standing outside Y/N’s door; his hands almost shook as he reached for the doorknob. She had been through so much - had already lived through this story Under the Mountain, and knew that it always ended with the slurs thrown at her that had once made his blood boil. He’d heard them every single night in Amarantha’s court, whispers of, ‘whore’ and ‘harlot’. One particularly religious older fae had once said to him, ‘The Mother will surely damn her’, likely not realising who he was, or how important Y/N was to him.

He would never tell her those things, although he had no doubt that she already knew what had been whispered about her whenever her back was turned. There were some - High Fae that Lucien knew were good people - that had never said a word against her, but those who followed Amarantha like loyal pets, those who bowed to her in fear of what she would do to them if they didn’t…they saw her as no better than the rats that had resided in the dungeons where he had found her on that first visit.

The door creaked as he opened it, and to his surprise found Y/N sitting on the edge of her bed. His knees almost buckled when he saw her - wrapped in an old towel, likely the first one she had found, staring at the wall ahead of her. There were scrapes along her legs and arms and chest, as if she had been clawing at them repeatedly, and her face…her eyes were empty and void, her hair dripping around her shoulders onto her mattress, but she didn’t even deign to look at it, let alone move to dry it. She just stared, and stared, and stared. Completely blank. Completely broken.

He had seen her like that before - Under the Mountain, locked behind that very door the day she had disappeared to the Night Court. He’d never wanted to see her like that again.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. She blinked, the only hint that she had heard him at all. He took a hesitant step toward her, trying not to startle her. “Y/N, how are you feeling?”

Nothing, no reply. She didn’t even look at him. He chewed the inside of his lip and moved closer still. “Did the bath help?” He asked tentatively. “Perhaps Alis can bring you a molten chocolate?”

Again, no reply.

Lucien’s mind reeled, trying to find something - anything - that he could say or do to make her feel even an inch closer to herself again. He would kill Hybern for this. He would make such Hybern’s death was slow and so very painful.

He perched on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. One arm slid around her shoulders, and the other around her waist, as he pulled her into his chest. Still, no words fell from her lips, but her shoulders rose and fell in a great inhale as her body seemed to relax just slightly at his embrace. He leaned down and planted a small kiss to the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“I have to go to the Day Court today,” he said quietly into her hair. “I probably won’t be back for a few days. I need to know that you’re okay before I go. I need to know that you aren’t going to do anything…stupid.”

Like stab herself with an ash arrow.

No reply. No anything.

He would talk to Alis, make sure Y/N wasn’t left alone until he returned, make sure someone was stationed to guard her door just in case. It was the best he could do. He had to go to Day, had to make sure Tamlin’s other options were available to him, if not for the sake of the Court, but so that Y/N never had to go to Hybern again, never had to come that close to its King again, unless it was to kill him.

It wasn’t difficult for him to lift her into his arms and lay her down on her bed. Her head hit the pillow gently, and she curled up into the mattress as he pulled the cover over her. A flick of his wrist had the fire blazing in the fireplace behind him, and he moved her book from the armchair by the mantle to the bedside table in case she felt so inclined as to read the rest of her day away. One kiss to her forehead, and a whisper of, “I love you”, and then he was striding across the room toward the door.

“Must you leave me?” Her voice was croaky and shaken, and it stopped him in his tracks, turning back to her from the door. She had turned her eyes to him now, large and doe-like, her bottom lip pouted out slightly in a mannerism he was sure she didn’t even realise she was doing.

“I have to go to the Day Court. Tam’s orders,” he explained. ‘To make sure you never go through this again,’ was what he didn’t add.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know,” he replied truthfully. “But I’ll come home as soon as I can. I’ll come home to you.”

“I love you.” She breathed it out as if it were a lifeline, and as he took in her frame, so small in that bed, so shaken and scared, he thought perhaps, for her, it was a lifeline.

“I love you too,” he replied. With that, she hunkered down in bed and closed her eyes, and Lucien prayed that she would find some peace with sleep.

Twenty minutes later, bag packed and slung over his shoulder, he found Alis in the kitchen - she was kneading a bread dough into the kitchen with such a force that Lucien thought, perhaps with some training, she might have been a strong fighter. She raised an eyebrow as he approached, lingering somewhat awkwardly at the end of the bench table in the centre of the room. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to speak, but Alis interrupted.

“Whatever it is you’re after, I’m too busy to do it,” she snapped with a small tut of her tongue. “Carla never showed up for work again this morning, and the cook is away tending to her sick father, so I have to make dinner now as well, it seems.”

“Oh, I wasn’t looking to interrupt your work,” Lucien said slowly with an apologetic incline of his head. “But there is something you could do for me.”

Alis sucked at her teeth and let out a huff as she wiped flour and dough coated hands on the front of her apron. “Out with it then.”

“I have to go to the Day Court,” Lucien explained, motioning to the bag over his shoulder. “And I need someone to watch Y/N for me while I’m gone.”

Alis raised an eyebrow. “And why can’t she look after herself?” She asked in a rather pointed tone.

Lucien paused, biting at his lip. He hadn’t thought of a reason to tell Alis - hadn’t even considered that she might need one. “She’s been…struggling today.”

Alis nodded slowly, turning back to her bread. “I’ll send up some tea for her then.”

“No,” Lucien said firmly. “Someone needs to stay with her.” Alis paused her movements again, and turned her head toward him expectantly. Lucien sighed. “There was an incident at Hybern.”

Alis’ lips parted as though she were going to ask what kind of incident, but thought better of it. Her mouth snapped shut and her brow creased firmly. “She can come to stay with me,” she decided. Lucien winced - Tamlin was sure to be against the idea of Y/N leaving the manor, let alone going to stay in the village until Lucien got back. “She’ll be safe there, and a few days out of this manor will do her a world of good.”

Lucien considered it; Alis was right, of course, Y/N did need some time away from the manor, away from the looming threat of war, away from Tamlin and Ianthe. Away from all of it. He’d deal with Tamlin later, find something to tell him, and confront his ire when the time came. But he couldn’t leave Y/N alone, not now, not when she needed someone.

“Just until I get back,” Lucien confirmed with a small nod.

“Until you get back,” Alis repeated with a nod of acceptance.

With that, he turned on his heel and made his way up the stairs to the lobby. He came to a stop on the grass outside the front of the manor, turning back to look up at the house behind him. There, looking from the window of her bedroom, watching him closely, stood Y/N. He raised a hand, pressing his fingertips against his lips - a goodbye of sorts - and with that, the Autumn mist encased him as he winnowed to the Day Court.

And one thought ran through his mind as he left: ‘Y/N will be safe. Y/N will be safe. Y/N will be safe.’

You stretched your arms over your head - even only forty-five minutes on the back of a horse and your body was aching. But it was worth it, to be out of the manor and in the village. Avon was a sweet little place, a circular hamlet with all houses facing inward to the town square. A small stream ran through the centre, providing the villagers with clean water, and everywhere you looked there seemed to be the emerald green of the Spring Woodlands that surrounded it. So peaceful, you thought, to live somewhere so shrouded in nature.

Alis, who had trotted at your side for the entirety of the three-mile ride, despite being able to winnow to and from the manor in a matter of seconds, heaved herself from her horse, motioning for you to follow her. You let her lead you through the village square, your horses walking behind you, guided by the reins in your hands.

You marvelled at the little village square - a wooden dais was constructed on one side, overlooking a busy market. The smells of fresh flowers and baked bread wafted through that little square, enticing and inviting as you followed along behind Alis. Stalls selling everything from fresh lemon-juice to satin skirts in the pastel colours of Spring had been propped up on all sides.

Yet despite the stalls and the music drifting over from the band playing on the dais, all eyes seemed to be trained on you. You swallowed, trying to ignore that rising panic as you caught the heads of the villagers turning toward you in unison as you passed.

“It’s just because of who you are,” Alis said quietly. “High Queen Killer, sister to the High Lord. We don’t get many like you pass through this way.”

That didn’t stop you from feeling exposed, however.

But the number of stalking eyes that followed your every move dwindled as you reached the far end of the square. The flat-stone ground fell away to a dirt path, leading up into the trees, twining its way around the roots and trunks and small little houses. There, at the very end, sat Alis’ cottage.

It was small, but homey, standing grand against the backdrop of greenery, a little garden with a small wooden bench in front. The pair of you stopped to tie the horses to the fence by the trough of water, before following the stepping stones up to the house.

Inside was just as comforting as you had imagined it being. The walls were a dark green, mirroring the woods outside, whilst a warm fire blazed away in the corner. A table was sat in the centre of the room, and three doors at the back led off into what you assumed would be the bedrooms and a washroom. A worn armchair sat in the corner by a tiny bookshelf and a wooden-box filled with hand-carved toys, and there sitting in that chair, a book in hand whilst Alis’ nephews played with two wooden toy soldiers, sat-

“Silas?” You asked. Your voice came out hoarse and croaky, the first time you had spoken since Lucien had left that afternoon. Silas glanced up, eyes lighting in the light from the fireplace and the dimming sunlight of the growing evening. He cocked his head in surprise; his leg was propped up on a footstool, and his face was, perhaps, a little paler than you remembered it being, but he looked well. He looked healthy.

“Y/N, what a lovely surprise,” he beamed, closing his book and setting it on the table beside the chair. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m staying with Alis for a few days while Lucien is away,” you explained, mouth still practically hung-open in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been staying with my grandmother in the village until I’m recovered enough to return to my position at the manor,” Silas explained. “I was just watching Alis’ nephews until she finished work.”

You blinked at Alis, who had made no mention of Silas being there at all, but she simply shrugged, clapped her hands at her boys, and informed them that it was time for their baths. The two boys offered you little smiles and nods of greeting, before slipping through the door to the washroom, Alis closing it behind them.

“I went to the dormitory, and your cottage to check on you, but you weren’t there,” you admitted, taking a step further into the room and leaning against the table. “I was so worried when I hadn’t seen you since Leif.”

“Well,” Silas shrugged, “that Wyvern had a nasty sting to it, but I’ll survive. It’s not the worst injury I’ve had in a battle. The healer said I’ll probably be able to walk properly before the end of the week.”

“That’s wonderful news,” you beamed, and somehow your heart felt a little lighter.

You stayed there, sitting before the fire with Silas, who had offered you tea and a blanket and the arm of his chair to perch on, until Alis returned and sent the boys to bed, motioning for you to follow her. She showed you to the other bedroom - the one you imagined must have been hers. It was small, with a little wooden-framed double bed squashed into the corner, and no more than four woollen blankets thrown over the top of an old comforter, a little stand of candles already lit by the window.

“I can’t take your bed, Alis,” you argued, but Alis simply offered you a small smile.

“I’d rather you took it,” she said simply. “I don’t mind sharing with my boys.”

You nodded in thanks as she closed the door, and the second that your cloak was discarded and hung on the little hook on the back of the door, you were flopping onto the bed, eyes closing as you drifted into a light sleep.

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