#('you had her in your hands and you let her go' the dowager fire lady says viciously. taro kneels and says nothing and does not fight back.

[softsan]

Eyes On Fire. (Pt. 2)

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen & Fem!Reader

CHAPTERS: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

WORD COUNT: 3743

GENRE: Alternatively Universes/Canon Divergence, Alternative Ending, The Greens Win, Loosely based on the books/show, Made up House,

DESCRIPTION: After the Greens win the Dance of The Dragons, you a left alone navigating the dangers and woes of Kings Landing. You were one of the last survivors of House Vermillion with the expectation to restore your House to its former glory. Pressured to find yourself a husband, you unintentionally catch the eye of the dangerously, one-eye kingslayer—how will you ever survive amidst those who kill, those who take, and those who wish to eat you alive? Can also be read on AO3 here.

WARNINGS: Bodily Injury, Death, Graphic violence, Suspicion, Attempted murder, Murder, Poisoning, Possessive themes, Aemond in general

OPTIONAL PLAYLIST: New Eyes by Echos, Glass Heart Hymn by Paper Route, Nicotine Dreams by Laurel 

The skies were mantled by clouds that resembled the color of ash. They rumbled disapproving, bucketing rain onto the Rhaenys's Hill and everybody who stood in the outer vicinity of the dragon pit. Aemond took it as a sign from the gods that this union wouldn't be fruitful, that it wouldn't prosper like his lady mother had exacted it to be. He made no bother to mask his smugness and presumptuous arrogance that this merger between houses would fall apart before it even came to be. After all, Aemond Targaryen was a dragon and wouldn't lightly bend to the will of others.

The Lady Cerelle Lannister followed him meekly, intimated by the rising pool of muddy water that sloshed at her feet, "The weather— " Her voice trembled, her golden curly mane drenched, "I think it to be safer if we were to head back?"

"Then go back to the comforts of your chambers," Aemond said without a lick of sensitivity.

His mother had intended for him to wed either Cerelle or her elder sister Tyshara from House Lannister. House Lannister had proven to be a loyal ally during the war against The Blacks and according to the Dowager Queen, they ought to be rewarded accordingly—and what better compensation than the hand of a prince?

Aemond cared for neither sister, finding them equally unspirited, their conversations unstimulating and dull. Helena noticing Aemond's indifference whilst also trying to appeal to their mother's desires suggested that Aemond take Cerelle Lannister out to see his dragon Vhagar. Aemond for once obliged. Helena, as good as her intentions were, was oblivious that the average mortal was frightened to the bone at the sight of dragons and that Aemond's outing with Cerelle would be adverse to his mother's cause rather than efficacious.

Vhagar's nostrils flared, the monstrous-sized dragon catching the scent of its rider approaching near. Vhagar's head reared against the iron door of the domed castle, easily escaping her dragon lair. Her steps towards Aemond quaked the ground while Cerelle Lannister was immediately thrown to her knees, her skirts collecting all the more water.

Aemond turned to Cerelle knowingly, her eyes enlarged, her jaw quivering uncontrollably.

"How do you like my beast?" He wickedly teased, walking to close the distance between him and Vhagar.

Cerelle didn't answer paralyzed with fear.

He brushed his hand against Vhagar's wet scales, leaning in to whisper something ominous in Old Valyrian. Vhagar's chest rumbled before she let out a roar that shook the very foundations of the dragon pit.

"Nyke knew ziry" I knew it, Aemond continued in Valyrian, observing how Cerelle had fainted, falling backward. "Nākostōbā-willed, se daor fit naejot wed nykeā zaldrīzes," Weak-willed, and not fit to wed a dragon. He remarked. Vhagar nuzzled her snout against Aemond's shoulder in agreement.

To find a wife that would accept Aemond for all that he was, the good—and most crucially the bad, would prove to be harder than his dear mother Alicent could possibly foreknow. Especially now, for he was intrigued by another. One whose ambitions matched his own, one that could help him restore his ancient house back to its former glory.

"Se hembar riñnykeā nyke maghagon naejot ūndegon ao" The next Lady I bring to see you, He promised to Vhagar, "Ziry'll sagon worthy naejot kipagon rūsīr īlva" She'll be worthy to ride with us."

Aemond's gaze drifted off into the distance, the Red Keep was but a dark shadow that loomed behind the hazardous downfall of rain. He wondered what you must be up to. Were you reading to his dear niece in one of the many libraries? or were you sweet-talking some brainless Lord for his coin? He swallowed the unjustified jealousy that arose at the very thought. Aemond's resolve hardening, you'd soon run into one another again. For he was starved, craving a moment with you no matter how fleetingly short it was.

You stared out to the endless blue, a sky that traveled limitlessly out to the horizon. The sun undisturbed by a single cloud shone down upon Kings Landing, offering a comforting warmth that had been sorely missed.

You absentmindedly played with a small vile of amber elixir, the antidote to your poison. Three days had come and passed without sight of Ser Harold Lansdale. He’d yet come to claim his antidote and would soon be dead within the next few hours.

You hummed. Perhaps you had misread Ser Harold Lansdale. Maybe he rather of died in the name of loyalty than pay for your forgiveness. You pursed your lips. A true shame, you could of really put his silver to good use. Hearing your chamber doors open, you discreetly slipped the vile into the hidden pocket of your gown.

“My Lady,” The serving girl apologized for the interruption, in her hands held a small parcel wrapped in a black and red handkerchief. The fine silk and dragon embroidery made you conclude it must have belonged to a Targaryen.

“Say what you must,” You hastened the girl, “I am about to head to the kitchens to ensure supper is ready to be served for her Majesty.”

The serving girl’s arms trembled as she brought forth the parcel wrapped in silk, “I was called upon to hand you this,” She offered no further context.

Without expressing your puzzlement, you gave the girl are glance over. You weren’t one to be intimated off—at least thus far. You’d purposely acted in such a way you’d be perceived as harmless... you but an innocent and well-meaning lady serving under House Targaryen. And yet, the serving girl was shaking, her eyes rung with fear.

“Thank you,” You accepted the parcel, taking note of how light it was.

The serving girl didn’t wait to be dismissed, almost stumbling as she tried to scramble her way out of your chambers.

You frowned, trying to decipher what you’d done to garner such a response. After a few seconds, you shook your head, it'd have to remain a mystery for now. You turned your attention to the black and red silk-covered parcel. You gingerly brushed the embroidered pattern. Had you done something that was deserving of a reward? You unfolded the handkerchief, to be met with velvet and paper. Confused, you near tore the parchment expecting it to be but wrapping, when your fingers suddenly froze. There was writing on the parchment...

You slowly began to read aloud the smudged ink.

My Darling Flower,

One which is deadly as one is beautiful. A violent delight I find myself besotted by. Alas, Dragons are unforgiving creatures and I declare your fate for the trader Lansdale too merciful for his doings. I do hope you admire my work off the city’s gates.

Your eyes widened as a surge of adrenaline ran through your veins. All good courtesy had been forgotten, you running unlike a lady out of your chambers in search of a window that overlooked the city gates. Your heart pounded in your chest, you had thought yourself to be alone that day in the gardens. How could you have been so careless? Your image? Everything you've thus worked for was now ruined.

Your hands grasped desperately onto the window’s frame as you pushed open the stained glass. You leaned forward, your dreaded stare falling upon a spiked head on display.

“Ser Harold Lansdale,” You whispered. Your eyes drifted to the rest of his body which lay on the ground below being feasted upon by crows.

You slowly returned to the paper, reading the last of the letter.

My silence is a gift in exchange for the cake I was promised. A cake I eagerly await.

Your mouth dried. It was Aemond Targaryen who had witnessed your facade crumble that day in the gardens. You let out a defeated breath. Out of all the Targaryens to be caught by, it just happened to have to be the most cunningly dangerous one out of them all.

From your Dearest Dragon.

At the very least, Aemond had the good sense not to use his name to sign off his letter. You tore the parchment in two, stepping towards the wall-mounted sconce. You burned both pieces getting rid of the evidence. Many letters that were passed by servants were intercepted by septons, and one could be flogged if the topic at hand was found either indecent or conspiring against the court. As the last of the note turned to cinders, your thoughts dwindled back to fretful serving girl. Had Aemond threatened her that his letter was to be delivered to you and you alone? And that if she failed or if the letter was confiscated by a septon she'd be sorely punished?

You watched the flame of the candlestick flicker. Your first impressions of Aemond were indeed correct—he'd bring you nothing but trouble.

You brought the velvet closer to the light, tearing the thin threads that had been sowed together to conceal something inside. Surprised, your breath hitched. Bundled in velvet was a silver pendant of a dragon. The dragon was covered in rubies and its tail spiraled like the Targaryen crest. For its size, it was remarkably light and held an immaculate shine. You couldn't help but admire the workmanship and the crisp cut of the metal.

You had never laid eyes upon something so breathtaking. Yet, you were plagued by suspicion. Why had he chosen to keep silent? Why had he gifted you something so invaluable?

You wrapped the pendant back in its velvet cover and hid the priceless necklace underneath your corset, in the secret pocket between your breasts.

What were Aemond Targaryen's true intentions?

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted throughout the kitchens. You wiped your brow, sweating underneath the intense heat of the furnaces. Supper was fast approaching and you were amidst the cooks, ensuring it would be served smoothly. You scrutinize the menu and thoroughly inspected each plate that left for the dining hall.

Each noble Lady with the exception of the few that had families that had fought for The Greens, took turns doing additional duties such as kitchen, washing, and spending. Queen Helena had favored you to overlook the kitchens, for you were considerate of her and her children’s tastes. You didn't so much mind either, finding kitchen duty preferable to washing duty and spending duty, (the responsibility of buying new furs, fabrics, and gowns) which came with its cautions to not overspend whilst simultaneously still satisfying the want for new garments.

Furthermore, with kitchen duty, you didn't need to concern yourself with King Aegon's palate as he rarely dined with his family. The injuries he had surmised during the war brought unspoken ailments and his meals were specially looked after by the maesters. You had equally needn't worry about Prince Aemond's tastes as he spent most of his days and night outside of the castle walls. That was until now...

"Prince Aemond feasts today with his niece and nephews," Lady Jeyne Merryweather, a beauty with fiery orange locks, a freckled nose, and doe eyes spoke. She had returned with an empty tray, the lemon tarts you'd prepared being well received.

"Does he?" You kept your eyes focused on the dough, adding a touch more flour.

Lady Jeyne Merryweather eagerly nodded, her lips curled unable to stifle her trademark for spreading whispers and hearsay, "The Dowager Queen Alicent has forbidden my presence and the presence of servants in the dining hall."

This caught your attention. Your eyes flickered ahead watching as Lady Jeyne stole one of the grapes from the bunch, popping it into her mouth.

"I heard the Dowager Queen is furious at her son Aemond," She spoke as if reciting a tale, using her hands to further express herself, "Her intentions were to arrange a betrothal between her son and one of the Lannister sisters."

"House Lannister," You mulled. They were a great house with an exceptional political standing, furthermore, they were one of the richest houses in Westeros. It was only fitting an arrangement was made to join their two houses, "I see no scandal, no need for privacy," You referred to the Queen Dowager's request for others to stay out of the dining hall.

"There is indeed a scandal," Lady Jeyne gleefully continued, "For Cerelle Lannister went begging to her father Jason Lannister to refuse any betrothal for her or her elder sister." Jeyne reached for another grape, "According to a knight of whom was assigned to the dragon pit, Prince Aemond near fed the poor Cerelle to his dragon."

You failed to disguise your shock.

"I know!" Lady Jeyne exclaimed, "But it's true! The Dowager Queen was red-faced and seething. A servant swore they even saw smoke come out from her ears," She giggled.

You rolled your eyes at the last comment, "So the betrothal won't go ahead?"

"I heard, the Queen Dowager is trying to salvage the relationship with the Lannisters offering her youngest son Prince Daeron as Prince Aemond's replacement."

You nodded. You had not thus far set eyes upon Prince Daeron as he was on a tour around Westeros, meeting lesser-known houses and forging new connections. Despite, this you knew of Prince Daeron's exceptional reputation. Handsome in looks, gentle in manner, and the most well-liked Targaryen among the three brothers.

"I was duly hoping to have married Prince Daeron myself," Jeyne Merryweather clasped her hands together dramatically, "Our children would be violet-eyed knights, that protected the realm," She let out a disappointed sigh, slouching down onto the table.

You let Jeyne carry on with her daydream. Both of you knew such union was improbable due to the status of House Merryweather, but it brought no harm to let Jeyne fantasize about what a life beside a Prince would be like.

"What kind of husband do you foresee for yourself?" Jeyne unexpectedly asked, "What husband would you want?"

You paused, "I'm not sure," You mustered, surprised by your honesty—not that you would have entrusted Jeyne with any other answer.

What husband did you want? The thought lingered. Alliances, wealth, and heirs... They weren't wants but needs for the survival of your House. You doubted your true wants mattered much at all in this society you found yourself in.

Aemond drowned his feelings with drink. The despondency, the resentment, and his mother's slap ringing in his ears. He had done more than she'd asked, he'd won a war for her. A war that only furthered his incompetent brother's accolades and not his own. Despite being a second son, Aemond was far more suited to rule than Aegon ever was. He was superior in both wits and strength. Aemond tipped the goblet of mead back, a droplet lazily dripping down his chin and neck. After the wars end the bannermen had been ready and willing to swear their allegiance to him in his brother's stead. Yet, his mother Alicent's stance stood strong, it must be Aegon on the throne and no one other.

Aemond laughed humourlessly. His little act of defiance, refusing to entertain his mother's intended betrothal had cost him a slap to the face. The force behind the hit great enough to snap the elastic of his eye patch, leaving the right side of his face on display. His grasp tightened around the frayed fabric which now sat in the palm of his hand. Aegon could flounce around and father bastards without so much of an outcry from their mother as long as it was kept out of the public eye. But Aemond couldn't deny a betrothal he deduced would neither bring him happiness nor prosperity to his House.

He drunkenly wandered about the castle, looking for the kitchens. His plans were to plaster himself with more drink. So much drink he'd ceased to remember the events of tonight.

You overhead a loud clatter, a cloaked figure stumbling inside the kitchens. The dark figure knocked over a stack of pots that were yet to be washed, slamming an empty goblet on the crowded table.

"You are not supposed to be in the kitchens," You placed down a bowl of cream, the wooden spoon still sticking up in the mixture, "Leave now before I call for the guards,"

The stranger stilled. It was as if the sound of your voice had brought him back to his senses.

Aemond tugged back his hood, his eyes zoning onto you. It really was you. His chest burned, thankful it wasn't just his mind playing tricks on him. You were alone standing on the opposite side of the table. Due to the suffocating heat that had risen in the kitchens, you had rolled up the sleeves of your dress, your face attractively glistened with sweat. Your heavenly crimson eyes, widened at the sight of his face, your mouth slightly parting. He was about to grin when he remembered the broken eye patch in his hands.

Aemond wasn't usually one to be self-conscious. However, the memory of the petrified looks others gave at the sight of his gnarly scar flooded back to him at this moment.

You studied his face, in awe of his scar. The jagged pink lines, the raised flesh, and a sapphire where his eye ought to be. Aemond suddenly covered his right eye, misreading your expression.

"Unsightly isn't it," He mumbled.

"I disagree," Your voice genuine, "I think it adds character to your face,"

Something inside of Aemond swelled, "You aren't afraid?" He studied you closer, daring to take a step forward.

"It'll take a lot more than a scar and a missing eye to scare the likes of me," You felt emboldened to reply.

Aemond's lip curled, slowly removing his hand. He circled the table before stopping beside you, "My Darling Flower," He finally broke the silence, the smell of liquor all the stronger.

You unintentionally shivered, they were the same words he'd used in his letter.  

"Are you baking me a cake?" He observed the flour, butter, and milk.

You swallowed, in actuality were just practicing. You had no real concept of how a Winter Cake was made. You'd had hoped you could experiment with flavors, find a combination that worked and pass it off as the real thing.

Aemond pulled up a seat, leaning his elbow against the counter, "I was promised a cake," He sounded almost childish.

"Yes," You decided to risk it, "I'm making you a cake."

Aemond's eyes lip up, making his face all the more youthful.

"But I ask for your patience my Prince, it is still to be baked." You quickly added.

"I'm known for my patience," He wasn't. But for you, he'd be willing to wait.

You tried to ignore the heat behind his gaze, as you picked up the mixing bowl and continued to stir the cream. You added cinnamon and cloves and a dash of wine, praying to the gods that this cake was to his liking.

Aemond intently watched as you worked, noticing a decent-sized scar that ran on your outer hand, between your thumb and index finger. He recognize the wound to be a common one among those who wielded swords.

"You have experienced with blades, not just knives but swords too?" Aemond pried.

You considered lying, however, Aemond had already seen you place steel against Ser Harold Lansdale's throat, and thought there was no point in feigning otherwise.

"I can handle a sword, all Vermillion children can." You spoke, carefully retrieving the cake from the furnace, "However, I have a preference for half swords or daggers, unlike yourself," You referred to his sheathed Valyrian-steel longsword. You found the average longsword too heavy to swing about. Your talent and expertise relied on speed and you couldn't afford to be weighed down.

"Valyrian-steel is light and easy to wield," He commented as if he had read your thoughts, "I'll let you spar with it sometime," He added.

You bit the inside of your cheek, as much as it tempted you so, you couldn't go around handling swords without spying eyes. You had an image to upkeep.

You lathered the cream over the top of the cooled cake, before adding a handful of ripened blackberries on top. You made another quick prayer before slicing a piece. The inside looked soft, neither over nor undercooked. It wasn't until you had picked up the slice that you realize you had forgotten to set any plates.  

"Ah," Your ears burned, "Give me a moment, I'll get a plate from one of the cupboards," You tried to bypass, Aemond to no avail.

He caught your wrist, his rough finger pads grazing against your skin. He effortlessly tugged you near, pulling your hand with the slice of cake to his mouth. Without warning, he took a large bite. You felt his lips and the gentle nip of his teeth against your fingers.

He lifted his stare, noticing how your eyelids beautifully fluttered. "Delicious," He smirked, taking another bite.

You told yourself to breathe. Reminding yourself, Aemond Targaryen was a Prince and a dangerous one at that.

"Helena was right, you do know what tastes people crave."

You brushed off his praise, merely thankful the "Winter Cake" was to his liking.

"You have a little something," You referred to cake crumbs on Aemond's chin.

"Here?" Aemond purposely missed the spot, you'd pointed to.

"The other side," You tried to explain.

He missed again.

You bit your lip, yielding against your better judgment, and wiped the crumbs for him. He noted the black and red silken handkerchief you used. The same handkerchief he'd used to wrap his parcel to you. The closer you were, the more you noticed, like the subtle split in Aemond's lip and the faint reddened outline of a hand on his cheek.

"You were struck," The words were no louder than a whisper.

Aemond's expression hardened, "A punishment for objecting against my mother." He sounded rather bitter.

Your thoughts floated to your earlier conversation with Jeyne Merryweather and how furious his mother Alicent was that her son had offended the Lannisters.

"I'm sorry,"

Aemond's look softened. A silence lulled between the both of you, you stepped away folding the handkerchief and putting it back into your dress pocket.

"You are?" He breathed.

Duty was a fickle thing. The things one does, the things one sacrifices in the name of family. You could understand Aemond's aversion to marriage and certainly a match with someone he didn't care for.

"Yes," You answered.

TAGS: @elleraelockwood | @hawsx3

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #aemond targaryen scenarios #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #games of thrones #hotd

[mononijikayu]

chapter vi.

chapter vi.

Rating: M

Warning: Targaryen Incest, Nude and Sexual Depictions;

Summary: MELLARA TARGARYEN breaks the chain of rules to meet DAEMON TARGARYEN three years after;

[the matriarch of the princedom of blackhall, princess dowager elaena was a woman of great virtue, of great intelligence and character. but she was also regarded as blunt to the point of disregarding the feelings of others. still, this widow was a loyal and loving supporter of her daughter’s happiness and hopes. even if it meant that she would get nothing but headaches from her daughter’s insistence to live in her own way, unlike any other lady of the realm.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust

A D U S T   m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i  / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x  

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

The hail of dark smoke poured through ambers gathered atop the fireplace, almost like birthing a dragon from the ashes. Elaena Velaryon had always been told that fire does not burn dragons, and often they called themselves blood of the dragon. That would be a lie, she thinks to herself as she pierces her lips into a flat line. Dragons burn. Her beloved Aelor had burned just as much. Her husband’s tears poured from dragon dreams that burnt him heart and soul. He had always told her that dragons were flesh and bone, easily vanquished by sword and flame. They are either cursed to die in the flames or let themselves be foolish enough to succumb to them. Aelor had cried so often that fire will burn him, just as much as the curse the gods have gifted him.

The seasoned princess dowager had been a spectator to much misfortune in her family, much too much to count with the fringes of her aged fingers. The flashes of memories came constantly, a river’s pace as it crawled to the sea with haste. It was hard to be the one, to be left behind, and to remember. To bear the wishes of the dead, to continue a legacy that you were not meant to carry. But Elaena knew that no one else could take that mantle. The rest have gone too soon, so young, to aged time and to accidents that the hands of gods made in the thread of gold. It was her responsibility to keep this fledgling family together, as she was the only one who remained - the only one who could keep their family’s word of truth alive. Even if that meant going against her nephew, the king. 

"Time and time again, you have disobeyed me.“ The king’s loud voice echoed with venom, his dark purple eyes shining in anger. There is no doubt it could be heard from outside. "Once again, you prove to me how you cannot be trusted, aunt.”

"What is your proof, nephew, that I disobeyed?“ The princess dowager calmly replied, hands resting on the small of her lap, eyes tethered to the king. "You only have the lying, self serving tongue of a repetitive offender like lord Hightower, don’t you?”

"I know that you detest that I have remarried, I know you still mourn Aemma.“ He frowned softly at her. "But do well to act gracefully towards the queen and her family. Do well to speak of my good father in such a manner, dowager princess. He is my good - father.”

"And your grace does well to remember that hostility towards his elders forgets the rule of respect. Am I not the matriarch of this family, nephew?“ Elaena responds, unmoving as she watches the king frustratedly pace. 

“You are, aunt. But Alicent is now part of our family. You have need to guide her, not chastise her or her father.”

"The queen or her father have none for me. What shall I do if they do not want peace with me and mine own kin? I had done what I felt best, to reprimand her and her behaviour. You know just as much your own mother would have berated your wife for her behaviour just as much as I.”

“And you let your own daughter to be disobedient and isolent? You let Mellara leave court without my leave, without my permission!” Viserys exclaimed, his fury engrossed in his features. “You excuse her behaviour of disrespect but not my own wife, who is still learning our ways?”

The princess dowager’s lips opened, chortling sounds leaving. “Why, has my daughter not served our house dedicatedly, nephew? If anything, her insolence has more to do with the burdening of duty. You ought to forgive it, as her dear cousin.”

The king shook his head. “I am still her king, just as much as I am her elder cousin. I am the one who she must obey and support in such duties. No matter how they burden her.”

“You act as if she will not return to do so again.” The glistening of the rings upon her finger shone lowly against the fire. "And besides, she has all but succumbed to your will in the thought of marriage. Are you not delighted that she will return at all?”

The loud snickering of the king echoed. “And what say you, now that she too has abandoned my daughter, the princess she serves?”

"Rhaenyra knows just as well as I that she will do her duty and return. I am here in her stead until her return.“ Elaena responds, sighing against her arm rest. "And besides, nephew, my daughter has waited long enough. It is a mercy to finally let her leave. As it is for my grandson, to see his father finally.”

Viserys shook his head. “A child who has not yet known of his father, five years.”

"And was it not you who has kept them apart for that long? For duty?“ The dowager princess’s eyes pierced through her nephew’s own as it filled with morose and guilt. “You were cruel to do so, Viserys.”

The king shook his head, sneering deeply. “My vagabond brother had made that choice.”

"And yet you still rob your vagabond of a brother from being a father to his only child. War is bad enough.“ The seasoned woman reasoned, the silk of her veil following her body’s straightening. "And i should implore you, nephew. The child is Daemon’s heir as much as he is Mellara’s own. With this proof, there ought to be a marriage already.”

"Daemon is married. To lady Rhea of house Royce, aunt.”

The marriage was a sham, the princess dowager wanted to say out loud. Her lips twisted as the memories flooded her mind like an ocenn wave crashing to shore with vigour. Aelor was not in favor of the match, as was her good - brother  prince Baelon. In the same stroke queen Alysanne had made the loving match between Viserys and Aemma, she had made her vegenence against Jaehaerys at the loss of her daughters. By depriving him of another male heir, her husband said as much. Baelon had wanted his son to wed for love, or at the very least wed to kin. Her good - brother had told how he looks at their daughter Mellara, on the rare occassions Daemon would see her. The match would have been successful. 

But the queen has made up her mind. Any sense had gone out the window with all the contradictions between her good-mother and her sons. The two sons of queen Alysanne had not spoken with their mother for moons, not until the miserable wedding that occured in Runestone. Elaena Velaryon knew it was hard to forget, the despondent look from her younger nephew at the sight of the septon wrapping his hand to a woman who reflected his distaste. Prince Baelon had drunk merely with his younger son, disappearing together to avoid any commitment to bedding his unwanted wife. But queen Alysanne had them to find Daemon, and reprimanded her son for encouraging her grandson’s rebellion. 

In these many years, Elaena had wished she had spoken to her husband. That she had agreed with Baelon. The way her daughter had looked at her lover like he was the wonder of the infinite stars. The princess dowager in truth had not understood it then, when they had started to blossom their love as youths. Yet it was when Daemon smiled at Mellara, Elaena came to realize it all. It was as though she was the beginning and end of his world. The universe he dwells upon. The sun that allows him to be blessed with life. She was the air he breathes, the water that sustains his body and flesh. Mellara was everything to him. She always will be.

‘Aelor used to look at me like that. And I him.’ She mourns to herself years ago. ‘He loved me so deeply, just like that. Just the same.’

In these years, the idea of Daemon’s vagabond nature had all but melted away in her mind. Her daughter’s sorrows were poured into endless tears at the thought of missing him. At the thought of all he had missed in her grandson’s life. Her bitterness was not worth encouraging the pains of all she had left of her husband. In truth, she knew deep inside that her nephew was what her daughter deserved. He was good to her, he loved her. He would burn the world to the ground before he would ever breaking apart from her. That she knew too well. These years had not been kind to them, she knew that much. it was better they return in each other’s arms than not at all.

"To a woman he does not seek the warmth of, nor a woman he does not love.Is it so bad for my daughter, for your brother - to be want to be together?” She retorted sharply. “Mellara is his choice. They have had two children together. And yet, just as much you deny them of the chance to be together. Just like your cruel grandfather.”

“I am not my grandfather,”

Elaena snickers. “You’ve barely proven yourself not to be, nephew. With the way you act, you seek to deprieve my daughter and her son of someone they love.”

His gaze hardened as he moved, towering over her. “I will not dissolve the marriage.”

 "You do not have to.“ She did not break eye contact, staring back just as intensely. "Aegon the Conqueror had a second wife—”

 "I will not humour it.“ Viserys gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening. "It would insult house Royce.”

Elaena felt like she had to laugh. “Oh? Now you care for insulting those in the Vale? Did you not think of afrront you have caused when you remarried so suddenly? Did you not know how that has offended her beloved sisters in the Vale?”

The kings brows furrowed. “Lady Elys and lady Amanda has written to you?”

“Why would they not?” She retorts back to her nephew. “Elys may have been dismissive of Daella, but she adored Aemma. Amanda more so than her sister. But what may I say? They cannot of course fight the king’s noble desire.”

Viserys Targaryen did not reply to her, but a deep grudge in his glare beckoned to her like dragonfire. The reminder of his failure, of his sin had always followed him like plague. A vengeful ghost that refuses to rescind its right to haunt him. Elaena had not meant to be personal, to hit her nephew where she knew his heart still dwelled unhealed. But she felt no choice any longer, how to settle her nephew straight. He was a man grown and he was king. He could take her voice into account and he could reject it all the same. 

Elaena wondered what Baelon would think of his son’s actions. What Alyssa would feel about her son’s carelessness and heedless folly. For a moment, the princess dowager could not help but feel as though she has failed them, have failed queen Alysanne. She was all that remained, she knew that to be true. Aelor had implored her to care for this family, those were his last words to her. And she now fears, that she is failing their house, failing him who is watching her.

“It is not that simple.”

“You had simply decided to do what you did for yourself, nephew. You had gone against your grandfather’s words on the succession just as much. As you also did for your second marriage.” Elaena whispers to her nephew, a small sly smile on her lips. “If your will could do as you wish, why not here, upon this matter?”

“The faith–”

“Ah, and there it is.” The princess dowager snickers hollowly. “You are afraid that house Hightower would intervene. That they would be displeased to see your brother be allowed do as he had always wished.”

"Maegor the Cruel–"

"Are you tired of speaking Otto Hightower’s tongue?“ The elder woman asked, watching the king close his eyes in exasperation. The dowager princess’s eyes glimmer with a dark shine. "I, for one, am exhausted of hearing his words poison you with venom, nephew.”

 "Have you had enough of criticising the hand, aunt? Of blaming him for your misfortunes?“

 "No, I have not.” Elaena replied honestly. “Why should I when he dares tear this family apart? We have suffered too much for his greed, nephew.”

 "Lord Otto is a loyal servant of the crown.“ The king argues with his aunt, moving away from her. "He has served my grandfather, the old king.”

"His loyalty is to himself, nephew. A foolish errand for his glory. Nothing more and nothing less. He has been tearing us apart.“ She disagreed, watching him gaze at the fireplace. "I have seen his loyalty. And ‘tis nothing but falsities. He has alienated you from your family, nephew. Could you not see it?”

The king snorted, unbelieving at his aunt’s words. “Daemon chose his war and has left this family alone. He had come to abandon it for ambition, and disobeyed me as a lot of you have. ”

Elaena tilted her head to the side. “You have not been keen on seeing it the way your brother has, blinded by your wanting for all those cruel presumptions to be true. To validate your wrongs.”

The king raised his eyebrows, confused. “And pray tell, what does the dowager princess think my mischievous brother sees better than this blindsided king?”

 "You know better than I that your brother has thought that he must prove himself.“ The princess’s explanations gather through the air. "My nephew Corlys offered him an opportunity and he took it. As any second son would have.”

 "He had every opportunity to prove himself.“ Viserys shook his head in despondency. "I had given him at each turn a chance to have a moment to shine.”

“Is that the whole of the truth, nephew?” The princess dowager dismissed his words, moving closer to see the storm of emotions on his eyes. “Or is that what the king wishes to believe? For of course, this is only the king in front of me. Forgive me, your grace.”

“Aunt,” Viserys found himself frowning. “I am your nephew more than I am your king.”

“You have not given me any other reason to see you nothing but as my king.”

Viserys shook his head, taking a deep breath. “What should I do?”

 "Let your brother be and let him prove himself. He is not against you, let me reassure you. not against those who wish to destroy us.“ She smiles at him. "The trade can continue without the interference of the Triarchy and our ports will flourish once again. High Tide will slowly return to heel.”

 "You say that as though it was easy.“ The king chuckled bitterly. "Those two have yet to have cause to forgive grievances.”

 She nodded, “That may be true, but it is a first step.”

 "And do you think it would work?”

 "In your years as king, he has done what you asked of him. He is your brother. He will do as you bid. At times, we may not agree with him but he is one of us.” Elaena whispers to his nephew. “Welcome him, let him come home with open arms. There are so very few of us already, Viserys. We need each other.”

 "If I recall, my aunt has a deep hatred for my brother for corrupting her daughter.“

“Yet he is still what my daughter will choose.” She smiles, narrowing her eyes towards the flame. “I would rather her be happy, than not at all.”

“You say that as though it is your truth, aunt.”

“It is my truth, nephew. Just as it is truth that both of you are the sun and he the moon.”

The king raises curious look at his aunt. “What do you mean?”

"It is hard to shine when your brother is the sun.” The older lady sighed, her hands retreating to her empty side. He glances for a moment, trying to see her reasoning. “On everything, he will always be overshadowed by your shadow on everything. The moon will always shine behind the sun in an eclipse. He will always try to find a way out of it.”

 "If he feels that way, he should tell me.“ Viserys rests his hand above the marble facade of the fireplace. "He should come to me...He knows he can.”

 "It is not as easy as you dare declare, nephew. You are his king, more than you are his brother now.” A sorrowful look blossoms on his aunt’s seasoned features. “And he, well knows he is a sword. The sword you do not want to wield. Even he wants to serve you, you would not allow him oout of the sheath.”

"A sword that does not do as its master commands is of no use.“ A deep sigh is released from the king. "It is not meant to be wielded if that is the case.”

 An observant smile slivers through her lips. “Is that what you are forcing yourself to believe, my nephew?”

"I do not force anything, aunt.“ The king released his hand from the marble surface and rested his arms behind the small of his back. "Perhaps age has made you weary, aunt.”

"I make no mistakes on the matter.“ 

"What do you mean, aunt?”

Elaena Velaryon soon felt all her burdening sorrows pour down on her like a sudden downpour.At that moment, she felt like she had seen the young boy again. That young boy who cried for his mother at the dawn of the morning. The young man who stood vigil at his father’s corpse. The man who had felt his world shatter when his name was called for all the realm to hear was back. Almost at the moment, Elaena recalled how much this young boy had relied on her hand at each turn. To fill the void of a mother he had lost so dreadfully young. He needed to lean on her wisdom when he needed advice. She felt her heart drift away from her, almost as though stone had become her heart and shattered into dust. It hurts, to admit it all.

It made Elaena fear for what the future would become. Viserys Targaryen was a good king, who had a sane mind and an able spirit. However, joy and eagerness do not compensate for flaws.It had been so long since Elaena had seen greener pastures, a time when a silver reign gathered atop the iron throne’s shined with truthful power. All she had seen since had been stone dragons tumbling into dust, a crumbling of such glories living in the memories of stories her mother had whispered to her in her sleep, of a king who conquered and a king who had ruled. 

 "There is a distance between us.“ Elaena whispers somberly, watching the king’s features turn a perplexed turn. "One that had never existed before. You have changed, your grace. And not for the good. ”

 "You speak in riddles, aunt.“

 Elaena finally stood, standing in front of her nephew. 

 She takes his hand on her own, squeezing it.

 "It is better that way, Viserys. For our sake.”

The fluttering winds gracing the complexion of snow upon the three headed dragon standard under the black field beckoned across the sails. It had been the scent of salt and cool waters that had caused a good breeze away from the hot weather glaring down upon the royal party. The bustling of men dressed in fine black Riverlander linen, moving about the massive wooden bow of the ship as it crossed the heaving waves of the sea. The ladies stood slightly farther with a graceful posture, dressed in fine silver silk, prompt with gorgeous Myrish lace. The ship’s crew were loud, orders being thrown back each and every motion. This was happening in all ten of the ships that had come with them from Blackhall.

Standing by the edge where the massive screeching dragon pelted with gleaming silver, Aemon Targaryen stood, dressed in the finest black cotton doublet trimmed with ermine and white silk across it. His fine silver hair sprung away with the wind,  eyes beaming with sunshine as he held the small dragon as it screeched to the sky. Soon enough, the song was reciprocated as the monstrous shadow of night swallowed the sun away. Blacknight sang with pride as they flew past, screeching a song that had become the song  of freedom. The young prince looked in awe, watching the dragon fly further and grinned, watching long silver strands spun to reveal a face. The gaze of warm lilac eyes against his own made him happy. His cheers grew excitedly, a free hand raised soon enough to wave. 

Mellara Targaryen felt her entire body light up in joyous jubilation as she gazed with love towards her young son. It had been a long time since they had come together. Every heir of Blackhall could not leave it be. They must grow there, to be loved by the small folk. A hard decision no less, upset that she had missed much time with him as he grew. It had been a relief to have him be taken to court, though she detested having to bring him in such a place of vipers at all. Perhaps it was a mercy on her cousin the king’s part. Looking at the sea that was ahead of her, she smiled softly. Even in her moments of loss, it was a good reminder that she still had a part of Daemon with her, one that would intertwine them together even when they were apart. 

Taking in the wonder of her son’s smiling face, she recalled the day he had chosen he had met his dragon. Her son had loved dragons the moment he was born, his small infantilized hands gathering themselves towards a shattering egg where young Aelyx breathed the first spin of life. Mellara had recalled from her mother’s stories that Daemon too had been like that as a boy, mischievous and too eager with Caraxes. Aemon had been much too eager to pull at Aelyx and so was Aelyx who nibbed at the young prince’s skin. 

The dark shade of red and black eagerly shining across the dragon’s young body, its scales as strong as Valyrian steel. Yet so fragile, so young. There was much that still was needed for the dragon to grow. But it will come, with time. Alyx will grow together with her son, as they should be. And they will live a good and long life, that Mellara was eager to ensure. Especially with a father by his side, one that she knew craved his son to be at his side. As she flew further, the sight of land became more and more evident with the figure of green gracing the presence of white chalky cliffs through a sparse area through the wide sea.

It had been a long time since she had last been here, flying atop the desolation of the Narrow Sea. The last had been with her princely father when he had still been living, gracing a laugh as she held tightly to him through the speed that Blacknight went through diving narrowly just ever so slightly against the sea water. Mellara had been crossed with her father, fearing pirates would come and eagerly shoot at Blacknight and in turn hurt her and father. Her father’s laughter completely drowned such complaints, with reassuring tones beckoning her to enjoy the moment. 

Mellara at the time had wished she had never come, owing to the fact that her father had decided to drink himself to a stupor and found himself dancing with Tyroshi merchants who merrily obliged his every request for another pour of wine. But now that she had looked at this place, recalling each memory with longing to see him laugh again and even merry with wine again made her appreciate the time she had with her father here. 

They had seen the sunset together, sitting beside one another in tranquil quiet. There was nothing but each other’s hand warming the other that spoke all that needed to be said. Mellara had not wanted Aemon to miss any more of the father he had not been allowed to know. In many years, her son too would look back at all these moments, all these memories wishing that for a life that had been lived with his extraordinary father around. 

Least of all herself. The young woman felt her eyes turn glassy as she let her head slowly fall onto the saddle. She had played it over and over in her head, how she would come to approach him when the time came, that she would see him again. After all the days that passed with much too much yearning, such grief felt all too familiar to her. In so many years, the princess has tried so hard to remember what it had felt like. To have him in her life, in her arms; his warmth which she desperately craved in the cold nights where she could not bear to sleep alone. Like the emptiness she felt when her father had passed, the long distance she had to live through from her lover had caused her nothing but wanting. Even for a moment.

Mellara Targaryen could not help but be overwhelmed by much too many emotions she could not explain as Blacknight lowered them onto the full few of rocky peaks and harsh land. He was nearby now, she thought to herself. Somewhere on these isles, she knew that her heart still beats. That there could be life blossoming spring in these desolate deserts she had drifted through with aimless wandering. As Blacknight landed with care, she turned back to see that the ships had yet to arrive. Breathlessly, Mellara had realised that she had gotten here first. Turning back, she could not help but raise her hand towards the land that was now so near and yet still so far away.  

They would meet again.

This was real.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The young princess was immediately welcomed. The tension of her body quickened even further as she brought herself forward towards the red manse, glaring over the isles. It had been tiring to walk, but Blacknight had worked tirelessly to get her through the seas, she would not ask more of her beloved dragon. Walking through as Blacknight followed her, flying above her with endless abandon, they made it through the hard plains, where the sight of men ushered forth to work. Endless corpses were being carted away, comrades and foes, to the farther shores to burn with Caraxes’s flame. That’s what Mellara had heard from a soldier who had bowed his head to her.

Though what had confused her was that he had called her queen. As did the many that had passed her by, eagerly greeting her with marvel. They bowed to her as though she was a goddess walking among them with the mandate of the heavens and their favour. At each turn, Mellara could only shake her head and dismiss them. Mellara had not been born to be a queen. It would never be. Her father was not heir, nor was she eager to bear a crown upon her head. The young princess had always been content with her life without the interference of the whispering of endless games for power. Tranquillity and peace had been her delight and it shall always be. She does not live for glory, unlike Daemon. She craved the silence.

When the silver princess gathered herself atop the red manse, servants had come to welcome her with endless praise. Mellara shook her head at such a thing, eager to avoid more of this. There was no need to ask where Daemon would be. She knew this house just as well as he did. They too had come here together, much too many times before. He would be there, waiting on her. Bypassing the steps, Mellara readied herself as she bit her lip. This was this moment she had been yearning for many of her endless days for. Stopping at the massive red oak entrance, she gathered the strength from the gods. 

Her hands yielded its presence to the doors.

Pushing it open, Mellara let the sun pour through her.

The ornate room smelt of the strong scent of wild daisies as the burnt out candles glistened through the sun, the hearth that had been burning hotly through the room had been gone many hours ago. The young princess was impressed with how nothing had changed. The chambers were just the same as they had been before. Just the same as the day he had told her he loved her for the first time. 

The endless charting of clothes rested upon the ornate sofa, as fresh as they had been when he had first worn it. She could smell the essence of war drift through each cloth as she got near them. Maps were everywhere, scrolled across the chambers. The long sword Dark Sister rested upon the beautiful oak table in the corner, the baldric intertwined with it. It had been the one she had gifted him all those years ago. Her soft fingers felt the rough edges, almost wondering if it had been real. That she was touching it truly, as she had all those years when she would help him remove his clothing. 

Big wooden shelves lined with blackened oak gathered itself with endless memories. She could feel her lungs gone from her body as she gazed at the many books that had been resting through the oak. Pulling a book off the shelves, Mellara could see that each and every one was the book she had loved to read. Many of which had been long forgotten from her memories. But they were still buried in her, almost like a long time ago had been the yesterday she had quickly forgotten. Turning away after she returned the book, Mellara turned to the adjoined rectangular table with many drawers filled with parchments, quills and ink pelted to the surface. Her name sprawled across a letter that would never be sent.

She felt tears sprawl down her porcelain cheeks.

“It seems like you have seen it.” The voice asked her as she stopped, her body frozen from shock. “It was not something I was willing to change.  After all this time. That would have been stupid.”

Bitter tears fell across her eyes more and more as she tried to make sense of her reality. The forlorn on his face as he watched her. Mellara placed her hand against her mouth, choking through her tears as she fell onto the floor, her legs weakened against her. The shine of Targaryen tapestries weaved through with silver and gold glistened against the sun, Daemon could only walk past each of them and fell to his knees beside her. She had not changed, her features still the same as when he had lost seen her. His fingers could only trace its flesh against her cheeks. Mellara huffed a cry, pushing him away.

His arms spread wide open and soon enough wrapped them around her tightly, bone crushingly. Mellara Targaryen felt her hand drop, tears yielded with screaming and her hands soon enough brutalised themselves on his body with thundering force. Daemon did not stop her, he let her do as she pleased as he held her closer, not willing to let his touch leave her warmth.They had been apart for too long, he thinks to himself. Too much for his liking. For all these years, he had always thought that he was barely breathing, without the air to bring life to his lungs and his blood unwilling to blossom through his many veins. Without her touch, without her words or her warmth near him. He was nothing but a shell of the man he truly was.

“You bastard!” Mellara cried with a loud tone, her arms pushing him away. Her tone was full of mournful discern. “You horrible fool. You stupid, stupid man! You abandoned me, you left me! You left us! How could you do that to me? How could you leave me, Daemon? How could you?”

“I’m sorry. My beloved, my little dragon, I am sorry.” He whispered to her as he continued to hold her to his body. He could only embrace her deeper in the enveloping of his warm arms. “I am sorry for staying away for too long.”

“You hurt me….” She cried weakly, her fingers fisting through his body. “You hurt me, Daemon.”

“I know.” Daemon nodded softly, his free hand brushing against her hair. “It will never happen again. I swear.”

The two of them had stayed like that for a moment, letting out all she had wanted to say to him, all her grief and pain. Slowly through the moments that passed through, Mellara had felt her body become less shaken. Tears were slowly getting sober. Moving away from his body, the two of them let their eyes meet in an intense embrace, almost as if they had already bedded one another with just looks and gazes. Her eyes had gotten red and puffy from all her salty tears. Daemon leaned forward and carefully placed a kiss upon each eye, gently whispering sweet words to her. 

Perhaps she was just it was her longing, perhaps it was just nothing but she felt everything magnified into a chaotic unknown. She felt wanting as she looked at him as she looked at him, the feeling of being near him somehow made something spark for her. Something that made her feel such eagerness but also felt safe and warm. She could feel her heart pounding from her begotten chest, the blood on her veins pumping hard at the thought of everything that could happen now and through all these years. Daemon too felt it, she was sure he did. This was the moment they had been so eagerly yearning for. This is what they deserved.

Daemon leaned forward his beloved and placed a hand on her soft porcelain cheeks. "I want only you, my little dragon. You are mine. My little queen. My beloved. My wife of choice. My only wife.”

"I choose only you, my only truth and my only want.” She responded to Daemon as she ran her hands on his arms. Daemon closed his eyes eagerly, taking in all her touch, her touch that he had missed. “I want to marry you, in our only way. Our true way. As we always had in Valyria, just you and I.”

“It shall be done, all you ask of me.” Daemon leaned in, whispering hotly in her ear. “I will give you all you desire, my love. Just let me do it.”

She removes his hand from her face and places it towards the laces of her dress, looking at his handsome clean shaven face. He opened his eyes as he followed the sight of her hands. The rogue prince pursed his lips at the sight of her face eagerly seducing him as she came closer. 

“Then take me, Daemon Targaryen.” Mellara says, leaned closer to him. “Take this wife who yearns for him.”

He needed no more convincing as he pushed her towards the table and removed her laces. He allowed himself to devour her mouth with his own and was surprised to see her return the favour as she kissed him back just as passionately and just as fiercely. Both fought for dominance like animals, needing to resolve their hunger. His strong hands were undoing the laces of the bottom of her dress as her arms were wrapped around his neck, massaging it gently earning little grunts from him.

His tongue inserted inside of her mouth, fighting against hers in a fury as he managed to remove all the laces of her dress. They were now intertwined with one another in this heated mess, his hands ripping off his Mellara’s clothing from her as quickly and as carefully as he could as she continued to kiss him. The silver haired woman moaned as she felt his touch on her breast, being only in her shift. Daemon broke the kiss to move all of the shift and lower undergarments of his beloved and continued to kiss her, earning a laugh from her in his eagerness.

He sat her on the table and as he stopped kissing her lips and moved on to kiss with such tenderness, her shoulders, her neck and then her breast. He looked at her as she nodded. He smiled and squeezed both of her breasts. There was so much in her self that felt pleasure burning her there but when she found him suckling her right breast as he squeezed hard on the other, that is when the pleasure intensified. Mellara kept moaning; he continued to lick and suck like a babe would to its mother, wishing to taste the nectar that only gods could take.

"I have waited for this moment for years, to have this moment.” He said, continuing to squeeze her breasts as she tried to calm herself. “To worship my beloved little dragon again.”

"Love me, Daemon. Love me in the way only you could.” Mellara replied to her lover as he grinned at her and kissed her, moving her breasts around before putting his mouth on her other breast, causing her to moan hard and throw back her head at the pleasure. Her hands touched his hair, encouraging him to ravage her breasts.

Their bodies were melting into one.

When Daemon finished with her breasts, he kissed her again and took the princess’s legs to wrap around his waist. Daemon eagerly carried his Mellara towards the direction of their bed, continuing to respond to her kisses. Mellara was laid by her lover onto their wide sofa, her hands deep into his long hair. She could feel herself getting into it more, feeling more sober than drunk. Breaking away from his lips, she eyed him as she took time to breath, having been overwhelmed by his passionate lips.

“Don’t you think that you are too fuly clothed?”

Daemon chuckled at her words. “I suppose so, my dear little dragon.”

Mellara then kissed him as she helped him out his clothing, her hands removing the white shirt he still wore from him and without breaking the embrace, removed it off him. As she moved towards the breeches heeagerly tried to help her but she kept diverting his hands elsewhere on her body. Once she successfully removed his breeches, she was aware that he wore nothing else underneath. Mellara felt pleasure at the fact that his manhood was touching her skin.

Mellara could only moan in pleasure as he kissed her body moving down to her womanhood. From her ear to her legs, her unique hair scatters into a form of a beautiful halo. Daemon had felt like he was a pilgrim begging whatever gods there was and ever will be to come and give him direction. And here was one goddess who had come before hiim, giving him all he ever wanted and he was worshipping the goddess for her gifts each and everyday at her temple. Daemon placed a kiss to her womanhood, causing her to moan. Then, he allowed himself to look at her cunt and smirked at her before allowing his finger to move about it.

She could not help rolling her eyes back at the pleasure her beloved Daemon was giving her, after all they had been through as he continued to continued his conquest across her body. He moved to lean over to her, kissing her neck and then moved to her ear to whisper, causing her to giggle. Mellara felt the pressure inside of her body build up as he continued to pleasure her well. Daemon had always loved the sight of her body being consumed by him, little by little with every bit of her becoming his once again. He kept moving and whispering to her until she could not hold on any longer, taking his forearm and holding it in place as she came.

“You are so beautiful.” He commented huskily in that tone she had never heard from him in a long time. He had always been so eager, but more so tonight. He was man who was hungry for her. He kissed her body once more, watching her still release herself from the high of his touch. “So beautiful, my beloved wife. My Mellara.”

Damon looked to her and allowed his tongue to lick her juices, earning great favour from the goddess in his arms as he did that, She did not expected him to put add his fingers slowly but she should have. Daemon was willing to take care of her. The loud pleasure-filled noise exploded out her mouth like a thunder storm out to sea, revelling in sensual gratification in the pleasure he was giving her. It was even more than what she had expected, what she had wanted. More than what she could do to herself in his absence. This is where she belonged. Daemon smirked slowly as he continued to lick her cunt as he placed his fingers back inside of her, making her throw her head back against the pillow once more.

He pumped his fingers in her deeply, finishing with her cunt and focused more on causing his wife pleasure. Mellara felt the arch her back with wordless nonsense and satisfied moans gracing her lips as her heart like it had burst out of her.

Daemon kissed her gently once more, her pleasure growing through their lips. “So wet, you are, my dear little wife.”

Daemon leaned down to look with wanting at his Mellara being so consumed by the pleasure he gave her. It was filling him with so much lust, lust beyond what was there to be had. It had all been bubbling up inside him. Not once did he bed any woman in the three years in the war. Not once even offered. He had been yearning for his little dragon, she was the one he needed. She was the only one that could satisfy him, the only one that made him greatly filled with eagerness to continue to please her. No one can make him yearn for it so much, to wait so long for one moment.  None had ever had the power to do so. Only his Mellara.

She could feel herself getting tighter around his fingers and as he kept pumping into her, all she could ever think was the amazing feeling, almost intoxicating and devouring. Mellara can only called out her husband’s name over and over again, which pleased him with delight. It had been something he had been wanting. Each time she screamed his name, calling him her husband had energized him so much  as he pumped into her even harder. She felt then that she had come, the swirling pool of desire flowed through her. 

As she sat up when the high of pleasure ended, it caused her more pleasure to see her husband lick her juices from his fingers. “You taste wonderfully, wife. You are the marvel of the world.”

Mellara could smile at him in her fantastical delirium and he did too but he was not done with her. Before long, the rogue had lunged towards her womanhood with his lips causing his little dragon to whimper as he entered his mouth into her, his tongue swirling around her insides like it was the fountain of life. Youth sprang through her and through him. Mellara had not known anything like it, not even when they had laid together all those years ago. Her wanting of him, her already releasing of pleasure before – it had all excited her body to react.

He continued on and on and on and on, not giving his beloved any rest. Only the scent of pleasure consuming them all at once, not caring for who shall see or who shall come to expose them. 

Mellara could hardly care as she allow her fingers to grab his long silver locks that flowed through the small of his back as he continued to awaken her desires. Daemon groaned as she did so, pushing even harder and harder as she started to move against his tongue. The young princess used her other hand to grab the soft linen lines as she cried out in ecstasy, feeling herself come once again. He removed his tongue from her womanhood and kissed her, making her feel the womanhood he loved. Kissing her thighs lovingly, Daemon watch her body limp through weariness as pleasure slowly shook her body.

“You did so well, my wife.” Daemon praised, heavy in pleasure as he watched her shift her body after she recovered herself. “You did so well.”

She kissed his palm as she leaned upwards. “I am so delighted by you.”

“As am I wish you.” Daemon whispers, kissing wrist. “I have missed you.’

“As have I.”

"Are you willing to make up for our lost time, my love?” He asked her warmly as The princess shook her head. “Why? Is there something you wish to do? Should we stop?”

“I want to touch you.” Melalra said as she neared his manhood and looked at his eyes. “Grant my request, my beloved husband.”

"I cannot say no to you, my love.” Daemon says, sighing as he smiled. “Go ahead my beloved wife. Touch me as you wish.”

The young princess smiled at her husband as she looked at him, bending her head down with her hair following. She allowed her fingers to touch the tip of his penis, causing him to grunt a little. Usually this was a whore’s job. Mellara had no business to do such a thing, as a noble woman, a princess. But she wanted him. She wanted him to remember that she wanted this. That he will only have this moment with her. She will enjoy this. She grinned as she allowed one hand to grab it into a small fist. Daemon grunted more as she started to allow the fist to go up and down, swloly and then gradually with speed. Melalra watched his face become contorted with pleasure as he started to become undone as she started to move her hand faster and faster and faster.

Daemon felt her stop. He lowered his body, gazing at her before finding himself throwing his head backas she took hold of the cock with both hands and took it in her mouth. Mellara allowed half inside then little by little she allowed all of it inside of her. Once he was fully inside her mouth, she started to bob her head deeper and deeper at her pace. Daemon was groaning and moaning, holding onto the the linen as started to reveal her hidden mastery. Her right hand massaged his balls while her other hand touched her womanhood and moved her finger inside, giving herself to pleasure just as much as she would for him.

Daemon felt his hand rest upon her head as she continued to bob into his manhood and soon he was helping her as he thrusted into her mouth and his hand forced her head to thrust into him deeper. The young silver princess had felt herself gagged at the tightness of his manhood in her mouth. She finally came with a small sound bellowing from her. Daemon groaned hard in pleasure as he continued to thrust and thrust into her and came inside of her with a loud roar. Mellara had  drank all of her husband as the sweat of pleasure was evidently slick to their bodies. 

The high had taken them both, the two falling atop each other as the pleasure belted through the dragons. It had been so long, since they had found themselves pleasuring each other. This was not what Mellara had expected. But it was hard to understand, their relationship. It was what it was. They felt resentment at times, they part from one another with constant anger and disappointment. It could not be helped. 

That happens. But they know they could never have anyone besides each other. One soul cannot survive without the other. Not even if the gods decided to end this life and tear them apart in another. Mellara Targaryen was certain. She would continue to find him over and over again. She knew with certainty that he would do the same thing too. 

“I meant it. I always have, my beloved little dragon.” Daemon says as he gathered his breath. Mellara raised a brow, brain fogged with weariness. “All these years waiting, playing by the rules. I want to correct that mistake, my love. At this very moment.”

“Do you really?” She sobered from her high, moving closer to him. He nodded, eyes full of determination. “Daemon, I want to tell you that this would not be easy. Viserys will not sanction it and he expects me to return, to wed.”

He took her hand, playing with the small of her fingers. He smiles down at her. “I would not have chosen you if I had known it would be easy. My love, I have loved you. Since I saw you holding flowers in your hands in Dragonstone, I had chosen you.”

Mellara felt her eyes water, smiling at him with joy. “As I have you, my love. I have always loved you, I just did not know then, to admit it. Even when we had it hard, you stuck by my side. Even when I pushed you away, you still stood beside me.”

“Hm, and its because I have none other than you.” He whispers back to her, kissing her fingers softly. “That is why I want you. I want to be your husband, Mellara. Fuck the world, what my brother thinks. All that matters is us, you. Our son. Nothing else matters.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Then I take you, my beloved, as my husband. If you would have me.”

“I will.” He swears to her breathlessly, brushing through her silver crown. “I take you, only you. My wife.”

Daemon stood from his position, lettind her hand rest upon her side and gathered Dark Sister upon the table nearby. Daemon unseathed the sword from its sleeping confines. Mellara gazed at the sword, awe-stricken. Daemon knelt in front of her, holding out the Valyrian steel sword and placing the small of his palm on the blade and squeezing it. Blood poured through the sword and soon enough, his eyes drifted to her with so much love in his eyes. She could feel her heart pound, as though she was one of the living again. She no longer was wandering. 

Her heart was here and her life was here. This was home. Soon enough complete. She let her hand rest atop the blade, squeezing it tightly just as he did. It did not hurt her, but she had flinched at the size of the sword. Her blood poured against his, dripping through the sword’s hilt. Mellara let go soon after and as did Daemon. He placed the sword carefully upon the side and turned back to her. Taking her hand into his, their blood continued to drip down their arms, intertwining like it had been an endless knot being put together over and over. Daemon smiled at her as he placed a kiss upon the top of her hand and soon she too followed, returning his smile. 

“I take you, Mellara Targaryen, as my chosen wife.” Daemon’s voice deepened in Valyrian as she watched him. “Ashes to ashes, we may become. The fourteen fires and fourteen gods guide us through. I chose you till the end of my days as I do return to home. Through fire and through blood, we shall unite as one. Husband and wife, from now till forever.”

“It is my turn.” Mellara whispered to him, watching him nod and smile. She could not take her eyes away from him. “I take you, Daemon Targaryen, as my chosen husband. Ashes to ashes, we may become. The fourteen fires and fourteen gods guide us through. I chose you till the end of my days as I do return to home. Through fire and through blood, we shall unite as one. Husband and wife, from now till forever.”

“Then we are married by the eyes of Valyria.” Daemon beamed proudly, parting their hands. Mellara squealed of joy as she and Daemon leand forward and kissed one another, sealing the matrimony. “This is the truest marriage we have. We have chosen each other, without pressure or mistake. I chose you, wife.”

“As I did you, husband.” She liked that, to call him such a word. “I chose you too.”

“No matter what comes, my love.” Daemon whispers to her, taking her face into his hands. “Nothing else will matter. Other men, other women. Whoeever my brother says we are married to. They are falsities. You and I, we are the truest one. Do you understand?”

Mellara nodded, smiling happily. “Yes, my love. I do.”

Daemon grinned happily. “That makes me happy.”

“We have much to talk about.” Mellara says in a mumble, taking his hand onto his. “Much to plan. Much to say.”

“That can all wait.” Daemon says to her, shaking his head. “Our son, I would like to meet him.”

Mellara smiled. “He will be here soon. You will see him for yourself. He is you.”

“My, then he will be breaking hearts.” Daemon jested as he gazed at his wife. “He will grow up well, if he has your mind.”

“He will.” Mellara giggled at his words. “But most of all, he will grow happily loved by you and I. We will be complete.”

Daemon could not help but agree.  “Yes, we will. I am sure of it.”

The gods gave man three chances at life, she thinks.

Her first wish was for her mother and father.

Her second wish was to be with her husband.

But the third, the third was for this happiness.

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen #house targaryen #hotd #stepstones #valyria

[words-writ-in-starlight]

how about any combo of "feverish delirium and mumbling", "easy, easy," "brushing hair from brow," and/or "waking up not knowing where they are" for s&s? like yes i know ms moore already blessed us with this content in canon but what about SECOND content??

I DON’T THINK THEY KNOW ABOUT SECOND CONTENT or even first content, actually, Please Read The Source & Shield Books.  For this ask meme!  Also, I have been watching AtLA again, which is my explanation for this.

Shintaro comes around slowly, to the sound of hissing voices.  It’s his first sign that all is not well--servants don’t talk around sleeping nobility, and his mother and brother never bother to be quiet.  No one whispers near him, except occasionally Bailey.

“--can’t believe you brought him here,” one voice is continuing in a sharp murmur, and Shintaro--Shintaro should know that voice.  It’s a boy, maybe his own age, with a broad and inspecific traveler’s accent.  Shintaro tries to force his eyes open to get a look and fails--his head aches, sharp and brutal, a throbbing in the right side of his face and a dry rasp to his breathing, and he can’t quite get his eyelids to obey him.

“I know,” another voice says, flat--no, not flat, purely neutral, a kind of schooled non-response that Shintaro should probably admire, really.  It makes his lungs try to curl up in his chest.  It’s a girl, and this one, this one he really should know, it pricks nervous energy up in his veins.  He knows her.  “But look at him.”

“We’re looking,” says a much closer voice, another boy, and something blessedly cool settles over Shintaro’s throbbing cheek.  It leeches the pain from his skin, leaving a tightness behind, and Shintaro can’t help a ragged noise of relief.  There’s a beat of silence, and then:

“Can’t you keep him out?”

“Well, I could drown him,” says the nearest voice, dry.

“Don’t drown him,” the girl snaps.  “I’m trying to do my job here--”

“I can’t believe you got chewed out by your own past life--”

“Guys,” the nearest voice interrupts, “he’s waking up.”

Shintaro fights his eyes open--one eye, the other is badly swollen and obscured by something that ripples for a moment before being whisked away from his skin.  The dimly lit room reels around him for an awful moment, and a hand appears on his shoulder from over his head, holding him down when he automatically tries to sit up.

“Easy,” the nearest voice says, and Shintaro looks, and--

Shintaro freezes for a long moment, and wrenches himself away.  He pays immediately for it, his head screaming and the burn on his face flaring back into the blinding pain that knocked him out in the first place, and he’s barely on his feet before he lurches forward and almost collapses back onto the floor.

“Catch him!” Dias yelps behind him, and a short figure grabs him in strong arms and bears him to the ground in a graceful slide rather than a painful collapse.

“Careful, Your Highness,” his savior says, a little bitterness lacing that perfect calm as Shintaro gasps and presses a shaking hand to his face.  It feels--not as terrible as he’d expected.  “You’ve had a pretty bad day.”

“Clearly,” Shintaro manages, biting his tongue on the rush of pain and forcing his throat to speak.  “Am I being kidnapped?”

“You’re welcome,” his savior says.  She has a riot of long hair in a rare and startling red, and her clothes are deep green and dusty brown, and she looks as professionally expressionless as she always does, but there’s an edge in her eyes that looks a little like disgust.  

Shintaro has had the dubious privilege of meeting Dunleavy, no last name given, several times.  All have involved a very credible attempt on his life.  He’s not entirely sure he’s grateful for this.

It must show on his face.  The other boy, the non-bender--Mika, Shintaro recalls after a moment, with a short Water Tribe spear strapped to his back and a lethally clever twist to his lips--makes an amused sound.  “Never thought I’d feel this bad for a firebender.  Here, let’s get you back on the bed.  If you’re good, Dias won’t even drown you.  And Lee can explain.”

“I’m fine,” Shintaro says automatically, and Dunleavy--Lee, he’s heard them call her that before--snorts.  She’s strong for her size, earthbenders tend to be, and she hauls him to his feet like he doesn’t weigh anything, shoves him onto the bed.

“Look,” Dunleavy snaps.  “Your mother burned half your face off.”

“Yeah,” Shintaro mumbles.  “Thanks.  I remember.”  He doesn’t, actually, but he remembers Bailey’s voice as he was pulled off the Agni Kai grounds, and the banishment pronouncement filtering through the smoky smell of his own skin burning.  “Any other information I might have missed?”

“You were banished.  Rumor is, it’ll be lifted if you can capture the Avatar.  Alone.”  

“I’m aware.  I was called to stand for my failure at the North Pole, and I knew the terms when I agreed to a trial by combat.  So, to clarify,” Shintaro says, leaning away from Dias as a flick of his wrist calls silvery water out of a canteen, “you decided to capture me first.  Don’t touch me,” he adds to Dias, and the waterbender holds up both hands, holding the water back, like Shintaro is a child in need of reassurance.

Dunleavy, for the first time since he met her at the South Pole, shows some emotion besides exasperation, and scrubs both her hands over her face, tangles them in her hair.  “I’m doing this all wrong,” she mutters.  “Your mother is awful, and your brother is worse--why are you even helping them, anyway?  You hate them!”

“Where else am I going to go?” Shintaro says.  It’s not bitter.  It’s not despairing.  He tries to mimic Dunleavy’s neutrality, and doesn’t let himself think about the pain in his face, or the fact that Dunleavy would probably have done better as his mother’s child than he has.  “The Air Nomads?  The North Pole?  Oh, I know,” he says, and snaps his fingers.  His voice is getting vicious, he can hear it, he can hear his mother in it, but he keeps talking.  “I could go to your old home, right?  Ba Sing Se would welcome me with open arms, I’m sure."

That stings her.  He sees it hit home.  Ba Sing Se is still standing strong, but he knows for a fact that they weren’t welcoming to their long-lost daughter and the war on her heels.  Dunleavy looks away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Shintaro says, and lowers his head.  His hair hurts when it falls, loose, against his burn.  “I just--I couldn’t go anywhere else.  And now...”  He gestures broadly.  “How long do you think I’ll survive, roughly?  I’m offering very good odds on the two-month mark.  I would recommend taking the under.”

“That’s my point,” Dunleavy says, and sighs, and looks back to him.  She holds out her hand and Shintaro stares at it for a long few minutes.  “You hate what the Fire Nation is doing almost as much as we do,” she says, and it sounds--careful.  Like she’s picking her words with precision.  “And you can’t go home.  So why don’t you help us?”

Shintaro’s gaze snaps up to her face, and she meets his eye without blinking.  “You would--trust me like that?”

“Like you said,” Dunleavy says, and she smiles a little, a faint trace of a thing.  “I don’t see you getting any better offers, Your Highness.  And,” she admits, “I need a firebending teacher.  You had the best in the world, I assume.”

The Avatar is beautiful when she smiles, Shintaro thinks, head spinning in shock.  He’s surprised to find that his decision is already made.

“Okay,” he says faintly, and shakes her hand.

#source and shield #shintaro karish #dunleavy mallorough #avatar au #ask meme #starlight writes stuff #OHOHOHOHOHOHO I THINK I AM ONTO SOMETHING WITH THIS!!!! #anyway taro does not become fire lord because i'm not...THAT cruel #they find fiona and make HER fire lord #lee's animal companion is aryne by which i mean it's a little asshole and she loves it very much #lee would make the Worst airbender but she makes a pretty legit earthbender so! there you go #earthbender lee and fire prince taro and water tribe dias and mika who Found Someone In An Iceberg #this is basically...in which taro WAS hunting the avatar pre-banishment (to get him out of his mother's sight) #(and transparently so that she could use the spies posted on his ship to send his elder brother in at the last moment to steal the glory) #but his failure to capture the avatar in the assault on the north pole resulted in his mother denouncing him as a traitor #('you had her in your hands and you let her go' the dowager fire lady says viciously. taro kneels and says nothing and does not fight back. #and so now he's banished and fully expecting to be murdered in cold blood within the month #ALSO in this au taro has never had...friends...so he doesn't have his nickname yet! dias gives it to him #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #cthulhu-with-a-fez #asked and answered

[thebadgerclan]

In All But Name

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Your engagement dinner does not go as planned...

A/N: Inspired by the Sharma/Sheffield-Bridgerton dinner from season 2!

Dearest Reader, This Author is pleased to announce the engagement of the Viscount Anthony Bridgerton to one Miss Y/N L/N.  Felicitations to the happy couple, and well-wishes too.  One can only hope to  find a match such as His Lordship’s, which appears to follow a Bridgerton family tradition: the elusive love match.  Other news that has reached This Author’s ear is as follows: the Earl of…  Your mother crumpled the scandal sheet into a ball, hurling it into the fire.

“Can you believe it?” she cried, rising to pace before the mantle.  “After we worked so hard to secure her better matches?  She goes and shackles herself to that man.”  Your father was positively beside himself, his fury and anger unmatched.  “She could have had a Duke, a Marquess, a bloody Earl!  But a Viscount?  What good will that do our family?”  The L/Ns were a fairly wealthy family, but untitled and unranked.  So when your debut came, your parents worked tirelessly to secure you several options for husbands; all of whom ranked in the upper half of the peerage.

But none of those men interested you.  Yes, they were kind and polite, but when you’d met Anthony Bridgerton, your word had been tilted off its axis.  He was handsome, kind, funny, chivalrous, and above all: he loved you.  You didn’t care about his rank, you cared about the man he was.  His family adored you almost as much as he did, and when he proposed, the Bridgertons welcomed you to their family with open arms.  

“This cannot stand,” your father said.  “Something must be done about this mess.”  You knocked on the drawing room door, catching your parents’ attention.  “Mama?  Papa?”  “What?” your mother snapped.  You knew they were displeased with your news, and you tried not to let it get to you.  “Ant–Lord Bridgerton is holding a dinner celebrating our engagement this evening, at Bridgerton House.”  Your father rolled his eyes and your mother audibly sighed.

“I suppose we must attend?”  “It would be in poor taste to decline, Y/M/N,” your father said, though his tone was anything but enthusiastic.  “Very well.  We shall attend.”  You nodded and turned to pen your reply to Anthony.  That evening, your carriage arrived in front of Bridgerton House, which your parents immediately began criticizing.  “Could do with a  bit of work,” your mother sneered.  “And those vines?  Lord, someone help them.”  “I think they look lovely,” you said, to no reply.

“Mr. and Mrs. L/N, and their daughter, Miss Y/N L/N,” the footman announced.  The Dowager Viscountess, alongside her entire family, stood waiting to greet you.  You parents nodded their greetings as Anthony came forward to kiss your hand.  “My beloved, you look wonderful.  And Mr. and Mrs. L/N, I do not believe I have had the honor of making your acquaintance.”

“That is intentional, My Lord,” your father said, and you flinched.  Anthony knew of the discord between you and your parents, but he hadn’t expected it to extend to the public eye.  “Shall we go in to dinner?” the Dowager asked, and you smiled. “That would be lovely, Lady Bridgerton.”  “Dearest, I have told you, you must call me Violet now.”  This made your mother gasp, but you ignored her, following Anthony and his family into the dining room.

You were seated at the Viscount’s right, your father at his left, your mother at his side.  Violet was seated at the opposite end of the table, her children filling the vacant seats in no particular order.  “I must apologize for my eldest daughter’s absence,” she said.  “The Duchess’ son has taken ill, nothing serious, so she has remained at Hastings House.”  “What of His Grace?” your father inquired.  “He is home as well.”  “This family…” your father mumbled.

As dishes were brought forth, conversation turned to lighter subjects: Benedict’s schooling, Colin’s travels, Eloise’s progress on the pianoforte, but when the main course was laid out, your mother cleared her throat.  “A surprising spread for a Viscount,” she said, just loud enough to be heard.  “I beg your pardon?” Anthony replied, and you mentally steeled yourself.  “Oh, nothing.  I only expected a formal dinner served by a Viscount to be smaller.  When we dined with the Duke of Grafton, his spread was nearly thrice this size!  You know we were hoping for Y/N to wed the Duke, but look how that turned out.”

“Mother,” you said, a slight warning tone in your voice, but it went unheard.  “Well, the Duke and Y/N were ill-suited, but the Earl of Carlisle, he would have made an excellent husband.” “Do not forget the Marquess,” your father chimed, and your mother nodded.  “Of course, how could I have done?  We had a whole manner of suitors lined up for our darling girl, but she dismissed them all!”  Anthony, sensing your discomfort, reached beneath the table and took your hand, squeezing it gently.  

“Perhaps we ought not discuss such things,” Violet put in, but she was shot down.  “Twelve eligible, suitable men, and Y/N turned every one of them down.  And for what?”  Your father shook his head.  “I’ll tell you for what,” he said, as if he and your mother were having a private discussion, as if the entire Bridgerton family (save Daphne) were not listening.  “A damned Viscount!  She could have had a duchy, an earldom, but instead she settled for some land in Kent and a lowly title with a measly sum to go with it.”

Anthony felt his temper rising as your parents spoke; the insults to his family and his wealth like daggers in his heart, but he remained calm.  He would not make a scene.  But your mother’s next words made his vision go red.  “Truly, Y/F/N, could we have had a more disappointing daughter.”  “That is enough!”  Your fiance stood, rattling the dishes on the table.  “You insult my family, my wealth, and you insult my intended.”  

“Begging your pardon, My Lord,” your father said, mockingly bowing his head.  “But we speak the truth.  Our daughter is a good-for-nothing, useless-”  “I said enough!  Your daughter is a wonderful young lady, who I am honored to call my fiance, and soon, my wife.  She is kind, beautiful, intelligent, and much more than a vessel through which to funnel funds!”  Your mother gasped, but Anthony went on.  “It is clear you have no regard for your daughter’s happiness, as you would happily pawn her off to the man with the fattest purse!”

There were tears coursing down your cheeks and Anthony felt his heart break.  “We will not allow this marriage,” your mother said.  “Y/N will marry a Duke, or an Earl, a man of high rank and wealth!”  Violet scoffed, drawing everyone’s attention.  “I wish you luck with that,” she said.  “The Bridgertons are a powerful family with much sway indeed.  How do you think it would come across, Mr. L/N, for an untitled family to break off an engagement between your daughter and my son?”

The Dowager had your parents backed into a corner, so your father took the only way out he could see.  “She is no daughter of mine,” he said, and you sobbed.  “Y/N, you shall never darken our doorstep again.  If we ever lay eyes on you again, it shall be too soon.”  Anthony reluctantly left your side to face your father, who had stood as he spoke.  “If you think this will ruin her, you are far stupider than I imagined.  She is a Bridgerton in all but name, my family adores her, I love her with everything I am, and she should be lucky to be rid of you.

“Get out of my house.  If I see you here again, I shall not hesitate to call the constable.”  Your parents hurriedly fled, and Anthony rushed to your side.  “Oh, my love,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.  Nobody cared about the breach of etiquette, they all knew Anthony was the only one who could comfort you now.  “My sweet love, I am so sorry.”  You buried your face in Anthony’s shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline.

“I knew they weren’t happy with me marrying you, I never thought…”  “Shh, I know.  You never have to see them again, you are home now.”  Violet came to your other side, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder.  “You needn’t worry about a thing, dearest,” she said.  “I will send our solicitor in the morning for your things, and Mrs. Wilson will have a room readied for you.  I’m afraid I cannot allow you to share Anthony’s chambers quite yet.”

Her words made you laugh in spite of the misery you felt, and your fiance pressed a kiss to your cheek.  “I love you, Y/N, I have never cared about anything else.”  “I love you too, Anthony.  I love you so much.”  The rest of the Bridgertons were still in the room, and it was Eloise who spoke first.  “Is there anything we can do?”  You smiled.  “You have already done enough,” you said.  “By taking me in and being a family to me.”

“Dearest, of course we would take you in,” Violet said.  “As Anthony told your father, you are a Bridgerton in all but name.”  “My Lady?” came the voice of a servant.  “We have a room for Miss L/N.”  Anthony helped you to your feet, offering his arm.  He led you upstairs to the room you would occupy, where a fire was lit and a nightdress was lying on the bed.  “I thought one of El’s would fit,” your fiance said, and you turned in his arms, kissing him deeply.

“Thank you,” you said.  “For defending me, for allowing me to stay, for loving me.  For everything, Anthony.”  He smiled, kissing you again.  “You need not thank me, darling,  I would do it twenty times over.  I shall bid you goodnight now.  I love you.”  Anthony kissed your forehead before shutting the door, leaving you to your thoughts.  As you dressed for bed and laid down, your thoughts of your parents were eclipsed by those of Anthony, who loved you so well, and his family who had already accepted you as their own.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton reader insert

[catlordewrites]

Black Herons - Ch.1

Summary: “Find love wherever you like, but never marry for love. Your title belongs to House Atreides—use it to strike the best possible bargain.” The best possible bargain arises in the form of Lady Rhiannon, a widowed Countess from a Minor House on a distant planet that, until very recently, had been consumed by centuries of war. The marriage alliance will gain House Atreides unlimited access to the planet’s untapped riches, but unbeknownst to Duke Leto, his new wife is far more dangerous than he ever could have anticipated.

Masterlist - Ao3 - Next Chapter

A/N: Made up a story to entertain myself with while I’m reading the Prelude to Dune books. Decided to try and write it because I had a fic craving and couldn’t really find anything that fit and of course you should always write what you want to read. I don’t really think there’s much call for this kind of story, but I thought I’d go ahead and post the first few chapters to check for interest.

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x Fem!OC (slow burn)

Rating: M

Word count: 4k

Chapter One: Messengers

Eleven years. Six years of war. Four of rebuilding. One of grief.

Rhiannon was angry.

She cut a noble figure, framed against the pale evening light filtering in through the tall windows. Her poise was that of a soldier, head held high and spine perfectly straight, but her alabaster skin cloaked in fine silks marked her as noble-born. Although the room was warm, she drew her fur lined cloak tighter around her as she watched the snow float soundlessly down onto the watery gray courtyard.

Angry at her idiot brother and his council of vultures, angry at the godforsaken planet she’d put so much effort into, angry at the situation, but most of all, angry at herself. At how careless she’d been. Not even the snowflakes drifting idly on the other side of the council room window could ease her mood.

The result of her carelessness lay innocuously at the end of the great table behind her. A letter. Meticulously written on thick stationary in an elegant, swirling hand. Not so much as a smudge or stray drop of ink betrayed the speed at which it must have been drafted and sent. Even the way it was folded indicated great care: trifolded to fit within a sealed envelope, each seam separated by precisely a third of the paper’s length, each perfectly straight. The only imperfection was in the drop of red wax, a slight splatter that made the hawk of the Atreides seal look as if it were dripping blood.

Every seat at the great table was occupied by a member of the House Dering council, but none of them dared move, let alone speak. The lush, carpeted room was dead silent, save for the cracking of the fire in the hearth. Less than a year prior, many of them had been working for her, and knew just how dangerous she could be when cornered. Because even though she actively commanded the room, she was in a corner, and they were the ones that had backed her into it.

Rhiannon intoned a sigh, feeling a bit of the righteous anger boiling in her blood slip away, replaced by the fog of resigned indifference that had consumed her every waking moment for the better part of a year.

Everything had been different since Hetta‘s death. Rhiannon had been different.

As far as the Landstraad was concerned, House Dering had brought peace to the planet Iro. Those who lived on Iro, however, who were in the know and had survived the last decade of politics, knew the driving force behind the carnage to be the Dowager Countess.

The Imperial fiefs for Iro had been small and scattered across the planet’s surface like crumbs cast out for birds, each left to establish order and to tap the precious resources hidden beneath the planet’s surface. Because of this, there was more than one Countess of Iro, and a few of those also happened to be widows. But on Iro, if someone referred to the Dowager Countess, you knew exactly who they were talking about.

The letter’s authors were not from Iro. They had specified. Repeatedly. ‘— House Atreides respectfully appeals to The Honorable Viscount Larion Dering, Head of Minor House Dering, Guardian of The Honorable Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara, to inquire as to the eligibility of The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara — ’

The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara. The Dowager Countess Rhiannon Varvara. Over and over again, they referred to her by her full title. No she. No her. No simple Dowager Countess or Lady Varvara. Like if they weren’t incredibly specific there would be a misunderstanding and they would accidentally agree to marry their stupid Duke to the wrong woman.

Rhiannon knew she wasn’t being entirely fair. The wording wasn’t intended to offend her in any way. Quite the opposite, in fact. Perhaps she’d been a bit spoiled. Larion was an idiot, and for the better part of the last decade, she had been the power behind his office. Everyone who had wanted to deal with House Dering had quickly learned which sibling they had to win over, and that treating Rhiannon as an extra chess piece and not a fellow player was a quick way to make a dangerous enemy.

That must be it, the source of her anger. Arranging a marriage for political gain didn’t offend her, not even when she was the one getting married.

No, it was the fact that these negotiations had been going on for months without her knowledge, to the point where the letter was just a formality. The messenger that had delivered it to them was waiting in the next room, ready to carry back the response so the wedding arrangements could begin immediately.

It was the fact that her enemies had taken advantage of her grief over the loss of her daughter to move against her. Then, to add insult to injury, House Atreides hadn’t once bothered to meet with her personally to see if she was actually willing to go through with the deal or even to check if she was suited to be Duchess of Caladan.

To them, Rhiannon’s opinions didn’t matter. She didn’t matter. A means to an end, and nothing else.

Atreides may not have intended to offend, but to Rhiannon, there was no greater insult. And she was pissed.

But it was too late for anger. She had two choices: resist or relent. Even with her dilapidated resources, she still had quite a bit of influence in dangerous circles. Should she choose to try and reclaim what they had taken from her, even though she would almost inevitably lose, it would mean another long and bloody war that would cripple House Dering and threaten the newly established hierarchy.

Her enemies knew that, which was why they were marrying her off into an off-world family instead of trying to kill her outright. In their eyes, this was a solution that benefitted both parties; Rhiannon would be taken far away from Iro and no longer pose a threat to them, and in turn, Rhiannon would climb the social ladder to a previously unattainable position. Widow to wife. Countess of very little to Duchess of Caladan. The very things they believed to be every woman’s dream.

And, of course, Minor House Dering would gain the support and protection of a Great House, a particularly influential one, at that.

Larion, braver than the members of his council in the face of his sister’s wrath, stood and rounded the table.

“Rhia,” he beseeched, lifting up a hand with the intent of resting it on one of her narrow shoulders, before thinking better of it. Four years his senior, his sister had often been the guiding force in his life. He didn’t like to see her upset, even if he didn’t understand what there was to be upset about. “A lot of work has gone into arranging this for you. A new start, that’s what you need. You have too many bad memories here. This is your chance to move on. Start again.”

Rhiannon could’ve laughed at his choice of words. She knew exactly which of the vultures at his table had whispered them into his ear. Poor Larion, always such a puppet. There was no telling the ways they would pull his strings with Rhiannon out of the picture.

When she didn’t respond, Larion heaved a sigh. “Be sensible, please? Sit down. Read the proposal properly. We need to come to a decision quickly.”

“I believe the decision has already been made,” Rhiannon said coldly. “And as I am a woman, there is no seat for me at your council’s table.”

“Nonsense,” he said, not understanding. “I’ll have a servant pull one up for you.”

Rhiannon turned away from the window and surveyed the room almost lazily, the perfect manifestation of haughty disinterest. “No. I’m tired of the company you keep. Do what you must, brother, but I’m going home.

With that, she gathered her cloak around her shoulders and swept out of the room. No one tried to stop her.

After nearly thirty generations, the planet Iro was finally important.

The mines on Iro were thought to be some of the most bountiful within Imperium space. The planet was brimming with enough iron, coal, gold, silver, precious gems, and other raw materials to build an empire, but the constant infighting between houses made it nearly impossible to reach them. There was always another blood feud. Continuous warfare between the Minor Houses drained resources and made mining extraordinarily dangerous. Borders and territories were established, erased, and redrawn so often that it was impractical for wealthier Houses from other planets to barter for mining rights.

Now, after centuries, Iro presented a united front. Over the course of six years, one Minor House had clawed its way to the top and forced settlement amongst the rest. It was messy. It was brutal. But at last, after centuries, it was over.

After five years of progress unimpeded by kanly, the existing mines and quarries were more productive than ever and new ones were being built around the clock. Now that Iro finally seemed ready to truly engage with the rest of the Imperium, the larger, wealthier houses were circling once more, citing old treaties and making grand promises, all in hopes of staking a claim to the enormous wealth that was slowly, but steadily, edging within reach. House Atreides was no exception.

As the northern hemisphere of Iro tilted further into spring, the preparations for Rhiannon’s wedding were well underway. The ceremony was to take place on Caladan, but both Rhiannon and House Atreides still had a lot of unfinished business on Iro that needed to be addressed first.

For House Atreides, that mostly meant fleshing out business agreements, touring mining sites, conducting land surveys, buying equipment from other planets and arranging it to be sent to Iro, and setting up a central hub from which to conduct it all. For Rhiannon, it meant working out wedding details from millions of light years away, preparing to move her household and staff to another planet, extensively researching House Atreides and its enemies, quietly planting socio-political seeds and spies across a dozen planets, and discreetly monitoring everything House Atreides, House Dering, and the rest of Iro were doing from a safe distance.

Rhiannon still hadn’t met her betrothed and was trying hard to not feel insulted about it. Duke Leto was on Iro, and had been since long before Rhiannon had discovered just how interested he was in establishing a firm Atreides presence on Iro. Though, more accurately, he was above the planet, and had been spending most of his time on an Atreides Frigate in orbit for security reasons, but frequently came down to the planet’s surface to oversee everything firsthand. This meant that he was a frequent guest of Dering House Hall, but Rhiannon hadn’t been back to the family home since she’d walked out on the council meeting the night they presented her with the proposal, and she had no intention of returning without good reason.

Instead, she chose to stay at Black Heron Hall, a beautiful stonework mansion situated on her own property a few thousand kilometers away. It had been part of the dower from her first marriage and was located on the fringe of what used to be House Varvara lands. House Varvara itself had more or less been absorbed by House Dering, but Rhiannon had grown fond of the jagged, snow capped mountains and rugged evergreen forests, and had made it her permanent residence.

And anyway, as the higher ranking individual, it was the Duke’s right to control where and when their first meeting would be. If he wanted to meet her, he would either summon her to Dering House Hall or ask to be received at Black Heron Hall — she would comply with either without complaint — but any initiative on Rhiannon’s part would be considered socially improper.

It was a bit aggravating, but a personal peeve, and therefore irrelevant. Otherwise, Rhiannon was perfectly capable of managing her affairs from Black Heron Hall through the constant stream of information from her own personal web of spies threaded all across the planet.

That information web was one of the reasons she was at loath to leave Iro. She had people who she trusted to maintain it in her absence, but was also hyper aware of the fact that there wasn’t anything like it waiting for her on Caladan. It had taken her years to build, and she was having to start from scratch in order to create the same thing at her new home. Until then, she would be effectively blind.

“It’s not that bad,” said Aunt Elsbeth as they walked together on a footpath that weaved throughout the grounds, heading for the ponds to watch the fish. “You’re hardly the first woman to marry and move to another world. And you’ll have twice the resources on Caladan. You're more than clever enough to learn to use them.”

Lady Elsbeth Levin wasn’t Rhiannon’s actual aunt, but the younger sister of Rhiannon’s late husband’s mother. Elsbeth had moved into the Varvara household after the death of her own husband, the late Lord Levin, some twenty years earlier. She was in her fifties, tall and beautiful. Her soft voice and sweet smile were the first things people noticed about her, but behind them hid a vicious intellect and equally vicious libido.

Rhiannon hummed. “Easier said than done.”

Rhiannon had first met Elsbeth at her wedding to Count Bence Varvara. When Rhiannon had been twenty and still naïve enough to believe that marriage guaranteed a life filled with love and safety, Elsbeth had been nothing but kind. Two years later, when Rhiannon had been battered, pregnant, and terrified for her own life and that of her unborn daughter, Elsbeth had given her the means to save herself.

Since then, Elsbeth had been one of Rhiannon’s most trusted advisors, and the rock she had clung to when everything had suddenly fallen out from under her.

“Well, naturally,” Elsbeth sniffed. “But it’s a right smart match, and a far better arrangement than the others you can expect, given your situation.”

An uninformed observer might think that the ‘situation’ Elsbeth was referring to was Rhiannon’s state of widowhood, which was partially true. A widow, even a young one, couldn’t expect to attract the same caliber of suitors that she had for her first marriage. But as Rhiannon had no true interest in remarrying, Elsbeth was referring to the political situation that had cornered her into marriage in the first place.

If Rhiannon stayed on Iro, she would eventually be killed, one way or another. By marrying a noble from another planet, especially one powerful enough to protect her, she had become untouchable. The guards at Black Heron Hall had already seen their ranks bolstered by a squad of Atreides soldiers. The safety of the future Duchess of Caladan was being taken very seriously.

“A smart match,” Rhiannon echoed dryly. “You said that about Bence.”

Elsbeth tutted. “Because that’s what you’re supposed to say when someone marries your nephew. Bence was a brute, and everyone knew it. This one, ‘Leto the Just’, they call him. He’s got a good reputation. I mean it this time. It is a good match.”

It was, actually. Political advantages aside, they did seem to be suited to each other. Both were in their late thirties, objectively attractive, had extensive political experience, and, were Hetta still alive, would’ve both had children that were about the same age. Even though it would likely be a loveless marriage, they would make a handsome couple.

Rhiannon hummed acknowledgement, which Elsbeth took as permission to continue.

“And even if he isn’t all that they say, he’ll probably be content to just ignore you. Imagine that! You won’t even have to carry his children. Or even lie with him, if you don’t want to.” She paused. “I would want to, though. He’s a handsome man, it would be a waste not to.”

Rhiannon let out an inelegant snort. “You say that like you wouldn’t fuck a troll. And anyway, I don’t think it’s up to me. They were very clear that I should manage my expectations about… physical intimacy.”

They had been abundantly clear. Shortly after the engagement was made official, Black Heron Hall had been approached by an Atreides representative, who, in an effort to make a potentially uncomfortable discussion less awkward, had spoken to Rhiannon through her lady-in-waiting. Which, of course, made what should have been a perfectly reasonable discussion about boundaries and expectations between Rhiannon and Duke Leto into an annoying little game of telephone.

Rhiannon’s lady-in-waiting, Mariona, had been a good sport about it. She faithfully presented the representative’s statements to her mistress, then gamely returned with the responses, even going as far translating Rhiannon’s irritation into professionally composed answers.

The Duke has a son and heir, and does not intend to sire any children by his future Duchess. Will the Countess take issue with this?

(Oh, thank God.) The Countess has no personal interest or need for children. Barring the unlikely event where a child is required for political reasons, she does not desire to bear any more children.

The Duke has expressed the desire to remain exclusive to his concubine, Lady Jessica, and does not intend to join the Countess on the marriage bed. He hopes she will not take offense to this.

(Whatever.) The Countess understands that the union is political in nature, and respects the Duke’s decision to remain faithful to the mother of his son.

The Countess will, of course, be allowed to take lovers, so long as she does not become pregnant by them.

(Fuck off.) The Countess acknowledges this allowance and is quite familiar with safe sex practices.

“Oh yes, Lady Jessica.” Elsbeth nodded sagely. “That might be an issue, of course. Humans can be such jealous creatures. But you know what I’d do about that. I’d — ”

“You’d fuck them both.”

“— fuck them both,” Elsbeth went on as if Rhiannon hadn’t spoken. “Then there’s no room for jealousy. Your husband’s concubine may feel the need to compete with you, and that almost never turns out well. It’s best if everyone is in love with everyone.”

Rhiannon arched an eyebrow, equal parts amused and exasperated. “It’s an option, but not everyone likes sharing, you know. I’ll play it by ear. Otherwise what happens between them is their business.”

Elsbeth didn’t look convinced. “Do what you feel is right, of course. Just be sure that you don’t get lonely. I still say that you should take one of your lovers from here with you. That way you’ll have someone on Caladan that understands your needs.”

Rhiannon recognized the concern in her aunt’s tone, and smiled fondly. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”

They rounded the edge of the garden and started their way back. There wasn’t much foliage to look at this early in the spring, but the mountains were always breathtaking. Ice still floated around the edges of the fish ponds, the marbled orange and white fish wandering lazily from one end of the shallow pool to the other and back again.

As always, seeing the fish sent a pang of loss through Rhiannon’s chest. But with it was a comforting ache. Her mind drifted to warm summer days, to the mop of blonde curls dangling just above the water’s surface, to small, delicate hands dropping bits of fish food into waiting mouths. One by one.

She couldn’t take the ponds with her. Or the fish. Maybe that was the most devastating thing of all. The last real connection she felt with her daughter, and she was being forced to leave it behind along with Hetta’s grave.

Rhiannon was jerked out of her thoughts by a flurry of movement from the main house. Loah, one of Rhiannon’s handmaids, hurried out the nearest door. She did a quick turn to scan for her mistress, then bustled across the garden towards them.

Upon reaching them, she bobbed a quick curtsy. “M’Lady.”

“Hello, Loah,” Rhiannon said pleasantly. Loah was Mariona’s younger sister, seventeen and still a bit nervous when interacting with nobility. Hopefully in a few years, she would earn the title afforded to her sister. Rhiannon always made a point of being patient with her. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure, m’Lady.” Since Mariona had gone ahead to Caladan to manage Rhiannon’s affairs from that end, many of Mariona’s duties had fallen to Loah. Loah was extremely bright and exceptionally capable, but had yet to develop Mariona’s intuition, which came with experience. “We’ve received word from our sources at Dering House Hall that a ‘thopter carrying two high ranking Atreides officials has left there, bound for here. But there has been no word from any official channels.”

Rhiannon frowned thoughtfully. “That’s interesting. Did they say which officials?”

“Thufir Hawat and Duncan Idaho.”

“The Master of Assassins and the Master of Swords,” Elsbeth mused. “Why would he send them here? Why now? And why keep it a secret?”

Rhiannon pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It would make sense if they thought that there was to be an attempt on my life. But I find it doubtful that they’d discover a plot before us.”

“Perhaps they suspect you’re plotting against the Duke?”

“I’ve done nothing,” Rhiannon reasoned, “and I can think of no one who would benefit from them suspecting me. Not this early. There may be some trouble with that after I become Duchess, but not before.”

“M’Lady?”

Rhiannon gave Loah her full attention, causing her to shuffle nervously. “What is it, Loah?”

“I was thinking,” she started tentatively, “about patterns, like Mariona said to. I’ve noticed that the Master of Assassins always visits a new place before the Duke. To secure it before he arrives.”

The two older women shared a glance.

“The Duke is scheduled to leave for Caladan in a few days,” Elsbeth pointed out. “It would make sense for him to visit you before he does.”

“Why the secrecy, though?” Rhiannon shook her head, annoyed all over again. “Nevermind. Very nicely done, Loah. Thank you. Inform the staff that I’ll be receiving Hawat and Idaho in my study. Then go to the kitchens and quietly inform the cooks that we are expecting the Duke of Caladan by dinner, and they are to prepare a simple meal. Nothing fancy, but enough to feed all our guests.”

Loah nodded and hurried off. Elsbeth watched her go, a frown pulling at the fine lines on her face.

“This isn’t the time to be informal, surely?”

Rhiannon started walking again, following after her handmaid at a much more leisurely pace. “Except we aren’t supposed to know they’re coming, remember?”

“All the same. You don’t want your future husband to be underwhelmed, either.”

She considered this, plucking a tiny new leaf from a skeletal bush as they passed. She examined it critically for a moment, then rubbed it between two fingers until it turned into a minuscule ball.

Rhiannon flicked the pulp away and said, “If my betrothed wanted to be impressed, he would’ve announced his decision to visit ahead of time. Clearly, this is to be a casual interaction.” She raised her hands in a mock helpless gesture. “Who am I to contradict him?”

“Fine. But I get to help decide what you wear, at least. No niece of mine is going to meet her husband dressed in her lounge wear. I won’t stand for it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, El.”

#duke leto atreides x reader #duke leto x oc #leto atreides i x reader #leto x reader #leto x oc #leto atreides x reader #fanfiction #oc #fanfic #leto atreides x fem!oc #dune fanfiction #duke leto x reader

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.16

A Shared Bed

11/17/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,113

Warnings: nakedness, angst, fluff, lots of fluff, finally some fluff, language

A/N: I don’t know how often I’ll be updating after this one as work is about to blow up with the holidays. Please be patient and thank you to those who already are! xoxo I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had such fun writing it and finally...just...FINALLY. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

TAGS ARE CLOSED FOR THIS STORY!

The castle is brimming with people.

They have been coming and going since late afternoon yesterday and you haven’t seen his Majesty since your reunion in the open courtyard outside of the gardens.

It’s all felt a little like a dream too good to be true. Except for the blonde. Lady Sharon. Who has stuck close to his Majesty’s side—or so you’ve heard from Peter who you finally sent for.

“Why is she with him?” You wonder, trying not to let your jealousy show but there’s an edge in your voice. You’re on pins and needles with this woman.

“They uh…” Peter hesitates, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

You turn to look at him, having been watching the come and go of decorators, musicians, and the general gentry. The castle is echoing with laughter and chatter and there’s an air of excitement flowing through the staff. Only your friends are receptive to your own mood.

Only Nat has been with you since yesterday and watched you go from a smiling idiot to a stressed-out pregnant woman.

She’d been a little surprised that you were so ready to forgive him, but she was also pleased.

“They have business to speak of.” Nat tells you, getting up from her seat by your fire and moving to serve you some tea. “Come have some tea. Don’t worry about Sharon. She’s nothing to worry about. Trust me.”

You turn to move to your designated chair, extra padding added at Grandmother’s request. She and Nat are serious ramping up the overprotectiveness as of late.

“Why don’t I need to worry about her? And what business would she have with him?” Okay, so you’re more than just a little jealous.

It’s icky, and deep in your chest. No, in your ribs. In your bones. Moving like searing magma, charring your insides and making you feel wretched.

“Didn’t he tell you that you didn’t have to worry about Sharon?” Nat asks.

“Yes.” You sigh, reaching for your cup as she holds it out.

“Steve is a man of his word. You have nothing to worry about.” She promises.

But you’re not convinced.

You give Peter a wary look and he seems to read you easily as he gives you a quick smile then backs out of the room and shuts the door for you to give you and Nat some privacy. Not that he won’t be able to hear you…but at least he won’t see you directly.

“But she had her hands all over him.” You sigh, taking a sip. “And she was so…”

You bite your lip, thinking of the regal woman you’d seen holding tight to his Majesty’s arm. The two of them had looked so right side by side. A beautiful couple. The queen he deserves.

“I know what she looks like. And she’s a lovely person. She wouldn’t try anything, Y/N.” Nat assures you, but you’re only half listening.

“Nat…” You begin.

“I promise you, Y/N. If he says that there is nothing to worry about-”

“No.” You interrupt her, “It’s not…I told him.”

Nat’s face blanks as she slowly sits herself down, placing the plate of cold meats she’d been serving you down.

“You told him you’re pregnant?” She whispers, so quiet that you have to read her mouth to understand.

Peter’s just outside.

“No.” You shake your head. “I…I told him that I’m not really father’s daughter. That he found me on the side of the road.”

“What?” Nat asks, her hand completely still, unlike the shift in her eyes that tells you she’s on alert suddenly. “Why?”

“Because he was telling me that I was his pearl and his gem and that I was true royalty and grace and all these other really nice things and I-I’m none of that, Natasha. I just couldn’t stand there and watch him make love to me thinking that I’m more than I truly am, so I told him.” You swallow hard, your mind reliving the beautiful memory over and over.

“What did he say?” She asks, voice tight and controlled.

“I know it was your specifically assigned task to keep my secret. To protect it. To make sure that I was never exposed but-”

“What did he say?” She repeats, a bit sterner.

“I told him I was no one. But he told me that I’m a Rogers.” The flutter that fills your chest is pleasant. The smile that tugs at your lips us unstoppable. “I thought he would throw me out.”

Nat releases a slow breath, then reaches over to place her hand over yours.

“And you haven’t told him you’re pregnant?” She asks, a bit more loudly than she probably planned but at this point, you figure she doesn’t care.

There’s an audible sound of a chair clattering on the other side of your door and you guess that Peter now knows.

A split second later, the door is thrown open.

“You’re pregnant?!” Peter gasps.

“Shh.” Nat chastises him, rushing up to shut the doors behind him after taking a quick peek out.

You’re smiling at him thought, biting into your bottom lip.

“And you’re not really King Stark’s daughter?” He shakes his head. “Not that it matters. You’re my queen. And my friend. I think. Right?”

You chuckle a little, so happy to have Peter in your life as your personal guard and a true friend.

“Of course, you’re my friend. More. You’re family, Peter.” And he beams. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my true-”

“As happy as I am that Steve seems accepting of your true lineage, we should not advertise it. There are people who would use it to hurt you. From this moment on, you don’t speak of it. Okay?” Nat orders, turning a rare look of authority on you and Peter.

“Right. Of course.” Peter nods.

You’re more intrigued by her reasons though and though you promise yourself not to bring it up again ever, your brow is furrowed with curiosity.

“Who? How would they use it to hurt me?” You wonder.

“There are people who don’t want Steve as King. People who think they could do a better job. People who don’t think he deserves to be on the throne.” Nat moves to push your plate food closer.

“Why? He’s a good king.” You observe, thinking about how he was so kind and accommodating during his meetings with the people. The way he’d praised you for taking the initiative to help the poor.

He truly seems like a good man trying to rule his kingdom as best he can.

“There’s only one reason that he would have reacted badly to your…revelation yesterday. And it’s exactly for that reason. Because it’s a weapon that his enemies might use against him. But he loves you too much to care about that now.” She says.

“So, my low birth wouldn’t have mattered to him to begin with?” You wonder, watching Nat as she settles into her seat and relaxes now that all your cards are on the table.

“No.” She nods at your plate. “Please eat.”

You pick at the food. “Why?”

Nat meets your eyes and offers you a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“No. Not that one. Blue or red. Keep the blues around my queen. She looks lovely in blue.” Steve gushes, smiling like an idiot. “She looks lovely in anything.”

Behind him, Bucky laughs. Sam’s smile is wide as he shakes his head.

“What?” Steve asks, turning to look at the two as they linger by the doorway.

“She’s forgiven you for a few hours and she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.” Samuel notices.

“I am not…” Steve begins, attempting to deny it but there is no sense in doing so. Every bit of what he just said is absolutely true. “I can’t help it. I thought I’d lost her.”

“We know.” Bucky assures him. “We’re happy for you, Steve.”

After a moment, Samuel moves over to a few of the decorators and whispers in their ears.

They drop their tapestries and tablecloths, ornamental candelabras, and plush reupholstered cushions. Quietly they leave the large room and shut the door behind them.

Sam follows. Checking to make sure the door is properly shut and locked before he moves with Bucky over to Steve as he fusses with your seat beside his. Both are even in height though before yours had been smaller.

Steve can’t believe he’d let you keep sitting in that. You’re his Queen.

He feels a sudden surge of pride and pure elation at the thought of such a woman by his side.

A pigeon you most definitely aren’t and he’s not sure why you’d pick that name of all the things he might call you.

“…I’m of no consequence.” You’d said. “I’m no one.”

He could see it in your eyes, the way Sharon must have made you feel. Out of place. Not good enough even though that’s far from the truth.

Sharon is trained, taught to be a lady from the day she was born. Like Maggie. Like all the other women in his life, save two. Natasha, and…

“How are you holding up?” Sam asks, and because Steve’s mind is already there, he knows what Sam means.

Steve moves to his seat and settles in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

The sleeves of his plain cream linen shirt are rolled up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. He’s sleepy. He hasn’t slept since the night before last. And yet, he smiles. His pink lips curl up into a small smirk as he looks up and meets Bucky’s grinning expression and Sam’s worried gaze.

“I’m fine.” He assures them, looking down at his hands. He can still feel you in them. Body trembling a little but pressed softly against his own.

You’d melted against him, as if you couldn’t help yourself. You still like him. For some odd reason…

“I didn’t think you’d be.” Sam says.

“I did.” Bucky counters.

“You always said-” Sam continues.

“I know what I said. I should have known better. My own mother rose from nothing.” He begins.

“Not exactly nothing,” Sam says, “She was a noble woman.”

“A poor one.” Steve nods.

Sam continues. “She owned extensive lands without having access to them because of the clause in her father’s will that she had to marry first. The dowager Queen was rich, Steve. Before she married the King. Not poor.”

“In name only. She didn’t have access to any of that wealth.”

“Point is,” Sam continues more firmly. “She was raised as a lady. She attended feasts and dances and she came to court which is how King Joseph fell in love with her in the first place. If Y/N had not agreed to do what she did, the two of you would have never crossed paths.”

“And I would have lost my kingdom.” Steve points out, feeling a little miffed that Samuel is painting this picture of you forever poor in whatever village you came from, away from him. Never to be seen or held. Not by him.

Maybe you’d have married some farmer? Or a butcher? Maybe you’d have married a drunk and he might have beat you every day?

Steve sits back and grips the arms of his chair, squeezing them until the woodgrain is etched into his skin and the creak of it bending in his angry grasp brings Bucky’s and Sam’s eyes to them.

“I don’t know what motivations Y/N had for agreeing to this arrangement. I know that it’s odd. It’s suspicious in some ways. But Tony trusts her, and I’ve seen her as she truly is. She’s not capable of deceit of this magnitude. Not on her own.” Steve’s grip relaxes.

“She has been lying to you about her lineage since she arrived. What do you mean she isn’t capable of deceit?” Sam questions, and although Steve knows he’s only doing his job as one of his advisors, he really hates him for planting these seeds of doubt in his mind.

You’re so sweet and perfect. Why can’t you just be you and not have an ulterior motive?

“Sam…” Steve sighs, shutting his eyes tight then opening them as if to clear them. “Why are you trying to ruin this for me?”

“I’m not.” Sam tells him. “I’m not.”

Steve opens his eyes and sees him eyeing Bucky who’s frowning at him.

“All I am saying is that you need to talk to her. Get her side of the story. The truth. Until we know everything, this is risky, Steve. We could be putting the whole kingdom in jeopardy.”

As if Steve doesn’t know that he would be the one putting the kingdom in jeopardy, not we as Sam says.

“I doubt she’s a spy, Sam.” Bucky interjects, moving to sit on the table fully, metal hand and flesh hand held between his legs loosely. “I met her in King Stark’s castle and she’s just as she was then, now.”

“And you’re probably right.” Sam nods. “She’s very sweet and kind and she is the queen our king deserves, but I just want to be certain.”

For a long minute, silence invades the room as Steve’s mind reels with the possibilities of what your lie might mean. You’d confessed so readily, as if you’d been dying to do so for so long.

He also knows you were coerced into confessing by jealousy.

He can’t help it. He smiles, cheeks sore from how happy he’s been, grinning like a fool.

“What?” Bucky checks, tearing his eyes away from Sam.

“Nothing.” Steve continues to smile. “It’s of no consequence.”

“That can’t be true if you’re grinning like that.” Bucky argues. “Tell me.”

“No.” Steve gets up then moves towards the doors.

“Come on, Steve.” Bucky complains.

“Maybe it’s private?” Sam offers.

“No. It’s not private.” Bucky realizes. “He’s just embarrassed. Are you being sappy again?”

Steve’s cheeks burn scarlet and his ears flame on as he stops by the doors, hands on the handles.

“She’s cute when she’s jealous.” Steve smiles. “She doesn’t know how impossible it is for me to want anyone else.”

“He’s being sappy again.” Sam agrees.

“You need a wife.” Steve tells Sam, then turns to Bucky. “And maybe if you were a bit more eager to make love to Natasha she would come around and finally say yes.”

“I do make love to her!” Bucky says. “I tell her how beautiful she is. I bring her flowers and gifts.”

“Nat said that Y/N hasn’t opened even half of my presents. She’s kept them in a pile in her room, but she reads my letters often. Sometimes, you need to tell a woman what you truly feel, or she might never know.” Steve looks at his best friend. “When’s the last time you told her you loved her and exactly what she means to you?”

Bucky opens his mouth to speak but then shuts it when he can’t remember when.

“I’m going to go remind my own beauty how much I love her. You’re welcome to tag along.” He offers, then turns and heads out the door as his decorators bow their heads.

Sam and Bucky watch him go, observing the bounce in his step.

“When do you think he’ll forgive himself?” Sam wonders.

“For which part?” Bucky asks. “Never, Sam. Even if they’re married all their lives. I don’t think he’ll ever stop trying to make up for what he did to her.”

“You mean their wedding night?” Sam nods.

“All of it. If I did to Nat what he did to Y/N…well, I’d be dead for one, but she would never forgive me.” Bucky moves towards the door as the decorators come rushing inside and back to work.

“Has she forgiven him?” Sam follows.

“I suppose there’s only one way to find out.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A knock on your door startles you.

“Wait!” Peter’s voice pipes. “You can’t go in there yet.”

“Why not?”

His Majesty’s voice sends your heart into a thrill and you quickly rise from your tub.

Freshly bathed, you make to step out, but Natasha throws her arms out towards you.

“Wait!” She cautions. “Don’t! I’ll come to you.”

The panic in her eyes throws you and you realize that she’s afraid you’ll slip. But you’re already halfway out of the tub so you freeze with one foot on the carpet and the other inside your tub.

“What’s going on?” His Majesty asks, knocking on the door again. “Y/N? Are you okay?”

“She’s fine. What do you want?!” Nat asks, irritated and rushing to you to help you step out fully and then wrap you up in your robe.

You look down as it clings to your form and you can see the bump of your barely forming belly and you can’t let him see you like this. He’ll know. You’re not ready to tell him yet.

I should tell him, though.

You chew your lip as Nat suddenly throws a thicker robe over your shoulders and wraps you up tight.

“There you go.” She smiles at you, reassuring you. “Should I let him in?”

“What do you mean, what do I want? I want to see my wife.” His Majesty argues, the grumpy note in his voice clear.

He doesn’t like being kept out of your room and it’s probably because he doesn’t want to take a step back after yesterday.

If you’re honest, you can’t wait to see him either.

You nod in answer to Nat’s question and she makes sure that your tummy is carefully padded with robe and then moves to open the door.

She cracks it open at first and you watch her back, relaxed from previous tension, as she looks through the split in the door up at a single blue eye as it peers in, eager to get a look at you.

“What if she doesn’t want to see you?” She wonders.

“Should I leave?” His Majesty asks, ready to comply but you can hear the regret in his voice and your heart gives a small ache.

You shake your head without speaking.

“If it was me, you’d be castrated and beheaded by now.” Nat informs him.

“Are you threatening your king?” His Majesty wonders, playfully though, so you know this must be normal.

“Every day.” She promises, then moves aside and pulls the door open.

His majesty is a vision…

He’s not dressed in anything fancy. He’s wearing a pair of plain trousers, the ones he wears when he goes on his rides or for a walk. His shirt is simple white linen, sleeves clinging tight to his arm’s muscles except around the forearm where they puff out and meet cinched at his wrist.

He looks tired, however. Eyes slightly dry. Hair a little limp. You can see it in him when he blinks, and his eyes struggle to reopen.

“You’re tired.” You realize, out loud, without meaning to.

The smile his mouth twists into, bright and brimming with joy dazzles you and you’re out of breath.

“You’re worried about me?” His gasps, moving towards you, ignoring Nat as he passes her.

Behind him, another familiar head with long black hair peeks in. Ice blue eyes look at the redhead and he wiggles his eyebrows. “My love.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you and Sam would be tied up all day.?” She wonders, reaching out for him and he takes her hand, kisses it, then smiles.

“I was given a lecture about showing appreciation for my woman.” Bucky explains.

“Your woman? Excuse you, good sir, but I am my own woman.” Natasha argues, her hand still in his.

“And yet, you’re mind. Come, let’s go for a walk before we lose the chance. You won’t mind if I steal my lovely betrothed, do you, your Majesty?” Bucky asks, looking at you as his Majesty reaches you and places his arms on your forearms, caressing them, holding them as he pulls you closer.

“N-no.” You reply, distracted.

“I’ll be back in half an hour to get you dressed.” Natasha says, fixing you with a reassuring gaze.

She wants you to tell him about the baby. She’s worried about the throne. She also wants you to be happy.

“Okay.” You whisper, very aware of the heat radiating off his Majesty’s body.

“Come on, Peter.” Natasha says, gripping his arm.

“What?” He replies in shock. “But-”

“I’m sure they don’t want an audience. Go get something to eat and maybe change for tonight? This’ll be your only chance.” She points out and without further argument, she closes the door behind her leaving you and his Majesty alone in your room.

The crackle of the fire is loud. Deafening in the weighty silence between you and his Majesty.

Your heart begins to pound. Nervous, you think about your tummy and almost look down at it but remind yourself that you shouldn’t, so you don’t.

When you think you might go crazy, your mind worrying about a million different things, you shut your eyes and inhale.

“Are you alright?” His Majesty asks. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you. I would have but something has happened, and we had to act very quickly.”

“What happened?” You wonder, grasping at anything to fill the silence.

His Majesty looks down at your chest then back up to meet your gaze as he considers what to say.

Does he not trust you?

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t trust me.” You say, miffed, and your voice is suddenly a bit colder.

“No.” He sighs. “No, Y/N, it isn’t that. I just don’t know how much to tell you. You need to know. It concerns your safety too.”

“My safety?” You ask, squeaking a little in fear but not for your own life but the one you carry in your tummy.

He nods. “Mmm.” His hands are explorative. Tracing the lines of your arms all the way back to your shoulders then down again.

As you begin to chew your lip, he reaches up and traces your bottom lip.

“Don’t be nervous, my flower. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.” He assures you.

You shut your eyes, relishing in his touch but also trying to comprehend this man with the one that wouldn’t let you touch him.

“I’m…I’m a little overwhelmed.” You admit.

“Why?” He checks, suddenly pulling you towards a seat by your breakfast table. He makes sure you’re sitting then squats down in front of you.

He’s so tall even low as he is, he’s only an inch or so shorter.

“This change between us-?” You begin, but he sighs, and you stop speaking.

“It’s my fault, this distance between us. We have a lot to talk about. More than you know but know that I’m ready for you now.” He nods.

“I wish you’d been ready before.” You sigh.

“Me too.” His Majesty admits. “Every word that I’ve written to you is the truth. I have loved you since almost the moment we met. I fought myself hard because I didn’t think it was right, but she would not have wanted me to be cruel. She would have wanted me to be happy.”

You frown, hating the mention of Maggie from him. It’s bad, but you can’t help it.

“And I know I’m risking expulsion from your presence again by bringing her up but trust me when I say that I will never compare you to her again. I-Do you want to hit me?” He offers.

“Will it hurt?” You wonder, tempted.

He smiles, a small smirk at your threat. “Probably not. But I’d understand that it should.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, your Majesty.” You sigh.

“Steve, please, flower. Call me Steve.” He begs.

“I can’t yet.” You sigh.

He buries his face into your lap, just hating himself more for what he’s done to you.

Your heartbeat spikes, he’s so close to your stomach.

“I don’t want to replace Margaret.” You continue, eager to move on. “I never wanted to. Or to hurt you. All I wanted was for you to give me a chance.”

He looks up at you and your voice nearly chokes. Somehow, you push through it.

“I love you.” You confess, and the brightness in his eyes becomes unbearably pleasant.

He takes a deep breath and his chest swells with pride.

“All I want is a fair chance.” You bite your lip again and this time his Majesty leans in, thumb smoothing out the softness of your lip before he reaches back to hook his hand behind your head.

Your lungs are suddenly empty, and you inhale and hold it.

“May I?” He whispers against your mouth, the heat of his breath overwhelming.

You nod.

His Majesty presses his lips to yours and you whimper a little, unintentionally as his lips move against yours.

He devours you, a smattering of wet tongue and a soft kiss as he settles in between your legs while dropping down onto his knees to kneel more comfortably.

Your hand closes around the neck of his shirt, gripping it tightly as you cling for dear life.

His hands are wandering, moving away from your shoulders down to your waist and awfully close to your stomach.

The kiss is heated but because you have both been wanting it for so long. As he pulls back to tilt the other way, you lick your lips and sigh, finding his hands with yours.

“I’m pregnant.” You whisper, shocked yourself that it slipped out. “I…”

His Majesty pulls back a little, face suddenly pained as he stares into your eyes to see if you might be joking.

“Grandmother says that I am about four months along?” Your shoulders heave up and down as you try to catch your breath.

Your little revelation makes it harder to breathe because you’re nervous about his reaction.

“I didn’t want to tell you because I-I wasn’t sure whether you really wanted me.” You sigh, voice cracking a little in sorrow. “You’ve pushed me away, told me in so many ways that you don’t love me and I was afraid that if I told you that you would want me only because I was with child and I don’t want that.”

You smile at him tightly, on edge. “I want you to love me because you love me and not because I’m carrying your heir.”

His Majesty is silent, watching you with that same pained expression until he reaches up and cups the side of your face.

“If Thor touches you again, I’ll have him beheaded. I don’t care if it brings about war. If he looks at you with that wistful look again, I’ll scoop his eyes out with a spoon. He’s one of my closest friends, but if he ever tells me again how you taste like honey, I’ll slice his tongue out. This is how I feel.” His Majesty says. “You are mine. And I am yours. Before any children. Before any obligations or duties, if I don’t have you by my side, I don’t want this crown.”

You know you can only believe so much. If he had to fight for the Kingdom to save the people, he would, but you also understand what he’s saying. He kissed you before he knew you were pregnant. He loves you.

How much, you’re not sure. But he does love you. You smile.

“Do we have to have this feast tonight?” You wonder, reaching up to trace the lightly discoloration underneath his eyes.

He really does look very tired.

“Yes.” He tells you, rubbing your back with his large heated hands. “I have to correct other mistake that I’ve made with you that are not as personal and more politically driven.”

“What mistakes?” You wonder, still tracing the shape of his cheek.

He reaches up to take hold of that hand and pulls your fingers to his lips to kiss and just hold against his lips.

“There are rumors that I hate you.” He sighs. “Rumors that I don’t care about you. That you and I only married because it was my duty. Our duty.”

“Which is true.” You point out.

“Yes. But I do love you. You are my chosen Queen. And maybe things were different before, but I need them to know that you’re right where you should be.”

“Because I’m not really-?”

“You’re true royalty, Y/N. Never doubt it. I will show them that you are irreplaceable. That they’re wrong.” He assures you and presses a firm kiss to your palm.

“There’s something else you’re not telling me.” You frown.

His Majesty sighs.

Suddenly he brings both hands to your waist and then carefully begins to undo your robe. Your cheeks burn savagely, neck coursing with sudden heat. As he exposes your first layer, he undoes the second robe and moves that open too.

You sit before him, naked, with only the edge of the fabric shielding your breasts from full exposure.

His eyes are not on your nakedness however, but on your tummy.

He slides his hands into your robe, caressing the sides of that belly gently while also greedily taking in the feel of your freshy bathed skin.

“You smell good.” He says without thinking.

“I j-just bathed.” You remind him.

“While you were gone, we made a show of playing up an illness for you. The word was spread across the people that you were sick and that is why you had not been seen in weeks. Most believed it. Some didn’t.” He sighs.

He runs his thumbs along your side and though you might have once been focused on his words, the fact that he’s never touched you this way also keeps your brain from focusing.

“The meeting yesterday was about a resurgence of what is known as Hydra.”

You gasp, knowing the name. “They’re back?”

“And I think they’re the ones that attacked you the day you came home.” He nods, looking up to meet your eyes, speaks in a whisper. “We think that there are spies in my council. Trying to destroy my chances at keeping the kingdom. That’s why you’re in danger.”

He looks back down at your tummy and renews his caress.

“You and our little one.” He sighs, smiles, and then his expression darkens.

“This isn’t good news then?” You sigh too, reading the situation with new eyes and a fresh perspective.

He tears his eyes up to you and shakes his head. “This is the best news.”

He smiles.

“Please don’t let my need to contemplate every scenario darken this moment for you. I am so happy that you’re with child. I’m only sorry that I didn’t do my duties as your husband properly. I’ll make it up to you.” He runs his hands back to your lower back and halfway down your bum.

You gasp lightly, your body reacting to his touch again.

“I promise.” He smiles.

No, that’s a smirk.

“I wanted it to be you.” You confess, dropping your voice to a whisper in slight embarrassment. “When Thor kissed me. When he touched me.”

His Majesty’s brow furrows, and he growls as he pulls you closer, dragging the chair along the floor so that it groans loudly against the stone. You’re surprised by the pull and your hands hurry to his shoulders to cling in surprise.

“I swear I’ll kill him.” He says.

You shake your head. “He’s why I came back. If he hadn’t shown me that it could be good…that there might be a different way with you…I would have kept running.”

Your legs are spread around him, lifted up slightly so that your feet are hanging off the ground as your knees rest on the sides of his hips.

“I want to show you how good it can be.” He whispers, bringing his left hand down to your ankle to take hold of it possessively. “I was a fool. An idiot. A moron in denial.”

“You’re tired.” You realize as he closes his eyes in one quick blink, but they stay closed a bit too long.

“I have enough energy for you.” He swears.

“Your Majesty,” You chastise.

“Steve. Please, please. Call me, Steve.” He begs, leaning up to kiss your neck.

You shut your eyes; lips slightly parted as he pulls your leg up higher against the side of his hips.

“I c-can’t.” You gasp, breathless.

“I’m going to make you scream it.” He whispers into your ear and your body is red hot metal iron, heated until pliable.

As his tongue traces the shape of your ear, a heaviness begins to settle on your chest. Your lungs struggle to pull in a breath, and your heart is racing but not in excitement.

“No.”

And as if a sudden gust of wind has blown out his flame, his Majesty pulls back, hands move to your waist again, and he gives you a bit of space.

“No, I…I can’t.” You shake your head, disappointment flooding your chest as the fear and tightness there takes hold.

“I…” But you don’t need to go on.

“I’m sorry, my flower. Forgive me. I’m a little eager.” He says, his caressing hands trying to reassure you that you are safe.

“I-I’m eager too, I just…”

“I know it wasn’t good with me.” His Majesty suddenly says. “And our wedding night was—I will never forgive myself for what I did to you.”

“You’ve said that before.” You point out, feeling calmer by the second.

“And it will never stop being true. I did something unforgivable and somehow you’re able to love me still.” He reaches up to stroke your cheek.

“We love you.” You remind him, then reach for his hand and drag it down to your stomach. “Both of us.”

His Majesty is all smiles. As he continues to stare and as he feels your barely there bump, his eyes grow misty.

“Thank you.” He gushes. “For giving me this gift. For coming back home. For putting up with me.”

You nod. “Thank you for trying.”

He dives down to kiss your belly, nuzzling it with his nose as you slip your hands into his hair hesitantly.

Will he like the affection? You’re almost afraid to give it.

As your fingers card through his hair, he relaxes more and shuts his eyes.

“How much time do we have until the feast?” You wonder, looking towards the window at the day outside.

“Hours.” He says weakly.

“I’m tired.” You tell him, hoping that if all of this devotion is really true, he’ll try to make you feel better.

“You’re tired?” He worries, sitting back again to look at you.

“Yes. But I don’t want to part with you yet.” You admit. “Do you have anything to do this afternoon?”

“Nothing.” He says eagerly.

“Will you lay with me?” You hope he doesn’t see through your ruse and even if he does, that he’ll pretend not to.

“Yes!” He says, too eager. “Yes, of course.”

Carefully he helps you to your feet.

He’s just like Nat and Grandmother already, protective. Watchful.

You peel off the top robe, the thicker one, and set it aside then move towards your bed as you tie up the first, much thinner one.

Dry, it sways around you smoothly as you climb into bed and look for his Majesty.

He watches you from the foot of the bed, a look of concern on his face.

“The last time we were here I wasn’t-”

It’s true, you don’t have good memories with him in this bed, but you’re eager to change that.

“Come.” You tap his side of the bed. “I’m cold.”

Like someone has kicked his bottom, he springs forward to his side of the bed and climbs in quickly.

He lays down. Feet hanging off the bed.

With a frown you move over to them and undo his boots.

“I’ll do that.” He makes to sit up, but you push him back with surprising force.

You make quick work of his shoes and then lay beside him before you roll into the circle of his arms and press your hands against his chest.

He’s hesitant, his arms hovering around you loosely.

“Don’t you want to hold me?” You probe, eyes already shut.

Tight arms pull you close, leaving you in no doubt that he does indeed want to hold you.

It takes ten minutes of his hands gently stroking your back before they still and you peek to find him fast asleep, mouth slightly open.

You shut your own eyes and hope this isn’t a dream.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x you #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #medieval au #royal au #arranged marriage au #avengers x reader

[thecandywrites]

Blood For Gold Part 7

So, I’m still in pain, yes that nerve is still pinched in my back which means my right hip is still numb/in A LOT of pain. But inspiration doesn’t care if the rest of my life is dumpster fire. 

That’s my inspiration telling me all kinds of stuff while I was waiting for my chiropractors this week, thank god for google docs so I can write down stuff while I get tens treatments. Also, after doing some research into British currency, a crown is less than a pound, I thought it was more. so from here on out, Audra’s dowry is fifty thousand pounds, also we’re going to still be at the ball because there are some developments in the plot and some easter eggs to bury. Have fun hunting. Also all the thanks to @kriskukko​ for letting me run with this, it’s so fun. And thank you @punkhorse96​ for your amazing feedback. It’s my life blood. Enjoy. 

Blood For Gold 

Part 7

At dinner you found yourself sitting next to the Dauphin Ramsey while Demsey sat across from you, Callellea on one side of him and Benyana on the other side of him with his brothers on the other sides of them as his brothers Sierge and Tzane being immediately absolutely smitten, having practically fallen for the jewel orcs already and knew that while both had been sent for their brother, that meant that they had, at least in theory, a chance with the other. But both didn’t want to admit that their preferred girl would be for Demsey, if they could get their preferred girl to go for them, the faster the better. They were falling helplessly and hopelessly for them and even as you sat across from them, you could see this. 

But you could also see how Demsey, while polite and friendly, was rather unaffected by them and dare you hope? Uninterested? Surely if Demsey, by all accounts would want an orc for a wife, no finer prospects could be found in the world and they were presently on either side of him. But he was acting like they were barely aquaintances that he had no interest in getting to know better, it gave your heart a small, glimmering speck of hope that maybe, just maybe, you had a chance. His declaration that he wanted to get to know you better had given your heart to soar like an eagle, you knew there was now an obstacle in your path. The Dauphin, Ramsey. However you did get to meet Lady Whitesale and she was...a piece of work. You could tell she was used to being one of the prettiest women wherever she was, but upon meeting Calla and Bennie and having their beauty eclipse hers and once she learned that they had been invited there by the royal family and to see them both talk at length with Demsey and his brothers, much less the rest of his family, had her glowering from across the room as she soon gathered the other orc ladies within the court to “talk” and you couldn’t help but overhear them as you passed them, they were trying to find dirt on the new comers and bring up every hurtful rumor and slanderous slur about mouras out of pure jealousy and spite and now knowing the truth that Demsey didn’t like her had you feeling relieved that he didn’t because she was just...awful. But that had not stopped her from trying her luck with Calla’s and Bennie’s brothers, if only to try to pump them for information. 

By dinner though, what really got your interest, was the way Calla and Bennie were treating Tzane and Sierge respectively. You knew Calla well enough that she was genuinely taken with Tzane and they were acting like long lost best friends getting reacquainted, eagerly chatting and gesturing while they tried to eat. 

Bennie though, she was working Sierge practically up to a foaming froth and she was taking delight in the fact that Sierge was practically drooling over her while eating out of her hand metaphorically speaking. Bennie had a way of behaving and emoting in such a way that you would never know what she was really playing at, much less really thinking or feeling until after she played her hand, no matter the situation, a skill you had lost over the last few years but one you knew you would have to rebuild and sharpen anew if you were going to compete for Demsey’s attentions while dodging Ramsey’s. 

Because, while mouras could charm crowds of thousands, if not tens or even hundreds of thousands, mouras were never more devastatingly charming and alluring than one on one. You remembered when you turned on the charm for Edward when he was the best option available to you, Edward didn’t stand a chance then, and now you could see that Sierge wouldn’t either against Bennie, she could practically get him to propose if she went at it much harder tonight. She was practically bewitching him, the same way you had bewitched Edward a lifetime ago. But such knowledge left you feeling ashamed for a behavior that had been taught to you in youth by your superiors. You had always just thought it was the moura bride way, an art form. Now it just felt as it was- dishonest. 

But Calla though, she wasn’t being charming just for the sake of being charming, she was being genuine and it was like comparing bright sunshine to the light of a candle to you as you realized, no wonder the rest of the Morrigan family could barely stand you, they could tell you were disingenuous and in this moment, you couldn’t blame them for that impression. You could still blame them for the extreme actions they took after though. 

“Is what you wish to retrieve from your house your moura contract my dear Audra?” Ramsey asked in marinai from a murmur into your ear as you instinctively bristled at his closeness, at feeling his hot breath on your skin almost made your skin crawl while his sister Charlotte sat on the other side of you, she was lovely, but you could tell her parents kept her purposefully naïve as most English women were at their age, but that was simply the difference in culture you supposed. 

You agreed to be Ramsey’s friend, however it was almost painfully obvious that he was wanting more than friendship from you but right now, you were not inclined to give him what he wanted. But you were curious to see what he was willing to give for it. Morbidly so. 

“It is, since Calla and Bennie are my friends, I wish for them to read it. I want them going into a future they might enjoy here with their eyes wide open, and not be blindsided as I was, but since I have signed the contract I can not speak of it, but nowhere is it written that I can not have other people read it.” You answered. 

“There is no need. I have a copy of it at my own residence at Windsor and if you truly wish for them to read it, I can provide it for them without you having to expose your own hiding place for it, I have been going over it in detail for the last week since your coming out into society was brought to my attention, if you’ll forgive me, I only wished to do my research and upon reading it, it intrigued me, just like you do. However I have had the best moura lawyers go over it and there are so many troubling details and inconsistencies in it, that make no sense and now that I have your permission to investigate the matter further, I will do so with expedition. The Morrigans have done you wrong and while the current situation saw you some justice, more is owed to you, and if you will simply hold off in showing your friends the contract because I do not want them to get the impression that what you experienced is the norm because it absolutely isn’t, in particular the one that Richard and yourself signed, I will do everything in my power to open up every prospect for you that I can, including returning to the stables, if you so choose to return to them, but not as a bride, but as a dowager.” Ramsey offered and you softly gasped as your jaw dropped and you lost your grip on your fork and knife as they clattered on the plate which seemed to garner everyone’s attention from around you, Demsey especially seemed to pause and stare, silently asking with a look to see if you were alright while the marinai word for dowager- halmana seemed to instantly engrave itself into his mind while Bennie seemed pleased as she gave the Dauphin a giddy and excited smile of approval while Calla too seemed excited since they had been lowkey overhearing your conversation while they carried out their own. 

“Dowager? How could you possibly elevate my status to that of a dowager?” You questioned as you picked up your wine glass and held the cold crystal to your burning cheeks as you could feel everyone’s gaze weigh heavily on you before you drank what remained in your glass and got it refilled. 

“Oh ever so easily, because as a dowager, your own possibilities to who you can remarry would be limitless, whereas now, you may only remarry who you wish within the nobility in England, which is not necessarily that promising, otherwise you may lose what little bit of security you currently enjoy. But as a dowager, that security may be paid out to you whether you chose to get remarried or not, whether you have a hundred children by a hundred different men or not and I want to make sure that when and if you ever do decide to have children, in or even out of wedlock, that they will also be provided for. Would this please you?” Ramsey inquired, mentally dangling every carrot he could think of because while he could see Calla and Bennie work their charms on Demsey’s brothers, he knew that at any moment, they were going to turn to Demsey and Demsey, besides being spoiled for choice, will be hopeless to resist them, they were simply gaining speed and a foothold with his brothers before they went in for the kill. 

But for now- Ramsey reasoned that he must tempt you into not doing anything that would ruin that before he could fully dazzle you himself. He needed to get you into a spectator state of mind, instead of a contender, that Calla and Bennie clearly were. Because once you chose him, your own dazzling charm aimed at him after you’ve taken in all of his greatest sides, then it will be seen as you trying to court him, and your choosing him since that is the only way the contract would be satisfied, it was your choice, but he had to make himself the best choice, much like Edward had done for himself. 

“It would.” You tentatively answered, trying and failing to not sound weary of him. 

“However I fear that if you have the power to lift me up so high, then that means you have the power to tear me down so low, lower than I am now. And I would be better off without your interference to begin with then. If anything, especially your mood or whim were to decide one way or the other. We are friends are we not? How can I give my friends, ones that I have only known for a night so much power over myself and my situation? Since you have read my contract you know that I have suffered from a power imbalance before. And this time around, I refuse to give such power to anyone, even to a friend.” You began as Bennie’s jaw dropped in almost horror at your words while Calla seemed to weigh that over as well as Demsey noticed their reactions to your words and never before had he needed to know what in the world was being said. 

“Oh no, you misunderstand me completely my dear Audra, I would never dream of tearing down something I helped build up, especially you, no I would never dream of meaning you any harm, no I want to protect you from all harm, from all others and even if you chose to have nothing to do with me, I would still choose to intervene to try to get you justice, you are moura as I am moura, and there must be more protections in place for all mouras. How could I in good conscience have not just yourself but three mouras here and not have safety nets in place for all of them?” Ramsey quickly reassured you as Demsey frowned, something about what he said, you clearly took offense to. He just needed to figure out what that word meant and why you’d have a bad reaction to it. 

“Then I will hold you to your word and I will wait and see how you follow through and deliver then if you can truly make myself, Calla and Bennie all dowagers, and none of us owe you anything in return and once it would or could be done, it would never be reversed for any reason, so that it would be written in stone as it were, or I will have to retract my permission.” You firmly insisted. 

“Oh absolutely, I would expect nothing less.” Ramsey assured you as that seemed to satisfy you as Calla and Bennie seemed pleased with that as well. 

“So how long would you prefer I wait for my friends to read my contract?” You asked. 

“At least a week, but no more than a month, tops.” Ramsey suggested, figuring that was more than enough time to court you so well, you would feel inclined to return the favor of him doing all this by marrying him and your yearly thirty thousand pounds a year will go straight to his pocket along with whatever stocks and shares in the Morrigan companies will also pay out too.  

“While I do trust you Ramsey, I have also learned to get everything down in writing.” You suggested. 

“Of course, I shall have something for you by the end of the day tomorrow.” He readily agreed.

“So what do you want in return for such endeavors?” You asked him. 

“Only that I at least have a viable spot in your heart to be able to court you properly.” Ramsey answered. 

“Does or rather- would any of it hinge on me accepting your offers of courtship?” You asked. 

“No, whether you chose me or not, you are royal moura, such efforts are owed whether I stand to gain anything or not.” Ramsey lied rather convincingly but you could see his falseness in his eyes. 

“Then I want that also in writing and signed by the highest judges and courts in the land who can hold you accountable for it.” You proposed. 

“Oh of course.” Ramsey agreed, because he doubted he would really have to follow through, you were going to be his by the end of the week, he was sure of it.

“So, since you’ve looked into my contract, have you seen the evidence of why I was deemed unfit to return to the stables?” You asked him. 

“I did not need to, I read the report myself.” Ramsey reassured you. 

“Then you should know that I will never again tolerate that kind of treatment. If anyone dares to mistreat me again, I will have no qualms or hesitation to fight back using whatever means necessary, laws of decorum or decency be damned.” You leveled as Demsey did his best to keep composed but he knew a threatening tone when he heard it and to hear you threaten the Dauphin was thrilling and exciting. He didn’t know what the Dauphin did to offend you but he was incredibly proud of you for returning it to the Dauphin’s face, he had to fight not to agree with whatever you were saying in marinai because he had no idea what you were saying but he was willing to bet that whatever it was, you were right about it. 

“Oh of course, anyone who dares mistreat you is to court death.” Ramsey readily agreed and the victorious grin you gave him was particularly beautiful.  

“Then we have an understanding, so if you will give me a piece of paper, I will write down what can be brought from my home and taken to the Windsor Palace so that I don’t have to miss any of this ball after all.” You suggested before he readily hand you his little notebook from his breast pocket and opened up to clean pages as you used the pencil from your dance card to fill out what you wanted from home. 

“By the way, did you like your dress?” Ramsey asked in English as he watched you write things down, noting your gorgeous handwriting. 

“I did, it had more moura touches than I was expecting.” You answered back in English as you wrote down what you wanted from home. 

“Oh good, when I saw you dining with the Morrigans at the Savoy from my private box a couple of weeks ago, which is what initially piqued my curiosity and intrigued me, seeing you look like a sparkling jewel among the dreary cobble of the occupants, I inquired where you had gone that day and to find out which dressmaker you used, I couldn’t help but make sure she added more moura details, in particular more Kilani and Kalinish touches, so that you didn’t feel so divorced from your homeland. I understand that the Morrigans have done all they can in that endeavor.” Ramsey offered as Demsey nearly choked on his food as he realized that’s how Ramsey knew of his partiality to you, he saw it for himself, while also kicking himself that he didn’t think to do such a thing, he was too busy paying for his sister’s new dresses, while he also knew that such a move would probably be inappropriate, for a gentleman such as himself to do such a intimate gesture for a woman he wasn’t married to, let alone a lady in society that he was not married to, his sister Kiera would have thrown a proper fit. Demsey was only partially listening to the conversations the Czarina and the Princess were having with his brothers as he watched your own interaction with Ramsey closely, he didn’t know what you were talking about but he knew the tones of a negotiation when he heard them, but he also wondered what you were negotiating. You didn’t have any ties, at least in business to the Dauphin but his gut was screaming at him that something big just went down right in front of him and he was keen to discover what it was. 

But a thought did occur to Demsey. The Dauphin knew no bounds, if he was allowed more power in the House of Lords, he would be an unstoppable political force, and the only ones to keep him in check was the royal family itself. The Dauphin was always happy to curry favor of everyone around him and was a natural political figure and even though he was connected to the royal family, he was also heavily tied with the common man and was seen as a down to earth, working man’s man even though he was born a blue blood himself. The Dauphin practically fed on popular opinion and loved to bask in the public’s adoration. But also had the ear of practically everyone in any position of authority. Including the judges and the courts. If what the Czarina had said was true, he could and most likely be talking to you about your own contract with the stables and with the Morrigans. 

Demsey had actually looked into it himself, but because he didn’t have that many friends in law only because his soap business didn’t need that much involvement in it and he had little nerve for the arguing of court in the house of lords only because he was a new lord and therefore didn’t have that much sway or power other than his one little vote and would rather just stay in his office all day and do something productive. But when he tried to look into you from that aspect, he had been firmly dismissed from even looking into it and was reminded that his own hold onto his own nobility was always a delicate hold, and that to question the dealings between a moura and her stables, was too dangerous a game, even for kings. 

“Are you alright Duke Demsey?” You asked him when he started coughing and sputtering while Calla and Bennie both turned and started patting his back. 

“Yes, the partridge is so delicious, I tried to inhale it instead of eat it.” He answered as he beat his chest with his fist to get a normal breathing rhythm going again before taking several long pulls of wine from his glass before it was readily refilled as you also realized that your own behavior towards Demsey was also clearly observed, by the Dauphin and who knows who else and it was that- that was the reason Calla and Bennie were here. Because of you. You would have to be more careful from now on, especially at Windsor, when every servant could be Ramsey’s eyes and ears. But if the Dauphin delivered, then at least Calla could be with Tzane if she genuinely liked him as well as you could discern she did, and for that you would put up with this. But having Demsey so close for however long, would give you a chance to get to know him better too and if you could at least show him that you were interested in him, but you would have to be discrete about it, but maybe you had a chance. 

After the ball, on the way to the Windsor palace Demsey sat with his brothers as they both eagerly looked out the windows of the carriage as Tzane and Sierge were bragging about their jewel orc companions and what they were eagerly looking forward to seeing of them at Windsor because their companions had talked about all the things they had wanted to do while they were there, like griffin riding and a moura’s version of sword fencing. 

“Did either of you find out what halmana means?” Dempsey asked them after both of them seemed to take a breath. 

“I do! It means dowager in marinai, it’s a classification for moura women. Very few moura women have that classification because it means that they can do whatever they want and marry whoever they want without anyone’s input or approval, even the stables have no authority over a dowager, in fact it’s the stables that have to listen and obey dowager moura women.” Tzane readily offered as Demsey’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Demsey was expecting it to mean something along the lines of a ‘whore’ or ‘bitch’ or something offensive like that. Not...dowager as in queen dowager, dowager empress, kind of thing. 

“That doesn’t make any sense, why would Audra act like that was an insult? When the Dauphin said that to her, she...” Demsey thought aloud as he frowned and shook his head no. 

“I asked Calla that and she told me that the conversation was actually about Audra’s contract with the stables and the Dauphin was telling her that he was looking into it and was going to be trying to get her that status because she is currently has the status of shakan, which means lowly outsider- one not welcome back because you have little to no value as a bride, that you’re ruined beyond repair and is the lowliest of moura’s classifications. Calla said that there was almost a revolt in Kilan, which is the prefecture, or state, county kind of thing- her family rules in Dorierra when she was branded as a shakan because she left as a nescia, which basically means princess because she has more royalty in her pedigree than our own royal family from dynasties all over the world but mainly in the middle east, her family line was one of the first original moura lines in the stables when the stables were developed. She’s as original of a moura as mouras can get and had she not married Edward, she should have married an emperor or something like that. Calla said that it would be like a prince being stripped of his nobility and royalty and branded a commoner of a foreign country, a great humiliation, since then, no other moura bride ever set foot on English soil for fear of their own standing would suffer. Calla said that the royal family had to put up an enormous sum just to get them here and make all kinds of promises that their own status would only increase if they came. Because since Audra’s demotion, the price for a moura bride to come to here has been sky high, way too high for anyone but royalty to pay, the royal family had to pay Calla and Bennie seventy five thousand pounds each, just to come here for six weeks.” Tzane explained as Demsey could only cough as if he got sucker punched in the gut as Sierge whistled lowly. 

“But that doesn’t explain why Audra would be weary of such a thing being offered to her.” Demsey frowned. 

“That’s because Audra pointed out to the Dauphin that if he had the power to lift her up so high, he would also have the power to bring her back down on his whim and that she would be better off having him not interfere at all much less have nothing to do with him.” Tzane revealed. 

“Oh! That makes sense, that makes so much more sense now.” Demsey nodded in understanding. 

“Well you got to applaud her for realizing that, most women would be so distracted by the prospect of becoming a dowager, she wouldn’t think that what could be given could be taken away just as easily, which knowing the Dauphin, is sadly a possibility. She’s smart, I’ll give her that.” Demsey nodded. 

“Yeah but if she’s a lowly shakan, that doesn’t explain the Dauphin’s interest, he would think her beneath him.” Sierge argued.      

“Except, Audra told me that Edward provided a living for her after his death, it must be of some great worth and her dowry of fifty thousand pounds, if he succeeded in elevating her to a dowager, not only would she be a lady of great wealth, but also that of high class. She would be, relatively speaking, perfect for him. And with his ties to the courts and to the royal family, he could push for the Morrigans to pay out her yearly allowance for the rest of her life, even when she was remarried, and if he succeeded, she would be the most eligible bachelorette in all of Europa, and the stables would even bid for her to return. It’s a gamble that’s worth the risk for the Dapuhin. Just her dowry alone could set him straight from all of his gambling debts. But the real question is, is the gamble worth it for her?” Demsey realized. 

“It will be, Bennie told me that Audra negotiated for Bennie and Calla to be dowagers as well and that Audra demanded that the offer be in writing signed off by the highest judges and courts in the land, ones that would hold the Dauphin to his word and to the letter of the contract and that she didn’t owe him anything in return for his interference and that once it’s done, it can never be undone, even though the Dauphin only asked for a chance to court her in return, not that she’d say yes or accept the advances. Which for her, shows incredible insight and forethought, almost as if someone has warned of his character.” Sierge noted with an amused grin. 

“You two do realize, that there’s no way this family could ever afford a moura, much less a jewel orc moura from the stables, if their fee for six weeks of their time was seventy five thousand pounds, which is three times as much as our family makes in a year, we can’t afford them.” Demsey pointed out. 

“But if they become dowagers, they could, in theory, waive their fee if they really, genuinely liked us and wanted to stay with us, Calla said so herself.” Tzane pointed out as Sierge seemed pleased to hear that too. 

“Why do I get the feeling that we’re in water over our heads?” Demsey asked his brothers. 

“Because we probably are.” Tzane shrugged. 

“Yeah, that’s why it’s a really good thing all of us can swim.” Sierge grinned triumphantly just as they were pulling up to the palace of Windsor, their family’s other carriage that had their sisters and parents ahead of them. 

“True.” Demsey murmured to himself. 

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Part 7 #regency era orc period drama #orcs #regency orcs #regency era orcs #orc period drama #mouras #let the games begin #and let me just say right now #Demsey is going to see Audra fence with a special sword #and he's going to swoon #because orcs have a long tradition of love for weapons because of warring pasts #But to see her kick ass #and fight oh so fiercely #his instincts are gonna kick in #and go #behold #your perfect mate #it's gonna be all over for him #he will follow her to the ends of the earth #after that #also seeing Calla and Bennie's brothers interact with Audra will have that ugly green monster jealousy #eat him alive #because she's his damn it #but also give him hope that she's into orcs #also #in case it's not already clear #she is #she has been since day one

[chillyravenart]

since people were asking u for ur opinions, what is ur opinion on androw and elissa farman? im so conflicted over them both bc i love rhaena but at the same time, at least in elissas case i kinda see why she did what she did :// grrm is truly great with morally grey characters

Let me start by saying, I ADORE Rhaena Targaryen with every fibre of my being. I love that badass, she never put a foot wrong in her life and oh how I wish her life could have been easier on her... but alas, George loves kicking you when you’re down lmao. If I'm going to be completely honest, the Farmans really f*cked Rhaena over in the long run lmao but I shall try and explore a little bit deeper into Rhaena’s relationships with both of them: Androw the neglected husband and Elissa, the adventurous lover. It’s fairly simple to examine both their motives, they did what they did because of personal ambition as well as revenge, but as we know, it wasn’t as straightforward as that. I shall add a cut below because this post might be long and rambling as usual, so I beg forgiveness in advance!

I will preface this however by saying that I’m really glad Rhaena was able to find love with Elissa Farman after a period of turmoil and unhappiness in her life. Androw unfortunately was just a cover, and younger than Rhaena too so it’s understandable that he may have been entranced and besotted with the idea of marrying a Targaryen princess as reputable as Rhaena. Androw was unassuming and wasn’t the typical martial lord like his father or brother,

at his own father’s court there were those who scorned him as “half a girl” himself, for he was soft of speech and gentle of nature...

We all know the type of person Rhaena was however, she was firm and stern, had lost her brother/husband Aegon to Maegor, been married to Maegor and  had her daughters taken from her, had escaped him and had generally endured a great deal up until then.

Later, when asked why she had chosen such an unpromising spouse, Rhaena Targaryen replied, “He was kind to me.”

It’s completely understandable why Rhaena should seek comfort and solace outside of the royal court and King’s Landing in general. Similarly, Rhaena had always found the company of her female companions much more desirable and is largely implied to lesbian-coded. She had enjoyed the company of Melony Piper and Samantha Stokeworth as a girl, and found the same affinity for Elissa.

“The queen found her true love on Fair Isle,” Maester Smike wrote to the Citadel, “not with Androw, but with his sister, Lady Elissa.”

Elissa on the other hand was vivacious and outgoing, fond of dogs, horses, and sailing. She dreamed of sailing beyond the Sunset Sea and had ended both her betrothals too. Rhaena was similar in spirit, she too had been fond of animals and enjoyed flying her dragon Dreamfyre.

In Rhaena Targaryen, however, she found a like-minded companion, and in her the queen found a new confidant.

Going back to Androw, he was never really included amongst Rhaena’s circle, despite being her husband as stated in Fire and Blood

Androw Farman, Rhaena’s new husband, was admitted to their circle from time to time, but never so often as to be taken for a fifth head. Most tellingly, Queen Rhaena never took him flying with her on the back of her dragon, Dreamfyre, an adventure she shared frequently with the ladies Elissa, Alayne, and Sam...

I’m going to try and condense the next few years as concisely as possible for fear of rambling too much, but in the long run, Androw was never taken seriously as Rhaena’s husband and was ridiculed by lords and ladies alike. People doubted the fact that his marriage to Rhaena had been consummated at all. Back on Dragonstone, 

His wife was still a queen, but no one mistook Androw for a king, or even a lord consort.

Meanwhile, Rhaena held her court at Dragonstone as the Queen in the East and remained in the company of her own companions, as well as new ones from the surrounding regions. Her cousin Lianna Velaryon soon became a favourite too, and her story soon became intertwined with the fall of Androw Farman (pun intended lmao) but let’s focus on Elissa for a while.

Lady Elissa was no happier on Dragonstone than Aerea herself, however; she missed her wide western seas and spoke often of returning to them.

Elissa, true to spirit, wasn’t going to sit around at court her whole life, and desired adventure and travel as she always had done.

Denied any part of the incomes of Fair Isle by her brother Lord Franklyn, Elissa asked the Dowager Queen for gold sufficient to build a new ship in the shipyards of Driftmark, a large, swift vessel meant to sail the Sunset Sea. Rhaena denied her request. “I could not bear for you to leave me,” she said, but Lady Elissa heard only, “No.”

Already, the cracks were appearing and the discord was sowed. Elissa took her leave of Rhaena, 

She had heard the sea calling, she told Queen Rhaena; it was time for her to take her leave. Never one to make a show of her emotions, the Queen in the East received the news stone-faced. “I have asked you to stay,” she said. “I will not beg. If you would go, go.”

Rhaena was proud but I cannot deny that losing her lover would have been an immense blow to her, especially since her life of privacy and companionship was about to be taken apart at the seams in the aftermath of Elissa’s departure. This is when the dragon eggs went missing, and it became very clear that Elissa had made off with them to fund her voyage.

If this betrayal by one she had loved wounded Rhaena Targaryen she hid it well, but there was no hiding her fury...

This would have been a huge betrayal for Rhaena. She had placed her trust and love with someone who had clearly desired a different path, which is fine, but to have that paired with the theft of a priceless and potentially dangerous object would have been an added blow. Dragon eggs were strictly a Targaryen possession, something personal and almost sacred to the them. They had been coveted by Lyman Lannister during her stay with him at Casterly Rock, and despite his support and the refuge he had given her, dragon eggs were off the cards. Notwithstanding the fact that the theft by someone Rhaena had loved and the potential for those eggs to reach the wrong hands... This situation only made the relationship between Rhaena and Androw worse.

She even went so far as to summon her husband, Androw Farman, demanding to know if he had been complicit in his sister’s crime. His denials only goaded her to more rage, until their shouts could be heard echoing through the halls of Dragonstone.

Androw himself was affected by his sister’s departure, not to mention the fact that Rhaena’s fury made him a culprit in her eyes too.

Androw Farman’s discontent on Dragonstone only grew worse after his sister’s departure. Lady Elissa had been his closest friend, mayhaps his only friend, Culiper observed, and despite his tearful denials, Rhaena found it hard to accept that he had played no role in the matter of her dragon eggs.

Their relationship deteriorated further and further at this point. When Rhaena meant to fly to Storm’s End, Androw was excluded from the trip.

As her husband, he said, his place was at Rhaena’s side, to give her comfort. The queen had refused him, however, and not gently. A loud argument had preceded her departure, and Her Grace was heard to say, “The wrong Farman ran away.” Her marriage, never passionate, had become a mummer’s farce by 54 AC. “And not an entertaining one,” Lady Alayne Royce observed.

Again after Elissa’s departure, Rhaena disassociated from Androw further, particularly when it came to dealing with the matter of the stolen eggs. She clearly did not want him around, nor did she care for his input.

When Rhaena flew to King’s Landing to inform King Jaehaerys of the theft, Androw had offered to accompany her. His wife refused him scornfully. “What would that serve? What could you possibly do but fall off the dragon?”

When her mother, Queen Alyssa died in childbed, Rhaena’s fury was famously unleashed upon Rogar Baratheon (it’s what he deserved too lmao). 

By the time Rhaena returned from her mother’s deathbed, he was well past any desire to comfort her. Sullen and cold, he sat silent at meals and avoided the queen’s company elsewise. If Rhaena Targaryen was troubled by his sulks, she gave little sign of it. She found consolation in her ladies instead, in old friends like Samantha Stokeworth and Alayne Royce, and newer companions like her cousin Lianna Velaryon, Lord Staunton’s pretty daughter Cassella, and young Septa Maryam.

Androw at this point, began concocting his revenge and the mysterious “sickness” that took Rhaena’s companions proved to be poison. Alayne Royce, Septa Maryam and even Samantha Stokeworth all died in quick succession leaving Rhaena bereft. Lianna Velaryon, Rhaena’s cousin also perished in Rhaena’s arms as she wept bitterly.

“You weep for her,” Androw Farman said when he saw the tears on his wife’s face, “but would you weep for me?” His words woke a fury in the queen. Lashing him across the face, Rhaena commanded him to leave her, declaring that she wanted to be alone. “You shall be,” Androw said. “She was the last of them.”

When it was discovered that poison was the reason behind all the deaths, Rhaena realised who the culprit was and had her men search for Androw.

He made no attempt to deny the poisonings. Instead he boasted. “I brought them cups of wine, and they drank. They thanked me, and they drank. Why not? A cupbearer, a serving man, that’s how they saw me. Androw the sweet. Androw the jape. What could I do, but fall off the dragon? Well, I could have done a lot of things. I could have been a lord. I could have made laws and been wise and given you counsel. I could have killed your enemies, as easily as I killed your friends. I could have given you children.”

His motives were very clear and to a degree, understandable, but seriously, what a PUNK move. tired of being ridiculed and ignored, Androw had taken his fury out on Rhaena’s friend instead of confronting her or dealing with her directly and that, in my eyes, is a bitch move indeed. I can totally see his side in this, but Rhaena had faced so much adversity in her life, the loss of her daughter Aerea, her mother, her lover had just culminated into a deep pit of heartbreak and Androw’s “revenge” was just the cherry on top. When Rhaena commanded his execution, Androw took matters into his own hands one last time.

And so saying, he slashed ineffectually at the nearest man, backed to the window behind him, and leapt out. His flight was a short one: downward, to his death. Afterward Rhaena Targaryen had his body hacked to pieces and fed to her dragons.

I mean, it’s what he deserved. 

The remainder of Rhaena’s life ended up being a lonely affair. Losing everyone she loved, particularly Aerea was the last straw for her I guess, and she withdrew from the public eye even further, and left Dragonstone too.

It was a melancholy time. Dragonstone was still hers if she wanted it, Jaehaerys told his sister, but Rhaena refused that as well. “There is nothing there for me now but grief and ghosts.”

It just makes me so heartbroken for her. I’m not going to pull a PooR BaBy a la Tumblr and call her a tragic and downtrodden woman in the conventional sense lol but her life was a very tough one, and would have broken a weaker person. Rhaena Targaryen was STRONG. As she said so herself, she was much like Visenya and doesn’t need our pity, but there’s no denying that Rhaena really got the short end of the stick. She absolutely did not deserve those betrayals. You’re absolutely right in calling Elissa and Androw grey characters, which they are in various degrees. I think they create the conflict and heartbreak very well in the life of Rhaena Targaryen, love, loss blood and betrayal all woven in expertly by George as always. I really wish Rhaena could have found love and peace with Elissa, and lived out her life amongst her beloved friends but alas, that was not to be. Anyway, these were my opinions on both Elissa and Androw, I hope this answer was somewhat helpful! 

#anon asks #chillyravenart answers #rhaena targaryen #elissa farman #androw farman

[lady-plantagenet]

A Bygone Era - Chapter 8

A fictional account written by me of Lady Isabel Neville’s life told through the points of view of her and those who knew her. Based on history, as opposed to the series!

Points of views so far include: Anne Beauchamp Countess of Warwick, Lady Anne Neville, George Duke of Clarence, Lady Isabel Neville, Richard Neville Earl of Warwick and Cecily Neville, Dowager Duchess of York (in that order)

[Text]:

22nd November 1469

Just as court was about to break and the waning light cowered at the cold snap outside, then entered her goddaughter in hand with her son. When the gentler lady Anne smiled all defects were said to be erased, Isabel did rarely. Each knew their strengths. This sext came and yet it was both she and her son who bore grins that flashed sharply as the clashes in their damasked cloths. Terre verte were the doublet and gown like the livery of Clarence. A fitting colour for the son that ne'er looked to his elder brother for idolation nor any forebearer of theirs. Only his saintly namesake or Gawain, tester of knights would do. Did not St Denis too, like the green knight, carry his severed head in the nook of his arm, where flowers grew beneath his feet whence he thread?

For a surety, her goddaughter appeared to think they did for her, as she long-limbed (her father's daughter indeed) gaited in large strides to match with her son. But St Denis is too French. Perchance she fancies herself Olwen from Mabinogion instead. More Briton, more Arthurian. Isabel did not roll her hips sensuously like ladies loosely did in Edward's presence, but paced with proud finesse. The Bull of Clarence was pinned centerer on George's brocaded crosses and vines than it lay in Isabel's matching brooch. Cecily's eyes caught it with the Neville Red on George's hose and the image of a target instinctively swam up before her.

She drew away, twisting her fingers on one hand while shielding it from impropriety beneath the other. My boy, sometimes I do believe you do not live in the same world as we. Where all men I know yearn to survive, you act as if that were not the fundament to living. George knelt with Isabel in unison, where a week ago he did the same with his new father of Warwick. The Bears, staffs and bulls in her hem crumpled in an indecipherable mound of colours against the Plantagenet and Neville arms emblazoned on her skirt.

After an inclination of Cecily's head towards her son, the king's brown eyes seeking her own across the room to be directed, he gathered both the Clarences in his arms. He rubbed the Duchess' small back upsetting the dense Arctic fox fur at her linings, making her wince as George let out a couch as a large hand slapped him on the back in bonhomie. 'Most gracious lady, be welcome at our court as our beloved sister of York', he glanced down at the curvature she made no effort in concealing, he said ever more quietly and coaxingly 'I see felicitations are in order, madame. Is it a niece or a nephew you are to give me?'

'I pray that when it may be born, it posses the sex your grace desire' replied Isabel politely, Cecily would have guffawed at that, if she were elsewhere and knew how. Edward, the son with a natural talent at the baleful word for the kin, where others see only an over-familiarity of manner. Chided him often and decisively Cecily did: 'do not refill the goblet of the man you call for audience more oft than thrice unless he ask', 'use a commissioner when collecting benevolences from merchants, do not write nor go yourself as if an equal', 'prithee tell me you did not marry Lady Grey'. All but the latter, to which he responded with taciturnity were accepted with a free smile and forgotten by him as quickly as they were said.

'And If what I desire is for a companion to the princesses Elizabeth, Mary and Cecily?' Cecily could see the eyes suddenly let out in that fine long face, stunned, Isabel took a step back and said flatly: 'then it be by god that your will shall be delivered, if it were up to us mothers to make that selection, in what different passes we would find ourselves in-'. The more brazen of courtiers shot a look at the much changed queen and how she clenched her fists about the throne's arms. She has become George's wife. It now matter not whether In the carrying tides of that remark, what were betokened were the same as that which were meant. The difference, if existing would affect the content of the waters, but it will not change its force. Christ have mercy on them. Wherefore she garbed herself thus?- Cecily raised her head to look at her again: her henin where rubies and emeralds whirled about its cream base and the gauze mounted on wires soared above even the queen's, where the black velvety fall broached with ex honore de clare fell as richly as any crown. Needed the court reminding of the lack of male heir? Reminding of the Clarences' power? Cecily noted John of Norfolk's interest piqued by the shifting in the room, the prolictivity in his blue eyes libidinous. Nothing can be out of the question now, not now with this cousin of Clarence who was ever more willing to help his ilk, whatever it took for him to be king.

'Today is my saint's day' thought Cecily quietly to herself, remarking how it had gone thoroughly unnoticed. She decided that after supper with George, when her will should temper his nerves like water for a heated sword fresh from the forge, they could honour St Cecilia's musical gift with a reprise of the melodies of old. When all attendants would be dismissed, she hoped he would accompany her cittern on his recorder as they once used to. It had soothed her so some ten years ago.

It was moons later that Cecily again spoke to that son in private, the ground was still hoary with what promised to be a laboriously long winter. Even the Scarlett tiles of the turrets of Baynard Castle's were steeped in true frost, darkened to a murky brown admist the wet whirling hoare outside. she felt George's hands grow clammy and was reminded of how he still hated the cold as when he was a child.

'Mome, why are you all of a sudden fussing over my hair?' he asked as she moved on to straightening a golden thread that lay askew from his cloak lining. He was the only one of her sons she did not chastise for not addressing her 'lady mother', unobservant to this hierarchy, like all that he did not agree with, then as now he was the least pliable of all her children. An honest rapport had nevertheless established itself between them, and she was never gladder of it than today.

'I have asked Edward to luncheon with us. Him only' she said sitting him beside her 'I would that you tell him what you told me. It is high time you behave as the brothers the creator made you' she could see him turning away and crossing his arms, she half-expected, a pout when she guided him back to face her. He only stared at her turbulently with his large eyes, she could detect faint worry in his voice when he said 'Have you yet not accepted my apologies, when shall my penance end, mome? I now know it was a slander but I have said my forgivenesses and you have accepted them until I saw you go blue in the face!'

'Jesus wept, I am not punishing you George! As for talk of my infidelity, I am beggining to see my troublesome nephew in all this more than you. It makes no matter now, it is god's judgement that concerns me and Parliament's judgement for the better, did not believe it, as we have all clearly seen' she said tersely enough for it to warn, but now fearing she was causing him upset. 'Let this be a lesson on the nature of the spoken word and how it hangs forever, young or old as you were when you said it'. She now looked at him expectantly.

'The one who conceals hatred has lying lips, and whoever utters slander is a fool' recited George 'Proverbs 10:18, but truly you understand-' They were interrupted by the thump of Edward's steps quickly approaching. She shot him a look she hoped he could read as affirmative.

'Brother' they offered each other through gritted teeth

They took their places on the chaises Cecily laid out facing each other, she herself was seated across them, in her front and between them the fire gurgled and spat, its amber sinews flailing desperately in heating the solar.

Edward, resting his flushed face over his fists looked intently at George with the intelligent brown eyes of their mother 'I did not think to find you here George, you have been amiss of late. Our cousin is already departed to Middleham'

Instinctively George rolled back, burying himself into the satined cushions 'I had been making preparations to return to Tutbury, I think the time fit for my lady wife to accustom herself with the runnings of my estates, when she leaves her confinement of course'

'Ha yes, the Lady Isabel, our lady mother tells me that she made an impression on Margaret. An intelligent creature she says...' Edward was trailing off. Cecily shuffled her heavy jet skirts. You have never read me quite well, but for the love of god do not speak of the marriage fine to George. She coughed and George eyed her with the suspicious attentiveness as he was wont to do. '...I'll leave to our sister, the judgement of characters, but I do not think Lady Isabel likes me much. Extend her my apologies if I have offended her in any way'

'If you are referring to your banter at Warwick Castle the summer past. Do not worry brother, she is not wroth at you, but her person is of an easily vexed nature' George lied courteously and after a moment's pause returned hopefully with, 'But brother, I should like to go to Ireland thereafter when the sea is tame'

'To Ireland George?' asked a puzzled Edward. A little smile visited Cecily when she said 'Yes Edward, George told me at length of his desire to take up his lieutenant duty in truth. Oh but how the Irish shall be reminded of your father (god rest his soul) when a son of York returns among them' The Irish Child we would jokingly call him when he was an over-enthused bairn, terrorising his nurse Joan and taking off with his horse whenever it suited him. Half-a-lifetime ago when his hair still held a runnish tinge and the land grew green with promise. 'One of us' she remembered the celts shouting as she held the swaddling brought to be christened in their churches. The great Earls of Desmond and Ormond, his godfathers, had loomed above the babe as ominous whispers of a 'son of ireland' echoed in every hollow of that Dublin Dominican Priory, around them and in her and the smiling Duke of York, king to be. 'In any case, should Worcester truly be the one granted this charge, him the butcher of England? George has grown Edward'

'George-' he started slowly as if the aforementioned were not among them 'Has still much to learn, lady mother. Do not think I give him no credit, indeed may I offer some by candidly proffering how I do see much of myself in him when I was at his youth? But, Desmond's death left too large a vacuus and I believe it a task beyond anyone but the most seasoned of men. One no charm, no matter how radiant be George's can placate'. It disdained and impressed her to see him then lay expectant of an ensuing outburst from his younger brother, brilliant eyes in a purple-capped brunette head, which now lolled at rest onto his upturned wrist.

The rebuttal: 'The exactions were most unwise. Come now brother, would you suppress their rights to their names and fishing rights and not expect opposition from below? This is the making of martyrs'. Though obvious, this remarks had lain undetected for unimplicating the Queen's name. Edward was growing weary against the acclamaitions still held by many of how it was his Elizabeth that procured the execution of Clarence's god-brother, the beloved and iconic Desmond. They many and small fell upon like flurries of snow on his patience, which like a bowed branch, would snap the mound in halves if tested again.

This was not to be the day, for Cecily made certain that her younger son had shed the urge to push his conspiracies, in having made herself the sole and patient recipient to them all already. She had asked him how much of this he told to Warwick's daughter, 'for she seems ever a doting daughter to her sire' she had cautioned him last they met. 'Mome, when you Neville married Plantagenet, did your allegiance not lie with the latter? Why would it be different with the Lady Belle?'. He is warry still of my having tried to dissuade him at Sandwich before he sailed to his wedding. I pray my goddaughter was not made to believe I did not want her for a daughter by marriage. Two women more different have never been. But by Jove, the ripples of that marriage are every bit as malignant as the ones set by Jacquetta's girl.

'I was not happy with those reforms, perhaps it is Ulster and our De Burgh blood that makes me too carry some love for the Gaels. Nevertheless George..' he said with lazy confidence 'You remain green. Youth is a delicate flower, and when touched stunted, wholly confined as a thing forgone to what we call childhood. I confess I was never one to relish the haggardly responsibility of rulership, my birthright sat on me the crowns and sceptres of kingship not any desire of my own. Richard and you, you both ever so call for this burden, now the former is a boy no longer. As for you, withdrawn these years past, must count your spirit spared' his warm eyes squinted at George's for a semblance of understanding, where it was apparent broiled only restlessness. Cecily could see him too glance at her before he spoke 'Or perhaps, I mark you wrong. Come then brother, if you are determined to harden like Richard I promise to involve you in matters of state, a chamberlaincy perhaps'

Cecily noted how George looked noticeably crestfallen, a sullen face amidst the gold embroidery about his cloaks, caps and tresses. 'Some advice too perhaps' she heard Edward then say 'I would not have handled that affair with Caister Castle and Norfolk as you did when I was under your custody. It was so apparent that the siege was naught but a desperate attempt of Mowbray to save himself from his frayed finances'

'Not honourable?, I had written back to Margaret Paston, and to Norfolk ordering that their retainers are to leave Caister unmolested' protested George 'We owe our kinsmen repayement for their loyalties'

'Daubenay, their loyal servant was still slain. Your good intentions notwithstanding' The jittering of the oriel windows grew into an incessant rattle as icy winds ran with the tension raising into the room, from the shadowed corner where she previously believed them she banished them.

'Enough you two' she wanted to snap, but instead said calmly, reaching for their hands as if in a congregation 'It is both a mother's blessing and curse to be endowed with such intelligent boys' she turned to each when addressing them 'Edward, no son of York, less your father, could possibly resign himself to a mere ornament. You are surely now satisfied that George is possessed of some talents. Perchance if they were directed for good, it would benefit the realm, think you not hmm? George, the opportunity has come for you to show yourself a man for peace, for some it is the harder task, it is nevertheless the more important mark of kingship. If you find my utterance of this truism insulting to your intelligence, then make sure my nephew of Warwick also understands this'

Her pout, that age made lovelier into a semblance of a rose, formed into 'that secret motherly smile' (as her sons liked to call it), it was such a rare sight that the boys' free hands reached across to each other's arms in a show of conciliation. George was the first 'Peace, lady mother, it would sadden me to see your efforts unhonoured. Pardie brother'

'See your apology as accepted. I also beg your forgiveness for any trespasses I may have made against you' Edward followed with his famed magnanimousity.

'Say, I hear the rings for Compline. How about we go yonder to St Paul's to pray for your success against the Lincolnshire rebels. An offering, if you will, dear brother' said George saccharinely. Edward nodded amiably and uplifted by his brother's equally famed winning smile accepted his hand. The hands reunited after they drew their fur-trimmed cloaks tighter about them in preparation for a combatting wind.

Not insulted, but pleased Cecily was, that they did not extend the invitation to her. I shall leave them to each other to do the rest, my work is done. She was once more served a cruel reminder of her own foregone youth when she bent with some difficulty for her book of hours. As her shrinking figure paced underneath the countless inverted vaults to her chapel she recalled a conversation she had long buried with her husband regarding the complexities of conflict and the unseen historical forces at play. ' This is not a tale of fate you loveable fool. It is one of a king's neglect for a cousin and brother who react like hurt children when they feel unloved' she thought, and would rephrase and repeat to herself in the coming weeks until it brought some comfort.

#the white queen #isabel neville #george of clarence #a bygone era #ao3 #I wrote this #compliments and criticism equally welcome #richard neville earl of warwick #anne beauchamp #anne neville #cecily neville #wars of the roses #george duke of clarence #edward IV

[yinxiong]

heart made of glass (my mind of stone)

muses: ten x winwin

genre: historical au, angst

word count: 1457

notes: something of a cross between the tale of nokdu and empress ki. inspired by tenwin’s lovely performance (bc duh)

-

Ten knew this was a bad idea. A trap, more accurately, but it really didn’t matter when he was recklessly diving in headfirst anyway.

“My lord.” Sweet words flowed from sweet lips, though he’d be a fool to pretend they were filled with emotions of fondness and desire. “I am honored to have been considered as your new consort.”

“That is a delight to hear.” He nodded curtly, gesturing the figure closer with bejeweled fingers. “You may rise.”

The beauty straightened from the deep bow to peer through curled bangs and lacquered lashes, and he felt his heart tremble at the sight of his past lover’s face.

“Sicheng,” the name slipped out before he could catch himself. “You’re alive.”

The boy— no, man now— visibly stiffened at his mistake, and it took everything to keep himself from leaping off his throne and stumbling down the stairs to kiss the frown off those soft, puffy lips painted the prettiest shade of rouge. Would they taste the same as he remembered?

“I apologize for my rude words, my lord,” he said in that soft, lighter voice tailored to fit his feminine impersonation. “But my name is Lady Liu. Liu Siyang.”

Lies, Ten wanted to shout. There was no doubt that the consort standing before him was none other than the bright-eyed, loud-mouthed fisherman’s son he had met all those years ago on a distant island he could not escape from. Not that he had wanted to escape, especially after falling for this boy who kissed him to sleep every night beneath the moon’s curious gaze. Yet, like all beautiful things, his dreamlike exile ended before he could even confess the most foreign feelings shaking his heart. Kisses turned to tears as Ten began crying himself to sleep behind silk screens and ornately carved doors, seeking comfort in only the morning melodies of songbirds chirping outside his window while a political wildfire raged within. It was only until he had finally secured his position as Emperor that he could take a breath without worrying if someone was going to run a sword through him the next moment, though it did nothing to fix the shattered mess his heart remained.

He had not the slightest idea how or why Sicheng ended up in the capital dressing as a woman, climbing up the Inner Court as a consort, standing in his throne room looking like a flawless porcelain doll, but there were enough wandering eyes and ears in the palace for Ten to know he was in no position to cause a scene.

(A part of him might’ve realized from the start that Sicheng was there to harm him in some way, except temptation pushed that thought to the very back of his mind before he could dwell much further on it.)

“No, it should be me apologizing. I haven’t at all been very welcoming towards you,” he forced an amiable laugh to appease the Queen Dowager he knew was watching closely to his right. “Lady Liu. I do hope you wouldn’t mind if I changed that a bit?”

“I don’t suppose I do, my lord. Though, I did have something to show you myself.” The slightest of smirks and Ten could already feel his breath shorten. Heavens, how was he such a mess already?

He swallowed, praying the nerves wouldn’t show. “You do?”

Sicheng widened his smile, “Yes, my lord. It’s just a little dance— I hope it won’t be too much of a bore if you would be so gracious to let me perform it?”

Dance? The only memory Ten had of Sicheng dancing was from the villagers’ new year celebration— a night of stumbling around the blazing beach bonfire after drinking a cup of wine too many, laughter soaring to the stars as they sang along to chantey after chantey until the island was the only world they had ever known.

And now, Sicheng was gliding across the floor before him, pink robes fluttering about as he twirled a fan with the utmost precision and grace. His face was demure, yet hardly lacked spirit— every twist of his arms, every placement of his foot was accompanied by a soulful expression stained with the slightest tinge of taunting. Not even a single strand of hair was out of place, Ten realized, wholly enraptured and unable to take his eyes off this blooming flower he wanted more than anything the universe had to offer.

When he finally stopped spinning and so did the world, Ten took his first shaky breath since the performance started. A million thoughts were running through his mind yet not one felt right sitting on his tongue, so all he could do was stare dumbly as Sicheng took another bow, looking just as immaculate as he did when he had first walked in.

“Thank you for sparing me some of your attention, my lord. I pray you found it enjoyable?”

Ten managed a brief nod, twisting at the jade ring sitting around his finger as he searched for his voice. “Si… yang, you will not mind if I paid you a visit later tonight?”

The ghost of a smirk on Sicheng’s face was all the answer he needed. “I would not be opposed at all.”

Once the sun sank back beneath the shadows and the moon floated across the sky to take her place among the stars, Ten would find himself standing outside the consorts’ hall, hand knocking gently on the door that would slide open to reveal the one true desire he had left in this glimmering yet dull life of his. No more than a minute would pass for him to make his way in and wrap a hand around Sicheng’s wrist (they were more slender than he had remembered), to push him against the bedroom wall and whisper, “Gods, it’s you, it’s really you, isn’t it?” while drinking in every bit of those perfect, moonwashed features he hadn’t gone a single night without dreaming about since leaving that carefree island. And then Sicheng would reach up to curl his fingers around Ten’s neck, pull him close as he breathed, “Yongqin,” and let him capture his lips that still tasted of peaches and wildflowers. They’d eventually stumble their way to bed, silk robes wrinkling in the struggle to discard everything (why did women’s clothing have so many layers?) covering that body Ten swore rivaled those of gods. Not that he had ever seen the gods, but worshipping Sicheng might as well have been the same.

“Tear me apart,” Sicheng would reply when they stopped kissing long enough for Ten to ask what it was that he desired, “I want you to tear me apart.”

It should unsettle him, to hear such words fall from that swollen, glistening mouth, especially when he still hadn’t any clue why Sicheng had come to him under the guise of a woman. Except none of that seemed to matter, not in the slightest, when those quicksilver fingers would sweep across Ten’s shoulders, collarbones, chest and leave him _gasping _in a matter of seconds. His body has never felt more on fire until then, almost like he was the one being torn to pieces, from skin to bone. Is this what the sun felt like whenever the moon embraced him after eons of being separated by the heavens? But Sicheng was intoxicating, so goddamn intoxicating that all Ten could do was swallow his own demands and fall into those gleaming, secretive eyes like he was an untroubled teenager all over again.

He knew this was a terrible idea, keeping the enigma that was Sicheng too close for comfort. He had questions, too many things to find out for the sake of both his sanity and safety, though whether or not he could achieve everything was a completely different matter altogether. Plus— 

It’s been far too long since Ten has felt alive. So long he’d gone without a place to hide, to run away, to fight his fears and find his joy. And if Sicheng had managed to bring him back to euphoria with nothing but a gaze, he really couldn’t give a damn even if he ended up drowning in the crashing waves he had once dared conquer.

So once the night had passed, once the two of them had painted flowers all over their bodies and filled each other up while singing names dipped in starlight, Ten would wake to discover that for once, this wasn’t just a dream meant to break his heart all over again. Smiling, he’d brush aside Sicheng’s tangled hair to admire the ethereal face that was his, press a chaste kiss to his sleeping eyes, nose, lips and finally, finally say,

“Welcome home, my love.”

-

fin.

#wayv #nct #neowritingsnet #ten #winwin #wayv fic #nct fic #wayv angst #nct angst #ten angst #winwin angst #ten fic #winwin fic #wayv fanfic #nct fanfic #kpop #cpop #au #angst

[iwhumpyou]

Respect

Masterlist.  Rhiya.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Adar knew that this was going to go wrong from the moment that Baroness Riker had demanded a horse, and his uneasy feeling only grew stronger and stronger as they rode.  He exchanged a nervous glance with Tikal as the baroness strode for the most guarded tent in the camp, not a break in her stride, with a face that could’ve been carved from stone.  He almost had to jog to keep up.

The guards, fellow members of the Elite, stared at him in confusion as they approached, automatically barring their way.  He knew what they were thinking – he was supposed to be guarding the baroness, why was he at camp, and with the messenger they’d kicked out a couple of days ago.

He could pinpoint the exact moment they noticed the crown and realized exactly who was stalking towards them – their faces cycled from confusion to disbelief to fear.  They shot each other a glance and straightened, letting them pass.  Adar gave a half-shrug as they neared, an ‘I don’t know either’ gesture.  

Baroness Riker entered the tent first, so the place was silent by the time he and Tikal ducked through. An array of generals surrounding a table with plenty of maps, all staring at them.  Draven was on the other side of the tent, looking at them like they were ghosts.

His gaze sharpened on the baroness, and his eyes widened.  “What happened to your stomach?”

“My lord?” the baroness replied, carefully measured politeness.  Adar fought the urge to wince.  Oh, she was angry.

“What happened to the baby?” Draven strode forward a step, his face torn between anger and despair.

“I gave birth, my lord,” Baroness Riker said quietly, “That is typically what happens when a woman is pregnant.”  

An answer to the question and no more, and Adar tried to remain still, because he knew there were two named heirs gurgling in their cradles at Riker Fort.

(The dowager had made a sound of protest when the baroness insisted on naming the children – it was tradition that the ruler of Skalid named their heirs – but anyone else who wanted to voice a protest abruptly fell silent as the baroness said, her voice as soft as steel, that if her husband wanted to name her children, he should’ve been there for their birth.)

Draven stared at her, mouth agape, and several of the others in the tent began fidgeting.  One opened his mouth, presumably to offer congratulations, before another, who read the room better, elbowed him silent.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Draven settled on.

“I am here now, Your Grace.” Adar sucked in a sharp breath at that change in title and he wasn’t the only one.  The ones closest to Draven began edging away from him.

“You didn’t need to come here,” Draven looked lost as to what was going on, and made up for it by yelling, “Why didn’t you send a bird?”

“I would’ve loved to, Your Grace,” the baroness tilted her head to one side in a facsimile of innocence, “But unfortunately our last bird didn’t return.”

She was leaning on the table now, and Adar hoped it was sturdier than it looked because the last thing his lady needed was to collapse on the floor trying to make her point. He looked at Tikal, who nodded a fraction and inched a step closer.

“You could’ve sent a messenger,” Draven growled, because he may not have figured out what was going on, but he could read the tone of the room.  And even an idiot could tell that the baroness was furious.  

“I would’ve loved to, Your Grace,” and this time there was a bite in her words, “But the last messenger you banished.  Apparently he did not provide sufficient proof.  I wanted to ensure that you would actually get the message.”

Draven scowled at her, and at Tikal, who huddled in himself upon receiving the baron’s angry glare.

“So you rode all the way here to inform me of the birth of my child,” Draven said, his voice rising as he prepared to shout.

The baroness neatly took the wind out of his sails.  “No, Your Grace, that would’ve been a foolish waste of time and energy.”  No one quite dared to breathe as Draven stared at her, shocked beyond words.

His brother stepped in neatly in the silence.  “So why are you here, my lady?”

“The proof you asked for,” she said coolly and turned to Tikal.  He passed the bundle to her and she threw it across the table to land in front of Draven.  Adar hoped no one caught her waver.

“A few weapons?” Draven scoffed, clearly jumping at the chance to switch tacks, “This is your proof that the Red Tide is at our gates?  How does this prove anything?”

Aster had opened the bag and withdrew a sword with no small amount of disquiet.  “Brother…this is the Raptor’s sword.”  Everyone stared at it in shock and disbelief.

“That’s not possible,” Draven said.  “That’s not possible,” he turned to his wife, shooting her a look that would’ve curdled milk. “The Raptor would never give up his sword.  You would’ve had to pry it from his cold, dead hands.”

The baroness said nothing, because that was exactly what they had done.

“Your proof is a fake sword?” Draven asked, glaring.

“My proof is my words,” the baroness said, and that was definitely a snarl in her voice, “I am the Baroness of Skalid and I am telling you that the Red Tide is coming –”

“You,” Draven cut her off, his eyes glittering, “Are my wife.  And I have no time for your flights of fancy.”

Adar thought the baroness was going to leap across the table and claw his eyes out.  Several people edged away from her, but she crafted that murderous intent into a glittering shroud of dignity and straightened up. She turned away from her husband and the council without another word and tilted her head at Tikal.

“I’m sorry.  I should’ve listened to you before we set out,” she said formally, “You were right.  My husband will not listen.”

Tikal, caught between an apology from the baroness and insulting the baron, squeaked.

“I’ve wasted what little time I will have with my children for a fool’s errand,” she said, and began walking out.

“Children?” Draven half-choked.

The baroness turned on one heel and gave him a look so cold it could’ve frozen steam.  “You can count what you’ve lost when you decide to return,” she said, every word a dagger.  

She turned away again but they had scarcely taken a step when guards materialized to block the entrance of the tent.  Adar placed a hand on his sword and stepped in front of his lady as she spun to confront her husband, Tikal neatly sliding in to watch her back.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Adar stood his ground in front of his lord’s furious glare.

“You told me to protect the baroness,” Adar said simply, and twisted the dagger his lady had thrust. “Unless those orders have changed?”

No one spoke.  No one moved.  Adar wasn’t even sure if anyone was breathing.

“Brother,” Aster said carefully, placing a hand on the baron’s shoulder.  The baron who looked like he would be perfectly content tearing them apart and setting each piece on fire.  “Perhaps we should hear Baroness Riker out?  After all, we are not at Riker Fort and it is possible someone may seek to take advantage of that lapse.”

“Riker Fort can withstand any siege,” Draven almost hissed.

“With what men?” the baroness snorted.  The tension rose.

“Out,” Draven said, and it was only because it was so silent that they could hear him, his voice was barely a whisper.  “Out,” he repeated, louder.  The generals gave confused glances to each other and began to edge to the door.

“I will speak with my wife,” Draven said through gritted teeth, “Everyone else, out!”

That broke the dam and most of them fled immediately.  Aster paused to murmur congratulations to the baroness and Tikal hesitated a beat before a particularly fierce glare sent him fleeing.  Adar met Draven’s furious scowl and swallowed.

“Was there a particular part of the order you failed to understand?” Draven asked icily, “Was it ‘everyone’ or ‘out’?”

It was the part where Adar was expected to leave his exhausted and injured lady alone with a man who looked like he was ready to execute her where she stood.

“I do not need protection in here, Adar,” the baroness placed a hand on his arm.  Adar wondered if he had to ignore how it was trembling. “You can protect me by standing guard to the entrance.”

He looked into her eyes, saw her resolve, and left with great reluctance.  He hoped he was doing the right thing. 

~#~

“You don’t need protection in here?” her husband repeated her words with a mocking sneer.  

Rhiya fought the urge to cry and placed her hands flat on the table, where they wouldn’t shake, where he wouldn’t notice she was bracing her weight on them.  

“Will you make me a liar?” she asked, not looking up because she wasn’t ready to stare into those hate-filled eyes.  Just yesterday, she had kissed Nyalene goodbye and saw that she had her father’s dark eyes.

She could hear Draven round the table and fought the urge to tremble.  She hurt all over – her thighs had been torn up by the births, a short labor and one birth after the other.  They hadn’t even healed halfway when she’d gotten on the horse and walking straight from the entrance to the tent had nearly broken her.  She could still taste blood from where she’d bitten the inside of her cheek in pain.

And the exhaustion – the pregnancy had been difficult enough when Draven was there, the constant illness, her increasingly frailty, the mutters that she was not strong enough to be their baroness.  But after he’d left, after he’d left her to run the fort and his kingdom on her own – well, the dowager had not been surprised that the babies had come early, after all the stress she’d been under. 

Hearing that her husband refused to even entertain the notion that the Red Tide was there was what had broken her.  Hearing that her husband called her a fool and a liar, a little girl jumping at shadows.

She’d killed the Raptor almost in a stupor and the only thing keeping her awake and on her feet was her anger.  She was running out of things to stoke it with though.

“How did you get the Raptor’s sword?” Draven asked, his voice striving for calm and falling short. She tried not to jump – he was much closer than she’d thought.

“You said it yourself,” she replied dully, “We had to pry it out of his cold, dead hands.”

There was a long beat. “The Raptor is dead?”

“Yes,” she said, and she was so, so tired.  All she wanted to do was sleep for an eternity.  At least a week.  Couldn’t she even have that?

“You saw him die?”

Rhiya roused herself at that, straightening up enough to shoot her husband a vicious glare.  “I killed him,” she hissed, because she was a warrior and just because her children (her two perfect children, her Korver and Nyalene, she should never have left them) had taken almost every scrap of energy she had didn’t mean that she wasn’t a warrior.  She wasn’t his consort, she was the Baroness of Skalid, Lady Riker, and sometimes she thought that Draven was the one who forgot that the most.

Draven raised his eyebrows at that, looking at her in mild disbelief.  Rhiya was too tired to correct his opinions.  She was almost too tired to stand upright.  And then his face suddenly blanched, eyes going wide as he reached a hand out for her.

Rhiya tried very hard not to cry, because his warm touch on her shoulder felt like an anchor.

He took a step closer and closer, until she could feel the heat from his body, and he folded her into his arms.  She let him, because she did not have the energy to stop him, and when he braced her against his body, she sagged against him.  He was warm and that was about the extent to which Rhiya’s mind could reason. If he decided to let go, she would fall, and there was nothing she could do about it.

It wasn’t trust.  It was a bone-deep weariness.  It was if-you-forsake-me-then-I-am-done.

“What happened?” Draven said, his grip tightening around her. Not dropping her.  Not yet.

“I told you,” Rhiya mumbled into his shirt, “Gave birth. Red Tide.  Raptor managed to scale the outer walls.  Challenged for single combat.  Fighting him gave the others the time they needed to set up archers on the walls.  Killed him.  Killed his men.”

“All of this in the three days since you sent Tikal.”

“Mmm,” Rhiya responded, because words were too much effort. 

“How did you even manage to ride here?” Draven asked, and he was shifting.  Rhiya didn’t move, didn’t tense up because her legs were protesting at the thought of being asked to bear her weight, but he didn’t drop her.  He merely shifted enough to pick her up fully. 

“With great difficulty,” Rhiya said, sounding out each word.  She sighed as Draven gently put her down in a chair, cushioned by furs. His furs.  This was his chair.

“The Red Tide,” Draven muttered, straightening up and staring at her.

Rhiya curled up further in his chair, shifting until she was leaning on the arm of the chair, her weight off her hips.  “They’re coming,” she said, but she had no energy for persuasion, “Riker Fort can’t hold a siege with only forty warriors.”

Draven was leaning against the table, just staring at her.  Rhiya stared back.  She wondered if she could take a nap in this chair.  Where did he get all these comfortable furs from? 

“Children,” Draven said in the smallest voice she’d ever heard him use.

Rhiya couldn’t fight the smile, because even tired and hurt and angry, the memory of her two angels made her heart glow.  “Twins. Korver and Nyalene.”

“Twins,” Draven repeated, a small smile appearing.  “You aren’t supposed to name them, you know, I –”

“If you wanted to name them,” Rhiya hissed, because she had gotten this from everyone and she had labored alone and in pain to birth her beautiful children and this particular idiot had been nowhere in sight.  “You should’ve been there.”

Draven raised his hands in surrender.  Rhiya watched him with narrowed eyes before subsiding back into the warmth of the soft chair.

“You look tired,” he said quietly and she hummed.

“Are you sure it’s the Red Tide?” he asked and Rhiya had had enough.  She sighed, long and deep, and sank into the chair, curling up and resting her head on her hands.

“There is an army a day’s ride to the north.  The Raptor was part of their forces.  I’m assuming that they’re the Red Tide, but does it matter what flag they’re flying?” Rhiya looked up at him, and she didn’t have the strength to maintain a neutral expression.  “Come home,” she said, in a quiet voice, “To your children.  To me.”   

She didn’t know what Draven saw but his face twisted up and he dropped to his knees so that he would be at her level.  He raised a hand, slowly, like he was worried she would bolt (she barely had the energy to move – if her husband wanted to strike her, there was little she could do) and pressed a warm hand to her cheek.  He stroked a lock of her hair and, in a choked voice no amount of gruffness could hide, said, “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

Rhiya felt a part of her heart unclench and she closed her eyes.

“This campaign is important to me and so many people told me to give it up that when you said the same, I thought it was a manipulation.  I didn’t listen to you and I yelled at you, and I’m so, so sorry, my love. I’m sorry I left you at Riker Fort by yourself.  I should’ve been there for you while you were carrying our children.  I should’ve been there while you labored to bring them into this world.” 

Rhiya cracked her eyes open and scowled, “You don’t get to change their names.”

Draven laughed but his eyes were suspiciously moist.  “That isn’t what I’m after, my lady,” he caught ahold of one of her hands and pressed her fingers to his lips.  “I’m sorry I insulted you in front of my council.  You are the Baroness of Skalid and sometimes I forget that.”

“What are you after, then?” Rhiya murmured.

“A possibility of earning your forgiveness at some point in the future,” Draven said quietly, “I swore to you, the first day we were married, that I would never dishonor you. I am ashamed that I went back on those words.”

Rhiya looked at him for a long moment.  “I will consider it,” she said, because her exhaustion and pain and the sheer relief that he was listening to her were not conducive to making important decisions.  

Draven smiled and considered her for a moment.  Rhiya was contemplating if she really could get away with a nap, but they had to head back to the fort as soon as possible.  Draven seemed to read her mind.  “If I get you a carriage, will you ride in it?”

Rhiya shot him a cold look and straightened in his – her – chair, “No.”  She wasn’t letting Draven reach the castle – reach her children – without her there. She had to be there if he said or did something stupid and – and she wanted to be the one that placed them in his hands, the way it would’ve been if he had been at her bedside after she’d given birth.

“Very well,” Draven sighed, “But you are going to sleep when we get back to the fort.”  He offered her a hand and she may have taken more than the requisite time arranging her clothes before allowing herself to be pulled out of the soft, comfortable chair.  She winced as her thighs strenuously protested this change and Draven steadied her.

“Is that an order, my lord?” Rhiya bit out.  Draven hadn’t let go and, truth be told, Rhiya’s legs were still wavering, like they would collapse at any moment.

“I’m pretty sure that if I dump you on the bed and order no one to help you out of it, that would get the job done,” Draven chuckled as he helped her walk to the tent entrance, step by step.

“Some of those people are loyal to me,” Rhiya said and did not pout.

“Those would be the same people that looked a half-step from lunging to catch you when you fell?” Draven raised an eyebrow, “I don’t think they’ll be helping you out of bed anytime soon, my lady.”

They reached the entrance and Rhiya bit down her scowl and wiped her face blank.  She needed Draven’s arm to help her stay upright and that burned, because she knew what faces everyone would make when they saw that she needed her husband’s help to stay standing.  They had made enough of those faces when she was pregnant and throwing up everything she’d eaten and having dizzy spells in the corridors.

The faces she saw, however, tended more to dawning relief than disgust.  Adar was closest to the entrance and he looked at her, and his baron, and her again before sagging in what was definitely relief.  Aster was next closest and she noticed how his hand slipped off the hilt of his sword as his eyes moved from Adar to his brother. It felt like an air of tension had dissolved.

“Pack up camp,” Draven said, looking utterly unconcerned by the fact that he was practically holding her up, “The vanguard will leave immediately for Riker Fort, the rearguard will follow once everything has been packed.”  Tikal exhaled in a rush and she saw more than one happy face among those gathered.  “And bring the baroness’ horse here.”

The camp erupted in a flurry of activity and Rhiya was too tired to look for condemnation on anyone’s face as she leaned against her husband.  Aster approached almost silently, nodding to her before looking at his brother.  “Congratulations, brother.  And I’m glad you finally came to your senses.” 

Rhiya didn’t need to look at him to know his scowl had intensified.  She pushed herself up and squinted at him, “So when you said many people told you to leave…”  Draven flushed and scowled harder.

“Many people tried to convince him, yes,” Aster looked at her, and bowed slightly, “Only one managed to succeed.”

Rhiya shot another look at her husband, but he was still red and still not looking at her.  Her horse arrived then, though, and she faltered at the memory of saddle sores and undergoing the whole agonizing trek back.

“I will be right beside you,” Draven murmured as he stepped closer to her, “If you want, we can ride together.”

It was Rhiya’s turn to flush, as she remembered the first time they’d ridden together, her back a fiery mess as she huddled against Draven’s chest and tried to enjoy the warmth of his cloak while hating every second.  

“We’ll get there faster if we ride separately,” she replied, and accepted his hands as he hoisted her up onto the saddle.  She ignored anyone’s stray askance glance as she stayed sitting sidesaddle – riding a horse was difficult enough after giving birth, and this way at least she wasn’t trying to grip with her thighs.  

She watched Draven alight on his own horse and let out a slow exhale.  He was coming home.

#whump #whumpfic #rhiya #respect #alternative storyline #exhaustion

[haphazardlyparked]

a departure

regret everything part twenty (part nineteen)

Kalna’s in a foul mood, and thinking about why only puts him in a worse one.

Iska leaves for Samra and his cousin’s funeral rites later in the evening, and Kalna…

Kalna feels that old selfishness curling in his gut. He doesn’t need Isokai here, but he doesn’t want him to leave either.  It’s been so long since they’ve had this—this camaraderie, relatively unburdened by the antagonism that usually sets them at odds. Kalna wants to keep that, to guard it for as many years as this life will give him, so of course there’s a part of him that fears what will happen if Isokai leaves. What if he’s not the same when he returns? What if Kan isn’t the same? But surely, he tries to tell himself, surely a distant cousin’s death won’t change what they have now. 

And yet—Kalna is so unsure of himself where Iska is concerned.

“Darling boy.” The Dowager’s voice is sharp, calling Kan to attention. “You look ready to set the thunderclouds on fire, and it’s very distracting.”

Kan rolls his eyes at his mother. She’s at Sem’s desk again, sifting through the reports with expert ease and gossiping at the same time.

“I don’t have to be cheery every day,” Kan complains.

“Did you argue with your Noki again?” the Dowager asks archly, raising a brow perfectly sculpted to convey a cuttingly precise dose of judgement.  

“No,” Kan says, at the same time as Sem murmurs, “Yes.”

Kan glares at Sem. “Yes,” he corrects himself, annoyed. “But we’ve already made up. He’s coming in later and we’ll send the ambassador off together.”

“How precious,” says the Dowager.

“I love you too, Mother.”

Isokai leaves Court by grounder, which will take him to the nearest transit hub at the edge of the city limits. From there, he’ll been flown home to Samra directly, without any of the usual detours through neighboring Viad. Instead, he’ll go over neutral sea by private transport, designed for long-term trips. His family is not without their resources.

The Dowager surprises everyone by showing up to Isokai’s sending-off. Everyone save Isokai, who would never look surprised by anything. A touch disconcerted, maybe, or mildly confused.

“Guard your health, and travel safely.” Kan offers Isokai the polite leave-taking with a firm handshake. Isokai shakes his hand and smiles at Kan--reassuringly, the ass--and then turns to make his goodbye to Noki.

Private words pass between them, and Kan only half tries to overhear their quiet conversation. Kan wonders if Isokai is advising Noki on who to contact in his absence, and thinks that does go a little too far, actually.

He’s let the Exchange operate within the diplomatic arm of his court as a pseudo-think tank and a center of cultural research--or, as Sem has said on a few occasions, he’s been playing favorites...

But if things are going to become official, as Kan sees is a true option now, all relations with Samra will need to be held to a higher standard. Everything--well, most things--will need to come above-ground, so to speak.

“Dearest Ambassador Isokai,” the Dowager says, her voice announcing the end of the ambassador and diplomat’s goodbye. “I wish you the best of journeys home on this sad occasion.” Kan looks up at his mother, hearing that note in her voice which promises something else.

With a smile so gracious it can only be sarcastic, the Dowager adds with honeyed warmth, “And please, do not feel the need to rush back to us.”

Isokai smiles politely, and he takes the Dowager’s hand and bows over it. “Thank you, my lady,” he replies, unruffled, and the Dowager favors him with a real smile. Kalna would have been surprised that she's taken such a liking to him recently--but who doesn't like Iska?

Without much more fuss, the ambassador gets into the grounder beside the driver, and they take off. The farewell party breaks up, each heading in their own directions.

“Kan,” Noki comments in a low, troubled voice, and Kan walks him towards his lift. “Doesn’t the Dowager embarrass you when she does things like that?”

“Things like what?”

“Those veiled insults,” says Noki flatly, like he’s annoyed that Kan is making him spell it out. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” Kan says with a shrug. “I try not to worry about those, since you do it enough for the both of us.”

“But Kan--what if she insults someone less tolerant than the ambassador?” Kan sighs. He looks at Noki and shakes his head. “Have you considered that she wouldn’t say such things to someone else?”

Noki shuts his mouth, but he still looks to be in the arguing mood.

“She’s important,” Kan says wearily, to preclude anything else from Noki. He’s tired from having been so irritated all morning, and feels oddly anxious now that Isokai has left. “And she knows what she’s doing. Can we leave it at that?”

Noki drops his head. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, quietly. “You know how I feel about…” He trails off, but he doesn’t need to finish.

Kan does know. But he’s very good at avoiding that truth. 

Kissing Noki on the cheek, Kan says, “I’ll see you later? Enjoy your meetings with the trades councilmen.”

Noki makes a face at Kan, and then retreats.

When he’s gone, Kan turns back towards the where the Dowager waits. She glides towards him, all regal grace, and when she’s close enough Kan says, “Lunch, Mother? Just the two of us today.” 

“The coronet of flowers around your heart won’t be joining us, I suppose.”

“Mother,” Kan replies humorlessly, but he offers the Dowager his arm with an attempt at a smile.

She takes it.  “If he doesn’t like me, darling, you should wonder about that more. You’re half me, you know.”

“Unfortunately,” agrees Kan, as he leads the Dowager back towards his private sitting rooms in Court. They usually have lunch there when they do have it together, and sometimes Sem joins. Kan doubts he’ll have the time today.

They step into the lifts together, and the doors close automatically behind them. “Ambassador Isokai likes me,” the Dowager observes innocently, as the lift begins moving upwards.

“Would you like lunch, Mother? Or would you like to go straight to the dungeon and torture me there?”

(next - twenty-one)

OK so not to speak to soon (but naybe it will motivate me) i think i have one scene--not even one major scene, like, one scene final to write. and then just the rest to polish!  (lol except the rest is like 14 pages, so...) 

@rrrawrf-writes @gingerly-writing @severe-fangirl-syndrome

#the end is near #i say for the billionth time #but actually #i feel the end #regret everything #kan and noki #writing #all right 2019

[innerpostmentality]

The Road to Gretna Green  Part 7  - Games

This is an AU Fan Fic inspired by the Choices story Desire & Decorum

All rights and many thanks are accorded to Pixelberry Studios.

This takes place immediately after Part 6. Seriously it will be very confusing if you haven’t read the other parts.  Please see my Masterlist if you wish to catch up on the series. Rating: M  Very M Erotica             Warnings: emotional trauma, long post, erotica Word count: around 4000 and a bit Tagging: @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @speedyoperarascalparty @hellospunkiebrewster @tornbetween2loves @gardeningourmet  @melodyofgraves @thequeenofcronuts @symonde

  The Dowager Countess of Edgewater paced in her room in the Edgewater London town house in great agitation. It was the morning of the third day since her granddaughter had run away. This morning she had received a letter from her. Explaining quite politely that she was honoring a previous engagement agreement with Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park. 

  Dominique had known that Rose wasn’t disposed to Duke Richards and if she was honest with herself; which she always tried to be, she had reservations when the Duke had approached her regarding a betrothal without Rose present. But she also had seen Countess Henrietta conspiring with Bishop Monroe so the engagement to Duke Richards seemed a prayer answered.

  She knew after their carriage ride that evening when Rose had displayed her bruised arm in the entry hall that Rose was upset with her. So she hadn’t pressed it that evening. Knowing Rose’s ire with her, she wasn’t alarmed when she didn’t come down to break her fast. But she never imagined that Rose would be so wayward as to elope.

 It was when the Duke came to call for her to ride in Hyde Park and she sent Briar to call her down to join them that she got the first inkling that something was truly amiss. Briar went and returned after a few minutes and whispered to her that Rose’s monthly courses had arrived and she was indisposed. So Dominique had advised the Duke that she was indisposed for the week and he had graciously if somewhat reluctantly wished her well and left with assurances that he would return in a week to take Rose for the promised turn in the park. After he left she went up to Rose’s room to speak to her. Briar’s protests that Rose was asleep only ignited her suspicions further that Rose was in fact being rebellious rather than actually suffering her monthlies. But it really hadn’t prepared her at all for her granddaughter’s absence.

 Briar declined to reveal anything of her mistress and friend’s whereabouts. Which was aggravating at the same time it bespoke an admirable devotion to Rose. Dominique sent Briar to help in the kitchen as a scullery maid and reflect upon her choices.    Dominique paced and frowned considering her resources. When she discovered that Rose had run away she had asked their Stable Master Harper to go to Grovershire and look for Rose at her old home thinking that would be where Rose would flee to. Harper hadn’t returned yet and he was the best of their horsemen were she to send someone North to try to find Rose now that she knew that Rose and Mister Sinclaire were doubtless bound for somewhere in Scotland.

 Oh this was a disaster. She had lost too much time she knew. Visiting the Parsons and the Suttons thinking Rose might be there. Even having tea with Prince Hamid looking for some sign that Rose might be seeking sanctuary with him. Three days she had been gone. They were half way to Scotland by now. Even if she knew exactly where they were it would take another day and a half of hard riding with lots of horse changes to get to them. And then another four days at least to return by coach.  And she knew well that if Rose could be found she wouldn’t simply return and go through with the arrangement.

  She looked again at the letter Rose had written her. ‘… I must answer my heart and hold to my promise…’ Those words took her back to her youth and a summer nearly fifty years ago when a handsome young man of good prospects named Rupert stole her heart.  Her father wanted her to vie for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia but she would have none of it after she met Rupert. But Rupert was an Earl with title and holdings. Ernest Sinclaire’s legacy was trade and new money. And yes, he had Ledford Park, saved from his father’s and brother’s foolishness with guidance from Vincent. Her breath caught with the thought of her lost son. Too soon. Too young. Her beautiful boy. And then another thought, she knew that Vincent admired and loved Ernest as a son. He would support Rose’s choice. And knowing that, her decision was made.

 She set her jaw and went to her desk to draw up a note to Mister Sinclaire’s solicitor Mister Hartfield.  Dear Mister Hartfield,    I address you as solicitor for Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park.    I have received a letter this day from my beloved granddaughter Mistress Rose of Edgewater informing me of her favor and previous acceptance of an engagement to be wed to Mister Sinclaire of Ledford Park. I was not privy to this information when Duke Richards made the request of me for her hand and as her engagement was a necessary condition of her father’s will I accepted on her behalf.

In light of new information that has come to me. And with the full knowledge that my late son, Rose’s father held Mister Sinclaire in the highest esteem I would favor their union as I am certain it would be in accord with Vincent’s wishes.  To this hopeful, happy end I would request a meeting with you as soon as possible that we may conspire to navigate these waters to our mutual benefit.  In this matter haste is essential. Sincerely, Lady Dominique of Edgewater  She sealed her note and called for Mister Woods to take it to Mister Hartfield in all haste.

 ****      ****        ****        ****         ****       ****        ****

 It was the first day on their journey that the weather turned rainy. It slowed their pace as Mister Grissom had great care for his rig and the horses. Rose kept a careful eye on Ernest pleading her needs for necessities a bit more than usual when she would note his jaw clenching. A short walk and a sip of wine would ease him and then they would continue.

 Sometime after they had crossed the river Trent and she noted he had settled into a sullen silence she leaned over and kissed him on his cheek. “Ernest, I think we should play a game.”  He lifted a brow and gave her a small smile. “Oh? And what game might we play in the coach with the rain banging like a drum?”  She took his hand stroking it. “A rhyming one to make you smile. Here I will start. Let me think.

 ‘A lovely young Lady from Leeds,

  Her carriage got stuck in the reeds,

  The coachman did ask her…’     Now you continue. ”

 He looked at her a long moment then finally smiled, “A lovely young Lady from Leeds, Her carriage got stuck in the reeds, The coachman did ask her, What caused the disaster?...” Rose grinned, “Her horse, she said had too much speed!” Ernest was smiling so she nodded. “Now you start.” “Ah, I’ve heard similar before. Though perhaps not quite as wholesome.” He lifted his brow and smirked.

‘There was a young Lady from Leeds,

 Who was trying to settle her needs,

 Her coachman implored her….’          Now to you my Sweet.” She considered for a bit wanting to surprise him. Finally with a twinkle in her eye she said,

“There was a young Lady from Leeds,

 Who was trying to settle her needs,

 Her coachman implored her,

 To favor his soldier,

 That was lauded for magnificent deeds!” Ernest burst into laughter groaning and holding his side as he laughed then pulled her in for a kiss. “Rose! Oh what mischief have I created?” He kissed her again til the jostling of the coach made him fear for their teeth. “I love you. I do not ken ever knowing such joy as I have found with you.” Lacing their fingers together she blushed. “It is good to hear your laughter, Ernest.”   Their journey in the rain was long that day and they pulled up to the inn yard at the Salutation posting inn at Doncaster well after dark. Ernest spoke with Mister Grissom thanking him and inquiring if he would be willing to take them on to Ripon. He was amiable to the additional leg of the journey on the condition they would have quarters and meals provided both there and back to Grantham afterwards. She could tell that Ernest was pleased with the agreement at the late hour that saved him having to find another coach to hire for the morning.  She asked Ernest to inquire of the inn keep if they perchance might have some Willow bark that she could brew some tea for her head.

    The inn was fairly busy despite the lateness of the hour and Ernest told her that they were expecting a Post Coach within a few hours. The rain had settled in to a light but steady drizzle and the fires had extra coal to chase the chill and damp away.  It was the first room they had where there was no adjoining room. The inn was practically full with travelers and merchants and there was only one room available on the third floor. Mister Grissom and his men were situated on the second floor in two rooms that were much nicer than the stable but smaller and not so well furnished as the rooms on the third floor.

  Ernest escorted her to the room then excused himself to go below and arrange for their supper.  Rose busied herself sorting the clothes for the next day and laying things out on chairs before the fire to drive the dampness from them. There were two covered buckets of water and a fair-sized kettle which she filled and set on a trivet over the fire to heat. She took off her shoes and set them before the fire then got her brush and sat on the bed to brush out her hair.  Ernest returned shortly with a basket of crusty bread, cheese, a small packet of willow bark, cherries, and figs and a bottle of wine. “I fear our supper is going to be a cold one this evening, my dear. The inn keeper did have some willow bark. He said his mother used it for her teeth.”

 Rose nodded, “My mother used to make a tea with it for her head. I was hoping I could make some for you that it might ease you. I know you have been suffering this day, Ernest.”

 He set the basket down on the wash stand table then carefully removed his coat and hung it on a peg before going to her taking her face in his hands and looking deeply into her eyes. “You are so good to me, Rose.” His kiss was soft, reverent as he bent to taste the fullness of her lips. 

 She sighed into his kiss, “No more than you deserve, Beloved.” She pulled back a little and carefully stroked his hair from his forehead. “I watch you. You care for everyone. Even when you are injured and hurting you still have courtesy for all.”

She grinned at him sassily, “You know, while I was awaiting you I thought of something.” “Oh?” His dimple peaked at her as he smiled curiously at her mischievous tone. She nodded, “A handsome young man named Sinclaire…” “Oh No,” he groaned and she saw the color rise in his cheeks. Her grin deepened and she nodded, “A handsome young man named Sinclaire, Was graced with a manner so fair, The maids would all say, They were dying to play..”

 “Rose!” His voice held a warning that didn’t match the sparkle in his deep blue gaze.

 “Just to touch the gentleman’s hair!” She giggled.  “I should send you to your room for that. Alas, that would be here. Hmmm, what shall I do?” He pressed his finger to the corner of his mouth as though contemplating for a moment. “I know!” He ran his hands up and down her sides tickling her as she squirmed and giggled til she got the hiccups and batted playfully at his hands but didn’t run away.   He was laughing and groaning when he finally stopped tickling her and slipped a finger beneath her chin lifting it for a sweet kiss that turned deeper and left them both breathless staring into each other’s eyes. She blushed. He cleared his throat, finally he brought her hand to his mouth kissing her knuckles. “It’s late. We should eat.”

  She nodded and went to put the willow bark he’d procured in a cup and added some of the piping hot water to it. She smoothed her skirt. “So how much longer do you think it will take?” She heard him open the bottle of wine he’d brought. “Without mishap, we should be in Ripon tomorrow night. Appleby the next. And Gretna Green the evening after that. Three days.”  She felt him behind her as he moved her long russet tresses to the side and placed a kiss on her neck. He nuzzled her, then ever so carefully nipped her earlobe. “Three days. Rose.” His voice was low with need. His arms slipped around her waist and he held her kissing her hair for a few minutes. “Mistress Henley our supper is going to be cold.”  Turning her head she arched a brow at him then burst into laughter. “Why Mister Henley I declare I think you have been bitten by a whimsey moth.”  He turned her stroking her cheek with his thumb and then kissing her nose. “Come. Let’s have a picnic here before the fire.” He grabbed the basket and set it down having a care for his ribs and shoulder he sat on the floor and took his shoes off setting them next to hers on the hearth. Rose handed him the cup of willow bark tea and brought the wine and sat on the floor beside him. He sipped the tea and made a face. “Why does all the best medicine taste so evil?”  She laughed. “Perhaps because it has to be strong to be good?”  Ernest finished the tea then took the knife in the basket and sliced up the bread and cheese putting the cheese on a piece of the bread and offering it to her. She ate it from his fingers smiling at him, “It’s quite delicious. Here.” She fed him a bite and he licked her fingers looking in her eyes, “Indeed, Mistress Henley, utterly delicious.”  “Speak you of my fingers or the cheese?”  “Yes.” He caught her forefinger between his teeth and ran his tongue over the pad looking at her.  Heat rushed to her face and low in her belly making her squirm and drop her gaze before pulling her finger from his mouth.

“Here.” He rubbed a cherry across her lower lip.  She lifted her eyes to him as she sucked the cherry into her mouth. His eyes were focused on her lips as she savored the sweetness before carefully plucking the pit out and tossing it in the fire.     He kissed her teasing her lips with his tongue, tasting the sweetness of her flavored with the cherry. His eyes closing as desire washed through him. He was trembling beneath her touch. Two days ago she would have feared he was getting ill. Now she recognized his struggle with his passion. Recognized her own need gathering, tightening, aching for the glory they could grant each other. She stroked his jaw and breathed his name as she broke their kiss, “Ernest… Help me.” turning and lifting her hair so he could undo her buttons.   His fingers were clumsy as he struggled caught between his need to kiss the nape of her neck and the need to unbutton her. He finally managed and she lifted her arms and bent to him so he might pull her day dress over her head. Then he was at the laces of her stays. Kissing her nape and shoulders as he freed her leaving her in nothing but her white cotton chemise the firelight behind her illuminating more in silhouette. Her beauty stole his breath. 

  She turned and kissed him briefly before pulling back to untie his cravat; then her fingers were at the buttons of his vest. Carefully she helped him remove it. She stroked down his shirt her emerald gaze locking with the sapphire of his eyes silently asking permission. Not sure he had a voice he nodded. Then her fingers were at the buttons of his fall. Then the buttons beneath at his waist and he was free.

 “I want you Ernest. So much.” Tenderly she stroked his length only his shirt separating her hand from his velvet hardness. She stroked him once, then again before stopping and pulling his breeches off completely. She stood then and held her hand out to him. 

  “Rose,” voice was so low it came to her as a growl of need. He took her hand rising from the floor and let her lead him to the bed. His eyes never left her as she turned the covers down for him. “Get a cloth.” He sat on the edge of the bed watching her as she went to the wash stand and pulled a couple of washing cloths out before returning to him. “You are so beautiful. May I touch you?” She nodded her own voice lost in her desire.

  He closed his eyes and reached beneath her chemise running his hands up the back of her thighs as she stood between his legs. His hands were so warm as he stroked over her hips. His thumbs made circles around the points of her hip bones. Then trailed heat up her sides caressing each rib, exploring the silken plane of her back up to her shoulders and neck then beneath her arms. She watched him and didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until his thumbs swept the fullness of her breasts circling the tight peaks and she gasped as his attention sent molten heat to the center of her womanhood.   His eyes opened at her gasp and they were almost black with his pupils so wide only a bright rim of blue remained. “Please Rose… Please touch me.” he moaned his need.    She leaned forward licking his lips with her tongue before tasting their fullness. Her hands delved under his shirt stroking up his strong thighs feeling the tremble in his muscles. She carefully stroked his ballocks, lifting them gently, exploring how they floated in his seed sack. “Is this pleasant for you?” she broke the kiss to whispered shyly.

 “Aye. Your touch on me is heaven.”

 “Teach me, Ernest.” 

  His eyes never left hers but his hands withdrew from her. “Here, sit across my lap with your feet to my left.” He kissed her gently, slowly. “I am sorry… I cannot hold you properly.” He adjusted their clothing so that they were not bound and could be reached under with ease. “I love you Rose. I do not want to frighten you or hurt you ever. Please know that. If I do anything that displeases you… promise me that you will tell me. You must promise me.” His tone was very solemn as he searched her emerald gaze in the firelight.”

   Nodding she murmured, “I will tell you.” 

  He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to settle himself before he met her gaze again. He took her left hand with his and brought it to his mouth kissing it before putting it back under his shirt on his ballocks. “This part of my manhood is most vulnerable. It is a thing for you to know were anyone to ever try to force themselves on you. Punching a man here causes great, incapacitating pain. But your sweet caress here fills me with seed and makes my need for you even greater.”

 “Touching you like this makes me want you even more Earnest. I would never hurt you.” Her gaze was so sincere he thought his heart would burst with his love. 

 “I, I know Rose. But I want you to know you have that power should you ever need it.” He kissed her as he took her hand to his aching hardness.  She smiled and murmured, “Your soldier.” She felt it twitch as he wrapped both their hands around him. “Hello handsome.”

 Ernest couldn’t help but be pleased as she addressed his full arousal with the joyful familiarity of a beloved acquaintance. He took her finger to his tip, wet with his aching desire and ran it all around the exposed sensitive ridge then back, around then firmly down. His breath caught and she felt him throbbing in response as he showed her how to pleasure him. He moaned softly, “Rose… can I, can I touch you?”  She nodded and took his hand under her chemise, “Please…oh, Ernest.” His fingers found her slick folds, her sensitive bundle, her wet, tight passage. He kissed her as he pressed gentle circles around that most sensitive bundle. She was making a mewling purr drawn from her depths as she writhed in her need. “Please… more, Ernest, more.”  He pressed a second finger into her even as she was stroking him to the point of no return. His voice broke, “The cloth… ah” He cried out in his release even as she barely got him covered. He was trembling his hips bucking beneath her as he throbbed in her hand soaking the cloth covering him.  Her tongue was rolling against his as she panted her need for him. “Please, more, I..” She arched her back and begged for more. “I need you in me. Please.” His voice was hoarse, “Rose, Rose, please. I fear I’ll hurt you. Gently, love.” Her pearl was so swollen and she was so wet for him. He pulled his fingers out and she moaned in protest. “Here. Here, straddle me. Gently, gently. Only a little.” He was still so hard but easing. “Just the tip. Rose, look at me.” She pulled her gown off tossing it and got on her knees straddling him. He took himself firmly in hand about three inches down from his tip. And as she lowered herself onto him she cried his name in ecstasy. He filled her entrance impossibly, painfully, gloriously full and she wanted more. Needed more. “Gently. God Rose.” He thumbed circles around her pearl til he felt her stretching even more, her walls starting to flutter around his sensitive ridge. She was trying to lower herself further onto him. A wave of complete panic shook him as his past and another woman’s cries and rejection slammed into him, he rolled them both to the left on the bed shaking his head and weeping. “No. No. Rose, No. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you. Please. I would never hurt you.” The anxiety in his voice pulled her from her passion into concern. She stroked his hair looking in his eyes she realized he was weeping. “Shh, shh, I’m well. I’m well. I love you. Oh Ernest, you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t hurt me. I love you. Shh. I promise I will tell you if it is ever too much. I promise.” He pulled her to him tightly. She felt him wince as he did but he didn’t let her go. He held her kissing her head, murmuring I love yous into her hair. 

  Rubbing circles softly around his back cooing her love of him eventually she felt him relax. After a bit he murmured softly, “I’m sorry. It is not your fault Rose. I’m sorry.” She kissed him gently then got up to put all their things in order, double checking the security of the windows and doors. Making sure the fire was properly banked for the night before she returned. He had situated himself properly under the covers leaving room on his left side for her. She climbed in next to him and he pulled her into his side.

His voice was soft in the darkness of the room, “You know I came up with something as you were putting things in order.”

  “Hmmm?” She nuzzled him sighing happily.    

“My beautiful Rose so lovely and fine

I long for your kiss much sweeter than wine

I’ll take you away

To Scotland one day

And make you forever more, mine”

------------------------------to be continued-----------------------------------

#Choices fanfiction Ernest Sinclaire Desire & Decorum The Road to Gretna Green Ernest Sinclaire X MC

[artyblogs]

Across the Frozen Sea ch5

Star Wars the Clone Wars, Ahsoka/Barriss/Riyo

Across the Frozen Sea summary: Ahsoka, Barriss, and Riyo find themselves stranded in the Pantoran Taiga. They must get back to civilization, but the wilds are more dangerous than they realize. If the cold doesn’t get them, the locals will.

First Chapter : Previous Chapter : Next Chapter : Last Chapter

Chapter 5: Mafoo Manor

Mafoo Manor is built out of dark hardwoods, and is bedecked in sigil tapestries woven with yellow and purple threads. The stone fireplace is tall enough for Riyo to stand in without slouching, and over the mantle are displayed a few elk carvings placed around a painting of Count Mafoo. Sheer, red fabric has been draped over the painting, somewhat obscuring it.

The dining table is draped in exquisite cloth, and features a magnificent spread of cooked fish, roasted meat, and other Pantoran dishes. Barriss eats a reindeer soup out of a finely-made bowl and hopes that she isn’t committing some social faux-pas. If she was asked if her table manners were impeccable yesterday, she would have answered ‘yes,’ but she’s no longer sure of anything after the raw seal debacle that they ate with their hands. At least the food is cooked now. She didn’t have the appetite to eat much of her share of the seal after she watched Ahsoka tear into the literal heart.

Next to her, Ahsoka eats in silence, content to leave the talking to Riyo. Riyo is all practiced grace and poise, emanating an air of power and confidence despite her wrinkled and blood-stained suit. Thankfully, she attracts most of their hosts’ attention, and most of the conversation is held in Galactic Basic.

What’s left of the Mafoo family sits with them at the dining table. Dowager Countess Xola’s gray hair has been twisted back into a bun, and her sad gaze has been steadily trained on Riyo for most of the meal.

Her second son, Count Mfuneko, sits at the head of the table, and he asks Riyo all sorts of questions about Coruscant and her life as a galactic Senator. He can’t be more than a couple years older than Barriss and Riyo, if he’s older at all. On the other hand, her daughter Thandi stares determinedly at her plate.

“My condolences on your loss, Count, Dowager,” Riyo says. “When is the drowning ceremony?”

“It hasn’t been scheduled,” Xola says. “Mfuneko is arranging everything, but he hasn’t decided on a date.”

“I entrust most of the arrangements to Paki.” Mfuneko gestures to a young man standing at attention in the corner of the room. His dark blue hair is short and spiked, and his yellow tattoos streak down over his jaw like a beard.

“You must remember Paki, don’t you, Senator? One of my father’s last acts was to promote him to the head of the guard.”

“I remember. The both of you are close friends,” Riyo says.

“We go back to the same wet-nurse. At any rate, my father’s drowning won’t be done until my brother Dumi comes home. He’s gone and fled in his grief and we can’t find him. Until he returns, it falls to me to act as Count in his stead,” Mfuneko says. He shrugs and slouches in his chair. “It wouldn’t be right to hold such an important ceremony without him, would it? It’s what my father would have wanted.”

As this, Thandi grips her fork so hard her fingers turn white, but no one else seems to notice.

Mfuneko continues. “He went so quickly; none of us expected it. I wasn’t even raised to inherit the title; that was Dumi’s burden to bear, but it can’t be helped. I must continue in their place.”

“Yes, you are the Count. I’m used to talking business during meals, but we could adjourn to the study if that’s preferred,” Riyo says. Mfuneko’s eyebrows go up.

“Of course, Senator. In due time. I’ll admit I have a favor to ask of you as well.”

“Oh?”

“I find myself tasked with finding Thandi a suitable match. No doubt you are well-connected. Perhaps you could recommend a few candidates for me to pursue on her behalf.”

Thandi lowers her fork and knife. Riyo’s eyes flicker.

“My Lord, your sister is only fourteen years old.”

“All the better to be interested in her future. I am determined that she be well taken care of.” Mfuneko’s voice becomes hard and cold. Ahsoka perks up at the change in tone, and Barriss is tempted to Mind Read him through the Force.

Xola sighs and busies herself with her napkin. “I’m curious about your friends, Senator. We hear of the Jedi, but we don’t truly know of them.”

The tension breaks as Riyo turns to Xola. “They’re humble creatures, my lady. The closest equivalent I can draw are the Mother Moon Priestesses.”

After lunch, Mfuneko, Paki, and Riyo shut themselves in the study, leaving Barriss and Ahsoka to Xola and Thandi. The four of them take a tour of the manor.

Mafoo Manor is located in the outskirts of Bravado, on top of tall sea cliffs. It used to be a castle until most of it burned down in a horrible fire almost fifty years ago, and the lavish manor was built atop the remaining ruins. Xola shows them the stables where they keep their prized elk, the conservatory, the ballroom, the music room, two different parlors, and the library. More tapestries and wood carvings are hung on the walls alongside traditional weapons made from whale bone and shark teeth.

In the entrance foyer hangs a three meter-tall calligraphy painting on canvas. It resembles the sigils that they’ve seen everywhere on Pantora, except this one is painted in a deep purple.

“You must have seen this when you arrived, Master Jedi. Chairman Cho started this trend when he had a similar one done for his palace, only his was six meters tall,” Xola says. She frowns up at the canvas.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is blood, isn’t it?” Ahsoka asks. Xola nods.

“Elk blood. I believe the artist mixed the medium with a stabilizing agent, then varnished the entire canvas to keep it from decaying. It’s terribly expensive to do. I must confess that this is the end of the tour, Master Jedi.”

“Of course, Lady Mafoo. You must be busy,” Barriss says.

“If you need anything, feel free to ask one of the staff.” Xola turns and disappears into the house.

Ahsoka looks back up at the painting. “We’re being followed,” she whispers. Barriss looks around, but sees no one else but Thandi, who’s busy looking at a intricate tapestry on the other side of the foyer.

“I saw three guards during our tour, which means that there must be at least nine in total around here,” Ahsoka continues.

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Barriss asks.

Ahsoka shrugs. “I’ve decided that it’s easier to just assume we’re in constant danger until we get back to Defiance, but I’m open to being proven wrong.”

“These guards are very good at hiding themselves,” Barriss mutters.

“Yeah, but I can still hear them moving and I can smell them too. One of them uses too much cologne.” Ahsoka wrinkles her nose.

Barriss lowers her voice even more. “Have you noticed that a lot of these things are new?”

“How can I not? It’s all Xola has been saying. ‘Mfuneko commissioned this, Mfuneko commissioned that.’ This painting alone must cost a fortune,” Ahsoka whispers back.

“It does. My brother’s going to run us into the poorhouse,” Thandi says. She’s standing right behind them.

“My apologies,” Barriss says, but Thandi shakes her head.

“It’s all right. He started burning through our credits as soon as he became Count. My mother tells him not to spend so much, but he doesn’t listen. He wants to marry me off because he wants my dowry.”

Barriss regards the skinny teenager before her. She’s small for her age, with thin shoulders and deep black hair that cascades down her back. Her skin is also a dark blue, making her yellow eyes pop.

“Do you want to get married?” Barriss gently asks.

“No way! I’m training to be a uhadi musician and I want to tour the moon someday. But I don’t have any choice, like Dumi didn’t have a choice when Mfuneko chased him away,” Thandi says.

Ahsoka waves her hands to stop her. “Wait, wait, wait. Dumi, the brother you guys were talking about earlier? That Dumi? He didn’t ‘flee from grief?’”

“No, he wanted to stay, but Mfuneko and Paki threatened him, so he ran away instead.”

“If I may ask, Thandi, how did your father die?” Barriss asks.

Sadness flickers across Thandi’s face. “I don’t know.”

“Where is he interred?”

Thandi shrugs and looks away, blinking furiously. Barriss and Ahsoka share a look. ‘Yikes,’ Ahsoka mouths.

“Does Senator Chuchi know nice people at least? If I must be married, then…maybe it won’t be so bad,” Thandi says.

“Let’s go talk to her now. Can you show us to the study?” Barriss takes Thandi’s arm in hers and lets her lead them through the mansion.

In contrast to the rest of the mansion, the study is paneled from top to bottom in dark wood. Pantoran constellations are carved into the ceiling, and the bit of walls that aren’t covered in shelves feature landscapes. There are two windows on either side of the desk, but despite the copious amount of light they let in, Mfuneko switches on the lamps and places another log in the fireplace. All of the chairs have fur pelts draped over them, and over the floor is a plush rug.

Mfuneko invites Riyo to sit, and she makes herself comfortable in the guest armchair. Paki softly closes the door behind himself and goes to stand in the corner.

“Please excuse the mess, Senator. I must rebuild my father’s network.” Mfuneko gestures to the stacks of flimsi and data cards scattered over the top of the desk. “Your arrival is a blessing; I understand that you were one of my father’s business contacts.”

“I was. He was one of the first to donate to my initial campaign. He was a good man. A generous man.” Riyo pauses. “I would like very much to pay my respects. Where is the body kept?”

Mfuneko looks to Paki, who smirks.

“Alas, he’s still at the embalmers,” Paki says.

“There, see? Never fear, Senator. You’ll receive an invitation to the drowning,” Mfuneko says.

There’s a sinking feeling in Riyo’s gut, but she presses on. “To business then. I’ll admit that my visit is motivated by my recent visit to Bravado proper.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I was astounded to learn that the public waterfront was closed, and that the only hunters allowed were those directly in your employment.”

“You wish to hear an explanation. I’m sorry to confess that the waterfront has been poisoned. My men have secured the piers for the safety of the people while my hunters investigate the cause.”

“And this investigation requires a sample size of a hundred seal? That sounds excessive, your grace,” Riyo says.

“It is unavoidable. I find it best to leave these things to the experts of course.” Mfuneko says.

“Of course. I only ask out of concern.”

There is a long moment in which nothing is said. There is only the crackling of the fire. Mfuneko and Riyo stare at each other from across the desk.

“My sister requires a husband,” Mfuneko says. “I’ve only just announced it yesterday, and already I have five offers for her hand. But surely you must know at least one young man you might be happy to recommend. In this house, your word as a trusted associate is held in such high esteem.”

Oh, how crafty. Riyo leans back in her seat and considers her answer. The late Count Anathi was a good leader for his people, but he wasn’t quite the political animal. It doesn’t matter who Riyo recommends, what matters is that she recommended them, thereby implicitly giving her blessing to the match. If Mfuneko followed through with her recommendation, which he will, then it would become known that he was in good standing with the Pantoran Senator of the Galactic Republic, thereby boosting his reputation and opening new venues for networking previously closed to him.

All he would have to do is use his fourteen year-old sister to get there.

“I know many suitable people, your grace. I could offer a match for you too, if you wish.”

Mfuneko’s eyes grow hungry and he leans forward in interest. “Would you? That’s very kind, Senator.”

“Matchmaking is such a delicate art, you understand. I cannot just drop their names here and be on my way; I’d be betraying their confidence. I must send them flimsies first.”

“Of course! But what can you tell me now, Senator?”

“I can tell you to expect my message in two week’s time,” Riyo says. Mfuneko cracks a smile.

There’s a knock at the door.

“It seems that’s all we have time for. Enter!” Mfuneko says the last bit in Basic.

The door opens, and Ahsoka pokes her head into the room. Barriss and Thandi are with her, the both of them glancing curiously around the study.

“Hi. Riyo, can we talk?” Ahsoka asks.

Riyo nods and rises from her chair. “Of course. Please excuse us, Count.”

Mfuneko waves it away. “Enjoy the grounds, Senator.”

The four of them leave the study and follow Ahsoka to the conservatory. It’s an odd choice until Riyo notices the dark shapes of guards beyond the glass. The guards can observe them in here, looking as if they are gawking at the exotic plants, and so won’t feel the need to follow them in, but they also cannot hear what they are saying if they keep their voices low enough, nor can they read their lips through the foggy glass.

Impressive.

Barriss and Thandi sit on a wicker sofa and tell Riyo all that they’ve learned. Ahsoka walks the small path around the conservatory as if she’s a casual observer, but Riyo opts to stand behind the last chair and crosses her arms over her chest, listening.

“Has your brother made any trips to the drowning shipwright?” Riyo asks. Thandi shakes her head.

“He only goes out to drink and to hunt, and that’s if he isn’t having a party in the music room. I don’t think he’s ever talked to a shipwright.”

“I see. Perhaps there isn’t any shipwright because one isn’t needed. Ahsoka, do you remember when we went to the Trade Federation ship?” Riyo asks.

Ahsoka grins. “I sure do. Do you want me and Barriss to look around?”

“Yes. Thandi, you and I will distract your brother and give the Jedi time to investigate.”

“How?”

“Why, by playing music. Barriss said you were practicing, yes?”

Thandi smiles and her eyes light up.

Riyo and Thandi leave for the study, and one of the guards follows them. There’s a painful tug on Ahsoka’s heart as the door shuts behind them, and she resists the urge to go after them. Beside her, Barriss also watches them go with a thinly-veiled glare.

“Perhaps this is a bad idea. We’re supposed to be with her,” Barriss says

“Mission parameters change all the time. Riyo will be fine. We won’t be apart for long,” Ahsoka says, even though she still watches the place where she last saw Riyo. Barriss sighs, but doesn’t disagree.

After a couple minutes, Riyo, Thandi, Mfuneko, and the guard pass by again on their way to the music room.

“How are we going to conduct a search while we’re being shadowed?” Barriss asks. “And don’t suggest knocking them out.”

“Okay, but that’s the easiest thing to do,” Ahsoka whispers.

“It’s too messy, the rest of the squad would throw us out.”

“Not if we do it quietly.”

“Quietly?”

Ahsoka strides to the door and yanks it open. She gestures to the guard. “Hey. Come here.”

The guard starts, then points at himself. He’s dressed in dark clothes, and has a sword hanging from his belt.

“Yeah, you. Do you speak Basic?” Ahsoka asks.

“Yes. Little,” the guard says. He turns to face her, wary.

“Where’s the kitchen? Can you tell me where the kitchen is?”

“Yes. It’s there.” The guard points down the hallway, and Ashoka looks, but she turns to him again, confused.

“I’m sorry, where?”

“There, there! Down, then you turn.” The guard comes closer and continues to point.

“Uh huh. Interesting. Thank you.” Ahsoka reaches out and wraps her arms around the guard’s neck in a headlock, then pulls him back into the conservatory. She’s almost half a head taller than he is, so it’s really easy to do. The guard gurgles and scratches at her, but Ahsoka tightens her grip and keeps moving backwards through the conservatory until he goes limp in her arms. She puts him on the couch and makes it look as if he’s taking a nap, then looks at Barriss, who gapes at her.

“Quietly. Although I expected more of a fight, so maybe he wasn’t formally trained,” Ahsoka says.

“You just snatched that man off his feet,” Barriss says in astonishment.

Ahsoka laughs. “I guess I did. Come on, let’s go.”

They sneak through the house, looking around corners to make sure they’re alone before moving forward. When they do see guards, they duck out of sight and Ahsoka uses the Force to knock over something in a different part of the house. When the guard goes to investigate the noise, they sneak past.

At the study, Ahsoka tries the door handle only to find it locked.

“Should I unlock it?”

“No doubt there could be valuable information in there, but I can’t read Pantoran. I felt so useless when I tried to help Riyo with the Kortzeer flimsies,” Barriss says. “Can you read Pantoran?”

Ahsoka’s lek stripes burn. “Uh…no. I didn’t think of that.”

The corners of Barriss’ mouth twitch. “Perhaps we should take Xola’s suggestion and ask the staff what happened.”

The kitchen is tucked away in a different part of the house, only accessible through a nondescript door. Unlike the rest of the house, the cabinets and the counters are done in light-colored woods and stone. Plain tiles cover the walls. In the middle of the stone kitchen floor, atop a tarp, is a half-butchered seal that’s much larger than the one Ahsoka caught the night before. A large, well-muscled man wearing an apron kneels next to it, but he pauses his work to look up at Ahsoka and Barriss when they push through the nondescript kitchen door. A woman in an apron is lining up empty glass jars on the counter, and she looks up too.

“Uh, hi.” Ahsoka waves. “Thanks for the meal. It was delicious.”

The man turns to the woman and speaks in Pantoran. She says something back, and the man turns to them.

“She says ‘you’re welcome.’ My name is Alack, she is Ila. Are you still hungry? Do you want more food?” The man asks in a heavy accent. His voice reverberates in his deep chest.

“We were actually wondering if there was anything odd happening in this mansion as of late,” Barriss asks. “Have you noticed anything strange?”

Alack translates between them. “She says that this entire week, Paki orders her to cook an extra portion of food every meal. He comes to pick it up, but he doesn’t eat. He takes it and goes.”

Ila says something else and Alack grunts in agreement. “It’s a tray. She puts it on a tray for him, and he takes it somewhere else. We don’t know. He doesn’t tell us. He orders us not to follow him. When he returns it, everything is gone.” He pauses again to listen, then, “If there is a knife or a fork on this tray, he leaves them on the counter.”

“That is incredibly odd, thank you. You’re very observant, Ms. Ila,” Barriss says.

Alack translates, then chuckles when Ila replies. “Yes, she is very smart. Ila has actually prepared the next meal already.” He points to the counter next to them, which has a plastoid food tray set upon it. On the tray is a wooden bowl full of soup, a spoon, and several cuts of dried fish.

“Haha, no way. It can’t be that easy,” Ahsoka says.

“It appears that it is,” Barriss says. “Mr. Alack, we would like to investigate this mystery for you and Ms. Ila, but in order to do this we would need to follow Paki. Is there anywhere in this kitchen we could hide?

Alack hums and reaches up to stroke his beard, but stops short when he realizes that his gloved hand is covered in blood. He talks to Ila, and she points at a door at the other side of the kitchen.

“The pantry,” he says. “But hurry, he’s coming soon.”

Ahsoka and Barriss pick their way cross the kitchen, careful to avoid the seal carcass, and go into the pantry room. Ahsoka pulls the door closed so that it doesn’t swing open, but holds it open a crack, so that they both can still see into the kitchen. She and Barriss are crammed together within the small confines of the pantry, and Barriss ends up holding Ahsoka round her waist to keep from falling out.

“At least nine armed men,” Barriss whispers.

“Yeah,” Ahsoka whispers back. She hopes that she isn’t crushing Barriss, but Barriss doesn’t seem uncomfortable at all.

“And if the one you snatched happens to wake up, then he’ll warn them all and everyone will be on alert.”

“Yeah.”

“And they could all be gathered in one place as a result, and would probably be guarding the place where we’re about to go investigate.”

“Yeah. Piece of cake,” Ahsoka whispers. She smiles when Barriss gives her a look of disbelief.

The two of them fall silent when the kitchen door opens again. Paki walks in and scans the kitchen, but his eyes slide right past their hiding place. He talks in Pantoran with Alack and Ila for a little bit, then takes the tray and leaves.

Instead of bowling Barriss over to get out of the pantry, Ahsoka simply scoops her up and carries her out. She crosses the kitchen and, after peeking into the dining room and finding it clear, goes into it and gently sets Barriss back on her feet. Ahsoka puts her hand to her lips and sneaks to the hall to see Paki, still walking down as if nothing is amiss. They don’t move out of cover until he turns a corner and disappears. Ahsoka and Barriss follow him through the mansion until he unlocks and opens a door. He goes through and closes the door behind him, and there is the faint scraping of a key being turned. Ahsoka ducks behind a huge, taxidermy Snow Bear. Barriss hurries to join her, and they wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Eventually, Paki comes back out, still with the tray. The fish is gone, and so is the soup. He locks the door to the stairs, then makes his way back to the kitchen. Ahsoka stays absolutely still, and only turns to Barriss after the sound of his footsteps fade. She straightens and offers a hand to help Barriss up.

“Think you can unlock that?” Ahsoka asks.

“Of course. Please keep an eye out for me.” Barriss goes to the lock and inspects it, then closes her eyes to concentrate. The Force ripples from her hands.

CLICK.

Barriss’s eyes snap open and she opens the door, revealing a stone flight of stairs going down. “This must be a part of the original castle,” she says. She picks up her skirt and leads the way down. Ahsoka closes the door behind them and follows her.

The stairway opens up to a stone cellar. Segmental arches lead to different compartments within the cellar on either side, and in each compartment and along the center hallway hang simple electric lamps. Within the arches and the floor, stuck in the stone, are embedded iron where the bars were cut away and the remnants were ground flush with the surrounding surfaces.

Further down the hallway, however, are a couple cells that are kept intact. Ahsoka and Barriss run towards them, but another guard comes out of one of the open compartments. He yells at them in Pantoran and draws his sword, but instead of stopping, Barriss and Ahsoka rush forward even faster.

Ahsoka pushes with the Force, slamming the guard’s sword back into its sheath. The guard swears and tries to draw again, but before he can, Barriss leaps at him and slaps her palms into his face.

The guard crumples to the floor, unconscious.

Ahsoka slows to a stop and looks down at the guard’s form in awe. “What? What was that? What did you do?”

“I appropriated a Force-healing anesthetic technique to make him sleep,” Barriss says.

“Kriff, that’s scary,” Ahsoka says, still staring down at the guard. His mouth lolls open as he begins to snore.

“It’s efficient.” But all the same, Barriss’ cheeks glow with the compliment.

“Hello?” A voice comes from one of the locked cells. “Who are you?”

Ahsoka and Barriss go to the cell. An old man stands at the bars, his forehead pressed against them to better see. His gray beard and hair are disheveled and wild, and his clothes are wrinkled. He stinks, and Ahsoka resists the urge to pinch her nose shut. In the cell with the old man is a thin mattress and a chamber pot.

“Count Mafoo?” Barriss asks.

“Yes, I am Count Anathi Mafoo. Who are you? What brings a Mirialan and a Togruta to this place?”

“Senator Riyo Chuchi brought us here,” Ahsoka says, and the man’s bloodshot eyes widen.

“We’re here to investigate your disappearance, your grace,” Barriss says. The Force ripples again as she scans him for injuries.

“Thank the Gods! Thank the Gods. I do not even know how long I’ve been trapped in here.” The man, Anathi, wipes a tear from his face. “You must have seen my family. Are they doing well?”

“They’re mourning you. Your Grace, why have you been locked in here?” Barriss asks.

Anathi’s bushy brows knit together in pain, and he looks down. He says nothing.

About five men, including Paki, run into the hallway from the staircase, yelling in Pantoran. Ahsoka growls and goes to fight them, but they barrel into her and tackle her into the ground. Ahsoka lands hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs. She’s able to grab and throw only two of the guards off of her before they shove her into the closest empty cell. Ahsoka rolls over the floor, then reaches out to catch Barriss when she’s thrown in after her. Paki slams the door closed and locks it, and the guards around him cheer and give each other high-fives.

Paki drops the keyring into his belt pouch, and steps away from the cell bars. “Alive, unharmed. Good.”

Unbridled hot rage wells up within Ahsoka’s chest. If it weren’t for Barriss sitting in her lap, she would throw herself against the bars right then and there.

“You imprisoned the Count?” Ahsoka shouts. “You traitor! He trusted you!”

“You think it was my idea? You think I could do this myself? I’m flattered, Jedi.” Paki turns to the guards and says something in Pantoran, and waits as they pick up the unconscious guards from the floor, then leads the way back out of the cellar. Their voices echo through the cellar and abruptly stop when the door to the staircase shuts. Barriss crawls out of Ahsoka’s lap and watches them through the bars.

“They didn’t take our lightsabers,” Barriss whispers. Sure enough, their lightsabers still hang untouched from their belts.

“Are you complaining?” Ashoka asks. She really shouldn’t be so testy, but her annoyance still eats away at her. It really should have taken more than five fighters to bring her down. A kit could do better than that.

Barriss shakes her head. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t expect them to be so incompetent. They probably didn’t realize what they were. Jedi aren’t well-known on this moon.” She gets up and dusts herself off. “How did they know we were down here? Were we spotted by one of the guards?”

“There is a holocam. There.” Anathi points a small device that’s bolted to the ceiling next to one of the lamps.

“I see it,” Barriss says.

“Then summon it.” Ahsoka stands and unclips one of her lightsabers from her belt. The bile rises in her throat and her lip rises from her teeth in a snarl. It’s only at the sight of Barriss that Ahsoka realizes that she’s broadcasting her loathing through the Force. Barriss’ eyes are wide, and she hesitantly reaches out to touch her arm.

Ahsoka struggles to reign in her temper. It’s not Barriss’ fault, and she doesn’t know. How could she know when Ahsoka’s never told her?

“Summon the holocam now. The longer we’re in here, the more chances Paki has to confront Riyo about us.” Ahsoka ignites her lightsaber and swings it at the bars, chopping through them with ease. She swings again, and pushes with the Force, making the cut bars fall out and onto the floor with a satisfying clatter.

Kark yeah. Ahsoka steps through with a deep breath.

Barriss summons the holocam, plucking it out of the stone brinks, and catches it in her hands. Bits of stone crumble off from around the durasteel bolts.

“Ahsoka? I talked to Riyo yesterday, about…about your mission. You don’t have to tell me what happened, but if you ever do want to talk, I will listen,” Barriss says.

“Thank you.” Ahsoka helps Barriss through the bars with her free hand. Even if she wanted to tell her, what would she say? How could she even begin to explain what happened during that mission?

Barriss gives her hand a brief squeeze, but when she tries to pull away, Ahsoka doesn’t let go. She really hoped that she would take this to her funeral pyre, because it fills her up with hot shame and she doesn’t think she’s ever going to truly get over it, but it can’t be helped. Barriss offered to listen, and she wouldn’t judge her the way other Jedi would.

“They put me in a cage,” Ahsoka manages to say before her throat closes up.

Barriss staggers back, her mouth open. “A cage? Ahsoka, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You had nothing to do with that.”

Barriss lowers her head only to eye the discarded, still-smoking bars lying at their feet.

One day, Ahsoka will be able to tell the rest. One day. But right now, she needs to focus on the task at hand. She turns towards Anathi’s cell. “Please back up, sir.”

Anathi’s eyes widen and he retreats to the back of the cell. Ahsoka swings her lightsaber again.

KRRRSH. BVOOSH.

Ahsoka yanks the sliced bars away and tosses them to the floor, then puts away her lightsaber. “Let’s go.”

“Eish!” Anathi mutters under his breath as he steps out of his cell. “I admire your enthusiasm, young lady, but Paki and his men locked you and your friend in here not more than five minutes ago. How do you expect the next fight to be any different?”

“Because this time, they won’t catch me by surprise.” Ahsoka leads the way through the cellar and up the stairs. “Doesn’t matter how many men they throw at us this time.”

“Please don’t kill them. I must deal with them myself,” Anathi says. “The Blizzard God demands that retribution come from the wronged.”

“Cool. Stand back, sir.” Ahsoka raises her foot and push-kicks through the door, ripping it off its hinges and cleaving the deadbolt through the doorframe in a shower of splinters. The door flies out and crashes into a guard standing across the hall, knocking him unconscious. The door and the guard drop to the floor with an unholy crash.

The two other guards standing on either side shout in Pantoran and draw their swords. One of them pulls his arm back to swing down, but Ahsoka catches his fist and punches him in the face. His head snaps back and a tooth pops out of his mouth.

Barriss ducks under Ahsoka’s arm and reaches out for the second guard. She uses the Force to bat his sword away and closes the gap between them, grabbing his wrist and locking her elbow so that he can’t swing the sword anymore.

Ahsoka disarms her guard and lets the sword fall the floor with a clatter. She takes him by the throat and lifts him off the floor, then slams him into the wall. The guard slumps, and she lets him go. Past him, further down the hall, are more guards. They run towards her with their swords out. Ahsoka growls.

The second guard’s sword slips from his fingers as Barriss renders his entire arm numb, and she steps onto the hilt with her boot to keep it from being picked back up. He punches, but Barriss swats his fist away and begins rapidly slapping him where he’s open: across the neck, the stomach, the chest. With each movement, she’s grabbing on to either his sleeves, or his wrists, to control him until she tugs on both of his arms to bring him in. As soon as his head is within range, Barriss grabs his face with both hands, putting him to sleep.

Ahsoka picks up the door and flings it down the hall at the oncoming guards. They shout and some of them duck out of the way, but the ones at the back don’t see it until it’s too late, and they’re hit.

The rest of the guards slow to a stop, wary. They retreat when Ahsoka takes a step forward.

“Surrender,” she says, and they stare at her in confusion. “Ah kark, I forgot. They don’t speak Basic.”

Anathi steps out into the ruined hallway, glaring at the remaining guards.

“Kunika!” He bellows. The guards glance at each other, then fall to their knees.

Thandi is a wonderful musician, although her best instrument isn’t the uhadi. She’d make a lot of credits if she got better at the uhadi, as traditional musicians are a disappearing kind, but not as many credits as she would make playing the stringed batanga. Thandi switched to the batanga after playing just one piece on the uhadi, and she’s played complicated song after song since, her fingers flying up and down the instrument’s neck.

Riyo sits in one of the chairs set around the room, watching. She’s didn’t take to music as a youngling; she never really had time to pursue the art, but she admires musicians just the same.

Halfway through the first piece, Xola came into the room. She gave everyone a tight smile, sat in the chair next to Riyo, and listened to Thandi play. She hasn’t moved much since.

Then Paki comes in. He silently crosses the room and leans down to whisper in Mfuneko’s ear. After a few seconds, Paki straightens up and goes to the back of the room, leaving Mfuneko stone-faced. He turns to Riyo.

“Are you a spy?” He asks. Thandi falters and stops playing, and Xola looks at them in confusion.

“No, and I’m insulted at the accusation,” Riyo says.

“Do not lie to me, Senator. Your associates were caught in the cellars, which are off-limits to guests. They were snooping; you are all spies.” Mfuneko’s voice takes a dangerous tone.

Riyo meets his eyes with an even gaze. “We aren’t spies, your grace. What we are is investigating the alleged death of your father, Count Anathi.”

Thandi and Xola gasp.

“If you required proof, all you needed to do was ask! This is a grievous breach of trust and etiquette. We did not elect you so you could come into our homes and pry into our sensitive business,” Mfuneko shouts.

“Mfuneko, wait,” Xola says. She puts a hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off and stands up. He looms over Riyo, who doesn’t move.

“The people shall hear of your duplicity, Senator. Your political career is over.”

“I strongly disagree.”

“How are you so calm about these accusations?”

CRASH.

A commotion erupts elsewhere in the house, and Paki runs out of the music room.

“That’s how,” Riyo says. She and Mfuneko glare at each other for an extra moment, then they both scramble to follow Paki. Riyo slips and almost falls, but Thandi grabs her arm as she runs past her.

“Come on, Senator! Let’s go!”

They follow Mfuneko down to to main hallway, right next to the foyer, where they find Ahsoka and Barriss fighting off the guards. Ahsoka picks up a door and hurls it at the attackers as if it weighs nothing, while Barriss slaps a guard into submission, her hands a blur.

“Whoa. Senator, your friends are really cool,” Thandi says.

“Surrender!” Ahsoka shouts, but when none of the guards obey, she sighs. “Ah kark, I forgot. They don’t speak Basic.”

An old, disheveled man steps out behind Barriss and Ahsoka. His gold eyes blaze with anger. “Surrender! Surrender now!”

There’s a pause as the guards hesitate, then one by one, they toss their weapons away and kneel, revealing Mfuneko and Paki. The two of them gape at the old man in horror.

Thandi’s grip on Riyo’s arm tightens. “Baba?” She asks.

“Anathi,” Xola whispers, her eyes wide.

“Run!” Mfuneko and Paki turn and sprint to the front door. They trip over discarded weapons and over the kneeling guards, but they manage to keep upright.

Barriss gasps. “They’re going to get away!”

“No, they won’t! Get down!” Ahsoka picks up a sword and pitches it at them as hard as she can. The blade flashes in the light as it whips through the air.

“Ahsoka, no!” Barriss moves to stop her, but is too late. Thandi and Xola scream.

But the sword misses Mfuneko and Paki entirely and embeds itself through the doorframe and into the door itself, jamming it closed. Paki grabs the sword handle and tries to pull it out, but it’s stuck fast. He staggers back and falls to his knees.

“We’re done.”

“No, get up!” Mfuneko frantically tugs at the door in vain.

“We’re done! Stop!” Paki’s shout echoes through the silent house.

“Mfuneko. What have you done?” Xola asks.

Mfuneko turns to face Anathi, his face all purple. “Ruling Bravado has long since overwhelmed you! Your foolish insistence that we not industrialize keeps our people poor! You think I’m still a child?”

“Are you mad?” Anathi screams.

“I am not mad! You should have made me the heir! I know you’ve never liked me! Which one of you have ever cared about me? Which of you has ever thought about me?” Mfuneko starts crying halfway through his speech.

Xola sobs. “He is your father!”

“And I should have killed him!” Mfuneko thunders. “I hate him! I hate you all!”

A deafening silence follows. Ahsoka and Barriss lean down to whisper to Riyo.

“What are they saying?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Riyo absently whispers back.

Xola draws herself up, enraged. She goes around Thandi and Riyo and slowly crosses the foyer towards her son, her footsteps filling the silence. The guards shuffle to the side to let her through, and the closer she gets, the more Mfuneko backs away until he is pressed against the front door. Even though he is head and shoulders taller than his mother, he cowers now before her.

Thandi buries her face in Riyo’s shoulder, and even Paki and the defeated guards look away.

Xola slaps Mfuneko across the face.

Barriss, Ahsoka, and Riyo stay put as Anathi orders Mfuneko and his conspirators to be locked in the cellar, in the remaining prison cells, and the staff escort them down. Thandi waits until they are out of sight before running to her father.

“Baba!” Thandi envelops him in a hug, crying. Anathi laughs, then kisses Thandi’s forehead and murmurs something to her in Pantoran. Xola watches them with tears in her eyes.

Barriss smiles. While they weren’t supposed to come here at all, it’s difficult to consider this wasted time. She could think of worse things to do other than returning a man to his family.

“Senator, Master Jedi, you have my deepest thanks,” Xola says in a thick voice.

Riyo smiles. “It’s the least we could do, my lady.”

“Please, please come with me to the parlor,” Xola says.

Along the way, she gives gentle orders to Ila, Alack, and the rest of the staff. They bring out brooms, dustpans, and other tools to help clean up the aftermath of the fight. Alack goes to the embedded sword and grunts as he tries to pull it out.

In the parlor, Xola sits in the armchair and gestures to the couch. Riyo sits down, followed by Ahsoka and Barriss, who flank her.

“What can I do to repay you?” Xola asks.

“Live well. “My job is to serve the Pantoran people. Your happiness is reward enough,” Riyo says. Both Ahsoka and Barriss turn to stare at her. It’s astounding how gracious she can be. How effortless she makes it look.

Xola shakes her head. “There must be something more.”

“Perhaps access to a comlink. We need to message Defiance about urgent matters.”

“Alas, we don’t have a comlink strong enough here.”

“Isn’t there one in the local college?” Barriss asks.

“No, they tore the comlink tower down to build a more advanced one. It won’t be ready for another month.” Xola stands up and goes to the door, where she beckons to one of the staff. After a whispered conversation, they leave and return with a tray of supplies. Xola takes the tray with thanks, then sits back down in her chair. On the tray are flimsies, a handheld embosser, a stylus, and a small, velvet sack.

“All Galactic Senators are equipped with the latest portable comlinks, yes? You would be able to com Defiance from here if you had yours,” Xola says.

Riyo flushes indigo. “I might have been robbed, my lady. You’re rather perceptive.”

“Once does not become a countess through ignorance, Senator.” Xola takes up the stylus and begins writing in elegant script. “No identichips, no comlink. We must fix that.” She finishes the letter with a flourish and embosses it, then folds the flimsi and puts it into an envelope. She embosses flap of the envelope too, then seals it. Ahsoka whispers to Riyo.

“Was your letter of rec for Sanele supposed to look like that?”

Riyo sighs. “Yeah.”

“Please take this letter to vouch for your identity, and these five hundred credits with our thanks.” Xola holds the envelope and the velvet sack out.

“My lady, it is too much. The letter will do,” Riyo says.

“All Snow Walkers need basic supplies, and it won’t be the first time this house has funded you. It won’t be the last either. Now take these gifts.”

Riyo takes them and slips them into the interior pockets of her suit jacket. “What will you do now?”

Xola puts the tray to the side with a sigh. “There is much to do. We must auction off all of the tacky decorations Mfuneko bought, and then we must clean up the aftermath of that little skirmish. I must send messengers into town to muster the Bravado Security Force, to call back the hunters and open up the piers, and also to the records office to revoke my husband’s death certificate. I must also send word to Dumi that it is safe to come back. And then…and then perhaps I might have dinner with my family. Will you stay the night?”

Riyo glances at both Barriss and Ahsoka, and Barriss must have looked uncomfortable, because she says, “We must be off, my lady. Snow Walkers have long journeys.”

Xola gives them a warm smile. “Of course. Defiance is but a ferry ride away. Should any of you come back, this house will always be open to you.”

Want to read this on Ao3 or on FF.net? Click here for the links. 

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #Ahsoka Tano #barriss offee #riyo chuchi #fanfiction #fanfic #artillery writes

[queenslasharchive]

Fathoms Below

Features: Anderson’s Little Mermaid and Jolly Sailor Bold by Disney

Merry Christmas!!! @matcha-maru 

“Upon one summer’s morning, 

I carefully did stray

Down by the Walls of Wapping,

Where I met a sailor gay.

Conversing with a young lass

Who seemed to be in pain,

Saying, William, when you go

I fear you’ll ne'er return again.”

Brian woke up, when he felt a small hand tug sharply at the end of his curled ponytail. 

It was his one vanity, sea-foam green in color and always intricately braided back with ribbons and sea-glass or fragile shells, anything pretty and decorative that the strands could hold. Currently it was tossed over one shoulder, long and thick as a fist. 

And the next time that little hand reached for his braid, he caught it deftly without a second thought, thanks to the inborn reflexes of an apex predator, quickly recognizing the rough callouses from holding a drumstick on the pads of the fingers. Along with the gnarled little scar on the thumb web, a memento from a bad run in with some fishing-line when they were children. 

“Angel, why the hair? Why must you always go for the hair?”

He didn’t even need to look over, or even open his eyes, to see his lover pouting in bed beside him, their love-nest illuminated by the foggy window, torrential rain was falling outside, the smell of Roger and rainstorm was heavenly, better than any of the scented candles Freddie would drag in and light up in the flat. 

For the ambience, darling!

The delicate hand he still held by the wrist, twisted into a familiar vulgar gesture. 

“Yes, Roger. I love you too,” He yawned, showing all his teeth, naturally asserting dominance over the boy he’d loved for just about all of his life. 

“Brimi, you’ve been sleeping forever.” Ah, yes, the bitching to remind him that his lover was eternally five years old.

He grunted an affirmative, he had been sleeping forever.

Roger could have said a million other things and Brian would have happily agreed for five seconds more peace. The only thing that spurned his wakefulness was the heavy weight that Roger laid on his chest. A wrapped parcel. 

He blinked open his mismatched eyes to see the blonde looking at him with the most impish smile, biting at the corners of his mouth in excitement. “Happy Anniversary, Ariel.”

Inside was a book, but not just any book. 

It was a beautiful copy of Anderson’s fairytales, the kind with a fat embossed cover and words that seemed to come off of the page, pictures etched by hand, from old ink-wells and feather quills. 

“Rog, its beautiful.” He gasped, it practically took his breath away. He didn’t even mind the silly nickname. “Would you like me to read you something?”

The devilish blonde nodded into the guitarist’s narrow pigeon chest, like that was what he’d wanted all along, his ear resting just over Brian’s heart, lulled by the sound of the beat as his current pillow was so often lulled by the lapping waves of the sea.

Sometimes Brian wondered how it was possible to love someone so much. To be happy to watch your heart live outside of your body. To be resigned to the fact that you would never, ever be enough for them. That you would never ever deserve them. 

“Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects…" 

Rog snored a little in his sleep, snorting like a piglet, and Brian couldn’t keep the fond smile off of his face. 

‘“When you have reached your fifteenth year,” said the grandmother, “you will have permission to rise up out of the sea, to sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships are sailing by; and then you will see both forests and towns.”’

Bri slowly slipped his own thick red bracelet off his wrist, a small clunky chain, with one hand and squeezed it tightly until it was a thick red blanket, one that he tucked securely around the both of them. His cohuleen druith. His soul. The mark of a Merrow. One who would always belong to the sea. 

“At last she reached her fifteenth year. “Well, now, you are grown up,” said the old dowager, her grandmother; “so you must let me adorn you like your other sisters;” and she placed a wreath of white lilies in her hair, and every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess to show her high rank.

“But they hurt me so,” said the little mermaid.

“Pride must suffer pain,” replied the old lady.“ 

Then as if he’d thought better of the change, the blanket melted away, until it became a sold tiny ring that nearly fell into the crevice between them.

Its base was a twisted circulatory system, redder than the most glittering garnet, deeper than the most ravishing ruby, all of the tendrils curling in towards the center, where an enormous creamy white pearl rested.

Pearls that size were only found in the deepest, darkest and most treacherous parts of the sea. No mortal bride would ever have a pearl that big. No one but his Roger, who deserved so much more than Brian could ever give him. 

He slipped it onto Roger’s hand as delicately as he could, kissing the blonde halo of hair that he had known for most of his creation. 

“Happy Anniversary, my prince.” My love. 

-X-

Freddie asked how they’d met once, as he and Deaky had sat huddled on the couch.

Brian and Roger had been wrapped around each other as always, lying on the floor in a heap, practically nose to nose. Simply existing in each other’s presence as they were wont to do. 

“You know what I’ve always wondered? How did you two meet, darlings? Was it love at first sight? Lust?”

Instead of rolling his robin-egg eyes, Roger had flashed that same wicked gremlin grin of his. 

“At the beach when we were kids. So I’m not sure I wanted into his trousers quite yet.” His voice turned wistful as his tongue peeked out of the corner of his round lips. “Although it certainly didn’t take very long.”

All joking aside, Roger had only been five years old then, running rampant in Truro, the tiny little fishing port that it was. Small, homely. 

He had known his way around the stones and rocky shoals of the local beaches like the back of his hand, even back then. And so was often left to play there alone. 

The feckless child had wandered too close one day however, just after a storm, a frightening squall, when the beach was fraught with debris and danger, the shoreline was slick and the waters dark and murky.

Hiding the remnants of ships smashed to bits, and he likely would’ve died on the jagged rocks that peppered the wide-open breaks, if a long webbed hand hadn’t stopped him in his descent.

The hand had belonged to an older boy sitting up on the aforementioned rocks, who had managed to snag the back of the untucked and oversized school uniform shirt that Roger wore, with his predatory reflexes.

Having done so, only seconds before the blonde would’ve met an untimely end in the watery depths below. 

Fathoms below.

Roger had whimpered softly at the sensation of it all, sniffling more so out of shock than fear, as the youth gently placed him into a little dip, an alcove on the rock’s side. 

“That wasn’t very smart.” Brian had sighed, clucking over the bright red blood that welled up from a small gash on the young drummer’s knee.

Running on the slopes like a little fool. 

Rather lacklusterly, he’d mopped at it with the corner of the bright and violently red hoodie he wore.

But Roger had paid no mind at all to his battle wound and was far more interested in gawking at his odd-looking savior. 

Brian, long before he had introduced himself as being so, long before his name even was so, with his long wet hair that hung in tangles around his round face and trailed far down his back, green of all things, was certainly a sight for sore eyes. 

His hair was green like the seaweed that stunk in the hot summer’s sun and washed up in clots on the sand.

His pale hands were webbed between the first-knuckle, as were the toes on his flat feet, and his shining eyes were strange.

Two completely different colors, one was the beautiful blue-green color of splashing sea-foam, of playful days spent in the surf, the other was so dark blue-violet that it was like the sea during a tempest, fierce and frightening, a warning to all who dared come close.

Rog had cried out then, not at Brian’s odd appearance, but because the salty water pressed into his aching knee stung like St. Elmo’s Fire.

He flinched away from the tsking youth, who hummed a soft apology. “It’s a natural disinfectant. But you’ll want your Mum to take a better look when you get home.” 

Roger’s Mum had always been a special kind of woman. (It was she who would adopt Brian as her own, when he finally came from the water and chased her cruel husband away). 

An inquisitive girl even as a grown woman, full of freckles playing peekaboo on her exposed shoulders and impossibly red tresses that curled up and around her like the embers of a dying flame. 

As a child she’d so eagerly swam with the seals that basked on the shoals of the beaches, near her sleepy little village home.

And would often nap on the sunbaked windswept hills near the cliffs, once the day’s play was done. 

As a little girl she’d believed in the old stories and songs that permeated everyday life there, like an invisible presence, a gentle fleeting touch of old.

At night, she listened for the banshee’s wailing cries, and tried to catch a glimpse of a dullahan on his glossy black steed. She could recite the tales of Lir’s Swan Children and the Tuatha Dé Danann who made their home in Tír na nÓg, the land without time. 

But above all else, Rachel, whose Gaelic name was Muirín ‘born of the sea’, was a child of the surf and sky. 

It was her second home and her father often joked, fluffing her red curls with his calloused hands of fishhook and twine, that she would marry a Selkie and have half-seal babies one day. 

He was wrong. 

The man she married was a cruel cold man of the earth, who treated her like silt beneath his boots and little more than a dirty maid.

Yet she bore him one son, born with his sandy locks and her face.

She would run into the crashing crystal blue surf with her baby boy perched on one hip and he would shriek and cling to her curls with joy. And eventually with the years, he grew to be big enough that they could run in and jump out together.

The man she married slowly stole the life from her body, the song in her soul. 

Eventually she simply collapsed on the beach outside their cottage in the middle of the night, crying desperately, desolately into the sand.

Screaming for something, someone, begging.

The pockets of her dress were loaded down with cowrie shells and other heavy island debris, her long red curls rocked with the waves of the ocean that swallowed her up. Swirling, twirling russet-red. 

But she didn’t drown. Her son was not left without a mother. 

She woke up with a mouthful of sand and a pair of vivid mismatched eyes just inches away from her own. 

He stayed.

So she was unafraid of leaving her child unattended in the surf.

Muirín Taylor was a woman who grew up with the spirits of Ireland dwelling safely in her heart.

She was unfairly hurt and wronged by a life that she shouldn’t have lived in the first place. The poor girl eventually gave up and forgot the old ways of her once vibrant world, but they never forgot her.

When she cried, the ocean listened. 

When her son cried, the ocean listened. 

Brian sat on his rocky perch and waited, listening. 

Then the little drummer boy noticed that the red hoodie was all that the older boy wore. 

“Where are your clothes?!" 

Brian had simply shrugged, tossing back his hair and batting those unforgettable eyes. 

“I don’t need any underneath the water.” 

Roger still hadn’t picked up on the strangeness of it all. It would be years still, before he saw the bloody red tail that could cut through the surf like butter, the scales far sharper than daggers that glittered in the moonlight, the predatory teeth and slitted eyes, made for tracing the movement of appetizing prey. The true apex predators of the deep. 

"You live in the water?" 

Brian had nodded. 

"On a boat?" 

The mismatched eyes creased slightly when he frowned, and then he’d just shaken his head to the contrary. 

"No, not on a boat.” An obliging smile graced his wind-chapped lips as he finished the makeshift bandage. “You should be heading home though, this place is not safe for your kind, especially not for one so young." 

It was far more than the suggestion that his soft tone alluded to, it was a warning. 

Now Roger may have only been a child then, but he was a child who knew the sound of angry voices and the touch of violent hands.

Perhaps even better than the gentle and soothing ones that he had always craved. His father was not a patient man, and he felt even less inclined to give favor to a son who had still shown no promise at anything of value. 

Roger had been beaten senseless many times, and for an instant, he feared that the boy on the rocks with his too-sharp teeth and strange eyes may do the same. 

As if Brian had been the same sort of monster that Roger had come to fear.

Then, just as he was standing once more, hunger pangs hit him sharply and his stomach let out a growl that just wouldn’t be stifled.

He was mortified, sick, by the loud sound and flinched away, wrapping his hands tightly around his concave middle and waiting for the angry hands and yells that would often follow such rudeness.

But none came. 

Only the gentle concerned eyes of the boy Brian was, who seemed to realize the true extent of the younger child’s plight before him, within the same breath. 

Webbed pale hands helped Roger to sit down once more. 

"Sit. Stay." 

Twin orders, that would most assuredly be followed, before Brian stood upright, balanced in a single graceful motion and dove into the frothing waters below.

Roger thought he saw a hint of something red and shiny, perhaps even a fin, but it soon left his field of vision before he could see properly.

When the older boy returned it was with four fat fish being tossed up onto the rock-face, before he climbed there as well. Green hair flying haphazard with the wind and his red hoodie sticking to his skin as if loathe to leave it. 

Three of the still-quivering fish were pushed towards Roger, while one was seized by Brian himself and a mouthful of flesh torn away, revealing shock-white bone and dripping entrails. 

He swallowed the chunk whole and even licked his lips before foisting the messy carcass into Roger’s hesitant little hands, as if expecting the child to do the same.

Abject horror was plain as day on the little one’s face. 

"Oh.” It seemed to dawn on the older boy then as well. “You cook fish." 

The blonde child nodded vehemently, and was quick to hand the masticated fish back with a grimace. 

Brian reclaimed it with another little laugh, devouring the rest with a terrifying speed and ferocity that almost brought back Roger’s original fear, or would have, if it hadn’t been belied by the funny faces the green-haired beanpole kept making to assuage them. 

He then softly instructed the younger boy on how to hold the three fish all at once, to transport them safely back to his family.

Roger and Rachel would eat well for one night at least. 

The odd youth guided the tiny boy away from the broken rocks and back onto the dry land.

And surely would’ve left right then, but Roger, as if expecting such an escape, had hastily seized a small webbed hand within two of his own. 

“What’s your name?" 

Brian had paused for a moment, before almost sighing the word, ”Muirgeilt.“ Sea-wanderer. 

"That’s a pretty name… But I can’t really say it properly. Do you have another one? I’m Roger Meddows Taylor.” So proud of it. Like he'd practiced saying it aloud with conviction. 

A small sad smile graced the elder’s lips. 

"It is very nice to meet you, Roger. You can call me whatever you’d like.”

”…If I come back tomorrow, with a name, will you be here?“ Pleading eyes.

Brian turned his head slightly, angled towards the ocean as if called by some silent siren song. One hand touching the place where Roger’s blood had seeped into his red hoodie. 

"Yes, I will be."  Forever it seems. 

And he was. 

“Yeah.” Brian smiled, years upon years later, slowly eskimo-kissing the love of his life, who still rested in his arms. What a wonderful thing, to be able to hold one’s whole world. 

“At the beach when we were kids.”

-X-

“My sailor is as smiling

As the pleasant month of May

And often we have wandered

Through Ratcliffe Highway…

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold.”

#maylor #deacury #submission #au #brian: merman #relationship: established #fic #secret santa gifts

[missameliep]

The Pursuit of Happiness - Chapter Five: As time stood still

Book: Desire & Decorum

Word count: 4.184

Notes: First, English is not my native language and it’s been a long time since I last wrote this much. So, if there are mistakes, let me know. I will appreciate the feedback. Second, it’s my first fanfic and I was going to write a short story, one scene, but the story got longer and there are a couple more chapters… Just wanted to share it.

Characters belong to Pixelberry and I just borrowed them. ;)

The day begins very early for all the servants everywhere and it wasn’t different at Edgewater. There’s so much to be done before the master of the house and his family wakes up: boil water, stoke the fires, prepare the meals and get the whole house tidy. This particular morning, the one after the funeral of the Earl, none of them were at easy with the fact that the Countess Henrietta was ordering them around. The woman woke up earlier than usual and, before she left to tend to some affairs, she gave the orders to the staff and they knew it, right away, that the life of the Earl’s natural daughter was bound to be a difficult one; as it would also be difficult to anyone who would care to assist lady Elizabeth among the servants.

The enormous clock on the entrance of the manor was not ticking, its pointers still, froze in time indicating the hour her son Vincent died. However, the Dowager Countess did not need the clock to sense the passing of the hours, she could tell the time just by looking outside, to the position of the sun and the shadows on the ground. Edgewater has been her home for over fifty years and she could tell the time - and many other things! - just by observing. There was no bell to invite for breakfast this morning, she noticed. After leaving her bedroom, where she had been writing letters, the elderly woman walked towards the breakfast room. The table was set as usual with rolls, muffins and an assortment of breads, butter, preserves and tea.

It was nine o’clock when she sat on her customary place at the table. Mr. Marlcaster was already sitting and eating a small loaf of bread and drinking his tea. They properly greeted each other. Her granddaughter would arrive a couple of minutes later, she noticed how the black of her gown made her skin looks paler, and she thought that she probably hasn’t gone outside for her habitual walk this morning, as she used to before the Season started.

The Dowager Countess motioned for the young lady to take the seat across from her. Soon, everyone was sitting at the table, except for the Countess and one of the mourners. The first had departed very early to speak to the bishop, as Mr. Woods has confided the Dowager Countess when he brought her tea earlier in the sitting room, and still hasn't come back. The other was about to enter the room.

“Good morning, Your Highness! We were wondering if we would have your delightful company for breakfast this morning...” the Dowager Countess said, with an unusual cheerful tone.

“A good morning to you too, Your Ladyship. I expect you have slept well and that my company may not disappoint you this morning.” he bowed exaggeratedly and flashed a smile, looking directly at the old woman’s eyes. And greeted every other person sitting at the table.

“There’s a place for you to sit beside my granddaughter.” she raised her hand and pointed to an empty chair.

Elizabeth felt heat rise to her face and she felt her cheeks blushing. She hoped no one would notice it or that she had no idea how to behave around him after everything that happened the night before.

Prince Hamid raised his eyebrows but accepted the suggestion. Slowly taking his place in the chair at her side. His stare fixed at the Dowager Countess.

Elizabeth and the prince were eating in silence, merely catching glimpses of each other eyes. She was afraid that everybody would know what she has done the night before just by looking at her face, so she kept her eyes on her teacup and ate quietly.

The Dowager Countess, on the other side of the table, sips her tea and moves her gaze from one to the other. She finds amusing the longing looks and their awkwardness. “Young love is adorable”, she thinks.

Hamid takes a piece of bread to his mouth with one hand and with the other he takes Elizabeth’s hand that was over her lap. He squeezes it and the corner of her lips lift, but she doesn’t look at him and simply intertwines her finger with his.

“You are awfully quiet this morning, Your Highness. I expected you would charm us with one of your many famous tales.” the Dowager Countess teased.

He releases Elizabeth's hand and takes his teacup, drinking slowly, his eyes staring at the elderly woman, studying her.

“It would be my pleasure to entertain you with one of my tales, my lady.” he says, fixing a smile on his face, and putting his teacup over the saucer.

Right after he finished the second story about his adventurous time in Russia, the Dowager Countess looks at him pleased.

“How long will you be honouring us with your presence, Your Highness?” she sips her tea and looks directly at the prince.

“I shall be leaving in the afternoon, my lady.”

“I thought you would stay a little longer... Maybe another day or two...” she said.

Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she almost choked with her muffin as she listened to her grandmother words and the disappointed tone on her voice. She coughed, and everyone looked at her.

“It would be rude to decline such a kind offer, but I can't impose my presence for so long...” he puts his teacup back on the table and takes a sideways glance at Elizabeth.

“Nonsense! You stay at least another day. We would be honoured, as I believe you are the first prince to be staying in this house in a very long time... And I am certain your presence is much appreciated. Wouldn't it be splendid if Prince Hamid stayed longer, Elizabeth?” the elderly woman asked her granddaughter.

“I suppose it would be, lady grandmother...” Elizabeth mumbled, her cheeks bright red and eyes fixed on her teacup.

The next half hour, everyone ate and listened amused to Prince Hamid's storytelling. Elizabeth was happy to have him here, but she couldn’t stop imagining what would it mean her grandmother inviting him to stay longer. “Would it be indicative of her approval of him? Maybe she has changed her mind. There could be hope for us, after all...” she smiled at the thought.

When breakfast was over, the Dowager Countess stood up and left in the company of the Viscount Garner and his wife, Mrs. Hughes and her daughter Eleanor. The couple would be leaving soon to Stafford, as they said, and the two ladies would stay another two days at Edgewater. Mr. Marlcaster only informed he had affairs to take care of and left without saying nothing more. Soon, there were only two left.

Elizabeth looked around the empty table, before she could speak, her voice just above a whisper, “Prince Hamid, I would like to apologise for the rudeness of my behaviour last night. It was utterly inappropriate...”

“My lady, there is nothing you should apologise for.”

“But I…”

He lifted his index finger to her lips.

“Nothing to apologise or to forgive,” he grinned.

She stared him directly in the eyes and he lowered his hand, as he heard footsteps. Soon, Mr. Woods and a young servant named Sarah entered the breakfast room to clean the table.  

Elizabeth got up and walked towards the windows, Prince Hamid followed and stood behind her.

“Have you already visited the garden, Your Highness?” she asked.

“No, I haven’t. Would you show it to me? Such a beautiful morning should not be spent indoors...” he paused and leaned to whisper in hear ear, casting a glance over his shoulder at the servants quickly leaving the room, “...besides, I would not pass on the opportunity to steal a private moment with you, my lady.”

She blushed at the thought of being alone with him again, and only hoped her cheeks didn’t look as warm as they felt.

“Shall we go?” he offered her his arm.

The couple left the manor with Briar following them at distance, a sly grin on her face.

“It's the most beautiful day.” he said, his eyes fixed at the sky above them.

“You always say everything is the most beautiful, the most extraordinary… all I see is an ordinary cloudy day.” she giggled.

He looked down at her, an amused look in his face and his usual wide and bright smile.

“When I am with you, my lady, the entire world lights up and becomes even more beautiful. I am just stating what I see.” he winked, and she smiled back at him.

They strolled together passing the rose garden and the carefully trimmed bushes.

She took a deep calming breath before asking him, “Are you staying longer, Prince Hamid, as lady grandmother asked you to?”

“Do you want me to stay longer, Elizabeth?” he asked in return, watching her closely.

“I most certainly do, Your Highness!” she said pressing her free hand to his forearm, a wide grin on her face.

“Then, I believe I could stay until tomorrow. I could not exist for London and all its affairs for another day.” He said, and she smiled back at him. “We are all alone here. Ms. Daly is sitting over there, pretending to patch some clothes. Please, call me Hamid.” he turned his head to the left as he said that.

She looked at the same direction and saw Briar sitting on the grass stitching and occasionally looking at them.

“We’re never truly alone, Hamid.” she said lowering her voice and looking over their shoulders, to where Mr. Harper walked closer to the house with a black mare towards the stables.

They continued walking together. Both her hands holding his arm. He suddenly stopped as he noticed her shawl was falling from her right shoulder. He walked behind her, to adjust it. And as he did it, she felt his moving and touching her shoulder.

“Now you won’t get cold.” he stands close to her body, his breathing on her neck. She trembled.

“Thank you.” she stands still and merely looks him over her shoulder, their eyes locking for a brief instant, before she averted his gaze.

He takes her arm again and they resume their walking.

For a while the sun was not concealed behind the clouds and the day was lit by a soft and warmer glow. She couldn't help looking at his silhouette under this new light.

He thought Hamid was very handsome, even more than Mr. Sinclaire, if she would compare both men. He had the most beautiful features, especially his long nose with the tip turned down. His bright smile and his deep blue eyes are very beautiful, but definitely what she loves most about his face is the nose. It was long but not very big or displeasing and it was just right for his face. Since the day they met and walked side by side, it captured her attention, as it was the only thing she could look without being too forward. Ever since, as she looked at it, she thought it made Hamid more alluring. When they first kissed, it was his nose that touched her face first. It gently rubbed her cheek before she could feel his lips. It made her skin tingle then, and her face blush now.

She was staring, and Hamid felt her eyes on him. The curves of his lips turned up.

“May I be so bold to ask you what you are thinking about, Elizabeth?” he asked.

“You may ask, but you'll consider my answer silly. So, I shall not respond.”

“I don't imagine I would consider anything you could say silly..."

“I won’t tell you all my thoughts, as a lady must keep some of her secrets to her own.” she said.

“A secret? Is it a secret about me?” he asked with a grin.

She only laughed and looked around them, leaning a little closer to his side. He also leaned closer in return, eyes shining bright with anticipation.

“If you would like to know, you would have to catch me first!” before even finishing her sentence, Elizabeth lifted the hem of her dress and sprinted towards the green house. Laughing all along the way.

Hamid went after her, running as fast as he could. With his long legs, he quickly reached her. And as he kept moving in her direction, she moved backwards until her back touched the glass wall of the greenhouse. Suddenly, she's pinned to the wall, each of his outstretched arms at one side of her face. The only sound they can hear is their heavy breathing from running.

“I suppose now you must tell me your secret, Elizabeth.” he said, panting.

She smiled and said, “I suppose I do. However, my secret is actually... an opinion.”

“Then, I beg you share your opinion with me.”

“I was looking at you before and thinking that you have the most alluring features, especially your nose, Your Handsomeness.” She said giggling and slightly bowing her head.

“My nose?” he chuckled.

“Yes, it's pleasantly looking.” she replied.

“More than my smile?” he beamed.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowed wandering around his face. One finger on her chin pretending to contemplate an answer. His stare falls from her eyes to her mouth... Then, as he leans closer, she ducks under his arm and sprints again. This time she slips inside the greenhouse, shooting him a wide grin before disappearing inside.

Hamid looks around and follows her. “The most mischievous Englishwoman I have ever met, indeed.” he muttered.

He carefully walks towards the entrance, looking all around before slipping inside as well. The greenhouse is humid and hotter than the outside, and he cannot see her while he looks around the space filled with a variety of plants and resembling a forest.

“Elizabeth!” he calls but hears no answer.

As he walks by a tall bush and various ferns, he feels a small hand wraps itself around his own hand. She was hidden behind the ferns, a coquettish grin on her lips. He intertwines his fingers with hers and steps closer. She stands still and looks at him expectantly. As he leaned closer and closer, she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. Their noses mere inches apart. Soon, one of his arms encircled her waist and one hand is on the back of her neck. Her hands cupping his face while their lips meet once again. The shawl slips from her shoulders and falls to the floor.

“I love you, my Elizabeth.” he whispers as they part.

He brushes his lips to her cheeks, her jaw and chin, down her neck until his warm lips reach her collarbone.

“I love you too, Hamid.” she whispered, her fingers running through his soft dark brown hair. She felt the rapid rise and fall of his chest when he pressed her even closer. He ran one of his palms up her arm and her whole body tingled, even her tiptoes.

Suddenly, the door opens with a creek and the couple hear footsteps. Startled, Hamid leaps back and takes a couple of steps backwards, joining his hands behind his back. Elizabeth takes a step forward and moves away from the plants and into the path.

“Lizzy, are you there?”

Both exhale and smile shyly to one another as they recognize the voice’s owner.

“I am here, Briar! We’re here.” Elizabeth said.

Briar walks slowly towards them and looks at them, her eyes going from one guilty face to the other, noticing the flush on their cheeks and a leaf in Elizabeth's hair.

“Lizzy, there's something in your hair...” Briar said pointing to the leaf and Elizabeth ran her hands through her hair, cheeks still flushed. And with a mischievous smile on her face, Briar continued, “And you should pick up your shawl. We don't want you to get a cold, do we?”

“Allow me, my lady.” Prince Hamid said as he bended over and picked the shawl. Soon he is wrapping it around her shoulders. Faces inches apart. She could feel his breath again. He could see the freckles spreading out on her nose like constellations... he sighed.

Briar followed behind once they walked outside. She saw her hand grabbing his arm as they strolled back to the manor and their glistening eyes. She couldn’t help but smile and stifle a giggle. A happy one.

“Would you be interested in the story of when I met your father for the first time, my lady?”

“Yes, I would. You must tell me!” she stopped and held both of his hands excited.

“You must know that it is not similar to other tales I’ve told you…” he said.

And she nodded.

“All right. I had been in London for over a month and it was my third session at Parliament. With the aid of Mr. Konevi, I was granted time to speak to the parliamentarians that afternoon. But as they did in my first too sessions, people stared at me, I could sense their disdain as they murmured, many of them would not sit beside me…”

“But that’s horrible!” she exclaimed covering her mouth with her hands.

“It was, indeed. But being who I am you must know it wasn't the first time I had to deal with these attitudes. Although it becomes easier to ignore it with time, to not let them change me and my nature, it never stops hurting. I must admit.” he said, and he couldn’t disguise his frown.

“I’m so sorry to know people act like that.” she took his hands in hers once again.

“I appreciate your concern, my love.” he presses a lingering kiss in one of her hands and the inside of her wrist, never taking his eyes of hers. “That day, as I waited my turn to address them, I was standing alone on a corner. Suddenly a lord felt the urge to speak his mind... He came near me and told me how inappropriate it would be to have a Muslim on the parliament addressing the Houses. He talked about the Crusades, if you can imagine!” he said shaking his head. “Soon, I was surrounded by men listening to his long rambling speech and how it was a disgrace to negotiate with the Ottoman Empire, the kingdom of the Muslims, as he called.” the prince chuckled.

Elizabeth stared at him, eyes locked to his, while she held his hands regardless what it may seem if somebody else saw them like this. Briar stood a few steps away and Elizabeth knew she listened carefully to the Prince words, as her face fell and turned into a scowl.

“He asked the men around me how their ancestors who engaged on battles to free the holy city of Jerusalem would feel about me being there... it was a very incendiary speech from probably the oldest member of the Parliament. He could barely stand up straight as his whole body trembled.” Hamid chuckled again, remembering the ridiculous of the scene. “Suddenly, I heard a voice before seeing the man. Your father came near us and addressed the furious man.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkling, while she listened to his every word.

“He asked about what Christ would feel if he knew they were mistreating a man their equal and he recited something from the bible. I believe it was from the gospel of Luke… He briefly spoke of God’s love and justice. And quickly the men who were around us dispersed. Then it was only me, the old man and your father. I saw how he looked at him, but he never said a word back as the Earl stared him down. From that day on, things got a little better for me, because I knew there were people among them that didn’t hate me for being who I am, that saw me beyond the colour of my skin. And I was very pleased to make your father’s acquaintance. We had dinner that very same day and he invited me sometimes to his London townhouse.”

“I wouldn’t imagine father was so eloquent!” she said.

“It was not just eloquence… As I look at you, you remind me of him. You haven’t known him for a very long time, but you both share the same sense of justice.”

“Thank you for sharing this story with me. And I’m sorry about what those men put you through. You’re very strong to keep doing what you must do, despite their scorn and their judgement, and to keep such a positive attitude. You inspire me.” she said and tightened the grip around his hands.

“We must love even our enemies, as your father said that day...” he shrugged and looked away. He caught a glimpse of Briar wiping a tear away.

“Easier said than done. And you face them constantly. I don’t think I would do it so gracefully, that I could repay them with kindness as you do.” she said and touched his cheek moving his face towards hers. “You are the kindest man I’ve ever met.”

He leaned into her touch. It was difficult for him to talk about these matters. But he was happy to share it with her because she understood the way he felt.

“I don’t deserve the honour of you holding me in such high esteem.” he said and swallowed hard, feeling a big lump on his throat.

“It is well deserved.” she said quickly. “My father thought so too.”

She took her hand off his face and guided him by the arm, so they would sit on a bench near a tree. Clouds covered the sun once more.

“I appreciate you telling me this story. And even more for you sharing with me this other side of you.”

“Other side of me?” he raised one of his eyebrows.

“The serious side.” she replied.

“I don’t have a serious side, you might be mistaken, my lady.” he shook his head and chuckled.

“I want to know all that it is about you…” she whispered.

“What would you like to know?” he raised one of his eyebrows again.

“Would you answer anything I ask?” she clapped her hands together.

“You just have to ask me, and I shall respond or maybe I will distract you with one of my remarkable tales... or with a kiss.” he said while his fingers trailed up her forearm.

“Are you trying to deceive me, Your Highness?” she asked faking an indignant face.

“Never. I would... never... ever... deceive you.” he said while repeatedly kissing her knuckles.

“Then, you must tell me... How is Constantinople like? Does it resemble London? Oh! How many languages can you speak? Have you visited a tropical forest? Or India? Have you been there?…”

“I… Those are a lot of questions!” Prince Hamid mockingly took his hand to his forehead.

“I’m sorry. But I’m curious about it all. I always dreamt about travelling and visiting all these places I read about in books, and you have been travelling and I can’t help it… My curiosity has taken over.”

“Does your father’s library have an Atlas?”

“Yes, it does.”

“Then, I’ll show you all you want to know in the maps. It will be much more interesting...”

Elizabeth and Prince Hamid got up and walked to the manor.

“I can speak eight languages.”

“Eight languages!” she said, her eyes wide open. “Which ones?”

“I speak Turkish, which is my native language, Arabic, French, Persian, Greek, Italian, Russian and English, of course. Although I still have much to learn and to improve my Russian.”

“That’s extraordinary!”

“It’s natural for the royalty children study other languages. My sisters speak many languages too, although not as many as I do.”

“You must have studied so much!... now I believe you did not have the time to run around and climb trees!” she said and giggled at the thought of the young prince surrounded by his books.

He laughed at her remark.

“I only know a few phrases and words in French, that my mother taught me.”

“Your mother spoke French?” he asked.

“Yes, she did. She was born in Bretagne, in France. Her parents named her Marie Hervé, she only became Mary Thompson after she was brought to England by her patron.” she said fidgeting with her mother’s ring on her finger. “She remembered some songs and she taught me a couple of things…”

“Would you mind saying something in French to me?” he said, with a flirty smile.

She looked at him intently and took a deep breath, before she could speak, “Bon jour, monsieur! Comment allez vous?”

He smiled, and replied, “Je vais très bien, merci. Et vous, mademoiselle?”

“Je vais très bien aussi, merci. Je m’appelle Elizabeth. Comment vous vous appellez?”

“Je m’appelle Hamid.”

“I can also count, and I know the verses of some traditional songs... I am not as fluent as you are, of course, but...” she shrugged.

His gaze fixed on her as he contemplated her words and imagined all the possibilities and the travels they could take together.

#desire and decorum #desire & decorum #prince hamid #prince hamid x mc #choices fanfic #playchoices