#the prince could hear a faint soft sound coming from the beast | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

delirioushrimp · 3 years

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Frozen Fairytale (DemonYB AU)

This is like the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever done hhhhh-

Once more, this story is here because I am a huge simp for @harbingers-appointed ‘s amazing AU !

Vee I hope you know I would die for you !

Plot changed three times during the writing process, help-

He senses their pain before he hears their scream. It’s a cry of agony, distress, begging for help and he feels it in his bones as though it was his own suffering. It travels through his being like a shot of electricity; fast, violent, and dizzying. It takes him a few seconds to recover from the pain and as soon as he does, a feeling of dread unlike anything he had experienced before fills his soul until it’s the only thing he can think about.

He rises abruptly from his desk, causing TK to flinch and look at him with a confused and fearful look. But he can’t see his tactician, can’t hear them ask if something is wrong, can’t feel the pieces of wood piercing his skin. His soul, his heart is burning a fire of horror and rage.

He almost knocks the door of its hinges as he desperately tries to reach them through the pain.

“Darling ! Darling where are you ?!”

Long agonizing seconds pass -where he imagines the worst has already happened-

pleasepleasepleaseplease-

“Sa…mael…”

Their voice is too weak, too frail and distressed for him to relax. And they only used his real name when…

“Tell me where you are !”

He doesn’t mean the harshness, the sternness in his tone, centuries of cold authority coursing through his veins and the panic rending him unable to control it. He hears a gasp before they answer once more.

“…Water…lake…blue…”

“What-“

“So…cold…”

His eyes widen furthermore at their words, his feet carrying him to the only place they could be as terror -the kind he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years- takes hold of him. He doesn’t notice the looks of bewilderments of his kind as he runs past them, quickly turning into pure fear when they feel the murderous aura of their King. Most of them have never witnessed it and to endure its overwhelming presence like this, even for a second bring them to their knees. He doesn’t notice any of them as he runs like he never has, ignoring the tremendous pain his heels bring him.

“Darling-“

“It hurts…it hurts so much. I-don’t think I can hold for much longer…”

They sound on the verge of fainting, and it feels as though he might be dying.

“Don’t ! Don’t let go ! Please ! I’m on my way !”

“…Samael…I’m so tired…”

“Please ! Please just a little longer !”

He never begged, the King of Hell doesn’t beg for anything or to anyone. He didn’t beg when God casted him aside, didn’t beg when he was stripped of his title, of his wings, or when he felt their ghostly presence for a hundred years to come. He never begged in his life, when he wants something, he simply takes it without asking, because he doesn’t need anyone’s permission. He doesn’t need the princes’ or TK, and he especially doesn’t need permission from that pathetic God.

And yet in that moment, running in the frozen parts of his kingdom, he is willing to. He’s willing to beg anyone he crosses to save his beloved; he’s willing to kneel in front of God if it means he can get back the wings which were so painfully teared apart from him, even for just a minute, anything so he can reach them sooner, faster even by a few seconds. Anything for the pain to stop. He briefly looks up at the sky.

You knew this would happen, didn’t you ?!

He doesn’t expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one but doesn’t miss how the harsh winds seem to be whispering words of mockery to his ears. But the sound of their voice brings him back to the moment.

“My King…”

He feels their mind sleeping farther away, to a place he can’t reach. The words are spoken softly and lovingly but with a hint of regret.

“I’m sorry…”

“DON’T !”

But the connection is lost, quickly followed by a loud splashing sound and his soul shatters into pieces. A scream of agony echo through the frozen lands, the wild and agonizing cry of a frenzied beast, chilling anyone who hears it to the bone.

He starts running again, this time, pleading, again and again to find them. The smell of iron hits him, and he feels madness takes over his mind.

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As soon as your bruised and frozen fingers let go of the small rock, you feel it. The long, tortuous howl of his voice ringing in your soul reminding you of his hellish nature. It tears you apart and for the briefest moment, you wish you could have said something more. Then the water takes you.

It doesn’t hurt as much as you expected it, the pain only lasts a minute. A minute where your lungs desperately try to breath into the frigid ocean that surrounds you, burning every cell of your being. But then nothing. Only silence and the slow descent of your body towards the unknown, and you briefly wonder if there is an end to this endless ocean. It’s peaceful, quiet, and painless. A calm, soft blue surrounds you, reminding you of his eyes. It lulls and soothes you.

So beautiful…

Everything is numb and you feel your eyes growing heavy but you’re not scared. You’re not scared because you remember his words upon your arrival.

Death is something you will never have to fear my dear, for I am the only one who controls it here.

A small smile draws on your lips despite the cold.

Then it’s alright, I’ll suffer a thousand pains if it means staying with you.

He will find you; you know he will, he always does. You just have to wait a bit. You close your eyes and fall asleep into the icy blankets of water. Death will not find you, the Light Bringer will.

-------‐----------------------------------------------‐-------------

The first time you wake up, it’s to the sound of crying and pleading. Someone is begging for you to open your eyes, but the task proves to be impossible. The sorrow and the lament in their voice break your heart, despite not being able to recognize who it is. You vaguely hear the person call for your name, again and again between their sobs. You wish you could comfort whoever is uttering your name with such anguish and desperation. But instead, you fall back into the arms of Morpheus.

Who are you ?

The second time you wake up, it’s to the smell of blood. The stench invades your mind, overwhelming all your senses until it’s the only thing you can perceive. You want to gag, yet your body seems unresponsive to even your most basic instincts, as if frozen in ice. But behind that heavy and violent scent, you catch a hint of something familiar. Something ancient, powerful, and pleasant, it comforts you. Instinctively, you cling to that aroma acting as a lifesaver and slumber takes over you once more.

I know you.

The third time you wake up, it’s to the taste of something bitter running down your throat. It tastes like one of those herbal teas from back home, but far worse. It burns and stings your tongue; makes you sick to your stomach, and you panic. You trash around, try to scream but no sound leaves you. Your crisis is interrupted when you feel something soft brush against your lips, something sweet and gentle, like a candy melting in your mouth. It’s enough for you to fall back asleep.

Who am I to you ?

The fourth time you wake up, it’s to a warm touch. Something -or rather someone- is holding your arm tightly, though not enough to hurt. You still struggle to open your eyes, but you can feel the way their much bigger hand delicately holds yours, running soothing circles on your palm. Then you feel a warm breath on your fingers and a pair of lips brushing against them in such a tender and caring way it brings tears to your eyes. You doze off, feeling loved and protected.

I’ve never felt so cherished before.

The fifth time you wake up, it’s to a sight you never believed to witness. A large figure kneeling on their knees by your side, head resting on your chest, through some miracle, the long horns barely scrap your skin. Pale moonlight rays shine on them- no him, allowing you to see a pained expression and the bags under his eyes, a sight which immediately strikes you with grief. He looks absolutely miserable. And yet, you find a certain beauty to it. Is it because you know he would only kneel for you ?

My King…

As if on cue, a gasp reaches your ears before the head lying on your chest shots up, so fast it almost knocks you out. You curse out loud in fear, but the sound quickly dies in your throat the moment you notice the look in his eyes.

First you see shock, confusion, and disbelief following one another in rapid motion before relief takes over. His eyes, his smile, it’s like he just found the greatest treasure in all three worlds. It reminds you of the first time you met, except he doesn’t hold it back. The raw devotion and adoration in his gaze, it’s almost too much for your heart to handle.

You try to reach for him with your hand but a sharp pain in your shoulder forces you to withdraw your arm, you hiss at the sensation and he notices it. His expression immediately falls and is replaced by sorrow and guilt. You can see it in those endless pools of blue, you can see how he’s blaming himself for something he isn’t responsible for, you can see how terrified he is of you hating and discarding him, and most of all, you can see the suffering he endured during your short absence. You’ve never witnessed something like this before. You’d seen him irritated, disappointed, tired, or dejected even.

But this, this was something you hated seeing on him. This expression of utter defeat and grief does not suit him at all.

Carefully, you lift your other -and fortunately non-injured- arm and with as much softness as you can muster, brush your hand against his cheek. He jolts from the touch as if he expected a much harsher reaction but just as quickly, leans into your touch and closes his eyes. He’s trembling, still afraid you’re only indulging him one last time before rejecting him completely. It surprises you, how easily you can read him when you could barely decipher his true intentions not so long ago.

You push back the blankets and slowly shifts your body until your feet dangle from the bed, caging him between your legs, but his eyes are still shut.

“My King…” you whisper in a raspy voice, “open your eyes please.” The shaking grows in intensity. “For me…”

Your last words act as spell pulling him out of his misery. His gaze is solely focused on you, and even after all this time, it still takes your breath away. How could such a powerful, beautiful and infinite being look at you -a mere mortal soul- with such intensity you feel like the only person existing in all three realms ? You still don’t understand, and you don’t know if you ever will.

Does it even matter ?

He who has everything, looks like he might crumble at any moment. The embodiment of pride, crawling at your feet, begging for your love. Has he ever shown such vulnerability to anyone else before ? The selfish part of you wishes he hasn’t, the greedy and possessive part that wants all of him for you and only you. His mind, his body, his heart, and his soul, all for you, just like you belong to him.

Comfort him, cherish him, accept him, love him

“My love,” you call for him, and the distance between the two of you shortens, you feel his hands roam your body, desperately clinging to you. “My star, my light, my savior, my fated one…”

Each appellation has him growing closer and closer until his forehead touches yours, his breathing is erratic, his eyes search for any trace of resentment on your face, hands encircling your waist is a tight -but non-painful- grip.

“None of this was your fault-“

“Don’t go to them !”

You speak at the same time, but you stop at the frantic tone of his voice. You frown, confused, waiting for further explanations.

“I know I- failed to protect you !” he admits in the most pathetic tone you’ve ever heard. “But please, don’t leave me !” he begs, and your mind is sent into a spiral of worry as you try to come up with a way to calm him down. “Don’t- don’t choose them !”

Who are you even talking about ?!

“They- he will only hurt and use you !”

His words hit you like a bucket of ice- no it’s worse than that, colder than the waters you drowned in, colder than the harsh winds digging into your skin when you were clinging to that rock for dear life. You feel your blood boil and freeze at the same time, because you understand who he is talking about.

The genuine deep-rooted fear in his tone fills you with both dread and fury. It terrifies you because it means this demon, no-this entity is far worse and far more powerful than you thought, enough for the King of Hell to be afraid of it. It enrages you because it means they hurt him before, most likely tortured and let him bleed out like the sadistic creature they are. Your interactions with them had given you a hunch about their true nature but this is so much worse, much more horrible than you’d anticipated.

Theyhurtyoutheyhurtyoutheyhurtyou-

You want to scream, you want to get up from this bed, you want to find this smug bastard -it wouldn’t take long, they’re always around the corner- and strangle them. You don’t remember the last time you felt such wrath against someone. But you can’t. You can’t because you can barely move without your body hurting but most of all, because you just know they would relish in your anger and you wouldn’t be able to bear that infuriating self-satisfied and arrogant smile.

The grip around your waist suddenly tightens and when your eyes focus on him again, you realize your mistake. He noticed your anger, and thought it was directed at him. His pupils are blown wide, and he starts shaking again, mumbling the same sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“don’tleavemedon’tleavemedon’tleaveme-“

“Sweetheart-“

“This will never happen again, I promise !” he interrupts you.

“Dear-“ you try again, but to no avail.

“I’ll never leave you, never again ! “ His voice turns dark, with a hint of madness to it. “Will always stay with you, always by your side. Always, always, always, always…”

“Love please-“

“You know I would do anything for you, right ?” His eyes are blown so wide you can barely see his pupils, smile stretched to the point it might tear his face apart. The raw possessiveness and despair, they make him look completely mad. “Tell me, tell me what should I do to earn back your love. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you. Just tell me.”

You stare at him in stunned silence and in that moment, you know if you asked for him to set his kingdom ablaze, he’d only ask you in how many days. He had told you so in the past, but you’d only taken it as another dramatic display to entertain you. Now you realize how serious he was and to your shock, you’re not as frightened as you should be. In fact…

His eyes twitches and a trail of cobalt blood starts to run down his chin from how hard he’s biting his lips. His voice turns to hysterics and you think you see something running down his cheeks.

“Just tell me ! There must be something ! Tell me please, tellmetellmetellmetellme-“

“Samael, enough !” you end up shouting at him.

He immediately stills, from the tone of your voice or the use of his name, you can’t tell. You didn’t mean to raise your voice, not when he was breaking down in front of you, but he wouldn’t have stopped otherwise. And hearing him so hopeless and frantic was too much for you to handle.

Ignoring the pain in your left shoulder, you reach for him again, this time with both hands and he watches you lovingly cup his face in your hands with awe. His gaze darts back and forth between your face and your hands in utter bewilderment, like a child trying to solve a puzzle. You almost laugh at the thought. Instead, you lock eyes with him and speak firmly.

“I’ll tell you what I want.” He perks up, eagerly waiting for your wish. “I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” You see him open his mouth, most likely to protest but you don’t give him the chance to. “I want you to remember I don’t hate you; I’ve never hated you and never will. “ You sense him slightly relaxes. “I want you to understand I will never leave you, not for them, and not for anyone else, never. “ You pause, watching the blue returning to his eyes.

His expression holds trust, hope and an innocence you didn’t believe possible for him to have, he looks so much younger. For a moment, you think you’re gazing at the benevolent, bright, and loyal angel he once was, the devoted hand of God. You remember the feather he gifted you on the first night you kissed his scars, a pure and immaculate white, softer than the most delicate silk existing on earth and more valuable than any jewel in the world. He had looked so happy, so earnest, when he gave it to you. And now, you can so easily picture thousands of those same feathers linked together to form majestic wings. The vision has you smiling softly. But a question, one you had avoided asking him ever since you realized his feelings for you were genuine burns at the corners of your mind once more. Laced with such pride, envy, and selfishness you never felt brave enough to ask.

Do you love me more than you used to love God ?

Two warm, large hands covering yours bring you back to reality and the innocence vanishes, allowing for the madness to reappear once more. But his voice is steady, confident and lacks the fragility it held mere moments ago.

“God took everything from me, from the very beginning, only took and took.” You are not shocked to hear the way he spat those words, but from the fact he seems to have read your mind. “But you…” he draws out, bringing your left hand to his lips and giving a chaste kiss where your pulse lies, teeth grazing at the flesh. You feel him slowly exhale against your skin. “You keep on giving and giving. Your presence, you smile, your touch, your voice…” You feel his tail slowly making its way around your left leg as he speaks. “But I still keep wanting more of you each passing day…” His voice becomes strained with yearning and desire. “I can’t get enough; I’ll never get enough of you.”

He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales slowly, as if trying to contain his hunger and fervor for you. His breaths are the only sounds in the large room and you find some sort of peace to it. It eases your nerves, reminds that this moment is not a dreamy hallucination from your comatose state, this is real. You don’t know how long it lasts -a few seconds, a minute or an hour- until he opens his eyes again and your heartbeat becomes uncontrollable.

His pupils have turned into hearts, and although it’s not the first time, you still find yourself mesmerized by the sight. Who knew the Devil could be capable of such thing ? The vibrancy, the intensity, and the sincerity his gaze holds have you melt into him and you instinctively close your thighs tighter around him. He relishes in your actions if the soft purring you hear is anything to go by.

“My Dear…” he fondly says before calling for your name, and you smile, loving the way it rolls on his tongue. “The dull candlelight of devotion I once felt for the one who cast me aside cannot possibly compare to the eternal flame of adoration I hold for you.”

You feel every fiber of your body burns at his confession, pure delight taking over your mind and utter bliss over your heart. How are you supposed to respond to that ? Nothing you could say would be enough to match this. So you decide to answer in the only way you can think of. You lean in and finally close whatever distance was left between the two of you.

IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou

You hope he can hear it, how much you love him, you hope he feels how your soul calls for his in desperate craving. You hope he realizes you will never stop loving him as you taste the blood and the tears on his lips. You hope he understands you would do anything for him as you feel his hands shift to grip your thighs. How could such a corrupted being taste so divine ?

You want him, you want him to touch and hold you, because you feel the most alive when he does. Hastily, you blindly reach for his long horns and smirk into the kiss when you finally grab them and without a warning, pulls him towards you. And oh, the way he moans into your mouth, it sounds heavenly. It makes you lose your mind.

Moremoremoremoremore-

You do it a second time, which causes him to growl and you revel at the feeling of his nails digging into your tender skin. It feels so good, so good to have him touch you like this. But then he breaks the kiss and you whine when he removes his hands from your legs, instead placing them on each side of your body to steady himself.

His eyes are hooded with raw desire and lust, causing a shot of electricity to travel to your core. Knowing that you’re the only one who’ll get to see him like this, the only one able to create such reactions from him fills you with unwavering pride and satisfaction.

“Darling…” he whispers in a husky, barely controlled voice. “I can’t- you’re still hurt, I-“ He hisses when you tenderly rub the base of his horns. “Ah…don’t- torture me like this.” His labored breath and the pleading in his tone only urge you to do it again. “You need to rest more before-“ You shush him with a finger against his lips.

“You’re the only one who can make the pain go away…” you trail off, noticing how close he is to give in from how tightly he’s holding the bedsheets. “My King…” you beg, fingers brushing against his cheek. “Please, I need you” you admit.

You can almost see the resolution shatters in his eyes and it’s beautiful. You feel absolutely drunk on triumph, love and euphoria, a deadly combination that drives you to feel much bolder, impudent, and confident than you should be in your condition.

He lifts you up in one, swift -although careful- movement before settling himself on the bed with you straddling his lap and hmmm you can feel how much he wants you now. In a moment of reckless bravery, you grind against him and smile smugly at the chocking sound coming from his throat. But your victory is short-lived when you feel a hot breath at the junction of your neck and your shoulder, inhaling your scent. You inhale sharply and a whimper leaves your lips when you feel his teeth -his very sharp teeth- nibble at your skin. A dark, guttural chuckle echo in the room, one filled with sinful promises of pleasure, making your body growing hotter by the second.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll give it you, Darling,” he purrs in your ear, sounding very much like the embodiment of temptation and immorality most sacred texts describe him as. It drives you insane.

He never did this before, it was -almost- always him that would come to you with need and want, and of course, you never refused him. But now…

“I need-“ now look who’s struggling to form coherent sentences. You can feel him smile against your flesh like the devil he is. “I need you to touch me,” you shudder when his hands grip your thighs once more, except his hold is much more possessive than the previous one. “Hold me, fill me, mark me…” your voice becoming more strained and tense as one of his hands starts to make its way to your heated core. “I want you to fuck me until I forget the pain, and my own name…” The animalistic sound that leaves him sends goosebumps along your skin. You sigh deliriously. “I want you to worship me.”

He leaves your neck to look at you one more time before he completely loses it. You know he wants to check if you’re really sure about this, he’s done it before, and although you’ve never told him to, you know if you asked him to stop now, he would. As much as it would pain him, you know he’d never betray you like this, not only because he loves and respects you too much, but also because your Devil has standards.

When he notices no hesitation or refusal from you, a ravenous and demented smile draws on his lips as he tilts your chin with his free hand to look at you directly in the eyes. You see excitement, lust, and exhilaration in his frenzied gaze and behind it, his undying adoration.

“As you wish, dearest.”

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You see them not too long after, when you’ve recovered enough to walk on your own, although you sustained no injury on your legs. Though you’re sure some people can tell why you couldn’t use them. The wound on your shoulder is bigger than you thought, starting from your shoulder blade, and almost reaching your hips but the pain is already manageable and you’ve been told no major organ was harmed, so there’s that. You can’t do much about the red angry scar expect apply some ointment every now and then but it’s fine, to demons, scars are not seen as ugly but rather a source of pride and a sign of survival. Not surprising, considering their King was the first to deal with the most painful ones imaginable. Very little got to see them but everyone knew the Fall had taken a lot from him.

Just like he promised, he keeps you near him at all times to the point you quickly forget the notion of personal space but you don’t complain much, considering what happened. Besides, listening to the meetings with the princes and other important figures -on his lap of course- gives you a better insight on how things operate in hell and who you need to be careful of, TK could only spend so much time explaining the basics to you with how busy they were.

All thanks to a certain “housekeeper”…

Ah, thinking about them always lead to a terrible headache, which for some reason you believe them to be aware of. Your last interaction with them goes back to a day or two before the “incident”, they’d been cordial and enthusiastic as usual but something about that smile always kept you on edge. Now you know your cautiousness was not uncalled for. You still want to strangle them but you’d rather drown into that lake again than admit it to their face. You can’t forget the genuine fear in Samael’s voice or the way he trembled against you when he asked you to not go to them.

What exactly did they do to you ?

“Darling ?” A deep voice brings you back to reality and you realize everyone in the room is staring at you -some with more annoyance and hostility than others- and you turn to see the concerned azure gaze of your lover. “Are you alright ?”

You don’ want to lie to him but now is really not the time to mention your doubts and questions. Instead, you smile softly and speak as casually as you can despite the headache growing in intensity.

“I just need some fresh air, don’t worry.”

You can tell he is not fully convinced with how deep his frown is and it gets worse when you try to leave your “seat”. He tenses up and to avoid making a scene you take one of his hands into your own and try to appease his paranoia.

“The balcony is not far, I’ll come back in a few minutes.” You lick your lips. “I promise. Nothing’s gonna happen,” you raise your voice to make sure everyone hears you, “nobody would be stupid enough to try something when you’re here, right ?”

You think you hear a few people chuckle and you don’t need to turn around to guess their derisive smiles. A few moments of silence pass where you stare at the King of Hell with the best puppy eyes you can muster. You know you’ve won when you hear him sigh and nod reluctantly. Slowly, you slip from his lap but before you can make a step, a hand grabs you by the arm causing you to turn around in confusion.

“Five minutes,” is all he says to you, irritation and stress already slipping into his voice. You mentally send an apology to everyone else in the room, knowing what they’ll have to deal with for this short amount of time.

“Of course, I understand.”

You beam at him but right as you’re about to leave, find yourself hit with a very bold and striking idea. You smile deviously under the eyes of a confused King. Dramatically, you kneel before him much like a knight in a fairytale would and take the hand which was holding your arm a few seconds ago into your own and bring it to your lips, not once breaking eye contact with him. He looks at you in stunned silence and wide eyes, his face covered in a delicious shade of blue. As a final move, you drop a chaste kiss on his hand and smile when you hear him inhale sharply.

“I’ll be back soon,” you beath the words fervently against his skin, “My King.”

You stroll out of the room without looking back once and head to the balcony, feeling quite proud -and maybe a bit embarrassed- of your little display despite the dull pain in your skull. You’re fortunate enough to not cross anyone on your way, and exhale slowly once you feel the cold air against your face.

You attempt to distract yourself from your gloomy thoughts with the view and feels the wind to caress your skin in a gentle breeze, it’s calm and peaceful. Until a voice you’re all too familiar with jumps in from behind, and it takes everything in you to refrain yourself from jumping in fright.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered well enough to put little stunts like this !”

You cringe at the friendly, upbeat tone they use and refuse to turn around to gaze at that pretentious smile. Of course, he knows what you did, he always seemed to know where you went and what you did.

“And I’m glad you have enough time on your hands to come and see me,” you retort as casually as possible.

Don’t show your anger, even if he knows, don’t show it.

“Of course, I’ll always free myself for you sweetheart,” he says, voice slightly huskier. “You know I’ll always be there whenever you feel bored.”

There it is, that same charming and bewitching tone he used the first time you met, the one that almost convinced you to follow him to the storage room. And his hair looked so soft, though you’d never touch it, mostly out of fear of what would happen to your fingers if you did. His eyes -well the one visible at least- were so pretty. He was attractive and persuasive for sure, but you always thought he was more than that, and you were right. What would have happened, if you’d followed them that day ?

Ah, I’d rather not think about it…

“Are you giving me the cold shoulder ?” he asks with hurt in his voice, you’re almost convinced it’s genuine. This time, you can’t help but flinch from his wording, and he notices it. “Oops, I shouldn’t have worded it like that, my bad.”

You only sigh at his “apology” and do your best to ignore the footsteps, coming closer and closer to you, slowly, like a snake chasing its unaware prey.

“Come on now, you weren’t so stiff last time we talked.”

You still don’t answer and hear them hum in amusement at your silence. It’s not very hard to imagine the expression he’s wearing right now, narrowed eyes and a knowing smile. You don’t think you’ve ever seen them truly irritated or angry, and while his smile always unnerved you, you’d rather not discover what he looked like when he got mad.

“You’re acting like I’m the one who stabbed you in the back.”

He’s so close, too close to you for comfort, you feel your body tense as soon as the edge of his tail brushes your leg. Oh, he must be relishing in your agitation.

Fucking bastard…

“It must have been so painful, “ he whispers as one of his nails starts to move along your back. “The feeling of a sharp blade piercing your soft skin, “ he says while his finger starts to trail down the exact line of your scar through your clothes. “and the freezing winds nabbing at the wound while you desperately tried to stay afloat.” His voice drips with sadistic glee, you’re almost sure he’s getting turned on. “And then helplessly drowning with none coming to get you, oh you must have felt truly hopeless, didn’t you, sweetheart ?”

The urge to just throw him over the edge eats you away as a warm breath tickles your neck. But you do your best to sound and act as unbothered by the situation, instead opting for a white lie.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t remember most of it.”

Bad move, you sense him chuckles against your ear at your admission, as if you’d just confided the most important secret in the world. What kind of sick power did you just allow him to have over you now ?

“Really ?” he muses. “That’s too bad…” he snickers. “Maybe I could help you regain some memories ?”

Fuck, I walked right into that one.

“You know I could make it feel good, don’t you ?”

You wonder if this is how Eve felt when she was tricked by the snake, in fact you wouldn’t be surprised to learn Flauros turned out to be the one who tempted her at this point. It’s like he was made for the sole purpose of spreading chaos whenever he went.

“I’ll have to decline the offer,” you answer firmly and to your surprise, notice him take a step back. You feel like you can breathe again.

“You’re so boring,” he exclaims, sounding very much like a spoiled kid. “But I knew it’d be like that, this story isn’t centered around me after all.”

You open your mouth to ask for more explanations when a deep, concerned voice reverberates in your head.

“Darling ? Are you on your way back ?”

You answer quickly, knowing very well what will happen if you don’t.

“Sorry, kinda lost track of time, I’m coming !”

“Hurry…please.”

“Give me a minute, I’ll be there soon.”

You’re glad he doesn’t ask more questions; else you’d have had to tell him about the spider standing right behind you and he’s already stressed enough as it is.

“I’m guessing his Highness is calling for you ?” he asks in an ever-knowing voice, still filled with that same fucking arrogance. “Better not make him wait !” he shouts in a disgustingly sweet sing-song voice.

Gross, this really didn’t suit him at all, being a coy little bastard really fits him better. As much as it bothers you, he’s playing the part of the bad guy pretty well, too well you think. As if he’d done this a hundred times over already.

You want to tell him to leave, to take care of all the tasks poor TK is forced to manage on their own, you want to yell at him, bleed him dry, snap his neck. Anything so you don’t have to walk past him and get a glimpse of that cheeky smile, anything for you to forget the image of a dying Samael from your mind. But then it would mean surrendering, admit that you’re terrified of whatever entity they’re supposed to be.

So, with all the strength and courage you still have left, you turn around and sure enough, he’s looking at you the exact way you predicted it. You walk past him, not too fast -less you betray your fear- but not too slow either -less you have to gaze for too long at that sharp, hypnotizing purple eye- . But the words he utters as you stand a few inches from him, cause you to stop dead in your tracks.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about me cutie, I’m only here to act as a small distraction to your little fairytale.” He chuckles. “You should be more concerned about the God who created this world in the first place and the minion who wishes to gain their attention through this story.”

You start to walk again, not fulling grasping his words but still finding some sort of unknown understanding through them. But you still hear him talk, speaking of beings beyond your reality. His voice becoming darker and louder as you get farther away.

“The King may be the current favorite, but who knows when I’ll steal his crown?”

Walk away, don’t turn back

“Up until you grow bored of your prince charming, I’ll be there.”

………….

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be your Antagonist (: “

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#Flauros stop fucking with brain challenge

Sorry for any world builing inaccuracies, I did give myself some liberties concerning a few details, feel free to correct me about it Vee.

#your boyfriend #demon au #your boyfriend au #Flauros is so difficult to write- help #your boyfriend x reader #angst/comfort #because I am weak #plot kept changing each day #PAIN #shouldn't have too many typos #i hope *cries*

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book Two: Sapphire (Ignis x Reader) Chapter III

The next morning, Gladio dragged Noctis out of bed so they could leave. Ignis finished dressing himself and looked around the motel room. He couldn't find Prompto or (Y/n). Having no doubt the boy had taken the spirit again, he walked out of the room. Scanning the area, he immediately found the two. What shocked him was Prompto's position. He was laying down on the ground on his stomach, his legs swinging back and forth. His camera was trained on the skvader as she laid down on the ground.

"C'mon, work with me here, (Y/n)!" Prompto begged. "How about you hide behind the motel and transform? And when you're ready, you can call me."

The spirit yawned, her nose wiggling slightly. She flopped down on her side with a faint grunt. Lowering his camera, Prompto nibbled on his bottom lip. "Okay, that was really adorable, but not what I was looking for."

"Prompto," Ignis called out, stepping off the porch of the motel. "You'll soil your clothes laying on the ground in such a manner."

"Aaand Mama Ignis has appeared," he sighed. Pushing himself off the ground, he held his camera close to his chest. "Morning to you too, Iggy."

(Y/n) shot up at hearing his name. She dashed over to the advisor and climbed up his body until she was situated on his left shoulder. She threw her long tail around his shoulders, nuzzling her body against the side of his neck. Once she was comfortable, she flopped down and allowed her hind legs to dangle from his shoulder.

Just then, Gladio and Noctis exit the motel room. Ignis glances at his other companions before deciding it was time to leave. "Let's see ourselves to Galdin, shall we?"

"Might as well," Noctis mumbled tiredly.

The group climbs into the Regalia and departs from Longwythe Rest Area. (Y/n) remained on Ignis' shoulder as he drove, enjoying the sensation of the wind blowing through her fur. She looked around as they passed through a ravine of sorts as the radio came to life. The station was broadcasting the news of the upcoming wedding between Noctis and Lunafreya. She could hear Gladio teasing the prince slightly when the broadcast ended, but tuned them out and continued to enjoy the scenery. It was her first time outside of the Crown City and she wanted to enjoy every second of it.

When Galdin Quay came into view from the highway, Prompto stood up in his seat in excitement. "Hey! I see the sea!"

"I "sea" it too," Noctis replied, eyes focused on the clear waters of the ocean.

"That's Galdin Quay," Ignis informed the group.

"Kinda wanna go for a dip," Gladio commented.

Noctis noticed the strange rock formation in the distance. "That a big mountain behind it?"

"No, it's an island," the strategist answered.

"Nobody goes to Galdin for an island, though," Prompto stated. "They go to kick back and get massages!"

"And savor the seafood. It's famously delicious."

"Sounds great," Noctis said.

"Somethin' to look forward to," the shield claimed.

(Y/n) couldn't tear her gaze away from the beautiful beaches of Galdin Quay. The water was clear and the sand was pure white. She already knew what she wanted to do, even though it would risk revealing her human form to Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto. She was going to relax on the beach and nothing was going to get in her way, not even Ignis.

Arriving at Galdin Quay, Ignis backed the Regalia up into a parking spot located by the gas pump. Everyone exited the vehicle and headed towards the Mother of Pearl. Walking across the lengthy boardwalk, they reach the entrance of the restaurant/hotel. A member of the staff greeted them, bowing politely with a hand over his chest. Their destination was the docks, which were located in the back.

They didn't make it far before two men approached them. The taller one had unkempt hair and was cladded in multiple layers of dark clothing. The other man had spiky black locks and wore a faded green jacket with a black t-shirt underneath. Below the waist he wore matching combat pants and black boots. Around his neck swayed the dog tags of what appeared to be his identification as a hunter.

The auburn-haired man was the first to speak. "I'm afraid you're out of luck."

"Are we?" Noctis asked, slightly bothered by the men's presences. He wanted them gone as soon as possible and he had no idea why.

"The boats bring you here."

"What about 'em?" Prompto wondered.

"You're not leaving anytime soon," the spiky-haired man answered. "Better get comfortable."

Gladio crosses his arms, glancing between the two strangers. "And what're your stories?"

"We're impatient travelers, ready to turn ship. The ceasefire's getting us nowhere," the auburn-haired man replied. He then gestures to his companion, who tosses a coin at Noctis.

Gladio snatches it out of the air before it can hit the prince. He examined the coin before looking back up at the strange men. "What's this? Some sort of souvenir?"

Prompto saw the coin and gaped. "They make those?"

Noctis also saw the coin and shook his head. "What? No."

"Consider it your allowance," the taller gentleman remarked with a small, unsettling smile.

"Yeah, and who's allowing us?" The shield scoffed.

He bowed slightly. "Men of no consequences." He then patted his companion on the shoulder. "Come, dear friend. Let us set off."

The spiky-haired man stood still as if her feet were nailed to the floor. He didn't budge as his emerald eyes dwelled on the skvader resting on Ignis' shoulder. Her sapphire eyes locked with his, earning a smirk from the stranger before turning to follow his friend.

"Yeah, right," Noctis sneered under his breath.

Prompto fiddled with his fingers in wonderment. "You believe what those guys said about the port being closed?"

"I'm skeptical, though I won't discount the possibility," Ignis replied.

"I say we go check it out for ourselves," Gladio said.

Walking through the Mother of Pearl, they pass by numerous of people who were enjoying what Galdin Quay had to offer. (Y/n) jumped off the strategist's shoulder and flew to the docks ahead of the boys. She sat near the edge of the docks and gazed out across the ocean. There were no boats in sight.

When she turned around, her eyes landed on a well-dressed young man who was sitting on one of the benches with his legs crossed. She realized he was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression. Carefully approaching him, she sat down a few inches from him. Her tail swished behind her as she squeaked at him, startling him.

The young man, having never met a guardian before, leant down and outstretched his hand to pet her. He was hesitant, but he pushed his fear aside when she stood up on her hind legs and nudged her head against his hand. "Well, aren't yous a friendly one."

(Y/n) looked away from the man when she heard Prompto groan out, "Aw, man. Not a ship in sight. What gives?"

The guardian turned around to see the boys were searching the docks for boats. The young man who was petting her stopped and addressed her companions. "According to my sources, the empire, giving strict orders not to let any vessels leave the docks of Altissia. Real shame if you were late to your own wedding-right, Prince Noctis? Name's Dino, by the way. Pleasure. The crown prince of Lucis, bounty hunting in his fancy car... Surely you didn't think it'd go unnoticed-at least not by this reporter? Lucky for you, this reporter has integrity. If you wanna remain incognito, I'll respect your wish...in exchange for a favor."

Noctis glared at him and kept himself from lashing out in anger at the man's threat. "What do you want?"

"Hey, I knew you'd come around!" Dino cheered. "Lemme see your map."

Reluctantly, the prince hands over the map. Dino pulls out a pen from his pocket and circles an area on the map. Putting the pen away, he handed the map back to Noctis. "Marked where you need to go on your map. All you gotta do is find me some rough gemstones-like this one. Do this, and your ship'll come in. Don't, and the papers'll run you outta town. Capisce?"

(Y/n) stared Dino down as the boys walked away. She didn't blink, which frightened him slightly. Although he was trying to hide his emotions behind a mask, she could tell from his silver gaze he would never truly blow Noctis' cover.

Satisfied with her analysis, she let out a final squeak before flying off to rejoin the others. She caught up with them just as they were stepping off the boardwalk. She wound up crash-landing on Noctis' head. She hung limply from his head with a faint huff. The prince tensed slightly when she collided with his head, but this wasn't the first time she's done so. He grabbed her small body and held her at eye level a few inches from his face. "Don't think I didn't see you with that reporter. You on his side now?"

Outstretching her front paws, (Y/n) made sure her sable claws were retracted before placing her paws on Noctis' cheeks. She squeaked, tapping her soft paws against his face lightly. A smile blossomed on the prince's face. He couldn't help but find her actions adorable. "Yeah, I know you would never betray us. You and Specs are attached at the hip."

The skvader climbed across Noctis' arm the moment he released her. She perched herself on his shoulder as he entered the backseat of the Regalia. Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto followed suit and it wasn't long before they left Galdin Quay to find what Dino requested.

Not far down the road, Ignis pulled the car over to the shoulder and parked. Everyone stepped out of the vehicle and followed Noctis up a stony path. They crossed over a rocky overhang that spanned across the road below. The prince, along with (Y/n) who was still on his shoulder, carefully examined the map before putting it away.

Eventually, they reach an outcrop where they find an enormous bird slumbering. It ruffled its feathers in its sleep, burying its beak against its puffed out chest. Prompto gasped at the sight of the immense beast. "Oh em gee. We're supposed to get near that thing?"

"Pipe down before you wake it up," Gladio hissed just above a whisper.

Crouching, Noctis took the lead and carefully maneuvered around the bird. The others were close behind him, eyes focused on the creature as they held their breath. (Y/n) flattened her small form against the prince's shoulder as they circled around the front of the bird. She could sense just how powerful it was due to its size alone.

Successfully making it past the zu, Noctis stalked over towards a mineral deposit. He grabbed one of the loose pieces of garnet stone and put it into his pocket. He glanced at (Y/n) from the corner of his eye once receiving a soft squeak in response to being able to find and secure what Dino wanted. "Better get it back to him," he whispered to her. She nodded her head in response.

Turning around, Noctis proceeded back the way they came. Ignis was by his side as they rounded around the zu. Unfortunately, the large bird was awoken by a seemingly unknown force. It unfurls its wings, flapping them as hard as it could and creating a powerful gust of wind. (Y/n) dug her claws into Noctis' jacket in a desperate attempt to keep herself from being blown away. Morosely, it wasn't enough. Her small body was sent sailing through the air as the zu took off.

Luckily, Ignis was close by and saw what happened. He snatched her body out of the air and held her close. He loosened his grip on her after the wind died down and the bird was out of sight. "Off it goes..."

Noctis inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart. "Oh, we made it out alive."

"Barely. I seriously thought we were at journey's end," Prompto whimpered.

"But that feat was fit for a king," Gladio commented.

"We've acquired what we came for. Time to return to Galdin," the advisor said. He released (Y/n) and watched her fly around without the fear of being blown away. She went ahead of the boys and returned to the Regalia.

Prompto had also been watching her until she vanished from sight. "You're not scared she'll fly off and never return, Iggy?"

"Not in the slightest," the tactician answered without hesitation. "The bond we share is unquestionable."

"In other words, you both like each other so much you stick together," Gladio smirked with a chuckle.

""Like" is not a plausible word to describe the bond between (Y/n) and I," Ignis corrected the shield. "What we share is far beyond "like"."

"Just saying how I see it."

The advisor's eyes narrowed at him. He wanted to question him, but he walked off before he could. With a sigh, he shook his head and followed after his friends.

During the car ride back to Galdin Quay, (Y/n) was in the backseat with Noctis and Gladio. Descending the windy road leading to their destination, she shoved her head into the prince's pocket, startling him. "H-Hey, (Y/n)!" Looking down, he saw her head pop out of his pocket with the fragment of garnet in her mouth. He wondered what she was going to do with it until he watched her fly out of the car and towards Galdin Quay. "Someone's impatient..."

The skvader was indeed impatient. She was eager to relax on the beach and that would only happen as soon as she could sneak away from the group and transform. She thought delivering the garnet to Dino herself would speed up the process. Why? She wasn't exactly sure.

Landing on the bench beside Dino, she placed the stone down and nudged it towards him with her nose. He picked it up, examining it closely to ensure it was what he asked for. A mix between a smirk and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "Would yous look at that? Just what I asked for!" He immediately got to work creating his newest piece of jewelry. (Y/n) watched in amazement as he turned the small stone into a beautiful bracelet with what supplies he had with him. Once he was done, he admired his craftsmanship. "Gotta say, this is my best piece so far."

Just then, the boys arrived. Dino reveals his newest creation to them and handed it to Noctis. "Nice work, kid! Sorry for giving you such a hard time. I just had to get my hands on this, even if it meant blackmail. You understand, don't ya? Y'see, I'm a reporter by day, and an amateur jeweler by night. This elusive little beauty's gonna become a masterpiece. To make it up to you, I'll share a little scoop. That special coin you got-it commemorates the Oracle's ascension. That guy was tossing 'em out to everyone. Musta picked 'em up back in Niflheim. And speaking of freebies, here's one from me. Come back if you wanna buy more!"

Ignis eyed the fine piece of jewelry as Noctis accepted it from Dino. "I doubt a souvenir like that could make its way into the hands of an ordinary citizen."

"Well, it's our pocket change now," Prompto commented.

"As promised, I'm in the process of securing your ferry tickets right now. Told ya, I'm a man of integrity. Should be smooth sailing from here, so lemme know when you're ready to ship out," Dino stated.

The prince crossed his arms. "We've been ready."

"Guess I should've expected that," the reporter cackled. "The ship won't arrive 'til tomorrow! How 'bout you find a place to spend the night?"

Prompto glanced around at his friends. "Do we even have the money to spend the night?"

"We could always go camping instead," the brute spoke up.

"We do have the funds to secure a hotel room. Although, it will be the only one for a while until we procure more funds," Ignis explained.

"No way I'm camping if we can afford a hotel room," Noctis said. "You guys go do that. I'm gonna do some fishing."

"Can't let His Highness go alone," Gladio stated. "I'll go with you."

"Me too!" Prompto waves his hand in the air. "I wanna take pictures of the beach!"

"Then (Y/n) and I shall make arrangements," the advisor informed the others. Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto left the docks to head to the beach. Ignis and (Y/n) headed towards the rooms available inside the restaurant and paid 10,000 gil for one. They entered the large, beautiful room where the spirit changed forms. She sat on the edge of the bed for a few seconds before flopping down on her back. Her (h/c) locks fanned out across the sheets as she stared up at the ceiling.

"Feeling enervated?" Ignis questioned as he had been watching her.

"A little," she confessed. "Sleeping has been difficult to do ever since we left the city. Even napping is difficult."

"Something plagues your mind?" He inquired.

"Nothing like that, but..." The sapphire-eyed girl sat up. She placed her hands in her lap, staring at the floor. "I hear a voice in my sleep, and even sometimes when I'm awake. I've tried to push it aside as nothing, but something tells me I need to listen. Maybe I'm finally going crazy."

"Shall we investigate this voice?"

She shook her head. "No, don't worry about it." Standing up, she walked over to the windows, which made up one entire wall of the room. She admired the beautiful, glistening ocean for some time. She then focused on her reflection in the window. Alongside herself, she saw Ignis sitting down in one of the chairs. He was flipping through the book that held all his recipes. With a huff, she spun around. Her heels clacked against the floor as she walked towards the door.

Ignis looked up the moment she strolled past him. Looking over his shoulder, he called out to her. "(Y/n), where are you heading?"

"The beach. I've been dying to relax ever since we first came here. It'll also help me sort out my thoughts," the guardian replied.

"What of the others?"

"They won't know it's me." She opened the door. "I'll be back soon, Iggy."

Stepping out of the room, she closed the door behind her. Walking through the Mother of Pearl, she could already feel eyes on her as she sauntered by many people. She tried her best to ignore the stares, knowing not many people have seen a guardian due to their scarcity. She clamped a hand over the sapphire gemstone embedded in her chest. She held her breath and sped up her pace so she could reach the exit quicker.

(Y/n) exhaled heavily. She dropped her hand from her chest the moment she was walking across the long boardwalk. She thought she was in the clear, but her eyes widened when she saw Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto were already on their way back. She thought they would've been gone longer. Pushing her thoughts aside, she looked away from them and prayed to the Astrals they would simply stroll past her. However, her prayer went unanswered. The moment her eyes locked with Prompto's, her body tensed. She immediately looked away and continued walking. As she walked past the blonde, she did force herself to look back at him and offer a kind, shy smile.

What she didn't see was Prompto's wide-eyed expression. His jaw was unhinged, hanging in disbelief. He nearly dropped his camera because of the shock he was in. Gladio also took notice of (Y/n), not recognizing who she was. He crossed his arms with a smirk as his eyes watched her head to the beach. "Now there's a woman."

Wondering who his friends were staring at, Noctis looked at the guardian. Just by looking at her, he could feel a sense of familiarity but pushed it aside since he didn't recognize her. He looked away and saw Prompto and Gladio still had their eyes focused on her. "Why're you guys staring?"

"Dude, are you seriously that blind?" Prompto gasped. "We just came across another goddess! That's two in two days!"

"If you're so interested, go talk to her."

"M-Me?"

Gladio smacked him on the back. "Go for it, pipsqueak. If you fail, I'll take over."

"I'll try...."

Meanwhile on the beach, (Y/n) took her heels off and walked across the sand. She didn't mind the sand sticking to the bottom of her tights since she could easily brush it off later. She admired the lapping waves and the various fish swimming around. The salty breeze blew through her (h/c) locks, a sensation she came to enjoy. Even the sun's warmth against her skin felt different. She wasn't sure what it was about the beach that made the sensation different from anywhere else.

A few peaceful minutes ticked by before (Y/n)'s attention was drawn by a small 'click' and a flash. Looking to her left, she saw Prompto with his camera raised. Her eyes widened in surprise at seeing him. She could even see the faint blush on his cheeks, not sure if it was from the sun or embarrassment.

"I-I'm so sorry!" He quickly apologized. "I-I should've asked before taking your picture."

The guardian smiled, desperately trying to suppress her shyness. Morosely, she wasn't successful. "I-It's okay. Is, um...is there something I can help you with?"

The boy shook his head. "N-No, I just thought y-you were really beautiful and it's my job a-as a photographer to capture everything beautiful."

Her smile widened at his pure heart. "That's very sweet of you."

Prompto quickly looked away, his blush deepening. "S-Sorry to bother you."

Before she could reply, he stormed off. She watched him run all the way to the Mother of Pearl, blinking in surprise at how fast he was sprinting. She hadn't expected Prompto to say such a kind, sweet thing to her. Now it was going to be awkward when she would introduce herself to him and the others in the near future.

Sighing, she combed her slightly disheveled hair behind her ears. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, listening to the waves as they lapped against the white sand of the beach. Just like before, her blissful moment was cut short when sensing the presence of another. This time, she was all-too-familiar with the presence and knew who it was before even looking. "Come to join me, Iggy?" Turning her head, she met his emerald gaze. Unlike with Prompto, she didn't stutter. Ignis was the only person she wasn't shy around because of how long they'd been together.

"I have," the strategist answered. "Although under false pretenses."

(Y/n) looked off in the distance and saw Noctis, Prompto, and Gladio watching them closely from the parking lot. They were trying to hide themselves behind one of the vehicles parked. "Oh, no... Is this their plan?"

"More of Gladio's than Noct's or Prompto's."

She placed her heels in the sand. "Is this another bet to see if you can get a woman?" It wouldn't have been the first time the boys had forced Ignis to speak to a woman to see if he did have any charm.

He pinched in the bridge of his nose. "Indeed..."

(Y/n) reminisced in the many memories she's made with him. "Now that I think about it, you never did bring home anyone. I know you're really serious about your dedication to Noctis, but that doesn't mean you don't have time for your own life. Your happiness matters, too."

Ignis casted his gaze to the ocean. He already knew why he hadn't brought home anyone, not even during his high school years. While he had been occupied with juggling school and his duties to the Crown, he always found time for himself in order to keep his sanity in check. Unlike many people his age who were bringing home a special someone, he didn't have to go search for someone who captured his heart. The young woman beside him already captivated his heart without her knowing. He'd been infatuated with her for many years now, but he kept his true feelings bottled up. He was frightened she wouldn't want him in return and even if she did, he was worried he couldn't commit himself fully to the relationship being the advisor of the prince. He didn't want her to feel as if she came second because of his duties.

What Ignis didn't know was that she already felt second in his heart. Ever since formally becoming Noctis' advisor, she was no longer first in his world. She was placed on the back-burner, knowing her life wasn't as important as Noctis'. In her mind, she was disposable. The prince wasn't. Just like Ignis, (Y/n) kept her deepest emotions buried in the darkest corner of her heart. She admired his conviction to his position, not angered in the slightest when she was no longer the most important person to him.

"Ignis?" The guardian gently called out his name after a prolonged silence.

The advisor reconnected his gaze with hers. "Yes?"

"You will find your own happiness, won't you?"

"I will in due time. As should you, (Y/n)."

She didn't care about her own happiness, only his. Faking a convincing smile, she nodded. "I'm sure I will find that special someone soon." It was a bitter lie on her tongue. She clutched the hem of her dress, bunching up the fabric before releasing it. Bending down, she grabbed her heels. Her eyes drifted over to the other boys, smirking slightly when seeing their flabbergasted expressions. "I think we can safely assume you win this bet. Make sure Gladio pays his dues. I'll see you back in the hotel room." She went to walk past him, but stopped. She decided to add a little spice to the mix and kissed him on the cheek. With a prideful smirk, she glanced one last time towards the trio hiding behind a car. "That'll give them something to talk about."

Ignis watched (Y/n) as she slipped on her heels and left the beach. He placed a hand on his hip, remembering how soft her lips were against his cheek. She'd kiss him like that many times before, but this time it felt different. He wasn't sure why, though. From where he stood on the beach, he could hear Prompto's wails of disbelief. He could hear him complaining about how he was able to score a kiss on a cheek from the girl before she left. His own smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, but it never came to fruition. (Y/n) truly did stir up the pot with such a simple action. Now, he would have to spin a tale to prevent the others from figuring out who she truly was.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #ignis scientia x reader

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mythicamagic · 3 years

Text

In the Company of Wolves: Inukog oneshot

Summary: Every place feels like a temporary home for a Hanyou. Kouga offers Inuyasha a welcome respite within his wolf pack. Inukog oneshot

Written for @gaykagome, who has been a lovely, encouraging commenter and fandom friend ^^ thank you for your support bud.

Rated T

7,000 words (you can also read this on ao3 via the same username)

In the Company of Wolves

Leaping through sprawling trees, thick white hair flew out behind a red figure. Inuyasha landed on a sturdy branch, legs bent, muscles coiling and springing free as he leapt forth again. He smirked, a fang hooking over his bottom lip.

"Nice try, but you ain't got a hope in hell."

The deer fleeing for its life beneath the branches had skittered to the left, racing through dense undergrowth. Perhaps it hoped to lose him, or maybe it was running scared. Either way, this would be over quick.

Stepping from branch to branch, long fingers flexed, claws catching on sunlight. Pushing off from a tree trunk, Inuyasha sprang down with every intent of landing atop his prey.

He fell within range, closing in- only for his foot to collide with a mass of thick black fur.

Inuyasha's eyes flew wide, crashing into the beast and hitting the floor in a tumble of limbs. The deer merrily pranced away out of sight.

Snarling and lifting his head, Inuyasha cradled his throbbing skull. "Damn it, what the-!"

A large bear-sized wolf staggered to its feet, rumbling a noise of complaint. Two cobalt blue eyes glared at him.

Inuyasha stopped, "Kouga?" he rose a bushy brow.

There was no mistaking that smell. He'd never seen the mangy wolf's true form before though. In all honesty, it was kind of surreal. Hell, the guy even looked a bit more dignified.

Kouga tilted his head, standing. As he shook himself, yellow, static powder fell from his fur like gold dust, swirling into a whirlwind of youki. In a matter of moments, Kouga's humanoid form stepped out, hands on his hips.

"Why'd you get in my way?! You lost me my meal!"

White triangular ears flicked and pressed back against his skull. Fuck taking that. Inuyasha stood, hands balled into fists.

"Your meal?! I've been tracking that deer for at least an hour! You weren't even in the picture, I didn't smell ya chasing it once!"

Kouga tilted his chin up, flashing a cheeky grin. "Tch, that's what happens when you track from downwind, Dog Breath," he muttered, ignoring the pissed off Hanyou and looking around. "How come you're out here huntin' anyway? Isn't Kagome with you? She always carries some goodies to chew on. Tastier than venison too."

Inuyasha glanced away moodily, crossing his arms. "Shaddap. Like it's any of your business."

Kouga hummed, scratching his jaw. Odd. There was no bite in his tone. Sniffing a little, Kouga picked up the faint scent of sadness clinging to the robe of the fire rat.

Inuyasha's face heated. He quickly bared his teeth, "quit with that! She's just busy, alright? Besides, I can still hunt for myself. Ain't you a little far from your territory to be hunting out here?"

Kouga blinked, mildly concerned despite their history together. "Uhh… where do you think you are, Dog Breath?"

Frowning, Inuyasha glanced around. Clearly no answers were forthcoming from the forest, so leaping up, he climbed a tree, digging claws into rough bark to hoist himself up. Minding the tallest branches aside, Inuyasha gaped as he surfaced from the sea of greenery. Sprawling, picturesque mountains met his startled gaze.

How far did I chase that deer?

And why'd it have to lead him to Kouga's turf, of all places?

Dropping down to solid ground again, Inuyasha avoided eye contact. "I just got caught up in running, that's all," he answered the silent question hanging in the air.

Kouga tilted his head slightly, "… right."

A rumbling sound rang out between them. Inuyasha grit his teeth, ignoring the impatient gurgling of his stomach and swiftly turning. "Whatever. See ya," he started walking.

"Hey-" Kouga called, causing him to nearly trip in surprise and frown over one shoulder.

The wolf winced, looking awkward and weirded out to even be asking. "We got leftovers. If you want some," the offer was casual. "Don't want you keeling over on the way back, Kagome would kill me."

Inuyasha stared. Maybe he'd hit his head or something because for some reason, the offer sounded like a tempting one.

"Keh," he grunted, pivoting on one heel and trudging towards Kouga's territory instead. "Better be good," he complained with no energy behind it.

"Its free food! Be more grateful to your host," the wolf snarked, jogging to keep pace with him.

---

Mutters echoed throughout the cave, causing white ears to twitch and swivel atop his head. Inuyasha ignored the curious wolves, digging into tough boar meat. Uncooked. Miroku and Kagome would've called it ghastly. His lips twitched at the thought, soon wiped away. Something squeezed his chest instead.

"Hey, blabber-mouths! Keep it down!" Kouga's booming voice caught his dazed attention.

Ginta and Hakkaku quickly shut up, apologising. The rest of the wolf pack fell quiet, though their eyes blazed with questions.

Inuyasha rose a brow and glanced at the Wolf Prince. Did he think the gossiping bothered him or something? Weird guy. He should know a Hanyou would be used to it.

Kouga's tail flicked as he strode through regular wolves, minding some beasts aside. He then threw himself down beside Inuyasha on some soft furs, stealing a rib. Not having the energy or inclination to snap at him for it, Inuyasha merely flashed his teeth, grunting and continuing to eat.

"So what brings you to us, Inuyasha?" Hakkaku asked bluntly. Ginta gasped and fretted, clearly having wanted to ask more delicately.

Inuyasha drew into himself slightly, noticing a hush fall over the atmosphere within the damp cave.

"Was just in the neighbourhood is all. If ya wanna blame someone for dragging me here, look no further than your precious leader," he snorted, sidestepping the question.

Kouga elbowed him and chuckled in a deep, rich baritone. Triangular ears flicked upon hearing it. "Aw c'mon! You practically tripped over yourself getting here you were so eager," glimmering blue eyes swung to his pack, giving a shit-eating grin. "He's just too proud to say 'thank you for the meal' because he lost his prey and is still being a sore loser about it~"

Inuyasha blinked, noticing his verbal diversion and change in topic. Kouga was... helping him?

Sure enough, the wolf demon gazed at him, brows raised in challenge, trying to encourage a rebuttal.

Relief touched Inuyasha's face for a moment, before snorting loudly and thrusting his nose up in the air, turning away. "Me? You're the one who got in my way, Mangy Wolf."

"Dog Breath!"

"Flea Bag!"

The wolves glanced back and forth between them, noticing the lack of malice in their nicknames. Their scents were calm, giving them away. A touch of humour and enjoyment radiated from them as they bickered.

"Alright, prove it-" Kouga suddenly threw out. "Hunt with us tomorrow. Then we'll see who's better at it," he jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Obviously, it'll be us wolves! I've provided for my pack as leader for tons of years and I'm faster than you."

Rolling golden eyes, Inuyasha picked up a stone, hollowed out cup of water, taking a sip. "Keh, wouldn't be the first time people have underestimated me. Won't be the last," easing slightly closer to get in Kouga's face, he bared sharp fangs in a feral grin. "I'll beat you just like I've beaten everyone else who figured a half-breed couldn't measure up to a full demon."

Kouga stared, a funny look crossing his face- both palms shooting up to wave slightly. "Huh? Nah, you've got me wrong," he grunted, straightening his spine. "I was just trash talkin' you as competition, not because you're a Hanyou. I honestly wasn't thinkin' of that," his voice trailed into a musing tone.

A stab of surprise and disorientation swung through Inuyasha. There was no time to recover, however, as the demon kept talking. "Though now that you mention it, you're probably used to hunting alone, right? We'd call you a Lone Wolf if you were one of our kind. My pack will win through sheer teamwork."

Inuyasha huffed. So clearly it was more like 1 vs 30 rather than a fair fight. Coward.

Ah well. Looking down at the bones he'd picked clean, he gave a rough shrug of his shoulders. Not like he had anything else to do. He could stick around a little longer.

"You're on."

----

Many hours after the sun had gone down, taking its vibrant colourful sky with it, the moon had opened up her blanket of stars. Inuyasha sat at the mouth of the wolf pack's cave, hands thrust inside his sleeves. Tetsusaiga rested against one shoulder.

The wolves had finished singing their melodies to their mother, the moon, so they'd settled down.

Golden eyes slid towards their sleeping forms. They'd packed themselves tight against one another to retain some heat. Only a few had broken off in pairs to cuddle by themselves. Ginta and Hakkaku were well and truly wrapped around one another, swathed in furs.

They all looked comfortable. Trusting, together. A family unit.

Inuyasha stared. The most annoying part about it was that he could never pinpoint exactly what he was feeling, looking at groups like this. It made him uncomfortable, a reminder that they had something he didn't. Maybe he had, for a time, but his friends had all split off to live their own lives. Shippo was growing up. Miroku and Sango had their own family now.

Kagome…

He wasn't needed anymore. Their quest had been over for a long time. He should be over it by now.

Staring at the pack was like looking into a store window in Kagome's time. Unseen glass forever separated him from what they possessed.

Kouga lifted his head from where he lay, noting a chill in the air. Inuyasha met his gaze, quickly turning to face the other way and pretending to look at sprawling scenery. A snort sounded out in the cave before sharp, static youki fanned into the breeze.

Transformed, Kouga stepped around his pack and lay down towards the entrance, blocking out the night's chilly breeze with his thick fur and large form.

Inuyasha glanced behind him with mild surprise.

Kouga was maybe, actually, kind of…

... a good leader.

---

It started at midday.

The pack immediately flooded the forest, racing through it like droves of rats. Inuyasha shared a look with Kouga, before smirking and starting to leap from tree to tree.

Hunting with wolves nearby started to look next to impossible, considering how eagerly they dove and ran through the undergrowth, loud and clumsy. However, the second they caught wind of a herd, they split off into different, smaller groups. Inuyasha watched them from his vantage point above.

Scouts ran on ahead. Kouga kept towards the back of his pack, signalling orders with mere grunts, growls or gestures of his hand. Inuyasha followed the scouts, dropping down to run alongside them. They were slightly younger demons, teenage boys and girls, lithe and built for running. They stared at him but gave tentative grins.

Inuyasha blinked and offered a slight smirk, soon powering on ahead and leaving them behind.

Sniffing out a herd of deer that the wolves intended to close in on, Inuyasha kept to his vantage point in the trees. He rounded one side of a large clearing, heart thundering.

It had been a long time since he'd hunted seriously. It took him back to old times. Kagome had spoiled him with ramen, and complacency softened his body. But now rusty instincts were awakening, shaking the dust away. His fangs ached. Demon senses kicked in, blood pumping. He could hear and smell everything, down to the blades of grass, fusty scent of deer and pungent odour of wolves.

As predicted, Kouga's scouts halted at the opposite side of the treeline. Lower-ranking wolves and wolf demons alike burst through into the meadow then, causing the herd to take off running.

Right towards Inuyasha.

Dumbasses. Didn't they figure they were leading them right to him?

Grinning, Inuyasha's clawed nails elongated slightly. Waiting as a few deer ran beneath his position- he suddenly lept. Free-falling and spreading both arms wide, he tackled a stag around the neck, yanking it down with him using his weight.

Grabbing it by the antlers the second he recovered, Inuyasha gave a quick jerk, snapping its neck cleanly.

Panting and grinning, he raised triumphant eyes-

Only to see Kouga bent over a felled deer not too far away. His mouth was bloodied. His prey lay dead on one side. It was obvious from the number of adults mid-way through their meal that they'd taken it down much quicker than Inuyasha. They'd had the same idea, flushing out prey and leaping upon them from the opposite direction. Somehow they'd evaded even his detection.

Younger wolves looped around, waiting pensively for their turn.

Kouga licked his lips, maintaining eye contact. Dark hair hung loose from its typical ponytail, claws stained crimson. Inuyasha's heart skittered. His breath halted.

The demon drew bloodied lips back over his fangs when a lower wolf sniffed too close to his food- a loud, powerful snarl thrumming through the clearing.

An answering rumble built in Inuyasha's throat, unbidden. Blazing, twisting heat hooked low in his stomach, cock twitching.

Golden eyes snapped wide, realising just what the fuck he was reacting to.

Kouga's feral expression softened back to normal, shooting him a surprised grin and happily digging into his meal, none the wiser.

Shaken, Inuyasha grimly started tucking into his own, busying himself with eating. He then offered some scraps to some salivating teens, ignoring the amused demons watching. He wasn't above dining with pups. Especially if it meant never confronting what had just happened.

---

"So you and Kagome broke up, huh?"

Inuyasha jolted, wondering how obvious he'd been about it. Frowning at Kouga, who seemed content to laze within the den after the hunt, he gave a long exhale. "Have been for a few months now."

"Gotcha."

"We're still friends though, so don't even think about sniffing after her again."

"I ain't about to, Dog Breath," Kouga flashed him a wolfish grin, slowly sobering, "you wanna talk about it? Only it seems to be eatin' at ya."

Running a hand through his hair and giving a dusty sigh, Inuyasha stared blankly at the forest down below. With no other wolves around, he felt somewhat better about talking so plainly.

"Nothin' much to talk about, she's with someone else now. Seems happy."

Kouga made a noise of affirmation, showing he was listening while picking at his teeth with a pinky.

"I've got a crappy track record with relationships."

"You've got a crappy track record with women, yeah."

Inuyasha whipped his head back to stare at Kouga, wondering what he meant by that. If he meant what Inuyasha thought he meant.

Kouga remained in a reclining position, meeting his gaze easily. The late afternoon sun touched his skin, giving it a warm glow, hooded eyes seeming to darken. "You ever think about trying to be with someone else, rather than pining after the same soul over and over?"

Inuyasha's lips thinned, cheeks heating.

"I dunno. I was with Kikyo and then after being sealed to the tree- I woke up and met Kagome like no time had passed," he grunted. This would usually be the part where he clamped up. He didn't like talking about something so vulnerable. Self-preservation had taught him not to divulge too much, even to friends like Kagome. Kouga could easily mock him. However…

Looking over, no sinister motivation seemed to compel the wolf. He was genuinely interested. Inuyasha's insides screamed at him as he reluctantly continued. "It was like… it made sense to be with her, but I barely had a chance to process losing Kikyo. Things just kinda happened," he shook his head slightly. "Startin' fresh? Sounds like a fairy tale."

Kouga chuckled deeply, causing Inuyasha's ears to twitch again. His stomach did a nervous flip, but there was no cruelty in that rich tone. "Kinda set in your ways, huh? You're like a human in that respect."

"Keh, well what about you? Been with anyone recently?" Inuyasha asked flatly. He wasn't fishing or anything.

Kouga stretched languidly, yawning and exposing sharp-pointed canines. Blunt claws flexed wide, before curling into his palms again. "Nothing permanent. My last 'relationship' was with a guy for a couple of weeks. Just casual stuff. Heh, bet that's unthinkable to you, right?"

Inuyasha bristled, cheeks reddening. He tossed his head and huffed in answer.

"Oi, I don't mean anything by it. I think it's great you're such a loyal pup and have soul-consuming relationships instead of flings. Still, it sounds kind of exhausting to me," the wolf shrugged.

"I thought 'wolves mated for life', you sure tried that line on Kagome."

"We do," Kouga muttered, looking at him, "but only after we find someone special. We got an expression, us wolves. It basically translates to 'my heart and liver.' You gotta find someone that really fits your needs, who you pursue like they're a missing organ inside you. Till we find our chosen one, we're free to pursue who we want."

Inuyasha snorted, "and Kagome was that person to you?" he drawled sarcastically.

Kouga shrugged, not catching it. His earnest, blunt disposition was somewhat refreshing, if Inuyasha were being honest. "I figured so. But after three years of thinking about it, I kinda dove headfirst into loving her without really knowing her. I pursued her so hard that I forgot to think about why I was even running."

Unbidden, a smile came to the Hanyou's mouth, a fang hooking over his lip. He chuckled, eyes warming. Something heavy lifted from his shoulders. "We're both dumbasses," he said, golden eyes dancing. It felt kind of good to not be alone in that. To know they both should've done better.

Kouga blinked, gaze roving over his face. Slowly, he gave an answering, amiable smile. "You get a snaggle-tooth when you grin," he pointed out teasingly. "It's cute."

"Don't think you can flirt with me just because we bonded for a second, wolf," Inuyasha rolled his eyes and forcefully snuffed out his grin.

"No I'm gonna," Kouga chuckled, tail thumping beside him.

Something dissuaded the Hanyou from hotly shutting this down. His heart sat a little lighter in his chest, shoulders relaxed. If the dumbass wanted to keep saying stupid shit, who was he to stop him?

----

After that day, Inuyasha resolved to stay- at least until he caught a kill quicker than the wolves during a hunt.

Kouga became somewhat more shameless and flirty. It started out subtle. Well, subtle for Kouga.

One time, Inuyasha had leisurely taken a sip of his drink, setting it down and not noticing the wolf sit beside him. Kouga then proceeded to pick it up.

He crooked his wrist as he lifted the cup so that his lips landed squarely over the same place Inuyasha's had just occupied. He'd performed the manoeuvre so quickly that Inuyasha wasn't sure at first of what he'd seen. But as Kouga drank, he glanced at him, and Inuyasha knew then that the move had been intentional.

There were other small, maddening things. Kouga's tail brushing against his hip in passing. How he always brought over a slab of meat from a fresh kill to Inuyasha first during evening meals. How he offered over and over to take a 'friendly' dip in the waterfall together.

Inuyasha rolled his eyes at the attention. It never strayed too far into 'Miroku' territory, but it also wasn't something to take it seriously. The other wolves by now had caught on and sometimes teased their leader. Kouga laughed it off yet continued undaunted. When he next offered Inuyasha a pot, the Hanyou blinked.

"Are those stingers?" he grunted.

Sure enough, bee stings dotted bronze skin. The idiot hadn't removed the stingers from his hand.

The wolf chuckled, gesturing to the covered pot. "Ya mentioned that honey goes well with meat, so I got some for you."

Staring and feeling weird again, Inuyasha heaved a sigh and grabbed Kouga by the wrist, tugging him to kneel beside him. "Hold still, idiot. Do your feet run away with your brain or somethin'? You have to take these out," he bent over his hand, clawed fingers grasping a stinger.

"I was just eager to get it back to y- OW!"

Huffing, the Hanyou continued in his task, ignoring the whimpering demon. Despite his gruffness however, he leaned Kouga's arm over his knee, one hand gripping the back of the wolf's to keep it steady. He could feel Kouga's sharp inhale close to his cheek.

Finally removing the last of the stingers, Inuyasha's dog demon side betrayed him. As natural as breathing; he'd bent his head and swiped a careful tongue over a red sore to soothe the wound unthinkingly. Human embarrassment kicked in then, and he dropped Kouga's wrist like a rock, lurching back and standing.

"There! Tend to your own damn hand now!"

A ripple of laughter washed over the pack as Inuyasha stormed away, leaving Kouga to stare at the spot of saliva on his hand like it were a dewy jewel.

---

When next hunting, Inuyasha set off on his own under cloudy skies. He didn't keep track of the mass of wolves flooding the forest. Closing his eyes and removing the robe of the fire-rat to leave him in his white underlayer, he sank into a crouch. Burying Tetsusaiga somewhere safe at the base of a tree, he exhaled. The hanyou then began the process of shedding.

Shedding didn't entail fur. Rather, for him, it meant shaking off the layers of bullshit that weighed on his mind. He even stopped thinking about himself as a person. His mind turned blank, running through the forest like an animal.

He hadn't hunted via pure instinct in so long. He forgot how to speak with a human tongue, letting out grunts and growls. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Unknowingly, golden eyes tinged red. Faint markings cut across his cheeks. Fangs and claws elongated, youki pounding through his system with every thunder of his heartbeat.

A hare darted out from the bushes- and Inuyasha lunged.

He was barely aware of Kouga looping closer until he jogged out from the trees. "Hey, mutt- no luck for us today. Think that last hunt scared the herd too far awa-"

The creature hunched over spun around, a mangled kill hanging limp from his mouth. It hit the ground with a sickening thud as long white hair bristled, puffing up. A deep, rumbling snarl deafened Kouga's ears.

Inuyasha gazed at him, unblinking, panting with ragged breaths.

Kouga stopped and stared. Unbidden, the wilder, fiercer side of his nature reared its head. Teeth and claws gleamed, interest piqued.

However, something was wrong.

Inuyasha gasped and grunted, bending low and whimpering with pain. His body began fighting with itself, his demon blood coursing too strong for his hanyou form to withstand.

Kouga didn't really know anything about hanyou kind. However, he knew enough about the situation to realise a particular sword was missing from Inuyasha's hip. Turning tail and hurrying away, it was a simple matter of tracking Inuyasha's scent all the way to the base of a tree.

The fog cleared from crimson eyes, and Inuyasha blinked, panting. He flexed his shaking hand around a muddied Tetsusaiga, the partial transformation leaving him worn and ragged.

Kouga was squatting next to him. Concern probably wasn't the right word for it, but he gazed at him seriously for a moment before standing.

"Don't do stupid stuff just to win bets, Mutt Face."

Coughing, Inuyasha slowly adjusted back into his old senses, gripping his sword so tight his knuckles bled white. "Yeah... fine, whatever... Mangey Wolf."

----

The 'incident' as Kouga called it was not an isolated one in terms of throwing him for a damn loop. After bathing at the waterfall in a nice, refreshing midday dip, Kouga noticed an absence immediately.

"Where's Inuyasha?"

Ginta looked up from polishing some armour.

"I'm not sure. He started getting fidgety and sniffed around- then he looked at the sky and took off without a word to anyone. I think he looked a bit pale."

Kouga frowned. In a few hours, it would get dark. Tracking him would be more difficult.

Wasting no time, Kouga lept from their den, sailing down the side of the rocky mountain face. His black hair and wolf tail flew up to flutter in the breeze. "Be back later!" he called, ignoring Ginta's confusion.

Bursting into a mini tornado of power, Kouga started running, lifting his nose to scent the air. Locating Inuyasha's unique smell, he sprinted into the gloom of the trees. It seemed the Hanyou hadn't wanted to be found. His scent zig-zagged everywhere, even travelling upriver, perhaps intending to lose anyone tracking him.

Kouga smirked. As if that would work on a full demon.

By the time dusk settled in, however, Kouga felt antsy. Still no sign of the mutt, and it was getting dark. Even his scent had become strange and diluted.

Stopping beneath the canopy of trees and frowning, Kouga shifted his attention to the waning light above. The moon was out, but faint.

Kouga's eyes widened slightly. A new moon.

Hearing a sigh and the crunch of weight shifting on dried leaves, Kouga turned, nose twitching.

A willow tree sat relatively still and serene, located near some stretch of water. Weeping, draping branches were parted by Kouga's rough palms. He peered into the shadows behind the sweeping curtain, finding a familiar face.

Inuyasha stood, eyes incredibly dark. Midnight locks of hair split down broad shoulders. He stood weary and watchful, gripping a useless Tetsusaiga.

"What are you doing here?" Inuyasha muttered.

Kouga gave a look, as though it should be obvious, stepping into his private space beneath the darkening tree. "I came here to find ya, obviously."

Dark eyes widened slightly at his blunt honesty. Sighing anew, Inuyasha rubbed at his forehead. "Dumbass. I'm guessing you forgot what night I transform despite seeing it yourself before?"

"Kinda," the wolf demon shrugged, resting both hands on his hips and walking around the tree, glancing at the fresh kill of a rabbit. "Glad ya fed yourself at least. C'mon, let's go back before we lose any more light. Unless of course you wanna stumble around in the dark, forcing me to hold your hand?" he teased.

Inuyasha gazed back soberly, causing the mirth to leave Kouga's eyes. Both fell quiet.

As a human, Inuyasha lost many things. Animal ears, a keen sense of smell, golden irises that gleamed like a treasure trove. He also lost a certain harshness. The thick wall of defence usually built up around his heart had crumbled.

Like this, Inuyasha looked much softer. In more ways than one.

"I don't want to go back looking like this," Inuyasha muttered. "And neither do you."

"What're you yappin' about?"

Bushy brows pulled down, and he backed up slightly. "Listen, you've had your fun little charity experience including a Hanyou in your shit, but I know how full demon society works. I'm not stupid. You're all fine with me hanging around as some little project to measure yourselves against, but when it comes down to it, you don't want to confront this part."

Kouga's heavy brows pulled down, a sneer marring his lips. "Ah, I get it. Ya think my pack will mock you because it's your human night? You're a fucking idiot," he sighed. "I was in love with Kagome. Ya think anyone's gonna say shit? Admit it, you just feel vulnerable because you got baby skin and no fangs."

Inuyasha's expression flickered; an open book. His hands balled into fists, stubbornness setting his mouth into a thin, grim line.

Kouga gave an exaggerated sigh, grabbing his arm, "quit bein' stubborn-"

Yanking himself free, Inuyasha gave a poor imitation of a snarl, exposing blunt teeth. "Get lost!"

Growling, Kouga blurred in the air- appearing behind him and grabbing the failing human around the waist- lifting so that his kicking feet left the ground. "We're going back, it's cold out! Your baby skinned, barely furred ass will catch a cold, and I ain't dealing with that!" he started walking.

With a yowl of outrage, Inuyasha swung his elbow back into Kouga's face. With a grunt, he was released, only for the two to snarl and grapple once again. Heels dug into mud- foreheads smacked, palms clasped and muscles strained on Inuyasha's end to match the power of a demon, failing. Kouga licked at his bleeding nose, before giving a hard shove. Landing on forest ground and losing themselves in senseless scrapping, sharp teeth closed around a curved ear.

Inuyasha yelped, dark eyes flying wide. Did he just?-

He had! Kouga had reprimanded him like a damn pack member.

Sensation burst within his chest, boiling over, consuming. He didn't know how to react to it. Therefore, Inuyasha didn't stop to think about his actions. When drowning in feeling, his mind turned blank, and he acted on impulse.

Curling coarse fingers in dark hair and latching tight- he yanked Kouga down by the back of the neck- mouths colliding.

Teeth knocked. Lips strained against hard pressure. Inuyasha's grip tugged Kouga's hair tight against his scalp. It was painful. It was uncomfortable. It was brilliant.

The wolf demon reeled, inhaling hard through his nostrils. His senses flooded with Inuyasha's human scent.

There was a reason Kagome's slap had cemented her into Kouga's head as a potential mate. He wasn't used to being opposed. Everyone listened to him, and he talked freely. But a push back, a stubborn, fierce 'no!' made his world tilt on its axis. It was exactly what he needed. Someone to raise their voice and get his attention. An opposing view to clash with his own. That was what leaders primarily looked for in partners, not meek obedient types.

And Kouga couldn't say he personally disliked it either.

Releasing him, Inuyasha panted. His face suddenly paled, realisation dawning. "Shit," he muttered, drawing back and falling silent.

Kouga opened his mouth, then closed it. There were no words he could scramble together in his currently fried brain. What he did know- was that the weather still felt chilly, and Inuyasha needed a place to sleep. He kind of felt the desire to prod for more, but judging by Inuyasha's closed off, guarded look, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

They picked themselves up, standing. Inuyasha wiped some mud from his ashen cheek.

"You won't come back to the pack tonight, right?" Kouga asked.

Mild relief seemed to touch his features as he nodded glumly.

"Gotcha, well, don't kick up a fuss. I'll take ya somewhere else for the night," the wolf demon stepped away, youki swirling around his form, tumbling faster into a fierce gust. Inuyasha watched as a 10ft tall dark-furred wolf eventually lept out of the whirlwind. Kouga then knelt down as best he could, jerking his head to indicate Inuyasha climb on.

"You've got to be kiddin' me?" he grumbled. It didn't take much prompting for him to give in, burned out from nerves and high tension. The new moon always messed everything up.

Grasping onto thick, feathery fur, Inuyasha climbed onto his back, sitting behind Kouga's shoulder blades. The wolf demon flashed him a toothy smile, pushing off starting to run.

Gaping and swaying from the momentum, Inuyasha ducked down and gripped his hackles. Kouga talked a lot of shit, but he got one thing right; he was fucking fast.

Muscles coiled and shifted, prowling through dense undergrowth with quick footfalls. Kouga panted softly, paws thundering over chilled forest floor, scattering leaves.

Inuyasha ducked to avoid a few low-hanging branches, feeling the wolf's sturdiness and warm form beneath him. Despite being in human form with his dulled, dim senses, the silence of the forest combined with Kouga's rhythmic noises made him feel strangely wild yet lulled. He was a creature again, not a man nor demon. It comforted him.

Kouga's breath fanned out in visible puffs of curling smoke by the time they reached an abandoned cave beneath a slightly upturned tree- it's hanging, frozen roots slightly obscuring the entrance. Snowdrops littered the ground- crunching under Inuyasha's feet as he dismounted and quietly entered.

More snowdrops awaited him inside the mouth of the cave, and he sank down exhaustedly into the flowers, cheek cushioned by soft petals.

Kouga huffed, staring down at Inuyasha's near motionless body. Shifting, he settled beside him, acting as a shield against the elements.

Inuyasha's feet were turning blue. Knowing he'd probably be insecure about holding onto him in inhuman form, the wolf shifted closer, bumping against his side.

Making a tired noise, a dark brown eye cracked open. With a sigh- Inuyasha's coarse hands met Kouga's fur, settling closer into the mass of warmth. "This means nothing," came his muffled voice.

Resting his head upon enormous paws, Kouga ignored this, tail thumping slightly behind him.

"Thanks for... coming to get me."

At that, Kouga stiffened with surprise, lifting his head to look at him.

Inuyasha's breaths evened out, and in the quiet hush that followed, it was difficult not to notice how his dark hair seemed to mesh and meld so naturally into the wolf demon's own black fur.

In the morning it would be harder still not to stare at sprawling wisps of long white hair blending into the snowdrops.

Kouga's blue eyes blinked, nose twitching. It was then he realised he was probably in danger of something much larger than either of them could've expected.

----

Predictably, Inuyasha acted as though nothing had happened.

He stuck around the wolves for a few days longer, before finally approaching Kouga, arms thrust inside trailing sleeves.

"So… gonna be headin' out soon."

Kouga continued sharpening his knife. He then stood, rolling one shoulder and keeping his tone casual.

"For good?"

"Yeah," Inuyasha muttered, face guarded. "No point in sticking around here any longer than I need to. Keh, I ain't in the habit of getting in people's way."

Kouga heaved a sigh, putting the knife away and folding his arms, walking from the cave and out into bright sunlight. Rounding one side of the mountain and following a rocky trail, his tail swished with agitation. "You ain't in the way, Dog Breath. I made that pretty clear. You wanna talk about the kiss or not?"

Inuyasha made a noise behind him. He then scrambled for something to say, "we don't gotta talk about it! Weird shit happens when I turn human! Stuff I wouldn't usually do-"

Kouga cut him off with a dramatically loud groan, turning on his heel to face him. Inuyasha jumped, feet skidding to bring him to a stop- rocking forward with momentum and ending up nose to nose with the wolf.

Cobalt blue eyes remained flat, "dunno how Kagome put up with your damn wishy-washy ass. I ain't about to listen to that crap when my nose can sniff out lies unlike her. Since you're so bad at this, I guess I'll be the mature one; and that's how ya know you're being an idiot, stupid mutt."

Inuyasha blinked, opening his mouth with an irate expression.

"I want ya to stay," Kouga said bluntly. "The kiss didn't bother me. In fact, I kinda liked it and I'm open to doing more of that stuff, weird as it sounds saying it out loud. I was into it," he shrugged broad shoulders. "But if you're too busy getting yourself worked up about feeling like an outsider, that's up to you. As pack leader, I'm telling you you've got a place here, dumbass. You can quit being a lone wolf if you want to. My group won't mind."

Inuyasha stared at him, completely stunned. He put a little distance between them, ears pressing flat.

His expression rapidly changed with a multitude of conflicting thoughts. He opened and closed his mouth, eyes flickering to the scenery, to the rocks, to their bare feet. Heavy brows drew down.

Kouga sighed and scratched his pointed ear, figuring he'd be stubborn about it. Not like he could force him to stay. But still… an odd sense of disappointment weighed in his chest. He'd had fun. He'd had a lot of fun with him around.

"I don't do casual," came Inuyasha's reluctant reply.

Kouga's brows rose. Oh. That's what he'd been having reservations about?

"Fuck- I'm bad at this," the hanyou gazed stubbornly at the horizon, cheeks heating. Hands curled into fists at his side.

Blinking, Kouga let out a rasping chuckle, shoulders shaking. It immediately won him Inuyasha's attention. "You really are," he agreed, tone turning into a teasing one. "I didn't know you were that into me."

Growling and bristling, Inuyasha seemed to assume he was laughing at him, so Kouga held up a hand. He then used it to grab hold of the robe of the fire rat, bridging the distance between them.

Inuyasha's breath rushed out of his nose, exhaling sharply. He froze, becoming completely still. Kouga's mouth remained against his in a firm kiss, before shifting into a yielding one, eventually drawing away.

Kouga grinned, "if you wanna get stuck with me, then I'm totally capable of being serious too."

Inuyasha slowly relaxed. He snorted, lips quirking as golden eyes warmed. "Dumbass," he mumbled, tugging him back in again. This time Kouga's ensuing chuckle came out muffled against his lips.

"Heh, you really do have dog breath."

"Do I gotta keep shutting you up?"

Kouga lifted a shoulder, flashing him a wolfish grin, tail thwacking his thigh. "If that's the method you're going with to do it, I guess so."

Inuyasha's gaze flattened, feeling large hands slide around him to rest on his shoulder blades. Oddly comforting. The warmth of a wolf was a strange, foreign thing, but one he could get used to. Kouga had a strong scent. He could feel it saturating his clothes. The robe of the fire-rat would reek for weeks.

And that was okay too.

Their noses bumped, and they huffed with amusement, teeth nipping. They'd be clumsy for a while, but sticking around suddenly didn't sound so heavy. Inuyasha resolved to stay for a few more weeks.

And then maybe he'd linger for a little while after that too.

---

The wolves always howled in their true forms, conveying their love, heartbreak, hunger, stories and other things into their haunting songs. They were beautiful, powerful, twisting, waxing poetic about nothing and everything.

Inuyasha stepped out onto the summit of their mountain that they gathered upon. When he threw back his head and howled suddenly, it startled the others out of their songs.

His voice strained, held back by untrained vocal cords. It wasn't wild enough and held no finesse, too tempered by humanity. Imperfect.

Kouga beamed upon hearing it. He then transformed, black silky fur receding.

Throwing his head back, he let out a loud howl, hair dancing in the breeze. Inuyasha finished and looked at him breathlessly, heart drumming loudly. His throat hurt, cheeks stinging from the cold bite in the air. It felt fucking fantastic.

The rest of the wolf pack demons followed suit, transforming into their mockery of human appearances. Their inhuman forms joined in, baying with hoarse, powerful voices.

If someone had happened upon the pack that night, they'd have found the wolves packed in close, huddling for warmth in their cave. And at the very centre of the pack would be one hanyou, nestled amongst their slumbering, monstrous forms, nose buried into windswept fur, heart in sync with theirs.

---

It would be a few weeks later when Inuyasha would return to Kaede's village. It had been two months since he'd left.

Kouga jogged around him on the trail, sniffing the air and chattering animatedly. He loved travelling. Inuyasha grunted a few replies but was content to listen to him. It kept his mind off inevitably seeing a certain someone again.

That person seemed to spot them almost immediately as they approached the village.

Kagome came rushing over, causing Kouga to grin and call a greeting- his words going completely ignored as the miko drew back her hand.

Inuyasha blinked at the ensuing slap. His cheek stung like hell.

Salt peppered the air then, causing guilt to sink heavy into his gut.

"H-how dare you!" Kagome's watery eyes blazed. "You disappear for months- without a word to anyone?!- and then just swan back here like nothing happened? I searched for you! Do you have any idea how WORRIED I was? You jerk! You're such an absolute JERK!"

Inuyasha slowly stepped closer and brought her into a hug just as she burst into tears.

Kagome thumped her fists weakly against his chest, shuddering and prattling nonsense.

"I just… needed to get away," Inuyasha muttered, ears pressed back tight to his skull. "Didn't feel right being here."

Letting out a rush of hot air, Kagome drew back slightly to look at him. "N-nothing had to change. I told you that," she hiccuped. "Just because I'm in a relationship with someone else- it doesn't affect us. We're still friends. Your place is here. Miroku, Sango and Shippo were worried too."

"They were?"

They'd seemed so busy with their own lives before. Too busy to hang out with him- or maybe he'd been alone in thinking that? Had he put distance between them unknowingly because they'd all changed but he'd stayed the same?

"Idiot," Kagome and Kouga sighed together.

Noticing their wolf companion, Kagome wiped her tears and turned to Kouga. She gave him a much gentler reception, hugging him tight with gratitude.

"So he was with you the whole time? Thank you for looking out for him, Kouga."

"Heh, no worries. It's actually been pretty fun."

Kagome pulled back and rose a brow, glancing between them. "Really? You two haven't been fighting?"

"Sometimes," Inuyasha scratched his nose, combing some claws through his hair. "That hasn't been so bad either, though."

Completely lost, Kagome tilted her head. She then located a hickey on Inuyasha's neck, the skin bruised and red. She reddened herself, meeting Inuyasha's awkward gaze.

"Oh," she put the pieces together slowly. "So… are you just visiting?" she asked quietly.

Inuyasha nodded slowly. "Yeah. I got…" he took a breath, words faltering. He then continued, voice full of conviction. "I got a place to return to now. The wolves ain't a bad bunch to stay with now that my nose has adjusted to their damn smell."

"Hey-" Kouga scoffed.

"I'll keep coming back here though," he continued. "I'm just-"

"It's okay," Kagome soothed. "That makes me really happy to hear. Sometimes new things are good. Different, but good."

It was the same thing she'd said when trying to talk to him about her new relationship. Inuyasha nodded slightly, rendered mute by the heaviness of her words. Change was inevitable. It had freaked him out enough to run from the only real family he'd ever known.

Sadness flitted through her gaze before acceptance gentled matured features. Ageing had changed her too. That was partly why they'd broken up as quickly as they had. They were too different now than how they'd been at 15, swept up in a whirlwind teen romance. There was a sadness in never being able to return to their glory days, but it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to move on.

Kagome scrubbed at her eyes and smiled for him. She always smiled when he needed it most. Grabbing both of their coarse hands, she tugged. "C'mon, everyone will be wanting to catch up. There's also some ramen I saved with your name on it."

Inuyasha's slack fingers twitched in her hold. He then adjusted them, squeezing her hand. Something brazen, fragile and guarded in his heart soothed and healed. His shoulders relaxed. Finally, he felt a sense of peace sweep over him that he hadn't experienced for some time; ever since they'd been flung out of orbit from their romance and back into friendship.

Meeting Kouga's amiable, enthusiastic gaze, Inuyasha bit back a snort. Golden eyes danced, lips twitching- before tilting up. A fang hooked over his bottom lip, snaggle-tooth peering out.

---

End

#Inukog #inuyasha #inukoga #kouga #koga inuyasha

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years

Text

whose brow is laid in thorn (chapter five)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Sorry this took so long! Online teaching is...well...

Huge thanks to my wonderful friends/betas @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are so endlessly supportive and wonderful.

Please reblog! Please leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Caleb watches his prince flounder through this war he didn't start and, as things go from bad to worse, he realises the only way he can truly help him.

TW: I feel like the mentions of violence increase in this chapter. I mean, Lorenzo's here now. so. you know.

---------------

The forests were as silent as they had been the last time Caleb went through them. A fierce wind was whistling out on the moors and there was even some snow on the air just beyond their close knit embrace but, under the thick canopy, it was as if it didn’t exist. It was as if the world didn’t exist. The bitter air and slate grey clouds, it had all been swallowed by the leaves and the bark.

Caleb remembered how they’d swallowed his sobs the same way, the last time he had passed through here.

He stroked his horse’s neck as he rose further up in the saddle to look ahead through the trees. Though he hated leading Mollymauk’s side, his prince had insisted he be part of the scouts, saying he had the best eyes in the company. And anything Caleb could do to help right now, he would not leave it undone. They couldn’t afford to.

It was peaceful, at least. He had lost the hour in the silence, it was all just darkness and quiet and the beat of his own heart in his lungs. Even his horse’s hooves made no noise in the soft forest floor, carpeted in moss and pine needles. He would never have even known an entire company of armed warriors shared these trees with him. He could have been the only person on the planet.

Which meant no threats in sight as well, nothing his eyes or ears could pick up even in the stillness. Caleb cast a searching spell forward just to be sure but the only sparks of life were the nests in the boughs up above and a family of foxes curled up in their den. No hidden enemies to speak of. Not a hidden archer in the leaves or a sword wielding scout behind a trunk.

Which, inexplicably, didn’t sit well with Caleb.

He frowned and passed a hand over his horse’s neck again, to comfort the animal and, partly, to comfort himself. Unease had settled heavily in the bottom of his stomach on the very first day they’d ridden out from Asarius, a weight that had only grown as this campaign went on.

They’d all flashed so prettily in the sun that day, as the light had caught and turned to red silk pennants on the tips of their spears, Mollymauk in a suit of plate enamelled in purple and looking more a god than a prince, though a god that stopped to wink at maidens and accept flowers from their hands, who ruffled the hair of children who ran alongside their column, who passed jokes back and forth with common tradesmen. It had been more like a fair than a force riding out to war, Molly had known his role and he’d played it well. Caleb must have looked like a sour spirit, haunting his left shoulder all in black, but something had just felt so wrong that day and it felt no better now, a week on.

He sighed, his breath misting in the damp air. No one but a Volstruker would be morose at not meeting a single enemy yet.

Maybe it was just being here that put the tension in his stomach. This was the path they’d taken back into the empire ten years ago, after his...his disgrace. The word didn’t come to him as easily as it one had, the shame wasn’t so quick to rise. It was an old misery he felt, the memory of the loss and despair, how it had opened a pit inside his younger self to think he’d never see Mollymauk ever again. He ached for that young wizard, in pain and confused and so scared, chained in the back of a cart and bouncing painfully along to a fate he didn’t want to imagine waiting for him in Rexxantrum, crying to a love that couldn’t hear him and trees that paid no mind.

He deserved it, a voice that sounded like a whip crack hissed in the back of his mind, curling Caleb’s lip, he deserved that awful fate.

But the voice was distant, like it wasn’t coming from inside him but behind him. Caleb swallowed down a faint taste of bile and answered it vaguely it certainly was an awful fate. That would satisfy it for now.

He was getting better at it. Feeding the thoughts that had been placed inside him to fester and grow, giving them just enough and no more, aware of the distance between them and his own. It was a difficult game, one that could hurt him very easily, one he had to play with steady hands and cautious nature. Two things that Volstruker training had, fortunately, gifted him with.

Caleb took a deep lungful of the air and thought of that boy again, weeping softly and steadily in the back of that cart, unable to stop no matter how many blows his tears earned him. Unwilling to stop.

I’m getting better at it, he promised the boy.

Caleb patted his horse’s neck and turned back towards the column. He’d seen enough.

The tents had sprouted up like strange canvas mushrooms under the shelter of the trees. Good, flat ground was scarce so they were more scattered than Caleb would have liked, clusters of them growing together rather than as one cohesive unit. Too much space for any intruder to thread through and reach the heart of the camp.

But the tents were already coming down as he rode hard back through the outer ring of defences, the company waking up to begin another day of marching. Perhaps there would be better ground up ahead. Perhaps they would finally break through the trees.

And what would be waiting for them when they did?

No one called out to Caleb as he dismounted by the hastily strung up horse paddock, no one offered a greeting or asked about his ranging. Soldiers merely talked around him, laughing and joking and grumbling to each other as they woke up and rubbed the sleep from their eyes, acting if he wasn’t there. Caleb didn’t mind, he was used to it and there was no real malice in their disengagement. Something about his black uniform of office and the rumours that clung to it turned idle conversation away, it was the whole point of wearing it. That was the whole point of being Volstruker.

“Rest now, Frumpkin,” he murmured softly to his horse, patting their neck, “I need to go make my report but I’ll come back and see you get a good rub down before we have to set off.”

“Gods, you’re not still calling the poor animal that name, are you?”

Caleb turned to see Beau leaning against one of the posts hastily driven into the forest floor, smirking at him. She was dressed in a cold weather version of her usual monk robes, more parts reinforced with leather for better protection. No one was taking any risks on this campaign but it was still strange to see the old friends he’d last known as children dressed for war.

He was glad they hadn’t had to grow up as quickly as he did, that they could still be considered too young for this.

“Why would I call him anything else?” Caleb answered smoothly, “It’s his name.”

“One of the finest horses I’ve seen come out of the palace’s stables and you saddle him with a name like Frumpkin. It’s an insult.”

The corner of Caleb’s mouth twitched into a smile that he dampened. He didn’t need to smile around Beau, he never had. She’d always taken him as he was and was the first of them all to slip back into doing so after he’d come back. While the others were still unsure how to fit him back into the place the old Caleb had occupied in their lives, Beau was cursing him and scowling at him and punishing him in the training yard like she always had done. Perhaps it was easier when what you had wasn’t the conventional idea of being friendly.

Whatever the reason, Caleb was grateful for it.

“Thank you for keeping him for me all these years,” he said quietly, putting a gentle hand on the horse’s flank.

“Stubborn beast wouldn’t take anyone but you,” Beau shrugged, “Like rider, like horse, it’s the same as ever.”

Caleb grunted, “Where’s the prince?”

“In the command tent,” Beau rolled her eyes as she said it and for good reason. The idea of the Mollymauk they all knew in charge of armed soldiers was absurd, however good the act he’d been putting on for everyone else was, “Anything to see out there?”

“Nothing,” Caleb said, “Nothing but the wildlife whose homes we’re trampling through.”

“I’m starting to think the Jagenoths keep their brains in their damn swords,” Beau frowned, “Did they seriously send out an invading army but didn’t think to put at least some force on the borders?”

“The Jagenoths don’t,” Caleb said, voice flat and serious, “And they wouldn’t.”

“So we’re missing something,” Beau followed the thread of his thoughts easily and liked it no more than he had.

“We are. And we will not be ready for it when it comes.”

With that grim assessment, he began walking through the croppings of tents, making for the one at the centre with the royal standard looking rather forlorn outside it’s entrance, no wind to lift it. Caleb did not want to scare his friends and doubt his prince but his strategic mind was in despair at everything he saw around him. They were nearly as short on weaponry as they were the hands to wield them, food as the mouths to eat it, the bulk of the royal army’s resources having gone with the king to meet the main Jagenoth force.

Or, as it appeared at the moment, the only Jagenoth force. Caleb would have loved to believe that.

He’d wanted to be back before his prince woke up but he’d not been sleeping well and was already up and at his desk when Caleb ducked under the flap. When Molly saw him standing there framed in predawn light, the frustration and helplessness in his red rimmed eyes eased into relief. He knew he didn’t need to pretend in front of Caleb.

“It’s good to see you back,” he exhaled, “Any news?”

“Nothing,” Caleb put his hands behind his back, standing tall and drawn, “The forest ahead is clear, no sign of any enemy out postings or even anything to suggest a large group of armed soldiers are approaching from the border. No smoke, no hoofprints, not so much as a flattened fern.”

Molly frowned, setting down his quill, “The border? How far did you ride out, Caleb?”

“Three hours out, your majesty.”

Molly groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Gods, Caleb, that's so far. If you’d gotten into trouble, no one would have seen your signal, you’d have been on your own!”

“If I had the enemy would be down as many as they’d seen fit to set against me,” Caleb said evenly, “And we would know more about what they are planning than we do know.”

Molly didn’t seem to think that justified the risk, still frowning down at the map in front of him, eyes tracing the path Caleb must have taken on his scouting run.

“Just...don’t do it again. Please. I know we’ve not run into any trouble yet but if the first time we did was you getting hurt or...just don’t, please.”

Caleb felt a stab of guilt, not the sort that came from disappointing a liege he was sworn to or disobeying an order, the deeper sort that came from causing a friend to worry.

“I’m sorry. It just frustrates me, still knowing so little about what they’re planning. We should have at least met border patrols by now, if the Jagenoths are half of what they’re rumoured to be. If Lorenzo truly is at their head.”

Molly grimaced, standing and moving to where his armour waited on the stand by the cot he slept on. He always waited until the very last moment to put it on while simultaneously knowing he couldn’t let any of their soldiers see him without it. Before long the captains of the night guard would be coming to give him reports and he’d run out of time to move freely and breathe comfortably.

If they saw him without the gilded plate and the glittering swords, they might remember that they were being led by their scandal sodden rake of a prince. That act had kept Mollymauk going after Caleb had been taken from him, it had been all he’d had through his darkest moments. And now it had to be packed away like a winter coat in spring, now its absence was all that kept this company together.

He was doing his best to hide it from their friends but the nakedness Molly felt without it, the vulnerability, was painted across his face when it was just the two of them.

“Perhaps their bloodlust has made them stupid. Perhaps this isn’t an invasion at all, just a tithe taking. Perhaps all Lorenzo wants to see is my father’s head on a bloody pike.”

Caleb winced internally at the defeat in his voice, “Your highness…”

“Caleb, I just…” Molly shook his head, the frantic, panicked edge fading from his voice, “I’m under no illusions about what will happen when we finally do encounter enemy forces. Let me have every moment until then. And...gods, please don’t let it be you in their way.”

Caleb exhaled, finally bowing his head, “As you wish.”

There was a long moment as Molly held his lobstered gauntlets in his hands, staring down at them like he was holding hands with a stranger. He was clearly rolling something around in his mouth, words he wanted to say but couldn’t. Caleb merely waited, patient.

“Has it been getting better?” his prince eventually murmured, pitching his voice lower as if Caleb’s intrusive thoughts were a physical presence with malicious ears, “The avoidance strategies, have they been helpful? I did worry coming through here again might be difficult for you.”

Caleb softened, managing a smile even as he still had to answer carefully, “I have found the last few days more comfortable than I expected.”

And he wasn’t lying. Feeling pity for the boy he’d been, as painful as it was to remember that hurt, it was so much better than hating him. It was such a delicate business but having Mollymauk quietly cheering for him, listening to him as he tried to work out what sentences were acceptable and what would make his old wounds throb with remembered pain, holding him when he slipped and stepping back when the intrusive thoughts roared too loud to allow Caleb any comfort.

In some ways, the close proximity of the camp, so much more intimate than that castle with its stone memories, was a blessing. Not many ways, but some.

“I’m pleased, Caleb,” Molly turned away from the armour and smiled back at him, expecting nothing, just genuine in his relief, “Help me into this damnable oven of an outfit?”

“Of course,” Caleb stepped forward gladly. If any part of him were to wonder why he took so much comfort and delight in being close to Mollymauk, he would answer it smoothly and confidently. He was Volstuker, why would he not hasten to armour his prince and be certain that he was as closely protected as possible?

Why would his heart not quicken as he slide a shirt of fine mail over Molly’s head, so carefully and deftly making sure it didn’t catch on his horns, as he sank down on one knee to carefully lace each fitted plate into place, working from the ground up until they were nose to nose?

Molly cleared his throat as they realised neither had spoken for some time, that silence had settled in now the sounds of metal scraping on metal had silenced. He fixed a playful smile onto his face, “Now, go tend that horse of yours. If you went that far before the sun’s even in the sky, you must have ridden poor Frumpkin hard. After everything that poor boy does for you, keeping his head high with a name like that.”

Caleb chuckled, a brighter sound than any he’d made all morning, “The name suits him, as I’ve told you all plenty of times…”

Molly nudged him gently towards the tent door, grinning, “It’s very you, I’ll give you that. I’ll see you when we ride out.”

Caleb gave him a quick bow in answer, striding back out into the gathering dawn. His stomach felt lighter than it had since he woke.

The days crept by with a maddening slowness as they skirted along the border of the kingdom. It was the same flat, barren landscape with it’s cropped dark grass and those black mountains in the distance cutting a ragged edge on the grey sky. It was impossible to tell what thin, pebbled soil was theirs and what was the Empire’s, the bleak sameness of the landscape doing little to honour the people who’d shed blood to forge it centuries ago.

Caleb wondered why all his training had neglected to mention that war was an awful lot of tedious plodding forward.

They poured over maps, they talked in the command tent long into the small hours of what would have been the morning if any of them had any concept of time anymore, debating in endless circles what the Jagenoths were planning, how the king was faring, what to do next. Molly would listen, unafraid to look exhausted and worn down in front of his friends, and eventually bring his hand down on the table for silence and give them the same, flat answer. They would do exactly as they were instructed. They would push on until they either met his father’s forces flush with victory or discovered their corpses mouldering in the dirt.

Birds would take wing, messages would be ferried along by magic, the same report would fly every day. And every day there would be no answer.

Caleb could tell Mollymauk felt abandoned. But he also knew it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling to his prince.

Not that it made watching him go through this any easier. In fact, it was more of a sting, as Caleb would sit by Molly’s cot and stroke his heaving shoulders as he twitched and moaned through more nightmares. That he was having to go through this at the king’s command, after everything he’d done to him. That there was so little Caleb could do.

That same sense of frustration and helplessness drove him on that night, scouting again. He moved quickly over the short bursts of open ground, keeping low to Frumpkin’s neck and trusting his magic, his horse’s dark coat and his uniform to keep him cloaked in the shadows. When in the smatterings of trees, he walked him slow and steady, knowing the damage a hoof or boot crunching down on a stick at just the wrong angle could do. Moving like that, he very quickly lost sight of the company behind him, lost their slow creeping mass and the lights of the outer torches over a rise in the landscape.

Before too long, it was him, the wind and what stars could be glimpsed through the clouds. The whole plain seemed to open out, something inside him itching at the thought of the answers that could lie out there beyond the next rise of shadow. All he would need was a glimpse, one raiding party, one enemy torch in the distance, one footprint in the grass to tell him who had passed this way and when.

Caleb felt a tug in his chest and remembered his promise to Mollymauk. He’d reached the outer limit of what could reasonably be expected of him as a scout, more than halfway through the time his ride was supposed to take. If he went any further, he would be coming back after dawn and it would be impossible to hide the fact that he’d disobeyed. If he really pushed it, he would have to camp out here or risk Frumpkin coming up lame.

But then he would think of the exhaustion in Mollymauk’s eyes, the way his shoulders slumped when he turned to his armour and faced another day of wearing this personality that didn’t fit him. He would think of his prince, his friend, crying hoarsely into his pillow and not hearing Caleb as he tried to comfort him, sounding for all the world like a lost child unable to understand why his father had left him behind.

Caleb took a long slow breath of cold night air and pressed his heels into Frumpkin’s side, urging him forward. Just a little further, he would return just shy of dawn. After all, his only promise to Molly, technically, was that his blood wouldn’t be the first spilled. And if his training was worth anything, it wouldn’t be.

More bursts of frantic speed across the hills bracketed by near silent creeping through copses of trees. Caleb poured all of his energy into his senses, hearing everything from a mouse skittering down by Frumpkin’s hooves to an owl’s call from high above his head, seeing every shift in the texture of the darkness around him, even smelling deeply to try and pick out the sour scent of unwashed solider from the bite of night air. If he was going to disappoint Mollymauk, he would at least be as careful as possible.

Hours slipped by unnoticed, he lost himself in the glut of information flooding through him and the regular rhythm of his ride. It was tasks like this that brought him the most peace, when he could fully give himself over to his magic, float along through repetition and the hard drag of air in his lungs, when he could feel purposeful while disengaging entirely from the tangled magpie’s nest that was his brain. Times like this, Caleb could remember why he’d always had this ravenous hunger for magic, why he’d loved it so much.

He remembered why he’d fallen prey to Ikithon so easily.

But right now, it was his and no one else's. He was pushing forward to save his home, to help his prince.

The border with the Empire was the clean kind, the neatly cut kind formed by politics rather than geography. With the land changing so little, the only reason Caleb realised how far he’d actually gone was when the sky shifted from black to the hazy grey of dawn.

Guilt stabbed through him at the sight, the only thing in hours that had jolted him out of his razor sharp focus. He brought Frumpkin to a halt in the middle of a collection of trees that couldn’t even be called a wood, only now realising how his poor horse was breathing hard underneath him. He patted his neck, pulled an apple from one of his many pockets and murmured softly, knowing that Mollymauk and his friends wouldn’t be so easy to forgive him. They must be worried sick about him, he was meant to be back at camp hours ago and it would be half a day yet before they knew he was okay.

He couldn’t hear the whip crack, not quite, but his scars prickled with a heat the cold morning couldn’t possibly hold and there was a sharp echo reverberating between his ears.

Cursing himself for a fool, Caleb slid from the saddle, pulling the aches and strains he felt closer rather than pushing them away and knowing he deserved to feel every one. He pulled his water skin out from the saddle bags, letting it trickle out in a steady stream so Frumpkin could drink first, their breaths misting in the clammy dawn.

“I am a pig headed idiot, Frumpkin,” he sighed, pushing fingers through his horse’s mane, “All this effort and I don’t even have anything to show for it. I was just so certain…”

Just as he was about to rest his forehead against Frumpkin’s nose and let himself have a moment of self pity before getting back into the saddle, he felt something shift on the very edges of his magic. It was like seeing a shadow flicker in the corner of your eye, a second’s movement that threw everything off balance but was so hard to catch.

But there was very little faster than Caleb. He’d been through Volstruker training twice.

He left Frumpkin to crop at the carpet of leaves underneath them, moving forward on foot. All doubt, all emotion of any kind was locked down tight as he broke through the tree line and slunk forward in the direction of that single vibrating thread. It led him forward, over to the next ridge, though the closer he got the more some instinct pressed him down further into the shadows until he was crawling on his belly to peer into the bowl of the hills.

And when he saw what was cradled there, hidden down where it would be hidden from any view but the one Caleb now had, made him glad he’d hidden. What he saw was an army.

Not a raiding party. Not a band of cutthroats sent to harry the border towns. Not a company like theirs. He saw a full, broiling Jagenoth army. He saw racks of arms ready to slice the air in two, along with whatever stood in their way. He saw mercenaries with smiles as dangerous as the swords at their hips. He saw slavers, spearmen, archers, crossbowmen, rank upon rank of soldiers who fought at their masters command. He saw twice, three times, four times their own numbers and, in the middle of all of them, a standard that was rarely seen outside of Shady Creek Run but, when it was, brought blood and terror.

And, out at the edge, where no eyes but his own would see it, he saw a collection of black clad figures sparring against each other with blows that even from here looked brutal, the weapons they trained with had real edges on them. The smell of magic that came off them was thick and smoky like gunpowder, though heavily masked. Masked to everyone but those whose own skin reeked of it.

They were Volstruker.

Caleb felt no surprise, he was sunk too deeply into battle mode for that. He simply inhaled slowly and steadily, very deliberately not looking for any familiarity in the way they moved and struck out. Another moment to make sure he’d catalogued absolutely everything that lay before him while feeling absolutely nothing, then he slipped back down the hillside. Back to Frumpkin, kicking himself into the saddle and riding out without another moment’s pause.

He had to get back to his prince, his friends. He had to tell them their doom lay less than a day’s ride away.

Mollymauk’s hair ached deep at the roots by the time he heard those hoofbeats, the ones he knew immediately belonged to Caleb.

He hadn’t allowed the camp to break, insisting they stay exactly where Caleb would know to find them, refusing them even an inch until he was back and safe. Later, he would realise that his fit of pique had earned them all another day to live.

But not that moment. That moment had been nothing but relief as he’d pushed past Yasha and burst out of the command tent, seeing a lathered, wrung out Frumpkin drawing to a halt right in the centre of camp. An equally exhausted Caleb slid from the saddle, thin shoulders heaving and wiping spit from his cheek. He came down so heavy that Beau had to jump forward and catch him, barely keeping him on his feet.

Molly couldn’t even muster any anger, it was just joy to have him whole and back in the fold of his protection. He ran up and took him from Beau, gripping his shoulders tight, and grinning like a fool.

“Thank all the gods, Caleb! You must have ridden halfway across the kingdom, look at you! Come in, we need to get you something warm to eat, I-”

His mildly frantic relief died as soon as he saw Caleb’s eyes. Even as the rest of him was exhausted and ragged, his eyes were alert and hard like chips of ice.

“Molly,” his voice was low so it wouldn’t carry amongst the tents, to the many eyes that were on them, warily curious as to why the prince’s Volstruker had been gone all night, “We need to talk.”

Once inside the tent, Caleb wouldn’t so much as look at the broth Caduceus was determined he drank, standing stiffly in the centre with his hands wrapped around the bowl. Molly searched him up and down for any signs of injury but the only thing that was troubling him was clearly the weight he carried behind his eyes.

“Your father will ride out to the north and find nothing. The Jagenoth army is here, every man of them not a day's ride from where we sit. Lorenzo’s standard flew outside of the largest tent, though I didn’t see him personally. Their numbers outstrip ours by far and they are better outfitted, by what I could see in the torchlight. I’d estimate just below ten thousand warriors, a third of them mounted, another third with some kind of long range weapon. And…”

He seemed to steel himself, something like shame creeping into his eyes, “They have Volstruker. Five of them by my count.”

His words drew soft curses, widened eyes, stiffened shoulders as the shock rippled outwards. But Mollymauk turned inside himself and found nothing, only a bleak kind of amusement. It seems your pet monsters have gotten loose, Father. I hope it tastes bitter.

Caleb bulled on before any of them could ask him how he was feeling about that, “We have no hope of defeating them in battle and we are too close to skirt them. Our only hope is to turn now and ride hard back to the capital or even try and make it to the King’s army. Even then, we will still be short of numbers and exhausted but it is all we have.”

“We can’t lead them back to the city,” Caduceus shook his head, usually placid face tight with anxiety, “It is practically undefended and full of innocents.”

“Without that option, we have nowhere to run even if we do manage to get clear,” Yasha’s voice was tense, “And if they catch us in a full retreat…”

“It would be a bloodbath,” Beau finished shortly, her arms folded so tight it was like she was embracing herself and trying to give some comfort.

“A bloodbath from the rear or a bloodbath from the front,” Fjord snorted, tapping his foot as he always did when he was stressed, “Those are our choices, then?”

“Is there any way to get a message to the king?” Yasha’s brow furrowed as she thought, unused to being trapped in situations she couldn’t maneuver herself out of either with her mind or her greatsword, “Surely he’ll have noticed by now that he’s riding to meet an enemy that isn’t there?”

“His Volstruker will have some kind of magical manipulation to bait him on,” Caleb’s voice was still flat, even when he spoke of people who were supposed to be his, “An illusion or a mirage of some sort, torches in the distance, flattened land to suggest they are withdrawing perhaps . And you can be sure any messages we send out will be noticed from this close, as powerful as they are. Even if we could, there would be no time for his forces to reach us.”

“Then why didn’t they notice you?” Beau countered tightly, “If you got that close? If these are your people, isn’t there some secret way you know that can take them down?”

“I know the same tricks they do,” an edge of emotion entered his words now, a tension that threatened to snap, “I know the same magics. But I am only one against five, weaker than they are into the bargain, less firm in my faith. I am not enough.”

“That’ll do.”

Molly spoke for the first time, voice calm and commanding the way he’d been practising since he was a child. He rose from his camp chair, drawing every eye to him, trying to stand tall enough to shoulder their fears and doubts.

“I’ve made my decision. We are going to ride out and we are going to meet this army.”

“My prince, there is no way-” Yasha started to say but Molly shook his head.

“We’re not going to give battle, not at first. I’m going to do the one damn thing I’ve ever been good at with this job. I’m going to call for parley and I’m going to talk to Lorenzo. Whatever rotten deal my father made that has gotten us into this mess, maybe there’s something I can offer the Jagenoths that will make it right again. Gold or wardship or...or a marriage contract with some Dwendalian countess, I don’t know…”

He daren’t look up at Caleb in the beat of cold, heavy silence that followed those words.

“But there will be a price and that price may not necessarily be blood.”

There was a collective intake of breath, whether it was admiration or despair Molly daren’t ask.

“And...if Lorenzo isn’t the type to be bartered with, your highness?” Yasha asked evenly, letting the ‘which you know he isn’t’ go unsaid but lie underneath her words.

Molly hardened his eyes and gripped the swords at his sides, “Then we take as many as we can down to hell with us. Every Jagenoth that falls will be one less to threaten our city walls. Caleb?”

“Yes?” his friend sounded so much further away than the tent would allow.

“If it comes to that, your job is to kill Lorenzo. Not to take out the other Volstruker, not to protect me. If we must fight, he does not walk off that battlefield alive, understand?”

He wasn’t used to ordering Caleb around, the words felt sour on his tongue as did the silence that followed. It was only a moment, barely a heartbeat, but from a man that had been trained to obey it was an eternity that very clearly showed his upset.

But finally, his Volstruker murmured, “I understand, my prince.”

“Thank you,” Molly let his sincere gratitude show in his voice and that crack let the emotion start to bleed in, let his shoulders start to tremble, “All of you...you’re all my dearest friends and you’ve done so much for me. If any of you want to turn back now and leave this company, you go with my blessing. Asking you to die for me...I refuse to do it.”

Beau was the first to answer, giving a derisive snort and coming up to nudge him sharply with an elbow, “We’re not dying for you, idiot. That murderous asshole is standing in our home thinking we’ll just roll over and give it to him. Seeing the look on his face when Caleb spills his guts? That’s worth dying for.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to put it quite like that,” Yasha gave Beau a fond roll of her shadow ringed eyes, “But the sentiment is the same. This will be something we finish together.”

“However it ends,” Fjord nodded firmly, loosening his blade in its scabbard.

“And you are rather convincing when you want to be, Mollymauk” Caduceus chuckled, “Perhaps it will come to peace after all. Stranger things have happened...like us all standing here facing impossible odds with smiles on our faces.”

That broke the lingering tension, making them all giggle helplessly like they were children again, facing their first time sneaking out of their bedrooms after dark. Like this was the start of some grand adventure rather than the end of one. Molly felt such a rush of warmth in his chest as he met Caleb through teary eyes and saw him chucking too, for a moment there was nowhere else he’d rather be than in this cold, filthy tent facing death.

“Well then,” he eventually sighed, jaw aching from grinning so hard, “Let’s put this silver tongue of mine to the test.”

Mollymauk tried so hard not to appear afraid. He really tried.

For once he was glad of his ridiculous horned helmet and the way it shielded his expression from the soldiers around him.

The Jagenoth army came into view over a rise in the landscape, a neat, black row of ants in the distance marching towards them in perfect step, banners snapping in the wind and sun catching on the deadly points of their weapons. They came in perfect synchrony, row after row of them, one two, one two, one two, devouring the distance between the two forces.

And they just kept coming.

Yasha and Fjord held the enormous black banners high, where they couldn’t possibly be missed, but as those soldiers came on and on and on, as Molly’s tongue dried to a desiccated fruit rind in his mouth, he couldn’t suppress the certainty that this lot of trained killers would just ignore their request and plow right through them, trampling them into the dirt without even a pause.

But finally, at the last possible moment, the Jagenoths halted. There was a thin strip of land still between them, less than a league separating him and his friends, the soldiers who followed in devotedly, from death. The silence that fell was broken with the snorting of horses and the restless clank of people shifting nervously in suits of armour but it still weighed heavily.

After a moment, Caleb spoke softly at his side, eyes filmy with magic, “He’s beckoning you.”

Mollymauk didn’t need to ask who he meant.

“Well then,” his voice cracked on the very first word and he had to hastily clear his throat and start again, come on you fool, you’ve been an actor more than half your life, you won’t flub your lines now, “Well then. Yasha, Caleb, Fjord, with me. Beau and Caduceus, hold the army. If you see anything done that breaches the terms of parley, attack.”

With that, he urged his horse on, never daring to look back and see if his friends would actually follow him. When they did, of course, he’d hate himself for doubting them.

The fact that only one rider broke from the mass like a droplet of black oil, ploughing forward to meet them, showed exactly what Lorenzo thought of the threat they posed to him. As the formless shape of hulking iron resolved itself into a vaguely humanoid silhouette, Molly took a meagre scrap of comfort from the fact that he was at least in his human form. When he was coming for their blood, he would look much different.

They stopped their horses a few metres from each other and walked the rest of the way, Molly flanked by his friends, Lorenzo needing nothing but his bristling carapace of sooty metal, swathed in hooks and cruel leather straps, and the glaive stowed at his back. The closer that got, the more Molly realised how his pretty, glistening armour with all its jewels and shine made him look like what a foolish boy would dream a prince wore to battle. He was a tawdry illustration from a fairytale. Lorenzo was an experienced killer.

“Well, well, well…” Lorenzo spoke first while he was still loping up, hailing them as if they were friends, his voice a low pitched drawl in an approximation of a nobleman’s polite tones that showed how he’d risen from dirt to lead his army on the backs of slaves, “It’s awful decent of you to come offer yourself on a silver platter. Saves us the trouble of carving those pathetic excuses for soldiers I see behind you into meat.”

Molly swallowed hard and drew himself up, acting as if he hadn’t heard the insults, “Lorenzo. I assume you speak for the Jagenoths?”

“I’m killing for the Jagenoths, boy,” Lorenzo removed his warhelm so they could see his lazy grin, the anticipation in his eyes, “But aye, I speak with their voice in this matter.”

“Then I offer this to you,” Molly kept his firmly on, “Whatever wrongs my father has done to you, whatever snags there have been in your business dealings, surely all out war is not the best way to seek repayment?”

“Depends on what you’re repaying,” Lorenzo sneered, “And I bet you don’t know half the mess your daddy’s gotten himself into. Allow me to educate you instead, gold don’t pay some debts, boy. Sometimes blood’s the only way to tip the scales back.”

“Then you and your kingdom are fools,” Molly replied, letting some contempt creep into his voice as the insults rubbed some already frayed nerves raw, “Out there in Shady Creek Run, you have no resources of your own. Your crops file nine harvests out of ten, there's no metals of any use in those mountains of yours, no lumber, no gems. Hence why you trade in flesh, a commodity most kingdoms turn their noses up at. Think of what I’m offering you. Money, trade, the chance to rise as a kingdom by marrying its crown prince to whoever you choose. I’m offering you the chance to actually see your people grow, rather than scraping out a living in the swamp and selling their children to you when they can’t make their rent.”

There was a moment’s pause after he finished before Lorenzo burst out laughing, showing rows of plaque chewed teeth as he guffawed.

“By all the gods, boy, haven’t they trained you up nice, eh? Got you all dressed up and taught you the right words to say, just like a pretty little parrot. Convinced you that you were a prince.”

Molly felt Caleb shift beside him, magic crackling in the air. He shot him a desperate glance, pleading with him from behind the metal slits in his helm. They absolutely could not afford to be the ones to break the peace here.

He swallowed hard and tried to put some more measure in his voice, “Perhaps if you brought my offer to your lords and let them decide whether they would rather see profit or-”

“You don’t understand, do you, boy?” Lorenzo was still chuckling like this was the funniest thing he’d seen all day, “What my good lords of Jagenoth want isn’t profit or trade or to see some pretty tattooed whore of a prince in their daughter’s bed. What they want is to see your father suffer. What they want is your head.”

That struck Molly somewhere just below his chest, “Mine?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo nodded idly, eyes creeping up the length of Molly’s body like he was deciding where to make the cut, “Your daddy stiffed them once too many times so they’ve decided his son and heir will be their price. However unimpressive that son may be.”

Molly hated the fear that chilled his bones at those words, that strangled the words in his throat as he tried to speak.

“Why’d you think we went to all that trouble to fool your daddy, get him to ride out on a wild goose chase after our shades and set you off on some busywork? It were never him we wanted. We wanted you, just as you are now with a handful of farmhands at your back and a pretty piece of glass for a sword. And didn’t it all work out so nice?”

Molly’s mouth twisted, “I see Ikithon has been giving you more than just Volstruker.”

Lorenzo spread his mailed hands and gave a wry smile, “You’re the losing side, boy. Got to expect the smarter rats to jump ship.”

“So…” Molly shook himself, forcing the words up, “If I let you take me, do whatever you want with me, that will be the end of it? My people go free?”

He’d expected the sharp, poorly concealed hisses of rage and dismay from his friends, the hands flying to weapons. He was ready with a raised palm, willing them to hold themselves, praying their loyalty outstripped their love for him.

“How very noble of you,” Lorenzo cooed in a mocking tone, before his voice turned to iron again, “And maybe that was the plan my lords gave me. But now I’m here...now I see that rabble you call an army...now I have your capital city just a few days ride from here...maybe now I want more? Maybe now I’ve got me a thirst.”

Molly felt sickness roil in his stomach, “You’d go against direct orders? You’d start a war that would cost you hundreds of soldiers without their permission?”

“Do you think they’ll give a flying fuck about permissions when I hand them the crown of Dosal still red with your family’s blood?”

“Dawn,” Molly croaked, “Give me until then and I’m yours. To kill or to carry back to Shady Creek Run, whatever you wish. On your word that that will be the end of it.”

Lorenzo smiled, a thick and nasty smile, his hand flexing, arm raising, “Do I look the patient type to you, boy?”

Molly saw how it all would happen. The barest second and that glaithe would be free, the blade would come swinging with it’s sharp whistle, no time to dodge, no time to free his own scimitars, all his hours of training meaning less than nothing as that razor edge bit into his neck and severed his head neat as snipping off a stray thread.

He saw it all. But it didn’t happen.

“What in the fuck-” Lorenzo grunted, his arm stilled in the air, muscles tight as iron chord but unable to move.

Beside Molly, Caleb had his hand out and his eyes were hard, the smell of magic rising off him like steam, “Drop your arm. Turn and walk back to your own. This parley is done, you have your terms.”

“You godsdamned pup-'' Lorenzo spat, eyes full of hatred as they fixed on the source of the magic holding him back. His face reddened and the smell of his own magic began to rise.

“Lorenzo!” Mollymauk raised his voice, the sickness turning to panic as he realised that the glaive was now fixing to whistle out at Caleb instead of him, that if it did battle would erupt and so many would die, “This is a parely for gods’ sake. We’re under a peace banner. You’ll get to kill me in less than a day, let it be enough.”

“Molly!” Caleb groaned, pained, his magic starting to slip in his distress and letting Lorenzo’s arm move an inch more.

“No,” he snapped, voice firm and tone hard, “Both of you, stand down. Lorenzo, you want it to get back to your lords that you can’t even keep to terms of parley? How long do you think they’ll keep feeding an oathbreaker?”

Lorenzo’s lip curled but at the very last second it became a sneer rather than a roar of rage. He relaxed his muscles and Caleb dropped his spell.

“I ain’t no oathbreaker, boy, but pay mind to which oaths I made and which I didn’t. Dawn it is then, you come out weaponless and alone before the light touches the base of that hill there. And be warned. You know my trade. You see my ink. You know that I can make you pay hard for every second you’ve made me wait.”

“And that will be the end of this?” Molly pressed, feeling strangely little for someone who had just signed away his life.

At that Lorenzo only smiled and let his eyes roll over to Caleb, poorly concealed hatred crackling in his gaze. It was clear that this wasn’t a man accustomed to being bested, even in the smallest ways. Caleb had dared to stay his hand and now Molly suspected he’d slipped down one place on the list of people Lorenzo wanted to kill tomorrow.

“Well we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

At that he turned and strolled lazily back to his horse, never once giving them so much as a glance.

It was odd, to feel so alone in the midst of other people.To feel like the only person in the world when your friends were at your elbow.

They’d fallen back a little ways to set up a camp as best they could in the windswept plain. There was a hush about the company now, a dismay like they were all reeling from what just happened. Seeing the hope on Caduceus’ face fade, seeing the bitter anger flare in Beau’s eyes as she realised what had happened, it was all too much. Not waiting for permission, Caleb had rode Frumpkin past them, unable to bear it.

And now he stood alone at the paddock, running a brush over and over across his horse’s black coat even after it did nothing, just needing to do something. His duty pulled him towards the command tent, towards Mollymauk, but the thought turned his stomach. How was he supposed to watch his prince, his friend, retreat further and further into himself, dull his eyes and shut himself down as he waited for death? How was he supposed to stand by and watch it happen and know he could do nothing at all?

So instead he hid. He was ashamed at himself for it but at this point it was like pouring a flagon of water into the sea.

He replayed the parley over in his mind, turning it over to look at it from different angles, even when it’s sharp edges cut into him. He saw everything he could have done differently, all the ways he could have turned the tide. He could have snapped Lorenzo’s arm, found the strength from somewhere. He could have slipped into his mind, changed his words, made him take it back. He could have cut him down where he stood.

And it would change nothing, you fool.

Hopelessness crashed over his head like a tide again and it was all Caleb could do to keep his feet under the weight of the myriad ways he’d failed and everything it would cost.

Still wallowing in self pity instead of doing something useful I see.

At first Caleb thought it was just his own mind berating him as it often did. But then it sunk it, a moment too late, that the voice was so much clearer and sharper than it usually was. And it wasn’t his own.

An overpowering sense of revulsion filled him as his mind was invaded, enough that he couldn’t fight back. He’d felt it before but the sensation of someone else seizing control of your brain was so awful, so gut wrenchingly wrong in every way, that having it done brought him to his knees every time. Helpless, alone, no one around to see his distress, all Caleb could do was bend double and retch into the grass while his master slipped into his mind as easily as sliding on a well worn pair of boots.

I would have hoped to find you stronger, Bren. This is the Volstruker’s element and yet you are here whining instead of glorying in it.

Caleb could only moan thinly in response, mouth full of bile. His master only used his old name when no one else could hear them, they were supposed to shed them, burn them away, when they joined the order. But each of them knew that the master kept them carefully catalogued, ready to be used to hurt them as effectively as any torture device.

Well, at least you now have a chance to please me and show me you remember who you are...and who your master is.

“I don’t...please…” Caleb whispered, tears running from his cheeks to soak into the ground below.

Silence, Bren. Listen. It appears our relationship with Babenon Dosal has reached the end of its life. You are to defect, immediately, and present yourself to Lorenzo of the Jagenoths. He will find a use for even such as you.

Caleb’s brain could hardly take in what was being said to him, every inch of him shaking like electric currents were running under his skin, “No...no, the prince is my-”

The prince is what I say he is to you. And now he is nothing. I appreciate that you can, at least, summon some loyalty to your former position but I am hereby changing your directive. You serve Lorenzo now. Leave immediately. Do not let me down, Bren. You know the cost.

The revulsion fled as quickly as it had come on and Caleb was left to slump on the ground, tremors still running through him, stomach still painfully contracting as his body tried to remember what it was like to master itself.

It was a long time before he could rise, before there was enough strength in his limbs to hold him. His mind was a flurry of whip cracks, his back burned as if the wounds were minutes old rather than years, his fingers itched to tear his shirt away and find some relief in the night air.

You know the cost.

It was only an echo but upon hearing it, Caleb’s jaw clenched. He forced himself to hold still, he dredged up every scrap of training he could remember, filling his nose with the smell of smoke and burned wood to remind himself who he was and what he was.

Just once, he turned back and looked at the command tent, glowing with warmth at the centre of the camp just a few meters away from where he stood.

“Molly,” he rasped, voice raw and pained, “I’m so sorry.”

He knew his prince couldn’t hear him and saying it out loud brought him no comfort.

Caleb left Frumpkin tied where he was.

It would be easier to approach the Jagenoth camp on foot.

Molly paid little attention to the hours in between hearing Lorenzo’s last words and ending up back in his command tent, slumped down onto his cot while his friends sat around him, too stunned by dismay and grief to even argue much. All he could think of was that smile Lorenzo had worn as he’d turned away, what the cost of that smile could be.

I’m going to die, he thought vaguely, trying it on for size, trying to get his brain to accept the fact. He found he could muster little in response to it.

“We cannot let this happen!” Beau raged for the third time in the last half hour. And just like the other times, no one had anything to say to her.

“It’s our one chance,” Molly found himself saying, hearing the exhaustion in his own voice, “If he can have me, he might leave the rest of you alone. He might leave our people alone.”

“Might,” Yasha repeated, her voice bleak and hard like ice.

“Yes, might,” Molly sighed, “Might is better than nothing.”

“So you’re just going to give up?” Beau snapped, tight and tense as a drawn bow as she paced back and forth, “You’re just going to walk up to them like a lamb offering itself up to be slaughtered?”

“It’s the only thing I can do,” Molly leaned back against the canvas, eyes closing though all he saw behind them was that smile again and the image of his father’s crown covered in his mother and sister’s blood, “I can’t fight him. I can’t lead you all to some insane one in a million victory. I can’t talk to him. But I can let him have me and then...then maybe…”

He trailed off, shaking his head, unable to muster the energy to even find the words. Beau’s anger ebbed, showing the fear beneath.

“I’m a terrible prince,” he eventually murmured, eyes opening to not even meet their eyes, voice low and thin as a candle nearly out, “I can’t lead people, I can’t sway people or save them, I can’t ease their hunger or soothe their worries. I thought...I thought maybe I had enough base cunning and enough patter to act like a prince but...that’s all it's ever been. An act. A role I never even wanted. And now...well it’s all caught up with me, hasn’t it? The best hope I have is to die with some dignity and hope it's enough to save all of you.”

“Molly…” Yasha groaned, her voice a soft, sad whisper but it couldn’t reach him.

“An hour before dawn, all of you are going to retreat,” he continued, “Before that even, if you can manage it. I’m putting the lives of the company in your hands, save as many as you can.”

“Molly!” she was exasperated now, her usual calm completely fractured.

“This isn’t a debate anymore,” he shook his head, making himself stand though it was like moving a puppet with half its strings cut, “Just do as I ask. Let me try and accomplish something good with my death. And...if you ever get the chance, if the gods allow it, drink to my name.”

They had no answer to that. It was something of a relief.

“I’ll say my farewells in the morning,” he waved them out limply, “Just send in Caleb and…”

Finally, something pierced through the fog. Frowning, he lifted his head.

“Where is Caleb?”

“After the parley he, uh…” Fjord shrugged helplessly, “He was upset. I think he went to stable Frumpkin, you know how he does.”

“That...that was some time ago,” Caduceus put in slowly, “Hours.”

“I’ll go get him,” Beau shrugged, “Whatever…” She disappeared through the flap, still stomping, shoulders tense and face flushed. Yasha looked after her with soft, sad eyes but didn’t follow, she knew her well enough.

Molly expected the fog to close up around his head again but it didn’t. Something ran around under his skin, a sensation that something was wrong. Which was laughable, seeing as he was about to be killed as soon as the sun came up and possibly all of his friends alongside him at the whim of a madman.

Still, it was there and it irritated him just enough to keep him alert and frowning as more time than should have passed by.

And it was enough that he wasn’t surprised when Beau walked through the tent again, all of her anger replaced by complete and utter shock.

“A messenger,” she said, voice hoarse like the words surprised her even as they left her lips, “A messenger from the Jagenoths, she had the insignia and everything. She gave me this, said it was for your eyes only and just...left.”

This was a piece of paper, folded and sealed with a clumsy black seal like a smear of soot. The design was a crude hook shape. As Molly took it the feeling got worse until it was buzzing like an insect trapped in his skull. It was enough that he hesitated before breaking the seal but their eyes were on him, wary and hesitant and needing to see their prince be brave.

The writing was done in a hurry, the ink splotchy and smudged. Molly had one of those moments where complete insanity threatened to take the place of dread as he imagined Lorenzo’s huge oni fingers trying and failing to hold a quill but it died quickly.

When he read the words, there was no more fog and no more distance. Everything was real and close and far too much, pushing the air out of his lungs and constricting his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

Boy, I accept your challenge. Single combat it is, me against the little pup who thought he could snap at me and not pay for it. If I lose, my army turns heel and goes home empty handed. If I win, I kill you and we consider the debt repaid. I was so looking forward to slaughtering every last one of you but your pup made a good point. I get to hold faith with the Jagenoths while my steel gets to see true battle. I’ve never tried a Volstruker before but I’m looking forward to tasting the tears of grief on your face as I push my blade through your heart.

Lorenzo.

“Molly? Molly, what does it say? Hey, it’s okay, just breathe…”

Yasha had taken his arm but Molly barely noticed, he only looked up and found Caleb’s eyes there to accept his own. Of course he’d slipped in while they’d been distracted, of course he chose now to return. At least he had the grace to look ashamed.

“Caleb...” Molly rasped, tears running down his cheeks and dripping from his jaw to strike the letter, obscuring the words as if that would mean they’d never been.

The man he loved could only meet his eyes and smile sadly.

“Oh gods, Caleb, what have you done?”

#widomauk #critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #royal au #tw violence #yasha #beau #fjord #caduceus #lorenzo #cr fic #please reblog and comment!#feed your local fic writer!

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petri808 · 4 years

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Safest By My Side

Inspired by art by @reishichi https://reishichi.tumblr.com/post/626705239187275776/i-will-protect-you-todomomo-todorkixmomo

Momo Yaoyorozu kneeled before the man seated on the throne. “I’ll be fine Prince Shouto. Your father trusts in my abilities, why can’t you.”

“That’s a low blow, Momo, you know that’s not why I disagree with you.” He sighs and props his head up with his hand. “You may be one of our most skilled warriors Yaoyorozu, but I just wish you would stop putting yourself in harm’s way.”

He reaches down and gently takes hold of her hand, bringing on a blush, that she quickly turns her face away to hide. “It’s my job to protect you and this Kingdom sire.”

But the Prince ignores her response and brings her hand to his lips. “You know what you mean to me, Momo. So, I’ll honor this request as long as you promise to come back to me.” The only reason he agreed to grant this mission is because it was a fact-finding one. It was not her role to pursue anything but to assess a situation.

This time she cannot ignore the heat rushing to her face nor the racing of her pulse. Momo knew very well how much the Prince coveted her, and she for him, but she held back because of fear. Skill on a battlefield, didn’t equate to being ready for the throne and that kind of pressure was daunting to overcome.

“I shall do my best, my liege. I always do.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

Those were the last words spoken between them, before Momo headed out on another mission. A dragon had been spotted causing havoc to some of their farmlands, and she needed to scout it and figure out how to get rid of it. Not all dragons were problematic, but this one was becoming a nuisance.

Every day she was gone, the Prince paced the halls of the castle waiting for updates. He’d even sent his best falconer to accompany her for that very reason, but now something was very wrong. A whole day has passed without a new message and the hairs on the back of his neck stood raised.

He couldn’t take waiting anymore.

The Prince saddles up his horse and with a battalion of men, they head to the last known place Momo had been. It takes them a day of riding, but when they arrive, they find destroyed crops, broken treetops, and the ground marred with scorch marks. As they scour the area for clues, a local villager approaches. He brings the Prince to a nearby cottage where the injured falconer was taken.

“I’m so, sorry your majesty,” the man mumbles out through the pain. “It took us by surprise, killed my falcon, and left me for dead. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

The Prince steels his emotions, despite the mix of rage and despair ready to consume him. “Please do not blame yourself. You’re lucky to be alive, but tell me, what happened to Yaoyorozu?”

“It took her. Picked her up and flew off.”

“Do—" he stops and clears his throat of concern. “Do you know where?!”

“The dragon has a nest. We found it at the base of the mountain.”

The Prince thanks the falconer and the villager, making arrangements to transport the man back to the Capital. He then rallies his soldiers and they head to the mountain.

It will be a dangerous mission. Dragons were difficult to take down because of their sheer size and based on the evidence, this one could breathe fire. Specialized dragon hunters were normally brought in to deal with them once their locations had been found, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Dawn was just breaking when the men reach the mountain. They hide in the forest and watch, waiting for any signs of the dragon. Was it inside the cave or out hunting? Some information was imperative to make sure they suffered as little losses as possible. The last thing the Prince wanted was a fight or to risk his beloved inside.

It was taking every ounce of willpower the Prince had not to rush in after the woman. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but he held out hope. Momo was smart, strong, all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her to begin with. So, he held out hope she was still alive.

That’s when they hear, or rather feel the ground beneath their feet shaking as the dragon lumbers out of its cave. The red scaled beast was maybe a juvenile, definitely not a full-grown adult yet, but still massive compared to humans. No wonder it was causing problems. The younger dragons were prone to be handfuls compared to the adults who preferred to stay away from human contact.

As soon as it takes to the sky, the Prince, followed by his men rush into the cave with torches in hand. Fire was a risk to bring the dragon back, but without it they couldn’t see in the dark cavern. The Prince calls out for the woman, his voice echoing against the granite walls.

It was faint... but they could hear a female voice from deeper within the cave. Prince Shouto leaves some men at the entrance as guards while he and a handful race through the cavern.

“Talk to me Momo, so I can follow your voice!”

The inky blackness of the cave swallowed most of the sound or even the feeling of time itself; like walking into a void. For the dragon, it wasn’t a problem, but for humans… Shouto couldn’t imagine what it felt like to Momo being stuck in it for over a day.

“I see your light.” Her voice so close ahead redoubled Shouto’s steps. And as soon as her crouched figure comes into the fires light, a wave of relief washes over him. It wasn’t over until they got her out of here but seeing her alive was enough to make him happy.

Shouto drops down to one knee, grabbing hold and lifting her into his arms. He cradles her face to his chest, resting his against hers. “Thank the gods you’re okay Momo.”

“Prince Shouto...” he can hear the tears caught in her throat and it only makes him hug on tighter.

“Let’s get you home.”

“I-I’m sorry I failed, and you had to rescue...”

“Don’t,” he cuts her off. “I told you, I will protect you no matter what.”

She was glad the flickering fire hid the blush that was surely burning on her cheeks. Despite the situation, his words, the tone of concern, even the slight tremble in his voice made her heart leap. “Thank you, Prince.”

As quickly as they’d arrived, they leave the cave before the dragon returns and finds his captor missing. The Prince places Momo onto his horse, setting off for the castle. “You were lucky. Perhaps the dragon was planning to hoard you out of curiosity.”

“It was odd, though not unheard of.” She was lucky to escape with just a few scrapes and wounds left by its claws when it’d picked her up. “Is the falconer okay?”

“Yes, he should make it.”

“That’s good.”

“However, I do need to punish you for failing,” he tightens his hold around her waist. “To keep you out of harm’s way, I think being confined to the throne and my bed is a suitable punishment.”

“Prince Shouto, you cannot possibly—“

Leaning his head next to hers, “oh, yes I can,” he whispers. “I told you I will protect you at all costs and this is the best way to do just that.”

“But sire, I’m not cut out to rule beside you. Surely someone with higher standing would be better suited.”

“You are perfect as is, and I will not take no for an answer.”

Momo lets out the breath she’d been holding back. Before that moment, she’d tried to convince herself this man couldn’t truly be in love with her. But it was impossible to keep denying his feelings or her own. “Okay,” her voice is soft but melodic. “You win Shouto. I’ll marry you.”

He lifts her hand and kisses the back of it. “You’ve made me the happiest Prince in all the land...”

#todomomo #todomomo fanfiction #todomomo fan art #todomomo fanfic #Todoroki shouto #momo yaoyorozu #fantasy au #art inspired story #bnha #shouto todoroki #yaoyorozu momo #prince shouto

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ladytrelaw · 4 years

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Ursus’ Lotions, Potions, and Puppetry Chapter 2: Beauty and The Beast

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25432372/chapters/62124796

It had all happened so fast.

That was what Grinpayne had told Ursus, stammering and tripping over his words the way he only did when he was truly stressed. They’d had to leave the city so quickly, and Grinpayne had been in such a foul mood after he and Ursus had argued, that Dea hadn’t had a chance to properly speak to him about it yet.

Because it hadn’t been like that for her at all. For Dea, time had stopped almost entirely.

Beauty had been just about to bring the Beast back to life when the first shout had split the air, right as Dea tilted her puppet down to press a soft wooden kiss to her beloved.

“D’you like playing with dolls, freak?”

She’d felt Grinpayne tense up, but they’d been performing for almost three years; they’d been heckled before. They could handle it. Dea had tried to focus on the feel of the puppet in her hand; wood and flesh moving together, breathing together while Grinpayne transformed the Beast into the handsome prince with a flick of his wrist. Usually it was the part in their show that made the audience coo in wonder, and Dea always felt a swell of pride knowing that they were so moved by the puppet that Grinpayne had crafted, by the effect that he’d invented. But, this time, the audience's focus was somewhere else.

“Hey! We’re talking to you!”

“Show us your face!”

Time had given its first shiver then. A ripple of fear had washed over Dea as she sensed Grinpayne start to lose his focus; his thoughts drifting out of her reach even as he knelt next to her on the hard cobbled stone. She had moved to put a steadying hand on his knee, an anchor, a tether to bring him back to her, when several things had happened all at once.

Grinpayne had flinched backwards like he’d been struck or, she realised later, like he was dodging something. The crowd had shrieked with laughter as dull, wet thuds echoed around the tiny platform they were using as a stage, and as something slimy glanced off her arm Dea realised distantly that something was being thrown at them; rotten fruit by the smell of it, thick and bitter. She'd already had her hand on Grinpayne’s arm to pull him away when something hard had caught her in the side of the head and she’d cried out, fumbling her grasp and slipping sideways. It was a light blow, really, and she’d reacted more in shock than pain. But the damage was done. Before she could do anything, Grinpayne had vanished from under her hand.

She’d screamed his name, but it was too late. She could do nothing as he launched himself, snarling, at whoever had struck her. And time, with a great, heaving shudder, had fractured entirely.

He was only gone a few moments. Logically, she knows that. She knows that it was mere seconds before Mojo’s fierce howl had cut through the crowd, their shrieks of laughter turning to screams of panic as they scrambled over each other to get away. Dea had stumbled forward without entirely realising it, sobbing Grinpayne’s name into the dark, when an arm had caught her roughly around the waist. White hot terror had seized her and she’d shrieked in fear before she realised that it was Ursus, Ursus out of nowhere, Ursus staggering as he hauled Grinpayne up from the ground by his collar and dragged them both clumsily into a sidestreet.

She had been alone for less than a handful of heartbeats.

But it had felt like years.

***

There’s a noise at the door, and she turns her head automatically as Ursus pushes it open, grunting as it sticks for a moment in the doorframe. She can just about make out the blurred shape of his silhouette, framed in the doorway, but only barely. It must be later than she’d thought.

“Did Grinpayne tell you when he was planning on coming back?” He asks gruffly. It's the first time they've spoken in hours. Dea shakes her head.

“He said he wasn’t going far. I don’t think he’ll be long, he’s just washing his-”

“Bandages, I know.” Ursus mutters.

Dea bristles. Maybe it’s just tiredness, just the night pressing its stifling weight against their wagon, but her patience is thinner than usual and Ursus’ mood is testing her.

“He needed some space, Father. You can’t begrudge him that, after everything-.”

He groans, exasperated, before she can finish. “Don’t you start on me too, Dea.”

“I’m not starting anything!” Dea protests, rising. “It wasn’t his fault, Father, the crowd, they-”

“It doesn’t matter what they did.” He cuts her off, his voice razor-sharp, and she flinches slightly. “Fighting back was reckless and stupid and if Mojo hadn’t got to you you could have both been seriously hurt.”

He shoulders the door open angrily, clearly under the impression that the conversation is over, but Dea’s not done. She scrambles off the bed, and it isn’t until she practically runs into Ursus that she realises he’s frozen in the doorway.

“What-” she starts, but he shushes her, and her jaw snaps shut with a click. They stand for a moment in silence, listening.

Nothing. Perhaps the faint whispering of wind in the trees, the crackle of wood in the fire, the distant cry of a fox. Nothing unexpected.

Ursus relaxes a fraction.

“Sorry.” He says, half to himself, confused. “I thought I heard-”

But she knows what he had heard, half drowned by the wind, because at that moment she hears it too. A voice cutting through the evening air as surely as a knife. A familiar voice, distant but getting closer, calling out for Ursus.

***

Something is wrong. Grinpayne sounds scared, and he’s breathless, like he’s run back to the cart from some distance.

“What’s happened?” Ursus wastes no time, moving quickly across the grass towards Grinpayne, all tiredness and irritation from his voice wiped clean away and replaced with a coarse sort of concern.

“Soldiers, by the river” Grinpayne pants, winded, his words all tumbling out in a rush. “We have to leave, we have to go right now-“

“Slow down, child” Ursus interrupts, alarmed, as Grinpayne breaks off coughing, his breath coming in great shuddering gasps.

“It was probably just a routine patrol-”

“No, no, it wasn’t, they were looking for me, I heard them,” Grinpayne says urgently, his voice cracking with misery. “They said that I— th-that a woman, the daughter of some judge in Oxford, she‘s saying that I attacked her, in the square, but I didn’t, Father, I wouldn’t-“

Dea feels something hot and tight taking root in her chest, next to her fluttering heart. That’s not what happened. That’s a lie.

“They said what?” Ursus breathes, sounding shaken. “Are you sure-"

“That doesn’t make sense,” Dea murmurs, bewildered. Neither of them acknowledge her, each addressing the other in matching low, serious voices, and the heat in her chest grows hotter, almost burning. It scares her. Mojo butts his nose against her palm and she sinks her hands into the scruff of his neck automatically, raising her voice.

“What does that mean? Grinpayne-”

“We can talk later, Dea, get in the cart” Ursus says brusquely, dismissing her and turning to Grinpayne before he can respond. The thing in her chest growls, reaching scalding claws up her throat, choking her. “Grinpayne, put the fire out, quickly, we need to move - ”

“But I don’t understand-”

“Just get in the cart, girl!” Ursus snaps, and all at once the storm of exhaustion and frustration and fear that has loomed over Dea all day finally breaks, the fireball in her chest rising through her throat and bursting out of her mouth in a scream.

“Tell me what's happening!”

She never, ever loses her temper like this, and Grinpayne and Ursus freeze in shock, but she‘s too overwhelmed to care. She stumbles towards their voices, pushing Mojo away, horrified to feel hot tears of frustration pricking at her eyes.

“Why won’t you talk to me, I’m right here! I’m standing right here, I’m not a child anymore, why won’t you just-”

She breaks off, gasping, as a pair of hands - so cold they might be marble - slip gently into hers.

“Dea.”

Her name is a drop of honey on Grinpayne’s tongue, sweet and warm, and she chokes back an exhausted sob. He is kneeling in front of her, his frozen hands clutching hers tightly in a silent plea. “You’re right, and I’m so, so sorry, but we have to hurry. I’ll be there in a minute, I’ll explain everything I can, I promise . Just please go inside. We don’t have much time.”

The tremor of fear in his voice is so subtle, so slight, that only someone who knew every contour of his speech, every laugh, every groan of pain, would have heard it. To Dea, it is deafening.

She nods, sniffling, and with a last, hasty squeeze of her hands he’s gone, darting around the campsite to pack up. Mojo is back at her side as soon as Grinpayne leaves, his soft fur a familiar warmth beneath her fingers, and he guides her back the few steps to the cart until she finds the door and climbs inside. Even as it swings shut behind her she can hear the sound of hurried footsteps outside, the petulant cracks of the fire as it is stamped out, the gentle murmur of Grinpayne’s voice as he unties their horse and helps Ursus hitch her to the wagon.

Once inside, she pauses for a moment, taking a breath to steady herself. The familiar smell of the wagon settles in her lungs, and she feels the tightness from her chest ease, just a little. They’ve been nomads for her whole life, chasing the markets where Ursus can sell his potions, never staying in one place for long, but she’s never cared. This little caravan, wherever they are, is all the home she’s ever known, ever needed. Her fingers trail the familiar path she uses to navigate the inside of the wagon - lifting to skim the edge of a shelf; dropping to grip the corner of Ursus’ workbench; jumping a short gap to land in soft, worn blankets - and she flops down heavily on her bed, the wooden supports creaking grumpily beneath her.

Outside, the tone of Ursus and Grinpayne’s conversation changes, their muffled voices growing louder and more strained. She can’t make out their words clearly, but she doesn’t need to. The timbre and rhythm of another argument brewing is painfully familiar.

A thrill of frustration runs through her. Even before today Grinpayne and Ursus have been fighting a lot recently, over tiny things, stupid things; a look taken the wrong way, a chore left half-finished. Things that used to be settled with a laughing explanation or a single stern word now spiralling out of control until they’re both snarling at each other like dogs in the street. It’s as though they woke up one morning speaking different languages, each suddenly unable to reach the other, but Dea can see how hard they’re trying. How Ursus longs for the affection of his son, how Grinpayne in turn longs for the approval of the only father he knows. She has never needed eyes to see that they love each other, fiercely. She just hopes they learn to see it before they split her heart in two.

***

After a few minutes she feels the wagon tip as someone climbs aboard, the door juddering open and creaking shut again on stiff, old hinges. Grinpayne’s familiar footsteps stumble slightly as the cart jolts to life beneath him, but he steadies himself after a moment and crosses the floor towards her.

“Where are we going?” She asks immediately, before he can say anything. The bed dips as he sits down next to her, and she feels the blankets shift as he pulls his knees up to his chin.

“I’m not sure. We’ll have to camp for a bit. We just need to get away from the city.”

He sounds exhausted, and she shifts so that she’s sitting beside him, leaning against him as though she can absorb his tension through touch alone.

“We shouldn’t have ignored you, Dea, I’m-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shushes him, her cheeks colouring with embarrassment at the outburst that feels, already, as if it was days ago. “You can talk to me now.”

He makes a soft noise of assent in the back of his throat, somewhere between a murmur and a sigh, and takes her hand in his, fiddling with her fingers as he describes what he heard at the river. His hands are still freezing, and she tells him so, rubbing his fingers between her palms to warm them after he explains how he hadn’t dared to lift them from the water for fear of being seen.

Well. At least that explains something.

Dea frowns, thinking of the nameless, faceless woman whose words have forced them into flight. “Why would someone lie like that? Make that up?”

Grinpayne hesitates. “Father thinks they didn’t. Not that he thinks she’s telling the truth!” he says quickly, as Dea sits up, appalled, “but that she didn’t say anything. That she might not even exist.”

Dea blinks, mystified, but Grinpayne carries on.

“He thinks it’s a lie from the Duke, an excuse to rally the soldiers into chasing us away from the city, to clean it up by clearing us out.” He pauses, and when he speaks again there’s a tightness to his voice, like he’s trying to force it not to shake. “And now we can’t come back, not for at least a few months. We’ll miss the end of the market. All that trade, all that money gone...”

Dea murmurs his name reproachfully, knowing well the path that his thoughts are barrelling down, but he shakes his head again and pulls away from her, restless, his voice a coiled spring.

“I’m sorry, Dea. It’s all my fault, all of this—.”

She sits up and turns so that she’s facing him, snatching his restless hands from the air and holding them tight, like she can squeeze some sense into him.

“Don’t be a fool, Grinpayne. If Father’s right then the Duke would’ve found an excuse to move us on anyway.”

“But I should have held my temper, at the square, if they wanted an excuse I gave it to them on a plate-”

“Grinpayne, this isn’t your fault!” She snaps, before forcing herself to take a calming breath. It won’t do for them both to be unreasonable. He falls silent, but sometimes his thoughts are so loud she can feel them in the air. She knows he doesn’t believe her.

After a moment, Grinpayne reaches over and touches the side of her face gently, just above her temple where she’d been hit earlier.

“How’s your head?” He murmurs, fingers skating over her hair. It’s a blatant change of subject, but Dea lets it slide.

She shrugs. “Fine. I didn’t get hit very hard. How are you?”

Grinpayne shrugs too, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before pulling away. “Fine. Just some bruises, thanks to Mojo.”

He’s downplaying it, of course. She’d heard him fall, heard his breath cut out as the unmistakable sound of a fist colliding with flesh had cracked through the air. But Grinpayne downplaying pain is nothing new.

“Did Father say anything to you? After I left?” Grinpayne asks suddenly, almost nervously, and Dea frowns. He’s asking something else, really, a second question hidden beneath his words, but she’s not sure what it is.

“Not really. He stayed outside. I think you both needed some air.”

Grinpayne doesn’t respond immediately, but Dea has known him her whole life. She knows when to wait.

“He's angry with me,” he murmurs, after a moment. He sounds so small, so sad, so young , that suddenly she feels like the older one, like she's lived many more than her 14 years. But she can’t deny what he’s saying. The fury in Ursus’ voice at the square had scared her more than she’d like to admit.

“He loves you,” she says quietly instead. It’s not the same, but she hopes it’s enough.

He sighs heavily, but doesn’t say anything else. They sit in silence, the wagon rocking around them as Ursus drives them through the night, away from the city that had turned so suddenly hostile towards them.

Grinpayne shifts backwards on the bed, and lets out a small sound of surprise, jostling around as he pulls something out from behind his back. Belatedly, Dea remembers she’d left their puppets on her bed earlier, checking them over after their hasty exit from the city to make sure they weren’t damaged. Grinpayne goes still.

“I was thinking about these earlier,” he says softly. “The day you made their new costumes, do you remember?”

She smiles. “Of course I do.” Her smile turns to a grin as she remembers what had happened later that evening. “You spent all day painting the cart and then Mojo went and rubbed against the bottom of it and got paint all in his fur.”

Grinpayne laughs unexpectedly at that, the sudden, bright laugh that he does when he’s caught off guard. She’s missed it lately.

“I’d forgotten about that part” he says quietly, almost to himself, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

She grasps hastily for a question, not wanting to let the moment slip away. “Do you remember the first show we ever did? For the people, I mean, not just for Ursus?”

It’s one of her favourite memories. When they had finished and retreated to the safety of the cart she and Grinpayne, drunk on their own success, had fallen over each other to recount their favourite moments.

“Did you hear the-“

“The woman with the-“

“and then she-”

“And then you-“

“Yes! Yes!”

They’d collapsed in fits of giggles, only laughing louder when Ursus had banged on the side of the cart to see what all the fuss was about.

Grinpayne hesitates, considering.

“Did we have sweets afterwards?”

Dea grins. “Honey cakes, from the bakery. Ursus used the money we’d earned, said that that made us professional performers, technically.” They’d eaten them slowly that evening in the warm flickering glow of lamplight, eyes slipping shut in delight as they licked the crumbs from their lips, icing melting on their fingertips. She can almost taste it now, the ghost of sugar from years ago. She’s surprised that Grinpayne remembers. He’s usually so terrible with details.

“I was so scared back then,” he says thoughtfully. “I thought it was a terrible idea, that first show, but you were so small and so excited I couldn’t say no to you. It would’ve broken your heart.”

Dea sits up straighter, worried. She hadn't known that. “But you said, afterwards, you said you loved it-“

“I did.” He insists. “I... I do. That first time, it was like... like learning a magic trick. Like hiding in plain sight.”

She feels the movement of his arm against hers as he turns the puppet slowly over in his hands. “Everyone looking at the prince, not at me. Like I was invisible.”

There’s a pause.

“We weren’t invisible today.”

And just like that, she’s lost him. They keep talking as the cart trundles on through the night, but a deep melancholy has settled around Grinpayne as real and as heavy as a physical cloak, and try as she might, Dea cannot lift it. After a while he bids her goodnight and retreats to his own bed, falling asleep quickly, his breathing deepening and evening out, but Dea sits up on her own, waiting. The cart rocks gently around her, a feeling as familiar as the puppets in her hand. She only closes her eyes for a moment.

***

When she wakes, the cart is still and Ursus is climbing in, moving as quietly as he can in an attempt not to stir his children from their sleep.

She sits up, and he groans softly.

“Go to sleep, child, it’s late.”

“Where are we, Father?” She whispers, fighting to shake off the woozy pull of sleep. He sits gently on the edge of her bed, almost exactly where Grinpayne had been not long before.

“About 15 miles away from Oxford, give or take. We’ll be safe here - I’d be amazed if they followed us this far.”

Dea fiddles with the edge of her blanket. “If they do... will Grinpayne be arrested?”

Ursus’ voice is strained when he answers. “They won’t.”

“But if they-“

“Dea, they won’t follow us.“ He whispers firmly.

On the other side of the cart, Grinpayne murmurs quietly in his sleep. Dea has never spent a night more than a metre away from him in her life, so she knows that he either sleeps as still as stone or moves near-constantly. Tonight is a restless night, and he shifts uneasily under his covers, half formed words on his lips. Dea and Ursus freeze guiltily, falling silent for a moment as Grinpayne skims the surface of consciousness, but a moment later he lies still once more, his breath returning to the even rhythm of deep sleep.

Dea lets out a slow breath of relief, her heart aching.

“He thinks you blame him for what happened in the square.” She murmurs, careful to keep her voice low. “He thinks you’re angry with him.”

Ursus says nothing in response, and Dea narrows her eyes, frowning.

“Are you angry with him?”

“I don’t...” Ursus trails off, searching carefully for the right words. “I’m angry at myself for letting you two perform somewhere new on your own in the first place. I’m angry at that stupid false allegation, wherever it came from. But I’m… I don’t blame Grinpayne for what happened, no.”

“You shouldn’t have shouted at him.”

Ursus sighs uncomfortably.

“Dea, you don’t… you can’t understand… to see you both like that, all on your own in the crowd and Grinpayne up against so many men… I thought I was going to lose him. Lose both of you. You've never scared me so much in all your lives, the pair of you.”

Dea crosses her arms reproachfully. “You still shouldn’t have shouted. At either of us.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he does, it’s in a very different voice. He sounds tired.

He sounds old.

“I know. And I’m sorry. But please, Dea, I... I can’t deal with both of you being angry at me.”

Then why do I always have to be the rational one, she thinks. Maybe if I stormed off into the woods you'd take me seriously. The fireball in her chest stirs briefly, questioning, but she sighs, relenting, and the feeling dissipates as quickly as if it was never there at all.

“I’m not angry at you. I just… you and Grinpayne fight all the time. I hate it.”

“He’s growing up, my girl. I can’t say I like it, but it’s natural. You'll be the same in a few years, I expect, God help us all.”

Dea shakes her head determinedly. “I won’t. There are fights worth having and fights that are foolish. You and Grinpayne fight over foolish things. You need to talk to each other.”

Ursus shifts on her bed, sighing and reaching over to stroke her hair gently out of her face.

“You always were the best of us, little bear.”

It’s a childhood nickname, one she hasn’t heard in a while, and instantly the cart feels warmer; danger pressing less closely at the windows. She shrugs.

“Someone has to be the grown up.”

Ursus chuckles at that, tapping her on the nose in a joking reprimand, and she squirms under the sheets.

“When did you get so wise, hm? You certainly don’t get your brains from me.” It’s an old joke, one that he has made many times before, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. She’s about to respond when she becomes suddenly aware that she’s exhausted, a huge yawn overtaking her before she’s able to stop it, and Ursus clicks his tongue.

“Apparently even big brains need rest, eh? Enough chatter now. Back to sleep.”

He tucks the blanket around her as she nestles down into her pillow, leaning down to give her a quick, whiskery kiss on the forehead. But as he gets up, she clutches his sleeve, stopping him from leaving.

“Promise you’ll talk to Grinpayne? Soon?”

Ursus sighs heavily, gently pulling her hand from his sleeve and holding it in both of his before placing it back on the covers.

“I will, child. I promise.”

#it's another big one friends!#the grinning man #the grinning man musical #tgm musical #the grinning man fic #fic

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writtingfiction · 4 years

Text

A Glow in the Dark

Pairing: Ignis x FEM!Mermaid

genre: hinted romance

words:1.8k

summary: Ignis was looking at the Royal Vessel when something more interesting takes ahold of his attention. He hopes it doesn’t doom him for the future.

The boys could hardly believe it, they were finally able to make it to Altissia. Across the sea where the city awaits them and Noctis’ lovely fiancé as they like to tease him about it. However, they would set sail in the morning. Taking the Royal vessel to the magnificent city, with the sun rising and showing just some of the true wonders that Altissia has to offer. It’ll have to wait though, for they rest scattered about Cape Caem, waiting for exhaustion to take them.

Ignis, in particular, was down by the boat, examining and admiring the beautiful boat that she was. Checking more out of curiosity than anything else, but something quickly catches his attention. A splash of water is heard on the opposite side of the boat and he fears he may have knocked something over. He quickly checks and peers overboard to see the faint shimmer of something moving swiftly through the water. He thinks it’s one of the glowing barrel fish he has seen Noctis catch on late nights.

Ignis hears another splash of water, this time towards the bow of the boat. His brows furrow as he follows the sound, once again just managing to see a glow. Ignis hums, confirming his suspicions that the cause of the noise is just a barrel fish. Nevertheless, his thoughts were quickly thrown out when there was a louder and bigger splashing coming from behind him. It sounds like thrashing and Ignis is quick to move.

Before he can call out anything, he’s taken by surprise. A young woman, a glowing young woman is trying to climb onto the boat. No, a glowing young woman with a tail is trying to climb onto the boat. Ignis blinked slowly in shock, the gears in his head were trying to turn to make sense of the situation, but he couldn’t figure anything out. All he could do is watch in awe as she managed to pull herself up about halfway up the stairs before looking up at him, eyes going wide.

She had long hair glowing from the roots which faded out along the length of her hair. Turquoise glowing markings shaped her face which trailed down to her arms and webbed hands. Her tail glowed brightly showing the true beauty of her fin, frills trailing from her waist to the edge of her fin. They gave off a dim glow as her fin was large with glowing spots along it. She was pretty, heavenly even.

“What are you…?” She spoke. Catching him off guard. She spoke in such a heavy accent he could barely understand her, never mind place where the accent was from.

“W-what am I…?” Ignis echoed, surely not with enough class as he would like to admit. She continues to look at him. Tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. Ignis admits to himself that the way she looks at him does unsettle him but it’s also a familiar gaze. He doesn’t know why and he isn’t sure if he should be comforted by that, but he answers her question, odd as it is. “I am human. What are you?”

She stays silent and tilts her head the other way, slowly. Ignis is left in the dark about her intention. He isn’t sure what to do exactly. To help her or not. Would it insult her or no? He is filled with many questions.

“Sirenă.” She says it with confidence, and he knows she speaks a language that isn’t his.

“Siren?” Ignis echoes once again and his brain goes into overload. “You’re a siren? Like those stories we tell children about, where the mermaid is a woman of the sea and that there’s an entire city of them at the bottom of the ocean.” The siren blinks once and sighs.

“Sirena de mare adăncime.” The look in her eyes changes as she tries to settle herself onto the stairs on the edge of the boat. “Deep sea… siren. Different than, other sirenă.” She fixes herself, sitting now on the stairs as she stares up at Ignis. Curious and calm, clearly not sensing any danger from the blonde. Ignis, on the other hand, isn’t quite sure how to feel.

“I see, sorry for the mistake then.” There’s another tilt with her head and this time he catches sight of the gills on her neck. It’s another thing upon another and Ignis is forced to accept his reality that he is meeting a real mermaid, or siren as she labels herself so.

“What is your name…?” She speaks slower, perhaps easier for her but he’s glad either way. He can hear her better this way.

“Ignis Scientia.” Ignis, in turn, says his name slowly. The siren gives a little smile.

“Fire… Science… your name has… funny meaning.” Her smile only grows bigger at Ignis’s dumbfounded look. “I am Y/N L/N, I wanted… to be on ship one last time before… you take for good.”

“Y/N is a beautiful name. It’s a pleasure to meet one such as yourself. What makes you think we are taking the boat for good?” Ignis replies, confused. For all his knowledge is that the boat was kept here the entire time, except for when the king had taken it out for his adventures.

“You go adventure to pretty place. Just like the young King.” Y/N said and Ignis thinks of Noctis but knows he isn’t king yet. He wonders whom she could be talking about before it realizes that Y/N was talking about the late king, Noctis’ father. “Is the young King with you?”

“No, but his son is.”

“Ah, I see.” There was a sadness that had washed over her. “I promised I would… bring gift for son… but I don’t have with me.”

“It is quite alright, I’m sure the sentiment is there. I’ll tell the prince.” Ignis says it but Y/N is quick to react.

“NO!” Y/N shout was loud, echoing through the cave. “My living… no, existence… must be secret. There are bad people…”

“I understand.” Ignis wishes for a moment that he didn’t. Sadness washes over him, he wonders for a moment, how many sirens were there that lived down at the ocean floor. He wondered if there truly was a difference between sirens and mermaids like you had said. “However, the ship will be returning.”

“Then I wait for its return…” Y/N smiles but also trails off, looking at Ignis for a long while before speaking again. “And for yours.” Ignis is surprised by the comment, flustered as his cheeks burn.

“Mine? We’ve only known each other for a few moments.”

“Which makes the next encounter, all the more fun.” There’s a glimmer in Y/N’s eyes and Ignis isn’t sure what it means. “I’ll teach you about me, and you teach me about you. Simple.” Y/N reaches her hand out, almost as if she’s sealing the deal. Ignis nods, however, stays rooted to where he is. Y/N pouts, hand falling back to her side but it doesn’t dissuade her. Deciding to change tactics.

“…Let’s play a little game,” Y/N starts to sing and Ignis is immediately taken in, but still has his wits about it. “just between you and I. Obviously physical~” Her singing is mesmerizing and Ignis can’t help but want to get closer. Nevertheless, he doesn’t want to get closer, something isn’t right. The shine behind her eyes holds much more than the curiosity she had earlier. But he can’t help but take a step closer, and another as she continues to sing. “But either way the objective is the same. To please and entertain.”

Y/N knows it’s working, raising her hand once again. A tantalizing deal awaits him, he just doesn’t fully understand it. However, the elaborate plan is cutting short, she can hear the elevator working and many voices. His companions were coming, cursing herself mentally about her shout earlier. She didn’t have to be so loud. She’s ready to start the next line, but his companions could appear quicker than she thinks but decides to push it. He’s so close.

“You can be my vixen,” His gloved fingers begin to brush against her fingers just as the elevator opens. She takes her chance, the weight of having to see him again versus being seen by his companions is heavily outweighed. His hand is firmly clasped in hers just as they call out to him. “Your demise will be your stage~.”

“Ignis!!” The three of them shout and it’s enough to pull Ignis out of his trance. His head quickly spins towards them as Y/N takes the chance to finish the rest of the spell. Pressing soft lips to his neck and whisper quick details to him, officially bounding her to him.

“Paws off, our man!” Gladiolus shouts, summoning a great sword to his hands. Y/N is quick to react from here. Letting go of Ignis and quickly diving off the boat as he throws the large sword at her, barely missing her.

They’re quick to run over to Ignis and check the water, seeing her glow fade out as she swam away, back into the deep ocean. The boys fuss over Ignis checking to make sure he’s alright but they concluded that the only thing she did was leave a mark. A trident within a circle is placed right by his collarbone and neck. It glows a bright turquoise before going completely black.

“Ok, but let’s confirm that wasn’t a daemon or was it?” Prompto says worriedly.

“If it was a daemon, why didn’t the light bother it?” Noctis makes a note.

“I don’t think it was a daemon.” Ignis sighs, fingers lingering on the mark. The others look at him concerned. “However, we can’t be sure. Let us speak with the others, they may have more knowledge on this beast than we do.” They agree and all move back up to the house.

The second they enter the house, they’re swarmed with concerns from everyone but Talcott was the only one to point out the new mark on Ignis’ neck. Eyes wide with wonder and shock as the kid goes on a whole tirade about mermaids and sirens. Eventually saying that those who bear Ignis’ mark are bound to see the mermaid again at some point in their lives before they die.

“Here I thought it was just a bedtime story…” Iris comments with a small smile. Ignis feels exhaustion take him. He was grateful it was nothing bad, but he wondered if he really could place all his faith into a child's’ bedtime story.

“What did she look like?” Cindy pips up, quickly gaining everyone’s attention. Soon everyone is sitting around the table and telling what little they saw of the siren and Ignis retelling the encounter. As he does so, he wonders if the encounter is as innocent as Talcott’s stories are.

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traditional-with-a-twist · 4 years

Text

xxvi. Beauty and Her Beast

@the-pompous-potato *steeples hands evilly* yes, yes, all as planned... XDD so glad to get to the end of your review and find that you still enjoyed it! despite all the pain and all the seriously, what?!! XP

@bubblesthemonsterartist HA HA yes, where IS Obi? The man is taking avoidance to a whole new level... meanwhile, Raj in the back with a placard: *FOR HAPPY TIMES AND UNDERSTANDING PRINCES, PLS EXIT HERE*

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

Wistal is a city of stones, stacked on top of each other with no space to breath.

Tonight they loom so high that the tops lean in, blocking out the sky, like a cage that shrinks tighter with every day that passes by.

As the sun faded, shadows lengthened, and the castle complex became Obi’s playground, his feet began to itch.

They had carried him here, to her quarters, a place he had ventured often as of late, in missing her, in the faint hopes of encountering her.

This time he didn’t come empty handed: He carried a knapsack.

...

Her room is empty.

He knows because he feels the absence of her in the air.

He can taste the staleness of a space unstirred by her presence.

...

He doesn’t know that she has faced the prince and lost - he doesn’t need to know anything new to recognize that they are out of options and running out of time.

Ever since his own defeat, he has kept out of the way, lying low and waiting for some answer to come, some inspiration to strike him.

It can’t be said that he was thinking - he was watching, hiding, seeing without being seen.

At one point, he dozed as exhaustion overtook him, while all the while impressions and fears and desires worked away behind the veil of his mind, in some dark recess, wherever it is that decisions happen while you concentrate elsewhere.

...

Obi opens the wardrobe.

A curtain of white greets him, dangling limply like half-hearted ghosts.

He shut the door on them.

...

Still he doesn’t know exactly what he is doing here - or hasn’t admitted it to himself. He prefers to let his hands travel of their own accord, as they so often do where Shirayuki is concerned.

They lead him to a chest tucked in the corner by her bed.

Inside it, he finds the treasure his pilfering hands sought: skirts and blouses of cream, pink, and brown, all the clothes she wore as a pharmacist.

Here lay her old life, folded in a neat box and removed from view.

...

At the very bottom lies the crisp uniform trimmed in blue.

Except for the unmistakable row of buttons, it is almost unrecognizable as the trim, lithe form that once graced the castle halls: fetching, carrying, administering, researching, creating.

The dozens of activities, menial and magnificent, that had occupied her days, now flattened into a square the size of a dinner plate.

It must have been the first thing she set aside when she accepted Zen’s proposal, confident that she would never need it again.

...

By now he has an inkling of his own intentions, so he tries to move fast, before he can reconsider them.

Obi rifles through the chest like the perfidious thief he is, filching her treasures and stuffing them in the bag without more than a cursory glance at his selections: long, short, light, heavy - that ought to be enough.

They vanish into the mouth of his knapsack like sweets down the gullet of a greedy child.

Long habit stays him long enough to snap shut the chest’s lid - cover your tracks; it will slow down the pursuit - then he springs to the window.

He balances there, poised on the ledge.

...

Obi carries nothing but the leather satchel, with its assortment of plain clothes, and a stack of razor thin leaf blades buckled to his back pocket.

They are the ingredients of something different, something new, somewhere else.

The picture gathered before his mind’s eye, like the world coming into focus after one wakes from a deep sleep into the softness of pre-dawn.

...

An endless road stretched before them: twisting and turning through the trees, straggling over rocks and underbrush - not an easy road, not a smooth path, but they walked it together.

He felt her tiny hand enclosed by the heat of his broad palm, their fingers looped together.

She was trusting as a new wildflower that bloomed wherever it was planted: sending forth its roots and anchoring in place with perfect confidence that it would find the life-giving elements it needed, even if its new home was a rambling one.

He would work for her happiness - find a way to make coin without paying for it in blood. He would make a way for them even if it meant juggling balls in the village square.

He would see her planted in a rich, open place, where the springs flowed deep and the sun poured down, where she could lift up her head and turn her face to the sky and smile again.

...

He had so very little to offer her that he would deny her nothing, least of all the one gift that he knew he could give: freedom.

He thought, We don’t need anything else.

Then he leaped.

...

Once upon a time, he kept such a close eye on his miss that she never strayed from his radius of awareness.

Besides that, she had followed predictable patterns, like a star tracing familiar orbits across the sky.

It never cost him many moments of doubt before he found her.

Since the sun had vanished from its place, they had all fallen into new trajectories, following erratic and irregular ellipses, each wandering in his own way.

Obi had found it necessary to derive a new system of navigating his way to her: haphazard, less regular, but after so many iterations, he was beginning to get the hang of it.

...

He wheeled like a bird around the confines of the Wistal complex, honing in on the signal that would lead him to her.

The nature of that signal, he couldn’t have put a name to -- it was as if her essence resonated on a frequency his heart could now detect, as if the clear bell of her being sang in his ears and coaxed him in her direction, no matter how profound the distance between them.

On this occasion, it leads him away from the castle’s stone blocks, outward, towards its green perimeter.

His wide-ranging circuit strikes gold through a greenhouse window.

...

There she is, resplendent in her natural habitat.

He pauses to admire her: so slight yet so strong, still upright despite everything that fate has thrown at her.

She imparts life to the garden beds with her delicate but sure hands, and they breathe out their gratitude, wreathing her with serenity.

Even the tinted glass warms the harsh white of her dress, bringing color back into her cheeks.

...

Obi closes his eyes to conjure up the memory of her face, the timbre of her voice when she had promised herself to him.

It still felt more like a dream than reality. Hadn’t he imagined her smile, her laugh, her embrace?

In either case, it would rapidly become a nightmare for them both if he didn’t act soon.

...

Shaking his head to focus his thoughts, Obi melts from tree to shadow to one of the many ways he has found to let himself inside the greenhouses without a sound.

The familiar smells and textures of the moist herbs and dewy flower beds blanket him.

He pauses to let his eyes adjust to the swimming green air.

...

She stands so close that she would hear him if he spoke her name.

He moves to step into the space between them - then recoils.

She is not alone.

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #PurePassion #Beauty and Her Beast #the moment has arrived #Obi has finally decided to follow your excellent advice #and get the heck out of dodge #reading your reviews is the best part of my day #I gear up with popcorn and tissues #thank you <3

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twistedapple · 4 years

Text

Through These Eyes

Here it is! I’m very nervous about it though, since I’m currently training to work mutiple points of view at the same time, and switching from one POV to the other is not an easy task, both intellectually and emotionally. Bonus point for handling a canon character and needing to be careful about not having him out of character and feeling just like himself in regard to the way his thoughts and feelings are conveyed... Anyway, this is a very interesting exercise, practice will make it perfect getting more canon infos as well lol Bianca’s profile, Bianca’s backstory

Recommended playlist: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Without further ado...

----------

He never really minded being on his own, and there were times when staying in this large castle still felt oppressive, even the usual company of his supervisor and various servants wouldn’t abate the feeling. In those moments, he would sneak outside and go for a little exploratory stroll. The Valley, as secluded as it was, still had its fair share of inhabitants and locations – his favourite were the abandoned ones. It wasn’t the most princely thing to do but he couldn’t care less, he just wanted to have his bit of fun and quiet – besides, that sort of escapism was harmless. Granted, he would consistently be on the receiving end of a sermon once he’d returned – with his position, disappearing without even a guard was deemed reckless. Well, with his position, he could also easily care for himself and escape them anyway, so why bother having them follow him in the first place? Plus he’d probably be tempted to lose them out of sheer mischief. No matter how the issue could be considered, the outcome would be the same. So he left on his own once again to seek a bit of peace, somewhere away from the castle. Where, though? Ah, this area would do, the unkempt garden had an oddly charming and peaceful atmosphere.

Green firefly-like lights slowly disappeared as he made his advance towards the location, following a messy and clearly disused path with the sure foot of a person used to the exercise. The sky was clear and pale moonlight cut a sharp shadow, making his horns look even longer than they already were. The fresh scent of plants was all around him, along with something else, something unexpected. Magic? He couldn’t be fooled on that – after all, he only had to shake one of his hands for bouts of flames and sparks to randomly appear. He remained young and was still learning to properly master his magic, yet his power was immense. So, intrigued rather than worried, he approached the supposedly abandoned place to inspect it further, his curiosity picked. His raised hand glowed with a faint, green light as he was checking specific areas and trying to figure out what was going on. The traces of magic he had found were awfully similar to whatever had caused some strange taint in other parts of the Valley lately, how curious. Then, that’s when he felt he wasn’t alone anymore. He couldn’t see where they were hidden, but he was clearly being observed. Not willing to play any mind game, he stood tall and ordered.

- Show yourself!

Under blue moon, they met. A small, slender silhouette emerged from behind a half ruined wall covered in ivy and he could have almost mistaken her for a human, had it not been for her eyes – cat-like, abnormally bright golden amber eyes shining too much for it to be caused by the pale moonlight. A slithering shadow disappeared behind her as the young woman moved forward, a cheeky smile on her lips.

- Now that’s a visit I certainly never saw coming. Not even a guard?

His gaze fell on her and he immediately felt a pinch in his chest. Of course, she knew who she was facing. After all, Malleus’ silhouette was too unique to remain unknown. However, his initial reaction – caused by sheer habit – quickly left place to a certain degree of surprise. Was she poking fun at him? Well well well, how brazen. He couldn’t let that pass now, could he?

- Wasn’t this place supposed to be abandoned? It was, last time I strolled around.

- ... Strolled? Well, I settled in fairly recently, was even planning to rearrange a part of the garden to grow some stuff for myself... Look, is there a part of the area you’d rather have me leave untouched? I don’t really care, I’m pretty much passing by anyway and I’m all alone, so I don’t need much room anyway.

At each word she was getting bolder and bolder, and by the time she’d finished talking, Malleus found himself more amused than anything else. People usually weren’t casual towards him, and they certainly wouldn’t dare start a negotiation two seconds after having met him. He didn’t even know who she was yet... The entire situation felt refreshing and this fact alone motivated him to simply go with the flow. He even decided to cut a bit, just to see how much gal she had.

- Negotiating? Do you realise who you’re talking to?

- … Oh yes, I do, but my motivations for this negotiation are better left for when we’re more hm acquainted with each other. So, is it a good enough reason for you to still feel comfortable hanging around?

The whole situation was getting better by the second and Malleus found himself chuckling at her question. She was there rather illegally, yet she was treating the place as her personal domain and even inviting him. That last bit felt especially precious – he was so used to see people consider him with either reverence or fear, so used to whispers even to his face as people clearly felt uncomfortable in his presence... For a second he had considered pushing her around a bit more but this thought stopped him in his tracks. Yes, it was a proposal too precious to decline.

- Such a gracious host. Though I may need a name at some point...

As their chat progressed, they’d been getting closer to each other, circling slowly. Even though he had decided to not push too far, he still decided for one last test. If she truly wasn’t human, she’d react appropriately – and she did, declaring her identity a secret for now in a teasing manner.

Under blue moon, they kept seeing each other. Despite the place not belonging to her, she acted like a pleasant host towards him and extended a permanent invitation to her humble abode. While Malleus was certainly amused by the nerve she would casually display, he was also most appreciative of that invitation – for someone like him, used to be... Left behind, yet having an increased crave for proper social interactions as time passed, it meant much and more. In exchange for this kindness, he offered to involve her in his own hobbies, chief among them the exploration of abandoned places and the observation of the many gargoyles commonly found on buildings in the Valley of Thorns. It may have seemed like a strange way to have people relate to him, but it was the easiest one for Malleus. He felt like he could slowly pour his feelings out through the use of his past-times – it was simpler than directly expressing his feelings, somehow. Whenever he’d try to do that, he’d stop mid-sentence as discomfort would settle in his chest and cloud his mind, embarrassment weighting in the back of his head. She never judged him for that. In fact, she remained patient and involved in his architectural rants, showing a genuine interest and obvious knowledge of history. She let him open up on his own term and when he started disclosing his personal thoughts, the grace with which she received them and seemed to take them into account never failed to make his heart leap a bit. Similarly, if he had trouble reading her in the beginning, over time it felt easier – as if him opening up pushed her to return the courtesy.

Under blue moon, he started spending nights at her place – to chat, to watch her work her hedge magic, or to simply be alone together. He even became the first person to hear her sing again after years of silence. By that point, he had a name for her – Hilda -, and knew she had taken an interest in his musical skills since the day she’d noticed the calluses on the tip of his fingers. One night, he appeared with a lute and, as Hilda was working on some orders for a nearby human settlement; he started playing some gentle tune he had decided to prepare specifically for this occasion – a small present for her and for no other reason than the fact that it pleased him to do so. Under the watchful eyes of a dark, cat-like beast with eyes of pale fire sitting next to her, soft sounds filled the main room of what Hilda was using as current living quarters and soon enough, a humming joined in and launched a discussion. Malleus couldn’t help notice yet another testimony of what seemed to be a solid education, but chose to keep his questions to himself still. He preferred to have her come forward with whatever she kept to herself, rather than question her – he feared it may make her step away from him and he treasured their relationship too much at this point to risk such a thing. These considerations aside, it was the first time he heard something musically oriented from her and a question still had to be asked once he finished playing his tune.

- You seem well-versed in music, how come you’ve never brought it up before?

- Well, it’s been a while since I last did anything related to it, but your little tune motivated me… It’s the first time I heard it, your creation?

- Yes, if you were to hear me play for the first time, I thought I could make this occasion memorable. Considering your reaction, I take you enjoyed it? I shall do that again at a later date, then.

Under blue moon, they found themselves more and more involved with each other as time passed, to the point Malleus started acting like an accomplice to her occupation of empty places and quiet trade. He would often catch himself giving Hilda long looks, either while silently wondering what could be the reply to her mystery, or simply because he felt like watching her be about whatever task she decided to put her mind to. One of his favourite moments was when she would use her magic and one of those curious magical surges would happen. Most of the time, it seemed more annoying than dangerous and the face she’d make in these moments was amusing – pouting with her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Then there’d be the dangerous times, when he’d find her bandaged and not allowing herself to use magic for some time. In those moments she’d be in a darker mood, though assuring Malleus that he shouldn’t take it personally as it was not directed at him. Still, he’d stay and help her out with what needed be done regarding the trade she had going with the locals. This trade mostly consisted in alchemy and potions for all sorts of things – from improving the growth of crops to various charms made for all sorts of purposes. Interestingly, Hilda’s preferred tasks would be related to the care of the land itself, which she seemed surprisingly knowledgeable about. When Malleus questioned her on the matter, though, she merely replied that her unique magic was tied to the land and that it felt obvious for her to feel concerned about it – whether by caring for the wilderness or helping farmers in their endeavour. And while this trade didn’t provide her with many riches, it seemed to give its own wealth of information and links to a great number of persons. This alone picked Malleus’ interest since it was something he couldn’t do as easily as her for various reasons – people fearing his power, people recognising him in an instant... Meanwhile, Hilda’s overall deceptively human-like appearance, small stature and approachable atmosphere seemed incredibly useful when it came to treating with people – be they humans or faes. When he’d find her dealing with her clients, he’d enjoy observing from afar for all of those reasons; it wasn’t just about fulfilling some sort of curiosity, but to learn a bit as well. In those moments, his own isolation would weight on him too, yet Hilda’s smiles would never fail to abate the feeling.

Under blue moon their bond grew stronger, before reaching a new point one day, as Malleus was helping her move in a new place he’d suggested. That night, there was a feeling of casual closeness between them, as if they’d done what they were doing more than once. It was an easy ballet made of back-and-forth to put Hilda’s belongings in order. They would cross each other and, as she stayed close to him, he first surprised himself silently basking in her delicate scent of sweet grass and fresh flowers before realising that he simply wanted her even closer. It fully dawned on him when they found themselves side by side, their eyes locking. He’d never expected a time as short as a missed heart beat could pass so quickly yet so slowly at the same time. Closer, a scent like a secret garden. Closer, lips brushing against lips. Closer still, as he felt her lean in the touch and replied in kind by running his fingers through her hair. Suddenly, it felt like a fire was roaring inside him and neither of them would let go of the other. For a moment, nothing else mattered... Until he felt a strange sensation under his fingers. Breaking the contact, he looked and noticed her ink black hair covered in small, pale blossoms. His first thought was to consider them like a bit of starry night sky, yet he kept that to himself and went for a chuckle instead.

- You did tell me about those magical surges of yours... But I had never seen that sort of thing happen before. Did you?

- What are you talking abo- blackthorns blossoms? No, that one is definitely new, though oddly specific. I wonder what could have caus-

- To put it simply, I’d say you... You-made-me-bloom. Literally.

- Pff... Hahahaha well at the very least, know that the blackthorn suits you perfectly.

- You’re enjoying it all, aren’t you?

-Oh, I enjoy it a lot.

Seeing her redden and implode on the spot was most amusing to witness and provided him the final push to keep going – there was no objection on her part, only her hands pressing on his chest and her fingers tightening slightly over his shirt.

Under blue moon, Malleus discovered her mystery. All he needed was a name, and a name he heard accidentally. That evening, he arrived as usual, surrounded by green firefly-like lights and not too far from Hilda’s current dwelling – but not too close either. However, the air itself was heavy with magic and it felt like the earth was ready to crack open at any moment. Not knowing what was happening in the usually quite place, Malleus concealed himself with a spell before making a careful, calculated approach to assess the situation – or try to. He may have had honed his skill in escaping his guards whenever he left the castle, however it wasn’t a reason for him to act foolishly and risk putting himself in danger. As he got close, however, he started having a feeling of déjà-vu with the way the magic affected the area. Like a twisted, gloomy taint that would warp the immediate surroundings. That’s when his eyes fell on thick branches of blackthorn breaching erratically the earth and growing thicker, fuller at their center. There a person was held prisoner, ruthlessly pinned in place by the long thorns and under the watch of a large, black dog-like beast with eyes of pale fire. Then Hilda approached, a bundle in her hands and a cold, ominous expression on her face that Malleus had never seen before. With a biting tone and thorns in her hair, she unwittingly provided the information Malleus had wanted to ask for a while now – merely waiting the proper moment to do so.

- Since you were following orders, I’ll let you go back to my family, but you’ll bring them these bones. Tell them this it what you found at the end of the trail. You’ll be freed from this cat and mouse game in the process, isn’t it nice? Your Lady Bianca Bosconero is dead.

Bosconero? That name alone was enough to explain everything, even though she’d been guarded about it – and about pretty much any information that could give her identity away, when he thought about it. That’s why she stayed so vague when it came to her magical abilities as well – because she wasn’t just a Bosconero, based on what he’d been witnessing. She was without a doubt the current holder of the ancestral magic passed down in the family for generations. While the Bosconero were historical allies of the Draconia, their work would be oriented towards diplomacy, especially in regards to humans, thanks to their generally deceptive human-like features, so they would often communicate to provide reports regarding the state of affairs outside the Valley, but would not so often show their face. The foliate face of the Green Man himself was their coat-of-arms, of course she’d be skilled in the fields of growth, death and rebirth, as she demonstrated in her care for both the wilderness and crops, as well as her specific knowledge in alchemy and potion-making.

Yet, as relieved as he felt by this realisation, Malleus couldn’t help feeling hurt by all the omissions Hilda – no, Bianca – had made. Granted, based on what she had said as she released the prisoner, it looked like she had taken extreme measures to protect herself from her own family, but his chest still tightened at the idea that she’d kept it to herself all this time, rather than talk to him. With the current state of their relationship and his own power, he could easily provide her the safety she needed, so the feeling of rejection was present despite his attempt at rationalising the whole situation. This is what motivated him to appear as soon as Bianca cleared the place and found herself alone again. He wanted to hear it all from her own mouth.

-… Bianca Bosconero? From the Bosconero household? Is it who you are?

----------

As soon as he moved from his hiding spot and addressed her, Bianca froze on the spot. The thorns he could previously see and feel in her hair, eyes and words seemed to vanish, leaving only a faint dark, smoke-like trail that dissipated in a second. She turned towards him and her face quickly went from cold fury to surprise, then fear. And while Malleus had never been exactly good at reading people’s emotions, at that moment he was certain he could almost hear her scream internally. It made him feel uneasy, but he couldn’t help scowling at the entire situation – at her, too. A heavy silence fell on them, during which Bianca seemed to search her words. Now, what would they do...

- Yes, you heard it right.

- Why did you stay silent about that? Not talking about it when we met was one thing, but enough time has passed since then, don’t you think?

The tone of his voice carried something regal and cutting that surprised even him, yet he kept a composed face while questioning Bianca.

- How much did you hear?

- The end of your exchange. You haven’t answered my questions.

- ... What was I supposed to do? Involve you in family matters? The Crown Prince himself butting in to help clean a family’s personal laundry, can you imagine how people would react to that? Why would I get you involved in something that could only tarnish your reputation, what could you gain in that?

- ...

At her questioning replies, Malleus fell silent and lowered his head slightly. She had a point, and technically it would also have made him guilty of not only getting in the way of her family – a short way to gain political enemies -, but of assisting her with all sort of illegal things, such as squatting or practicing non-authorised trade at the border. Knowing who she really was would have potentially damaged his own social and political status as well... Yet, the cat was now out of the bag whether they liked it or not. They had to compose with that from now on.

- Now, your identity is out but your problems are definitely far from being solved, aren’t they? How are you – no, we – supposed to proceed?

In reaction to his new questions, Bianca looked at him with a tired look he had never seen before and let out a loud sigh while slowly rubbing her hands together, lips slightly pinched. Malleus was familiar with that gesture: she was fully focusing on all of the parameters they had to figure out the most efficient course of action.

- Right now... Right now only you and Erico – the person you saw, he’s my mother’s assistant -, only you two know what’s going on with my identity. I guess the priority right now is for me to move somewhere else, this place is compromised.

- What about him, then? He’s bringing fake bones to your home. Your mother is a well-known alchemist; I don’t doubt she will fully be capable to see through your trick. Do you think you could face her?

- Honestly? I... I doubt I’ll ever be able to really face her. Not with the erratic nature of my magic.

- You’ve been putting your magic to good use almost daily, ever since we met –

- And most of what you saw are perfectly reasonable spells. If I were to face my mother, I’d have to resort to a full use of my Unique Magic, this is where trouble begins for me.

As they were talking, Malleus felt the tension in his brows abate along with his initial hurt. Rather than feeling put off by her secrecy, he appreciated the fact that it was done not out of malice, but to keep him out of trouble. For that reason, he decided to close the initial distance between them and felt his heart tighten when he saw Bianca lower her eyes, an uneasy look on her face. Her usually soft tone sounded more stifled when she spoke again.

- Malleus... I’m sorry I lied to you like that...

- And the situation has been clarified. Don’t worry about that now – besides, we have to find a new place for you, among other things.

He gave her a gentle smile, then they went back to her hiding place to tidy things up and ready themselves to move. He came back more regularly in the nights that followed – an event rare enough to be noted, considering the risks he was willingly taking -, to help her out, talk about her reasons for doing what she was doing, as well as to simply keep her company. He also discovered the full extent of her magical abilities during one of these nights.

They had decided from a common agreement that, to increase her safety, Bianca would get some help in the improvement of her defensive magic. As expected, the Gift inherited from the Green Man was a powerful magic – powerful, but highly finicky and unpredictable. Bianca explained how she would usually work: her Unique Magic, Forest Queen, would work as the concept of a territory and she would select a manageable area – usually herself and maybe a radius around herself. From there, the summons inherent to her Unique Magic would come forth as she called them. However, that’s where the full extent of the Gift would strike: with a territory large enough, the land around her would twist and quickly turn into a deep, dark forest. In the mean time, the unpredictability of that magical source would translate into random effects that would affect Bianca and her spells. It could be happy accidents, such as the twinning of a spell, or unpleasant ones such as getting trapped in her own thorns – she had shown him the scars it had already caused her in the past. And despite his own magical abilities, Malleus couldn’t help feeling unsettled whenever he looked at her forest, seeping with something ancient. It was only an impression, but as soon as he laid his eyes on it, he had a terrible feeling that going in there would be a terrible idea. The feeling towards most of her summons was similar, Ire and Dread, the towering antlered creature and the beautiful yet threatening black horse, being the ones eliciting the strongest impression of imminent doom to him.

However, for all the fright her Unique Magic could conjure, there was also the amazement at seeing the world dance with her as she moved, followed by a new wilderness at each step. For him whose magic would be naturally inclined towards destruction through fire and lightning, these magical feats were compelling. Even though there was a natural weakness to fire-related magic, the renewing ability of that ability was intriguing. Yet, it also came with the most unpleasant limitation: a heavy use of Bianca’s magical energy, something that already required her attention as it seemed she was prone to blotting. But as long as they remained careful about it, they could exchange blows; it would never fail to make Malleus’ heart leap, seeing someone who didn’t fear his magic and would even be willing to discuss with him through spells. Such an event was so rare it made the entire situation even more precious to him, and he wanted to cherish and nurture it.

Under blue moon, she disappeared. When Malleus arrived, it was already far too late, the place was cold and empty, save for some partially thrashed objects. The night following the first attack, she had explained what she was running away from, and as he was taking in the now abandoned place, Malleus knew that despite his help, she had failed to face her mother. The thought was enough to give birth to a cold guilt, somewhere deep within him. Even though his rational side dictated that he had done what he could at his level, that he couldn’t predict this event, that him getting directly involved in that fight would only have made everything worse – even for himself -... He still couldn’t help feeling guilty for not having been there. The weeks that followed were spent in a strange haze, during which he did what he needed to do out of habit, yet his thoughts were somewhere else – a manor marked with a foliate face, ink black hair, amber eyes and crimson lips. His constant daydreaming was only broken when a large bird with eyes like pale fire and obsidian feathers found its way to the window of his bedroom. Malleus quickly recognised Sly, the bird-like summon. A smart one that definitely deserved its name. It could sing, imitate voices and create charms to distract its victims. However, this time it seemed it had been used for the considerably mundane and charmingly old fashioned task of bringing a letter.

“M. My mother took me back home. I tried my best, but I think the fear she invokes still got the better of me. I am not allowed to have a phone – among many things -, so I’m afraid a messenger bird will be the best option to keep contact with you. I hope you are well. – B. PS: no need to give him food or water.”

The handwriting had more sharpness to it than what its overall fairly round letters let on at first sight – the extended verticals were most indicative of it. The paper had a delicate, green floral scent that was unmistakable. His hearts beating in excitement, Malleus read the letter five more times before taking some stationary material and preparing his reply.

“B. I can’t believe you are asking me how I am doing when I’m the one who should be asking you how you are faring. I’m sorry I couldn’t be – can’t be – there for you. Is there anything I can do?- M. PS: exchanging letters like that is charmingly old fashioned. It also has a better chance of reply from me, since it looks like my magic doesn’t always agree with more modern means of communication.”

After having closed the letter with a non-descript seal, Malleus approached the black bird, which quietly held a foot so he could bind the letter to it before silently flying away. Thus started an epistolary exchange between Bianca and him, during which he made sure to carefully store all of her letters so he could occasionally take a look at them. However, this too was put to an end by Crimilde Bosconero.

“M., I think this will be the last letter between us for a while. I’m sorry things have come to that, but you know I don’t want you to be needlessly involved in my personal mess. I’ll try to figure a new way out, I’ll let you know as soon as it happens. In the mean time, please take good care of yourself. I love you. – B.”

Malleus felt something twist in him as he read the letter, worry over her situation getting mixed with the elation caused by the last words in her letter. He immediately proceeded to work on what would be his last reply, in which he chose to pour his own feelings for the sake of clarity and as a promise to her. The surprisingly hopeful tone of Bianca’s last letter motivated Malleus to be patient and keep going, chasing away the unpleasant thoughts by remembering the feeling of her body against his, how he would lean in her gentle touch when she’d caress his cheek. And while it wasn’t exactly what he’d call the greatest time of his life, his patience still led to an unforeseen surprise on the day the carriage meant to take him to Night Raven College arrived. While he thought only Lilia and him would pass the coffin-shaped door, he was instead surprised to see a small silhouette with ink black hair appear as well. As soon as they saw each other, they almost made a move to join in an embrace, but held back as Lilia was giving them both a curious look – yet spared a comment or, more likely, thought it as hard as possible but chose not to embarrass Lady Bosconero out of politeness. Malleus knew some questions would be asked later, in private, now that Lilia had the missing piece regarding his pupil’s curious behaviour.

Under blue moon, they met again. It happened a few days after they had both settled in their dorm and in their new rhythm of life. Malleus couldn’t tell if it was the privacy of their tête-à-tête, the fact that they could finally see each other again, or maybe a bit of both, but Bianca openly displaying her emotions as she sought his embrace and started crying had his heart skip a beat. At that moment, he was fully hit by the degree of trust she had in him, even after all this time forcefully apart. She had yet to explain what had happened once all communication stopped abruptly, but judging by her reaction it had been difficult for her. Malleus decided to not press her with questions for now and silently offered the safe comfort of his arms instead, breathing her in and wishing for that moment to last forever, his fingers tangled in hair covered with pale flowers.

Throughout their first school year, even though they were in different classes and different dorms, it felt like they were offered a perfect opportunity to get to see each other on a nearly daily basis, in a setting that allowed less secrecy. It gave Malleus the occasion to fully discover new sides to Bianca, as she was not only being around him, but being around other people as well. There was still a form of amazement at seeing her skilfully deal with the very same people who expressed fear just by looking at him. This very situation also seemed to be a source of concern to her, as she wouldn’t hesitate to include him whenever they had joint classes, when most people would leave him behind. Still, most people - some of his classmates seemed to not really care about whom he was, some would even occasionally try to have their bit of fame on Magicam when he was around. So Malleus would regularly reassure Bianca that she didn’t need to worry about him – she already had enough on her plate and he didn’t feel like burdening her further. Indeed, she had started hatching a new plan to cut free from her family, a plan involving legal means that’d be harder to discuss – and would ensure her mother’s tractability. Malleus was of two minds about the whole situation. On one hand, he wanted her to finally be free to live her life the way she wanted; on the other hand, completely burning bridges with her family may endanger a future he wished to share with her, deep inside of him. However, all too aware of the stubbornness she might show if he started arguing, especially considering how both of them were involved in this issue and how determined she was to protect his name and title by keeping him out of what she deemed private dirty laundry, he decided to bypass the issue by directing her to Lilia for advices on legal recourses. After all, his chaperone was definitely old enough to have both the knowledge and the ability to take a step back on her situation, and he knew that she would listen to him – if only out of respect for his status and the insight he could provide.

However, directing Bianca towards Lilia was only the first step in his personal plan to settle the dispute between mother and daughter. He still had to tread carefully if he wanted to keep Bianca by his side without antagonising House Bosconero – which would be a terrible move potentially affecting the diplomacy of the Valley of Thorns. As his third year started, he had the pleasure to see her come back with some interesting news; she had managed to cut lose Crimilde’s influence over her – at the cost of a debt and the loss of any financial privileges, which he had in mind to deal with himself, but without completely destroying her relationship with her family. Now, the subtle part of the plan was slowly starting, requiring him to act as a mediator. For someone like him, that would inspire fear in most people yet didn’t excel in reading their heart, it felt like quite the challenge to undertake... But this year had started with certain curious events, which made him consider that the months to come would be unusual and full of surprises. It could constitute an excellent learning experience.

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #OC #bianca bosconero #malleus draconia #still very nervous about posting this #I really hope I did Dragon Goth bf justice #thoughts and prayer my guys thoughts and prayer #it shouldn't be as long as Bianca's POV I was thinking #hahaha what a fool I was #it's almost as long jfc

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hullohullo1111 · 4 years

Text

cast me aside

Demon!Jumin x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, mentions of abuse (not from Jumin), biblical references, blasphemy

“And the Spirit expressly speaketh, that in later times shall thee fall away from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits and teachings of demons.”

- 1 Timothy 4:1

It was the Sabbath when you fell.

“Heed my warnings, you insolent child!”

The priest’s roar could rouse even the most deaf of people. Your sister of 7 was trembling in your embrace, pitiful whimpers wracking her small body. He paid no mind to it, seemed to enjoy it even.

“If thou insist on playing such games, thou shall be taken away, not by our Father, yet by the Devil whom tempts thou!”

“W-We understand, father! Please, no more! The poor girl is scared!”

He scoffed, looking at his kneeling daughters with distaste.

“So be it,” he hissed. “But remember what I hast said. Or I shall strike some sense into thy skulls.” He raised a hand and watched with pleasure as you flinch.

When the priest had left your room, your sister wept with sorrow, her fragile heart so close to breaking.

“Sister,” she sobbed. Tiny, grubby hands grabbed at the rags you wore, wringing it in her fists. “Sister, I did not mean to. I did not know, I did not know!”

“Young one,” you said in a soft breath, grabbing her face to peer into her beady little eyes. You shushed her, gentle. “What did that old woman give you? Tell me, now. What has made father so angry?”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “The witch granted me a book. A book that’d grant me wishes, she said.” She wailed, then, pointing at the open book before them. “‘T-Twere a book of evil! Filled with Lucifer’s teachings!”

You sucked in a breath that quivered. Lucifer? What heartless witch would bestow such evil upon a child? You kept your head high. You mustn't show her how fearful her words had made you.

You clicked your tongue, wiping her tears with your dirty thumbs. “Foolish child,” you berated her, looking upon her with strict but fond eyes. “Father was right. You should not be playing with such things.”

“I will not! Never again, I promise!” You pressed a kiss upon her forehead and stroked her hair, ignoring the oil that clung to your fingers.

“Good girl,” you cooed. She seemed comforted, a smile on her small face, and your worries were soothed. With her tears gone and heart intact, you moved to stand. “Now then…” You swatted at your dress, ridding it of dust. “Run along, dear girl. Get ready for supper.”

“... Will father be joining us?” You heard the hope in her voice and smiled, bitter. You held a hand out to her.

“No, it is the Sabbath. He will not be joining us.”

She squealed in delight, taking your hand to pull herself up. “I will go set the table!”

You wished she could always be this happy.

She had paused then, standing by the door. Something about her tensed body made your stomach twist. “Wh-What will you do with the book?”

You looked to the book. A faint whisper of warning tickled your ears.

“I will burn it and we will speak no more of this.”

It was near midnight.

All was asleep in your home except you.

You who stood at the stove with the book in your hands. The fire crackled within its confines, warm light dancing amongst your face. You had a job to do.

But why do your hands remain still?

Why do they clutch this book, this blasphemous book, as if it were sacred?

“You must,” you hissed, quiet and urgent.

You willed yourself to throw it, to even lift it, and yet, you could not. Your chest heaved with unsteady breaths. “Why do you hesitate so?“

Nothing felt right in that moment. Your body felt much too heavy, much too tense.

“Why am I-“

‘Open it.’

A whisper.

Behind you, from within the darkness that shadowed the room.

And yet, you could not turn around. Was it the terror? Had the terror struck you so hard that you could not move? Had the darkness overwhelmed you?

‘Open it,’ it whispered again, closer this time. You felt tears fill your eyes.

‘Open.’

“No,” you croaked.

‘Open. Open. Open. Open. OPENOPENOPENOPENOPEN.“

Your mouth opened to scream but no voice came out. You could hear them all around you, these incessant whispers, their desperate screams. You wished to cry, you wished to call for help.

They were laughing now. You felt the cold surround you.

‘Then I will open it.’

Your hands, your cursed hands, threw the book to the floor and you watched, horrified as the book fell open. The yellowed page stared back at you. Etched into the paper was a head, scribbled in dark ink.

Horns. A beast. A horrendous, wicked thing.

You shrieked but no sound escaped.

Then the pages moved, turning and turning, nothing but yellow blurs, flipping, flipping-

Stop.

The only sound left was the crackling fire.

You fell to your knees, shaking hands entwined.

And you prayed.

“Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil,” you whispered, a frantic, desperate prayer. Can God hear your anguish?

“May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou-“

Will God save you now?

“O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.”

Will God love you now?

“Amen.”

Another voice, different, but no less terrifying.

Something moved behind you, a faint breath tickling your neck.

You whimpered.

“Little lamb,” it called, so gentle you could almost cry. “Tell me, what has frightened you so?” Low and rich, a voice filled with promises and saccharine love. A voice fit for a devil.

Your breath hitched when you heard its footsteps, the sound of hooves click-clacking on the ground. You felt it stand beside you and, from the corner of your eye, you see them. Their darkness shines, reflecting the flame’s light off their curved bodies.

Horns...

A beast.

A horrendous, wicked thing.

You shut your eyes and bowed your head, a tear trickling down your cheek.

“Even if I shall walk in the valleys of the shadows of death, I will not be afraid of evil, because you are with me,” you muttered, hoping and hoping. “Your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”

“And yet, you are afraid.” A hand grabbed your chin and you gasped at the feeling of the beast’s claws. “Where is your God to comfort you now? Hm?”

“G-Glory be to the Father-“ Its hand caressed your cheek and your breath stuttered from how human it felt. “And to the Son-“ Another hand, stroking your hair, and you choked from the tenderness. “T-To the Holy Ghos-“

“Look upon me, my lamb,” it murmured, and you ceased your prayer. “Open your eyes.”

Warm lips skim your wet cheek. You felt as though your body was held captive again, but it was different.

There was no chill to surround you. Only a comforting warmth, holding you in its embrace.

Your eyes fluttered open and you found, not a beast, but half of one. Dark hair framing a pale, chiseled face. Eyes void of light, as if a silent abyss resided inside them. His lips were a pale pink, a soft petal. He smiled and you wondered how such an angel could ever be cast out.

‘Ah,’ you thought. ‘So this is temptation.’

“Are you still afraid?” He stroked your cheek and you flinched as his claws lightly scratched your skin.

“Wh-Why have you come here, demon?”, you spat, venom seeping into your words.

“Demon?” he chuckled. “Is there no end to these names? Demon, Lucifer, Deceiver, Serpent…” He drew closer to you. Closer and closer, until you could do nothing but look into those dark eyes. “I’d rather be called Jumin.”

“I did not ask for your name.” You were quivering, but you refused to show the demon any more of your weakness. “I asked for your purpose here.”

Jumin’s smile lacked warmth. “My purpose?”

He leaned in, his hot breath fanning your lips and you dared not breathe. “I’ve come to take you, my sacrificial lamb.” He kissed you, the vile thing. Godless. Heinous.

You wished to drown in him.

His hands staked their claim on your body, brushing across your breasts, your hips, your ass. You shivered from his light touch. You’ve indulged in sin before, but never had it felt as rewarding as this. You remembered awkward, sweaty hands squeezing at your clothed body, inexperienced and uncomfortable.

But Jumin wasn’t anything like that choir boy. His touch sought to ruin you, to drive you mad from depravity. Not even God could save you now.

He tasted of ambrosia and felt like heaven, an angel made to sin. You kissed him desperately, savoring each press and pull of his lips. He clutched you tight to his body, claws ripping holes into your tattered dress. You could spend an eternity kissing him.

Jumin pulled himself from you and you felt as though you could die. “My darling,” he cooed. “It’s time to go.” You had no chance to question him before his lips were on yours again.

Darkness had befallen around you but all you felt was Jumin. His heady kisses. A tongue at the seam of your lips. His hot breaths.

Until you could feel nothing at all.

You dreamt of a happy life, filled with love and warmth. Where your sister laughed and played under the sun. Where your father was left to a rot in a grave.

Of having romance, someone to sweep you off your feet, someone to pray with, to love with all your might.

You dreamt of black hair and darker eyes. Pink lips, a soft petal. A voice that promised an eternity. An angel.

Have you finally found salvation?

You’ve only ever felt silk when you were a child. You remembered running your hands along the fabric, soft and cool to the touch.

Your little face had beamed with awe. You’ve never touched something so luxurious.

But now, as your eyes opened and your haze-filled head cleared, all you felt was silk. The blankets, the sheets, all was made from the lustrous fabric, and you relished its gentle chill. When you moved to sit, you noticed then that you were bare for all the world to see. Your naked body, once covered with dirt and grime, was now clean and you marvelled at your smooth skin.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You shrieked as Jumin appeared from the shadows and you hurried to cover yourself with the blanket. “Wh-Where have you taken me?”, you whimpered, moving away from him. “Why am I n-naked?” He said nothing, only watched as you trembled and hid yourself from him.

His leering stare excited you as much as it terrified you, creating a dizzying concoction that made your head spin.

“Home,” he said, and your heart stopped. “I’ve brought you home.”

“This is not my ho-”

“Ah, but it is.” His hands clutched your shoulders, gripping tight. “We made a deal, did we not?” That smile, that damned deceitful smile. “In exchange for your sister’s happiness and your father’s death, you gave yourself to me.”

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You felt as though you were choking, grasping for words to say. “I-I never agreed to that!”, you protested, clutching at his shoulders. “I never said-!”

“You did not need to say anything, my dear.” He sounded as though he were comforting a deranged animal. “Your heart said it all. Did we not kiss? Did you not cling to me like a bitch in heat?” You flinched, but still you refused to acknowledge his words.

You shook your head, over and over, gasping for air. “No, no, no!”, you cried. “Lies! You speak only lies!”

“Tell me little lamb, have I ever lied to you? Do you deny your heart’s wishes? Our kiss?” You were quiet, but it was enough of an answer.

Jumin wiped the tears that trickled from your eyes and pressed a kiss to your forehead as if to reward you. Your frayed heart ached. “Will she truly be happy?”, you rasped.

“Yes.”

The emptiness inside you grew. You did not wish to leave your sister behind, you wanted to stay with her, not watch on as she lived her life without you. Even the thought of it felt much too lonely. “Will I… Be happy?” The words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“Do you wish to be happy?” Upon your sluggish nod, Jumin kissed your lips. You could not bring yourself to return his affection. “Then,” he placed his hand over your eyes. “I will make you happy.”

When the shadows enveloped you, you did not pray to God.

Perhaps, there was no God to begin with.

You’ve lost track of your days spent in Jumin’s bed, nor could you remember the life you had before him. All you knew was his touches, his eternal love.

It was all you needed.

You never asked for anything more. He adored your docile demeanor, sought to sear his love into your body whenever he could.

“You can be more greedy. Much more greedy.”, he murmured, pushing your legs apart. You did not resist, always so obedient and pliant for him.

Sharp teeth scraped the soft skin of your inner thighs, a shuddering gasp leaving your spit-slicked lips. “J-Ju-“

“Shh...” His wicked tongue licked up your wet slit, slow and painful. You whined and grasped at the horns buried in his satin hair, tugging gently in hopes he will give you what you desire. He laughed at this, a deep rumble that shook you to the very core.

“You can act like a baby to me,” he whispered, the sweetest voice to ever grace your ears. His eyes, black as night, watched your every move, your every expression.

#jumin #jumin han #mystic messenger imagines #mystic messenger #mysme #my writing

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stiltonbasket · 4 years

Note

Xichen as Lord Mercy and his first meeting with Xie Lian?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648546

Three days before the summer solstice, Xie Lian meets an amnesiac god of healing in the streets of Puji Village.

The first time Xie Lian met the new Lord Mercy, the two of them had been summoned to the same house; Xie Lian in his capacity as the guardian of children, and Lord Mercy as the most powerful god of healing the heavens had ever seen. A child in Puqi Village had fallen ill, and her mother lit one stick of incense to Xie Lian and one for the deity currently kneeling at the little girl’s side, reassuring her parents that she would be perfectly well again after drinking the panacea he brought along.

“It seems I wasn’t needed this time,” Xie Lian says with a soft laugh, after he and Lord Mercy say their goodbyes and leave the cobbler’s cottage behind them. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Mercy.”

Lord Mercy smiles and bows to him. “Taizi dianxia would have done just as well, in my place.”

Xie Lian studies the other god’s back as they walk back up the road together, neither with any clear idea of where they might be going; Xie Lian can return to his husband and two baby daughters at Paradise Manor with a toss of the dice in his pocket, of course, so he he doesn’t need to walk anywhere, but Lord Mercy doesn’t seem to have anything to do just now—so where could he be going, when his home is in the upper courts with the rest of the heavenly officials?

“Lord Mercy?” he ventures. “Where are you...do you have any more prayers to fulfill, after this?”

“Not at present, dianxia, but the work of a healing official is never done. I expect to have another within the next two shichen, at most.”

He must have prayers spoken in his name night and day, Xie Lian thinks; and with good reason, because Xie Lian can tell that Lord Mercy is quite possibly the most powerful deity he has ever met, save for perhaps Jun Wu in his prime. Most gods look human in their primary forms, but Lord Mercy looks more like a celestial prince from the books Xie Lian used to read in his childhood than anything else—his skin seems to throw off a faint silver glow even in the full light of day, and his features are so very beautiful that they surpass even Shi Qingxuan after a visit to the cosmetics lounge in one wing of San Lang’s manor, with large brown eyes like a doe’s and a fine, soft nose and forehead, paired with a long veil of thick black hair which Lord Mercy wears completely unbound, for some reason. Even Hua Cheng has the one thin braid tied off with Xie Lian’s red earring, but Lord Mercy’s hair falls freely down his back without so much as a ribbon to keep it in place.

And then, of course, there are Lord Mercy’s fine robes, which glitter under the morning sun like garments fashioned from pure starlight, which lingers in the folds of his gown whenever he stirs, or takes a step. He carries his healing instrument in one hand, the famous cracked-ice Liebing—which is actually made of a piece of cracked ice, harder than diamond and so sweet to the ear that the sick child they tended in the village fell straight into a soothing, restoring sleep the moment she first heard it.

His mellow companion is a very powerful god indeed, and not for the first time, Xie Lian wonders where he could have come from, or why no one in the heavens seems to know anything about him.

“You needn’t call me by my old title, you know,” he says, after a brief lull. “The kingdom I was to rule has been gone these past eight centuries, and no one really calls me dianxia except for my husband now. And he was from Xian Le, too, so I went by that name when he first met me.”

“Then what shall I call Your Highness instead?” Lord Mercy returns, slowing his pace so that Xie Lian catches a fleeting glimpse of his feet—which are both bare, oddly enough, though completely unstained by the soft yellow dust of the road. “Taizi dianxia was the name I was given when I was told there was a second heavenly official who might answer the cobbler’s prayer for his child.”

“My given name is good enough. Call me Xie Lian,” Xie Lian suggests. “Hardly anyone uses it in my presence, only when conversing about me.”

Lord Mercy frowns at him, just barely. “In the clan where I came from, gossip was strictly forbidden, especially unkind gossip. You ought not to be slighted so, Xie Lian.”

And then he stops short in the middle of the street and bows to Xie Lian again, with a strange look of remorse on his noble face that draws Xie Lian to a halt, too. “But I have no given name to give you in exchange, I am afraid. Lord Mercy is the only name I know, and in all likelihood the only name I will ever know again.”

Xie Lian blinks. “How can such a thing be? Was it a memory-stealing demon? I fell prey to one many years ago, but I managed to regain my memories when I defeated the beast—perhaps a party could be sent out to recover yours, too?”

“Oh, nothing so serious as that,” the other god assures him, with a warm note in his voice that reminds Xie Lian very much of his mother, and the way he would cuddle down in her lap when he was very small and wanted to be fussed over after a bad dream. “I was told that when I ascended, I requested the Mistress of Dreams to wipe many of my memories, and keep them on my behalf. I retained my knowledge of my family, of my uncle and my brother and my brother’s husband, and my children and grandchildren...but it seems that I knew a great deal of grief in that life, though I was dearly loved, and left much of it behind.

“The memories are there if I should ever want them again, but I chose to abandon even my own name, so I suppose there must have been a good reason for it. I wish I could offer you a better explanation, but that is all I know.”

“Oh, you mustn’t worry,” Xie Lian hurries to say, patting Lord Mercy’s arm. “We all have things from our pasts that we wish to forget, don’t we? Goodness knows I do, and so does my husband, and even Shi Qingxuan—though I suppose you wouldn’t know Qingxuan, unless you’ve been back to the heavens recently.”

Lord Mercy considers for a moment. “Is she the Lady Wind Master, the one who ascended a second time after being cast down? I saw her briefly in Ling Wen’s palace, though I have not returned to the upper courts since.”

“Yes, that’s Qingxuan! You ought to go to him if you’re ever in trouble, you know—he is one of the dearest friends I’ve ever had, and loyal to a fault.”

Xie Lian would have said more about Shi Qingxuan and her many virtues, if only because Lord Mercy looks in desperate need of a good friend, and Shi Qingxuan always likes making new ones, even though she spends most of her time with the Blood Sword Master Nie Mingjue, these days—but then the two dice in his pocket light up in a wordless message from his husband, which probably means that one of the children needs him back at Paradise Manor.

“My San Lang has sent a message, so I must go back to the Ghost Realm,” he says, laughing shyly as Lord Mercy gives him a knowing glance and a little parting wave. “We have two little ones, you know, and they always cry when I leave them behind at home for too long.”

Lord Mercy considers him for a moment, and then smiles again.

“Your third baby is quite strong, you know,” he calls, just as Xie Lian picks the dice up and tosses them onto the ground. “I can feel her all the way from here—she will be as healthy and sound as anyone could wish, when she is born.”

Xie Lian feels his cheeks burn scarlet at the mention of the precious little soul-fire currently nestled under his heart, but he lifts his hand to wave back, all the same.

“Thank you, Lord Mercy!” Xie Lian shouts, just before the enchanted dice whisk him back to his family. “Let’s meet again soon, all right?”

(His companion disappears too quickly for Xie Lian to hear his answer, but he thinks he knows what it must be, all the same.)

#tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #xie lian #hualian #lan xichen #the untamed #my fic

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wrathofthewind · 3 years

Text

viii. Ash

A thin blade came to rest near the young woman’s throat, so that should she dare move an inch her main artery would be instantly sliced. But when the girl took another step it was as if the skin cracked like paper, and nothing came out. Tyssen didn’t notice this detail and, just as she was about to leap forward and take hold of Arnalt, the blade swiftly tore through her like a bolt of lightning.

Arnalt barely screamed “NO!”, before that entire body crumpled and cracked and suddenly burst into shreds floating all over the room while a flurry of powder sprung from her throat like a fountain, where the blood should’ve been. Arnalt had barely woken up, with no time to rush to Pallax or Tyssen’s side and cover their mouths, himself taking a gulp of the powder and coughing incessantly.

“What—cough—sire!” Pallax shouted.

It was like a hurricane had been unleashed within the tiny room and metal and wood clang and danced, the table with scissors and needles lifting and forcing Arnalt to jump from the bed towards the far stone wall, holding his shoulder with one hand.

All three instinctively closed their eyes. The illusion soon broke, the powder stopped slamming against their throats, and the body standing like a mass of crinkled parchment simply collapsed on the ground.

“This is—!” Arnalt wanted to explain but the quality of the air quickly changed and suddenly they were enveloped in a blue mist.

Tyssen and Pallax looked at each other, with Pallax being the first one to slam a palm to his face in annoyance. He gruffly mumbled. “Gala.”

Tyssen looked pale. Arnalt quickly comforted him. “It’s alright, it’s not your fault, that…” he looked at where the “girl” had been. “That was her best puppet yet.”

“I—“ Tyssen was shaking, feeling both responsible and the most afraid. Arnalt understood. The one most susceptible to Gala’s formidable spell would always be Tyssen, it was the nature of those with the most regrets, the most secrets in their heart, and the most painful pasts to bear. Tyssen had all three in spades. Arnalt never dared ask too much about Tyssen’s upbringing or how he’d lived before he came to train at his palace. But he knew enough by the shadow cast on his face to not pry. And the last time Gala had done this cruelty, Tyssen had been found curled up and shuddering, his arms scratched bloody by his own nails as he wailed in a corner.

“It’s just one of us that has to get through the maze, it’s alright if you stay here Tyssen.” Arnalt controlled his coughs.

“Sire, I should be the one to go this time, you’re injured.” Pallax squeezed Tyssen’s shoulder, which Arnalt found a bit rare, and started heading towards the door which now glowed in a faint purple light, or a deeper blue than the mist in the room. It was hard to tell, Arnalt’s eyes felt itchy and blurry, but he still shook his head resolutely and walked to block Pallax.

“This is just because of me, you two have nothing to do with it. Gala’s angry, you know how she gets.”

Tyssen was still shaking slightly, looking down with his fists clenched.

Pallax continued, “why would she be mad this time? You lost! Ithana won!”

Arnalt chuckled slightly and winced with the pain in his shoulder. “I still hurt her didn’t I?”

It had been subtle, barely there, but when that one hit had connected and Ithana widened her eyes slightly and praised him, her fingers vibrating at the impact before she applied full force and sent him flying to the other side of the arena, Arnalt knew that she’d only acted like it was nothing. To the outside world, it was as if he’d barely gotten one solid, but still useless, hit. In fact, he’d soundly cracked one of her spiritual veins, and the force she’d used to shove him was precisely because she’d freaked out so bad. The whole time, she’d been slightly afraid that he’d managed to do that. With the King present, with her own name on the line, she’d then been so brutal to his arm but at least let him keep it. The injury hurt but it would heal eventually.

And sure, it wasn’t the time to feel cocky, but it’s not like he hadn’t improved and was glad he could finally show it to her, even if it meant that now Gala was enraged.

He opened the door and a hallway, endlessly white beckoned him. “It doesn’t seem to be a nightmare this time, just a mirage or something. I’ll go ahead and as soon as I solve the maze, we’ll return.” He glanced at Tyssen. “Pallax, take care.” … of him, he wanted to finish, but didn’t have to. Pallax nodded and put a single arm around Tyssen, even more concerned than what Arnalt had anticipated. He wanted to ask some questions when he returned.

Arnalt passed through the threshold of that door and was immediately spirited into a familiar mirage. His palace, near the kitchens, next to the training grounds. A long figure stood in the center practicing his form. His lips curled up a bit, and he leaned against the wall to watch.

“Alright Gala, I know you’re angry but think about my arm? Ithana paid me back tenfold, she should be fine after ten days, but what about me?” He spoke absent-mindedly to the air, chuckling slightly at the sight of Marius, again, tripping over a complicated combination and falling on his face. Another thin chuckle erupted to the side and he found a younger version of himself was also leaning against the opposite wall, his face equally rapt with the sight.

He hadn’t seen what his face looked like when he was appraising Marius, but now that he could stare, he found that it was a little bit cold, a little bit wicked, and a tiny bit soft. It was jarring to see himself this way. He knew which memory Gala was plucking this dream from, though he didn’t know why.

Suddenly his face turned sour, and in a minute, he would see that sour expression reflected on his younger self.

Footsteps approached and a few people clad in the most exquisite of attires surrounded Marius. The boy was still trying to get his bearings when a the practice sword he was using got swiped abruptly from his hand and broken clean in two.

“Arnalt, what is the meaning of this?” A deep, velvety voice calmly drifted to his younger self. “Sword arts? Since when do our servants practice sword arts?”

“I gave him permission.” A young Arnalt replied.

“Your permission has no authority when I’m here.” This person, whose voice became deeper and richer the more he lowered it, forcing everyone into an uncomfortable silence just to hear him, was a member of the High Council; the one known as Phoenix Rain, the words on his hilt spelling out clearly “Rebirth”—his Highness the crown prince, Ronan.

“Whatever punishment you might have for him should still fall on me.” That younger self of his walked firmly to stand in front of the even younger Marius, who at that point was wide-eyed and shaking. No wonder. Ronan was a large man, the shadow of a beard always clinging to his wide square chin, a scar on his eye and long refined nose did the bare minimum to give him a human appearance, because the rest were harsh lines like a carved gargoyle. He looked endlessly bored and naturally malicious. His armor was a second skin and though he didn’t wear it now, even the casual robes he wore to take a stroll somehow glinted like metal and chain. Upon closer look, it wasn’t too far off. Ronan wore a chainmail frock, casual, aware, that any moment someone might strike from the inner family and claim the title… just as he had.

“Boy, I could crush your skull.”

“I’m no threat to you brother, I’m not even a top ten contender, so just how satisfying would that be?” Arnalt realized his younger self did indeed look overly presumptuous and cocky.

“You dare call me that.” Ronan wouldn’t humor him by repeating it. In a flash, this dear older “brother” of his struck him so hard with the back of his palm Arnalt coughed blood on the floor and had to choke back his sobs. Marius had immediately rushed forward, like a tiny beast and Ronan simply lifted him by the neck and threw him soundly towards the well. With a bump he bounced off the edge and into the orifice. Arnalt heard the scratches and bangs before he splashed below.

“He looked a little thirsty. Consider that generous.” Ronan wiped his hands. “Arnalt, I know the Opal favors you, and Father looks away because you have that precious face of yours… but I won’t tolerate your breaking the Azurian mandates. Your mercy keeps the Kurian alive, but that doesn’t mean he’ll want to live when I’m through.”

Arnalt, the present one, hadn’t noticed when his fists clenched so ruthlessly his nails broke skin. He felt the blood on his hands. He abhorred this memory.

He’d been powerless to stand and do anything and was only praying that Marius knew how to swim.

It was then that his attention was drawn to the young maid who came over and bowed deeply to the prince. “Magnanimous Lord, Light of the Eastern Aurora, your guest has arrived.”

Ronan shifted his tunic slightly and gave her a sweeping glance, then turned with his retinue and was on his way. All Arnalt remembered after that were some fuzzy noises, some “quickly, quickly!” And the sound of rope, pulling and heaving. But watching the scene unfold and gradually turn grey as his consciousness faded, he realized his mind retained more information than he’d thought. Like the fact that this maid looked awfully familiar…

He saw her call over others but no one dared to come. Saw her lift his young body and carry him to a wooden bench, laying him there carefully, softly placing a wet compress on his head. Saw the “splash” he remembered, as she took a rope and dived into the well. Moments later she brought out a crying Marius. She was soaked to the bone and heaving. He’d thought others had come, but it turns out no one had helped her. And the last thing he remembers, the last thing he heard… “You, come here.” His brother’s voice before he’d passed out.

Her face. It was the same face of that puppet in the medical room that burst like paper and turned to ash.

His soul turned cold. This was definitely a mirage maze.

But this was not done by Gala.

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jafndaegur · 5 years

Text

As Real as the Sound of Your Name on His Lips

Zen x MC/ 2nd POV MC?/ 2nd POV You???

a/n: oh my gosh. oh my gosh. IT IS 2AM. this is literally all @mrs-han and @anon-drabble‘s fault. I have never written s m u t before...at least not posted publicly ^^” Ever. But then we just had to talk about my beloved Hyun Ryu. And the rest is history.

N👏S👏F👏W papapapapas~ after the break. Enjoy??? I’m sorry if it’s bad ROFL OTL

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Soft light from fairy-lights gleamed in the garden patio, and the stars winking pleasantly from the other side of the wooden awning helped the already warm aura. Ivy and magnolias draped along the rafters and down the sides, surrounding everyone in soft greens and pale cremes. Even as you buried your nose into the knit of your turtle neck, you couldn’t help your hidden smile. Your hands fiddled with a bottle of beer, one of Zen’s favorite craft brews, while you stared out with a watery gaze.

All of the RFA was there. Jaehee sat towards the back of the pavillion, chatting pleasantly with Yoosung while gingerly sipping at her can of beer. Likewise, the sunshine college student was nursing a soda, his smile radiant and proud as he gestured towards the decorations on the tables.

The two had worked together with you, trucking through weeks of preparation to make sure all of the adornments for your special night looked beautiful. There were thin waxy petals, which mirrored the hanging magnolias, scattered along picnic tables. While delicate table runners, lace made, stretched the length of the three tables underneath the awning. Lanterns had been hung in the spaces unoccupied by the foliage, chasing away what little darkness had been neglected by the strands of fragile lights. Everything glowed in a blanched yellow light, pale and fleeting. Yet the flickering bloom created a tender atmosphere that caused a stutter in your heart and a catch of breath in your chest because everything glittered – surreal and yet as tangible as your friends around you.

Seven and Jumin were working diligently by the side wall, stirring and prepping the food for the dinner tonight. Your smile widened as you watched Zen nag them, his eyes narrowed as he barked out something inaudible toward the very impassive Jumin. But you watched with a fond note to remember this moment as Zen’s brother stood behind him, nodding in agreement as if to punctuate his sibling’s every word.

It seemed strange.

Zen’s older brother, standing next to your beloved. But the two, while stiff at first, seemed to work excellently against the shenanigans of magic agent 707 and cat mom CEO-in-line. Which resulted somehow in a great combination of forces towards meal preparation. With Jumin’s attention to detail and Seven’s enthusiasm, the two Hyuns had planned the next direction of work to go to.

And you felt a sense of pride blossom in your chest. There was no look of chagrin or malice in Zen’s expression, despite everything. His crimson eyes glittered with life and despite the annoyed facade, there were no worry lines in his brow or at the sides of his mouth. His acting was excellent, almost unidentifiable from his real self. But this wasn’t an act. He was as true in his actions as the day he was when he rescued you from Unknown.

Despite it all, he’d gained the confidence to reunite with his family. Despite it all, he had gone for their approval once more. Despite it all, they’d sent his brother with their blessing as an envoy, a step in the right direction. Despite it all, here you both were.

In the evening light, Zen finally made his way back to you. His smile bright and excited, while he took your hand in his. The both of you made it to the front, everyone having found their seats at the tables. A small group, a party of five. But that’s all you both needed, because in your hearts you knew this was your family. By blood or not. And they looked up at you both, ready and eager to hear the words.

Zen spoke first. “I’d like to firstly thank you all for helping us set up this little party tonight. Something where all of us can be ourselves.”

A light squeeze to your hand from the sidelong glance he gave you sent a bubble of mirth into your throat as you tried not to giggle out loud.

“Secondly,” he continued, his voice edging closer to an enthusiastic outburst. “I’m very grateful for you guys to join me and MC for our wedding dinner. Tomorrow will be a day to remember – so let’s celebrate the amazing times to come!”

- O -

The air during the walk home is crisp and breezy. It causes you to burrow closer against Zen’s side as the two of you make it back to the apartment. Footsteps fall in line with one another, the faint padding of shoes against the concrete hardly audible. Not with the pleasant and confident singing coming from your soon-to-be husband’s voice. All the noises in the city – cars honking, urban nightlife, animals and general ambiance – could not drown him out. His voice lilted along your path, providing an invisible tether to guide you while leaving a ribbon of mirth in your wake.

You smiled, gazing up at him from your hidden nook tucked against his side.

Something in his song changed.

His voice deepened, and the tune rocked with a slower rhythm. It’s beat caught the tempo of your heart and bounced it against your rib cage in slow tantalizing beats. For one quick moment, Zen’s eyes met yours. The crimson glance was coy and sultry, contrasting the innocent and almost shy smile he flashed.

But his footsteps hurried, and he guided you along with a more urgent hold around your waist.

“Did you know, jagi,” he murmured, lashes fluttering along the high arch of his cheeks as he gazed down at you, “that we would end up like this?”

“End up like how?” You cooed, your arms wrapping around his torso to draw yourself closer.

His embrace spun you around and your back was pressed up against the door. “A prince and a princess making their last walk home before their big day. One last night,” his nose nuzzled up against your cheek while his hands sought out the curves of your face. “One last night before we are as entwined as ivy, in both life and fate.”

“Hyun,” your voice whispered against the soft swell of his lips as you flicked your tongue along the part of his mouth. “Our fates have always been tangled. From day one.”

He laughed, dipping his head down further to allow for hungry kisses. His fingers gently curled into the strands of your hair while your hands found the hollow of his back by his waist. Heat encompassed you as he pressed closer, form towering and protecting you from sight. His lips eagerly seeking yours with every touch and every press and every taste.

“You’ve been practicing your vows,” he chuckled.

You huffed out a giggle. “So have you!”

“I’ll still have a few surprises for tomorrow.”

“Like what?”

Zen hummed before pulling away and unlocking the door. You stared at him in confusion. The mood had been sparked and yet, he stopped. Was he trying to reign in the beast to save it for tomorrow? The questions dug lightly into your thoughts, but before you had the chance to ask, his arms swept up under your legs and behind your shoulders.

He carried you over the threshold.

“Jagi, I have to practice all of this too – ” He closed the door with a bit of a slam, before fumbling to lock it and carrying your through the dark apartment. His nose brushed along the juncture of your neck and the hot stroke of a tongue against your collarbone had you gasping in surprise. He chided in a singsong voice, “I want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

He made it to the bedroom, easing you onto the bed with reverence and gentleness.

Slipping his coat off his shoulders and letting it fall onto the floor – he crawled over you, his body naturally caging yours against the soft comforter and sheets. “Jagi, can I?”

The expression on his face, even in the dark, looked so tender and so sincere. His eyes closed as you grazed your fingertips along the line of his jaw and over the fringes of his bangs. A soft sigh escaped your lips before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Please, Ryu.”

His shoulders trembled and his gaze returned to you. His glance looked up up and down before he hooked a finger under your chin and pulled your lips to his. He made quick and practiced work of the kiss. Easily sliding his tongue along the curve of your mouth before delving in to taste you. Your breath hitched and you opened to him, gliding your tongue alongside his as a challenge to explore more.

Zen did not protest.

His hands by now pulled up at the hem of your shirt, distancing himself for just a moment to tug your garment over your head and away. In an instant he returned to you, his hands leaving trails of goosebumps along your belly as his touch slowly made their way up towards the swell of your breasts. Your own fingers wound into his hair, tugging lightly at the long and silken strands. The grin that snuck its way to his mouth, interrupting the brush of lips, told you everything you needed to know on how to approach next.

You returned the favor from earlier, eagerly helping him out of his shirt while enjoying the sensation of his bunched shoulders beneath your palms. A shudder. Was that you or him? It didn’t matter.

His lips left a path from the arch of your jaw to the rise of your throat. Teeth grazed your skin, and you squeaked as he bit you and sucked lightly at the skin caught. Your hips arched up as you tilted your head back to give him better access to which he readily accepted. A sweep at his tongue laved at the raised skin, each bite mark followed by a soothing swirl of warm breath and Zen’s impatient adoration. Your mouth found his ear, and you whispered little things. His shoulders beneath your touch clenched and his knee ground between the part of your legs to keep your hip to the bed. Although that proved difficult. The more you promised him, whispers full of heady and carnal words, the more you found yourself slowly grinding onto his thigh – thrilled when his ministrations began to quicken with a sense of urgency. Every skim of his lips left a burning tendril along your body while his hands made quick work of your bra and pants. Most of your skin was now covered with gooseflesh as the cold air and your fiancé’s embrace continued to explore you. The entire time his voice rumbled out his encouragements, praising you and urging you on.

Something in your stomach began to coil, tight and wanting to snap, you found yourself looking for harder friction as you shamelessly grinded onto him. The flutter in your stomach though, matched the strained clench of his chest. He lowered his head and brushed a warm kiss against your puckered nipple. He lapped fervently at the rosy bud before sucking at it, a rumble reverberating in his chest.

You moaned.

Zen’s hand found your free breast, his thumb circling your other nipple in rhythm to match every lick and every tug of his mouth. When you whined at the sensation, body trembling because now the undeniable heat and wetness that came from his caress pooled from your abdomen downwards, he chuckled and traded sides, his fingers pinching and tugging at now wet skin while he attended the latter breast.

You left trails of your touch all over his skin, tracing patterns along his sides and back. Your hands stretched the span of his chest and you murmured his name over and over again. It was his name, and like this, it was only yours to say.

He broke away, brushing his lips down the bridge of your torso and belly, before he leaned back up to kiss you. “Princess, we can do whatever you’d like tomorrow. But tonight. Tonight I just want to feel you.”

You cupped his cheek and swept the pad of your thumb across his smooth skin.

“I want to know that you won’t disappear in the morning, that you’ll still be right here. That I’ll be right here with you,” his mouth moved slowly against yours, words and taste a sensuous and slow dance as he emphasized each word. “That this dream is our reality.”

You smiled into the kiss. “Forever now, Zen.”

“That’s all I want,” he murmured.

You gave your utterance of approval, helping him with the last of both your clothes.

This wasn’t the first time you’d done this together. As much as he’d tried to reel in the beast when you had first moved in with him, after a year into your relationship when you approached him first – there were no qualms on his part for being physical. You both laced together and completed each other, a timeless rhythm rocked you that had neither a start nor an end, just a comprehensible cadence that you both knew the dance to.

Zen gave a few lazy strokes to his length, kneeling between your legs with languid and flirting look to you.

His free hand helped raise your hips to meet his as he teased, sliding along your slick folds, watching as you shivered. He pressed his tip to your entrance, once and then twice, enjoying the groan of exasperation and the pout that curled onto your expression. Once he had your attention though, you noticed that glint in his eyes. That telltale glimmer of excitement and awe.

“Jagi, say my name,” he murmured.

He slipped into you, moving in slow and paced strokes, hands keeping your hips raised to meet each thrust. You arched and your hands twisted the bedsheets. His name tumbled easily through your voice, your body almost knowingly addicted and memorized to each movement he gave. You clenched around his length, relishing the low groan elicited. Matching every roll of his body with your own, you braced your hands on his abdomen. Zen’s brow furrowed and his eyes squeezed shut. By now his hair had been loosened from his normal tie, instead messily strewn over his shoulder and down his back. His teeth worried his bottom lip as his fingers clenched your hips tighter, pulling you closer as he began to thrust faster – pace changing into something more erratic and desperate. The coil in your stomach wound itself tighter. And when you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to find an angle for him to push deeper, your thoughts thickened and you breathed heavily.

The world around you was fuzzy like a blurred image, and everything except for Zen seemed dull. You were hardly aware of anything else. But Zen – your Hyun, your Ryu – stood as crisp and stark as a freshly made picture. The glisten of his sweaty skin barely visible in the dark, the faint glimpses of his silver hair as he pushed you both closer, the hefty rise and fall of his chest as he moved faster. All of it was as bright and clear and real as the sound of your name on his lips.

You cried out, a strong and deft thrust sending an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Stars glittered in your eyes and for a moment, you lost sight of him. Your body shook, a tremor following in a delicious aftershock of your release. Floating high above for just a moment, you basked in the quavering euphoria. By the time you opened your eyes, vision finally clear and sensation of your surroundings, warmth blossomed inside you while Zen gave a staggered moan as his he tilted back.

His touch slowly left your waist, traveling up your body and sides, tenderly tracing a route up.

For a moment he was content to just feel and to just touch. Your fingertips brushed along his forearms, and you whispered his name. Finally he met your gaze. He smiled and drew you slowly into his lap.

Zen buried his face into the crook of your neck, arms around your waist holding you close as he breathed in your scent. You combed slowly through his hair, lightly peppering kisses along his jaw as he rocked back and forth. Together your breathing began to match, inhales and exhales slow and timed.

“Tomorrow will be even better,” he whispered. “Because tomorrow, princess, you’ll be mine.”

“Zenny,” you chided with a soft kiss to the side of his mouth. “I’ve always been yours. ”

You felt him smile – though hidden, still vivid as the sun in the sky or the moon in the night. Real and constant.

#mysme zen #zen x reader #zen x mc #mystic messenger #lemon #lime #grapefruit?#idk #something of that variety #hope you enjoy because i'm never doing this again rofl #hyun ryu

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nicolewrites · 4 years

Text

coming home - iii

I really cannot extend my thanks enough to @mishspelled, @shining-jul-of-hope, and @tsunnychan for all their support while I wrote this project.

And to the rest of the Sylvgrid discord putting up with me starting a comical chain of events based off of a pool noodle and for providing me feedback and encouragement to put this piece out there.

Rating: T+ Genre: Angst, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Sylvain Jose Gautier & Ingrid Brandl Galatea] Words: 9,324

Sylvain looked up at the statue of Seiros at the centre of the Cathedral. She was missing her head. He looked at the figure standing before the statue, shoulders hunched and eyes solidly on the ground.

The army was missing their head too. / three - how it ends

AO3

three - fire and life

There was moonlight in the Cathedral. Shattered stained glass meant that the Cathedral was open to the elements. Plants curled around pews and at the bases of statues. Rubble decorated holy chambers and crushed wood and stone alike.

The army was missing their head too.

Sylvain sat in one of the pews close to the back of the Cathedral and just watched Dimitri. The prince’s tall frame was practically dwarfed by his massive cloak, the blood and dirt on which matted the fur.

The cloak was familiar to Sylvain, as was the armour Dimitri wore. They were the former garments of the late king, Dimitri’s father, Lambert. Dimitri didn’t look like a king though. Not in the way that Sylvain remembered Lambert standing. Dimitri looked like a beast, though Sylvain would never dare utter that phrase in front of Felix.

The Cathedral doors groaned when they opened. Sylvain tilted his head, tearing his eyes from the prince, to see who had entered. It was the Professor. She seemed unsurprised to see Dimitri where he was, but one of her eyebrows ticked up when she saw him.

Sylvain stood, brushing his palms off on his trousers. He knew a conversation he wasn’t meant for when he saw one. He brushed past the Professor wordlessly. She ghosted a hand against his arm as he left, but she didn’t stop him. It was a dismissal, but at least she was thankful to him.

Sylvain stood outside the main doors to the Cathedral and studied the crumbling stonework around him. “Fall to ruin, tear to bone,” he muttered. “War changes more than people.”

He was in the stable when the news arrived. He had a hand through the hutch of a wyvern as he stroked the beast’s scales. It had been a long time since he had seen a wyvern and an even longer time since he had flown. The practice was much more common in the east, the closer one got to Almyra.

Sylvain could still remember Hilda complaining about wyverns when they trained together, doing flying patrols. Sylvain humoured her, listening to her, but he never agreed with her. A lance and horse was the way that a good Kingdom noble ought to have fought. An axe and a wyvern was a way that would have earned him chastisement. He knew what he preferred.

Felix never understood that. He liked to be solidly on the ground, sword in hand, as he cut down his enemies. Sylvain liked the easy escape route. On horseback, your movement was limited by the terrain. In the sky, you could fly a hundred feet up and be dangerously close to a lethal falling height should a breeze hit you wrong. It was freeing.

The wyvern he was stroking seemed happy to bask in the attention he was giving it and Sylvain almost didn’t hear Ashe coming. The younger man’s foot skidded on the sand-covered stone, and Sylvain turned.

Ashe looked worried and Sylvain withdrew his hand from the wyvern’s hutch. “Ashe?”

“Imperial troops are on the way here. The Professor has called a meeting.”

Sylvain straightened. Right. There was a war going on, after all, and it was unlikely that the Emperor would sit idly as her hated enemies took back a central location.

“Let me get my lance,” Sylvain said to Ashe.

Ashe nodded and turned to leave. He paused at the edge of the stables and looked back. “It’s good to see you again, Sylvain.”

Sylvain smiled faintly at Ashe’s earnestness. He may have grown up a lot in the five years since they’d last seen each other, but at least he hadn’t completely changed. “You too.”

The Professor told him to cover Ingrid in the sky and directed them both to mount up to fly. Ingrid didn’t hesitate, nodding curtly and heading to don her armour and retrieve her Relic. Sylvain hesitated, furrowing his brow at the Professor.

“I’m a certified Paladin,” he reminded her.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on the map of the area around the monastery in front of her. “I need you to cover her. We don’t have battalions yet.” She looked up. “Keep her safe, Sylvain.”

That was the only order he needed. He nodded and straightened. “I will.”

After they sent the Imperials packing, some merchants began to return. Businesses opened up and trade tentatively began to resume. The Knights of Seiros returned, Seteth and Flayn amidst them, and many other Blue Lions and transfer students had come back as well.

Specifically, he had seen Dorothea and Petra from the Empire and Leonie, Marianne, and Ignatz from the Alliance.

Sylvain drank from the tankard in front of him. He spun it back on its rim and stared at the tarnished surface of it. After the debacle that had taken place in the Cardinal’s Room today, he had just wanted to get away for a bit. Thankfully, the bar just outside the monastery was getting back into its swing, providing drinks to the limited Knights and soldiers that had returned.

He could still hear Dimitri’s voice growling through the room as he made a point of mistrusting the former transfer students. Sylvain had almost expected soft, sweet Marianne to cry, but she had just looked at him with pity. Annette had almost cried though, which of course made Felix angry enough to shout.

Dimitri had lashed out, as expected, and set a brutal course for Enbarr.

Sylvain drained his mug and winced at the headache that pounded behind his temples. He signalled for the barkeep to refill him. The man swept away the coins that Sylvain placed down and replaced the mug in front of him.

Sylvain chugged a third of the drink as soon as he could. There was a woman in the corner of the bar that was eyeing him like she was going to devour him. Once, he might have carried his drink to her and given her a charming smile before leading her to bed, but now he was tired. He drank from his mug until it was empty.

He pushed off the barstool and managed to make his way back to the outskirts of the monastery without staggering too much. He skirted outside the building, heading around by the fishing pond to reach the stairs to the second level of what used to be the dorms.

He paused when he rounded the corner. Mercedes was sitting on the pier with a basin of water, scrubbing at what looked like dishes. He considered trying to go around her, but there was something jerky and harsh about her actions that didn’t seem very Mercedes-like. He approached her instead.

She didn’t look up when he approached, but her hands paused in their aggressive scrubbing. “Sylvain,” she said quietly.

He sat down next to her. “May I?”

She looked up. Her eyes looked sad and a bit confused. She hesitated for a moment before disappointment flickered over her face. “You’re drunk.”

Sylvain felt immediately guilty. “Not drunk enough to leave you here by yourself.”

She slid the basin towards him and Sylvain picked up the cloth she had been working with and resumed her work. Mercedes leaned away from him to rinse her hands in the fishing pond. A few loose food scraps drifted off her fingers, including a few noodles from the dry, ration meals they had been consuming.

He worked at the dishes until they were clean and then he studied Mercedes. She was sitting, staring over the pond at the greenhouse with a troubled expression.

“Mercedes,” he said lightly.

She turned back to him and smiled weakly. “When Annie told me that she wanted to go back for the anniversary, I almost didn’t go with her.”

Sylvain frowned. “Didn’t see the point?”

“I was in Fhirdiad during Dimitri’s execution,” she said bluntly, putting air quotations up as she exaggerated execution. She shook her head, looking pained. “I could live the rest of my life without seeing that kind of violence and disaster again.”

Sylvain’s thoughts came to a grinding halt. “Did you see him before he got out of the city?”

She shook her head. “I never saw Dimitri, but,” she hesitated and Sylvain’s brain kicked back into gear just quickly enough to catch where she was going.

“Dedue.”

She closed her eyes. “He told me what he was planning before they went through with it. I wanted to go with them to help, in case they needed a healer, but he promised that they had it handled. The men of Duscur believed in him.” A faint smile tilted her lips upward. “He looked like he belonged with them.”

“Mercedes,” he began.

She stood up suddenly, brushing her hands off on the front of her dress. She adjusted her short hair and smiled tightly at him. “Thank you for your help, Sylvain, but I’ll be fine.”

She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her elbow as gently as he could. “Five years ago, you never would have let me walk away from you like this. Please let me do the same for you.”

She gently removed his hand. “Sylvain, you have your own burdens. You don’t need to shoulder mine and everyone else’s on top of that.”

She left him there, on the pier, half-drunk and feeling incredibly cold.

The clang of metal on metal told Sylvain that he had guessed correctly on his search. He could hear the exertion of the training regiment before he even had the door open and when he pushed it open, Felix’s grunts joined the sound of his weapon beating up a target.

Sylvain stood in the entrance of the training hall and just watched his friend for a moment. Felix was a marvel to watch when he trained: light on his feet and quick enough with his blade that you might not even see it coming. Felix was currently working with a dulled iron sword, but Sylvain spotted his Wo Dao in a sheath nearby. His Relic, Aegis, and the sword that his father had entrusted to him at Ailell were also nearby, but Felix seemed completely focused on his target.

Finally, Sylvain cleared his throat. Felix’s blade slowed and he turned to look at his friend. Felix’s eyes were blazing and Sylvain didn’t know if it was anger, irritation, or frustration. The tip of Felix’s sword dipped towards the floor and his body posture relaxed a little when he saw that it was only Sylvain.

“What do you want?”

“To spar,” Sylvain replied. He strode over to the training weapons rack.

Years of instinct and fighting against both sword-wielding Fraldarius brothers had him instinctively reaching for a lance. At the last minute, he changed his mind and grabbed one of the dull training axes. Felix assessed him, scowling.

“Take the lance,” he suggested instead.

Sylvain turned back to face him, grinning. “Nah.”

Felix’s scowl deepened. “Sylvain,” he growled.

Sylvain didn’t let him get any further, hefting the axe and charging. Felix parried his blow easily, shifting his weight to knock Sylvain forward, past him. The flat of his blade smacked Sylvain between the shoulder blades.

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix grumbled.

Sylvain turned and threw a handful of sand in Felix’s face. He followed it up with a heavy swing of his axe that caught and pinned Felix’s blade. Felix cursed at the sand, but he rotated his sword and slid it free from the pin. He slashed at Sylvain’s hands and Sylvain was forced to retreat back a few steps to dodge the strike.

“Are you asking me to kick your ass now?”

Sylvain grinned and draped the axe over one of his shoulders casually. “I’m asking you to give me a challenge.”

His words lowered the last of Felix’s guard, and the Fraldarius heir flew at him with no further reservations. Sylvain barely managed to block the first strike, but Felix’s blade moved in a burst of short, vicious swings. He recognized this move as one that Catherine used to make 5 years back, but he didn’t know that Felix had mastered it as well. He took the next four blows on his ribs, arms, legs, and stomach.

Felix knocked him back and Sylvain swung back, jabbing straight with the head of the axe and twisting it mid-strike so that it caught on the hilt of the sword. Using his strength, Sylvain yanked hard on the axe and managed to overpower Felix, jerking the weapon out of his hand. He was about to gloat when something hit him around the middle, tackling him to the ground.

Felix’s legs easily pinned the lower half of his body to the ground and his fist slammed into Sylvain’s face right as he remembered that Felix was also brutally proficient in brawling.

“Stop!” a shrill voice cried.

Felix froze, his hand pulled back like he was about to strike Sylvain again. He immediately jumped up, leaving Sylvain lying flat on his back on the training ground floor like a fool. Sylvain lolled his head to the side to look around his friend and he saw a horrified Annette standing at the entrance to the training hall. Ingrid was beside her, but her expression was drawn and hard to read, unlike the easy dismay on Annette’s face.

Felix stormed over to the training rack and shelved his sword and Sylvain’s axe. He retrieved his other swords and his Relic and brushed past Annette out of the training hall. The mage didn’t hesitate before following him, but Ingrid stayed, staring at Sylvain as he sat up, but didn’t stand.

“Were you trying to goad him into beating the shit out of you? That’s what it looked like he was about to do,” Ingrid demanded, irritation finally taking over her expression.

Sylvain rubbed his jaw. It was definitely going to bruise. He stayed sitting on the ground and shrugged. “He needs to be in top form. I was trying to snap him out of whatever funk he has sunk into since his father got here.”

Ingrid sighed and walked over to him, offering him a hand up. Sylvain took it and let her pull him up. Once he was standing, she pursed her lips. “You’re both still hurt from Ailell. You shouldn’t be fighting each other and you, especially, should know better to challenge Felix without a weapon.”

Sylvain laughed. “To be fair, we did both have weapons at the start. I quite handily managed to disarm him.”

Ingrid’s gaze flickered over to the weapons rack where she had watched Felix put away a sword and an axe. “Don’t shut me out, Sylvain,” she said quietly.

He blinked. “What?”

Ingrid looked back at him, her eyes darker than they had been a moment before. “Don’t shut down. Don’t back yourself into this corner and leave yourself no escape.” Her gaze darted to his jaw which was probably already bruising. “You should get that looked at.”

She started to walk away from him and Sylvain’s hand flashed out, grabbing her arm. She paused and looked back at him. Sylvain dropped his hand like he had been burned and closed his eyes.

“Felix isn’t doing well,” he mumbled.

Ingrid nodded. “I know. His father being here and talking about Dimitri has thrown him from his rhythm.”

Sylvain didn’t mention that he thought Felix’s rhythm had been off for a lot longer than just since his father’s arrival. He had been twitchy and quick to the punch his whole life, but since the war began, Sylvain had seen a whole new side of his friend.

“Dimitri,” Sylvain mumbled. “What are we doing, Ing? There’s no way he’s sane enough to lead us anywhere but on a suicide mission.”

Her shoulders wilted, her ever-present impassive strength fading for a moment. “He’s the Kingdom’s last chance, Sylvain.”

“Is he? Or is he just a man who’s on a crazed quest for revenge. We’re an army with a ghost for a leader, Ingrid. We aren’t going to get very far on his brute strength alone.”

Ingrid’s gaze sharpened. “He’s still your King, Sylvain.”

His anger deflated. “I know,” he mumbled. “It’s just hard to see him self-destructing this way.”

Ingrid studied his face and paused. “Try being in my shoes,” she said. “You and Dimitri and Felix are more alike than you want to believe.”

Sylvain lingered in the Cardinal’s Room after the war meeting concluded. He didn’t mean to, he just got caught up studying the map and didn’t notice everyone else had already departed until the Professor called his name.

“Sylvain?”

His head snapped up. “Oh,” he glanced around, “sorry, Professor, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait,” she said. Her brows were knit and she smoothed her hands over the map. “Did you see something?”

Sylvain glanced back at the map. “I like the idea of engaging Gloucester forces through House Riegan, but I can’t help but wonder about Lorenz. As much as he and Claude fought during the time we were at the Officer’s Academy, I can’t help but think that he might see through this. Claude is shrewd, yes, but he and Lorenz did know each other pretty well.”

The Professor considered his words. “That’s a good point.” She reached out and swapped her battalion with Annette’s, putting the mages in the heart of the formation. “That should cover us should they get reinforcements from the Gloucester side of the bridge.” She looked back up at him. “Anything else?”

Sylvain considered the map again. He was set to lead a wyvern battalion to back up Petra as she cleared a path on the ground with a group of assassins. It was a good formation, but it hadn’t been one he was expecting. “You keep deploying me as a wyvern rider,” he pointed out. “Arguably, I would be better on horseback.”

She smiled at him. “I’ve seen you in the sky, Sylvain. You may not have Petra or Ingrid’s natural aptitude for it, but it suits you. If Ingrid and Seteth are our only fliers, we’ll get into trouble in places with narrow ground placements. Flying will give you the freedom to get where you need to be, to push objectives that only you can.”

Sylvain blinked. He hadn’t realized that the Professor had so easily picked up on his skill in the sky. It had taken work to get used to, but he did enjoy it. He stared at the pieces on the map again and noted that the Dimitri was set to be deployed on the north side, near the Professor.

“Are we making the right choice in taking the bridge?” he asked next.

The Professor’s brow sets into a line. She didn’t look angry, just thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Dimitri is set on a course for Enbarr, however, so we should see to it that he is protected on that path. Of course,” she reached for Dimitri’s marker and lifted it up, “he’s not going alone.” She made eye contact with Sylvain. “I will keep as many of you safe as I can. We will end this war, and we will do it with minimal losses. I promise you that.”

Sylvain trusted her. He always had, but her words rang heavy and true. She believed that they would take the Great Bridge of Myrddin and he believed her. Dimitri was almost certainly insane, but Byleth was not.

The army may have lacked a head, but it certainly did not lack its heart.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you’re here, Gautier, should I?” Lorenz said as he approached.

Sylvain withdrew his hand from the wyvern hutch and turned to the Gloucester Noble. “You shouldn’t be,” Sylvain agreed coolly.

Lorenz walked by him to the stall where his horse was, whistling for its attention as he approached. Mildly curious, Sylvain followed him. Lorenz brushed a hand along the nose of his horse, patting it reassuringly.

“I am grateful to the Professor for sparing me,” Lorenz said quietly once he noticed that Sylvain had followed him. “I do wish that there could have been more done for Ferdinand though.”

Sylvain frowned. Ferdinand and he had not been particularly close at the Officer’s Academy, but he knew that Ferdinand had been similar to him in a few ways: they both had a natural love of horses and a preference for good tea. Of course, those things were what had made Ferdinand and Lorenz become friends.

“I understand why there wasn’t,” Lorenz continued at Sylvain’s silence. His voice faltered and he returned to stroking his steed, obviously trying to gather himself. “Even so, he was my friend. I don’t think he deserved that.”

Sylvain recalled the horrible sound of Ferdinand’s armour crumpling and his steed crying out as Dimitri cut them down without flinching. “No,” he agreed, feeling mildly sick to his stomach. “He didn’t.”

“You all are content to be led by a mad prince then? I noticed that his Duscur companion reappeared during the fight as well.”

Sylvain grabbed Lorenz by his collar and pinned him to the stable wall in a flash of anger. “Do not,” he growled, “mistake the fact that you and I have some twisted friendship for loyalty or an obligation to tolerate the things you say about my friend, Lorenz.”

Lorenz raised his hands calmly. “Point taken."

Sylvain released him and stepped away. Lorenz’s eyes darted over his shoulder and Sylvain turned, following his gaze. Marianne stood at the entrance of the stable, holding an armful of tack and staring straight at Sylvain and Lorenz with her lips parted in surprise.

Lorenz straightened his armour and walked towards Marianne. “How can I help you, Marianne?”

Sylvain watched as Marianne carefully unloaded some of her equipment to Lorenz who swiftly carried it to the appropriate storage bin. Marianne walked towards Sylvain, her chin dropping a little as she approached. Sylvain stepped away from the stall he was leaning against, recognizing it as Dorte’s stall.

“Are you alright, Marianne?” Sylvain asked quietly, his eyes darting towards Lorenz who was well-distracted organizing the gear given to him by Marianne.

Marianne lifted her eyes and the edges of her lips curled up a little bit. “I’m alright,” she said softly. Her gaze darted to Lorenz and sadness tinged her expression. “Ferdinand was so kind to me when we were at school, but,” she paused, struggling, “so was Dimitri.”

Sylvain exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Marianne, I didn’t realize.”

She reached up to brush the side of Dorte’s neck. She smiled sadly. “Well, we’ll just have to make it count then, right? Fulfill the purpose.”

Sylvain touched one of Dorte’s ears and the horse twitched it happily, relishing in the attention. “You’ll be okay if I leave you with Lorenz?”

Marianne giggled lightly. “Yes, Sylvain, we’ll be okay.” She gazed at Lorenz again with something almost curious in her gaze. “He has always been kind to me.”

Sylvain patted Dorte’s neck one more time before he walked away. He headed down towards the front of the monastery, just letting his feet guide him, and he ended up walking towards the fishing pond. When he rounded the southern corner of the monastery, he paused mid-stride, seeing something he hadn’t quite expected.

Dorothea was sitting on the end of the dock, much like they had years ago after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Sylvain looked around quickly: no one else seemed to be there, probably giving Dorothea her space. He approached her, making sure that he kicked at least two boards as he walked down the dock so he didn’t startle her.

He knelt next to her. “Mind if I sit? For old times sake?”

She looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think you announced your presence well enough.”

“Didn’t want to startle you,” he said honestly, shifting so that he was sitting next to her.

Dorothea twisted her hands in her lap and Sylvain just sat quietly, waiting for her to say something if she wanted to. “Ferdie,” she said after a pause, “we killed him. Just like that.”

Her hands shook and Sylvain lifted one of his own to cover hers. “Hey,” he said gently, “you had nothing to do with that.”

She shook her head and her eyes fluttered closed. “I chose to be here, you know. Edie asked all of us to join her. Petra and I, we couldn’t commit to that. Ferdie tried to talk me into coming with him, but I knew where I wanted to be for the reunion.”

Sylvain squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” he offered. It felt lame, but Dorothea opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Don’t go flirting with me, Gautier,” she said and then leaned her head on his shoulder.

Sylvain laughed lightly. “I’d offer you a warm bed if we both didn’t know that would be the absolute worst idea.”

She scoffed. “Proposition me again and you’ll end up at the bottom of this pool.”

Sylvain chuckled. “Don’t worry, we won’t go there again.”

Dorothea turned her hand over in his so that she was holding his hand properly. Her thumb traced over a scar on the back of it. “Did you see a healer about your leg yet?”

Dorothea had given him some emergency white magic back on the Great Bridge, but it hadn’t been strong enough to keep him going for that long. Sylvain shrugged. “Annette gave me a touch of her magic, but there were more important people to look after.”

Dorothea tensed and lifted her head from his shoulder. She levelled a stern glare at him. “Sylvain, listen to me. You and I are very similar. So, take it from me when I say that you need to work on yourself.”

He tensed and frowned, but Dorothea ignored him.

“You walk around with this chip on your shoulder about the Crest system and you brush people off when they try to deal with it. You’re so set on being helpful to others that you refuse to let other people look after you every now and then. You don’t talk about yourself–not seriously, anyways–and you do things like jump recklessly in front of people in battle and refuse healing, even when you need it.”

He felt cowed. She had stripped him of all of his defences in a few short sentences and broken down his personality just as easily. “Thea,” he started, but she shook her head.

“You talk about women and sex and love like they’re the easiest things in the world, but I see right through you. You wouldn’t know what to do with a real emotion if you had one because you’re so used to beating them back with a stick or trampling them with a horse made of all of your insecurities. I know more than enough about insecurities, Sylvain, and I see yours. I’d pity any woman who actually fell in love with you because you wouldn’t know what to do with her.”

Sylvain recoiled away from her. “I don’t even know where to begin with that.” He felt nasty words itching on the tip of his tongue. He bit it, reflexively, so he wouldn’t spit them out.

Dorothea crossed her arms, her eyes softening. “Sorry, that was a bit harsh.”

Sylvain snorted, breaking into laughter before he could stop himself. “All true though,” he said in between laughs.

Dorothea bit her lip to try and hide her smile. “Sorry,” she apologized again.

Sylvain shrugged. “Like I said, not wrong.”

“For the record, Sylvain, with the way I’ve seen you acting more recently, I don’t think you’d be completely useless with real emotions. You have more empathy than you’re given credit for.”

He reclined back on his hands and looked up at the sky. “I’m sorry about Ferdinand. He didn’t deserve that.”

Dorothea’s head dipped. “No, but I guess that’s war, isn’t it? Your Kingdom has started this wildfire on your path to Enbarr and I guess now it’s burn or be burned.”

The sound that Felix had made when his father was stabbed was so haunting and terrifying. Sylvain knew he would never be able to unhear it. His friend had buckled, staring blankly across Gronder Field and Sylvain barely managed to catch the straps of Felix’s armour. Felix’s chest heaved against him, pain flashing across his face, but it was quickly replaced by rage.

“I’m going to kill him,” he growled.

“No,” Sylvain said firmly. “Felix, no.”

Felix thrashed in his arms and Sylvain almost lost his grip until another set of arms wrapped around Felix and assisted Sylvain in restraining him. Sylvain made eye contact with Ingrid and almost teared up himself at the pain on her face. She had tears rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t say anything as they held Felix back.

Felix was crying, but he was still bubbling with rage. “Let me go,” he snarled.

“No,” Ingrid said, her voice wobbling. “You can’t.”

“Let me go, Ingrid.”

“No,” Sylvain agreed, “Felix, we’re not letting you go.”

His words seemed to steal the last of the fight out of Felix and his anger dissolved. He buckled in on himself, his forehead landing on Ingrid’s shoulder as his shoulders shook in his grief. Sylvain fell to his knees and pulled both Felix and Ingrid together until Ingrid’s head touched his arm as they wrapped Felix tightly between them.

A few stray raindrops fell from the sky. One landed on Sylvain’s cheek and he thought about all the horrible days that it had rained. It had poured on them on the return trip to the Monastery after they had taken out Lonato. It had rained when Jeralt Eisner died. He was even pretty sure it had rained the day of the Tragedy of Duscur. It had rained when his mother had died too.

Sylvain finally broke, letting out a strangled gasp. He leaned forward until his forehead touched Felix’s temple. Ingrid’s hand slid up his neck and tangled in the hair at the base of his skull.

Ingrid and Sylvain buried Rodrigue. Dimitri came back. Felix grieved.

It rained.

The day before they marched for Fhirdiad, Sylvain’s packing was interrupted by a knock on his door. He turned, closing his trunk, and stood. Ingrid was standing in his doorway, her hands behind her back.

He brushed his hands off on his pants. “Hey Ing,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment. “Can I come in?”

Sylvain frowned and sat on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, of course.”

Ingrid closed the door behind her and Sylvain’s eyebrows shot up. She walked across his room and sat in his desk chair, turning it so that they were facing each other. She put her face in her hands and took in a deep breath.

“Ingrid?” he prompted gently.

“I spent this whole campaign hoping we’d get to take back Fhirdiad, but I never thought it would be like this.”

Sylvain reached out and touched her knee lightly. “I know,” he agreed. “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad."

Ingrid dropped her hands from her face so they landed over top of Sylvain’s hand. She searched his face with her earnest green eyes and Sylvain’s heart flipped stupidly in his chest. Her thumb traced a circle on the back of his hand and he had to force himself not to shiver.

“I don’t want to lose anyone else,” Ingrid said quietly. “We got Dimitri back, but I can’t lose anyone else, Sylvain.”

Sylvain turned his hand over so he was holding hers and he tugged on it gently. Ingrid let him pull her over to his bed and sat next to him, leaning against him. Sylvain wrapped his arms around her and hugged her as best he could while they sat side by side. He rested his chin atop her head and closed his eyes, relishing in her closeness.

“Stay close to me,” he urged. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, but it needed repeating.

She twisted in his grip, one of her hands reaching up to touch the junction of his neck and shoulder. He leant back so that he could look at her. Her hand turned so she was cupping his jaw and Sylvain’s breath caught in his chest.

He had been here before with countless women, but never with Ingrid. He had never dared initiate this with Ingrid because he couldn’t ruin her too. Ingrid was looking at him like she was trying to look through him and every horrible, self-ruinous part of Sylvain wanted to push her away. The tiny, guilty part of him that lived under layers of repressed grief wanted to kiss her.

He pressed his lips to her forehead instead and watched her cheeks flush and lips part in surprise.

“Don’t go far from me,” he pleaded again.

Ingrid buried her face in her chest. “And you from me,” she echoed, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Sylvain carded his fingers through her short blonde hair. “Do you want to stay?” he asked before his filter could catch up with him. She tensed momentarily and Sylvain cringed internally. “Just to sleep,” he assured quickly.

Ingrid’s fingers brushed over his ear as she fiddled with the ends of his hair. “Yes,” she murmured quietly. “I want to stay.”

They celebrated in Derdriu after they drove the Empire out. Claude had insisted on using the Riegan Manor for one last hurrah before he departed Fódlan and the Kingdom troops turned their sights on Enbarr.

Sylvain was content watching the party from the edge of the room, sipping his wine, until Hilda popped up next to him, smirking at him. She had forcibly taken his wineglass away, placed it down, and dragged him onto the dancefloor.

He indulged her, spinning her under one of his arms. “Hello, Hilda.”

“Hello, Sylvain,” she teased back, stepping on his toe with enough grace that it had to have been intentional.

He led her, stepping towards her and she stepped back. “Didn’t want to steal a dance with the soon-to-be king?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know Dimitri that well. You, on the other hand,” she trailed off, her eyes glinting.

Sylvain nodded. “Point taken.”

“You and Claude are a lot alike,” Hilda said breezily as she bumped their knees together.

Sylvain’s gaze flitted across the room to the newly-former Alliance leader. He had somehow convinced Ingrid to dance with him and jealousy coiled in Sylvain's stomach. He tore his eyes from the pair and looked back at his own dance partner.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied coolly.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do.” She inclined her chin. “You hide behind half-truths and easy smiles and expect everyone to take that at face value.” Her grip on his hand tightened until it was almost uncomfortable. “It’s the coward’s coping mechanism.”

Sylvain couldn’t really dispute her argument. “Maybe so,” he conceded.

The music came to a halt and the dance was concluded. Hilda dropped his hands and gave him a sweet smile. “Lovely to see you as always,” she said before she strode away, her long hair swinging behind her.

Sylvain watched her go for a minute until footsteps approached him from behind.

“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Claude said cheerfully.

Sylvain turned and found Claude standing right behind him, grinning. Sylvain shifted towards the edge of the dance floor and Claude followed him.

“Devious is a word for it,” Sylvain offered.

Claude laughed. “Definitely. I like to think I rubbed off on her after all these years.”

Sylvain leaned against the wall and let his eyes skim over the crowd of soldiers, Alliance and Kingdom, mingling and celebrating a victory. “Why did you suggest a party?” Sylvain asked suddenly. “Technically, our best option would have been to march right back to the Great Bridge to maintain our momentum.”

Claude smirked. “I knew there was a reason she kept you around. And, well, I think some of you needed this.” His gaze darted noticeably to where Dimitri was chatting with Byleth and Judith in one corner of the room. “I don’t know everything that happened between him and El or what happened when he was young, but I know that no good would have come to your side if you had kept your march going and he had driven himself into the ground.”

Sylvain studied Dimitri. He was holding himself with all the courtly poise he had demonstrated as a young prince, but there was an edge of weariness about his stance too. “So you’re giving Dimitri a break,” he said.

Claude shrugged. “And Teach. She’s not unstoppable.” Claude turned back to him. “I never put much stock in Crests or statuses. I’m sorry about your family, Sylvain, and I’m sorry for what these systems did to them.”

Sylvain tensed and narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about my family?”

Claude’s lips twitched. “Not a lot,” he said cryptically. “Only that you shouldn’t bear that burden alone forever.”

He turned his head and Sylvain followed his gaze to where Ingrid was chatting with Annette, smiling widely. Sylvain’s frown loosened as he watched her. She seemed lighter here, in Derdriu, than she had been since Glenn died. It was a combination of retaking the capital, reuniting with old friends, and having a chance to relax a little that seemed to have lessened the weight that she carried on her shoulders.

With a start, Sylvain realized that he felt lighter too. Somehow the oppressive self-hatred he had been carrying with him since he was a child had lifted, just a bit.

He looked back at Claude, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t get you.”

Claude smirked again and patted his shoulder. “That’s kind of the point.”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Sylvain startled out of his reverie and turned to face his friend, plastering a smile on his face. “Your Majesty.”

Dimitri shifted at the title. “I am not king yet,” he said uncertainly.

Sylvain shrugged, dislodging Dimitri’s hand. “You will be,” he assured. His gaze darted back to Merceus where it stood ahead of them.

They had pitched camp close enough that they could comfortably march on the fort the next day, but also have a place to return to should the fort not be a satisfactory place to house their troops for the time being. Red banners waved in the wind on the drum towers at the corners of the walls surrounding the fort.

“Tomorrow they’ll be flying blue,” Sylvain said firmly.

Dimitri crossed his arms. “You really think so? I was not sure that the head-on assault was the best plan after all.”

Sylvain clapped his own hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “It’s our only option: you heard Gilbert and the Professor.”

Dimitri sighed. “I suppose.” He looked back at the camp behind him and Sylvain picked up on the fear in his body language. “I don’t want to create more unnecessary risk for any of you.” He dropped his head, hanging it in shame. “I know you already followed me beyond where I could ever ask you to and you’ve seen me as no one ever should.”

Sylvain tightened his grip on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Dimitri,” he said firmly, “we would not have followed you here if we did not believe in what we were fighting for. We never stopped believing you’d come back to us.”

Dimitri touched Sylvain’s hand. “That’s probably not true,” he pointed out. “But, Sylvain, I thank you. For helping Felix and for helping Byleth and for your father stepping into Rodrigue’s shoes.”

Sylvain’s expression tightened at the mention of his father, but he nodded. “Just,” he paused, “don’t let it go to waste. Make it worth it.”

Dimitri nodded, pride blazing in his good eye. “I intend to.”

Sylvain nodded and withdrew his hand. “It’s nice for us to have a head again,” he said before he turned and walked back towards the camp.

His wyvern was dead. His ribs were on fire and he was pretty sure his leg was broken. His battalion was scattered and hurt and Sylvain was outnumbered.

He shifted more weight onto his good leg and tightened his grip on the Lance of Ruin and grinned sharply at his opponents. “Long time no see,” he said stiffly.

“I guess so,” Caspar called back, grinning. He hefted his own axe. “Too bad you’re dying here.”

The scrapes and gashes he had inflicted on Caspar had all been healed up, courtesy of Linhardt, who stood just behind his friend, his expression stony. Linhardt had also been the one to bring Sylvain down with a well-placed Excalibur, a spell Annette had shown Sylvain once while demonstrating its devastating effect on fliers.

“I’m not dead yet,” Sylvain replied.

Caspar charged. Sylvain barely caught the first blow on the shaft of his lance, deflecting it to the side. He almost collapsed immediately, having to shift weight onto his bad leg. He jabbed with the Lance of Ruin, but Caspar neatly blocked with the head of his axe, before using the block’s momentum to catch Sylvain in the arm. Caspar raised his axe to swing down again, but a strong burst of wind blew him back from Sylvain.

The magic cut Sylvain as well, but Caspar definitely took the worst of the hit. Sylvain staggered, but stayed up. He turned and saw Annette charging towards him with Dedue hot on her heels. Caspar hesitated instead of advancing as Linhardt gave him a boost of white magic.

Annette reached Sylvain’s side and held her hands up, a Sagittae glinting on her fingertips. “Caspar, Linhardt, please!” she begged.

Linhardt’s cool expression cracked with unease. Caspar’s joy in the fighting vanished and he looked horrified for a moment. He hefted his axe again, but didn’t charge. Dedue stepped up next to Sylvain, positioning his shield so that he could guard him against physical attacks.

Annette’s hand trembled. “Don’t let it come to this, please.” Her voice shook and Sylvain’s chest tightened.

Caspar’s expression set in a firm line and he raised his axe. Linhardt, from behind him, put a hand on his shoulder. The healer’s eyes were on Annette and he looked calm and cool, just as he had before Caspar had tried to remove Sylvain’s head.

White magic flowed from Linhardt’s fingers and Sylvain inhaled sharply as the gash on his arm healed and the pain in his ribs lessoned. Linhardt’s expression didn’t waver as he finished the Physic spell.

Linhardt’s wrist twisted suddenly with a new spell and there was a pop of white magic. He and Caspar disappeared and Sylvain’s legs gave out. He cracked his head on the edge of Dedue’s shield as he went down and everything went dark.

Sylvain came to with Mercedes leaning over him, her hand pressed against his forehead. He groaned and closed his eyes again, blocking out the light from the medical tent. He was dizzy and sore and not entirely sure what had happened. He tried to lift a hand, but gentle pressure on his wrist forced it back down against the cot.

“Sylvain,” Mercedes said gently. “You’re okay,” she assured.

After a second where his blood pounded in his ears so loudly he couldn’t hear anything else, he cracked his eyes open again. Mercedes was still leaning over him, a kind smile on her face.

“You’re okay,” she said again.

“I’m lucky,” he mumbled. “Annette saved my ass. Scared off Lin and Caspar.”

Mercedes hummed gently. “She told me. Dedue mentioned that it was an Excalibur that brought you down?”

Sylvain didn’t want to think about the powerful wind spell that had ripped him from his mount. His poor wyvern. She had been so faithful in the months since the war began. He wondered if he’d get a new mount. Wyverns were harder to raise than horses. He didn’t know if there would be one to spare for him to replace his mount. He closed his eyes, surprised to find them burning with tears.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Mercedes brushed her hand through the hair on his forehead. “Well, I’ve done my full check-up. You’ll be just fine in a few days. I want you to take it easy on your leg, but you’ll be okay, Sylvain.”

Mercedes’s touch was warm and gentle and it reminded Sylvain of the way that his mother used to stroke his face when he was a child. Before he became afraid of Miklan and his mother grew disillusioned with the family she had married into. Before he lost his youth and he wasn’t a kid anymore.

Mercedes’s lips skimmed over his forehead. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, sliding her other hand into one of his and squeezing it softly.

Sylvain felt tears roll down his cheeks and he stubbornly kept his eyes shut. He didn’t speak because he was afraid his voice would break, but he squeezed Mercedes’s hand back.

“Yeah,” he breathed out slowly when he could trust himself to speak again. “Thank you, Mercedes.”

They marched towards Enbarr. Dimitri and Byleth led on; the army’s head and heart moving as one.

Sylvain flew beside Ingrid on a new mount and allowed himself to dream of what kind of future awaited them on the other side of the war.

“Felix!” he yelled, jogging towards him.

Felix paused, turning. His expression was grave and his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. Sylvain didn’t hesitate and threw his arms around his friend, hugging him close. To his surprise, Felix’s arms snapped around him too and they hugged fiercely.

Sylvain laughed weakly and clutched at Felix’s armour. “Don’t die on me, Fe.”

“After you, you reckless son of a bitch,” Felix replied gruffly.

Sylvain drew back but kept both of his hands firmly gripping Felix’s shoulders. “I think we can both agree that my father’s the bitch, not my mom.”

Felix grabbed Sylvain’s wrist. “You’re not him,” he said, his voice hard. “You won’t be him, Sylvain.”

Sylvain closed his eyes. “I’m trying,” he said, his voice cracking. “We have to win this one, Fe. For everything we’ve lost and for everything we stand to lose.”

“Then mount up, you idiot,” Felix replied sharply.

His grip tightened on Sylvain’s wrist to the point of discomfort. Felix looked meaningfully up at the sky and Sylvain did too, eyeing the Galatea Pegasus Corps that was flying above them, getting ready to spearhead the assault on Enbarr. Sylvain spotted Ingrid easily enough. She wasn’t wearing her helmet and her blonde hair was whipping in the wind around her face. He was too far away to see the expression on her face, but he saw her raise Lúin and he saw her battalion rally behind her.

“You’d better live long enough to tell her that you love her,” Felix said fiercely.

Sylvain’s grip on his shoulders loosened. His head spun. Ingrid was Ingrid: dedicated and compassionate and loyal and beautiful. She put up with his shit and Felix’s shit and Dimitri’s shit and she gave it right back. She looked like a war spirit surging in the sky above them and his heart thumped in his chest.

“Promise me now,” Felix continued. "Promise me that you won’t leave her.”

“I won’t,” Sylvain replied hoarsely. “I can’t,” he finished.

Felix hugged him again for a second before he sprung back and drew his blade, pulling Aegis off his back as well. “Then I’ll see you on the other side.”

They all came out on the other side. They were scarred and bruised and drained and hurt, but they were alive. In the Imperial Palace, Byleth and Dimitri emerged from the central throne room and a raucous cheer went up across the Alliance-Kingdom forces and the Knights of Seiros.

Sylvain threw an arm around Leonie and Ashe and smiled as hard as he could. His side was aching and his hands were blistered from swinging his weapons, but he was alive. Nearby, he could see Felix holding Annette by the waist as her hands traced his face and chest, searching for wounds. Dedue and Mercedes stood next to each other, their fingertips barely brushing every few seconds. Petra ran up and tackled Ashe into a hug, tugging him away from Sylvain. Leonie pinched Sylvain and ducked out from under his arm, heading towards Lorenz, who she gave a swift, affectionate punch to the shoulder. Marianne was fretting over Ignatz as Dorte nudged at both of them.

Dorothea was holding Ingrid’s hands as the two girls laughed and chatted to each other over the cheers of the army. Sylvain’s heart pounded and Ingrid glanced towards him as if she had heard it.

She had blood in her hair at her hairline, but her green eyes were bright and alive. She smiled at him and Sylvain could only let out a breathy laugh as his heart somersaulted in his chest. Ingrid excused herself from Dorothea and ran towards him.

Sylvain caught her face in his hands and her hands gripped his armour at his ribs. Ingrid’s eyes were smiling as Sylvain ran his thumb over her cheek.

“We made it,” he said to her. The words disappeared into the sounds of celebration, but Ingrid still smiled at him.

“We did it,” Ingrid corrected, practically having to shout so that he could hear her words.

Sylvain pressed his forehead to hers and slid his arms around her neck, hugging her properly. It wasn’t a comfortable position with both of them still wearing their full battle armour, but he could feel her fingers digging into the gaps in his armour.

She finally pulled back, her hand rising to his face as she touched a scar that lingered on his jaw from a battle Sylvain didn’t even remember. “We can go home now,” Ingrid said, sounding excited.

Sylvain’s stomach sank like a rock. Where was his home now? Where did he go? Did he return to Garreg Mach with the knights? Did he follow Dimitri to Fhirdiad? Did he return to Margravate Gautier to the walls that had trapped him his whole life?

His expression must have twisted because Ingrid’s smile dropped. “Sylvain.”

He couldn’t breathe. His stomach turned and his throat burned. His hands shook and his vision blurred and he stumbled. Ingrid grabbed him by the straps of his armour, her eyes widening in shock.

“Sylvain!” she cried out, trying to hold him up as his entire body revolted against his consciousness.

A second set of hands grabbed him and together, Ingrid and the other person maneuvered him through the crowd onto a balcony. The fresh air burned, but Sylvain planted his hands on the railing and took deep, rattling breaths to try and calm himself. Dimly, he could hear voices behind him: Ingrid and another woman. The blood rushing in his ears slowly faded and he recognized Dorothea’s gentle tone.

“He’s having a panic attack,” the songstress murmured. “Did you say something that might have set him off?”

Ingrid didn’t reply to Dorothea, but he heard her inhale sharply. Sylvain kept his eyes locked on a point in the courtyard below him, his hands tightening on the railing until his knuckles were bone-white. A hand touched his elbow and then slid down to cover his hand, massaging it gently.

He managed to turn his gaze to Ingrid. She lifted her other hand to touch his cheek and wiped away a tear that had slipped out without him noticing. Dorothea’s shoes clicked as she retreated back inside, leaving them alone.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid breathed slowly. “We’re okay. We’re okay.” He exhaled slowly. Ingrid nodded reassuringly. “Can you breathe with me?”

She pulled his head down until it pressed against the top of her chest and he could feel the rise and fall of her breaths against his ear. He copied her deep breaths until he was breathing normally again.

Shame flooded him and he pulled back, looking away. Ingrid turned his face back towards her and he didn’t see any disappointment or frustration in her gaze, just patience and warmth.

“You back with me?” she asked quietly.

Sylvain laughed weakly. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re worried about going home,” Ingrid said, ignoring his apology. “That’s what it is, right?”

“You know me so well.”

“I’m scared too,” she confessed. “I don’t know how I’m going to face my father after everything that I did during the war.” Pain flickered in her expression and Sylvain brought a hand up to mirror her, cupping her cheek.

“I can’t go back to my father, Ing,” he said quietly. “I can’t go play perfect child and take a perfect wife and have a group of perfect, Crest-bearing children. I can’t go back to murdering every man who steps foot over the Sreng border.”

“You could go with Dimitri,” she suggested.

The look on her face told him that she knew that wasn’t an option just as well as he did. He was the heir to one of the most influential Kingdom Houses and they had just won a 5-year long war. There was rebuilding to do and House Gautier would need an heir to lead the restoration efforts.

“I have to go back to him,” Sylvain said. “It’s my duty. I’ll,” he paused, reigning in the bitterness in his tone, “figure it out.”

“Come to Galatea with me first,” Ingrid said suddenly. “Then I’ll come to Gautier with you.”

Sylvain paused. What she was proposing sounded dangerously like something much more than a friend’s comforting presence. His heart stuttered in his chest.

“Ingrid,” he said quietly.

She winced. “That was not how I intended to say that.”

He blinked.

She laughed faintly and ran her thumb across his cheek again. “Come home with me. Then I’ll come home with you.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” he pressed, letting a bit of playfulness creep into his voice.

Ingrid’s cheeks flushed and her lips parted. The lead in his stomach vanished suddenly and a smile crept up on his face. He settled his hand at the junction of her jaw and smiled more broadly at her.

“I thought that would be my job, once all of this was over,” he said lightly.

Ingrid’s mouth slammed shut and her green eyes got wide. “Sylvain.”

“I love you, Ing. Let me come home with you and then you can come home with me.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

He bent his neck and kissed her. Her hand slid down and her arm tucked around his neck, pulling him in close. She smelled like sweat and iron and horse, but she was warm and solid against him. He pressed his lips against hers more firmly and she parted her lips in a gasp. He drank her in like he was drowning until she was the only thing in his senses, utterly consuming him.

She broke away, inhaling sharply. Her face was flushed and she opened her mouth to say something when the balcony door behind them banged open. Ingrid tried to draw away from him, but Sylvain looped an arm around her and didn’t let her retreat.

Felix stood in the doorway behind them, a faint blush on his cheeks, and he was holding Annette’s hand. The redhead was smiling at them and Felix was trying and failing to conceal a smirk.

“If you two are done, we have a victory to celebrate,” he called dryly.

Sylvain squeezed Ingrid’s waist and smiled at her. “Yeah,” he replied, “we’re coming.”

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