littleredroseonthevalley

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Fruit of Her Loins

Summary: The Queen of Cordonia faints and is taken to a hospital. There, they shut down her last hope.

Rating: M - Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16 with non-explicit suggestive adult themes, references to some violence, or coarse language.

Mentions of domestic violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Words: 1000

Notes: Evil Liam. I like it.

Riley remains laid down with her eyes closed while inhaling long breaths of air. In, out. In, out. One after the other, like her mother used to do back when she was just a little girl, back in that shithole she called home.

It works somewhat, the waves of nausea declining slightly, she does not feel as dizzy as she did earlier that morning, but the feeling that something is very wrong with her only grows with each second. Something that can ruin her only sliver of hope out of this life.

A hand lands on hers and she opens her eyes again. She slowly and steadily turns her face to the side, meeting her husband’s eyes. He gives her a reassuring smile, gracing his features with unabashed ease. It is, ostensibly, a sweet gesture of him, but she cannot find the energy to return it, she does not want to pretend anymore. There is something wrong, something very wrong, bringing her to the edge.

The Queen of Cordonia is, officially, Orthodox Christian, having converted upon marriage, so she might as well pray to a god she is not really sure exists for a miracle she is quite certain will not come. She already suspects the condition that sent her to the hospital, the thought eating she up inside. All the times that Liam conveniently forgot to use condoms, the almost imperceptible way her birth control pills tasted slightly different than usual, his encouragement for her to work out more, the gross healthy diet he had imposed at home, the way he always came inside her.

Now Riley knows why. It feels so painfully obvious that she is almost angry with herself not to see it coming.

“Are you feeling any better?” The monarch asks, concernedly, while lovingly stroking her hair. “Do you need some water? Would you care for me to order some food?"

She shakes her head, slowly lifting herself up to lean against the bed's headboard. It was that weird sturdy plastic they usually have in places like this. For the best hospital in Cordonia, it felt awfully uncomfortable. Then again, she lived in a literal palace, and felt overwhelmed and restless there. It might just be in her nature, or it might be the company she keeps.

Liam hurries to help her, kind and accommodating as always, fluffing a pillow behind her back before pressing a kiss to her forehead. A shiver makes her body shake, exhaustion flooding her and she fights with herself just to keep her eyes open.

"I'm sure everything is fine.” He says, suddenly, and his wife notices how he struggles to keep an expectant smile off his face. “Don't worry, love."

Riley nods in response, not bothering to come up with a proper phrase. The feeling of malaise she has had ever since their wedding, the intuition of broken dreams and harsh awakenings ahead, increasing on the bottom of her stomach.

Cordonia is a very conservative country. It makes Greece, Turkey and Israel collectively blush in how truly traditional things are in a supposedly-modern Western nation. There is only at-fault divorce, communal property is held by the husband, the father has priority in custody cases. Money, influence and family connections make the justice system move, or stand infuriatingly still, as the case may be.

Not long after that, a doctor appears, accompanied by a nurse and Riley cringes at the sight of them. The professionals and workers at Cordonian hospitals scare her. They all wear a serious, almost robotic face, occasionally broken only by a sneer of undeserved superiority.

The doctor approaches the woman, stethoscope in his hand ready to hear her heart and lungs. “How’s the patient feeling now?”

“She’s better now, not feeling that weak anymore.” The husband answers in her place, a tinge of annoyance hitting her at his behavior. “What did the blood test show?”

The cold metal makes the queen flinch, but she keeps taking deep breaths until the doctor ends his examinations, trying to keep calm, lest she unwittingly gives them reason to keep her longer. He comes to stand in front of the bed, a sympathetic smile that does nothing to make she feel better on his face as he looks at his monarch.

“Everything is fine besides the sugar level being low, which is what caused the patient to faint.” The doctor explains, an air of detachment as he wipes the stethoscope with a flannel fished out of his pocket.

Liam squeezes her hand and Riley holds her breath. Both of them already know what is coming next.

“However, that’s completely normal in a pregnancy.” The medical professional concludes, placing his instrument around his neck again.

His words make the queen feel weak again and she can only be glad that she is already seated down. Her husband, in turn, has his face breaks into a huge grin, arms wrapping around her in a hug as his hand travels to her belly, remaining there.

Riley freezes, unable to think properly. She is pregnant. Of Liam.

The Queen of Cordonia is pregnant, carrying the next heir to the throne. A boy or a girl, it does not matter. She is now public property, her body and all the fruits of it belong to the public, now more than ever.

No, not the public. She is, yet again, chained to Liam, now more firmly than ever before.

The monarch parts from his wife to hold her face in a possessive kiss, ignoring the doctor who exits the room, leaving them alone.

“I am so proud of you, love. This is wonderful news.” He declares, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, I can picture the announcement already. I’m almost climbing to the rooftop and shouting it out myself!”

She tunes him out after that. Her stomach does a flip and she grips the sheets tightly, trying to control herself. She cannot panic, she cannot cry.

Her last hope is extinct. Riley will never be able to leave Liam.

*_*_*_*_*

TRR Masterlist

#the royal romance #liam

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Better Ways to Console a Man

Summary: Amy feels that Connor might be a little off from his usual self. It raises some concerns.

Rating: R - Content features heavy themes. Not suitable for most audiences. Consult warnings before proceeding.

Non-explicit depictions of nonconsensual sexual activity. Reader discretion is highly advised.

Words: 1000

Notes: Felt like some blond hunk in my life, so I bashed him a little.

Amy is hesitant. It is not as if it is the first time she, or they, are doing such a thing, nor is she so young to cause scandal. However, as an of-age, experienced young woman, she is still unsure whether she is fully comfortable with the proposition set forward by Connor that evening.

It was just another night. Quiet time that they spend together at his small apartment over the hardware store, away from prying eyes. It was to be expected for the young and healthy couple to fool around a bit, even desirable, but their nocturne lovemaking activities had not been feeling quite right for her lately.

He feels… Different. She supposes that all of them have been through a few traumatic events in those last few days, with the death of his mother and all that Power business all over again, and that would justify anything off about any of their acquaintances. Still, perhaps sex is not the answer, and there might be more efficient or reasonable methods of consoling his loss.

None of them are raised, though. Her brows furrowed as he kisses down her body, kneading her flesh in the way he had come to know was her favourite. Her thoughts were momentarily torn away from the condom laying unopened on her bedside table and directed towards her boyfriend’s tongue as it swept across her swelling bud.

It is one of those nights, she gathers.

"Pay attention to me." He said, voice distorted.

Connor has been a little more forceful, with a animalistic character to his demeanour on those moments of intimacy, but that is not what raises her attention. Such a thing had always slept dormant under the surface of his personality, and she cannot find in herself to complain about what has been a most pleasant experience, a fun and exciting change of pace.

No, what truly bothers Amy is not how he deals with her or his slight disregard for his pacing. It is how that contraception seems to be a contentious affair, which had never been before. She is on the pill, of course, but that has never been a reason for him not to use a condom, too. They never talked about it, but both understand that they are certainly not in a place conductive to children, and so it is not a good idea to risk it if they can help it.

Yes, they love each other. Yes, they have an understanding that they are, eventually, getting married, when she leaves college and he finds a more stable source of income with his art. No, neither of them is really struggling with income or have some great debt burden. Still, no children for now, and no measure to avoid them is really excessive.

She gasps breathily as a calloused finger joins the stimulation to her intimacy, prodding at her hole and coaxing it open. He pushes it in and keeps his movements slow and steady, stretching her open. She grows wetter as he continues to stroke her and the tongue at her clit as excitement builds and overtakes her body. He has always been exceptional at giving head.

Her hand tangles in his silky yellow hair, tugging on the strands and pushing his head deeper into her. The sensations distract her from the thin plastic that cages the thin latex.

Her thighs begin to tremble around his head as Connor removes his fingers and lifts her knees to throw them over his broad shoulders, his arms wrapped around each one in a firm hold, hands settled on either side of her waist. It was on the verge of being painful, very possessive, almost impossible for her to sneak out of.

His tongue definitively and solely replaces his long digits as he begins to alternate between thrusting it into her hole that begins to clench and mouthing at her throbbing nub.

Her virile boyfriend stops before Amy reaches her climax, moving quickly as he swirls his tongue around his glistening mouth to collect the slick that coats his plump lips and the skin around it. She whines at the loss of contact, pulling at the hem of his shirt before he rips it off and kicks off the black, battered sweatpants he uses as sleepwear.

His cock jumps while he positions himself over her. Her hands slide down his bare skin, running through the athletic figure, finally settling on his hips as she mirrors the tight grip he had on her waist. The head of his cock slaps against her clit as her concerns return to the forefront of her mind.

"Connor, wait…" She mumbles, squeezing at the soft flesh under her fingers.

"What?" He whispers distractedly as he pecks her neck, damp nose brushing her jaw.

"I think that you should put the condom on." His silence and the halting of his kisses has her stomach turning, and she races into a justification. "I-I just think…"

"We don't need it." He lifts his head. "It’s a thin piece of latex, and you’re on the pill. It's useless."

"It won't matter much if we do use it, then." She argues back.

The blond man huffs, annoyance conveyed in the way he rolls his eyes. "No, it's pointless. I won't let anything bad happen, I promise."

Amy sighs, a protest on her tongue before it dies as a familiar stretching sensation rises in her core. She moans, digging her nails into his skin.

"See? It makes no difference." He says, almost smug.

She licks her lips as she locks eyes with her boyfriend. "I want to use it anyway."

"I don't." He puffs as he pushes more of himself into her. "I'm already in she anyway. I can't just pull out now. Relax."

Amy is still uncomfortable, worry and hesitancy keeping her from doing as he asked. Connor kisses her until she finally gives in, returning affection as she fights off the concerns in her mind.

It goes on as planned.

*_*_*_*_*

ILITW Masterlist

#it lives in the woods #Connor Green

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Falling Asleep Over a Movie

Summary: Connor falls asleep halfway through a movie and has a nondescript nightmare. His girlfriend helps calm him down.

Rating: K+ - Suitable for more mature childen, 9 years and older, with minor action violence without serious injury. May contain mild coarse language. Should not contain any adult themes.

Words: 1000

Notes: Ah, to have a blond hunk on my lap... A woman can dream.

Amy looks down to her lap and, as she gazes upon the peaceful expression her sleeping boyfriend, she cannot help but to note that Connor looks impossibly sweet like this.

His eyes are softly closed in sleep, lips parted around quiet, shallow breaths. He is lying on his back, his head resting snuggly on her lap, tilted slightly towards her stomach, with a few loose strands of his blond hair tickling against his eyes and nose.

The movie they were watching together has long since ended, but the young woman does not mind, even as the credits roll and the screen shows the menu for the streaming service again. She is too preoccupied with carding her fingers through his soft, long hair, admiring the curve of his nose and the relaxed line of his brow.

When his expression become pinched suddenly, she cocks her head. He inhales a sharp breath, and turns to bury his face against her lower stomach. One of his hands comes up to grip at the fabric of her clothing, a cotton set of pyjamas, much loved over the years. It was cute to see him seeking comfort, like a child grasping for a blanket, rubbing whatever he can ball into his fists over his nose.

Amy covers his hand with hers and squeezes, keeping the other one running through his hair. He makes a soft noise, and though it is halfway muffled in the fabric of her clothes, it sounds too much like a whimper for her to ignore. His hand tightens in her clothing, where she can hear the fabric give protest under his strength.

"Connor, honey…" She whispers, petting through his hair.

She squeezes his hand tighter. She does not particularly care if he rips her shirt, it is no big loss and she has others. What torments her is the way he is pressing into her, hiding himself from terrors she cannot see.

She hushes him. "I'm right here. It's okay, Connor. I've got you."

Maybe it works, or maybe the fright simply passes, but Amy sees his features begin to smooth out again and peace befalls him once more. His hold on her clothing eases. Bit by bit, the tension that wrung him tight softens until he is lax against her, breathing steadily.

She keeps her hand atop his, stroking back and forth now. Connor sleeps peacefully for maybe ten more minutes, but she makes no sudden movements.

The woman is just beginning to feel drowsy herself when he stirs, rolling onto his back, blinking his eyes open, bleary with sleep. He looks at his girlfriend, clearly still caught somewhere between reality and dreaming, and he smiles slowly.

"Hey, you…" He greets, voice rough.

Glancing over to the TV, he blinks several more times, lifting a hand to rub his eye. Focusing his vision, he notices the menu screen of the streaming service glaring back at him. He realises he must have fallen asleep halfway through the movie, if not for most of it, as he does not remember how it ends. Not that he cares much about it, in any case.

"Whoopsie-doodle, I think I fell asleep…" He grumbles.

He does not care about it, but his girlfriend had mentioned that she was interested on it, and he wanted to watch it with her. He hopes she is not too disappointed with how it turned out. She, in turn, cannot help but laugh.

"It's okay. You clearly needed it." She assures him, giving his hand a pat. Curious if he remembers anything from his mid-nap turmoil, she then asks, "Did you sleep okay?"

Connor sucks in a slow breath through his nose. That is a loaded question.

"Uh... Yeah." He responds, waveringly.

Amy shoots him a look. Based on his expression, the answer may be more complicated than that.

"It, uh... Yeah." He tries to elaborate, as if looking to find the right words. He returns his gaze to her, and his brows furrow softly. His lips twitch in an almost-smile. "I had a dream. You were there."

At the mention of that reverie of his, his voice turns fond. She smiles down at him, feeling an immediate rush of warmth blossom through her chest.

"Uh-oh." She says with a smile, lightening her tone to a playful timber. "That means you've fallen for me, completely. You've got me in your dreams, you can’t escape."

Reaching up, Connor touches her face with a fond delicateness, as a blinded Pygmalion admiring Galatea. The adoration in his touch is so strong, so overstated that it leaves a trail of a blush on her countenance. If it was not for the callouses on his hand, it would be easy to forget that he works in a hardware store, carrying weights all day.

"I didn't need a dream to tell me that. It’s what I think about every time I look at you, smiling at me." He says quietly. “Just like that.”

Her so-beloved smile falters. She is dumbstruck by the depth of earnest sentimentality in his voice, in his eyes.

This very same afternoon, Amy saw those hands, so warm and comfortable against her cheek, cutting down wood and welding steel into a large and heavy sculpture. After his line of work and the many traumas they faced together and in separate, it wonders her sometimes how much he still has the potential to be like a golden retriever, loving and kind.

Leaning down, she presses a sweet kiss to his lips.

"Come on." She says, voice laden with affection. "It’s been a long day, and it’s going to be a long day tomorrow. Let's get you to bed."

In the end, Amy cannot help but notice that the subject of his nightmares and anxieties is buried amongst the love they share. Maybe someday Connor will choose to share with her the evils that sometimes afflict his dreams.

For now, she is glad to be the one able to chase them from his mind.

*_*_*_*_*

ILITW Masterlist

#it lives in the woods #Connor Green

[littleredroseonthevalley]

I vote yes haha

#the royal romance #bertrand beaumont

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Can you write a Troy Hassan drabble? 🙏

WTD Drabble - Troy x Saeed

Warnings & A/N: Ohh it’s been a while for this one, but why not. No warnings, just fluff.

He looks out the window at the day slowly creeping by. He should get up. He should have been up an hour ago.

Their bed is incredibly uncomfortable, it’s lumpy and godawful but it’s better than the floor or a cot or a straw mat, plus it is their’s. He smiles, rolling over to reach for Saeed only to find an empty bed.

Of course he’s up already, he sighs and takes a deep inhale of his pillow, of him.

Always the responsible one between them.

He should get up but he doesn’t want to. Not today. Today is one of those dates he remembers. One of the only one’s he remembers beside the death days of all those he’s ever held dear.

He stopped counting his birth days long ago. How many has he missed now? Four? Five? Hell, it could be ten for all he knows.

He should get up.

“Yep, definitely getting up,” he says to psych himself up for it.

The door squeaks on its hinges and he jolts upright.

“I’m getting up! I’m up. I’m definitely-“ he stops and grins at Saeed who enters the room with a tray in hand.

“Definitely up,” Saeed teases and sets the tray beside their bed on the small, cluttered end table.

“Definitely,” Troy smirks and slinks back beneath the covers, his hand grazing Saeed’s bare chest as he does.

“Morning,” Saeed whispers into a kiss he places on Troy’s lips.

“Yes it is morning. Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“Fine,” Saeed chuckles. “Good morning. Is that better.”

“It is with you here.” Troy smiles and earns another laugh from Saeed.

“I can’t win with you.”

“Yet you keep trying,” Troy teases.

“I made you breakfast.”

Troy glances as the small tray with a small bowl of fruit and some yogurt and an egg. The jeweled tones of the fruit sparkling in the morning light, like the delicacy they are.

“How’d you get the fruit ration?” Troy asks.

“Been saving it up for today, for you. For your birthday.”

Troy glances at the fruit again and then Saeed and then away at the far wall. Unsure as to the response he should give. It’s too much for something so small and trivial as a birthday.

His thank you is a thick, emotional whisper.

“I wanted to make you breakfast in bed,” Saeed explains with a bright smile. “Everyone should get breakfast in bed on their birthday.”

“Yet I only need or want you in bed,” Troy recovers with a smirk.

Saeed grins and rolls his eyes, standing to get dressed for the day only to be pulled back down by his wrist, onto the bed and into a kiss.

“Come back to bed,” Troy whispers into it. “It’s really comfy.”

“Liar,” Saeed laughs and allows himself to be pulled down atop Troy into another kiss.

——————————

Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Male MC (Nick Taylor) x Stacy Green

As the winter months come to Westchester, Stacy finds out about a winter festival happening and talks Nick into going, where he will do something that he never dared to in the past.

Written in the present tense.

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations, @jerzwriter

Warnings: None

Word Count: 838

Notes: I don’t own these characters, they are the property of Pixelberry Studios.

Ice created on cooltext.com

This story was inspired by this ask from @jerzwriter, so I guess this is kind of my first requested fic!

Pulling up into a parking spot, Stacy kills the engine to her car and reaches behind to grab her coat as Nick does his jacket up.

Stacy - Ready?

Nick - Yeah.

The two get out an make their way into the festival where all manner of stalls and activities are set up. Making their first stop at a hot drinks van, Nick pays for a couple of steaming drinks and they begin their way along the different stalls. Stopping at a ring toss, Stacy gives Nick a knowing look, the competitive smile.

Nick - The deal?

Stacy - Winner gets a massage.

Nick - Alright.

They hand over some bills and the vendor hands the couple three rings. Nick goes first, only landing one of his rings.

Nick - Crap.

Stacy - I have a good feeling about that massage.

Nick chuckles as Stacy takes her turn, landing all three of her rings. She shoots her arms in the air victoriously, turning to Nick, who can only smile.

Vendor - Take your pick of prize.

Looking them over, her eyes settle on one in particular.

Stacy - The penguin, please.

The vendor grabs the penguin and hands it to her.

Stacy - Thanks.

They continue along the festival and Stacy looks at her winning Penguin.

Nick - Guess Pinguino P. Piddlefluff now has a friend.

Stacy - Looks like it.

Nick - So where to next?

Stacy points at the ice skating rink and they head over. Going up to the vendor, Stacy hands the vendor some money.

Stacy - Two sets please.

Nick - Wait, what?

The vendor hands them their skates and they go over to the bench. Stacy notices the hesitance in Nick.

Stacy - You okay?

Nick - I, uh... I've never actually done this before. I'll be happy to watch!

Stacy stands and takes his hands in hers.

Stacy - I'll be with you the whole time and never let go.

The warmth of her hands also gives him a reassurance.

Nick - I'll give it a go. For you.

Smiling she gives him a quick kiss before sitting and changing into her skates. Nick sits next to her and does the same. Once in their new footwear, Stacy stands and holds her hand out to Nick. He takes it, using the bench with his free hand to keep his balance. Once standing, he takes her other hand, feeling a bit wobbly beneath him. They head onto the ice, and Nick takes hold of the edge.

Stacy - I've got you.

She takes hold of his hand from the edge and they slowly begin gliding rather than stepping on the ice.

Nick - Okay...

He raises an eyebrow at her as she stakes backwards.

Stacy - Don't worry, I won't try and get you to do this.

They pick up the speed a bit more, and Nick loses his balance. Before he can fall, Stacy catches him and they come to a stop at the edge.

Stacy - You okay?

Nick - Yeah.

They take a moment before Nick nods and they begin moving again, keeping at comfortable speed for Nick. Stacy moves round to skate next to him instead of in front of him, never letting go.

After a while, they take their leave of the ice and change back into their normal footwear. Being able to feel the ground beneath him, Nick breathes in slight relief.

Stacy - How'd you find it?

Nick - It wasn't as bad as I'd made it out in my mind.

She rests her head on his shoulder.

Stacy - You had a go.

She kisses his cheek before standing and return to the festival, trying out some of the games. But as the evening hours turn to late night, the festival begins winding down, they head back to the car. However, as they do, Nick's foot lands on a piece of ice covered by shadow and slips, falling. Stacy kneels down as he moves up to sit.

Stacy - Are you alright?!

Nick - I think so. I think mostly embarrassed. Not exactly my finest moment

Stacy - At least there's no one around filming it.

The two laugh and soon stand. Continuing back to the car as Nick wipes everything of his backside.

Nick - Definitely changing when we get back though.

Stacy can't help but laugh a bit and he responds by jokingly flashing his middle finger at her.

Stacy - Love you too.

On the drive, Stacy reaches across to take Nick's hand in hers, stroking with her thumb.

Nick - You okay?

Stacy - Thank you for coming with me.

He smiles, raising her hand to his lips.

Nick - I'm willing to try things for you.

Stacy - Right back at you.

Nick gives her hand a squeeze and leans across to kiss her cheek.

Stacy - I'd return it, but I'm driving.

The two laugh and Nick undoes his jacket as the inside of the car warms up.

#it lives in the woods #stacy green

[littleredroseonthevalley]

some incredibly self indulgent doodles of short haired!nia

#blades of light and shadow #nia ellarious

[littleredroseonthevalley]

got this wonderful edit from @ghoulcouriersix and i've spent a totally normal amount of time staring at it lol

read the beach episode here (or watch it here)

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Starry Night

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 3 Word count: 4000 Rating: T Warnings: emotional hurt Category: hurt/comfort Synopsis: Having reunited with most of her party, Reyna discovers the true extent of the traumatic events of the previous months. A/n: special thanks to @starlight-starfury for encouraging me to include Tyril speaking elven 🫰🏻 × Calanín - my light: elven word of affection, the elven equivalent of the Common language's "my love;" the elves believe that love is often fleeting, but the Light is constant, and the most precious resource they possess. Tag list: @starlight-starfury @cashweasel @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @sophie-summer @lazypartridge @brycesgirl @agattthaa @secret-fungi @megas-choices (if anyone wishes to be added/removed pls let me know!) @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

Nia, Mal, and the children had developed a routine, thanks to which the kids changed into their pyjamas, brushed their teeth, and were tucked in under thirty minutes. If one would take Nia at her word, developing the schedule took weeks, but due to eager cooperation the group managed to reduce the time from two hours to just thirty minutes, saving the guardians a considerable amount of time—time that they would spend reading, searching, and discussing the possible methods of rescuing Reyna. After ten minutes, Nia and Mal returned downstairs, having wished the kids a good night and slumped in the chairs, exhausted. Soon, the giggles and banter upstairs quietened down, and Mal breathed out a sigh of relief while Nia smiled at her friends, her features softened by the warm candlelight. 

“Can I offer you anything? Water, tea? We don’t have much, but I’d love to host you properly,” the Priestess chirped, already rising from her seat, but Tyril held out his hand to stop her. 

“It’s alright, thank you, Nia. Save what you have for the children.”

Nia nodded, while the elf rested his left hand on Reyna’s thigh, gently squeezing it in a poorly disguised display of affection. Her lips curved in a soft smile, and she vaguely covered his hand with her own before addressing the rogue before her.

“Lord Weasley of Riverbend, huh?” 

Mal smiled sheepishly and scratched his neck, blushing faintly as if he had been caught in a lie. “I had to improvise, and Riverbend just happened to occupy my mind an awful lot lately.”

“Gotta admit, you really nailed the accent. If I hadn’t known better, I’d think you were a native,” she winked, drawing a laugh from Mal.

“What can I say? I had spent an awful lot of time with you, kit.”

Nia joined the conversation. “How is Kade? I’ve been meaning to visit him, but there was always something urgent to attend to, and…”

“He’s doing just fine, cooped up in the library or in the royal gardens with Loola and Threep. He’s made the Master Librarian his archenemy, though.”

The Priestess chuckled. As Mal rested his arm on the back of her seat, a quiet yawn escaped Reyna’s lips and her eyes watered uncontrollably. She rested her head against Tyril’s shoulder, continuing to smile at her friends. Although she did not feel the true length of her absence, she had missed them, and at that moment she felt at peace. 

The idyllic atmosphere was disrupted by a quiet childish giggle coming from the top of the stairs, and the group's heads turned simultaneously in that direction. Mal sighed exhaustedly and rubbed his tired eyes before addressing the children.

“Guys, we talked about staying up past bedtime!”

The grave silence that followed his remark was soon interrupted by barefoot steps and the creaking of the old wooden floor. A frail, pale blonde girl stood next to Mal and whispered in his ear, her big eyes glued to Reyna. In response, Mal smiled at the child and nodded. “Do you want me to introduce you?”

The girl nodded her head excitedly, and he addressed his friend. 

“Kit, this is Nyra, she's a big fan of yours.” 

Reyna's brows furrowed. "Fan?"

“Mal and Nia often told us stories of your adventures! My favourite is the one when you ran after Duchess Xenia and fought her! I want to be as brave as you when I grow up!” the girl chattered reedily. “Can I ask you a question?”

"Ask away, Nyra," she sent the girl an encouraging smile, squeezing Tyril's hand under the table. 

"Weren't you afraid?"

"I'd be crazy not to be afraid,” she smiled. “Bravery isn't about not being afraid, it's about doing the right thing despite fear."

The girl nodded, drinking the words off Reyna’s lips, staring at her heroine in awe. 

“Now go to sleep, Nyra,” Mal rubbed the girl’s arm, softly pushing her towards the stairs. Before disappearing in the darkness, Nyra waved at the couple, and Reyna sighed.

“Said like a true hero,” Nia concluded while the men agreed silently. 

“It’s good to see you, guys. I just wish Imtura was with us.”

“We’ll find her, don’t fret, Rey-Rey,” Mal assured. The nickname made Reyna groan.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“How about Rey of Sunshine?”

Reyna glowered at him. “Mal, I’m warning you.”

“Reiny?”

“Oh, I like Rey!” Nia joined in the conversation, grinning. 

“What do you think of “Reine”? I think it suits your personality,” the thief continued. “What do you think, elf boy?”

Tyril, smiling softly at the course the conversation took, looked to his left at his partner, his eyes glistening with the reflection of a nearby candlelight. “I believe my answer falls under a public display of affection.”

Nia brightened up. “Aw! It’s so nice seeing you two together again. Tyril had been so miserable without you, Reyna.”

“Tyril, my man, I’d like to remind you that we were direct neighbours at the Palace and their walls are surprisingly thin, so you really shouldn’t be em—”

Tyril cut in, blushing. “Stop talking.”

Grinning, the rogue continued teasing, pointing to Reyna with a nod of his head, while Nia and Tyril grew considerably more abashed. “I see you already had a chance to celebrate.”

Reyna touched her neck, remembering the necklace of red love bites that her lover bestowed upon her the previous night, and bit her lip, slightly embarrassed. She forgot to cover the bruises in the morning as she was in a hurry. The Priestess intervened.

“Stop teasing them, Mal. They’re young and in love, of course they celebrated their reunion.”

In love. The couple looked away, uncomfortable with the subject, but Nia continued, oblivious to their discomfort.

“I’ve been meaning to ask before—” she bit her tongue, cleared her throat, and continued. “Who said it first? Was it romantic? I bet it was! Tyril always had a way with words and—”

“Oh, Priestess, read the room!” Mal chuckled. The redhead’s smile faltered as she raised her eyebrows in question, tilting her head slightly. The rogue explained. “Look at them! Elf boy’s about to turn dark purple, they obviously haven’t said that yet.”

Nia’s lips shaped into the letter “o” as the realisation dawned on her, but before she had a chance to apologise, Reyna intervened. “Alright! It was great to see you, but we should go. It’s getting late, and we need to rest.”

“True,” Mal agreed. “No offence, but you look terrible, lordling.”

“It takes one to know one, thief.”

“You don’t like my haircut? You wound me,” with feigned offence, Mal placed a hand over his heart, making Tyril roll his eyes. Reyna smiled at the exchange, but agreed with Tyril. Mal looked exhausted, the dark spots under his eyes and slouched posture explicit evidence of that. “Let me walk you to the door.”

Hugging Reyna goodbye, Nia whispered, squeezing her eyelids tight. “Please, don’t disappear again.”

Reyna rubbed her friend’s back reassuringly before moving away from the warm embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

“Your disappearance wreaked havoc, kit,” Mal admitted quietly, patting her back. “I know it may look like we just moved on, but there wasn’t a day Nia didn’t stay up late sifting through the Temple’s scrolls in search of rescue. Whenever I got a promising lead, it turned out to be just an urban legend. We—” his voice broke. In no hurry, Mal took a deep breath and moved away, his hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders. “We really tried, kit. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

Reyna smiled comfortingly. “Don’t beat yourself up, Mal. I’m here, in one piece, am I not?”

He smiled. “I suppose.”

“Thank you for trying.”

Unpersuaded by her assurance, Mal nodded weakly, and before the couple took their leave, he patted Tyril’s arm. “Don’t let her out of your sight. See you in the morning.”

Strolling through the streets of the capital, slowly climbing towards the Whitetower castle, Tyril and Reyna grudgingly discussed the following day’s plan, in the meantime looking around for a seamstress. Despite the late hour, one of the very last vendors was still folding clothes in the town square, and being in desperate need of a more appropriate gear, Reyna left Tyril waiting outside. Patiently pacing around the ornate fountain, the elf studied a nearby florist when his gaze stopped at a bouquet of familiar flowers in the man’s hands. It took a bit of haggling and bragging about his title for Tyril to purchase the flowers imported from his homeland—black-petaled frilly sunflowers with luminescent red stamen—but he purchased them, and he could not suppress the proud smile on his face when Reyna emerged from the building with a paper package in her hands. He handed her the gift wordlessly.

“Oh! What’s the occasion?” 

“There is no occasion. These flowers are native to Undermount, we call them melissë anar’insil. They were my mother’s favourite, she grew them in our garden, and…” he bit his lip, blushing slightly. “And they remind me of you.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said quietly, awestruck. “Thank you, Tyril. But you shouldn't have, they look like they have cost a fortune."

"There's a possibility that the saviour got a discount."

A hearty laugh escaped her lips upon hearing the word saviour yet another time the same day. "Admit it, you like being the hero."

Tyril bit his lip, trying to contain his smile. "I suppose the title carries some benefits."

Chuckling, she climbed on the tip of her toes and pressed her lips to his for a short, sweet kiss. She could still faintly taste the sour lime lemonade with mint on his lips, the drink he claimed his favourite, the memory bringing a smile to her face. She thought of their first, and at the same time last, date—the day they partook in festival activities, roamed the streets of Whitetower holding hands, made love in a secluded tower, and ended up intoxicating themselves at a local tavern with Riverbendian drinks. As if reading her mind, Tyril’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

“Does the name of the flower mean anything in Common?” she asked, interlacing their fingers. Resuming their lazy stroll back to the castle, the elf nodded, yet he took his time with the answer, eventually smiling sheepishly. 

“It translates to ‘the lovers’ sunflower.’ These sunflowers are considered the flower of royalty in Undermount as due to their rarity only the wealthiest can afford them, and they symbolise devotion, loyalty, and adoration.”

Nodding, Reyna brought the bouquet closer to her face and took a deep breath. The smell was sweet but not overpowering, reminding her of the first days of summer, and the exact smell of Tyril’s bedchamber in Undermount. She remembered walking out to the balcony when he fell asleep and seeing the luminescent stamen in the darkness, thinking how otherworldly they made the garden look. 

“I can see why these were your mother’s favourites.”

“Their appearance is but a fraction of the reason for her admiration. Mother adored them because father asked for her hand in marriage with half a dozen bouquets of these flowers and had showered her with grandiose bouquets ever since on the most important occasions. She always said it’s a perfect addition to any confessions and talked very fondly of the day Adrina was born as father had the Manor’s ballroom filled with flowers,” Tyril reminisced, his gaze distant but a smile was playing on his lips.  

“I’d love to hear more about your mom, she sounds like a very kind soul.”

Tyril nodded. “She was. However, that is a story for another day. We should hurry, it will rain soon.”

The moment Tyril locked their chamber's door, the toller announced the clock struck eleven and Reyna plopped down on the mattress exhausted. 

"You don't have to buy me flowers if you want to propose, I'm a simple girl, Tyril," she teased, yawning. The elf flushed purple, realising how inauspiciously he crafted his words back in the town square, and smiled at her. "Duly noted."

"And if you want to fool around, just stay the word," she winked, unlacing the corset of her dress. "Not today, though, I'm dead on my feet."

"Ever the romantic," he smiled. As he helped her out of her clothes and into a loose nightgown, Tyril made sure she was tightly tucked in, and soon joined her, stroking her back until she fell asleep.  

People have a saying, one that Tyril overheard while patrolling the streets of Port Parnassus, just minutes before he first bumped into Reyna. They say that what does not kill will make you stronger, and during the year she was gone he prayed it was true. He hoped all this suffering was not in vain.

Yet now she was here with him and he felt everything but stronger. He felt weak, broken, undeserving. He couldn't protect her. It should've happened to him. 

He hadn't slept the night before—after he lulled his beloved to sleep, he stayed guard in case of the worst. It gave him plenty of time to look at her, admire the features that he had prayed to see again, to assess the damage she had suffered at the hands of… Of who exactly? She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't push her. Overwhelming her was the very last thing he wanted to make her feel so soon after returning; alas, because of that choice, his imagination was running wild. His mind was painting the pictures of Reyna running through the obsidian desert, fighting the remaining Shadow soldiers, battered, aghast, and disappointed she had to save herself because the people closest to her had failed. 

Studying the fresh horizontal scar on her inner arm, Tyril ventured into a dangerous territory of fear-fueled theories as to what lay ahead. The Shadow Realm was an unexplored area, where unlike Morella they were on a hiding to nothing. Tyril did not doubt the loyalty and capability of their group, but they managed to win the fight against the Dreadlord by a stroke of fortune—had it not been for the Priestess’ sacrifice, the party would have lost at least two members, himself included. If the new enemy was indeed a competition to the Shadow Court, they needed allies. 

Tyril noticed that upon her return, Reyna not only possessed new wounds and scars, but also lacked that mesmerising glint in her eye, her movements were slower, and body weaker, not to any sudden or loud noises paralysed her with fear. Reyna came back different. Tyril would even risk saying that it was not Reyna who came back. Not the one he knew. It was someone new entirely.

The woman next to him took in a shuddering breath, her fingers gripping the duvet tightly. Restless even in her sleep, Reyna was indisputably facing the consequences of living through numerous traumatic events within a short time period without respite. Reaching forward, Tyril smoothed out the worried crease between her brows with his thumb, deluding himself that with this simple gesture he was able to transfer all her worries onto himself. 

Take the utmost care of her and relay that Father and I rejoice at the news of Reyna’s return! 

Against his will, Tyril’s mind replayed the moment of reading Adrina's letter. Could he truly protect Reyna? Without demur, he would give his life trying to ensure her safety, albeit such sacrifice seemed pointless from his current standpoint. If he was gone, who would protect her?

“I suppose sleep is not my ally tonight,” she sighed to herself, having woken up from a nightmare-filled sleep. Wrapped in their sheets, Reyna observed Tyril, carefully studying his back, the hair that cascaded over his muscles, the way the moonlight reflected on his skin and how utterly ethereal he looked against the starry night sky. He was sitting on his legs on the balcony, facing the city, unnaturally still. As concern gripped her heart, Reyna cautiously walked over and touched his shoulder. 

"Tyril, are you alright?"

The elf looked up, snapped out of his reverie, and his hand covered hers mechanically. "I was meditating. I'm alright."

As it dawned on her, she covered her lips with a hand, doused with a wave of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, that's— that makes much more sense than what I feared," she blubbered. She did not intend to reveal the exact reason of her concern, he did not need to hear that her initial thought was that he had been petrified the same way Kaya was. "I won't bother you any longer, I'll just—"

Tyril slowly rose to his feet and rubbed her arm. "It's alright, Reyna, I was supposed to finish a long time ago anyway. Let's get you back to bed."

As his hand rested on the small of her back, he noticed the dampness of her skin. 

"Do you do that often? Meditate?"

He nodded. "It's supposed to be only thirty minutes a day, but…" he sighed. "Once the feasible solutions were depleted, I started praying for a miracle. There was nothing more that I could do but pray, so I prayed for hours on end."

Reyna bit her bit as an impulsive thought emerged in her mind. "Would you pray with me?"

As the look of surprise flowered on his face, his brows furrowed, but his expression changed into a kind, encouraging smile within seconds.

"Absolutely. Is there anything in particular you'd wish to pray for?" 

Her answer was affirmative. "Do you mind telling me a bit more about your prayers first? I'm not exactly religious, and I don't know much about your gods, but I feel like it's the right thing to do."

"Anyone is welcome to seek comfort and guidance from the gods, you needn't be religious for that," he reassured. "We do not have many prayers per se as we'd rather engage in a silent conversation with the gods during meditation, but should one need a prayer there is a universal formula. I can't know for certain, but I believe the gods would look kindly on prayers for blessing or good fortune," he explained, gently rubbing her back as he guided her inside. As they made themselves comfortable on the silk carpet, assuming the exact position Reyna found him in, the elf interlaced their fingers and rested their hands on his lap. "I suppose one could also pray to nature, as do orcs, although I haven't heard of my kind practising that."

"I'd like to pray for Kaya, to put in a good word for her, so she can rest easily," she breathed out quickly, almost cutting him short. When his expression fell, she rapidly added: "Unless that's not how it works, then—"

"No, it's just— it's very thoughtful of you," he smiled, and Reyna breathed a sigh of relief. "If you wish, you may repeat after me, but it’s not necessary since you may find it challenging to pronounce certain words.”

“I’ll try,” she nodded and took a deep breath. As soon as Tyril noticed her shoulders relax, he began reciting the prayer, slowly, pronouncing the words clearly, giving her time to repeat. 

“Alcarvalda nostar, varyando o in nór nosyë, iqulmë lissë an vilissë o Kaya Duskraven. Cé pataro imbi eleni, nínion ‘nin gwannad lîn. Hiro hyn hîdh ab 'wanath.”

As he finished, the elf stroked her knuckles softly, observing her carefully. Reyna was on edge, that was clear, although he could not figure out the exact reason—however, as tears spilled from her tightly shut eyes, he intervened, closing her in an embrace.

"Do you think she rests in peace? That Xenia's deed hadn't influenced her eternal rest?"

"I believe our Gods are omniscient and just, and as they welcomed Kaya, they saw her for the wonderful person she was before her life was stolen from her."

She hummed in response. They stayed like this for several minutes until Reyna’s breath evened out, and a yawn slipped past her lips. Tyril helped her climb onto the mattress and lulled her to sleep, just the night before, telling her a story of Undermount society’s attempts to open the city to the world. "Thank you," she whispered. “I— The prayer did bring me some comfort.”

Two hours. It took only two hours for Reyna to wake up again. She sat up straight, her skin blanketed with sweat. Tyril stroked her back through the damp gown as she took deep breaths to compose herself. 

"It's alright," he comforted repeatedly, allowing her to rest on his chest and cry out all the emotions bothering her at that moment. 

But it wasn't alright. At that moment, Reyna could not remember the nightmare that caused her to wake up drenched in sweat and with a plea on her lips, but she felt utterly devastated and powerless, and no amount of consolation was able to calm her down. Her heart would not stop pounding against her ribcage as tears would not stop flowing down her cheeks, and the terror she awakened to deftly transfigured into suffocating panic that immediately alerted the elf. 

Fixing their position so that they were sitting facing each other, Tyril's palms cradled her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Reyna, focus on me, alright? Breathe with me, take as long and deep breaths as you can, and hold it in for five seconds," he instructed, feeling his equilibrium wane as the woman before him struggled to settle her nerves. The calming spell was ready to roll from the tip of his tongue when at last Reyna took a deep, shaky breath. 

He counted down the seconds out loud for her, time after time, until her muscles relaxed, and the body became heavy in his hands. The back of his hand wiped the drops of sweat off her forehead as he laid her down, back to the same position she woke up in, and kissed her cold temple, pressing his lips for several long seconds.

She hadn't slept well the night before, and that night would probably be no different. Rubbing her back up and down, he proposed to tell her another story, in a poor attempt to help her fall asleep. 

"Just hold me, please,” she pleaded. And as a devout worshipper, Tyril held her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, although his heart ached seeing his partner in pain. 

"Are you asleep?" 

Startled, Tyril blinked repeatedly to rid his eyes of the remainder of sleep. "No." 

“I want to cut my hair.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze focusing on the pendulum clock on the far side of the room. “Now? It’s three in the morning.”

“I need a change, and my hair reminds me of what—” she held her tongue. “Will you help me or not?”

Rubbing off the blur in his eyes, Tyril rolled off the bed and approached the mirror she was sitting in front of.

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it."

Visibly unstrung and beaded with sweat, Reyna sat facing the vanity mirror, holding back tears. Unconvinced, he took his own sword from her hand and gripped the hilt tightly. Several seconds and one skilful swish of the sword later, inches of her dark locks hit the floor silently. Holding her blurry gaze in the reflection, Tyril inquired further.

“Calanín, what’s troubling you?”

Reyna dismissed his worry with a shake of her head and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. “Sorry for waking you up,” she added before disappearing into the dimly lit room. The last sound he had heard before drifting off to a turbulent sleep was that of Reyna climbing into the ornate bath. 

As the full moon gave way to the sun, coolness to sparkling dew and thin fog, the couple set out to meet their friends, shyly setting out on a new adventure, leaving the turbulent night but a memory. 

#blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Hey there! No pressure to do this, but if you want to indulge me... it could be a scene, quick dialogue, or a full fic if you wish (or you can toss this! lol)

AU where Gabirel and Trystan meet for the first time at a bar after both of their blind dates stood them up.

Crimes Drabble AU - Trystan x Gabriel

Warning & A/N: None other than drinking. Decided to write in the style I’ve come to for this book/pairing. Thanks much for this. It was fun!

I look out across the crowded pub.

Stuffed to the brim.

Across the room, sweaty bodies grind against their dance partner and everyone else on the packed floor as music pumps from the speakers of some wanna be deejay that the bartender’s brother’s cousin’s neighbor probably convinced the manager to hire on for the night.

The tables in the back of the place that constitutes the restaurant portion this bar slash wanna be pub, are full of couples feeding french fries to each other and groups of raucous friends laughing over some stupid joke told every time they go out together.

Each seat at the rail is occupied by a mix of drunks drowning their sorrows. Or drunks hoping beyond hope that the answer to all their troubles is at the bottom of their next glass. Or drunks hitting on the poor soul next to them, spewing some cheap pick up line that never works but maybe it will this time, they think, if only the person they use it on is drunk enough to find it endearing through the filter of all the alcohol.

I knew I shouldn’t have bothered tonight. It felt wrong the minute I said sure, why not.

Why fucking not indeed, I had thought in the moment. Ruby wouldn’t set me up with anyone she didn’t think I’d hit it off with. She convinced me and I convinced myself that it would be good for me.

I toss the last contents of my glass back and look for one of bartenders. One mixing drinks, another restocking, and yet another flirting for tips.

Well, this, this right here was why fucking not. A text promising to make it up to me and reschedule soon.

I’ve met enough people, hell I’ve interrogated enough people to recognize a lie when I see one.

I attempt to flag the bartender down again. Any of them. I just want another drink.

I look down into my empty glass. Maybe it can tell me why I was this stupid. Stupid enough to accept his blind date set up and even more stupid to actually show up.

The promise of love was really just one disappointment after another.

I try to wave anyone down at this point. I need another damn drink because this empty one is providing me no answers.

What a fucking joke!

I stand on the rail and glance over the bar that at one time was polished. I see the bottle I’m looking for and stretch out to reach it while trying desperately to avoid touching the sticky bar.

“Here,” an accented voice smiles as a hand reaches beyond my own grasp to snag the bottle and pours me another glass in one incredibly fluid motion.

The woman next to me, that the stranger has reached around, doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed by this person pouring drinks across her own space at the bar. In fact, she seems quite please with the entire situation as she smiles stupidly at my bartending savior.

She lifts her glass to him and he obliges in pouring her another drink with a dashing smile and some flirty words judging by the blush that creeps down her neck to engulf not only her cheeks but her entire chest on full display.

I shake my head and grin at the exchange. I should have known this blind date was a horrific idea the minute my date suggested this place.

This is so not my scene.

“Thanks,” I mumble absentmindedly, sure that he’s moved on to entertain the woman beside me.

I take a sip and close my eyes wishing I was back home as the man shoves his way past her, making his excuses, and stands beside my bar stool.

“You are most welcome,” he grins as he picks up the conversation I was foolish enough to initiate. “I’m just pleased I could buy you a drink.”

“Technically you didn’t. You stole one,” I say with little emotion as I stare straight ahead into the mirror and watch him.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off me, not even acknowledging the woman still trying to regain his attention beside him.

“What?” I ask sharply and turn to him as he continues to grin at me.

“Hello.”

He smiles at me, that same brilliant smile he’s tossed at just about everyone that has paid him any attention since he walked into the place tonight.

“Hi,” I respond.

Smooth, I chastise myself.

I wish I hadn’t noticed him. I wish he hadn’t walked over here. I wish-

I wish he would tell me his name.

“Trystan.”

I narrow my eyes at him, it’s like he’s read my mind. I don’t like it. I don’t trust it.

I look at his hand extended in the little space between us and finally take it.

“Gabriel.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Gabriel.”

His voice is honey and I’m stupid enough to want nothing more than to hear my name on his lips again. I simply nod in response and turn back to the mirror across the bar.

Anything to distract myself and avoid him.

“What brings you out here tonight?” he asks.

I can’t help but chuckle. “That line ever work for you?”

His laugh is bright and genuine as he answers, “It’s not a line. I am simply trying to start up a conversation with the gorgeous, albeit brooding, man at the bar, who is drinking alone.”

“That line ever work for you?” I grin

“You tell me.”

I turn back to him and take my time looking him over, deciding whether he’s worth the time or effort.

Sharply dressed, even for a bar, even for a New York bar. Expensive, tailored suit. Manicured nails. Hands that have probably never seen a days hard labor. A ring with a snake on it. Gold, large, expensive. Sculpted brows and neatly trimmed facial hair. Product in his hair and cologne that undoubtedly costs more than my month’s rent.

Maybe worth it for some fun but definitely not for the heartache that will inevitably come from messing with the likes of him.

Nope. No way. This would be a disaster before it even started.

“Tempting, but I don’t mess with,” I pause and look him over again, “with…,” I trail off unsure how to put ‘rich snobs’ nicely.

“With what?”

“With whatever you are,” I gesture at him.

“And what am I? Beyond the given.”

“And what’s the given?” I’m stupid enough to ask.

“A mysterious and handsome stranger that came to your rescue,” he winks.

I chuckle and shake my head. “You’re not my type. I don’t go for rich flirts.”

“Rich flirt?” his laugh rings out across even the din of the pub. “What makes you think I’m that?”

“Your suit and overall appearance tell me you are wealthy. Money has never been an issue for you. More than likely, you have more than you know what to do with. Your smiles, winks, and overall demeanor with everyone in here tells me you are a serial flirt. Too smooth and confident in how good looking you are. Those looks have seen you through life, and I’d wager, into plenty of beds.”

I watch as his smile grows with each of my words. Not what I was expecting, but I stand by my evaluation and my resolve to not let him flirt his way into anything with me.

“Should I continue?” I ask to distract myself from getting lost in the brilliance of that smile.

“Please do,” he laughs. “But only over dinner.”

He stands and holds his hand out to me.

“I don’t think so,” I say as I swallow the last of my stolen drink. “But thanks.”

“You are really going to let me dine alone? I have a table over there and a date that didn’t show up. Join me and tell me about all my other faults while I convince you I could be exactly your type.”

“Or my next mistake,” I say.

“Maybe,” he shrugs with a grin. “But, either way, I’m bound to be way more thrilling than sitting alone.”

“Fine,” I sigh as I stupidly let myself be talked out of all reason and into whatever brand of madness he is.

——————————

All Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices @peonierose @aallotarenunelma @inlocusmads

Other Tags: @choicesbookclub

#crimes of passion #trystan thorne

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Love is love is love!

I can't thank the loveliest coffeesforchloe on Instagram for this stunning art of my ot3! Daenarya is one happy and lucky lady to be caught between two people she loves most!

For @choicespride and @choicesficwriterscreations Bisexual Awareness Week 💖💜💙

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Look at how cute they even look in the sketch version!!!

#blades of light and shadow #nia ellarious #mal volari

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Kofi request for Maxwell x Mc ♥️ thanks for the support ✨

Kofi

#the royal romance #maxwell beaumont

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Little star falling

Paring: Tyril x f! elf (odelia

book: blades of light and shadows

word count: 2165 

rating: y/a ig for swearing and sexual themes but no smut

category: good old- rewrite

warnings: mentions of bullying and mental health issues.

Tags: @sophie-summer @lawrencebarkley @agattthaa @choicesficwriterscreations

Tyril stood on the outskirts of the party, watching as his peers ran around and screamed in glee. “Don’t you wish to join them?” His mother asked. He looked up to her and frowned. “They don’t like me.” “That's nonsense, Tyril you are a sweet boy, You just have to put yourself out there and people will love you just as much as I do.” She promised, pinching his cheeks before showering with kisses. 

He knew the truth though. He was different. He was wrong. 

“They called me dull.” He admits. His mom frowns, and takes him into her arms, and for some reason he cries. He had long since grown used to the teasing, but still he cried for some unknowable reason.

“My little star, You are perfect.” She promised. “I’m nothing.” He said, because if he didn’t the world would stop turning, it was a natural law at this point. When you hear his name, “oh he’s nothing,” will follow shortly after. 

“No Tyril, My precious star, you’re everything, You’re going to be the brightest star the world has ever seen, You’re going to prove everyone wrong, because You’re perfect.” She promised. “But no one likes me.” He said

“You’ll find them, but in my experience, the people that’ll mean the most to you will find you, just when you need them the most.” She explained “why can’t they come now?” He asked “I don’t know, baby,” 

“But I do know that when you meet them, and you will, they will see you for the kind, thoughtful, very handsome boy you are, and every moment you’re with them you’ll be at ease, because they’ll love you no matter what.” his mom told him. 

He didn’t believe her then. He cried and cried, she wiped his tears and kissed the top of his head, but in the back of his head he knew that she knew the truth. That he wasn’t good. He was bad. He was different. 

His father’s advice was to straighten his back and his act. ‘Don’t mess this up, Tyril, you’re a Starfury.’  If He spent enough money on never ending classes maybe his son would catch up to the elflings.

He tossed himself into everything he did, he gave his all to everything and still he was the least of his peers. He tried. 

You couldn’t count the times he stayed up, studying till he passed out, and practicing magic till he ran himself to exhaustion. He was in the yard practicing his swordsmanship til daybreak, till his blisters burst and bled and his blood made him unable to grip his sword.

He went to social functions and smiled, laughed and tried to jest, trying to keep up and fit in.

His mind never let him get too comfortable, always reminding him of the truth.

He wasn’t witty or clever, He wasn’t good at music or socializing, he wasn’t good at this. Truth be told he could only pride himself on being the best dualist. 

And for his bravo he stood before someone he thought was his best friend, Bloodied and bruised and she laughed. 

“Poor little lord- are you going to cry now?” She mocked. He stared at her in disbelief.

“But-” “get out of my sight before I do your house a favor and rid the stain that is your presence from its history, You pathetic little worm.” She threatened.

He ran. Just like he was a boy, instead of hiding behind his mothers legs he ran out of Undermount, He ran.

And he didn’t stop running until a voice called out to him. 

“Hey, watch where you’re going.” “I’m not the one running blindly into strangers.” he replied with a scowl. “Are you sure about that?” The elf asked. 

She wasn’t noble, he knew that for sure, She didn’t bare a family crest. But her golden eyes reminded him of a noble family he couldn’t quite place. 

 but even then he continued to run. 

Until he ran into her and her merry band of idiots once again, and after exchanging their tells of why they wish to hunt down the shadow court they looked to each other. 

“It would seem our journeys are linked, then. Wherever the shards are, those under its influence are sure to be close by. I’ll accompany you on your hunt for the shards, But I won’t let you slow me down.” He said. And this woman had the nerve to look amused. Her brows raised and the corners of her round lips quirked up. 

“Oh that’s wonderful!” the priestess started to exclaim, only to be cut off by the other human. 

“Hang on. Us slow You down? You’re the one murdering your way across realms, we just want the shards.” He said 

Tyril tore his eyes from the woman’s and shifted them to the human, his hand reaching to the hilt of his sword. 

“I’m doing them a kindness… Not that I expect you to understand that.” He defended. 

The elf looked between the two men and sighed. “We need all the help we can get, Mal and he doesn’t seem like a bad ally to have.” She said,

At least there was only one idiot in the group it seemed. 

“I’ll do whatever I can to aid you until the shadow court is dealt with, you have my word.” He said 

The human glares at him for a while before he shifts his gaze to the elf and sighs. “You better be sure about this, Odelia. It’s your brother whose fate hangs in the balance, after all.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” She asked with a glare. 

Tyril glanced at the Priestess, and couldn’t help but feel like a child watching their parents argue. 

But then the elf looked at him, and smiled- like he was worth something. He noticed her staring as he looked down at the fae fish, and in the middle of the night when it was his turn to stand watch she came to him and smiled, draping her blanket over his shoulders before sitting next to him.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to worry yourself.” he said, swallowing nervously as she looked at him. “I’ve never met another elf before.” she admits, at this he raises his brows.

“Your kin?” He asks “None but my adoptive brother... He’s a human.” She admits “You’re from the kingdom of elves- aren’t you?” “Undermount? yes I’m from house starfury.” he says watching as she nods.

“A noble, huh?” “Of sorts.” She smiles  “What’s it like?” she asks “To be noble or undermount?”

“Both.” “Suffocating at times…. If you don’t fit the standards then…. you don’t have…. anything.” He admits

He glanced at her, wide eyed with wonder and curiosity (The same look she gave the human scoundrel). and maybe he selfishly wanted that look to himself, or maybe he couldn’t crush that. He couldn’t be the one to kill the vision she had of it in her mind.

Whatever the reason, he smiled softly and started to tell her only the most wonderful things about his home. 

He didn’t know when he let her into his heart, it seemed that she was always there… He didn’t know when he started to fall. Maybe it was then, when she draped her blanket over his shoulders, or when they played poker, over sleepless nights where she’d stay up and listen to him talk of his favorite constellations.

or when he’d listen to her speak on her dreams of adventure, that in her village she was a Physicians apprentice, That the pay was horrible and insulting to someone of her skill- she delivered four babies, saved a whole camp of soldiers, and have kept him alive(a jest) but she did it because how else was she going to pay for food and board.

She wondered if money solved everything. He asked if that was what she wished to be, a physician and she said it was hard, that some people think the worst of her simply because she’s an elf- it's a hard job that pays less than her traveling and offering her assistance. She asked if being a lord was what he wanted and he couldn’t answer. 

It was probably under the stars, her lit blue looking at him with a soft smile. 

… “that's not why I stare at you, Tyril.” She said  …

It must’ve been at that moment.

Or maybe those were all sparks but the flame was after that, those nights.

“Why do you always look surprised when I want to spend time with you?” She asks “I… Suppose I'm not used to thinking of myself as someone anyone might Choose.” He admits  “We’ll have to get you used to it, then, won’t we?” she replied

Maybe it was then, seeing her dressed up and so in awe of everything around her. 

He stood back straight with a grin on his lips as Odelia held onto the medal around his neck. “It suits you.” She says against his lips. “Do you think Undermont will give you one?” She wondered out loud. “probably not, but you’ll likely get a title.” “Oh good, then you’ll only be stuck with newly accessed trash and not commoner trash.” she said cheerily. 

She took off the medal around her neck and placed it on his. “This is yours.” “If undermount doesn’t award you, then i’ll just have to.” she explains.

“You are everything.” She says with a grin, a level of sincerity that he couldn’t help but believe.

He grinded and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Her hands encased his face, her laughter breaking the kiss. “You’re squeezing the life out of me, Ty.” “I’m just- very happy to be with you.” He admits. “Well, I already knew that.” she replies with a grin.

She intertwined their fingers and looked at him with a small grin. “Let’s go back to our rooms, love.” she suggested “... there isn’t truly a need to, is there? It’s private enough.” He said 

She looked at him a bit shocked before bursting out into laughter. “Why, Tyril. Are you into having an audience?” she asked “not particularly, no but when I’m with you I feel all my inhibitions slipping away.” “That might not be a good thing,” She says, her hand on his hip, drawing him close with that grin of hers. 

“Though, If someone wanted to watch I’d have no qualms with them seeing how lucky I am to have you.” he told, and this woman who had spent months flirting and teasing him, flushed. 

“Ever the charmer.” she muttered, pulling him down to kiss her before leading him to the nearest inn they could find. 

And when he awoke he found her sending a bird off with a letter. “What are you doing?” he asked, she turned to look at him and she grinned.

Jumping onto the bed and making her way to his lap with that same grin. 

“Good morning, my love.” She says “good morning, beloved,” he said. His words only make her grin widen. “I love it when you call me that.” she says, pressing a kiss to his throat. 

His mother was right. About so many things, but she was right about Odelia- his right person came along and was stolen before his eyes….. And he did nothing.

When his mother passed he thought he’d remember her face forever, nothing in this world or the next could make him forget her…. But time steals more than just your youth, and there are days where her image evades his memory. 

So he took to drawing Odelia’s portrait, doodling it on his notes and journal pages but he finds as the months go by all that remains is her smile and eyes. He wrote down her words so he never forgets.

He draws, and with a doodle of her grinning, staring up at the sky, her hair sprawled out beneath her it makes him think back to sleeping under the stars.

 “I Can feel you staring,” She muttered, rolling to face him. “It’s to make up for all those times you’ve stared at me- distracting me from battle-” “you noticed?” she whispered. “Of course I noticed.” 

She laughs a bit like she found herself funny for not realizing before she rolls to hide her face in her bed roll. 

“You must think I’m a fool.” she muttered, almost…. Bashful. “Why would I think that?” He asked “Because-” She paused and looked into his eyes, she searched for a while before she laughed to herself. “Oh.” she muttered, then she let out a little laugh.

“You must hate when people stare at you,” “It’s alright if it’s you, I understand you must be very curious about your people,” “that's not why I stare at you, Tyril.” She informed in a tone that meant he missed something very obvious.  “Why else?” He asked. She simply laughs at him- at whatever he didn’t know.

“Good night, Tyril.” she whispered, as not to disturb any of the others. 

#blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury

[littleredroseonthevalley]

film appreciation 103 ~ trystan x nora

Trystan solves a case in the most unexpected of ways, leaving Nora a little speechless. (Characters from Crimes of Passion, Choices. A sort of follow-up to Competitive Film Critique 102)

No warnings | mild language | 2.25k

A/N: I'm experimenting with a different format so it is cleaner and much nicer. This fic is based on a prompt sent by @jerzwriter (thank you Elsa!) and I hope I did it some justice because it is honestly one of the most beautiful things I stumbled onto.

The shop’s big bass speakers switched to 70s and 80s rock, and yet could not overthrow prominence over the chattery Saturday afternoon crowd. Among the people was Nora, in her tired, exhausted under-the-weather state; bad posture, ink-stained hands and this sense of utter desperation in her eyes that even the stiffest of beverages could not cure. She scrolled through her phone’s contacts - around seventeen missed calls from Mr Guo who was keen to know if she found anything and Nora didn’t have the heart nor the courage to tell him no, she’d hit multiple brick walls.

Mr Guo owned a video store in a Chinese neighbourhood in Manhattan. A distant friend of Uncle Tommy’s who was fixated on finding and archiving a film by the title The Apartment, 2028. It had an interesting backstory about how the director and the scriptwriter followed a lost paper trail to the original author of the famous book in the city of Lanzhou,  and begged them to make an adaptation back in 1995. Unfortunately, the movie was never released due to a flurry of legal troubles, but was distributed for free in unmarked DVDs. One such copy fell into the hands of an indie movie director, whose work, after being inspired by the film, was showcased in Sundance. After hearing such an extensive backstory from geeks, nerds and gossiping relatives, Mr Guo wanted one too. It made sense - his primary objective wanting to preserve lost films and tell the world about it and this one hit too close to home.

Mr Guo knew only one person in Manhattan who could understand where he came from and it was Uncle Tommy. Naturally, Tommy referred to his niece. It was simple. Nora was good at finding things and she’s got a network of people helping her. She’d have had it done in a month’s time at best, before Mr Guo’s shop was due a renovation. Three weeks into the search and the “city's best detective"  as Guo had said, was at a loss for everything. Nora hated it. She hated herself for not being able to apply herself. She hated that she’d lost her mojo and more than everything, she hated she couldn’t just..ask for help; fearing a situation too mundane like this wouldn’t be well received by Mafalda and her friends.

Behind her, David Bowie was singing, “I know a way; To find a situation. And hold a candle; To your high life disguise. You caught me kneeling--” almost as if her situation was laughable.

Finding things.

It shouldn’t be hard. It shouldn’t be that difficult.

It was easy. Nora would have to know.

"Anything else I can get you?"

The waitress, with her kind smile and her notebook appeared as promptly as the next Bowie song to play through the speakers. She was one of those beautiful people who took notice of what her customers did. If they were to eat as little as, say, a drink of coffee, she would most certainly ask them if they cared for an extra croissant. She could tell if people were going through something; compromising on their healthy eating habits. And also because she knew Nora personally. 

"I hate it."

"The coffee? I can make you a --"

"I hate the air. I hate the buildings and the people. I hate the way they flock and push you with their shoulders. I hate their laughs. I hate the neverending day."

"One of those days, eh, Miss?"

"You know what, Dina? I think I am too nice, in general. I take up difficult things because I'm too -- nice. Sometimes a resounding no should be enough, but no. It is parasitic. It is absolutely fucking terrifying."

"I'll put you down for a coffee, then?"

"The strongest."

Nora knew she'd be back with a croissant, watching the waitress leave to attend to a tall man’s coffee order. She searched around the shop for a bit of hope, before returning to her phone; going through some digital files that she'd already revisited plenty of times. 

It's cinema. 

She's supposed to know cinema better than anything, if not the sad detective work of hers.

Her phone rang with a text. Trystan’s avatar popped up - the one he swore was an automatic phone-thing and wasn’t something he meticulously set up. He was asking where she was. Nora sent him the address to The Green Horse and Trystan made a little joke about the name. Fifteen minutes later, he was panting and puffing, had a visible distressed expression and clutched a book and a pencil. 

“What are you doing in a pub, Detective?” Trystan huffed, heaving for air as he sat across her, combing the hair from his face. “Very unlike you to be drinking in the afternoon. Is this a new diet? A digestion habit?”

“They have good coffees, but the point is - why - did you run here or something?”

“No, yes.”

The waitress came by with a cup of the strongest coffee and a croissant. She turned to Trystan, with the faintest glint of recognition that might as well snowball into fangirling if she just knew where she’d seen him from.

“Hi, can I get a nice glass of  Žuta Osa please? And a platter of bread to accompany it with your finest ljutenica. Thank you.”

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“He looks like everyone else. He gets that a lot.” Nora intervened. “Hey, get something else. They don’t have rakija.”

“But they are a pub! A pub without rakija is like an action protagonist without a motivational montage. Speaking of which - segue - I found something that you will like very much Nora - the thing is --”

“Can I take your order, please?”

“Whatever she is having, thank you. Anyway-” Trystan pushed the book towards her. The waitress sighed, taking a leave. As if Trystan was concerned about people being within earshot, he searched around before feeling satisfied with the thinned afternoon crowd and motioned for her to read it. 

Trystan’s handwriting was elegant and scrawly. He’d written down several things in and around the margins, a couple of rectangles with some detailed caricatures of characters inside it. He’d also attempted to copy down words in Chinese lettering. Nora turned to the page after, watching all these notes come to life on a murderboard, with the absence of a red string. He didn’t have to take elaborate notes, no. He didn’t have to write down all the themes present in the movie, The Apartment, 2028 - a simple address would have sufficed - which he did end up writing on a corner of the page. He didn’t need to draw elaborate portraits just out of interest, the same way he didn’t need to maintain a notebook of things like someone so enamoured with solving puzzles.

“I don’t understand, I’ve been looking for a piece of information on this for a long time. What did you do?”

“I -- feel like it has something to do with my understanding of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is a bit like this, Nora. I simply saw things from how you would see things.”

“And how would I have seen things?”

“I do not like movies. I like the art, the idea of them but to sit in a theatre and have a beloved piece of book shredded in live action is torture I do not want. But I did, anyway. You always start with the information you know and since I did not know information, I had to go scavenge some for myself. What sets apart films like what Mr Guo is looking for, how I can narrow down the search to one -- road, so to speak. So I watched some showings. Fortunately, the librarian down the street referred me to some movie clubs and-- it was a week’s worth of work.”

“What did you -- watch?”

“What you would watch and well, what Mr Guo would have in his store. Which probably contains some of your favourite things - genres, themes - that I wrote down there. It was like trying to wear a pair of Nora-tinted glasses and see why you liked it and if I can understand that and I was able to - to some extent. There were parts in the film I did not enjoy, but gave me direction as to where to look at next. The film club people referred me to some video stores and places that showed these things.”

“And?”

“I watched some more movies.”

“So your idea was just to brute-force the answer.”

“My idea was to draw out a roadmap.”

“And it worked.”

“Now I have an address. His name is Vicky Goodman. He lives in Number 4, Bridges Street. He collects old lost media for a living and I am told he might have old copies, pirated videotapes of long-gone media, banned books and television programs and so on.”

Nora swallowed, looking at the address written in perfect writing. “This is how you think I’d have done?”

“Yes, is that not clear? It is how you would have done under any situation and you would probably not pass up an opportunity to watch a movie.” Trystan chuckled. “It -- is a neat trick but also helped me -- look at things your way too. See why you like it so much.”

“Well -- great work, you got lucky.”

“You are envious because I solved the case faster than you did.”

“No - actually--”

“Trystan Thorne, Senior Partner at Ginovesi does have a great ring to it.”

“This is an imitation. You are-”

“Psh, please. If I were to flatter you, I can do so much better than this. I am actually an expert now. At solving puzzles. Like an expert.”

“No, not even close.” Nora chuckled.

“Okay, somewhat of an expert, but it was all me. Luck is what people use to justify the successes of the greats.”

“You just -- happened to stumble onto the right path--”

“Ten years from now, they will say, Trystan Thorne had a glowing career in detectiving. Pity his partner was so jealous of him that she cut him up into a million pieces-”

“I will -- detectiving isn’t even a word.”

“It will be, because I put it there. Webster’s Dictionary 2043. Word of the Year.”

“How was it though? Trying to -- see from my perspective?”

Trystan thought for a long moment. The waitress came with a cup of black coffee, just the way Nora would take it. He took a sip of it, chugged the rest of the thing down and placed the empty cup back on the saucer. He pretended to gag a little, took a swig of water and thought some more. The whole sequence of actions of Trystan thinking in exceedingly exaggerated mannerisms was more than enough of an explanation for Nora, but she still wanted it in words. That’s mostly how their partnership worked anyway. She said something, he said something clever back and she’d quote him on that any chance she got.

“Awful.”

“Fuck you.”

“So -- many -- movies. My brain is melting.” Trystan laughed. Nora leaned over, just to punch him a little on the shoulder.

“It is exhausting.”

“Not as exhausting as having you cosplay Suchet’s Poirot every chance you get.”

“That is an insult to Poirot. The books are better.”

“Really?”

“Under any situation. Here is a thought. I would have solved it -- we would have solved it much faster if we read the books instead. The Apartment, 2028 was a book, no?”

“Yes and that would require very expensive air travel, food and accommodations and a GPS and--”

“Excuses, excuses. Compromising on the journey is exactly the reason why modern film protagonists have plot armours more than their actual armours. I know this because I saw ten thousand motion pictures in--”

“Ten.”

“Eighty five thousand--”

Nora gave him a look.

“Fine. Twelve pictures. But that does not delegit-- delege- deligi- delegete--”

“Delegiti-”

“Warrant. That does not warrant you being a -- mean person.”

A pause. Nora broke the croissant in half, giving Trystan a piece. 

“You watched twelve movies. That is commitment to the job.”

“Mafalda does not want to hire me. Even when I said I will pay her instead.”

“She needs qualification. Not just a mere interest in puzzles.”

“What do I do then?”

A smile broke out in Nora’s face. She knew it was wrong. No. Beyond wrong. She saw how caring and nurturing he was - how he was willing to walk five hundred miles and more, just to get a scrap piece of address just so she could tell a family friend that he could get his hands on a copy of a lost and forgotten film. It was mundane. She didn’t think he’d take it so seriously to the point where he quite literally did a character analysis on her just so he could solve it from her perspective. It was so mundane, so little, so -- unnecessary and so--

“There’s five pending cases on my desk right now. If you get to that, I’ll have a word with Mafalda today. They all require finding things, which is in your forte. After all, you are good at seeing things from my perspective, so it’s like I’m right there with you.”

“You want me to do your job?”

“Consider it a detectiving pro quo. A quid pro detectiving.”

Trystan stood up. “You are the worst person in the world. When do I start?”

“Right now and I’ll have your first paycheck by the end of the day. Deal?”

***

Tagging:

Perma: @quixoticdreamer16 @tessa-liam

Crimes only: @peonierose @cassie-thorne @jerzwriter @trappedinfanfiction @ao719 @lilyoffandoms @fuckitweball0000

#crimes of passion

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Gone

Pairings: Tyril Starfury/F!Human MC

Word count: 1.566

Warnings: There's a fight between the group and Mal and Nia could be read as a couple, but also can be read as just friends too

Gone. Simply gone. 

One second the love of his life was there, in the next one a woman pulled her inside a portal and then, she was gone. 

And he didn't know what to do.

None of them actually did. 

Mal and Nia decided to get up. To try to make things better. To change things for the better. 

It would be what Rain would have wanted. Mal had said. 

It will be the best way to honor her. Nia agreed.

Tyril knew that they were right. That the Raine that he loved would take great pride in her friends choosing to protect people, to save children just like herself and her brother, to give them a home full of love and care, a ceiling over their heads and food to keep their tummy full. To save them, just as she had been saved. 

But it deeply bothered him. 

The way that they talked like his soul was already gone and buried and that they accepted it and they just had to move on with their lives now. 

And f it made him bothered and upset, it made Imtura outraged.

 A tear ran down her face, she started screaming, exclaiming that they were all abandoning Raine, that she was still alive and their acceptance of this cruel situation was what would kill Raine, and not the woman that kidnaped her.

And that was when the true chaos began. 

Tears started to run down Nia's face and Mal slammed his fist on the table. 

-Now you have passed all the limits, princess. It's been four months, Imtura. And we're as close to finding her as we were on the first day. It's important to know when you lost. And we did, there's nothing we can do. 

To that, Imtura didn't say anything. Instead, she wiped her tears, got up, grabbed her ax that was placed beside the fireplace and walked towards the door, opening it and stopping on her tracks. 

-She would've searched for any of us for at least four decades. 

And then, she left.

-Don't you think that I know that? The rogue sighed, pulling Nia closer so she could cry on his shoulder.

Nia had stopped crying already when Tyril left. She had been the most determined to find Raine in the first three months, but every failed attempt to find her made Nia worse.  

Tyril knew that she felt guilty, for when she was kidnapped Raine got into that portal and saved her. She saved all of them. In different ways, but it was a fact.

Nia's light shined brighter when Mal told her the dream of having an orphanage. After that, they became closer, happier.

And now, Imtura was also gone. On her own accord but she was nonetheless. And there was nothing to help him find her on Whitetower. 

For he would not stop. 

He wouldn't stop. 

Not now.

Not ever.

He would keep searching for her. The next day, and the day after that and the day after that. Not even death would stop him, for her soul was forever tied to his.

So, he went back home. 

Not because he missed home. Well, not only for that, but it was more probable that Undermonth and the elves could at least give him a hint. 

So that's what he did. He searched for that hint. He asked around the elderly elves, whom he once believed had all the answers that one could need. He searched the libraries. He went down the catacombs again and even found Lady Starfury again. When he explained the situation, she gave him a sad smile, her light growing weaker.  

-If there was ever a human capable of returning from that, it was that one. Believe her, son of my blood. 

And then, she was also gone, as was almost everyone recently.  

When his heart had spent eight months broken and cold, he received a letter from Nia and Mal. They had already rescued nine children and they had a small home on the outskirts of town. Nothing like Undermouth, and he was sure that that part was written by Mal, but they were happy and safe and okay and at the end of the day it was all that mattered. 

They had also sent the address, not explicitly calling him back, but letting him know that he was welcome if he wanted to be back. 

But he didn't.  

His friends would always hold a small piece of his heart, but things were different now. Imtura left. He never received any letter from her nor was she mentioned on the one that Mal and Nia sent. The other two were living together and raising their children. Tyril could not just show up and get in the way of their found happiness. 

For happiness was not a thing that he had felt ever since the second his heart was ripped away from his chest and taken elsewhere.

For he never met happiness before he met her and he could not feel it without her. 

It would've been too cruel of him to bring his excruciating pain into a house that was full of love. 

So he didn't. 

And he didn't feel bad for it, because he knew it was the right choice. But he felt guilty about Kade. He felt horrible about Kade.

He had abandoned him, the only family of the woman he loved. 

They had just met him when Raine was taken away. So Kade closed himself, never letting any of them get too close, too wounded to allow that to happen. 

At least he let the Nespers get close. And for that, Tyril would forever be thankful. 

Tyril sent at least a letter monthly to him though, asking how he was, how was life in the palace and offering him a place on Undermonth.

Offer that the boy always refused, telling Tyril that he was fine and that he hoped he was too. And that was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

It still haunted his thoughts when he laid in bed at night. The bed that was once theirs, the bed that once carried her scent, but now it was also gone. 

He let his tears roll down as he reached for her, touching the side where she always was, on the side she was supposed to forever be. But she was gone when he closed his eyes and she was still gone when he opened them. 

'Come back to me, Raine' he begged daily. When he fell asleep, when he woke up, when he risked climbing mountains, when he went down the earth, when he fought vicious beasts, all in the vain thought of doing everything, anything to get her back. 

This time, he foolishly had gotten himself into a fight with a Fluria by trying to get inside her nest. 

A dumb decision, really, for the nest was filled with small Flurias and of a very angry mother, capable of doing anything to protect her children. And protect her children she did, throwing Tyril as far away as she could with her own body, but his body didn’t hit a forest floor. 

It hitted a marble one, covered in a soft tapestry. 

One that he knew very well. For it was their bedroom on Whitetower. 

And there she was, looking at him with that same smile, as if only a day had passed since they last seen each other. 

The Fluria had stayed behind. The portal closing too quickly for the monster to follow him. 

And Raine, his Raine, looked at him with that sickling sweet smile, as if he was the most important to her, as if he held her heart in his hands. Just like she held his.

She extended her hand towards him, making his eyes leave her face to look at her hand. 

He couldn’t touch it. He couldn’t touch her. It was only a dream. It had to be.

For the gods had a sick twisted game of giving him happiness and then ripping it apart right in front of his eyes. He lost Kaya, he lost Raine, he lost his friends. He couldn’t bear to lose her again. He would not survive it. But when he didn’t touch her, she let her hand get even closer to him, giving that smirk that was so usual of her when she would say something to embarrass him that he almost believed that she was really real. 

-Come one, Tyril. Will you stay the whole night on the floor? I wanna take a look at this new style. So far, 10/10, very hot, would do. 

He laughed. 

For the first time in one year, he laughed.

When he touched her hand and got up, she did not disappear. Nor she did when he kissed her. His heavy tears almost burning their skins. But she didn’t complain. She only held him closer and closer, as if she knew he was afraid she would vanish again. As if she knew his heart. 

She probably did. It was hers and hers only, so how could she not know it? 

That night, when he laid to sleep, Raine was there and she was still there when he woke up, curled up on him. Still asleep and still with that beautiful smile on her face. 

And now Tyril knew what was happiness again. 

#blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Trystan x Gabriel by artbyainna (IG)

I wanted art that was in keeping with the cover photo for this book but more in keeping with the characters because I refuse to believe the detective or Trystan would go all TRR on us like that cover art is attempting to make us believe.

- aka I wanted cover art that was less generic -

I also wanted to redeem that disaster of a coronation outfit for the detective. I went with something in keeping with the whole royal vibe but something that wasn’t so stuffy and old, because I’m tired of PB making Mags designs look so boring and off. She’s better than PB, I just know it.

Ainna definitely delivered and then some! I just can’t get over how amazing she is with taking my ideas and two entirely different outfits and making something magical out of them!

[Background is a manipulation of the PB cover art]

[Gabriel’s outfit is inspired by an design from Ellie Saab’s Fall/Winter 2022 line and one from Zaid Nakad’s Spring/Summer 2023 line]

#crimes of passion #trystan thorne

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Elhalas

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: (F!Elf!MC) Raine Nightbloom x Tyril Starfury

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Fantasy violence, blood, death

Length: ~7k words

Summary: Raine and Tyril must journey to the Land of the Gods in order to defeat an impending threat.

Tags: @lawrencebarkley @watatsumi-island @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations

A/N: Part one! This isn’t related to the plot of book two in any way and pretty much stands as its own thing.

She found herself in a world like death.

One where hellfire rained from the heavens, and ash drifted through the air like blackened snow. If there were any gods watching over this realm, then they had abandoned it long ago.

The charred earth splintered beneath her feet with each step she took, the only sign of a land that had once flourished with life but now lied in ruins, having crumbled in the wake of devastation and leaving only a distant memory behind.

Above her, the red sun stared down like a watchful eye, blazing with crimson fire as it followed her every move, as its hellish glow painted the sky in blood.

It had not spared anyone from its ire before, and she would be no different.

A horrific squawk cried from overhead, and through darkened clouds she could make out the faint shadow of a creature’s wings flapping high above. In a burst of flame it emerged from the sky, soaring directly towards her with gnarled claws ablaze.

It almost looked like a drake, though with dark and matted feathers in place of the vivid colours from those she had come to know, and a sharp beak that opened wide to breathe a column of scorching fire in her direction.

She raised her hands to summon her magic in defence, but where sparks of light usually flickered to life upon her fingertips, there was nothing. She was powerless in this place.

Instead she threw her body to the side as the blast sailed overhead, causing a wave of heat to ripple against the dry air. Her fingernails raked against black mud as she struggled to pull herself from the ground, but the drake was faster and she writhed in agony as its claws dug deep into her sides, the sharp talons drawing blood.

Its screeches rang in her ears as it took off to the skies once more, carrying her higher to where the smoke grew thick and putrid, and the acrid stench of sulphur tainted the air.

Below, the rivers of lava wound themselves into a labyrinth, emitting a faint amber glow barely visible through the dense haze. Sharp rocks jutted out of the ground like shards of black glass as the drake descended lower to where the scorched earth began to crack, forming a large fissure down the centre of the land.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream as it released its hold on her body, throwing her down into the wide chasm below.

The wind howled past her ears as she fell, its cries slowly morphing into anguished wails the further and faster she plummeted down. Grey rock faded into vast nothingness as darkness took hold, and still she remained falling through a pit of despair.

She didn’t know how much time had passed as minutes and hours merged into an endless blur. With no other options, she made one last attempt at calling for her magic. A final plea for something, anything to happen, for even the tiniest spark to ignite in the dark, but it was hopeless. The Light did not shine on her here.

Just as she thought she would spend an eternity falling to her demise, she hit the ground and tumbled down a hill of ash before rolling onto her back, gasping and unable to move.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was at the bottom of a cavern, the air cold and bleak deep beneath the lava’s surface. A dim glow faintly illuminated the space around her, but its source was weak and fading, and it didn’t offer the same comfort as the warmth she was used to.

She was curious to know where it was coming from, but couldn’t move her neck to follow it. A pool of blood stained the ash beneath her and specks of dust drifted through the air as she took a shaky breath.

All she could do was listen. She heard the faint trickling of water from a crack in the rocks nearby, no doubt tainted like the other remnants of this realm. Somewhere else in the cavern she could hear the sound of iron chains being dragged across the ground, and a pair of heavy footsteps edging closer and closer.

A shadow fell over her crumpled body in the form of two dark wings, slowly unfurling with a cold breeze that sent chills up her spine. Through blurred vision she caught a glimpse of obsidian eyes, harsh and cold as they bore into her own.

Except the figure seemed to see past her, turning instead towards the opening where she watched a young woman follow him further into the cave, and she froze at the sight.

It was her.

Or rather, someone who had once been her, but was now a different person entirely. Her skin was a pale shade of grey, and her eyes were turned pitch black. Dark tears spilled down her cheeks and her voice was laced with a bitter desperation she couldn’t place.

“I did what you asked,” she pleaded. “I sacrificed everything.”

When the winged figure spoke, it was with a voice like the rolling of distant thunder, echoing across the cavern walls and causing the earth beneath to tremble.

“V’eratis vos detrima,” he seethed behind clenched teeth in an ancient language she didn’t recognise nor understand, and a black spear glinted from where it appeared in his grip. “You have outlived your purpose.”

Her corrupted self’s eyes widened as she realised what his words meant. Still, she made no attempt to fight death, offering no resistance as he hurled the weapon towards her.

The sharp point pierced through her heart, embedding itself in the stone walls behind her. From the ground, she watched as her body slumped forward, pinned to the wall with black blood dripping from the hole in her chest.

With a blast of wind that stirred the ash and dust around them, the figure took off to the skies, leaving her alone in the darkness.

She was still paralysed on the ground where she had landed after falling, and her head began to spin as she felt herself fading. Using all the remaining strength she had left, she lifted her head weakly, only to find her corrupted self staring right back at her.

“Who are you?” She whispered, terrified.

The blood fell faster, dripping onto the ground as her gaze locked onto her own. “I’m who you’ll become, if you fail.”

Tendrils of shadow emerged from the darkness, like phantom hands reaching out to wrap themselves violently around her limbs before dragging her down to the depths that awaited below, leaving her real self truly alone in a world gone wrong.

Above, a crimson inferno blazed on the dark horizon.

And soon it would consume her too.

Raine woke with a scream spilling past her lips. Her heart pounded fiercely against her ribcage from where it felt trapped within her chest and a pale sheen of sweat coated her skin, glistening under the moonlight.

She took deep gasps of air, no longer tainted by ash or smoke but instead clean and fresh, filling her lungs with relief. It wasn’t until she felt a pair of warm arms pulling her into their protective embrace that she realised what had happened and where she was.

She was back in Undermount, safe in the chambers she shared with Tyril in the Starfury Manor. He held her close against his chest, his fingers softly stroking her hair as he murmured soothing words she couldn’t hear, her ears still ringing as she slowly adjusted to her surroundings.

There was still a lingering pain in her sides from where the drake’s sharp claws had delved deep into her flesh, and she raised a fist to her mouth as she held back a strangled sob while tossing aside the silken bedsheets.

Each of its talons had been the size of a small dagger embedding themselves into her skin, and despite the pain that thrummed there like the piercing edge of a blade, when she reached for her sides expecting to find jagged lacerations and seeping blood, there was nothing.

She pulled her hand away, taking a shaky breath. There was always nothing. Never so much as a single scratch marring her skin despite the pain that suggested otherwise. She almost wished there was, at least then she’d have evidence that what she had experienced was real, that these horrors didn’t just reside within her mind and were more than just a bad dream.

A hollow cave ached in her chest at the thought. It hadn’t been real, she knew that. But it had felt real, and so was the fear these nightmares left behind. Visions of anguish and suffering so vivid they etched themselves into her memory, haunting her rest whenever she closed her eyes and lurking in the shadows during the day.

She was slowly brought back to her senses as Tyril rubbed small circles into her back with his thumb, his presence alone tethering her to reality once more and guiding her awareness to the present, like an anchor of solace. He ran a hand through her soft curls, tilting her head back slightly. Even illuminated by the silver moonlight her face looked paler and dark shadows rested beneath her eyes, once vibrant but now turned dull with the heaviness of what she had seen.

“They’re getting worse,” he whispered, his brows pulled together in concern. She looked away, but not without guilt stirring in her heart as she did so. “Raine,” he frowned, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “I want to help you, I—” Tyril held his tongue as he realised he was powerless against the situation, and the words died in the back of his throat. I want to help you and I can’t.

He had fought against them before, the battles that were not physical but instead lingered on unseen in the mind. A war that often seemed endless when the adversary knew every weakness to target, striking the gaps in the armour until it finally cracked. If he could fight them for her he would, but they both knew it wasn’t that simple.

Tyril sighed, pulling her even closer into his embrace. “How am I supposed to protect you from what I cannot fight?”

Raine wrapped her arms around his back, looking up to meet his worried gaze. “Just being here is enough.”

He wished it was.

These nightmares had been plaguing her sleep ever since the Dreadlord was defeated, but over the last few weeks they were slowly becoming increasingly more frequent and terrifying. At first, Tyril had tried to console her.

“I have them, too,” he had whispered in the dark when she woke with a pounding heart after they first began. “It’s to be expected, given what we have faced.”

She turned to him, then, the rise and fall of her chest slowing as her breathing steadied once more. “And what are yours?”

He was silent for a moment, and the only sound she could hear was the soft ticking of the pendulum clock in the hallway outside their shared room before he answered her, his voice low. “Losing you.”

Though as her nightmares began to grow more graphic and distressing, Raine wasn’t sure they were just dreams anymore. They were beginning to feel more like a warning she couldn’t heed, her mind whispering obscurities while she slept. It seemed to be her curse as of recent, being tormented by visions she didn’t understand.

All she knew was that in bringing Light to the Realm of Shadow, she had awakened an ancient and powerful enemy, and that despite defeating the Dreadlord and his court, the battle against darkness was not yet over.

When Tyril saw she had begun to calm down, he slowly laid her back onto the bed, her hair splaying against the silken pillows as she moved to rest her forehead against his neck. He threaded his fingers through hers and she turned the palm of his hand skyward, tracing her thumb along the smooth skin of his wrist as she searched for the comforting rhythm of his pulse.

A beam of moonlight shining through the arched windows cast a silver crescent on his face as he settled down beside her. His mind wasn’t at ease either, ever the strategic warrior, he was already considering their next options.

“We should gather our friends, and your brother. If there’s any form of threat on the horizon, they will be able to help.”

Raine shook her head. “I can’t ask them to risk their lives again. Not when this is my mistake.”

“I’d hardly call saving the realms a mistake.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, bitter at circumstance, but not at her.

Never at her.

A small crease formed between her brows as she frowned. “It would be unfair to them, Tyril. They already gave so much of themselves while helping us take down the shadow court, and they’ve finally found peace after everything that happened…”

A wave of sadness washed over him at her words. “You deserve that, too.”

She sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on her nightgown. “But what else can be done?”

“We should visit Claris,” he suggested while moving his thumb to stroke her cheek. “If anyone knows what’s causing these visions and what they mean, it will be her.”

Raine nodded hesitantly before curling back up beside him.

“I’m tired of war,” she whispered into his chest. All he could do was pull her closer and it made his heart ache. Tyril had felt helpless many times before in his life, but none stirred him so deeply as this.

He would give the stars and the earth to see her smile again, her eyes sparkling violet in the sunshine and a gentle breeze softly tousling her hair. But the stars that once shone in her eyes seemed so far away, and he was powerless to bring them back.

Her eyelids fluttered closed as she tried to keep the visions at bay, she knew she couldn’t let them consume her.

“Would you like me to cast the spell?” Tyril asked, and when she nodded he moved to rest his lips against the top of her head, murmuring a faint incantation into her hair.

As he spoke, a soft glow began to surround her, leaving a shimmering trail like delicate rays of golden starlight. Slowly, they began to weave and intertwine together as though they were ribbons, pulsing with magic until they burst in a radiant display of light and leaving only small embers fading in the air.

Raine closed her eyes as she was overcome with a wave of drowsiness, the spell already beginning to take effect. It was a simple dream spell, not strong enough to ward the nightmares off entirely, but enough to hold them at bay and guide her to slumber once more, providing a temporary solace until the two could find a more permanent solution.

“Rest, my love.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I will be here when you wake.”

With his arms wrapped around her waist and a faint smile on her lips, she slowly began drifting off to sleep.

Until her screams pierced the fragile silence once more.

When dawn finally gave way to early morning and the soft amber glow of sunrise slowly melted into a pale blue mist, the two stepped outside into the crisp air that surrounded the elven mountain city. A carriage was waiting for them there, the golden spokes of its wheels designed to resemble a sun flaring its rays of light outward.

Tyril lifted his hand out for Raine as he helped her up the steps, before they both settled comfortably on the plush velvet seats.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, seeing her face was still pallid and her cheeks held a grey tinge, lacking the rosiness they usually shone with.

“Nervous,” she admitted, pulling back the ornately woven curtain slightly to glance out the window, but quickly drawing it closed as a sudden wave of nausea added to the crawling feeling of unease already residing in her stomach. “It feels like everything depends on this visit.”

He reached across to take her hands in his, expression solemn. “No matter what information is revealed to us in there, I’ll be by your side.”

A small smile hinted at her lips. “I know you will.”

She rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand, hoping to distract herself. “Can you tell me more about Claris?”

Tyril nodded. “She’s a seer widely renowned within Undermount for her impressive foresight, and has been predicting which Great Houses will rise and fall for years without fail, much to the displeasure of certain political heads. For the most part she is exceedingly insightful and some even claim that her visions are sent from the Gods themselves, though she’s never confirmed or denied this.”

Raine’s eyes widened slightly. “Why would they be displeased with her?”

“They feel that they’ve been humiliated, and so seek a source to blame instead of looking to their own faults, as is the way of our people. It’s hardly her doing.” He continued to explain. “It is a seer’s duty to reveal the veiled truth, but there are many of us who would rather live in denial and are stubbornly resistant to change. Still, seers have always held a pivotal role in Undermount’s society and progression forward. They see the golden threads of destiny that bind us all.”

She nodded as she thought his words over, chewing on her lip as the carriage came to a halt.

“Ah, we’re here.” Tyril stood and she got up after him, stepping out onto the paved stone path.

Before them was the Scrying Hall, a large building carved from gold with a tall spire in the centre that reached skyward and glistened where it caught the morning sunlight. Two shorter towers were positioned on either side, with intricate markings etched into their surface and silver vines framing the arched windows.

The pair climbed a curved set of stairs that led up to the open entryway and headed inside, where the high ceiling formed a pointed arch overhead, and a circular window at the far end of the hall had been cast in stained glass. It formed a brilliant sun, made up of vivid shades of yellow and orange that flooded the room with light and reflected shifting patterns that danced across the polished floors below.

“I’ve been expecting your arrival.” An elven woman approached them, with smooth, hazel skin and eyes the pale gold of the sun at dawn. She wore a set of amber robes with flowing sleeves accentuated with gilded thread, and long skirts that swept across the floor as she walked. Her auburn hair was woven around her head in a sunlit coronet, resembling the deep reds of the sky at sunset, and a light circlet rested upon her brow.

Tyril stepped forward, bowing his head in greeting. “Claris, of House Sunscryer.”

She returned the gesture politely before turning her attention towards Raine. “I’ve heard much about you, Champion of the Light.”

Raine took a surprised step back. “I’m no champion.”

Claris watched her reaction carefully, and a faint glimmer twinkled in the seer’s eyes that she couldn’t quite place. “Not yet, perhaps. Though those rare few blessed by the Light seldom shy away from uprooting corruption and conquering darkness where it stands, should they choose to rise to the challenge.”

From beside her, Tyril cleared his throat. “I assume you know why we’re here?”

She nodded, her expression unreadable. “If you could follow me, please.”

Claris led them to a concealed part of the hall where a swaying curtain next to a series of ivory pillars obscured the large object behind it from view.

“How long ago did your visions begin?” She asked, rearranging a cluster of small crystalline vials filled with various elixirs, catching the sunlight from where they sat on a polished tray upon a silver cart.

“Since the Dreadlord was defeated, though they’ve been getting worse for the past month.” Raine answered, trying to keep her voice steady as she focused on the seer’s actions. “At first they seemed hazy and I could barely make out what was happening, so I assumed they were connected to our fight against the Shadow Court since we were all still recovering from what happened.”

She shifted her attention towards Tyril. “But over time they grew more vivid and strange, like the world was warped around me. I’d see strange figures emerging from the dust, the world on fire and the sky wreathed in darkness.”

She was about to tell them about what she saw last night, but stopped herself. Perhaps it was better to keep that one to herself for now. Or at least until she gained a better understanding of what it had meant.

Claris nodded as she turned back towards them, and lifted her hand to withdraw the curtain. Above a sturdy podium was a large, spinning altar, emitting a golden light and surrounded by shining rays that resembled the midday sun.

“Is this similar to the celestial altar?” Raine asked, noticing it shared a resemblance to the one in the Grand Library.

“Similar, but not the same.” Claris replied, carrying a few scrolls over towards the closest table. “This is a sun altar, so where the celestial altar draws its power from the cosmos, this one harnesses the energy of the solar light above us.”

She paused for a moment in thought. “They also serve different purposes. The celestial altar specialises in the past and that which has already been preserved, showing us memories that have long since passed. The sun altar focuses on the future, showing us what has yet to come, or what may be.”

Raine exhaled with relief at her words. If the visions from her nightmares were not yet set in stone, then perhaps she could still prevent the horrors she had seen from taking hold in reality.

“Now,” Claris smiled, her eyes gentle. “If you could place your hands on the altar’s surface?”

Tyril gave her a reassuring nod and she stepped forward, doing as Claris instructed. The sun altar was warm beneath her touch, exuding a light heat that she could feel pulsing with life and energy beneath her fingertips. She took a deep breath in, preparing herself for what might happen next.

“This spell will allow me to gain further insight into your visions and what they mean, which will hopefully provide me with the information I need to guide you.” Claris said as she moved to the opposite side of the altar. “Since I’m casting as the recipient, you shouldn’t experience much on your end, if anything at all. If you do see anything let me know once we’ve finished, whatever we see here will determine your next course of action.”

Raine nodded and closed her eyes while Claris tucked a loose strand of hair behind a tapered ear. She murmured an incantation under breath that was too low to hear, before her eyes turned a vibrant gold that soon lit up the whole area and flooded the room with light.

Several minutes passed as Raine kept concentrating on the warmth surging through her hands. At this point she hadn’t experienced anything unusual, until an image began to flicker behind her eyes, wavering like a reflection in a pond.

She saw a series of marble pillars engraved with gold lining a grand staircase, at the top of which stood a pair of imposing, gilded gates. Just as quickly as it appeared, the image dissipated like smoke and she opened her eyes to find herself standing in front of Claris once more.

“You saw them as well.” The seer observed her reaction. “The Gates of Elhalas.”

With the spell complete, Tyril stepped up beside them. “The Land of the Gods? Why would Raine’s visions be connected to the realm of the ancients?”

“Morella is not the only realm under threat.” Claris spoke solemnly. “But it soon will be. Your dreams are more than warnings, Raine. They are a glimpse of what is to come if we do not take immediate action, or else the world will collapse at our peril.”

Raine looked towards Tyril. “We’re ready, we’ll do what needs to be done.”

Claris nodded. “Then if you wish to save this world, you will need guidance from the gods, and that means travelling directly into their realm.”

“But how?” She asked. “I thought Elhalas was where the spirits of the ancestors lived after passing on, and we’re…very much alive.”

“Under regular circumstances, you would be correct. But you are a Realm-walker, Raine. You’ve been infused by the Light and are capable of far more than you can even begin to imagine.”

Tyril placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Think of what you did in the Realm of Shadow, that great feat was only the beginning. If the Gods have granted you a vision of the Gates to Elhalas, then that is where we must begin.”

Raine entwined her fingers with his, taking a moment to savour their shared strength. As long as he was by her side, uncertainty didn’t dare stir within her heart. “I’m ready.”

Closing her eyes, she focused solely on conjuring the image of the gates in her mind, envisioning them with clarity until she felt a strong heat radiating from in front of her. When she looked up, a shimmering portal had appeared before them.

It looked different than the one that had led to the shadow realm. Where that portal had been a swirling vortex of red lightning and dark energy, this one burst with light. A golden mist surrounded them, like the sun peering through the clouds after rainfall, emitting a soft, hazy glow that felt warm against her skin.

“Is that really…” Raine trailed off as she stood entranced, and when she reached her fingertips out to touch the portal, it rippled and a shower of vapour lightly poured down around them.

Tyril beamed at her, his eyes shining with pride. “I never had any doubt in my heart.”

“The portal will lead you to Elhalas.” Claris said. “I must be on my way, as should the two of you.”

“Wait,” Raine turned towards her. “What about—”

“Another will be able to answer your questions in further depth.” She interrupted with a knowing smile. “I was merely a stepping stone in your path ahead.”

Raine nodded. “I can’t thank you enough, for all your help.”

“Be careful,” Claris warned. “The gods play chess, and we are the pawns they wield.”

With a dip of her head, the seer turned and departed from the room, leaving the two of them standing alone in front of the portal.

“Are all seers so mysterious?” Raine asked and Tyril chuckled, before the weight of what lied before them began to settle in.

“I can’t believe we’re really going to Elhalas,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “This is bigger than just the two of us now.”

Tyril reached for her hand, and the warmth of his touch made her stomach flutter. “Nothing is too big for the two of us,” he breathed. “We’ve conquered more darkness than anyone will ever know, and we will do it again, together.”

Raine smiled down at their interlaced fingers. “Together,” she repeated, and hand-in-hand they stepped through the portal, determined to face the unknown that awaited them.

Stepping through the portal had felt like passing through a fine veil of fog, and when they emerged on the other side they were met with a great, blinding surge of light until it slowly faded and they found themselves in the middle of a grand courtyard.

Around them, pale crystals embedded in the white stone walls pulsed with a faint glow, illuminating the golden flowers that bloomed along lush green vines in the sunshine.

The Gates of Elhalas loomed overhead, casting a tall shadow on the staircase below, and bringing attention to the two figures who descended it.

“The glittering stars above and shifting sands below have long been awaiting this moment,” a lilting voice spoke. “If only we could be meeting under more fortunate circumstances.”

Though Raine had not met them before outside of stories and songs, there was no mistaking the two courageous warriors from Kade’s tales who had led the charge against the Shadow Court’s forces; the elven king Xaius and battlemage Ellara.

The pair looked even more valiant than she had imagined. Ellara, no longer a battlemage but instead now a goddess, wore a shimmering pale blue dress adorned with silver beads strung together like moonlit pearls. She still wore the sapphire circlet from her days as Xaius’ second-in-command nestled among her red-brown hair, falling in waves over her shoulders.

The former elven king stood tall beside her with the imposing stature only a noble could possess, his golden robes lined with jewels any human would envy and his long, pale hair was swept back. Raine assumed godhood was not so different from leading an empire, with people singing your praises and a duty to guide and serve them during times of need.

Next to her, Tyril stammered for a brief moment before bowing lowly, and she swiftly did the same.

“Heroes of the great empire, we are most honoured by in your presence.” He spoke with great reverence, but Ellara quickly ushered them both back up, her silver bracelets chiming with the motion.

She smiled, though it looked almost sad. “Thank you, but while our legend still carries on, very few remember that we were mortal, once.” She shook her head. “It was difficult for us to adjust to our new positions. An honour, of course, but with eternity at your fingertips it can be challenging to discern between what is and what once was.”

“As reigning king when the empire fell, I felt as though I had failed my people.” Xaius spoke. “I often contemplated the faults in my rule, thinking I could have prevented the war if I had guided my people better. Ultimately, it’s those who turned their backs on us in search of greater power that are to blame.”

Ellara frowned. “They were a blight on our people’s legacy and everything we stood for. It only takes the selfish misdeeds of a few to cause a millennia’s worth of destruction and strife.” She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “We cannot thank you enough for succeeding where we failed, but unfortunately the war is not yet over.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Raine said. “To end it for good, so no one suffers further.”

Ellara dipped her head before moving aside to allow them both up the staircase. “Then it is our honour to welcome you, saviours of the realm, to Elhalas.”

With a sweep of her arm, the gates behind them slowly began to open at her command. Raine had never even dared to imagine what the land of the gods may have looked like, but if the Golden City was the jewel of the ancient elven empire, then Elhalas was its treasury.

Aureate towers and ivory spires arched high into the sky and the sunlight above turned everything a glistening pale gold, as though the city had been carved from the first rays of light at dawn. Expansive gardens harboured marble temples with vibrant flowers and trees bearing silver fruit, while shimmering turquoise waterfalls fell into vast, flowing rivers.

The rolling emerald hills in the distance seemed as though they could stretch onward forever if it weren’t for the hazy golden mist barring their path on the far horizon, capturing the entire city in its glow like a magnificent spell.

“It’s hard to believe places like this once actually existed in Morella.” Raine said to Tyril in awe while gazing out at the breathtaking view. “It looks like something from a painting.”

“More beautiful, even.” He glanced towards her and smiled before turning his attention back to the view. “Unfortunately, paintings are the only way they now live on in our memories, but I believe it is better to preserve than to forget.”

Ellara and Xaius led them down into the city, where a golden path led them past towering statues, flowering bushes and water fountains. Around them, the elven spirits that inhabited Elhalas barely even acknowledged each other in passing, drifting by without so much glancing towards anyone.

As lovely as their surroundings were, Raine noticed how Tyril’s expression slowly filled with sorrow the further they ventured through the city.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, reaching for his hand.

“I thought…” He trailed off. “I thought perhaps things would be different here, that our people would have learned from the sacrifices made during the Great War. I hoped they would grow past their prejudices and mistakes,” he sighed, “but perhaps there are some things even death cannot change.”

“Many have been here since before the war and know only selfishness.” Xaius said. “Though even those who gave their lives on the forefront did not necessarily have noble intentions.”

Raine tilted her head. “What’s more honourable than sacrifice?”

“You misunderstand,” he spoke gently, “most of our people were not willing to give their lives out of duty, but pride.”

“Deshana el zentana.” Tyril spoke solemnly. “Death before dishonour.”

His words hung heavy in the air until Ellara spoke. “Although our empire may have met a dark end, there were many bright moments during its time as well.”

“What was it like?” Raine asked, and for a moment Tyril could see a glimpse of her usual self there, ever curious and unburdened by restraint, eager to learn more about their shared culture. He could not deny his own curiosity as well, having grown up in awe of such legendary heroes and tales.

“It was an age of glory,” Xaius said with pride. “Magic flowed through the air, festivals lasted for weeks at a time and banquet halls the size of ballrooms hosted towers of food plentiful enough to feed an army.”

Raine realised how strange it was knowing how others had seen the fall of civilisations she had never even known, and his words made her realise just how young she and Tyril were, for elves.

Though Xaius spoke about the elven empire with pride, she felt a sense of guilt in knowing that while her people had been living prosperously during those times, their empire had been built on the backs of human labour and the orcs had been forced to hide away in the continent’s farthest corners.

She dropped her voice low so only Tyril could hear her. “I mean no disrespect to the empire, but it’s always our people, our legacy. I know the Great War was a tragedy, but what steps had our civilisation taken to get there? They weren’t respected by the other races of Morella, they were feared.”

“They wanted too much.” He said solemnly. “I wonder, when would it ever have been enough for them? To live with an eternal longing that can never be sated casts a heavy shadow on the soul. It is avid greed that leads to everlasting misery, and it’s a difficult cycle to return from.”

Tyril shook his head. “Still, you are not wrong for questioning the principles of the empire. Even before the uprising of the Shadow Court our people had been under the allure of power for centuries, without change their downfall was inevitable.”

They continued onward in silence, until Raine was struck with a question. “I never really thought about it before,” she whispered, “but what did Ellara and Xaius become gods of after their ascension?”

“Xaius became known for his wisdom and clarity, and as such has often been called upon during times of counsel, particularly within debates or concerning political matters.” Tyril explained. “Ellara has become associated with the subconscious realm, the power of dreams and prophecy.”

Dreams. Raine found the word echoing in her mind before she raised her voice enough for Ellara to hear. “Was it you? Who sent me those dreams?”

The goddess turned to face her, surprised by the suddenness of her question before a flicker of respect shone in her gaze. “You’ve always been a clever one, Raine.”

“But why?”

Ellara frowned. “I would have conveyed my messages to you differently if I could, but unfortunately dreams were the only means I had of connecting with you. It was the only way I could warn you of the danger we all face, and for that you needed to see it for yourself.” Her expression filled with sorrow. “I’m truly sorry, for all the pain they caused you.”

“And the winged figure in the shadows?” She asked. “Who was that?”

Ellara exchanged a worried glance with Xaius before turning her attention back towards Raine. “I never sent a dream like that.”

“So you mean…it came from somewhere else?”

Ellara opened her mouth to answer but before she could speak, the ground beneath them began to quake, trembling the land and knocking both Raine and Tyril off their feet.

It passed as suddenly as it had arrived, but neither Xaius nor Ellara seemed to react to it, as though it were a regular occurrence.

“What was that?” Tyril asked as he helped Raine back up from the ground.

Xaius cleared his throat and turned away. “Elhalas has been suffering from…tremors as of recent, but I assure you, everything is under control.”

Raine couldn’t shake the feeling that everything wasn’t under control, and glanced out towards the hills, where the golden mist shimmered far beyond.

“That mist on the horizon,” Tyril said as he followed her gaze. “It serves as a barrier of sorts, doesn’t it?”

“What would you need protecting from here?” She asked.

“The mist is a type of protective shield that surrounds the city, it has been in place ever since Elhalas came into existence.” Xaius waved their concerns aside. “It merely serves as a precaution.”

More questions flittered through Raine’s mind but, getting the impression she wouldn’t be able to coax any further information on the matter from either of them, she kept her mouth shut until the group reached the end of the path.

Before them was a glistening tower that rose high above the rest of the city, watching over it as a divine protector. A golden staircase led to a plateau lined with evergreen trees that swayed in the gentle breeze, and a row of silver fountains adorned the gardens near the entryway, sunlit waters spilling over the edges.

“I’m afraid this is as far as we can lead you,” Ellara said. “The Old Gods will guide you from here.”

Raine frowned. “You’re not coming with us?”

“The Old Gods possess far more knowledge on the threat before us than we are familiar with.” She explained. “They’ll be able to ensure you’re prepared for what is to come. Since we once had a connection to the mortal realm, we were entrusted with bringing you here to begin your journey.”

Tyril bowed his head. “We thank you for all you’ve done to guide us.”

“Please, be careful.” Ellara’s brows furrowed in sorrow. “Our people have suffered enough.”

Xaius and Ellara bid them farewell before turning back down the path, leaving them to gaze up at the looming tower.

All Raine knew was that with a mysterious winged figure lurking in the shadows, sudden earthquakes and a protective barrier warding the city, something was coming for Elhalas.

Something even the gods themselves feared.

#blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury