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nemo-of-house-hamartia · 15 days

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For the questions: Dorothea and Mathias

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

II. GENERAL

Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all?

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public?

III. LOVE

What are their favorite things to do together?

What reminds them of each other?

What do they like best about each other?

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

What is the wedding like? Who attends?

How do they celebrate holidays?

Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Hello Nonnie! welcome welcome!

AND OMG YOU BROUGHT ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY DARLINGS BEBES. THE TWO THAT ARE 24/7 ON MY MIND. I SO RARELY RECEIVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THEM, SO THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU FOR MAKING ME SO HAPPY 💓😭💓 Lemme answer them all! <3 (and buckle up, it's going to be a long one <3 *happy squee*)

I. PRE-RELATIONSHIP

5) What would their lives be like if they had never met? I'd say that, had they never met, their lives would have been rather different, and dare I say, rather tragic. Considering how their whole story is based on the fact that Dorothea found herself out of her own time by absolute accident (or was it Fate, mayhaps, bringing her to where she belonged?), had she never met Mathias, she would have followed through with her parents' plan for her. She would have married Mr. Christopher Sterling, an affluent American Templar Master who had taken an interest in her in 1868, bringing forth their children, as was expected of her, and she would have joined the Templars, eventually becoming Grand Master of London and bringing absolute terror to the Assassins until her death by assassination in 1888. Mathias, on the other end, would have continued his life as he had ever since Emmanuelle destroyed his heart: vowing himself completely to the cause of the French Brotherhood, growing more and more disillusioned by everything around him, and eventually finding his demise in 1794 during the Reign of Terror, causing Antoine to go on an absolute rampage and turning even more to the dark side than she was before.

II. GENERAL

13) Which one thinks they aren't good enough for the other, if at all? Both. Both, for different reasons, believe that they are not good enough for the other. Mathias, due to his disastrous marriage with Emmanuelle, was left with more than just physical scars, and being the introspective man that he was, he didn't want to run the risk of "infecting" Dorothea with the sufference and sadness that he constantly felt; also, his physical disfigurement hindered him from actively pursuing her, terrified as he was that if he were to see the extent of his burn scars on his body, she would be absolutely repulsed and would reject him right away. Dorothea, on her side, thought that she was an absolute inept at romantic matters and not morally good enough for Mathias, especially after spending quite sometimes with him and Antoine and Colette. With them, the flaming passion they had to fight for a better world for everyone, she realized how blind and guillible she had been her whole life, shaped as it was by the Templar's beliefs her father and mother had raised her into. She felt she had been a complete fool that couldn't recognize alone that what her father did was not only wrong but also morally unjust, and that therefore, she as well was absolutely irrecoverable. Once that realization hit her and despite her utmost willingness to critically review her ways, alongside her feelings for Mathias literally roaring within her chest, she reined everyhing in, thinking he would be better off with someone that was never tainted from such ideology. She felt too ashamed to even dare to entertain the idea that he might want her. Thank goodness Colette was there to show them how they were so wrong about it all, and instead how, despite all the tragedies and sadness in their life, they were so similar to one another that they truly were two halves of the same soul, and renouncing this chance at happiness would be their greatest mistake.

11) Who whispers inappropriate things in the other's ear in public? DOROTHEA. She was EXTREMELY good at playing coy and being a little tease with her husband, and you can bet that Dorothea was the one that more often than not approached Mathias with the excuse of wanting a hug and a kiss, and ended up whispering all sort of suggestive things to his ears and against his neck, just for the satisfaction of seeing Mathias' face turn all red and rendering him a mumbling mess. However, she knew that, come nighttime, Mathias would be the one to render HER a whole mumbling mess under his most intimate caresses.

III. LOVE

6) What are their favorite things to do together? Playing music together is definitely one of their favourite activities together. Mathias was an excellent pianist and had an incredible voice, warm and soothing, and he adores sitting down and duet with Dorothea in the evening, singing together or playing the piano while Dorothea accompanies him, either with her voice or her violin. Alternatively, since Mathias had good training in dancing when he was a child, under his adoptive mother's tutelage, he would never say no to a round of waltz, knowing how much she adored dancing around with him. Another favourite things they enjoyed together was riding around the countryside. Mathias was a skilled equestrian, always more at ease around horses than humans, and during their courtship, he taught her how to ride, an activity that she enjoyed immensely, given that her parents never allowed her to do so for fear that she might hurt herself in the process. Dorothea was forever grateful to Mathias for teaching her because whenever she rode around with her horse, she felt truly and properly free, one with the wind.

9) What reminds them of each other? Dorothea was reminded of Mathias whenever her fingers flew over the keyboard of a pianoforte, tickling the ivories in the melodies that were him. She was reminded of him in the tranquillity of a bubbling brooke close to the meadow of their house; in the light of the full moon that lit up the dirt road that lead to the their house in the countryside, in the roaring of the voice of the waves that crashed against the white shore of Normandy, that reminded her so much of Dover; she was always reminded of him in the laughter of their children, that resembled him in so many aspects. Mathias was reminded of Dorothea in the soft, pale light of the sky at dawn, when the sun is not far away from the horizon, ready to break the night and bring forth another cheerful day; the stars that dotted the sky in the middle of the night, so similar to the way her freckles kissed her cheeks; He was reminded of her during the soft falling of the snow, and quiet silence that encompassed the land during winter time; Whenever he saw a flowery meadow in spring, he would think of her, and the time they spent together reading to one another among the wild flowers. He saw her resilience and kind determination in all their children, sweet Léonie in particular.

10) What do they like best about each other? Physically speaking, Dorothea *absolutely* adored Mathias' eyes. They were the most beautiful pair of eyes she had ever seen in all her life, not only for the dark colour and upward shape, but also for the way they were able to convey all Mathias' love for her without him uttering a single word. There was a whole world enclosed behind them, a lot that he left unspoken, and at the beginning of their courtship, she would find herself staring at them without even realizing she was doing so, trying as she could to decypher the mystery behind those long dark lashes. Mathias, instead, loved her smile, so genuine and sweet and welcoming, and loved the way Dorothea's face would light up when smiling for him. There was something so incredibly endearing when she smiled, he would oftentimes resort to silly jokes just for the chance to see that smile and hear her laughter. It brought him absolute comfort and delight in being the reason that she smiled and laughed. Now, in regards to their personality, Dorothea adored Mathias' sensitivity and kindess and generosity, the fact that, despite all the pain and misery he had gone through, he never EVER allowed himself to become a callous man, never allowed himself to give in to anger and contempt and selfishness, remaining instead a caring, honourable and gentle human being. He was his best friend Mathias, instead, was absolutely enthralled by Dorothea's kindness and loving heart, her sharp intellect, and her unwillingness to deceive, even when that would cost her greatly. During their courtship, he found these traits of her personality incredibly endearing and the ones that would prompt him to ask her to be his wife.

IV. DOMESTIC LIFE

3) What is the wedding like? Who attends?

Their wedding was as simple as it could be, in one of the niches in Notre Dame, attended by a Priest after Dorothea converted to Catholicism. The only people presents during their celebration were Antoine and Claude, Colette and Arno and Mathias' best friend Xavier, who had been the one that actually created the occasion for Mathias to declare himself to Dorothea and ask her to marry him. Dorothea, due to the fact that all her family was technically not born, had no one to invite to celebrate with her, but she knew that, in spirit, Byron was always there to support her and her happiness, so for that reason, she kept the compass he had given her inside one of the pockets of her wedding dress (a simple old robe that had belonged to Mathias' adoptive mother).

Unbeknownst to all of them (with the exception of Xavier), their ceremony was also attended by Rodrigo Reyes Moreno, Mathias and Antoine's uncle from their mother side. Xavier informed him that Mathias was to be wedded soon to his ladylove, and quick as his horse allowed, reached them in France, bringing with him a family heirloom that had belonged to his sister Ximena: a ring that was passed down the women from generation to generation in the Reyes Moreno, that was to be worn once married with the promise of a life rich in love and happiness. He entrusted the gift to Xavier, so that he could deliver him to Mathias, knowing that even if Ximena could not wear it for her own wedding (since there was none), at least her son's wife would.

9) How do they celebrate holidays?

In the peace and quietness of their cozy abode, for sure! 😂You see, with Colette and Antoine always looking after their brother and his wife and loving to spend the holidays all together, sometimes Mathias and Dorothea had an hard time to be completely alone during the holidays, even more so after their children were born. So, before becoming parents, they would sometimes try to run away in the countryside to just enjoy each other's presence, since it was the one they loved the most.

13) Do they have any "couple traditions", or family traditions?

Considering how both of them were two absolute nightowls, sometimes, when the moon was full and the weather serene, Dorothea loved to surprise Mathias with a midnight picnic, just for the two of them. She would spread a blanket in the garden that Mathias had planted for Dorothea, and with lit lanterns around them, they would enjoy some of the dishes that Dorothea had cooked for him (thanks to Colette being the best teacher ever <3). The quiet of the night around them, with only the moon kissing them, the stars twinkling for them, the crickets chirping softly, fireflies flying around them as the wind gently blow and danced through the tree branches....it made them feel secure, protected in the bubble that was their love, as if they were the only two people in the entire world.

Another couple tradition they had was connected to reading. They both were two ENORMOUS bookworms, with an impressive collection of books that they had collected throughout the years. But what's special about those books were the old, worn-out bookmarks that they had glued to various pages. Each bookmark had a memory attached - a quote they loved, a tear-stained page due to one of their fights, a shared laughed caused by a sentence. It was a tradition started by Dorothea: she was so terrified that something might happen and bring her back to the XIX Century that she wanted to have those memories collected by those bookmarks, so that everything she had with Mathias was "set in stone" and nothing could ever erase it.

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Thank you so much for this ask <3 it took me a little to write it all down, but I had so much fun <3

Truly, it put such a big smile on my face and such happiness to my heart, Nonnie, you have no idea <3

Thank you <3

#Assassin's Creed #Assassin's Creed Unity #Mathias De Beaumont #Dorothea Starrick #Mottie #my ocs #Nemo writes #Nemo replies #Greencoat #please do feel free to send more #<3 #I would love to answer some more

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karahalloway · 4 months

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The Highwayman: Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

Fandom: TRR (Historical AU)

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: On a dark, moonlit night, a highwayman's luck runs out...

Masterlist: The Highwayman

Chapter Summary: Drake arrives, but it's too late...

Word Count: 4,100

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, physical violence, murder, grief, suicidal thoughts, main character death) Do not read if you are triggered by any of these things!

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: As with Part II of this series, this installment is also quite grim and dark. So read at your own peril. There is no happy ending. As before, I have made some changes to the original, but hopefully, these are for the better.

A/N2: This is my third and final submission for @choicesprompts January 2024 Song Rewrite Challenge. The song I chose to rewrite is The Highwayman by Loreena McKennit.

Part III - The Highwayman Comes Riding

The crack of a musket explodes out into the night.

I duck instinctively, pistols primed and itching to return fire...

...until I realise that the shot had come from the casement.

My throat constricts. "Harper..."

But she has vanished behind the plume of powder smoke that now obscures her window.

"Shit..."

I'd known something was wrong the moment I laid eyes on her. She'd been too tense, too still, sitting on that ledge, more akin to a doll than a flesh-and-blood woman...

...but I'd spotted the silvery gleam of the barrel too late, and now all hell has broken loose.

Fucking Beaumont.

I should never have let my guard down.

Heedless of the preservation of my own skin, I leap forward, fingers on triggers, desperate to reach her.

Another flash of orange...

...and my hat sails from atop my head as a bullet goes just wide of its mark.

I raise a weapon, volleys of lead peppering the thatch to my left and right...

...but I am quickly forced to confront the obvious.

I cannot risk it.

The darkness, in combination with the smoke screen being kicked up by the 'Coats flintlocks obscures my sight into the room, and Harper's location within.

And though I desire nothing more than to dispatch each and every one of Beaumont's whoresons to the depths of hell, the truth is that I'd be firing blind. And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if my bullet found Harper instead of a dragoon.

So, I have but one choice.

Flank the bastards.

Spinning 'round, I dash back down the length of the roof, bullets nipping at my coattails. Diving to the side, I return a pair of retaliatory shots in the general direction of the inn — careful to avoid the actual window — so the 'Coats are under no illusion as to the direction of my retreat.

Sliding down the thatch, I push off from the roof to land bodily atop the muck heap.

Not the most graceful of my escapes, I have to admit, but beggars can't be choosers. And I am pressed for time that I do not have.

Rolling off the pile of shit, I quickly sheath my spent pistols and lope towards the barn with sabre drawn instead.

Emile, the stable hand, had paid back my previous generosity by making me wise to the unsavoury nature of the guests that had descended on the inn. So, instead of hitching Drogon and the new palfrey up in a stall, I've taken the added precaution of hiding the horses out in the gorse.

But where I erred was thinking that the Greencoat patrol had sought the inn out for benign purposes. Because it sure as hell hadn't been me who'd plotted the course for them. In fact, I've always taken care to ensure that my tracks never led directly back to Harper.

Which begs the question... How the fuck did I end up walking into an ambush? With Gale strung up as bait?

My grip tenses on the hilt of my sword.

Someone had let the cat out of the bag. They must've. There's no other explanation.

Who? I have no clue. As there are a grand total of two souls who are privy to the secret that I frequent The Crown, and neither would betray me.

Not willingly, at least...

But, first things first.

Skirting along the shadow of the structure's perimeter, I arrive at the stable doors.

It appears quiet. But after being greeted by gunfire once already this eve, I am loath to take further chances.

Pinching up a handful of peddles, I toss them through the doorway. Only when no shots fire in reply, do I dare slip inside.

"Sir?" comes the hesitant query from within the shadows. "That ye? I heard musket fire an'—"

My sabre slices through the night. "Thought I'd be dead?"

The boy's countenance morphs into a mask of horror as the blade comes to rest 'neath his jaw. "Nay, sir! I'd never! I—"

"Care to swear on that?" I interject with a dangerous edge.

"On a tower of Bibles stacked on my parents' graves, sir!" Emile vouches with a tremble to his voice.

I assess the lad under the pale light of the moon. His face is ashen but his eyes glint with steadfast surety.

I lower my blade. "The 'Coats have Harper..."

The hand emits a gasp of disbelief. "Sacré dieu...!"

"...and I could use your assistance," I add, moving to the closest stall that houses a mount bearing Greencoat livery.

"Anything, sir," he proclaims earnestly. "Yerself an' Mistress Harper ha' always been good t' me!"

"Fetch a bag of oats," I direct as I grab the reins of the bay gelding. "And a length of rope if you have it."

"Right away, sir!"

While Emile sets about his task, I lead the Greencoat mount out onto the gangway. Reaching for the girth, I tighten it back up before slipping the bridle off and tossing it into the straw.

"The things ye requested, sir," huffs Emile, reappearing once more.

"Good," I approve, taking the sack of feed from him. "Now, help me lash this to the saddle."

Working in tandem, we quickly secure the decoy atop the horse. Shrugging out of my justacorps — on top of the retribution for Harper, that cunt of a Beaumont also owes me a new hat and coat — I sling the muck- and bullet hole-ridden covering over the sack to complete the trick.

"Think'll fall for it, sir?" asks Emile as he meets my eye from across the horse's neck.

"Better pray to God they do," I reply, slapping the mount on the rear to send it galloping out into the night. "Else this might very well be our last meeting."

Emile's throat bobs in consternation. "Best o' luck to ye, then, sir."

"Christ knows I'll need it," I accede, grasping his palm to press a gold ducat into it. "Now, make yourself scarce afore the dragoons show up."

With a quick nod, the lad disappears back into the gloom of the barn.

Withdrawing from the stables once more, I skirt 'round the far side of the building, careful to keep to the shadows. Hopping the low fence of the vegetable patch, I make my way towards the low door that leads into the kitchen.

Trying the handle, I find it unlocked. Pulling the heavy wooden door back, I slip warily inside.

The crash of boots above me confirms that the Greencoats have fallen for my ruse. But there is no guarantee that every last one of their dastardly lot plans to depart the inn.

Belvedere Beaumont may be a godless dog, but he is by no means a fool.

Which means I'll need to keep ahold of my wits... and weapons.

Pausing at the bottom of the short set of stone steps that lead up to the main hall, I spare a moment to quickly reload my flintlocks.

Slotting one gun back into my belt, I grasp the hilt of my sabre in one hand, and the second pistol in the other before ascending the stairs.

The hall is dark... and quiet.

Whatever patrons there may have been must've made themselves scarce upon the discharge of the first shot.

Honestly? I cannot blame them. I certainly would not wish to be caught on the wrong side of the dragoon's crossfire.

I clench my eyes shut. Please, let her be safe...

Moving through the hall like a ghost, I arrive at the main staircase.

Cocking my pistol, I proceed onto the first step with as much care as I can muster, even as every fibre of my body is raring to dash upwards as quickly as humanly possible.

Sticking to the wall, I inch my way slowly towards the second floor, flintlock before me, on guard for the faintest sound or movement.

Reaching the landing without incident, I am greeted by the wanton destruction left in the wake of the dragoon besiegement.

My jaw piques in ire.

This had been punition — pure and simple. The setting of a heavy-handed example to put the fear of God into the hearts of all those who may cross paths with Beaumont and his men.

A warning of what will befall those who dare defy the letter of the law.

I shake my head. I should never have involved—

A shadow moves in one of the rooms to my left.

Flattening myself against the wall, I sneak a peek through the doorway...

...and what I see roils my guts.

Robert Gale — the inn-keep — is hunched over the chest standing in front of the large, four-poster bed, his hands bound behind him, his shirt and hair matted with sweat. A dark puddle of blood pools at his feet.

Two 'Coats root through the things in the room, pocketing anything that catches their eye and fancy, sniggering amongst themselves.

A hiss of chagrin escapes me. "Putain de merde..."

There is punishment, and then there is persecution. And Harper's father is — without a shadow of a doubt — a victim of the latter. The extent of his wounds provides ample proof of Beaumont's abuse of his authority.

And I cannot allow myself to stand idly by in the face of this atrocity.

I step out of the gloom and into the doorway.

A floorboard creaks beneath my boot.

One of the dragoons glances up...

...but by the time his faculties have clocked the fact that I am foe, not friend, I have already splattered his brains onto the wall behind him.

His compatriot meets the same fate half a breath later, as he fumbles ineffectually for his musket, his body thudding to the floor as the second of my bullets also finds sharp and swift retribution.

Robert Gale's voice croaks out from the foot of the bed. "Ye should'a left them alone, lad..."

But even that simple act is too much for his broken body, and he starts to hack violently.

Taking three quick strides 'cross the room, I manage to grab the old man 'fore he keels over. "Easy now..."

He heaves a shuddering breath 'gainst my breast. "Now, we'll be strung up fer sure..."

"Nay," I counter softly, reaching behind him to loosen the bonds that secure his wrists. "You just lay the blame at my feet. Where it belongs."

Robert twists his neck up to regard me with bruised eyes and cracked lips. "Yer him... The Raven Rider..."

"Amongst other things..." I admit, lowering him as gently as I can to the floor.

The inn-keep hacks out a strained laugh. "Aye... I can see why she likes you..."

"Have you seen her?" I demand, shrugging out of my waistcoat to press it to the wound at his side.

"Nay," Robert replies hoarsely. "Not since they found the gold in her room..."

The icy hand of dread grips my heart. "Sweet Jesus...How the bloody hell did they even know where to look?"

"Théo..." comes the raspy confession. "He... He heard—"

I nearly choke on my own breath. "The window..."

We never closed the damn window...

Springing to my feet, I dash from the room, heedless of the sound of wood striking wood as my booted feet pound the length of the hallway.

How could I have let myself be such a careless fool!

Not only have I tarred the woman I love by virtue of our association, but I've unwittingly led the bastards right to her! And if they found out about the gold, then...

I cannot allow myself to even think on that.

Skidding to a stop in front of the last doorway, I throw myself inside...

...and skid to an abrupt halt as I lay eyes on the horror spread out before of me.

"No..."

The dogged denial slips from my tongue in a whisper.

But my lack of acceptance does nothing to assuage the merciless truth of the reality that assaults me like a thousand knives to my chest.

Harper lies prone in the moonlight, bound and gagged, her golden tresses soaked in the slick crimson of her blood.

"No... No..."

My feet carry me unthinkingly to her listless form beneath the casement — the window of which sits still ajar — and I crash to my knees at her side.

Grasping her by the shoulders, I pull her to me with trembling hands, praying under my breath, hoping against hope that it's a mere trick of the night, a cruel misjudgement, a sordid nightmare that I have somehow stumbled into, soon to awake from...

...but even though her skin still feels warm to the touch, no breath issues from her chest and those hazel eyes that once sparkled with magic and love now stare dully out into the night.

My nails dig into her flesh as my body bows over hers. "Oh, God... Please... No..."

But if the Almighty Lord hears my plea, He is either a heartless bastard or an impotent fraud because He ignores my beseeachment. And she remains unmoving 'gainst my heart.

"NO!!!"

The delegation roars forth from my chest with a force that is naked in its brutality. The heathen keen echoes out into the night as the bitter taste of anguish engulfs my throat and my soul shatters 'neath the stars.

I am too late. And she is dead.

Shot in the heart and left to bleed out on the cold floor like a dog. Alone. Without any assurances or prayer.

All because I'd allowed my heart to sway my head. Convincing myself that despite all my prior misdeeds, I could nevertheless steal a future for myself. A future I had no right or claim to. A future that was more akin to the spectre of a mirage than any flesh-and-blood destiny. A future that was doomed from the start.

Yet my covetousness knew no bounds. And blinded as I had been by the promise of the lie I'd weaved not just myself but Harper as well, I'd led us into the mire of disaster.

"It should've been me..." I rasp into her neck as anguish blurs my vision. "It fucking should've been me..."

I hear the floorboards strain behind me. But I care not. I have no words or sentiment left. And if it's one of Beaumont's enterprising men come to shoot me in the back? Well, then at least they'll be doing me the favour of putting me out of my luckless misery.

Because the knowledge that I have doomed the woman I love cuts deeper than any mortal knife could.

And I've lost the right to live anyway.

"Imma sorry, lad..." says Robert Gale, laying a calloused hand on my shoulder, his own voice cracking.

I shrug the gesture off. I don't deserve his pity. Let alone his succour. I am the one holding the body of his dead daughter in my arms. If anything, he should be setting on me to tear limb from limb in payment for my sins.

Yet, he does no such thing.

"Had I know afore tonight 'bout ye..." He heaves a hoarse breath from above me. "But I s'pose we all had our secrets... And I know it inna any consolation as of now, but we'll bury her 'neath the oak tree. Next t' her mother. That way ye can—"

"Them," I bite out through clenched teeth.

The old man shifts. "What do ye—?"

"She was with child," I grit, reaching up to pull the bloodied gag from her face.

Robert falls into deathly silence beside me.

"So, raise your hand," I tell him bluntly as I pull her eyes gently closed. "Beat me. Wring my neck. Kill me, for all I care. For this is the only opportunity I'll afford you to exact your just vengeance upon me."

"Ye must think very little o' me, if ye think I'd strike a grieving man," rebuts the inn-keep with a hint of steel. "Let alone one who loved my daughter so."

"Then you are a better man than me," I reply solemnly, leaning in one last time to lay a kiss on her lifeless lips.

"Imma'n older man," he corrects as I gently return Harper's head to the floor. "Who's stood where yer standin'. So, I can afford some clemency. 'Specially in this bitter hour."

"You might come to regret your choice," I reply, forcing myself back to my feet. "As I bring nothing but death. And our paths will not cross again after tonight."

"Where ye goin'?" comes the flummoxed query as I push past him.

I throw my reply carelessly over my shoulder. "To exact vengeance of my own."

"They'll kill ye, lad!" Robert calls after me as I stride from the room. "They'll hang ye fer murder! And her death will've been fer n—!"

"I'm a dead man anyway."

Without caring to look back, I let my boots carry me back 'cross the corridor to retrieve my weapons from where I'd left them in the master bedroom.

Reloading the pistols on the fly, I stash them in my belt and I beat a determined path back to the lower level of the inn and out into the night.

The crash of the door 'gainst the wall catches unawares the pair of dragoons that had been left to stand watch on the exterior. But by the time they turn towards me, I have already run both of them through.

Leaving the sods to bleed out in the mud, I plunge into the darkness rising before me.

The cold, winter air whips through my hair, stinging my eyes and my lips in sharp contrast to the hot blood slithering between my knuckles.

But I pay it no need. For I have but one goal. One mission.

To take every soul I can into the night.

Because death? It is all but assured for me. As whether I go by my own bullet or a Greencoat's, it is simply a matter of choice at this point. For I have no reason left to live.

My world turned to ash the moment she died. And there is nothing left to salvage.

Coming to a halt some ways off from the inn, I shoot a sharp whistle into the depths of the murk. A shadowy form raises its head from the gorse, and in the next instant, Drogon is trotting eagerly towards me, the new palfrey in tow.

"Change of plans, mon gross," I advise as he comes to a stop in front of me, breath steaming in the moonlight. "And I don't think you're going to like it..."

The Merèns regards me for a moment, as if sensing the shift in my soul, before letting out a world-weary sigh.

"You always were far too opinionated," I tell him dryly, reaching up to untether the palfrey from his saddle.

Turning the bay towards the stables, I give it a slap on the rump to send it on its way. With Harper gone, I have no further use for the horse. And Emile will ensure it is well cared for.

The stallion shakes his head at me as I swing myself onto his back. But I allow him no further opportunity for protest as I gather the reins in one hand, and point him north.

"Hue!"

Upon command, Drogon leaps forward, and the night becomes a blur as we fly across the moor, like an ill wish upon the wind, seeking our quarry 'neath the path of the stars.

I have no clue for how long we ride. The silvery eye of the hunter's moon casts an eerie pall over the land, distorting any earthly sense of time or distance as its lunar magic stretches shadows and swallows minutes.

Eventually, though, from out of the darkness and the mist appears a ghostly glow, bobbing on the brow of the hill.

"Beaumont," I growl, watching the company ride closer.

They must have caught the horse and realised the nature of the ruse they had fallen prey to.

But it matters not. The time for tricks and cons has passed. There is no more running... No more hiding. No more trying to cheat or contrive our fates. The last of the road has run out.

It is judgment hour.

Wrenching the flintlocks from my belt, I press Drogon forward, down into the valley, down into the well of our doom.

Yet a strange sense of calm blankets me as we draw level with the oncoming troop. Perhaps because my heart already stopped beating the moment I laid eyes on her. And this last, earthly act is merely a formality. Or, I'm so drunk on the potent potion of grief and bloodlust that swirls through my veins that I've become numb to all else.

Either way, I am a shadow of the man I once was. And welcome the sweet promise of release.

The reins slip from my fingers as I raise the pistols to sight my shot.

The figures of men and horses coalesce from out of the gloom, torches borne aloft.

I reach the edge of the sphere of light...

... and let the first shot fly.

The lead dragoon's eyes widen in surprise as the crack of flint 'gainst frizzen ignites the black powder in the pan, splintering the calm of the night.

The lead round explodes out of the barrel in a flash of smoke and fire, hurtling through the air to imbed itself in the soft flesh of the man's cheek, shattering teeth and bone as it goes.

The shock of the impact causes the 'Coat to jerk back on the length of his reins, pulling his horse into the path of its neighbour.

Taking advantage of the confusion, I fire another round into the heaving mess of bodies, catching a horse in the shoulder, causing it to throw its rider from its back.

Cries of horror and surprise rise up as the precisely stacked formation careens into itself, turning both man and beast into a maelstrom of panic.

Slinging the spent weapons into the night, I whirl Drogon back 'round, his hooves rearing into the air as he seeks to redirect the sharpness of his momentum.

Whipping my sabre from its sheath, a hellish howl erupts from my throat as I point the tip of the blade across the narrow divide in vengeful promise.

"BEAUMONT!"

A glint of gold flashes in the middle of the fray as my target snaps his head up at the sound of his name.

"Shoot him, you whelps!" screams the captain, grabbing for his own pistol. "Blast him dead!"

But I am already charging forward.

Shots crack out into the night as I bear down upon my mark...

...and there is but one prayer on my lips.

"I am coming, mon coeur..."

I am almost upon the wall of dragoons when I feel Drogon stumble. Another round pierces my gut a breath later. A third lodges in my shoulder.

But still, I urge the stallion on...

...until his knees give way in the face of the desperate volley of bullets and he careens into the mud, taking me with him, mere steps from my goal.

A thousand pounds of horseflesh crashes down on me, pinning my leg 'neath the weight. My sabre clatters from my hand to vanish into the tangles of the gorse beside me.

The back of my head collides with the ground, and I find myself staring up into the black expense above me, my body broken, my senses reeling.

Drogon lifts his head briefly, attempting to pull himself to his feet, before succumbing to the inherent futility of the exercise with a mournful sigh.

"It's alright, mon gross," I whisper, attempting to comfort the wounded beast lying atop me, even as my vision skips and my lungs struggle for breath as a familiar wetness drenches my shirt.

This is not the way I planned to go. But it seems I left what remained of my luck in that cramped room where my love had blossomed and then died.

Fitting, really...

A pistol clicks above me.

With the last of my strength, I reach beneath my shirt, where Harper's talisman lies coiled 'gainst my heart.

Twisting the damp silk 'round my finger, I close my eyes with a final exhale.

…look for me by the moonlight.

They say that in the depths of the dark — when the moon is high and full — that the sound of hooves may be heard, galloping 'cross the moor...

And though you may not glimpse it, a ghostly rider's there. Searching for his love, they say, who gave her life for his...

If he finds her, 'tis not known; but he made a solemn vow to her. And a promise bound in blood and silk, is a promise that must be filled...

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#harper gale #drake walker #the royal romance #the highwayman #trr au #song rewrite #choicesprompts #historical au

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