#IM SCREAMING LMAOO | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chernabogs · 7 months

Note

` I wish I never met you.. ` but with general lilia and a human reader... 👀

this took a turn lmao

Mead & Ignicolists

Inc: General Lilia, human reader (GN), Maleficia, Meleanor, Levan, platoon of soldiers, 1 barmaid. Warnings: War, mentions of death, mentions of political strife, possible graphic description of conflict (village burning), alcohol mention WC: 4.7k (help) Summary: Repeated meetings in conflict can sometimes lead to interesting terms, and debts must always be paid.

Hate does not appear immediately. It’s a slow brewing concoction, crafted from a myriad of ingredients that bubble and broil in one’s guts like a black ichor until it’s all that your body becomes knowledgeable of. Lilia did not hate the humans when they initially arrived. In fact, he’d say he never knew hate in his life at that point. Their arrival was heralded more as a vague notation in the bottom of the meeting agenda—a ship spotted on the shores, with a crew of people clearly not of the fae race.

He doubts anyone batted an eye at the comment. He knows he certainly didn’t, nor did Meleanor, whose mind was too preoccupied with important matters pertaining to the swell in her stomach beneath her dress. Perhaps out of everyone present, it was Levan who paid the most heed, as it was Levan who asked the valuable question of—

“What is it they seek?”

A question glossed over until the intel unit could gather more information. Lilia remembers not missing the concern etched in Levan’s body language, nor the way he leaned close to murmur in Meleanor’s ear. Her brow had arched slightly, her lips turning to a frown, but then her gaze had gone back to the court at hand and the matter was dropped until further notice.

It’s two weeks later—a mere sigh for a fae—that Lilia and Levan are both called to a private meeting. It’s not Meleanor who has summoned them, but rather Maleficia, with her ungiving gaze that held a weight so great that Lilia still finds himself unable to meet it nearly 200 years later.

“Resources.” She explains, her black nails tapping an indiscernible rhythm on the desk she sits at. “They seek resources. Which resources we remain unsure of, but they have been lurking about the mountains and the valleys to our east. They even have a camp.”

“They were not authorized to harvest,” Levan murmurs, his golden eyes wide in surprise. “Is it not protocol to gain permission from the royal authority before digging into foreign land? I do believe that to be a standard for human culture… or perhaps what I read is outdated…”

“It is a standard, for both humans and fae. You would not see us digging into diurnal lands without permission, hm? Lest we wish to have a multitude of curses from their court upon us.” Maleficia’s voice drips with some wry contempt as she slides a paper forward. “I have spoken with Princess Meleanor. We will send scouts to the nearest camp—Lilia, you will be the authority for that.”

Of course, he would be. Levan is being put on house arrest—palace arrest? —as Meleanor’s pregnancy progresses. He’s as valuable as she when it comes to the life of the egg they had sired. Lilia takes the paper and skims over it, memorizing each pattern and coordinate, before rolling it up and pocketing it with a bow.

“With pleasure.”

—

He doesn’t go alone, nor does he go with a small unit. Lilia prides himself as a man who, when he commits, truly commits to what he’s tasked. He travels to the nearest human encampment—on the very fringes of the dark woods—with a platoon. He had tried to persuade the royal family to allow an entire company, but Meleanor had rendered that idea null with a single lightning bolt to the floor.

A rather dramatic reaction in his opinion.

The ride is silent, mainly because Baul wasn’t assigned to attend, which means it’s also a terribly boring journey as well. Lilia’s gaze continues to dart from tree to tree as they move. His breath rattles against the mask that sits snug on his face, making him far more intimidating than his appearance may give. Intimidation is the tactic here. Levan wanted this done democratically—but Lilia is aiming for results. He can feel his body nearly itching for some kind of confrontation as he hears the hisses and snarls of the platoon that accompanies him.

They don’t need to wait long. Within a few hundred yards from the campsite, they’re swiftly confronted by a unit of humans adorned in armor that glistens under the sparse light. It’s silver, and gaudy, and could get them killed within minutes in these woods with the way they look like tiny beacons in the night. He can feel his lips curl under the mask.

“Halt!” One voice command. He looks at them—looks at you—impassively. He cannot discern your gender, as you wear a helmet that partially covers your face, and your armor looks the same as everyone else that emerges around you. “State your name.”

Another rapture of snarls emerges from behind Lilia, which he silences swiftly with a single raised hand. He then takes a step back with one foot and sweeps into a mocking bow. “General Vanrouge, of the Thorn Court. We are curious of our unexpected visitors, and so we arrive with a request for answers to our inquiries.”

He thanks the stars that Levan forced the human language down his throat in the form of too many tomes to count. You observe him—or so he thinks, as he cannot see your eyes—before looking back to the others. “Inform the captain that a representative of the Thorn Court has arrived. With company.”

There’s already tension brewing. He can taste it on his tongue, and it takes the form of a wavering grin beneath his mask. He shouldn’t want a fight, but he has enough pent up energy to do so, and he could tell that the presence of these humans has stirred up stress within the court now, including with Meleanor.

In her condition, she doesn’t need the stress, and that puts him on edge as well.

Your head turns back to look at him, and his masked face tilts up to look at you. No words are exchanged—the conversation between unseen gazes says it all.

—

The Thorn Court doesn’t progress in communications past the sparse camp that Lilia visits, which he learns is nothing more than a scouting camp designated to establish perimeters—basically, a group of low, low ranking soldiers wandering about. They send a unit to the main camp, and that unit vanishes off the face of the earth.

So, they send another, and another, each unit resulting in the same outcome of nothing but vague wondering and whispered words regarding their whereabouts. The assumption is that they’ve been killed en-route. With a forest full of dire beasts and humans, Lilia wagers that to be quite accurate.

He doesn’t run into you again until those tensions have mounted higher, and this time, he’s alone. It was more by fluke than anything else—he had simply wandered too far into the dark woods, his mind fraught with concerns regarding the barrage of meetings he had earlier. Another village burned; another valley stripped bare of resources. The depletion was already beginning to impact the Valleys financial standing—by a fair amount, considering how close to tears the royal accountant looked giving his updates.

When he spots you, you have yet to see him. You’re without your blinding armor and standing at the edge of a lake, a rag in hand and a furrow in your brow. You remain blissfully unaware of the monstrous fae that’s laid claim to that lake, as well as the way that very creature is watching you now from the reeds just a few feet ahead.

Lilia see’s It. He’s quite familiar with It, as the same bastard had tried to drown Levan when they were younger. His lips curl into a grin again. He has half the mind to let It pull you under. That would be one less human to concern himself with, after all. Until, like some horrible divine intervention on your behalf, he hears Levan’s voice whispering in his mind.

Democratically.

He tries to ignore it, but he can so perfectly picture his friend's disappointed face in his head, to the point that he feels a cold chill up his spine like the man is watching this from afar. Knowing Levan, this isn’t too outlandish of a fear.

“Niftehn,” he hisses, his native tongue slipping through as he steps forward from the shadows and—rather than announcing his presence—fires a rock into the nearby reeds. There’s a gaudy screeching sound as the fae—a cross between a scaled beast, a horse, and a man—launches forward in a bid to grab you before Lilia’s next move.

It’s fast, but Lilia is much faster. He has his sword tip against the beast's forehead in seconds, halting It in Its tracks as It tenses, snarling and drooling in hunger and rage. It’s starving and for a moment Lilia feels sympathy. Thanks to the humans, they’re all starving as of late.

“Zyln-imna.” He coos, a shit-eating grin on his lips as he and the creature square off. It gives him one last filthy look before sinking back down into the mud and reeds, until only bubbles indicate Its presence to begin with. He lowers his sword with a sigh and turns back to address you—

Only to find you well and gone.

He stands for a moment, up to his calves in mud, and then scowls as he shoves his sword into the sheath on his back. How ungrateful of you to not even thank him for such charitable heroics.

—

After that encounter, you cross paths several more times, to the point that he’s beginning to wonder if you’ve placed a tracking spell on his body. He even checks his supplies just in case—a childish action. The two of you don’t converse much between the multitude of squabbles that seem to break out as your scouting unit runs into his platoons. He doesn’t kill any of your men—but he certainly guarantees that you’ll all be carrying the message to your superiors, and you return the favour as well.

This back and forth continues for months as the summer season weens into winter's embrace. The first snowfall is cutthroat, as it often is in Briar Valley. The platoon he guides cannot move until the unexpected squall dies away by mornings light, and so he makes the tactical decision to have everyone bank in a nearby village in the meantime.

Unfortunately, as fates would have it, you seem to be doing the same with your unit as well.

It takes a lot of dancing around for him to make sure his men don’t know about your men in the village. He doesn’t want a battle—he wants a drink, which is how he finds himself slinking into the town tavern with his hood up and his face tilting down. As a fae, he should be quite welcome here—but he knows that some villages have declared neutrality, and others in favour of human occupancy. This village he can’t get a read of quite yet.

He does manage to get a drink without much hassle, and he’s settling down in a booth in a dark corner when the sound of another pint slamming on the table snaps his attention up. He hopes it’s one of his men—instead, he sees your scowling face looking back.

“What a sunny greeting.” Lilia mumbles wryly as he narrows his eyes. You sit down across from him and proceed to make yourself quite at home. Months of repeated interactions appear to have made you quite bold. “I could kill you right now.”

“You don’t have your sword.” You counter as you take a swig of your drink. It seems like this isn’t your first one, with the way your sharp tongue is in full effect. “Are you going to strangle me across the table instead?”

“I should. It might teach you manners for once.”

Despite the threats, he has no intention of doing anything like that right now. Instead, he takes a swig of his own drink, watching you from over the rim with interest. He vaguely recalls a quote about ‘feasting with the enemy’ that he likely read during some tutelage session many years back. How ironic that he would be living it tonight.

“You age yourself with comments like that.” You set your mug down on the table and observe him back. Despite the pouring drinks, your eyes remain sharp and alert—eyes he’s become quite familiar with as of late. “People here will catch on that you’re not human.”

He chuckles, giving a flash of white fangs against the dark. “Oh? You think my people will be so quick to rally against me? There must be a reason your unit is dressed in plain clothes, with your weapons and armor well-concealed from curious eyes.” A click of his tongue, and he leans close. “At least the lamb is aware of its place amongst the starving dogs.”

He leans back again as a beat of silence follows. You seem unaffected by his words as you take another drink. “Quaint. Is that your default line for those you meet on tavern nights?”

For a second his mind doesn’t process your words. Then it clicks, and his brow furrows deeply in annoyance. “Disgusting. Your implications are souring my drink.”

“Implications? I implied nothing of sorts.” You touch a hand to your chest and grin a little. “You were the one who put those implications in place.”

He feels red hot irritation for a moment before he stifles it by downing the rest of his drink. Fae mead is meant to be savoured—but with your presence, he has a feeling he’ll finish the barrel by the end of the night. He waves a hand for a refill before his expression softens slightly into one of mild annoyance instead.

“Why is your unit passing through here, anyway? You have already scouted these hills—months ago, in fact. I do recall our encounter then.”

“Quite unforgettable,” you grumble back, grimacing as you do. You’re probably remembering the clash between you both, and perhaps you’re remembering the spirited banter that also occurred. Lilia wouldn’t admit it out loud, but you have the honour of being the only enemy he’s tried to have a conversation with mid-conflict. “We’ve been sent to scout again. I haven’t the faintest idea why, by the way.”

Your quick explanation silences his next comment. He bites his tongue and leans back. There’s a passage nearby that leads through the forbidden mountains—it’s only mildly less treacherous than crossing the mountains directly. He already knows this is what Heinrich seeks in sending your unit here. “How drab.”

“Drab?” You wave a hand for a refill as well before fixing him with a glare. “My apologies that I don’t have exciting news of espionage and murder plots to keep you amused.”

“Oh, I dare say you’re doing wonderfully right now without the murder to boot.” He pauses as the barmaid sets down two new drinks before departing. He tugs the hood a bit lower before taking a drink. “If you’re merely scouting out the passage within the mountain, then that’s hardly worth a full-scale confrontation between us, no?”

Your gaze snaps up to him quickly when he relays your units plan, only for you to see the cheeky little grin he wears. Then your expression falls flat again, and you sigh. “Why do I even try?”

“Because you like trying to play soldier. It’s quaint. I tried hard to do the same when I was still bright-eyed and bushy-tailed too.” He hums. Silence falls between you both once more as drinks are poured and emptied. There really is no need for conversation, and yet by the fifth pint, he finds himself growing restless once more.

“Why are you still sitting here?” He finally grumbles as he sets the half-empty pint down. “I’m starting to believe you’re plotting something.”

“Can I not have a drink with an acquaintance?” You counter, not budging from your position across from him. He narrows his eyes again.

“Acquaintances? Is that what we are?” Another sharp grin. “And how do I get the term ‘companion’, then? Is it a promotion by dual, or do I just need to drop you on your ass a few more times?”

Your leg shoots out to kick him underneath the booth, making him hiss in pain as his hand comes down to rub his knee. “Brat. I should have you dragged out for that.”

“Delarynn surith.” The words that leave you are pronounced so poorly, it takes him a minute to process what it is you said. He doesn’t even recognize it as his own native tongue until you repeat it again.

Delarynn… lord. Surith…

Lord.

Lord bitch.

Lilia can’t help the cackle that escapes him, loud enough to draw a few gazes their way as he slouches over in the booth. Perhaps its the fae mead, or perhaps it’s the scowl on your face when you said those words with such confidence, but the whole situation is coming across as the funniest shit he’s heard in a while.

“Who taught you that pronunciation?” He gasps between laughs as he wipes his eyes. “I’ve heard infant fae speak better!”

“Oh, shut it. At least I’m integrating with the culture here!” You counter, scowling still as you take a drink. Then your expression starts to crack a bit as well, and soon your shoulders are shaking with chuckles. “God, I did butcher that…”

“Delarynn is not del-rye-win. It’s deh-lahr-rin. Surith, though, you did quite well. I suppose it’s a word many who come to the Valley learn quickly.” He muses as he chuckles a few more times before falling silent. The barmaid brings over another pint. “I should teach you some more before you piss off every villager you meet.”

“That would be nice.” You murmur as you take a drink. It doesn’t occur to either of you until a few seconds later that such an occasion would, in all reality, likely never happen. When will you two meet amicably after tonight? Perhaps there’s a thin chance, but you’re more likely to encounter it in dreams than anywhere else.

This seems to dawn on you slowly as you set your pint down. He watches your face, watches the thoughts flit by, before you sigh. “... I wish I never met you; you know.”

His eyebrow arches at the comment. “The feeling is mutual. Never meeting you would mean none of what we are living would have ever happened.”

No war, no death, no conflict day in and out. He would still be working at the palace by Meleanor and Levan’s sides, poking fun at courtiers and assisting in the arduous process of nursery planning. He wouldn’t be leading platoons, spending cold winter nights alone in taverns, and feeling an ever present sense of doom about what was to come.

A curious expression crosses your face. It’s a mix of both contemplation and conflict. You seem to be fighting yourself for a moment before you finally clear your throat and lean forward. “The lake. When you stopped that thing from attacking me. I never thanked you for that,” you begin.

“No. You scurried off into the bushes like a scared little lamb.” Lilia shoots back with a smirk. “Are you thanking me now? You can always do so by covering my tab.”

“No. A tab wouldn’t be enough.” You lean close then, close enough that he feels your breath on his skin. It smells sweet, like the mead you’ve both been drinking tonight, and he tenses at the proximity. A part of him wants to grab your neck and slam you on the table for having the audacity to come so close. Another part, which confuses him the most, wants to grab you there and do something entirely different. “A life for a life.”

“What?” His voice sharpens as your words quickly sober him. You hush him and glance over your shoulder.

“Ten kilometres east. Tomorrow. There’s a unit moving into the village there. It’s a supply stocking mission.” You then lean back and take a swig of your mead, like nothing ever happened at all. He stares at you blankly as you rise from your seat and push the empty pint aside. “Do stay warm, General.”

Before you can move away, his hand snaps out and wraps around your wrist in a vice grip. You look down at him in shock and frustration, and he returns that expression tenfold. “Why tell me this?”

“Because I owe you. I don’t want to be in debt to a fae.” You hiss back, looking towards the rest of the patrons in concern. He remains unwavering in his approach.

“Really? You could have just paid the tab, not inform me of crucial information. Why tell me this?”

“Because I owe you,” you double down, and he hisses at those words.

“Do not lie to me.”

You twist back, leaning close to his face once more. There’s that sweet scent again—although this time he can’t be sure if it’s from the mead or not. “Because I am tired of death, and I have been reconsidering where I stand.”

There’s a pause. Lilia isn’t a gambling man, but in times of conflict, sometimes a gamble is all that one can do. He squeezes your wrist once. “The birch tree, just beyond the village line. Seven sharp. If you are reconsidering, then reconsider fast.”

Then he releases you and turns away with a wave. You watch him for just a moment before you finally slip back into the crowd of patrons that now fill the tavern. He feels that sense of doom in his gut once more as he nurses his drink just a bit closer.

A gamble.

He hopes this doesn’t flip on him.

—

The snow lets up in the morning and it is with this revelation that he changes the course their platoon is moving. Rather than return directly to Black Scale Palace, they would divert ten kilometres east—to avoid drafts, he explains. The platoon moves steadily towards the town line, and it’s at the birch tree that he spots a familiar figure ahead. His stomach turns as the platoon begins to whisper and hiss.

They know you.

“At ease.” Lilia orders them sharply as he approaches you—alone. You observe him with a blank look. You have no weapons, but he searches you anyway.

“I don’t know if I consider you wise or foolish,” he mumbles as his hands pat you down. You could be a valuable asset for the information you know—and that’s how he’ll pitch it to his unit. “Forgive me for the next moments.”

You hiss as he yanks your arms behind your back and binds them tight. “... I think both foolish and wise are correct.”

He says nothing further beyond the explanation of your surrender as the platoon sets off once more, with you now trailing by his side. He considers that he should have blessed you last night—it may have done well to ease the tensions from the others in the group. Perhaps this is something he can do when the two of you are alone next.

The walk through the dark woods to the village you revealed is a silent one filled with a sense of dread on his part. He can feel your unease as well, and it’s beginning to affect the rest of the soldiers. The snow muffles all sound around them, save for their footsteps as they move. They only stop for a moment to recoup before he demands that they push on.

A supply stocking mission is a common mission the humans embark on, and one that his soldiers have dealt with many times. It’s a simple and petty way to disrupt business for the Silver Owls—so he doesn’t expect much of a hassle.

Which is why he’s rendered to a halt when the first faint scent of smoke reaches him. The other soldiers soon draw to a pause as well. Fae are blessed with senses far more advanced then humans, and so the confusion on your face is easily written off.

“General…” one soldier begins slowly, his mask tilting up towards the treeline above. Lilia follows his direction.

There’s a light in the distance. It’s an orange haze, and as he continues to watch, he sees the first tongues of flames begin licking at the sky. A plume of smoke rises—black, as dark as the clouds swirling above—and then grows.

That sense of doom Lilia has felt since this began suddenly ignites to a full blown inferno in his abdomen. He rattles off orders to the platoon before his mind has even caught up with his tongue, and within moments the unit is dashing through the forest at a breakneck pace. He grips your arm in a vice-like hold as he drags you along, snarling with every step.

“A supply stocking?” He spits as he yanks you closer to the clearing. The village you had informed him of was a small plot, consisting mostly of fae families that work the surrounding fields for the grain harvests each year. It’s a picturesque place that Lilia visited a few times on royal tours.

It isn’t picturesque right now. Orange and red clash to create a painting of chaos. Buildings now stand as silhouettes against the great blaze that’s being fed by the grain, and the wooden structures, and the many trees that used to line the village streets. Lilia’s breath hitches as he observes the scene before them.

“This wasn’t what I was told!” You gasp as you look on as well. He can see the abject horror in your gaze, the genuineness behind the fear in your voice. This wasn’t what you were told. Something went wrong, or something else was planned the entire time.

Someone lied.

Someone lied, lied, lied.

But of course, they did.

This is a war, isn’t it? His kind against yours, those who want versus those who have. You both should have assumed that others would take note of your encounters over these past few months, of the banter you’ve had and the grins you’ve exchanged mid-conflict. Perhaps someone set you up to be at that tavern, where he would be that night as well. Perhaps someone put all the pieces in place which would lead for you both to share a night, to whisper words, in hopes that you would tell him what was to come.

He says nothing to you, but the look he gives shows that you are not accountable for this as of right now. He waves a hand for you to be taken somewhere safer than here—after all, it seems you’ve been marked as an aid to his side anyway. He may as well make you one.

Then the scent hits him. Scorched earth: there’s a lingering aroma of charred something. The crackle of buildings crumbling from the heat and the high pitched whine of glass shattering under pressure. His men rush around him, ripping into the village and shouting for backup, for water, for survivors.

And he stands there. He stands there, drinking it all in, his eyes wide yet unseeing, his pupils dilated with adrenaline. Until a laugh bubbles from his lips. A wry, tiny chuckle, which quickly grows into a hysterical cackle, which somehow evolves to a scream of fury that tears apart his throat as it leaves. It cuts through the smoke and the ash and the snow that he can hardly see now from the burning tears—not from soot, not from soot—that blind his gaze.

Families. Children. People who have done nothing but simply exist. He can visualize tiny forms charred black, their limbs stiff and curled in a last effort attempt to shield themselves from the heat they’re consumed by. He can see mothers holding children, husbands holding wives, lovers in their last moments.

He knows it now as he bears witness to fire, as he smells burning memories, as he hears history crumbling to its foundations.

He knows what it feels like to hate.

#twst #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #not even in a romantic sense bro its so vague LMAOO #also just threw a language i made in there for fae talk bc idk man #they scream n shout #im so sorry if u wanted more romance but... man lilia was somethin else durin the war

137 notes · View notes