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Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040 @paintballkid711

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell x ellaria sand #game of thrones imagine #asoiaf

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serphena · 4 years

Text

early days of Cass & Theo (& Kiara)

forgive me the long text that turned out to be pretty much a stream of consciousness type of writing that wasn’t planned out I just sat and tried to get out what I had in mind bc @lethendralis-paints was curious how Cassandra saw Theo at the beginning and how it changed between them as the time went by (thank you btw). I’ve put it under a read more because it’s really long with some tiny illustrations in-between blocks of text.

The thing is, he never intended to even get into the Chantry in the first place.

He wasn't even in Haven because of his clan (because he left them sometime after Kiara was born, to travel around with a group of friends). It was during one of his travels with his daughter (they were travelling alone for quite some time now, almost 4 years) that he encountered the people from the village and went with them further into the mountains in search of some basic supplies (mostly medicine and food), because Kiara got sick after few weeks of a really cold winter. But, the curiosity got the better of Theo and he went to check out what's the deal with the Chantry and all of the people going there (it's a pilgrimage, they said; lots of important people will be here soon, with the most holy leading the talks at the Conclave). What he got from it is that there could be something valuable in there, something that could be useful for later, for when they leave the place.

So he went there to check it out. And came out through the rift, suddenly the "herald" of a god he doesn't care about. So, it wasn't ideal, wasn't what he had planned at all, and now he was stuck with all those people going on about the Maker and his duty and responsibility and that he is there to help them all now, to save them from this whatever it is. And his hand is glowing. And it hurts. Great.

What he wanted was to just get his daughter to feel better and get the hell out, so he was bitter and angry during the first few days. He didn’t feel safe, and couldn’t be 100% his kid is safe, because like hell he will let others know that’s his child. So he hid her the best he could, visiting as rarely as he could as not to raise any suspicions (Leliana’s agents found out later on but he cornered them and begged to keep it a secret, because come on that a child don’t do that to her when I’m the one with the biggest target on my back in this whole place). The older ladies from the village agreed to watch over and nurse her back to health her while he is out doing the Inquisition’s business. Bear in mind, he is trying to get by on his own with only occasional help from others when it’s really the only way to survive and on top of that he has a little girl to take care of. So this all was making him really, really anxious and restless.

That's what started the pretty much hostile attitude towards the advisors and Cassandra - at first his logic was that ‘if they hate me enough, they will surely find another way to heal that thing in the sky (yeah sure that Solas guy explained the glowing hand that belongs to ME is the only way they know of) and finally get rid of me. So he was purposefuly extra annoying. And not much up for cooperation. Disappearing a lot (again, to get to the village, to escape, to feel normal again, to help out people how he wants to do it, to see his daughter because now he is always away and he hates it).

For Cassandra it was a clear sign he is not to be trusted, he doesn't care for others, is rude and annoying and they are stuck with him only because of his mark. She tried to reason with him more than once, but after hitting a wall with each attempt she switched to demands and orders. Somehow shit had to be done, and if she has to drag him by the ear, she will do so.

After some time together (and with the help of other companions also being there, to step in between if there was a need for it) they talked some things out (or, lashed out at each other, more or less, because they still weren't seeing eye to eye much) it was agreed that he will help close the Breach at the temple and then they will decide what comes next. He starts to realise that it's not just someone's whim that he is to stay and basically lead the andrastian club of world saviors, he is their only hope, only way to do anything about this mess. It means that if he were to stick to his original plan, he wouldn't really get what he wanted - to ensure that his daughter is safe. Now all of them were in danger, so if he had to stay with the Inquisition in order to get things back to normal again, that's what he will do. With some reluctance still, but that's when things started to slowly shift. He actually talked to Cassandra. Asked questions. Answered some of hers. Both refusing to speak of anything related to close family (like her brother and his clan’s people in detail, or anyone else he considered family).

During one of particularly long mission and quite a bad phrasing of the reason of Theo's absence (old lady taking care of Kiara mentioned he went to the woods for something, which is not a good thing in Kiara's mind, she got really scared that he will get lost and never come back), Kiara wanders off from the village on her own, in the cold and scared because her papa is gone and she needs to find him before he gets lots. And she herself of course gets lost. That's how she encounters Cassandra, and when they get her to Theo some more things click for both of them. After Kiara goes on about how that lady with short hair (and dark like hers!) was really nice and helped her find him, he melts his walls down just a little.

So now, for Cass he is not a fussy man-child who was really good at getting on her nerves anymore. He still annoys her sometimes, but now he is not so malicious about it. And he smiles more. Hell, he smiles at all, now it’s all genuine. He tried explaining his reasons for being a total asshole, and she tries to understand. So he was doing it for the little one. However his inner circle and advisors would interpret it, he tried to get a fresh start with people he works with now apparently. So, thank you Kiara, the real mvp. It was a key moment, because his world is Kiara, and if she is ok with Cassandra, maybe he could be a little less awful to her. The jokes are now just that, and not jabs at something so it could hurt. The teasing is more for fun.

Not having to deal with hiding the fact that he has a daughter was a big relief, because he didn't have to (but still felt like he should) put such walls between him and others. He is still afraid now she is also a possible target, but thankfully Inquisition didn’t kick him out so he has people he could count on and ask for help. He could sleep more, was less anxious and gave it a go to build actual friendships with his inner circle and advisors (apologizing to Cullen was a big thing, but he had to do it because it wasn't okay to take it all out on the guy).

It was slow, and it was not so obvious, but through his constant tries to get Cass to practically hate him, he learned a lot - what gets her angry, what makes her shut off, what gets her sad, what you shouldn't mention around her (her brother, apparently), what she holds important - and later he uses it to his advantage, because now he knows what he shouldn't do. It was also easier to try and help when he saw her being particularly cranky and he pretty much would always guess right the reason for her moods, which was a surprise to her. Turns out he is really good at reading and consoling people.

Big, big moment of 'I trust you' was when Corypheus attacked Haven and Theo pleaded, demanded, screamed at her to get to safety with the rest and make sure his daughter is alright. (He also wanted her out of the harms way, but he wouldn’t ever admit it out loud). Trusting her with his kid was not easy, but after what they got through together (rifts, time travels, a freaking dragon attack and all the rest of demons) he felt if there is one person he would trust with Kiara, with his everything, it would be her.

#theo lavellan #cassandra pentaghast #kiara lavellan #my art #ocs #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #oh boy its long #oops #thanks for coming to my ted talk

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greywritesfics · 4 years

Text

Chapter Thirty-Four: Surprise

Minori groaned, wincing at the throbbing pain coming from the base of her skull. As she fluttered her eyes open, the image was blurred and distorted as she tried to blink the lethargy away. As she made a move to sit up, it was then she noticed her arms were bound, and she had been strapped to a chair, the heavy clinking of metal followed.

When her eyes finally focused, she noticed the brick walls surrounding her and a musty smell recognizable as stale smoke and alcohol. It seemed she was in a bar-setting. As her silver-grey orbs shot to her left, she was met with familiar crimson orbs, but what caused her to pull her brows together was that she caught the glimmer of worry from his sharp eyes.

"Katsuki?" Minori drawled out to the boy with wrists bound together and chained to a chair.

At the sound of her voice, the others in the room turned to look at her. She finally caught sight of eight villains hovering around her: the warp gate, an unstable blonde who seemed to be around the same age as herself, scarface, and most importantly, Shigaraki; the man who centered her nightmares.

"Great, you're finally up." A masked villain announced, stepping forward. "Capturing Bakugo was always part of the plan, but who would've thought you would have been so easy to get too!"

Minori stiffened in her seat as she finally understood what had happened. The League of Villains plan was not only to capture Bakugo but also herself. As they were alone together in the woods for only a second, the entertainer villain seized the moment and activated his Quirk, compressing them into marble-like balls and escaping into their hideout.

"I know this is sudden," a scratchy voice spoke up. "But won't you two become my comrades?"

Minori wanted to scoff out loud at such an idiotic question, but when Shigaraki's beady red eyes roamed over to her, one hand obstructing his features, she sat in silence, eyes bearing no emotion.

"Spare me your shit and die." Glancing to her left, Minori met the side profile of Bakugo. He had been unnaturally quiet the moment she was conscious. Now that he uttered a concise and straightforward sentence in pure Bakugo-like fashion, a sense of security washed over her.

A television sprang to life from a click of a button, broadcasting U.A.'s press conference, where Nezu, Aizawa, and Vlad King apologized for endangering their students and the new precautions they plan to set. Minori couldn't help but frown at the screen; the audience treated them as criminals.

"This is proof just how unjust society is," Shigaraki remarked, drumming his knuckles across the bar-top. "The queerness of converting human life into money and selfish pursuits with a society that codifies that suspect thinking into its rules. Citizens that criticize the losers who should instead be cheered on. Our battle is one of questions. We want each and every individual to think about these things."

Minori glanced around the individuals' faces in the room, empathizing with each and every one of them. Heroes are supposed to work for a noble purpose, yet many do the exact opposite but are praised and not held accountable for the wrong-doings. Yet, as she sat there, she acknowledged since a young age, life is not black and white. Those labeled as heroes, villains, and vigilantes fight for what they believe is right, doing what they can to gain an advantage to their goal. Every 'villain' is a hero in their own story.

"Society can't relate to what it feels to have destroyed everything you cared about, leaving you with the remains of an all-consuming rage, can't you two agree?" He turned his attention away from the t.v. to face the two and rolled his visible eye at the lack of response, deeming that they wouldn't be a threat, he spoke: "Dabi, remove their bindings."

"You're kidding, right? They'll go ballistic," Dabi, aka the scarred villain, responded.

"Don't worry," Shigaraki shook his head. "Besides, they should be able to tell from the current situation that there was no way they could win." As Dabi demanded another villain by the name of Twice to release him, Minori felt disbelief course through her veins. Bakugo glared at the male making his way over to remove his restraints, making no move to struggle.

"Please understand that we're not just a group of hoodlums endeavoring to perpetrate evil acts. Everyone has different circumstances, but rules, people, heroes; we're all shackled by them. You two understand, don't you?" The blue-haired villain, and seemingly leader, stood up from his seat, slowly shuffling over to Bakugo, who was rubbing his wrists.

"You're right." At the sudden sound of Minori's voice, every single person in the room froze mid-step. "We're shackled by so much from individuals and society alike. And someone like me, judged and criminalized for what my mom had done by every single person, I know precisely what it's like to have everything I cared about to be destroyed. A childhood, a family, a chance. I was there in Hecate, I saw, heard, and felt everything; I deal with rage every day of my life."

Every villain grinned maniacally at her words; the sound of a new companion exciting them. At the click of metal, Twice unlocked the chains around Bakugo and switched to Minori.

"Glad to have you--"

"My desire is to protect others, and I'm willing to suffer if it keeps others safe. The system is broken, so that means we need to abolish it and right our wrongs," Minori interrupted, revealing that she would never voluntarily become a villain.

Shigaraki stepped back at the resolute gleaming in her eyes, cackling mockingly. "How heroic," he laughed, the other villains letting out a chuckle of their own. "Seems like Tatsumaki's legacy skipped a generation."

Immediately, Bakugo shot up from his seat, sending a huge explosion to Shigaraki.

"Shigaraki!" Twice gasped, shuffling away from Minori's chains and quickly taking on a stance of offense.

"Idiots like you take too long to summarize things. Basically, you're saying 'we want to make people hate us, so join us please,' right? Well, too bad!" Bakugo growled, swinging his arm for another explosion. "It's pointless. I've been won over by the way All Might looks when he wins." At this point, everyone readied their Quirk against the ash-blonde standing protectively over a seated Minori. "You can all say what you want, but nothing can change my mind!"

Slightly taken by surprise, Minori felt her jaw drop at his admirable bravery. Shaking her head to concentrate on the problem at hand, she used her free hands and started to work on freeing her feet, catching the comforting words falling from the t.v. "If the villains who've captured my students perceive their determination to become a hero as a weakness to exploit are foolish. We will absolutely get our students back."

"THAT'S HOW IT IS YOU SHITHEAD ALLIANCE!"

"He's an idiot for going against us," Dabi sighed, getting up from his slouched position, his carefree stance changing more into an aggressive one.

"Stay out of this, you guys, he's too important," Shigaraki commanded, picking up the hand that had fallen onto the floor when he was attacked. Holding out a hand, he prevented his comrades from fighting. "I would have liked for you to hear me out. I thought you maybe would understand."

"If you want me to listen, then get on your knees and beg!" Bakugo retorted, crouching down. Minori now stood beside him, free from her restraints as she narrowed her eyes at the group surrounding them. She tried to look around for possible escape routes but found none. Her intense thinking was cut short by a knock on the door, and everyone's head whipped to the side.

"Hello! Pizza delivery~!" A chirpy voice sounded from behind the door.

"Which one fo you morons ordered a fucking piz--"

A deafening crash resounded the space as pieces of the brick wall came crashing down onto the ground. "SMASH!" Instantly, the Symbol of Peace made his presence known as several other heroes barged into the opening. The hero known as Kamui Woods activated his Quirk, stretching the tree vines from his arms, wrapping them around the villains, and successfully preventing them from moving.

"You're done for villains!" All Might yelled out. "Because we're here!"

The door slammed open, revealing the pizza-man, the pro hero Edgeshot. Behind him stood an army of SWAT representatives. "There's nowhere to run. We've got plenty of heroes and police surrounding this area." The criminals now detained widened their eyes at the mere fact that they had failed.

"It must've been scary, Young Ki and Bakugo," All Might empathized, patting their shoulders. "You did well to endure. I'm sorry it took so long."

"I'm not scared! I'm fucking calm, damn it!" Bakugo protested instantly, his eyebrows furrowing. On the other hand, Minori felt relief wash over her in torrents at the heroes' appearance, happy that this kidnapping ended as quick as it started. She threw her arms around the ash-blonde, relief clouding her mind, feeling his stiff body surprisingly loosen under her.

But it seemed God had a way of playing with her because as quickly as she heaved a sigh, several warp gates began to open up, yet different from the Quirk of a recently unconscious Kurogiri. Suddenly, the mysterious black liquid had several Nomu creatures appearing out of the phenomenon, letting out disgruntled growls.

Minori's eyes opened wide at the sight of Bakugo, hacking up the same black liquid that made up the warp gates. "Katsuki!" she cried out, hands holding his cheeks as her orbs wandered over his face worriedly, unsure of what to do, and quickly the material enveloped them.

"Bakugo, my boy! Ki!" All Might shouted, immediately making his way over and attempting to grab them, but fate had other plans because the gate had swallowed them whole, disappearing within darkness yet again. The only thing binding her to reality is the tight grip on Bakugo.

Soon enough, she was met with the ground, her hold on Bakugo finally relinquished as she fell on her knees. Noticing that she was no longer holding onto him, she searched for his figure, seeing his crumpled form slightly farther than her, double over and coughing up the gate's remains.

Minori's eyes widened in fear, her hands shaking at the villain looming over them. Not only was All for One there, but so was the League of Villains, who had been dumped unceremoniously around them.

"Sorry, you two," a deep voice snarled, belonging to the powerful villain.

Minori couldn't breathe. It felt as if someone was choking her. Her heart was racing; all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and wait for someone to save her. For the first time in her life, she deliberately wanted someone to save her. She wasn't one to rely on others before U.A., but something felt so wrong.

"B-Bakugo," she whispered, struggling to pronounce his name a couple of times. The male looked over but wasn't given a chance to reply as a strong gust of wind caused him to hold out his arms to shield himself from the flying debris.

"All for One!" All Might crashed onto the ground, growling at the villain. "I'm going to make you give everything back!" As soon as he finished his sentence, the two engaged in combat.

The moment All for One demanded the League of Villains take their hostages and go, the group surrounded the duo. Crouching into her stance, her shoulder brushed against Bakugo's as they readied themselves for the imminent attack. The villain, dressed in skin-tight leather from head to toe, lunged for Minori, measuring tape glinting as he pulled it out. Evading his advance, she sent an air blast.

To her right, Bakugo was holding his own against the compress villain, sending power explosions. The fighting persisted as every move that made their opponent fall had another instantly running up. Minori's attacks were hurried, but swift at the same time. The fact that they were 2 against 6 became overwhelming-- and the fear that they may lose, or even worse, die, fluttered across her mind.

A deafening crash occurred behind them, and as everyone froze and whirled around, they were met with a massive ice structure jutting outwards. Narrowing her eyes, she spotted three figures as they slid over the ice, and with an added effect from another familiar Quirk, they sailed over. They flew past them, taking into the air and leaving the ice structure.

"COME!" The figure who Minori recognized as Kirishima called out, hand outstretched for them to take.

Minori gasped at the sight of her classmates. How they even knew where they were boggled her mind.

"Minori!" Bakugo called out, crouching down. "Get on!" Nodding, she tensed her calves and lunged for him. Immediately wrapping her arms around him, he sparked an enormous explosion, propelling himself upward and toward Kirishima's outstretched hand. When Minori glanced to her side, she caught the grin on his face.

But the villains wouldn't let the two escape that easily. As they jumped into action to recapture them, Mt. Lady appeared in front of them, taking the brunt of Compress's attack. Minori took note of All for One calling out to his student, but she couldn't pick up on the words. Shigaraki began shuffling backward in what looked like he was retreating. Suddenly, another person made an appearance from the shadows, conjuring an all-too-familiar spout of air, encasing the villains before escaping. Before Minori and her classmates safely disappeared from the area, she caught sight of stark-white hair.

"Mom?"

A/N: Sorry for the late update everyone! I just got out of work so that means update!! :)) I’ve been so excited to get this chapter out y’all! Did any of you expect this?? Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @sslimkim @x-bakudeku-x @iambashfulperson @alex-hale666 @kay-leighjaleesa |?| @somanyfandomsidek @sir-knight-slytherdor @namutheestallion @avengershavethetardis @gheyboux |?| @honeybacon @fckngbored @youareloved-x |?| @ineedmyownname @myaaa-xoxoxox @mega-bastard @soa1eater @succulent-momma @angeldraw @seokookchan @httpglxssy @coconutxraikage @can-i-just-like-it

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two-unbeatable-beaters · 4 years

Text

Scars Chapter 1: A Good Day

Summary: It had been over 10 years since you had last laid eyes on the Witcher known as Geralt of Rivia, and if you had it your way, you never would again. Too bad you never seem to get your way.

Words: 1395

Warnings: None

A/N: Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing fanfiction because I’m pretty sure what I did in Middle School wouldn’t be classified as ‘writing’. So, if you guys could bear with me, it would be greatly appreciated. That being said, on to the story!

You had been having such a good day.

You had slept well the night before, waking up feeling refreshed. You had sold all of your wares on the market, and had earned enough money to buy supplies for the next couple of weeks, as well as a treat for yourself; a bar of your favorite orange scented soap. Upon returning to your home at the edge of the forest, you had set to organizing your supplies and preparing your evening meal before having a relaxing bath and heading to bed.

Your life was simple. You hunted in the forest, killing animals and monsters alike. You would then use what you could and sell what you couldn’t or didn’t need. Living alone, you didn’t need much and rarely splurged coin on luxurious items. Having fended for yourself for the last decade, you learned what you truly needed and what you could live without.

The last rays of light were just leaving the sky when you sat down on the stool in front of the fire to eat your dinner; a simple stew with a hunk of bread. When you first came to the village, your cooking, while passable, still left much to be desired. You had been extremely thankful to the woman who had not only taken you in for your first year in town, but had taught you the basics of keeping a home. Things like cooking, mending clothes, and even how to perform some minor repairs around the house. Growing up as the daughter of a well-off merchant had meant such things were deemed unnecessary for you to learn due to you always having maids and other servants to perform tasks for you. If only you had known where life would take you.

Your mind drifted back to the man who had caused your life to change so drastically all those years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

14 years earlier

His white hair and amber eyes would have made him stand out, even if he hadn’t been half a head taller than almost every other man in town. He had been summoned by the mayor to help rid the village of the beast that had been terrorizing the people of this town for nearly half a year. Every full moon, people would hide in their homes, lock their doors, and seal their windows in hopes of avoiding the wolf-man that would inevitably appear, leaving bloodshed in its wake.

Twelve people had been killed by the beast so far. The mayor, a portly, middle-aged man named Gaius Garber, had ignored the deaths for as long as he could, dismissing them as drunks who had wandered into the forest and gotten lost or as hunters killed by bears. Finally, when the son of one of the most well-off families in town had been found with his throat slashed and his bowels splayed out in front of him, Garber had no choice but to call for help from the only person who would be able to kill the beast; a Witcher.

Of course, this was not just any Witcher who arrived. This was Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, the White Wolf, the most feared Witcher in existence. You doubted there was a person alive on the continent that hadn’t heard the song retelling his battle against the elf-king. A song, whose writer appeared to still be traveling with the man. The lute and lively attitude made it easy to recognize the bard, Jaskier, who worked hard to spread the tales of his imposing companion.

“Quite the brute, isn’t he?”

You turned to see the hazel eyes of Matias Baxter, son of the mayor’s sister, cunt extraordinaire, and your betrothed.

“Yes, I suppose he does look rather intimidating. Though I’m sure killing monsters for a living tends to do that to a person,” you responded, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at him. You turned back to try and catch another glimpse of the mysterious monster hunter before he disappeared into the mayor’s house, but find that you are too late. The only thing you saw was the back of the bard’s head just before the door shut.

You sighed, moving to return home, only to be stopped by Matias’ hand on your shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he pulled you back to him, “I figured we could take a stroll together. I assumed you would want to spend as much time together as we could before our wedding.” He had that stupid, smug look on his face, the one he always had when he knew he was going to get his way. It was hard to deny Matias anything, as he had never been told ‘no’ a day in his life by either his parents or his uncle.

You put on your best smile and told him “Of course, I’d love to spend more time with you Matias, but as it’s already the evening, and tonight is the full moon, I know that my parents will want me home early. Perhaps tomorrow, my dearest heart?” You silently begged whatever higher power there was in the world that he would believe you, sparing you the torture of listening to him brag about his various ‘accomplishments’ and how lucky you were to have been chosen by him out of all the girls in town.

“Right, the full moon,” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “I nearly forgot. Of course, my darling. You should head home. Perhaps tomorrow then?” He released your shoulder only to grab your hand in a firm grip and placed a kiss on your knuckles. “Who knows, maybe by this time tomorrow, the Butcher will have already disposed of the creature and we will finally be able to set a date for our wedding?”

You batted your eyelashes at him, “Nothing would please me more, my love.” This seemed to appease him, for his smile loosened, as did his grip. “I will count the moments until we see each other again,” you pulled away from him and blew him a kiss before you turned and hurried toward your family’s home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sighed and stood up to return the rest of your stew to the pot, having lost your appetite reminiscing about your old life.

You had just reached the counter of your small kitchen when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught movement between the trees through your little kitchen window. The sun had fully set by now, meaning most people would stay far away from the forest due to its reputation of being ‘haunted’. Only a few brave souls, such as yourself, who had experience hunting monsters would dare venture into the woods during the night. This had made it an ideal spot for you to live, as you preferred to be alone. However, it also meant that when someone was sneaking around the forests’ edge at night, they usually meant trouble. Squinting, you moved closer to the window to try and make out what was out there when a frantic knock sounded at your door.

Bracing yourself for danger, you grabbed one of your daggers from the table you had set it on, and approached the door.

You held the dagger behind your back as you reached for the handle, calling out “Who’s there?”

“Please!” a young voice called back. “My father and I are looking for shelter for the night. This is the first house we’ve come upon in days. All we want is a roof over our heads for the night before continuing on our journey tomorrow.”

Still suspicious, you slowly opened the door.

On the doorstep stood a young girl, maybe 14, with long ash-blonde hair and large green eyes that pleaded with you to help her. Her clothes were soiled and torn in places and she obviously hadn’t had a proper bath in quite some time. The only bag she carried with her was a tattered satchel that looked to be one harsh tug away from completely falling apart.

You quickly glanced around, not sensing any danger from the girl, but stayed on your guard. You looked back to her with a furrowed brow and asked “Where is your father, girl?”

As she opened her mouth to speak, a harsh voice called out from the forest’s edge “Ciri!”

Both of your heads whipped around to the source of the call, as the hulking form of Geralt of Rivia emerged from the woods.

The moment your eyes met for the first time in nearly ten years, you both let out an exasperated “Fuck”.

So much for your good day.

-----

There it is! The first chapter in my first story! I hope at least some people will enjoy it and I plan to have the second chapter out in a couple days. Let me know if you see any grammar problems or anything else that needs to be fixed.

- Two

#Scars #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt #the witcher netflix #witcher #my stuff #my writing #geralt of rivia x you #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt fanfic #Two's writing

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herenortherenearnorfar · 4 years

Text

Three Swords Bàoshān Sànrén Brings Home With Her (And One She Never Will)

on ao3

Bùjiàn <不见>

To the world she is a ghost.

No one of merit (if you define merit as the great cultivators do) has seen Bàoshān Sànrén in over a century.

Even before she retreated from everything, she was of a hermetic nature. She preferred the company of stone to that of people, preferred her own thoughts to the demands of society. For a while she lingered with the Lán because out of all the sects they best understood what it meant to be world weary. For a while she even thought she had found a match, someone who could pull her out of her shell, make her corporeal and real, someone who made issues of clan and family seem worthwhile.

Then Lán Yì fell to recklessness, and Bàoshān Sànrén disappeared again.

That night in balmy Wú was the last time she drew her sword.

The little girl she once was, before the title Sanren or the name Bàoshān, named it Not-Seen because it sounded like Not-A-Sword and that appealed to her childish sense of humor. In the dawn of cultivation, when there were a dozen emperors and a hundred little wars, the ability to laugh was a blessing. Besides, her classmates had always mocked her for her withdrawing nature. Wasn’t humility a virtue? Wasn’t introspection, self-reflection, an invaluable quality?

The sword smith was a simple man, whose works would not go down in history, whose gifts were not exceptional or rare. He gave careful attention to each new blade, however, and for her he took especial care. Perhaps a god came to him in a dream and told him this sword would outlast all his others. Where the blades he made for her classmates would rust away on battlefields, Bàoshān Sànrén’s would endure.

Plain black and grey trappings, shagreen leather and camphor wood, a refrozen-ice fuzziness to the metal that made all reflections in its surface waver. A simple sword. A forgettable one. One for the ages but not for the story books.

It is dependable, it serves well, and in some lost years it is the only living creature she knows.

When she first gained wings so many years ago it lay in front of her, a companion in her meditations. When she decided to stay on earth, keep her unchanging body and remain a differentiated object (a long lasting one, preserved by the flow of energy and the knowledge of the universe) rather than a sylph, invisible to men, she chose with her blade in her hand.

Now she is a teacher, on a mountain far from the wars of others. Now she keeps her sword hidden in an old tree trunk, where her students can not find it. They do not need to learn of swords or killing, they can practice with wooden facsimiles and never hear the song of steel. Sometimes she’ll use it to beat carpets or stir their laundry. There is more use for sticks on her mountain than for blades, and she is so proud that she has made it so.

When she does step foot off the mountain (to gather up those unfortunates she can bring away) she sheathes it in a walking stick and never draws it. A precaution that never needs use.

There is enough blood shed in the mortal world, why contribute to it? No thief or highwayman poses a threat to her. She no longer associates with those few cultivators who might be able to match her. Their way of life makes her tired.

Bùjiàn stays hidden, its blade growing dull, its spirit sluggish.

The sword is not a sword. Bàoshān Sànrén disappears.

Mínglíng <冥凌>

Yānlíng Dàoren is the first of her students to wish to rejoin the world that threw him out and she is so, so proud of him.

She invites a sword smith she knows, the greatest in the province, to visit the immortal’s peak and make a blade for her fledgling soon to fly.

All the children, young and old and withered (too many of her students live and die on her mountain, for immortality is not a bar many can reach) gather round as the master builds a blast furnace out of clay and fills it high with charcoal and stones. The spritely ones take turns on the bellows, eager to help their brother, who is meditating deeply in front of the forge.

The blade takes shape slowly, by cold blast and icy river water, until at last it sits in Yānlíng’s hands.

He thanks the swordsmith profusely, as is only right, and when asked for a name for the weapon pretends to give it ample thought. It’s a silly show of contemplation when Bàoshān Sànrén knows he’s had a name in his heart for weeks.

The Chǔ Cí has always been his favorite text. There are few books on the mountain as visiting the booksellers has not been highest among her priorities for the last few decades. In the long winter months her students learn to recite those texts they do have access to out of boredom as much as duty. The little ones chase each other around, tripping over lyrical verse, and Yānlíng holds them upside down and corrects their pronunciation for he is the cleverest young man she’s ever known. Out of all the poems, he likes Guóshāng the best, a fact that worries her though she knows she can do nothing to change his nature.

Respecting his teacher’s sensibilities, he chose his sword’s name from the Dà Zhāo, the Great Summons. A good song about beauty and the joys of the world, the pride of which is softened by the fact that it extolls a kingdom long destroyed.

The name however… the name concerns her.

He names it Deep Ice, after the thick sheets of permafrost that coat the mountain they have made their home, after the river caves he loves to explore and the cold that never bothers him. (What cruelty that her adopted children all hold a bit of Lán Yì’s character, and that Yānlíng Dàoren bears the greatest part.) It is a bit of affectionate narcissism as well, the first character means underworld where the second character of his name means tomb, and the last characters of both are homonyms. Shǎngfá would have been more authoritative, Guīlái more optimistic, yet there’s a presumption to both that feels off putting. Of all the choices in the Summons, Mínglíng is the strongest. It fits.

It worries her how well they are suited, heavy name and heavy boy. She doesn’t like to send him away with a sword bearing the name of the underworld. She doesn’t want him to be destined for cold caves and poor choices. It exacerbates the dread that has been building since he came to her and said he wanted to go and put the world on a better Way.

The doom that sits upon her students has not yet been made clear to her. Old and experienced as she is, premonitions still creep up on her long before Yānlíng finally bids farewell, his black-ice sword in hand as he bows his last.

Against his white robes it looks like a gash, like a slash of ink cutting through his pale back.

As a way of discouraging her students from returning to the world, the depravities of which she knows too well, Bàoshān Sànrén has told them that if they leave her and her mountain they may not come back.

With her edict in mind, she does not expect to see him or his disquieting sword ever again.

Long after the stories of his ruin and death have come and gone, after she has mourned once and moved on from the student she could not save, it comes back to her in the hands of a Lán disciple who claims he has been searching for this mountain for a long time.

She makes it a point to not let any of the great clans know where she lives, and she is going to have to move after this, but she doesn’t mind too much. With him, he brings her students ashes and his blade, blood-rusty and battered and still a piece of his spirit. The white scabbard and patinated metal trimmings, the delicate engravings of ancient warriors locked in battle, the details are obscured by damage but still visible if you know what the original looked like. When she tries to draw it she finds it sealed against her hand.

“We thought if anyone could put his spirit to rest it would be his teacher,” the Lán disciple says. “Soul settling rituals were performed but our grandmaster says it is best not to underestimate a student of Bàoshān Sànrén.”

He does not say, “This is a gift, because you love our clan once and it has only been three generations since then. Some people still remember.”

The Lán are still foolish, like the rest of them, but they are kind.

Burial rituals are simple among her students. They ensure the ghost is settled and all the manifold spirits of the body find their proper place with talismans and small rituals, burn flowers and incense, and pile rocks to keep the animals away. There’s no need to linger on the dead when those who die in Bàoshān Sànrén’s care usually do so as part of a grander spiritual plan.

Yānlíng’s death is sudden and messy, cannot be reversed with great magic or healing that borders on resurrection. His body was cut by a thousand swords and he was burned in the presence of dozens of cultivators. Any spirit that remains would be a furious, resentful thing, ill-inclined to cooperate with the gentle coaxing of her usual rites.

As her students pack up their lives, she makes her way down into the deep, cold caves he loves. When she reaches the fast flowing underground river full of transparent blind fish, she knelt. Bit by bit, careful not to overload the delicate chemical balance of the water, she feeds in the ashes, lets the river take them away.

The sword she keeps on a high shelf above their book collection. It’s so solidly sealed in it’s scabbard that even the most mischievous student couldn’t get into it, and it serves as a warning to those who might think the world wants them.

Her sorrow when she looks on it is for her pupils, past and present and future, and for the troth that was betrayed. When he left he promised not to return.

Jīngdōng <經冬>

Cángsè’s sword-name doesn’t come to her attention until after the woman is dead.

This student, the second to leave her, the first who she knows for certain will come to no good end, walks off the mountain armed with only a stave. There will be no more swordsmiths in Bàoshān Sànrén’s glade.

Instead she gives her a recommendation for a good weapon maker nearby, and tells her to stop there before proceeding to Cloud Recesses. It has been many years but if she’s lucky the Lán will still have some respect for Bàoshān Sànrén’s name.

Her darling, brave girl bows, then embraces her tight, then turns and walks away.

Many years later rumors of Cángsè Sànrén’s death reaches the mountain and Bàoshān Sànrén goes to confirm them. She makes her students swear not to return, she makes no promises about not following after them. It’s not about salvation, she tells herself, it’s about resolution. Cángsè’s fate is out of her hands but at least this time she can make a reliable account to her brothers and sisters, so they know how their wandering sibling fell. At least this time she might be able to bury the body before it’s burned.

Parents aren’t supposed to bury children, but they are not truly her sons and daughters and she’s an immortal. Any filial duty they might have to outlive her is nullified, and she is left with a grief somewhat assuaged by laying them to rest. Though she is empty of desires that doesn’t mean that she’s empty of regrets, or of love.

Staff in hand she follows stories of Cángsè Sànrén southeast, between Yílíng and Méishān. There she hears that Cángsè and her husband (she married some years before) and son (a newer revelation) stopped in town for the season to cleanse the ever tumultuous region. Burial mounds do not make for good neighbours. After a particularly dangerous band of bandits had been spotted in a nearby farming village, they stopped coming to buy groceries. No bodies had been found but there were hills near the village where law-abiding living humans dared not walk, so there had been little real investigation.

Bàoshān Sànrén knows when something is being hidden from her. She pushes harder with her questions and eventually a smalltime peddler in a pub cracks and admits that the donkey the couple kept trotted into town, half dead and carrying a criminal with a slit throat. They’d thrown the body in a ditch and kept the donkey.

“What of the child?” she asks, because even if she can’t save Cángsè she can help her son. Orphans are in Bàoshān Sànrén’s purview.

“Dead or ran off, we haven’t seen him. He was a quick little thing and knew the roads so he might have made for the city.” The man’s eyes make it clear he cares little what happened as long as it is no longer happening in his town.

Saving that information for later, she goes to explore the hills.

It takes some hours to find the bandits hideout, deep in the foothills of Yílíng, though all she has to do is follow the traces of resentful energy that hover aromatic in the air. They have, had, a well disguised and well supplied cavern that reminds her of the burial mound’s landscape a few miles away. Maybe all places filled with dead men look the same. Instead of the handful of desperate men on the run she’d been warned of, she finds three hundred corpses, a small army of evil-doers hiding behind the reputation of Yílíng, disguising their crimes as the attacks of fierce corpses and hungry ghosts, living off the shunned land as well as the terrified people. To aid in their deception they have a handful of ghouls chained in wicker cages or locked in talisman pots. Clever. They’d need some cultivators among their number for that.

Cángsè and her husband’s heroics would have cut them off, made them desperate, until they were driven out into the open. Realizing that they were facing humans but not fully grasping how many their enemies were, they had charged forward recklessly.

They died for it, had bled out surrounded by enemies, lacking even the comfort of each other. Bàoshān Sànrén discovers their bodies on opposite sides of the cave, facing each other but separated.

Perhaps if they’d faced only normal bandits they could have survived but there’s at least one Niè saber pulsing furiously among the bodies and the man (what was Cángsè’s husband’s name? Wèi?) is caught in a spelled net. Exiles, rogues, and wolf’s heads. Cultivators taught their magics recklessly, and good people paid for it.

It will take a while to put all these bodies in the ground, even with her skill, honed over centuries, at burying bodies. This close to Yílíng, they’d only make trouble though, so Bàoshān Sànrén rolls up her sleeves and goes to work.

She saves her student and her student’s spouse for last. After washing and straightening the bodies, she sets their swords by their sides.

The man, a servant of one of the greater clans if she recalls correctly, has an easy enough blade to identify; the purple tassel matches the purple stripe on his robes and the pommel bears dragonflies and lotus flowers.

Cángsè’s blade surprises her. To start with, it’s pinning a dead body to a wall. How lethal her child became, out here among the howling monsters. It looks different than she expected too. Whenever she imagined her errant student she had privately conjured up pictures of a sword like Yānlíng’s, or Bàoshān Sànrén’s own. Stark, neutral colors and clean lines. When she moves Cángsè the scabbard she discovers beneath her corpse is lacquered a bright, new green. Too vibrant to be called jade and too pale to be mistaken for foliage, it reminds her of the newest buds on a pine tree or the sticky color of a caterpillar. Enamel insets of the same hue dot the guard, pops of springtime in a setting of silver. Engraved into the base of the blade, below a branching needle pattern are two characters; Enduring Winter.

(“Away from home, I was longing for news”)

Now it’s summer and Cángsè is dead.

Swords have spirits, it’s true, but they rarely communicate as humans do. There are many things that are alive and do not speak, or do not think in the manner of people. Like a wild horse or a barn cat, they follow their own rules. Unlike an animal they do not tire or grow old, or mourn the passing of the years. Their loyalty is absolute, however, and their intentions are easy enough to read if you know the signs.

As she goes to lay the blade in the open grave next to her student, she feels it shiver in her hand. “Not eager to be buried then?”

There’s no answer. It’s a sword.

“I suppose I can take you back up the mountain.”

It has been too long since Yānlíng. Too many of her students are curious about what happens in the places they left. A reminder of their sister, dead before thirty, and the live steel that took her to her doom will serve them well.

She vacillates over whether to leave a grave marker. When you have lived centuries, such motions seem pointless. A stack of stones, a carved plank, how long do they last? All tombstones are quickly swept away especially when you die as Cángsè did, alone in the woods, with few people to wonder where you went.

Let memory and the records of history fall where they will, cast her as a villain or a heroine, or forget her entirely. Bàoshān Sànrén bowed out of that world long ago. She won’t provide fodder for the grindstone. She won’t do anything.

She does look for the boy. To spirit away the abandoned is a course of action she’s long stood by, because in the end they too are forgotten. With Bàoshān Sànrén they can live long lives away from those who discarded them.

A week of searching proves pointless. She doesn’t even know his name and there are too many lost and hungry children in the towns around Yílíng.

With the spring green sword strapped over her back and a promising orphan girl from Xiāotíng (who has Cángsè’s eager smile and mischief) holding her hand, she begins the journey home.

Shuānghuá <霜华>

It’s many years before she encounters Sòng Zǐchēn again. He is polite enough not to return to her mountain after his surgery and recovery. Even when she hears word of a tall cultivator in black asking desperately after Xiǎo Xīngchén, he stays away from her doorstep.

Time passes, the rumours ebb and flow, and she learns in bits and pieces what a terrible fate befell the latest of her delinquent disciples.

Poor Xīngchén. His nature was so very good, more trusting than Cángsè, more forgiving than Yānlíng. The first of her pupils to surprise her with his determination to go out into the world, the first of her pupils to betray her (because he loved too much for rules or promises). Bàoshān Sànrén knows the spirit is hardy and the soul can never be truly broken. She’s lived with ghosts and raised the dead, she knows that Xiǎo Xīngchén carries on. Shattering is still a painful ordeal. It doesn’t take Lán spirit songs to know that the part of him that remains is diminished and suffering.

She can grieve for that. She can grieve for all her laughing winter children, who went to lower altitudes and melted away. Though the water they were made of has only changed shape they are beyond her now.

Even hurting for Xiǎo Xīngchén she doesn’t seek his friend out. They are both immortal now, or so she’s heard, and they’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Why force meetings that are already inevitable?

Inevitable it does prove. A decade after Xiǎo Xīngchén leaves home for the second time, she comes across him in an abandoned house by the side of a mountain road. When the hailstones outside finally drive her to shelter, she discovers him already settled inside and huddled by a fire. Understandable, without blood to warm the body a corpse would have to be more careful of frostbite, whereas she has not felt cold in many years.

They are both travellers, her intermittently, him full-time, so it’s not extraordinary that they should stumble over one another. It is lucky that it should happen here, in private, rather than in the bustle of a city or a roadside inn.

If there were other people around, people of modest means, they might feel they had to keep their voices down.

He has harsh words for her, and she bears them. She doesn’t make him face his regrets, even though he wears them openly. It falls on the older of their pair to demonstrate restraint. Neither does she hide her expressions (it’s been years since she’s worn any face except the one she was born with) and after he accuses her of driving Xiǎo Xīngchén away, driving him to his death, her grief shows clearly enough that he falls silent.

Sòng Zǐchēn never seemed like a man much given to loud rage. His outburst is an exceptional event, driven by their forced proximity and the anguish that threatens to overfill him. In the aftermath he apologizes, helps her settle by the fire, and offers some of the scant rations she carries.

It’s not difficult to respond in kind, to be cordial to a polite man whose eyes she ripped out of his skull. What does prove troublesome is how her own eyes keep drifting to the white sword strapped to Sòng Zǐchēn’s back.

The story of Xiǎo Xīngchén was also a story of his sword, stolen and misused and rescued too late. She learned its name long ago. Shuānghuá. Her own fault for raising children on the clearest mountain peaks and then being surprised when their first thoughts are of the cold.

When Xiǎo Xīngchén came to her, returned to her desperate and carrying his friend, she paid the sword little attention. Now she cannot help but note the elegance of the piece, the clean lines and floral details. Swords like this are made for the young lords of the cultivation world, chased with silver and spells.

“May I?” she asks, and Sòng Zǐchēn knows what she wants. He unsheathes the sword in one clean motion and hands the bare blade to her.

There is no protest from the sword but no recognition either. Anything she taught Xiǎo Xīngchén was far outweighed by what the world showed him, pressed on him at knife point and painted on him in blood. By the time he died he was a far cry from the hopeful boy she raised.

“It’s a lovely sword. Do you mean to keep it with you?”

“Until I can give it back to Xīngchén,” Sòng Zǐchēn says, voice flat (though perhaps that is the insensitivity of vocal cords long dead).

She hands it back. “Thank you. For taking care of him.” When I could not, when I would not. Given the difference in age between them it would be improper to bow but she does incline her head.

After what has been done to her children, it’s good to know this one lies in safe hands.

The logs in the fire shift, sending up sparks. “... His soul? Could you mend it?”

“Not anymore than I could keep him from walking off the mountain. Be patient,” she advises, “You are a more permanent fixture in the world now.”

“Like you.”

“Yes. It is not a happy path but it can be peaceful. When you understand what you cannot change and acknowledge what you have always known, you find yourself at one with your surroundings.” Seeing friends make terrible mistakes until it can no longer be borne. Collecting children. Collecting legends. Collecting swords. Never calcifying but never exerting undue influence. Knowing that all things are part of a whole.

Sòng Zǐchēn is well on his way to being a proper earth immortal, albeit by a roundabout route, and Bàoshān Sànrén is glad to have his company, glad to have another person to settle swords on.

She leaves Shuānghuá in safe hands.

#baoshan sanren #cangse sanren #xiao xingchen #song lan #the untamed #fanfic

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swanqueeneverafter · 4 years

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The Once & Future Queen Pt.5

Storybrooke. Present. (Xena and Gabrielle sit down with the Reporter ahead of their journey to the Isle of the Blessed.) Reporter: "Xena. Gabrielle. Thanks for sitting down with me today." Xena: "No problem." Gabrielle: "We're pleased to be here." Reporter: "Good. Xena, first to you. Why have you volunteered to go on this journey to the Isle of the Blessed?" Xena: "Well, if you'd seen the carnage left in the village of Howden, you'd understand." Reporter: "Yes, your history of heroics is well documented by none other than your constant companion, Gabrielle, of course." Xena: (Smiles:) "What can I say? She writes me well." Reporter: "Indeed, but is it not also true that this mission will have dire consequences for one of your group? There have been many volunteers for this journey, including the knights of Camelot and Lancelot himself. Why did you feel compelled to add your name to that list?" Xena: "Well I've already said-" Reporter: (Cutting in:) "Was the necessity of a blood sacrifice a deciding factor for you? After all, you do have a history of falling on your sword in the name of the Greater Good." Xena: "Now wait a minute-" Gabrielle: "Xena and I are well aware of the risks involved in this mission. The veil between two worlds has been ripped open. No one is safe from the Dorocha's attacks." Reporter: "So when the time comes and the opportunity to mend the veil presents itself?" Xena: "If that time comes then-" Gabrielle: "Xena will not be the one to sacrifice herself. (Xena looks back at her:) She and I will do whatever it takes to aid the knights quest to mend the veil, but the days of Xena sacrificing herself to rid our world of evil spirits are over." Xena: "Gabri-" Gabrielle: "Over my dead body, Xena. You got that?" (Xena looks into Gabrielle's eyes and knows that her soulmate is deathly serious.) Xena: (To the Reporter:) "You heard the lady."

Camelot. Agravaine’s Chambers. (Guinevere hands Agravaine a ring.) Guinevere: “You have to take this. It bears the royal seal. In my absence, responsibility to the kingdom rests with you.” Agravaine: “What about you. Surely Lancelot is capable of succeeding without you risking your own life?” Guinevere: “Should the moment come where there is no choice but to sacrifice himself, I wish to be with him. If neither of us return, you’re to assume the throne.” Agravaine: “Your Majesty-” Guinevere: “You’re the only person I can trust, Agravaine. You know Camelot and its people.” Agravaine: “I beg of you, for the sake of the kingdom, there must be another way.” (Agravaine presses the ring back into Guinevere’s hand.) Guinevere: “My mind’s made up. I’m just grateful you’re here.” (Guinevere leaves Agravaine with the ring.)

Storybrooke. Zelena's Farmhouse. (With a small bag over his shoulder and a bundle of clothes under his arm, Robin Hood sneaks out of the farmhouse and down the steps.) Woods. (Walking through the forest, Robin turns quickly around at the sound of a twig snapping behind him.) Will: "Well, this is a bit of a turnaround isn't it?" Robin Hood: "What are you talking about?" Will: (Slaps his forehead with his palm:) "There I go again you see. Confusing you with the other Robin." Robin Hood: (Scoffs:) "You appear to be the only one who makes that mistake." (Turns and continues walking.) Will: (Jogging to catch up:) "What I meant, you see, was that back in the day, the other Robin caught me sneaking away while everyone was sleeping." Robin Hood: (Uninterested:) "Did he really?" Will: "Yeah, cause he'd just caught me lying to him. I used him for my own personal agenda. I endangered his life and the lives of his merry men." Robin Hood: "It was probably something to do with getting back to your sister, no doubt?" Will: "Yes, actually." Robin Hood: "Well then, your motives were pure." Will: (Stops and considers this. Then catches up with Robin again:) "It's not as simple as that though." Robin Hood: "Seems perfectly simple to me. You got something you wanted and Robin got screwed. It's the way of the world." Will: "You're really not like the other Robin, are you?" Robin Hood: (Turns to face him, walking backwards:) "Finally he gets it." (Turns back around.) Will: "Yeah, well my point is I can't let you do this, mate." Robin Hood: "Let me do what?" Will: "Let you sneak off on some suicide mission. (Robin stops walking:) That is what you're planning to do, right?" Robin Hood: (Sighs:) "You don't understand, Will. Good or bad, you are who you are. There's only one Will Scarlett, but for me I will always be living in my counterpart's shadow." Will: "So you're going to prove to everyone you can be a hero, is that it?" Robin Hood: "Well it sure beats staying around here and seeing that disappointed look on everyone's face when they realise I'm not him." Will: "All right, I get that. But the thing is, mate, lately I've been on this kind of redemption kick. See, I did the other Robin wrong and never got to make it up to him. Somehow that doesn't sit right with me, so I'm going to do right by you." Robin Hood: "Will, what-" Will: "I'm coming with you to this Blessed Isle and if the opportunity comes up, I'm going to make things even between us." Robin Hood: "You mean between you and the other Robin?" Will: "Exactly." Robin Hood: (Shaking his head:) "I suppose there's some logic to that somewhere." Will: (Patting Robin on the back:) "Good lad. You know it makes sense." Enchanted Forest. Past. Bazaar. (Emma catches up with the others in the marketplace.) Emma: (Laughing, hugs Tinker Bell:) "Tink, that was amazing!" Tinker Bell: (Beams:) "Thanks." Emma: (Looking around:) "Wow, you even brought the whole bazaar here. I'm very impressed." Tinker Bell: "After you described what you wanted, I figured why do things halfway eh?" Tiger Lily: "Well, bringing the bazaar here is one thing, now can you send it back?"

(Before Tinker Bell can reply, a young man rushes past them as he is pursued by three guards.) Guard 1: "After him!" Guard 2: "Riff raff!" Guard 3: "Street rat!" Guards: "Scoundrel!" Mulan: "Was that...?" Emma: "Aladdin. Come on, let's go." (They follow after the guards, hoping to get to Aladdin before any harm can come to him.) Elsewhere. (A shopkeeper is eating his lunch when there is a knock at his door.) Farzeen: “Can I help you?” Jafar: “We shall soon find out. (The shopkeeper stands and opens the door:) You are Farzeen Shahmed? You work in the marketplace selling scarves.” Farzeen: “Yes. Uh would you like one?” Jafar: “May I? (Farzeen steps aside to allow him entry. Jafar surveys his surroundings:) Oh. You earn very little income, and yet your home is well- appointed.” Farzeen: “Thank you.” Jafar: “It was not a compliment, but an observation. You have a bounty of fresh vegetables in your garden, and I couldn't help noticing you have two camels outside. Few men in Agrabah can afford even one. And yet here you are with two.” Farzeen: “I have been very fortunate.” Jafar: “Indeed. It seems you have everything a man could possibly wish for. (Moves closer to Farzeen:) Perhaps you've met someone who could grant them. Wishes.” Farzeen: “I am not sure what you mean. (Walks away from him:) My good fortune is due to a family investment that has finally begun to pay off.” Jafar: “Is that so?” Farzeen: “Yes. I can explain further, if you'll allow me to turn off the stove.” Jafar: “Yes. Yes. We wouldn't want you to overcook water. Go on.” (Farzeen bows and enters the back room. Rushing to a cupboard, he pulls out a lamp and rubs it. A red cloud of smoke emerges along with an oddly dressed, bearded man.) Farzeen: (Whispered:) “Genie.” Genie: “Master mine, my will is thine.”

Morgana’s Hovel. Present. Night. (Still wearing her healing bracelet, Morgana has a prophetic dream. Red and black banners lie strewn on a battlefield with knight’s corpses. A raven sitting on a helmet takes flight. Merlin walks onto the field, looking down at Morgana.) Morgana: “Help me, Merlin. Please.” (Morgana’s hand reaches up to Merlin from her position on the ground.) Merlin: “Is this really what you wanted, Morgana?” Morgana: “Please…” (Morgana wakes in her bed. At first she seems afraid, then angry.) Morgana: “Merlin.” Enchanted Forest. Past. Continued. Farzeen: “He's here! The one you spoke of. The man with the serpent staff.” Genie: “Steady. It's not you he's after.” Farzeen: “My third wish! I want it now.” (Farzeen pushes the lamp into the Genie’s hands.) Genie: “Have patience. I can help you.” Farzeen: “I wish you gone!” Genie: “Don't!” Farzeen: “As far from Agrabah as the Earth from the Sun!” (Jafar bursts into the room and reaches for the lamp which swiftly disappears.) Jafar: “No! (Using his powers, he lifts Farzeen into the air:) Where did you send him?” Farzeen: “I don't know! Please!” Jafar: (Calmly:) “What is it you desire?” Farzeen: “Just mercy!” Jafar: “Well, then. It seems neither of us are going to get what we want today.” (Jafar closes his fist and Farzeen screams in agony. Standing outside, having stopped to rest, Aladdin hears the poor man’s screams before he takes off running.)

(Rounding the corner, he sees the guards charging towards him once more. Stepping on a stooped man's back, Aladdin propels himself up onto some overhead beams and maneuvers around them to evade capture. Unfortunately, four more guards appear where he lands.) Aladdin: (Hands raised:) "Let's not be too hasty, we can talk about this." Guard: "The time for talking is over." Mulan: (Standing behind the guards:) "I agree. (The men turn and stare at Mulan as she draws her sword. The four guards burst out laughing at the sight and Mulan gives them a pleasant smile, long used to this kind of reaction from men:) Are you finished? Then let's begin." (Twirling her sword, Mulan makes quick work of the four guards, disarming them and sending them flying into each other to land sprawled in a heap on the ground.) Emma: (Holding her hand out to Aladdin:) "There's sure to be more on the way, so it's up to you if you want to take your chances with them or come with us?" Aladdin: "Who are you?" Emma: "A friend." Aladdin: (Looks her up and down:) "A friend like you I'd remember." Emma: "Fella, you ain't never had a friend like me. Come on! (Aladdin hesitates a moment longer before taking Emma's hand:) Tink, now!" Tinker Bell: "Right!" (With a wave of her wand, Tink, Mulan, Tiger Lily, Emma and Aladdin are enveloped in a cloud of smoke.) Crumbling Fortress. Present. Dusk. (Guinevere, Lancelot, Xena, Gabrielle and the knights arrive amongst the ruins.) Xena: “Pair off. Find any wood you can. Get the fires burning.” (The knights collect firewood while carrying torches. One of the knights hears a man’s scream and drops his firewood. The knights gather together as screams start to surround them. A Dorocha launches at them and Xena wards it off with a torch.) Gabrielle: “Let’s go!” Sir Bedivere: “We haven’t got enough!” Xena: “Go!” (The knights are back at the fire pit with Guinvere and Lancelot. Lancelot attempts to use the flint to light the fire to no avail. Taking the flint from him, Xena strikes and the fire lights instantly. Lancelot looks at her. Xena shrugs. Gabrielle grins in amusement. The knights stand around the fire with torches. Bedivere looks at the fire, then at Lancelot.) Sir Bedivere: “It won’t get us through the night.” Lancelot: “It will keep the area safe for a while.” (Later, Gwaine throws a log on the fire.) Sir Gwaine: “The last one. Maybe we should draw lots, see who gets some more.” Guinevere: (Stands:) “I’ll go.” Lancelot: “You’ll need help. I’ll go with you. (At Guinevere’s look:) Well, since when have you known how to collect firewood?” Guinevere: (Smiles:) “I wasn’t always Queen, you know.” (The knights chuckle. Xena watches as they walk off.)

(Lancelot collects firewood while Guinevere stands guard with a torch. A Dorocha charges them from behind.) Guinevere: “Lancelot! (Guinevere drops the torch to tackle Lancelot out of the way:) Let’s go!” (They rush through some passages and close a door behind them. The Dorocha seems to lose them. The knights back at the fire pit shuffle around anxiously.) Xena: “They should’ve been back by now.” Gabrielle: “Someone needs to go and look for them.” Sir Bedivere: “We’ve only got one torch between us.” (Xena grabs the torch and starts walking off.) Gabrielle: “Who’s coming with us?” (Elyan follows, then the other knights. Gwaine grabs his sword belt and puts it on while following.) Enchanted Forest. Past. (Sitting around the campfire, Aladdin tries to understand what's going on.) Aladdin: "So you mean to tell me that I'm not in Agrabah anymore?" Mulan: "The lush green forest tipped you off, huh?" Tiger Lily: (Smiles:) "No, Aladdin, you're not in Agrabah, this is the Enchanted Forest. But we can drop you back home easily enough." Aladdin: "Oh, well that's all right then. I mean there's no rush, probably best to let things calm down back home first." Mulan: "Good idea." Aladdin: "And I should thank you ladies for saving my neck. (They all look at him expectantly:) Thank you." Mulan: "You're welcome." Aladdin: "I've never seen a woman fight as well as you." Mulan: "Luckily those palace guards hadn't either. Otherwise things might've been different." Aladdin: "Those guys? Nah, palace guards are notoriously easy to get by." Regina: (Stepping out of the shadows:) "I can certainly vouch for that." Emma: "Regina!" Regina: "That was you, wasn't it? The parade?" Emma: (Smiles:) "That depends. Did you like it?" Regina: "Like it? (Walking towards her:) That was the most wonderful birthday gift anyone has ever given me. I loved it."

Tinker Bell: (Beaming:) "You're welcome." Regina: "You're a terrific fairy, Tinker Bell. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently." (Tink blushes and flutters her wings.) Regina: (Looks to Emma and then back at Tink:) "Do you think you could arrange somewhere private where Emma and I could talk? (Now looking at Emma:) I'd like to thank her for my gift." Tinker Bell: "That shouldn't be a problem." (With a wave of Tink's wand, a small tent like structure appears on the small hill, a dozen yards or so away from camp.) Emma: "Regina... are you sure?" Regina: (Leans in and kisses her:) "I've never been more sure of anything." (Regina takes her hand and leads Emma towards the tent.) Emma: (To the others:) "Uh... don't wait up." Elsewhere. (Out in the woods Snow White wanders and scans the stars in the sky.) Snow White: “Is that the star? Or is it that one?” Blue Fairy: “Worry not, Snow White. I have found you.” Snow White: (Spins around:) “Blue.” Blue Fairy: "What's troubling you, Snow?" Snow White: "You're joking, right? You saw the parade today, didn't you?" Blue Fairy: "I heard about it." Snow White: "Clearly magic was involved. Powerful magic." Blue Fairy: "What are you implying?" Snow White: "I'm asking if you knew anything about it." Blue Fairy: "I'm sorry, but no I don't." Snow White: "Well find out! Someone is trying to seduce my step-mother while my father is visiting Midas' kingdom." Blue Fairy: (Smiles:) "How do you know your father wasn't behind the parade? Perhaps he arranged it knowing he'd be away for Regina's birthday?" Snow White: "No! I am telling you this was someone else and they had magical help." Blue Fairy: "I'm sorry, Snow, but you can't expect me to-" Snow White: "I expect Fairies to know their place in my father's kingdom! Need I remind you the King often visits Camelot, a place where all magic is prohibited. King Uther is always warning my father of the dangers magic can bring. It wouldn’t take much to convince him that Uther is right. Just think of what that would mean for your kind." Blue Fairy: "Of course. I-I will find out who was behind today's parade and make sure they are reprimanded." Snow White: (Stamping her feet:) "I want them stopped permanently! Incapable of performing magic ever again. Do I make myself clear?" Blue Fairy: (Taken aback:) "Y-yes, Snow White." Snow White: "Good. I would hate to make my father aware of this." (Snow turns and walks away.) Daelbeth. Present. Continued. (Guinevere and Lancelot hide behind a corner in one of the fortress rooms. Guinevere ties a cloth around Lancelot’s injured arm. Guinevere looks uncomfortable and Lancelot gives her a questioning look.) Guinevere: “It’s cold.” Lancelot: “Right.” Guinevere: “You’re not feeling it?” (Lancelot shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.) Guinevere: “Men.” (Back in the passages, Xena leads the knights through the fortress, warding off Dorochas with the torch. Back in the hiding chamber, Guinevere and Lancelot listen to the screaming spirits.) Lancelot: “All the things I’ve faced…I never worried about dying.” Guinevere: “We will defeat the Dorocha. We will, Lancelot, together.” (In the passages, Xena, Gabrielle and the knights continue the search. Back in the hiding chamber, Guinevere and Lancelot wait.) Lancelot: “They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn.” Guinevere: “Feels pretty dark right now.” Lancelot: “Well, it can’t be long then. (The Dorocha finds them and sweeps through the door. Lancelot starts to rush out from around the corner, but Guinevere pulls him back and stands up herself, running straight for the Dorocha:) Guin, no!” (Bursting through the door, Robin Hood arrives out of nowhere.) Robin Hood: “Get down, Your Majesty!” (Robin stands in front of Guinevere, bracing himself for the worst when he too is knocked out of the way. Will stumbles and turns to face the Dorocha. It catches Will in the chest, and throws him back against the stone wall. Xena and the others enter, warding off the Dorocha with the torch. Xena then hands the torch to Gabrielle and turns to Robin.) Xena: “What happened?” (Robin goes to Will. Turning him over, Robin sees that Will is frozen, much like the corpses found in the village.)

#sq #swan queen #swanqueen

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monsters-under-the-willowtree · 4 years

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The Lost Little Shoe: Part One

Another silly little original fairytale that will lead to another xReader story, this one featuring a bard and a dog.

1700 words

Long ago there was an amulet created by a brilliant witch named Ophantia. Clear as water, light as air, strong as stone, warm as fire. It was said that whomever wore the stone would be imbued with her wisdom. It was said that she had turned herself into the amulet when she was old and grey. It was said that in it were secrets untold. A lot of things were said, though there was no way to know which was the truth without first finding the amulet.

Magic wielding sorcerers, wizards, witches, and artificers sought out Ophantia’s Amulet, hoping that by becoming the new bearer it would make them both powerful and wise. Yontir the Sage eventually came to own it, and upon his passing, his most loyal companion was found leaving his home wearing it on her collar. Missy was brave and true by Yontir’s side while he lived, and it was said that none could pass her keen eye and enter her master’s home if they were not equally as brave and true as she. Though many tried, none could take Ophantia’s Amulet from Missy. Whether it was by her own cunning or by the grace of the stone, she could outwit even the most experienced ranger.

Eventually things settled down when it was clear that Missy would not let anyone take Ophantia’s Amulet and there were no more rangers, hunters, wizards, witches, or traveling parties that wanted to try. The people of the town grew accustomed to seeing Missy run errands for herself, exchanging coins from her master’s enchanted treasury for treats from the local bakery or checkups from the local veterinarian. It wasn’t until Missy began showing up on the front porches of the townsfolk with “lost and found” fliers under her paws and missing treasures in her mouth that her curious ways were considered more than an oddity.

Now, Missy was for hire. A law-abiding citizen that had to have the concepts of taxes and trespassing explained to her but aside from a few things of this nature she was as good as any mute member of town. First she was hired to find Lady Lovelace’s lost cat, and find she did. Then all three of Farmer Kennick’s lost sheep, and find them she did. Two goats, a cow, and then a weather-rotten treasure chest that had been stolen 10 years before from a town hall fundraiser.

So when Little Davey Quinn went missing, leaving no trace except a little lost shoe left on the front steps, it was no surprise that Missy was put on the case. They gave her the shoe to use to catch his scent, and Missy put it in a bag to carry while she searched. Mrs. Quinn put the bag on Missy to help her out, and then Missy was off. She sniffed the whole town over, searching under bushes and up trees and all around the duck pond. But there was no sign of Little Davey Quinn and his other shoe.

When they couldn’t be found any place in town, Missy started searching outside of town. Around and around in a bigger and bigger circle she looked until her nose took her to the edge of the forest. It was there that Missy finally caught a sniff of the missing little shoe. She followed the smell deeper and deeper into the forest, when she noticed something strange.

A teeny little sound, like very far away music, and a line of little mice swaying to and fro as they all traveled in a straight line towards the sound.

Missy stopped. Sat down. And watched. As the music grew further and further away, the mice on the trailing end of the line seemed to waver. And after wavering, they shook themselves free of the music’s power, eventually scattering once they came to themselves.

This was troublesome. So Missy lay herself down to think of what to do next. It was almost 30 minutes later, just about when Missy had determined the best way to tell everyone her plan and all the supplies she needed, the cost of it and how to put it into place, when a woman appeared from around a tree. A Lamia bard, dressed in layers and her hair tied up, carrying a violin. Seeing the violin, and fearful of its power, Missy bolted. In her haste, however, she dropped the bag that carried Little Davey Quinn’s shoe. And, seeing the dog and the bag, the woman hurried off into the woods in return.

This left the little shoe all alone, and all was quite still and peaceful until fat, fluffy, adorable mouse scurried by... and then scurried right back to inspect the little bag. It wasn’t tied, so Missy could stick her nose into it to recapture the smell left on it, and it was through this hole that the smart little mouse discovered the fine leather shoe. Mice are quite discerning, and seeing the craftsmanship of this shoe the mouse decided that it would make a fine addition to his burrow. He carried it in his teeth all the way back to his home, a long way for a mouse but not so long for a fox or a dog or a person. It was there that the mouse discovered his new bed would not fit into the doorway of his home, which left him with the decision to either abandon the lovely leather shoe, dig his doorway a little larger, or shoe the shoe to bits so he could carry it in. Deciding after a moment that he would first dig his burrow larger and then perhaps shoe the shoe to bits of that did not work, the mouse got to work.

This hard-at-work little fat mouse had his head in his burro, digging away, when a fox came upon him. Foxes have no need for shoes, but they do like little fat mice. So the fox picked up the shoe in his mouth and moved it out of the way so he could chomp on the little fat mouse. Lucky for the mouse, the fox’s noisy thump when the shoe hit the ground alerted the mouse to the danger at hand and he jumped into his burrow before the fox could get him.

The fox quite wanted the mouse. And the mouse quite wanted the shoe. So the two of them began a waiting game, and they might have waited for the other to move all the way until night when a rustling in the brush revealed a very grouchy badger, making her way through the forest. Now the mouse may have wanted the shoe, and the fox may have wanted the mouse, but neither of them wanted these things so much that they would argue with a grouchy badger over it. The mouse disappeared into his hole and the fox disappeared to find dinner somewhere else. And the grouchy old badger was left with the fine leather shoe.

Now badgers don’t care much for shoes either, but the do like taking things that belong to others. And if this fine leather shoe was to be left in the woods alone, then there was no reason the badger shouldn’t claim it. She sniffled and snuffled at the shoe, taking it into her mouth to see if polished leather was good to eat, when the most beautiful violin music began to drift through the trees.

Enchanted by the music, the grouchy old badger followed the sound with the lost little shoe in her mouth. Over log and under bush the badger trotted along, soon joined by a doe and her fawn. They followed the enchanting music as well, and these three were joined by more and more woodland creatures each stranger than the last. Three snakes and a whole pond of frogs, two doves and a bobcat soon joined the strange parade. Then a bear and a great white stag, a harpy, three young minotaur sisters, and a goblin joined the parade.

This led them to a flower-speckled meadow, and in the center was the bard playing her music. She stood on a stone to make herself taller, and from all sides of the meadow a wondrous amalgamation of creatures every shape and size all wandered forward, swaying to the music.

This army, amassed by the bard, gathered around her feet to enjoy the melodious concert being performed on this grey day in the forest. And among them, several small children from the towns surrounding the wood.

Among these creatures joining the concert audience was a little dog wearing a clear stone, who swayed her way through the crowd of creatures. Once she had made it nearly to the front row, she bowed down on her front legs, wagging her beautiful white fluffy tail in the air. She wagged and wagged, tongue lolling to one side and her eyes shining with joy.

ShhhhhhHHH-WH-CRACK

An arrow pierced the lamia’s violin and she screamed as it splintered in her hands. Missy jumped, placing herself between the children and the wild animals, as the enchantment wore off. Creatures of all shapes and sizes came to themselves in a wide open field, touching other dangerous creatures normally to be avoided at all costs, and a great panicked scramble began. Those with wings jumped into the air with a hideous screech and those closest to the edge of the wood bolted for cover with a bellow. Predators jumped with fangs bared and everyone else jumped and kicked and bit and scratched in a mighty scuffle.

Once the bloody cacophony started to settle, Missy began to bark loudly and men poured from all sides of the meadow. They captured the bard and took her away while others lifted the terrified, but otherwise unharmed, children up into their arms. Missy snuffled and snorted through the chaos left behind until she found the thing she was after. Then she trotted back home with the man carrying Little Davey Quinn, and when Mrs. Quinn found her little boy on her porch covered in mud, Missy carried two little leather shoes in her mouth.

Missy had found the lost little shoe.

#original fairytale #monsters #exophilia #monster x human #lamia monster #monster lover #original fiction

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diveronaevents · 4 years

Photo

AUTHOR: Liz (minor edits by admins)

MENTIONED: Paris, Tybalt, Volumnia, Regan, Edgar, Miranda, Hippolyta, Helenus, Diana, Orsino, Rosaline, Mercutio

TRIGGERS: Violence, Murder, Grievous Injuries

Using VIOLA’s funeral as a distraction, the Capulets, led by PARIS, rescue ORSINO from the Montague captivity and teach them a lesson in the process.

TIMELINE —

April 1st - ORSINO is taken.

April 4th - ROSALINE asks VOLUMNIA to have PARIS look for ORSINO. Unable to reach him, VOLUMNIA reaches out to PARIS and asks him to head the rescue operation.

April 6th - PARIS and TYBALT start to look for the possible captor.

April 7th - PARIS enlists REGAN to tail MERCUTIO without detection and find the location where ORSINO is held.

April 8th - PARIS plans the rescue mission and further entlists EDGAR, MIRANDA, HIPPOLYTA, HELENUS & DIANA.

April 10th - The team rescues ORSINO.

PREPARATIONS —

The call from the capobastone raising alarms about missing ORSINO prompted PARIS to retrace the man’s last known location and find some clues as to what could’ve happened to Capulets’ notorious hitman. Crossing the line once again, PARIS used his security clearance to personal, or rather, Capulet benefit – he went through the security footage of various locations throughout Verona, courtesy of local law enforcement and his company’s facial recognition software the government was using.

After a sleepless night of staring at the screens, PARIS found a potential witness. The time was of the essence, thus abandoning his usual tricks of persuasion, he enlisted the tiger of Verona to make the witness bird sing. When TYBALT was done with the prey, his knuckles were bloody and the information – obtained. TYBALT and PARIS now held the key clue to the puzzle of ORSINO’s disappearance: he’d been taken by none other than MERCUTIO themself.

Shadowing the Montague harbinger of war was no easy task, it required stealthiness of a night wind and lethal touch of a masterful marksman. Who was better suited for the task than mighty REGAN? Per PARIS’ instructions, she waited for the dusk to provide her cover and followed MERCUTIO like their own shadow. Around midnight, REGAN came bearing the good news: the Montague captain had led her to an abandoned orphanage at the outskirts of Verona. Her observant eye clocked the rough estimate number of soldiers that may be guarding the precious captive. Sudden flashback to the Capulet Anniversary night gave PARIS an idea: the looming funeral for the fallen VIOLA shall be the perfect distraction to arrange a prison break. He spent the next two days flashing out his plan, and called upon MIRANDA, EDGAR, HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA.

THE MISSION —

The morning of April 10 arrived with grey skies and a weakened Spring breeze. The grief-stricken Montagues slowly gathered at the funeral, with heavy hearts and teary eyes, to say goodbye to one of theirs. DIANA, an unwelcome guest, made her way to the ceremony, dressed in a beautiful black dress and a lacey veil – doing a little to hide the darling of Verona, but her social status granted her the safety of not being attacked out in the open. The purpose of her being there was simple, yet crucial – she would be PARIS’ eyes and ears. Should Montagues have got alerted of the attack and left the cemetery to provide back-up at the orphanage, DIANA would warn her team straight away.

PARIS had split the Capulet team in three groups. Each had their own role to play.

The first to arrive at the orphanage – a run down building, out of commission for nearly forty years, with grass sticking out from the cracks in the concrete – was the ATTACK team. PARIS had chosen TYBALT and REGAN on his side, and three of them would unleash hell on the Montague soldiers, weakening their defense and drawing all the attention to themselves.

The heavy iron door would be the first obstacle they encountered, but thanks to REGAN’s intel, PARIS came prepared. He set up the explosives and blew up the door. TYBALT and REGAN rushed inside through smoke and shambles, starting a cacophony of gunfire to provide cover for PARIS to join them. Once he did, TYBALT was first to break Montague line of defense, leaving fallen soldiers in his wake – using his gun, blade and bare hands interchangeably to wreak havoc. PARIS followed him closely and helped thinning the herd with his pistol. The hawk-eyed REGAN took a position behind the duo, providing cover and picking off Montagues one-by-one with her rifle, making sure they wouldn’t outnumber TYBALT and PARIS. Not all Montagues were brave enough to face the Capulet forces, and rushed to the door, only to be gunned down by REGAN, life leaving their bodies before they could leave the building.

As Montague forces started to flock to the main entrance, upon PARIS’ singal, the DECOY team pulled up in the driveway. HELENUS sat at the steering wheel of a shiny vintage Stingray and HIPPOLYTA in the passenger seat, gun ready. They remained in the driveway long enough to be spotted by the Montagues, and then drove towards the back exit. A carefully planned and perfectly executed move that would create confusion amongst the Montagues later.

Back inside, as the attack trio advanced in the building like a plague on a medieval ship, PARIS came face-to-face with a Montague, his eyes meeting the barrel of the enemy gun. Despite making a good use of his pistol earler, he had yet to actually murder someone. The mastermind of the mission hesitated for a second, but TYBALT shook his friend out of it. Encouraged by TYBALT, PARIS committed his first murder. There was no remorse in his eyes as he examined the body hitting the ground with a thud. Not that he thought there would be.

Watching the scene unfold, one of the Montague soldiers seized the opportunity of TYBALT being distracted and emboldened, snuck up on him with a knife, injuring the Capulet captain in the arm. A grave mistake on Montague's part – TYBALT, turned into a steaming, burning rage, shot him in-between the eyes five times. The main hallway was now cleared out, as REGAN shot the soldier who struggled to get on her feet. PARIS advanced deeper in the hallway.

Whilst the attack team were arranging a Montague massacre in the mail hall, the RESCUE team - EDGAR and MIRANDA made their move. They climbed to the second floor through the thick vines snaked all the way to the roof and snuck into the building from the balcony. Their steps were quiet, like feathers falling on the ground. Silenced pistols clutched closely, they searched the building for ORSINO. None of them intended to go back to the Twelfth Night until they found him, even if they had to leave no stone unturned in this cursed orphanage.

Gunfire had quietened at the moment, as the attack team was moving towards the staircase. The sound of PARIS’ phone buzzing cut through the silence. It was DIANA, giving him a heads-up that Montague reinforcements were coming. The plan PARIS laid out to the team two nights prior had accounted for this.

TYBALT and REGAN headed back outside to deal with the reinforcements, and PARIS stayed behind. He intended to sweep the building one last time, for the rescue team to navigate safely. More confident with his gun now, PARIS took down two Montague soldiers during the sweep. The first one had been hiding behind the door and managed to shoot PARIS in the left arm, but he retaliated quickly, shooting them in the head. The second kill was easier. The third? Even more. Lady luck had been kind to the emissary, the bullet had only grazed PARIS. With careful steps, PARIS ascended on the stairs and spotted another Montague at the window. A quick shoot in the back, and the enemy was none the wiser – they didn’t even see PARIS coming.

EDGAR and MIRANDA rushed through the empty hallways, encountering dead bodies and injured soldiers on their way. Finally, they discovered the basement where ORSINO was held, guarded by two Montagues. EDGAR with no hesitation, eager to free his friend, engaged in hand to hand combat; After a brief scuffle, EDGAR pistol-whipped the first guard across the temple, effectively knocking him out. A second Montague came to his companion's rescue right away. MIRANDA’s bold attempt at intercepting the enemy got her punched in the face, but before she could have been seriously wounded, EDGAR shot Montague in the leg. There were only three of them in the dingy, dark basement now – EDGAR, MIRANDA and barely conscious ORSINO. They unshackle him in haste, it’s about time they leave the building.

Supporting ORSINO, EDGAR allows him to use his shoulders as a human crutch as the trio heads out of the orphanage. They had almost made their way out of the basement, when one of the two Montague guards, staunching her wound and hungering for revenge, straggled up the staircase with a gun, only to meet her rather grim end. MIRANDA threw a knife in one swift motion, and the blade landed right in the forehead of the Montague.

The three of them left from the back entrance, set out to escape through the woods until they reached the car they'd hidden the night before. Halfway to the car, ORSINO fainted from the pain. From here, EDGAR and MIRANDA carried him to the car, doing their best not to exacerbate the wounds on his torso. They drove away quietly, choosing a longer route to Verona.

After EDGAR and MIRANDA left, PARIS joined TYBALT and REGAN outside, who were engaged in a fight with the Montague reinforcements who emerged from the first car that arrived. Soon, the second car followed suit. HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, with a Capulet soldier who looked deceivingly a lot like ORSINO with his soft, dark curls, seating in the back, took it as their cue to enter the scene. As a part of PARIS’ orchestrated plan, HELENUS made the engine roar, and sent pebbles underneath the wheels flying in all directions. An intentional act to lure the second car.

Their stint worked. Montague’s put the car into ignition, and set out to chase after them, but HELENUS left no chance to get close enough. Whilst speeding on the road, the Montagues opened fire from their car and HIPPOLYTA in turn, shot back from her passenger seat. Right before they reach the main highway, HELENUS made a quick 90 degree turn and halted, making it possible for HIPPOLYTA to aim her shots. The emissary managed to crack the windshield of the Montague car, making it difficult for them to keep up.

Back at the orphanage, the dust began to settle. Per PARIS’ calculation, they only had a few minutes left before Montagues arrived in full force from the funeral. It was time to get back to the Twelfth Night, but not before leaving a message behind for the Montagues. The message was simple – the Capulets will break any cage they try to put them in, whilst the Montagues will be left to bleed out – like VIOLA, whose death they were morning that day. REGAN and TYBALT nailed the dead (and some alive) Montague soldiers to the windows, re-enacting Viola’s demise, and in another symbolic gesture, PARIS destroyed the place where ORSINO was held with a sledgehammer.

Soon, DIANA sent them the final warning. High on their success and in spirits, PARIS, TYBALT and REGAN took one last amused look at the orphanage before they left.

THE AFTERMATH —

HELENUS and HIPPOLYTA, who were driving in the opposite direction from where EDGAR and MIRANDA were headed, eventually lost the Montagues on their tail. They met with DIANA, PARIS, REGAN and TYBALT at the Twelfth Night. ORSINO had been saved and in MIRANDA and EDGAR’s care. The two of them later joined the rest of the gang at the Twelfth night, where PARIS threw a little celebration for a successful end of the mission.

#diveronaevent #violence cw #murder cw #injury cw

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shadeofazmeinya · 5 years

Text

Close Encounter (1/1)

Summary: Jeremy isn’t sure which god he has managed to piss off, but clearly it must be a powerful one to have a day with all the worst luck of his life combined into one.

A/N: Written for the @rtwritingcommunity Secret Sunshine!! Hope you guys enjoy a very short and sweet mermaid au! Reblogs and Comments greatly appreciated!!!

1.7k+ words

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129926

Jeremy isn’t sure which god he has managed to piss off, but clearly it must be a powerful one to have a day with all the worst luck of his life combined into one.

He sits back in the tiny boat he’s managed to become stranded in, a worthless ripped fishing net hanging out on the end, one oar of what is meant to be a pair laying against his leg. The boat rocks with his movements and Jeremy closes his eyes and covers his face as he waits for the nausea to pass. His clothing is damp, sticking to him and sending a shiver down his spine, but he’s hoping the universe will be a little forgiving with this sun shining down on him. Keep the worst of the chill off during the heat of the day. It won’t get rid of the fishy, salty smell, but it’ll be a fucking great start.

The day started like any normal day. Just another day going out to fish, trying to catch enough to sell and maybe eat by the time the sun went down. But nature had another course set for him when the dark clouds rolled through. He realizes too late he hadn’t tried to check for signs of storms and had no time to get back to shore. He could do nothing but bear down and take it, keep desperately afloat. Now he’s left stranded in his boat, not really sure how far from shore he’s gone with his fish net ruined along with any potential profits.

And now. And fucking now, he’s hallucinating. So doing well.

There was a face. He saw it. Or imagined it? He really can’t fucking tell. But there was something poking out of the water a few feet out from him. Something with eyes. Curious, large, bright eyes. With long blonde and pink hair that flowed out around it until it dived back under the water. If Jeremy were fucking sane right now, he’d say it was a human. But no other humans could possibly be around this far into the ocean. Or have been under the water this long without needing to take a breath.

He watches the area where it had been. He looks for a disturbance but there are no signs beyond the gentle waves rocking the boat, ones he knows he should get to work fighting to get back to shore. But he still stares intently, waiting for whatever. While still greatly debating his sanity.

That’s when he hears a splash, coming from behind. He jumps a mile, the noise magnified in the open, vacant space. “Who’s there?” Jeremy bursts out, seeing small waves expanding out, where something once was but has gone under the surface again. Jeremy picks up the paddle, holding it out as if to hit anything that got near. “I swear if this is a fucking shark or something, I’m going to-“

Splatter. Then a thud and the boat rocks, twisting Jeremy’s stomach as he whips around again. The other oar is flopped in front of him. Soaked but intact. A fucking savior that has managed to jump into his fucking boat from the ether. Jeremy is slack jawed as he reaches for it, fingers tracing the smooth wood. So this part isn’t a hallucination. You can’t touch hallucinations, right?

As he stares, baffled, he hears some sort of noise at his side. A gurgle, maybe a giggle. Jeremy clutches both oars to him now as he whips around to find a face staring back at him. Bright, sharp eyes curled up with a smile. Long, blonde hair pooled around, tipped pink on the ends that haloed out over shoulders that just hung out of the water. It continues to make a noise as it stares right at Jeremy.

Jeremy isn’t sure if he screamed. But his throat feels raw as he scrambles away, nearly flipping his lifeboat for the third time of the night. “What the fuck? Who are you?!”

The person -creature? there’s something its eyes just doesn’t seem… right, skin tinted strange- blinks back. It peaks out more above the water, floating as if standing at the beach and not resting in the middle of the fucking ocean. It still grins and Jeremy can see better how sharp the teeth on it are. “Who are you?” it squeaks back, voice high and light.

Jeremy narrows his eyes, shifting his grip on the oar, but keeping it in front of him. Keeping the creature at bay. “I asked you first,” he retorts. “Who -or what- are you?”

“What are you?” the thing chirps back, blinking.

Jeremy raises an eyebrow, looking curiously at its responses. “A human. Unlike you. At least you don’t fucking seem human. Or real.”

“Real,” the creature repeats, then shifts up and down, mouth stretching across its face. It’s head falls back, chirping. It takes a moment before he registers that it’s laughing.

Jeremy blinks, jaw opening and closing. “Okay… Do you have a name or something?”

“Name,” it chirps, shifting closer in the water, head tilting curiously.

Jeremy swallows, shifting back in his boat and adjusting his grip on his oar. “Are you asking for my name? I asked for yours!” The creature pauses its swim, not getting any closer, eying him carefully but doesn’t say another word. It just stares. Smiling. “Uhh… My name is Jeremy.”

“Jerrr… Emy,” the creature hums, testing the word. “Jerem… Jeremy.”

“Yeah, Jeremy,” he says. “Can you… only repeat words or something? Can you even understand me?”

The creature laughs again, moving closer, pulling out more of the water. Her hair seems to flow around her shoulders and Jeremy swears it shifts in the light, the pink end almost a red. Like fire sitting on top the foam and sea. But as she comes closer –at least Jeremy assumes a she with the length of her hair, the softness of her lips and cheeks- she doesn’t seem dangerous. Curious. Enticing. And Jeremy gets lost for a moment, staring back.

Then a new splash. Nearby.

Jeremy whirls to face the sound. There’s a flash, a twinkle from the sunlight catching what Jeremy at first thought was a fish jumping somehow from the water. But the scales were large, stretched and elongated in a way he hasn’t seen on any fish near here. It’s there for but a moment before diving underneath. Jeremy swallows, readjusting his grip on his makeshift weapon.

His other friend at his side perks up at it, seeing her out of the corner of his eyes get a gentle smile pulling on her face. There’s some sort of chirping coming out of her, squeaking at the other figure. Jeremy can’t tell if its talking or just making noises. But before he can ask, she’s gone, ducking into the waves as well. Leaving Jeremy alone.

“Wait!” Jeremy calls out, grabbing the side of the boat and bends over the water. “Can you at least tell me where the shore is? Do you know? Help me!”

He’s met with his broken reflection in the waves, indifferent to his plight. Jeremy sighs, sulking back into his boat. He glances in the sky, trying to figure out where the sun is sitting, where he’s supposed to go from there. It sets in the west, right? Fuck, which way did he sail out? Was it north? South? He just started moving out that morning, planning to stay in sight of land. Like he normally does.

Jeremy lets himself feel hopeless for only a moment before pulling himself together. He has to get back to land somehow. So going off his best memory of where the sun was when he went out, and with both oars in hand, he starts making his way across the water, pushing the little boat as best he can.

He doesn’t make it far before there’s a bump, causing Jeremy to startle as he felt it from below the boat. The boat rocks from whatever hit it, his grip tightens with white knuckles. But when he looks out, nothing is there and he slowly resettles on the waves.

Jeremy is not cut out for being this long in the open water. Fucking everything is far too terrifying to him today.

Then another hit and a shove, the boat creaking as it’s moved forward in the water, pushed through the waves. Jeremy gives a manly yelp, yanking his oars in, but the boat continues moving, going further and faster than he was rowing. Jeremy glances behind the boat and spots a pair of long tails, like the glimpse he saw before. One a deep brown, like the earth. The other a bright greenish blue, nearly blending into the ocean waves that broke around it. They move together, slicing through the water in ease, helping the boat move as well.

Jeremy sits back, for a second wanting to shoo them off. But as they push, he realizes it’s in the direction of shore. In the direction of home. These creatures are helping him. He doesn’t know why, but he prays at least this is them actually saving him. And not somehow taking him to better place to kill him.

They finally stop as Jeremy sees the shore approaching. Blessedly familiar and waiting like nothing has happened. Still a bit away, but well within Jeremy’s reach. Where he should hopefully reach before sundown.

He whirls around, looking back to see the first creature. She calls, some random chirping noise echoed across the water and Jeremy turns to see her waving. Her arms hold some sort of fins, the same as the cyan tail that shimmered through the water. Her companion glares like he’s trying to kill him with just his eyes, which is the only thing that pokes out above the water. Mixed with the curled, red hair, it only seems to further the mood and intimidation.

Jeremy blinks and waves back to the female, avoiding the ire of the other. She beams, turning to the other and seems to be chirping something. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head before disappearing again in the water. She laughs a moment before joining him. Jeremy watches a few moments more, until the waves settle and it seems like nothing had ever been there at all.

Jeremy swallows, running a hand through his hair before turning back to the shore. Now within reach, the promise of home.

During the paddle, Jeremy can only think of seeing those creatures again. Curiosity fills in after the fear and a new plan for the coming days starts taking over his thoughts. Whatever that was, whatever those are, Jeremy needs to know more.

#ragehappy #mermaid au #mermaid!lindsay #mermaid!michael #not really shippy so not going to tag #anyway hope yall enjoy

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sergeanttucker · 5 years

Text

Once In A Cabin

Characters - John Seed x Deputy

Summary: A storm hits and the Deputy needs to find shelter.

Warning: a swear word or two, tiny bit of angst?

Word count: 3496 (got carried away a Little)

AN - For the anon who asked this -> Fic prompt: John Seed x Deputy get caught in the rain and have to find shelter together. Please & thank you:) // I hope you like it, dear anon. If so, let me know! If not, let me know too! Feedback highly appreciated!

AN 2 - I have the Feeling that I rushed the ending too much, but it was so Long already!

It was a day like any other since she arrived in Hope County. Somebody always needed the help of the Junior Deputy. The last few days, or maybe even weeks, she spent her time saving people of the resistance from Jacobs conditioning. He got more aggressive with what he did, leaving more people dead than actually turning them into his little soldiers. When it wasn´t the eldest of the brothers who drew her full attention, then it was their little “sister”, Faith. She poured more and more bliss into the lakes and rivers, animals and people alike were going crazy on it. Rook couldn´t even count anymore how many drugged-up bears, wolfs and pumas she had to kill since all this started. The only one who was unusally quiet was John. Normally he would bother her any chance he got, trying to convince her to finally confess and reach atonement but for the past 2 weeks there was nothing. Holland Valley seemed quiet too, probably quieter than it was for a long time and Rook started to think that he was planning something. Maybe a masterplan to get her to do as he says? Or maybe he hoped that she would come running for him, curios about the silence on his side. And this is exactly what she was about to do.

After wrecking enough havoc in the mountains, she drove right to Holland Valley to see what was going on. Rook felt uneasy thinking about what John might have planned, he was probably the cruelest of the Seeds and to be honest? She was a little frightened of him, not that she would ever admit that in front of anyone but she couldn´t help the shiver that drove down her back everytime she met him. On the other hand… maybe her attraction towards the youngest brother could be a reason for it too.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn´t notice the sun had disappeared behind a curtain of thick grey clouds or how the wind picked up, making a strange whisper-like sound when it blew through the slightly open window of her car. She didn´t care much though, sitting in the security of her four-wheeler she wouldn´t get in much trouble if a storm hits. Well, she didn’t care until she heard a strange noise from the front of the car, not long after that it steadily lost speed until it came to a stop. Great. That’s what she needed … stranded in the middle of nowhere when a storm approached. Annoyed she got out of the car and instantly got hit with her own hair blown into her face. She mumbled angrily, brushing her hair out of her face before she spun around the car and opened the hood, a cloud of smoke rose and burned in her lungs as she inhaled, causing her to cough and slam the hood shut again. There is no way she could fix the problem fast enough to get away from the changing weather, not without tools at least. Rook had no other choice, so she picked her duffle bag out of the trunk of the car and started walking down the streets.

Without the safety of her car, Rook felt like prey, especially since she didn´t know if the little hairs on her neck started to rise due to the tight tension in the air that the storm brought with it, or because she was being watched but either way she thought about taking her weapon out of the holster attached to her thigh. She quickly let this thought fall when she remembered that she had no ammo left after she took a few Peggys down only about two hours ago and rested her hand on her hunting knife instead. A sudden crash of thunder caused her to jump, she clutched her chest with one hand and lifted her eyes up to the sky. It got darker by the second and shortly after, it started to rain, more than in months. “You can’t be serious.” Rook said angrily as she tried to think about what she should do next. It would take at least an hour to get to Falls End, and the storm got worse. Maybe she should have gone back to the car to sit it out, but she had no idea how long the storm would rage.

Her vision was limited by the rain that poured down and she decided to stay in one of the cabins in the forest.

As she walked to her right, she could see the tree line of one of the many forests in Hope County where a shadowy silhouette almost run between the trees before sharply turning left and vanishing in the dark. Startled, she took out her knife and stalked as quietly as possible in the same direction. It didn’t look like an animal, maybe it was a stray Peggy looking for shelter? The silhouette stopped in a clearing and looked around, the rain pelting down on them and Rook tried to recognize who was there but it was too dark to see, she could barely see her own hand as night fell. She crept slowly closer, the thunder and the sound of the lightnings silencing her steps. When she was only a few yards away, she recognized who was standing in front of her and the knowledge caused her breath to hitch. This coat, printed with ridiculous little airplanes, she would recognize everywhere. Rook stood frozen for a moment, until a flash of lightning near her made her flinch and she bumped into the figure standing in front of her.

Startled, he turned around and instinctively grabbed Rook’s throat and held her at arm’s length as he stared at her in confusion, trying to understand what was happening. When he recognized her, he smiled. That stupid smile! He had no idea what his facial expression did to her! Rook grabbed his hand that was still around her throat. She struggled a little to see if he would let her go but he only tightened his grip on her. “Little Deputy… what a pleasure it is to meet you again.” Rook couldn´t say anything, her words stuck in her throat as she watched little droplets of water running down his normally perfectly styled hair. “John…” she stuttered barely above a whisper and scrunched her face. Why did he have that much on an effect on her? Any other time she would have a snarky comment, but with him? Nothing… and it frustrated her to no end.

“As much as I would love to look at your beautiful face for the rest of my life, I suggest we take shelter somewhere, shall we?”

John’s smile turned into a grin as the only answer he got was a wild nod from Rook. “Oh, and that’s not necessary.” He reached for the knife she still held in her hand and put it somewhere in his coat before letting go of the woman’s throat. He stepped behind her; Rook felt his breath catch her ear as he whispered to her. “After you.” When she did not move immediately, he gave her a little push and with one hand led her away from the clearing and into the woods.

“Where are we going?” she asked, after seemingly endless hours of walking, which in truth were barely 10 minutes. “I own a cabin here, darling. The storm is getting worse, you don´t want to be outdoors when that happens.” And as if to prove he was telling the truth; another lightning struck and made the deputy shudder. She did not say anything after that. Why did she even ask that? Of course they walked to some kind of shelter, that’s the only logical reaction to a storm like this. She felt stupid, as always, when the youngest Seed was around. They walked silently side by side, John’s hand still on Rook’s back as they reached the small log cabin. He fumbled for a moment in his pocket and pulled out a key to open the door, then stepped aside to let his companion in.

Rook stepped in and ignored the small grin on John’s face, instead focusing on her surroundings. It wasn´t too big and it wasn´t very small either. It was nice to be honest. On one side was a small open kitchen, a four-seater kitchen table, and not much else. The living room had a comfy-looking couch with a table in front of it, bookshelves on different walls and a small work desk under a window. On the wall facing the couch was a fireplace, and in front of it lay a fur on the floor. Rook felt a shiver run down her spine, the look of the inviting fireplace suddenly reminded her of her current condition, soaking wet, she even made a small puddle on her feet. She glanced over at John, who had already closed the door and marched over to light a fire. He was dripping wet from the rain, his hair standing in different directions after passing through with one hand. Rook couldn´t deny how good he looked when he took off his coat, she could see his muscles working under his shirt, all sorts of unholy thoughts running through her mind as he took his signature vest of too.

When she saw John grinning, she knew she was caught staring at him, and quickly turned her eyes away as a flush ran down her cheeks. She dropped her bag, took off her jacket and hung it over a chair to dry. Her buttoned shirt clung to her wet skin, as did her jeans, and she opened her bag to see if the clothes inside were still dry, only to find that they were equally as wet as her current attire. She took them out of the bag and laid everything in front of the fire out so they would hopefully dry until the storm was over. John watched her and sighed before he left the room, only moments later he came back and handed her a dry shirt of his. Confused about his behavior she hestitated before taking it, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thank you. Is there a place where I can change?”

John’s grin just gets wider. “Are you scared to change in front of me, little sinner? The bathroom is this way, but I don´t mind if you do it here.”

She gave him a bitch face, which made him chuckle, before she disappeared into the small bathroom. After taking off her shirt, pants, and shoes, she looked in the mirror that hung in the room, a full-length mirror, something she would not expect in a small cabin in the woods. She had lost weight since coming to Hope County, but not enough to worry. With her fingers she traced the still very prominent scars she had gained during her “confession” with John. “Wrath” carved on her clavicle and “lust” right under her navel, yet she never said “yes” to him.

She took a towel, which was lying next to the sink to dry her hair, and then got dressed. The button-down shirt John gave her reached to the middle of her thighs. Was it a good idea to face John without pants, just in underwear and a shirt? Probably not, Rook was already blushing when she thought of it, but she had no choice. She took her wet clothes and went back into the living room, what she saw there made her stop in the doorway, her breath got caught in her throat and the wet clothes landed with a slap on the floor. John stood there without a shirt and only in sweatpants, his hair stood wildly in all directions and he held a bottle of whiskey in his hand. It looked so unlikely him, Rook didn´t know how to react and just stood, dumbly blinking at him, in the doorway. It was a miracle she didn´t drool. The slap of the clothes hitting the floor caused him to look up at her, when he saw the Deputy standing there only in his shirt and with a slightly shocked expression, he once again chuckled and waved the bottle at her to get her attention. “See something you like?” The smooth bastard! It took everything in her to not nod her head at the question, because yes, she did see something she liked.

His chest on full display, she could see every little tattoo and scar on his skin and that’s a sight to behold. For only a moment (or more than a moment) she raked her eyes over his body, as he did with hers. “Looks like you dropped something.” He casually mentioned without taking his eyes of her bare legs. Rook, suddenly pulled out of her stupor, bend over to pick up her things, unknowingly giving him a view down her shirt, he tensed up, watching her walk over to the fire to lay her wet garments out before he tore his eyes away from her and walked over to the kitchen to get two glasses. When he returned, Rook had pushed the couch closer to the fire and sat with her legs underneath herself, starring into the fire. He took a seat on the other end of the couch and poured two glasses of whiskey, handing one over to her. She took the glass and looked skeptically at him.

“I don´t think Joseph would be too happy about this.” John offered her a smile before taking a sip.

“He doesn´t have to know everything or are you going to tell him?”

“Maybe I will.” She gave him a cheeky smile and nipped at her drink.

Again, he chuckled and let his eyes drift over her body.

To see her in only a shirt, HIS shirt, made him feel things he would rather not. Since the first time he laid eyes on her, he was intrigued. Her beauty pulling him in like some kind of magic and, he didn´t like to admit it, hurting her just didn´t feel right. When she sat before him, cuffed to the chair, it broke his heart to cut her sins into her soft skin… but it had to be done, right? At least this is what he kept telling himself. He drank the whole glass at once and poured another one.

“Wow, keep it down Buddy. Don´t want you to pass out on me.”

“Are you worried about me, Darling? That’s really sweet, but I can take much more than a little whiskey.”

“Nah I´m not worried, I just don´t want the alcohol to kill you before I get my chance.” Rook was grinning at him, the liquid running through her system giving her the courage to do so.

John nodded knowingly, amusement twinkling in his eyes, making them shine brighter.

“I´m sitting right here, do as you please.”

He had a challenging look in his eyes, daring her to make a move while gesturing to himself.

“You want me to fight against you only in my underwear and one of your way too expensive shirts? Sounds exciting.” She grinned at him, clearly amused by the idea to kick his ass.

“Oh no, no, no… you would have to take my shirt off, don´t want to ruin it ya know? Besides, it would only be in the way anyway.” He winked at her and momentarily let his eyes roam her body, she caught him doing it and cocked an eyebrow at him.

“See something you like?” She quoted him and tilted her head slightly to one side while she kept her eyes on him, two could play this game. A smirk rose on Johns face, he turned his body in her direction and leaned slightly closer to her, Rook mimicked his moves and leaned back to keep the distance between their bodies.

The smirk never wavered from his face when he said

“Oh, to be honest, I really do see something I like.”

By now, Rook was lying flat on her back, the youngest brother hovered over her and came dangerously close to her face.

“Little Deputy…” their faces were only inches apart when he lifted a finger and stroked down her cheek, the contact caused her to jump slightly, a silent sigh left her body when he rested more of his weight on her.

“We could have so much fun… if you would only say *Yes* to me.”

The last part was whispered to her ear, his breath hot in her ear made her shiver.

“I can´t…” She had to close her eyes to not let him see the bitterness in her eyes. Out of all men in Hope County, why did she fall for John fucking Seed? There are so many others out there! Men who already proclaimed their interest in her and she always shoved them away for an imaginary happy end with the guy she was supposed to hate.

He cupped her face in order to make her look at him, their noses were touching from how close they were. For a moment it was quiet, only rain and thunder could be heard over the crackling of the fire, their breaths were mingling together and their lips lightly touching when he broke the silence of the room. “You can.” He breathed, his eyes skimmed down to her lips for only a heartbeat before he couldn´t take it any longer and crashed their lips together. Rook froze in her spot, too shocked to response to the sudden contact, her eyes wide when he ended the kiss. Her thoughts run a million miles a minute trying to understand what just happened and how to response.

Lips tingling and when she was able to think straight again, she let her finger lightly trace his chest, giving him goosebumps, before she leaned up and pressed her lips against his, Johns immediate reaction was to deepen the kiss as he tangled his fingers in her soft hair. He rests most of his weight on her now, effectively trapping her underneath his body while he kissed all breath from her. She never received a kiss like this; soft, slightly chapped lips pressed against hers with the perfect pressure and the exact right rhythm to make her feel breathless, so tender and loving she could feel it in her very soul and she couldn´t help the sigh that left her as his tongue stroked her lip, asking for entrance which she willingly gave. One of her hands found the way into his hair, lightly gripping it in order to anchor herself while the other traced a scar on his back. He hummed appreciating against her lips, the hand not tangled in her strands gripped her thigh and hoisted it up to make more space for his hips between her legs, he slowly rocked into her, forcing a surprised gasp from her. When the need for air became too much, he broke the kiss and buried his face in her neck, lathering it with kisses and the occasional nibble that made her whimper softly. Encouraged by the sounds she made he started sucking at her pulse point, the soft moan of his name made him even bolder as his hand stroked over her thigh, higher and higher to the hem of her shirt, bringing it up in the process to reveal more soft skin.

Rook was suddenly pulled back to reality when (surprisingly soft) fingers traced the edge of her bra.

She pushed him away from her and scrambled to her feet, leaving a confused John behind.

“We shouldn´t do this.” Tugging her shirt down to cover herself, she hurriedly stepped around the table to gather her by now dry clothes, taking them with her into the bathroom to get clothed again.

When she turned back to the living room, John still hasn´t moved and just stared at her, hurt evident in his eyes and it took everything inside Rook to not jump on his lap to kiss all his worries away.

Instead she took her duffle bag and stuffed all her belongings back in, glancing out of the window she could see the storm had ceased and only a few raindrops were still falling from the sky. She didn´t care though, she needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

Standing with her hand on the doorknob she looked back one last time to see John blankly starring into the fire.

“We´ll meet again, Deputy.”

“I´m sorry.” She whispered these last words before opening the door to step out into the rain.

The forest was dark, the only light came from the moon shining through the trees and guiding her way back to the street where she came from.

Congratulations, you made it to the end !! I´m new to the writing thing and Feedback is highly appreciated! Oh, and if your eyes are bleeding from the bad grammar, then let me know! I’m from Germany and my english is a Little rusty, so please Point out the mistakes I made. Oh, and should you have a reqeust, send me an ask!

#john seed x deputy #john seed x rook #john seed fanfiction #far cry 5 fanfiction #far cry 5 #john seed #project at eden's gate #edens gate #jelly writes #john seed x reader

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

Of Earth and Sea: 8/9

My fic for the 2019 @cssns will drop this Friday, so to celebrate, I’m re-posting my fic from last year (and also because I was a tumblr newbie back then and didn’t post the chapters here, just the link to Ao3)

Gorgeous art by @shipsxahoy!

Also check out the additional art that @cocohook38 made for this chapter here. I flailed like crazy when I saw it the first time! Our Captain Swan family dressed in elvish clothing is brought perfectly to life in her drawing.

Summary: Five years after their wedding, Emma and Killian are ready to start a family. But Emma discovers that raising a family isn't that simple when your husband is a Dunedin (half-elf) and your mother-in-law is neither dead nor alive.

Rated T

Also on Ao3

Tagging:(let me know if you want to be added or removed from this list) @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @snowbellewells @profdanglaisstuff @wellhellotragic @mythologicalmango @xhookswenchx @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @lovepurplepumpkins

Chapter Seven:

“Lend dreams nin mel

Glenn-nai i even lands

Lend songs bo i thul

Im tur-feel ha in i nen,

Im tur-feel in i coe,

Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”

Tauriel ran her hands soothingly through her little boy’s dark brown hair as he drifted off to sleep in her lap. Every year his hair got a shade darker. When he became a man he would mostly likely have black hair like his father’s. His eyes were already that stunning shade of blue. He still had Tauriel’s freckles, but those seemed to fade as the years went by. She sighed as she watched the eight year old’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Oh, how she hoped her son would choose a different path than that of his father!

It worried her that he had fallen asleep like this. He was so thin and hungry. Life as a slave boy on that ship was much too cruel. A tear slipped down her cheek as she stroked her precious boy’s face. This wasn’t the life she wanted for him. Her heart broke at how she couldn’t even care for her own child. She couldn’t even pass any of her elven strength on to him, since she wasn’t fully alive. She found berries in the forest for him to eat, but what he really needed was lambas bread. Hopefully he would dream deeply enough tonight to find himself in the elven lands, and her people could give him better nourishment. She waved her hand over him and muttered in elvish.

“I polod im-gar, im on-na cin.”

Tauriel let out a relieved breath when some color came back into her son’s cheeks. Using magic in her condition was always a guessing game. One thing was for sure; it wasn’t enough to change her son’s circumstances.

Tauriel heard course words and laughter coming from the clearing on the other side of the trees. She eased Killian gently and swiftly from her lap and into a pile of soft moss. She waved her hand over the child once again.

“Taur, coe; beri-hi hen. Lore, nin red, lore tovon a lor.”

The moss and earth obeyed her command, wrapping Killian like a blanket. The roots of the tree nearby rose up and arched over him. No passerby would guess that a child slept there. Tauriel turned and moved on her soft and soundless feet towards the voices. She almost gasped at what she saw through the cover of leaves.

A man, of dark hair and strong, slender build, had a petite, buxom maiden against a large tree. She was laughing merrily, her head tipped back as the man trailed passionate kisses along her neck. His hand cupped her bosom.

The man was Brennan Jones.

Memories assaulted Tauriel of that painful day when she had found him with another woman. His hands caressing another in the same way he had caressed Tauriel just the day before. His lips drinking in the taste of someone else. It was a jarring image that no one should have to endure. The woman Brennan was with now wasn’t the same one she had caught him with that fateful day. Seemed he was faithful to no one.

Brennan moved to loosen the woman’s laces as she buried her fingers in his hair. He began gasping out, “Loreena! Oh, Loreena!”

Tauriel rolled her eyes as she turned to slip back to get Killian. The last thing the boy needed was to see the wretched man again. Not after the year of misery the poor child had endured. All because Brennan Jones knew nothing of faithfulness and commitment. But before she could take even a step, Brennan’s female companion corrected him.

“My name is not Loreena.”

The coldness of the woman’s voice gave Tauriel pause.

“Sure it is,” Brennan chuckled, flashing the woman that charming smile of his. Only someone who knew him well, like Tauriel, would be able to see the slight nervousness in his eyes. Tauriel bit her lip to keep from chuckling. The man had known so many women, he was bound to have difficulty keeping them all straight.

“No. It is not.” Then the woman transformed right before his eyes. Gone was the head of light brown curls, gone were the petite curves, gone was the upturned, freckled nose. Instead stood a woman of regal bearing, tall, with long, straight raven tresses and milky white skin. Tauriel clapped a hand to her mouth to keep from gasping.

“Carabosse!” Brennan cried. It was the mistress he had taken when wed to Tauriel!

“Yes, it’s me,” the woman replied coldly. “I’m surprised you remembered my name. What was it . . . Margeurite? The blonde you left me for? And you were married to the redheaded elf when you took me as a lover.” She chuckled wryly. “You like a sampling, don’t you?”

Brennan sauntered close to the woman, reaching out to stroke her shiny ebony hair. “Yet none were as exotic as you, Carabosse.”

“Your flattery will get you nowhere, Brennan Jones,” the woman told him, taking a step back. “You should know better than to become entangled with a witch. Especially if you do not plan on being faithful. What is that expression? Ah yes, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Brennan’s eyes widened and he went suddenly pale. “Come now, Carabosse, surely we can – “ His words were cut off suddenly as he clutched his throat and gasped for breath. He lifted a trembling hand towards the witch for a moment, but then collapsed to the ground.

Carabosse knelt beside him, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Sleep well, my former lover. Sleep long and fitfully. For I do not think there are any upon this earth who feel any kind of love, much less true love for a despicable man like you.”

She leaned forward and brushed her blood red lips across Brennan’s forehead, then stood. Still looking at the still form at her feet, she called out, “I know you are there, elf.”

Tauriel startled, and quickly began to head back to where Killian lay.

“Show yourself,” Carabosse called after her. As if Tauriel had any intention of doing her bidding. Until the witch added, “I know your son is with you.”

Tauriel froze in her tracks. She shut her eyes tight and pressed her lips together. She couldn’t risk the witch hurting Killian, so she squared her shoulders and stepped out from the copse of trees. Carabosse smiled serenely at her.

“You can thank me,” she told Tauriel, gesturing at the man sprawled upon the forest floor.

“You knew I was here the whole time.”

Carabosse shrugged. “I could have put him down in the room at the tavern. But I sensed your magic in the woods, and I thought to myself, now that would be awfully poetic.”

“So you’re just going to leave him here.”

Carabosse’s eyes widened in surprise. “You worry for his well -being? After the pain he put you through?” The witch gestured at Tauriel’s body, which had begun to fade slightly. “This whole wasting away thing you elves do. Surely you hate him.”

Tauriel looked down at Brennan’s handsome face. He had a way of charming a woman, of making her believe she was the only one so beautiful, so desirable. Looking back, Tauriel realized his praise was always for her beauty: her hair, her eyes, her figure. He never really knew her heart, her soul, or her mind.

“I gave myself to one who was not deserving. I should have opened my eyes before it was too late. And now I pay the price.”

Carabosse spoke with surprising tenderness. “A grieving heart can make desperate decisions.”

Tauriel’s gaze snapped up to the woman’s face, so cold, so seemingly indifferent. Yet there was a tiny bit of softness in her eyes. “H-how did you know?”

Carabosse shrugged. “Word gets around. Especially when it’s an elf and a dwarf. Two races who are supposed to hate each other. Besides,” she inclined her head towards the trees, “you named your son after him.”

This wasn’t a topic Tauriel wished to discuss with a stranger, so she lowered her gaze back to Brennan. “We can’t just leave him here. Between the wild life and the elements, he’ll be killed.”

“You elves,” Carabosse scoffed as she turned to go, “always helping. Always caring too much.”

“It is against our nature to turn our backs on the weak and suffering.”

“You can’t undo my magic.”

Tauriel tilted her head, “I can change it.”

Carabosse rolled her eyes, “Fine, suit yourself. As long as he spends many long years in that red, burning room of torture, it will be enough for me.” And with that, the witch disappeared in a cloud of blood red smoke.

Tauriel worked quickly once the witch had disappeared. Killian’s presence helped her stay corporeal for much longer than normal, but her time, even with her son, was coming to a close. She didn’t have much time left, and she still wanted to see her child back to his ship. So she first erected a protective coffin of sorts from roots and moss. Then she put a protection spell around it, so at least Brennan wouldn’t be eaten by wolves or freeze to death. Then she spoke a spell over him.

“Lore tenna sanda mel hir cin, lore mal an i lumenns-o tindu, lore.”

Essentially, the spell allowed Brennan to awaken during the brief time between twilight and midnight. Most likely, he would only be partially awake, for Carabosse’s magic was powerful. To most, he would appear like a bedridden, sick man, but at least he would be freed from the torture of that horrible red burning room. Tauriel’s counter-spell also allowed the sleeping curse to be broken if Brennan could find a true love. Tauriel rested her hand upon the twisted branches of the make-shift coffin.

“May you find a woman with a heart so pure that she can make yours finally faithful.”

Then she turned to walk back to their son.

****************************************************

The journey from the land of the woodland elves to Rivendell was normally one of many long weeks, so Emma was thankful for the pouch of beans that Anton had given them. She was ready to go immediately, but Killian insisted they stay the night so she could rest.

“Killian, I can’t possibly sleep with Elien still so far away,” she argued.

Killian reached out his hand and cupped her cheek, his expression a mixture of tenderness and concern. “You died earlier, love.”

Emma chuckled wryly as she grasped his hand and kissed his palm. “Only with us is that a normal occurrence.”

“And you will sleep, I can promise you that,” Galadriel told her, “many have come here to be refreshed on their journeys. You will feed on lambas bread and drink of sweet, refreshing springs of water. And by the time you have finished, we will have a bower ready for you.”

Emma pressed her lips together. She had to admit, she was starving and her legs felt like rubber. “Okay,” she finally relented, “but we leave first thing in the morning.”

“With you, that may mean eleven o’clock,” Killian quipped.

Emma smacked him, “So wake me up, sailor!”

He laughed lightly as he pulled her close. “I won’t let you sleep the day away, Swan, I promise. But I will make sure you rest.”

The elven meal they were brought didn’t seem like much: two squares of lambas bread, a wedge of cheese, and a small bowl of wild berries. Yet it satisfied Emma’s hunger completely, and every bite of the lambas bread sent a pleasant warmth all through her. Then she and Killian were escorted up the winding staircase of one of the enormous trees. One of Galadriel’s maidservants opened a door made of birch branches and thick opaque glass. It lead into a room that reminded Emma of both a giant bird’s nest and a domed hut. The bed was sunken into the bowl shaped floor, padded with the softest moss Emma had ever felt and piled high with blankets of soft deer skin. There were also piles of down stuffed pillows woven of silk. Killian told her the elves harvested the silk from the husks of the cocoons that hung in the trees.

Even though they had complete privacy inside their woven bower, the songs of the elves still filtered through.

“Lend dreams nin mel

Glenn-nai i even lands

Lend songs bo i thul

Im tur-feel ha in i nen,

Im tur-feel in i coe,

Im tur-smel ha in i gwilith”

“It’s the same song you sing to Elien,” Emma said with a yawn as she curled up beneath the blankets.

“Aye, love,” Killian replied as he lay down behind her, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her close until she was tucked under his chin, “elvish lullabies. It’s why we know you will sleep long and deep.”

“You said we,” Emma said drowsily, her words beginning to slur, “I thought you didn’t like being called an elf.”

“Sometimes I don’t mind,” he answered, his own voice fading into sleep.

Emma turned in his arms to rest her cheek against his chest. Between his warmth, the rise and fall of his chest, and the song of the elves, fighting the pull of sleep was impossible. I feel almost like the bower is rocking gently, was her last thought before she drifted off, like sleeping on the Jolly Roger . . .

********************************************************

Elien Jones sat at the edge of the pool of water, gathering sticks and smooth, colorful pebbles. The mist from the waterfall that spilled into the pool dampened her strawberry blonde hair, curling the wisps that framed her face. She gnawed on her lower lip in concentration the way her mother often did.

“Is that a fairy house you’re building?” Elrond asked her kindly.

“No,” Elien answered simply, shaking her head. She picked up a waxy leaf and carefully stuck the largest stick through its center. Then she flipped over the sticks she had woven together and pushed the tall stick with the leaf through the center. “It’s a pirate ship,” she explained.

Tauriel pressed her fingers to her lips to suppress a smile as Elrond frowned. She schooled her features then turned to the eldest council member imploringly. “I beg of you to reconsider this plan. Elien is a special little girl. She doesn’t belong here.”

“Of course she’s special!” Elrond exclaimed. “The daughter of the savior, a product of true love, and a Dunedin? She is the perfect match for my grandson in every way. And one day, they will rule our people. United and strong once again.”

Tauriel shook her head wearily. “That’s not what I meant. Her magic is bigger than the elves, bigger even than her mother’s destiny. I have seen it. To keep her here would be like . . . trapping a majestic Eagle in a cage.”

Elrond gazed at her with furrowed brow, “They would rule more than just the elves then, a united kingdom of men and elves. A mighty force for good, for peace.”

Tauriel scowled openly. “Her destiny is more than preserving bloodlines. More than who she will wed.”

Tauriel turned away from the elf to go to her granddaughter. She watched as Elien pushed the little boat gently into the water. It promptly sank. She tilted her golden head for a moment, then lifted both hands towards the water. Her magic pulsed forth, the water bubbled, and the little boat popped back up on the surface. A shimmer swirled around it, and then it bobbed merrily along until it disappeared in the mist at the base of the waterfall.

“What a lovely ship,” Tauriel told the girl as she knelt next to her and wrapped an arm over her shoulder.

Elien smiled as she gazed into the mist, dimples appearing in both cheeks. Tauriel brushed the child’s hair back from her face, her heart aching at how much the child looked like Killian at times. He argued that she looked like her and Emma. But Tauriel often felt she was looking far into the past as she gazed into the little girl’s face.

“Effie,” Elien said, turning to her grandmother with a furrowed brow and a serious expression, “I knew you would come.”

Tauriel smiled as she cupped the child’s face in her hands. “Of course I did. And your mama and papa are coming too. We came to save you.”

Elien’s gaze drifted to the ground, the long lashes she had inherited from Killian brushing the tops of her cheeks. “No. You didn’t. I’m the one who will save you.”

Tauriel’s eyes widened in confusion. “Why do you say that, child?”

Elien’s mossy green eyes looked full of wisdom beyond her years as she held her grandmother’s gaze. “I have seen it in my dreams.”

**************************************************

Killian’s suggestive grin as he helped Emma up after they crashed through the portal was more irritating than attractive. Since she was more focused on dusting herself off and picking leaves out of her hair.

“What?” she snapped, then immediately sighed as she rubbed at a bruise on her elbow, “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just on edge and, you know, slightly battered.”

Killian’s gaze softened as he rubbed her arms gently. “I know, my love, no offense taken. I was merely admiring this look on you.” He then pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Emma smiled and blushed even as she shrugged. “Guess I’d make a good elf, huh?”

Killian’s eyes took in the dress of rich burgundy velvet with gold trim. Emma’s fair skin was milky white in contrast, and the gold brought out the honey-colored hues in her hair. Lambas bread always made skin and hair brighter, but Emma’s seemed to positively radiate light. Her hair was held back from her face in the traditional elven way, braided in loose knots. Emma lifted her hand to pat the braids gingerly.

“These aren’t literally knots are they?” she asked hesitantly, “Cause that would be a pain in the ass to comb out.”

Killian blinked, not really sure what she was saying, more distracted at the shape of her arms as the wide sleeves of the dress slipped down to her elbow. The movement also gave him a peek of her cleavage against the scooped neckline. Emma just laughed and shook her head.

“You can take this dress off me later, pirate, let’s go get our little girl.”

The portal had deposited them only a half hour’s walk away from the borders of Rivendell, so they didn’t have far to go. Killian’s elven senses directed them, and they walked in silence for a few moments. Emma glanced his way, admiring the soft leather breeches he wore beneath the green tunic cinched at his waist. Over that he wore a cloak of lighter brown, edged in bright green thread. He had grumbled when the elves brought the garments to him, but in the end he had to admit that his jeans and leather jacket were not only worse for wear after the run in with the spiders, but weren’t warm enough for the woods they would be traveling through. Emma liked him in the outfit; she swore it made those ears she loved so much seem more pointed, made the flecks of green in his eyes more pronounced. Of course, she honestly liked him in just about anything. Captain Hook, “Prince Charles,” Killian Jones of Storybrooke, or Killian the Dunedin, he was all of those things to her. And she loved every part of him. He glanced her way and arched a brow.

“Admiring something, love?” he teased.

“Always,” she told him, grasping his hook in her hand. She didn’t let go as they made their way along, and finally worked up the courage to ask him something she had been wondering for quite some time. “Killian? Why did your mother stay away so long?”

He stopped abruptly. “What do you mean?”

Emma wet her lips nervously. “When she showed up right before our wedding, you said you hadn’t seen her since right before the curse was cast. That was a long time, and I thought she was cursed to wander after the one she loves most. So . . . “

Killian clenched his jaw, his eyes darting, landing anywhere but on Emma’s face. “I’m sure she was around, but . . . “ he finally met Emma’s eyes, releasing a long breath, “I told her I never wanted to see her again.”

Emma’s brow furrowed. “But why? What did she do?”

Killian lowered his head as shame washed over his face. “She did nothing. It’s what I did. The last time I saw her . . . it was also . . . the last time I saw my father.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she put it all together. “Oh.”

Killian ran his hand wearily over his face. “I was leaving that hut, leaving my father there cold on the ground, and there she was. She looked so . . . distraught. She begged me not to leave my little brother alone. Said she knew it would haunt me.”

Emma stepped closer, cupping his face in her hands. “Hey. Look at me. I’ve heard this story, remember? It didn’t change how I felt about you then, and it still doesn’t now.”

Killian nodded, blinking away shameful tears, and turned his face to kiss her palm. Then he grasped one of her hands with his and laced their fingers together. “I responded to my mother in the only way I could at the time – with anger and rage. I already was ashamed of what I had done, but I wasn’t about to let her know that. So I told her I had finally done what she never had courage to – I made our father pay for all of his crimes. I never saw my mother weep like that. How could I ever look her in the eye again? After what I had done? After I had become so dark?”

“And that’s why you told her you never wanted to see her again.”

Killian nodded. “And she honored my request. But I’ve always wondered. If it was because she – stopped loving me. That I had become such a villain that even she couldn’t love me.”

Emma shook her head as she drew closer. “I have heard your mother talk about you enough to know that could never happen.”

“My father’s love had its limits. Why not hers?”

Emma kissed him softly, first on the lips then on his nose, then each cheek. She then wrapped her arms around him, pressing her lips to his collar bone. “Because she’s your mother,” Emma whispered against his skin, “nothing could ever make me stop loving Henry or Elien.” She pulled back to look into his eyes again. “And she’s so much like you. You could never stop loving any of us either. It just isn’t in your nature; and it isn’t in hers.”

Killian stroked her cheek, a peace settling over his features. “In my heart, I know you’re right. That’s why I just can’t believe that she would take the Arkenstone.”

Emma took a step back, tugging lightly on his hook. “When have we ever let fate determine our future? This family fights for each other, sees the best in each other. I really don’t give a shit what you’re grandmother’s pool says.”

Killian chuckled as he walked alongside his wife. “That’s the Emma I love.”

*****************************************************

Emma had to admit that the towering waterfalls of Rivendell were a sight to behold. And she understood now what Killian meant about the air here. It strengthened her as she breathed it in, and the light seemed . . . not brighter, but more rich, making every color more vibrant.

Yet she cared little about her surroundings once a familiar voice cut through the air. “Mama! Papa!”

She and Killian’s elven escorts, though armed, were no match for their determination to go to their daughter. They both shoved the guards aside heedlessly as they dashed through the doorway into Elrond’s throne room. They then fell to their knees as they gathered Elien into their arms, peppering her with kisses. Killian had been right; the elves had taken good care of their little girl. She was well fed, and even seemed happy. And Emma had to admit she looked adorable in her tiny elven dress of lavender and silver.

“Can we go home?” Elien asked with a frown as she pulled away.

“Of course we can, cygnet,” Killian told her as he scooped her up.

“This should be her home,” Elrond spoke up, “with her people.”

Emma marched right up to the elf and without hesitation punched him in the jaw. “That’s for kidnapping my child. And for the record, her people are in Storybrooke.”

“But elven blood runs through her veins.”

“Well, so does human blood,” Emma snapped back.

“The fate of her people hang in the balance!” Elrond shouted. “We’re talking about the greater good!”

“And I’m talking about what’s best for Elien!” Emma was in the elf’s face now. “I know what it’s like to sacrifice having a family for the greater good. My daughter won’t suffer the same thing.”

“Then you and your husband can stay here,” Elrond argued, more calmly now.

“I don’t think your listening,” Emma seethed, “we’re taking her back to Storybrooke where she has grandparents and an uncle and godparents and friends.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t your decision.”

“Says who? I’m her mother.”

“Enough!” Tauriel shouted. It was the loudest Emma had ever heard her speak. “Elien is my granddaughter, not a pawn.”

“Besides,” Killian interjected, “it isn’t the elven way to keep a child against her will.”

Elrond’s brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed before he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. His royal guard rushed into the room on their silent elven feet, their arrows making a soft, yet eerie swishing sound as they pulled them from their quivers in perfect synchronization and notched them to their bows.

“I stand corrected,” Killian muttered. He set Elien down gently. “Get behind me, little love.”

Emma inched her way over and she and Killian kept their daughter safely sandwiched between them.

“I don’t want to threaten you,” Elrond said.

“Could have fooled me,” Emma replied sarcastically.

“Elrond, you can’t seriously be considering forcibly removing a child from her parents,” Tauriel argued, “this isn’t the elven way!”

“Not the elven way?” Elrond snapped. “Soon the ways of our people will die out. More and more of our youth are leaving these lands, intermarrying with the race of men. Our magic is weakening, our lands dying.”

Tauriel laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Then perhaps it’s time we joined the race of men instead of keeping ourselves apart.”

Elrond’s face contorted with grief and sadness. “You sound like my daughter. My precious Arwen who will suffer your fate when her true love dies.”

“That’s what this is really about, isn’t it?” Tauriel asked gently. “Giving her a bloodline that will help her hold on as I have done.”

Killian exchanged a look with Emma, and then he stepped forward slowly, pulling the Arkenstone from the satchel at his hip. “If I may, my Lord, offer an alternative?”

“The Arkenstone!” Elrond breathed, reaching for it with a trembling hand.

Killian pulled it back against his chest. “Aye. The stone that will take away your daughter’s immortality. In exchange for my little girl, of course.”

Elrond’s eyes flashed. “Or my army takes it by force.”

“Or I take it!”

Every eye in the room turned in shock at the sound of the small voice. Elien Jones stood in the middle of the throne room, her green eyes flashing fire, magic tingling between her fingertips. She raised her hand towards her father, and the Arkenstone flew into her hand.

“What are you doing!” Elrond screamed, racing forward. Elien flung her hand, and Elrond was frozen in place.

Emma and Killian shouted their daughter’s name, but they found they were frozen in place as well. The stone pulsed an even brighter red in the little girl’s hand. Emma lifted frantic eyes to her husband, but he looked just as frightened as she did.

“Elien, honey,” Tauriel said gently, easing down on her knees in front of her granddaughter, “you need to put the stone down.”

“No, Effie,” Elien said in her little girl voice, “it’s meant for you.”

Elien placed the stone into Tauriel’s palm, then she placed her tiny hands over her grandmother’s. Magic sparked, and snaking red lines poured forth from the stone, enveloping Tauriel. When it cleared, she collapsed to the ground, and the stone rolled across the floor. It was no longer red, but a dull glassy color. Elien released her hold on the others, and Killian and Emma raced to Tauriel’s side.

“Mother,” Killian said gently, helping her up to a seated position.

She moaned and held her head, and Killian grasped her arms, half laughing in disbelief as he squeezed her shoulders, then her hands between his. She hadn’t felt so solid since he was a tiny lad.

“You’re . . . you’re . . . “

Tauriel put her chest to her heart. “I’m mortal.” She reached up and cupped Killian’s face in her hands, marveling at the stubble beneath her palms. Her little boy, all grown up, and she could finally really, truly feel him. “Oh my precious, precious boy.”

Killian embraced his mother then, holding her tightly as he hadn’t been able to in so many long centuries. Tears filled Emma’s eyes as she watched them. Elien flung her arms around both her papa and her Effie. Tauriel turned to her granddaughter and peppered her face with kisses. Then they yanked Emma in for a group hug.

“The stone chose you.”

The Jones family looked up to see Elrond standing over them. Emma smiled at Killian.

“Galadriel didn’t see your mother taking the stone, she saw Elien giving it to her.”

Tauriel shook her head. “But why? Why me?”

Elrond reached out and took Tauriel’s hand, helping her to her feet. “Because of the many long years of sacrifice for your son. You have earned your rest, Tauriel of the Woodland Elves.”

She turned to her son, her daughter-in-law, and her granddaughter. “And I know just where I’ll spend my final years.”

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2018 #ouat/lotr crossover #killian as half elf #cs canon divergence

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laur-rants · 6 years

Text

Fic Update -- Wolfbann

Chapter 11 - With Borrowed Time

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Everything happens all the time

*Note: The read more may not appear for mobile users. For this, I sincerely apologize.

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The rain was deafening in her ears as it splattered onto her leather hood, the sound a cacophony on her senses. At least it kept the wet out and the warm in, but it didn't stop her stomach from running cold from fear and second-guesses.

She shivered despite herself. She stood outside of decrepit brick gates -- a single gaping maw in a wall that stretched away in either direction. She couldn't see where the wall ended; it disappeared into the shadows of vegetation, into the fog hanging heavy in the early season rain. Inside the broken opening was a destroyed, overgrown garden, complete with a broken fountain and a lawn far past needing cut. Barely visible through the fog and gathering gloom was the lurking form of a mansion; abandoned and old and full of secrets, to loomed like a sentinel, waited for them to arrive. She bit her lip as she stared at it, the size of it warping in her vision, rushing in on her as if the house itself was a ghost and its curse was pulling her in.

Her hair prickled on the back of her neck. She tried to take a step forward and felt her feet rooted in the watery ground.

What was she doing here?

“Emily.”

Her heart jumped to life as she snapped her head up to her companion, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Dressed in similar leathers and wearing her heavy whaler mask, Billie held out a gloved hand. Emily looked at the hand: typically, the offered palm was a reassurance, one to take instantly. But looking up into those empty glass eyes, noting the running red of Billie's master assassin jacket…

Emily felt her throat close tight.

“We're almost there. Are you ready?”

Emily hesitated. Billie twitched her fingers. Finally she relented, biting her lip and letting her small hand slip into Billie's.

Billie stiffened like a board, her grip tightening suddenly. Emily gasped, looking from the hand to Billie's face -- who wasn't looking at Emily, but somewhere far away.

Like someone was calling her.

Or, at least, that's what Emily called it when the wolves talked to each other secretly, using their minds to send messages. Emily wondered how they did it; she sometimes received their conversations in her mind but could never respond the same way, no matter how hard she tried. She could only talk aloud, her thoughts not attuned to such a special and intimate language. Daud had showed her the magic that made it work; had offered his hand with the strange, black markings. The curves and lines had reminded her of Sokolov’s instruments used for drawing maps and measuring distance. Emily had wondered absently if Daud's mark pointed him to his wolves like a compass: the magic, his map.

If Corvo had a similar mark, could he, perhaps, find her too?

But that was a quiet fantasy. The reality was that she was here, standing in the relentless rain, staring down a creepy mansion, and stuck with the unmoving form of Billie Lurk, deep in conversation.

Emily frowned.

Usually a call didn't take so long.

“Billie?” She finally queried. “Who is it?”

Billie didn't respond. Instead she jerked her head sharply, a subtly aggressive move, her chest heaving as she came back around. She turned quickly, holding tight to Emily's hand, beginning to walk with no warning. Emily stumbled, crying out incredulously as she found her footing, all while Billie tugged her hurriedly along.

“Wait! Billie! What's wrong? Was it Daud?” She was used to the Whalers giving her some sort of verbal translation. Being left in the dark only made her more upset. “Is he okay? It didn't look okay.”

“It was nothing.”

Emily jogged while Billie hurried, their boots sinking into the mud before coming back out with a loud squelch.

“Didn't look like nothing. And only Daud can stop you guys dead in your tracks like that.”

Billie huffed out, annoyed.

“It was worse than Daud,” Billie finally relented. “We need to get inside before it gets dark, Emily, I fear someone may be following us.”

Emily looked around as they passed through the crumbling archway of the gate, eyeing the shadows at the edge, looking for any intruders. She didn't find anything but more rain.

“Are you sure? Who would follow us?”

The blades of grass whispered while the sky spoke. They rushed past the old marble fountain-- cracked, crumbling, and the head of the center statue now partially hidden in six inches of murky, disgusting water.

“There are many who want you for themselves, Emily. People who killed your mother, who ruined Corvo. It’s why Daud took you, but that avenue also is no longer completely safe. But once we are in the manor the magic of this place will keep us hidden and protected.”

Emily looked at her then, Billie's form barely visible in the cloudy twilight. As they neared the old house, lights turned on in the windows and figures peered down, watching their approach. When Emily blinked, they were gone.

The two of them cleared the front stairs quickly to avoid the final pass of rain. Emily caught her breath as Billie turned her attention to the sodden double doors.

“There's magic here?”

“Yes, Emily. A magic that runs in your family, in your very blood.”

Emily's throat ran dry, unable to find the words to reply. Her heart beat against her chest and some of her old excitement returned, the same excitement that she felt when Billie told her she knew where she still had family. Real family, her flesh and blood, which she’s now told is also magic…

They reached the doors, pushing open the rotting wood with the effort that comes from fighting aged friction. As soon as they were inside the sound of the rain immediately deafened and the stuffy, close humidity of the house hit her senses all at once. Emily turned, removed her hood and looked around, getting her bearings.

The large foyer and double stairs were in disrepair, the tile cracking on the floor and the chandelier hanging sideways, threatening injury with its inevitable fall. Paintings sat on the floor, their canvases torn, their oiled surfaces peeling. In the other rooms the floors gave way to the basement, where the collected rainwater flooded considerably. The whole place carried the sweet scent of decaying plant matter, of the building slowly being reclaimed by the earth. Emily puffed her cheeks out and took a step further inside.

The air crackled. Suddenly, vines appeared from the floor-- long and thick and black, they grew incredibly fast, the new wood creaking loudly as it sprouted. Two vines, their blood red flowers shining in the gloom, met and wove together, the branches shrieking as wood met wood, crashing into cradling shapes. Emily would have been terrified if she wasn't already completely fascinated, the ballet of wood a captivating sight. It finally ended in a shape that vaguely resembled a chair -- and upon that chair, a form materialized.

Void coalesced into human, one that was tall and lanky and well dressed in a pantsuit so green it nearly looked black. Roses sat on -- no, grew from -- her collar, and the vines they made coiled down her arms and over her long black gloves. An upticked smile on a sharp face greeted her as the figure stepped up and off the plant-like chair; light grey eyes below undercut dark hair turned to meet hers.

Emily gaped. She knew those eyes. They were just like... looked just like…

“Emily Kaldwin,” Billie said softly from somewhere over her shoulder. “Meet Delilah Copperspoon. She is your mother's half-sister.”

The women narrowed her large eyes and bowed to Emily. The smile was subtle, dangerous. Emily's skin pricked with suspicion at the display, and when Delilah held out her hand and looked back up into her face, she found herself frozen.

“Hello my darling,” she said, her words silky.

“My mother's… half-sister?” Emily asked, paralyzed under that steely gaze. “So that makes you my…”

“Aunt, yes,” Delilah assured, and as much as her heart screamed no , she could not refute it. The resemblance was there even if she didn't want to admit it.

Was this really all the family she had left?

Before Emily could dwell further, Delilah was pulling her into a hug, bringing her in tight and wrapping her up close. Emily started at the sudden embrace, not sure how to take the gesture even as sank into it. The sigh escaping Delilah's chest was palpable as she cradled Emily's wet and tiny body close to her.

“It's so good to finally meet you.”

------

His head buzzed with the background chatter of dozens of different voices -- a smattering of individual notes that gathered into a strange harmony in his skull, like crickets in the night. Except where crickets chirruped pleasantly when together, these voices spoke of fear, of uncertainty, of questions he wasn't ready to answer.

He didn't cut them out or quiet them down, however. Instead, he formulated a plan with his thoughts open like a book, with all his different Whalers drifting in and asking for orders or offering suggestions. It was smooth and natural and how it always used to be. The realization was a bitter one, surrounding thoughts of a time before the hit on the Empress, before his guilt, before he had shuttered his emotions from his Bonded because one overwhelming, powerful mind had consumed him.

But now that secret was out. They all knew the state of the Royal Protector now.

They had all seen him in their minds eye, conversing with Corvo Attano not hours earlier.

“Daud,” a soft voice said, a whisper of Void following the words. Daud looked up from his desk, sending out a vein of curiosity towards the figure that just appeared in his open office. Without asking he knew it was Rinaldo: one of his oldest, one of his first Bonded. The unwavering loyalty was evident in stance and emotion. Daud nodded to him in acknowledgement.

“Have you found anything?” Daud asked, and felt a flicker of disappointment proceed Rinaldo’s next words.

“Unfortunately, nothing yet of Emily. Billie left no trail. She was clever to leave during such a strong downpour; her scent just got washed away with the rain.”

I taught her well, he couldn't help but think bitterly, forgetting his mind was loud once again, and was mildly surprised when Rinaldo bowed his head and sent calm thoughts out to him.

“You cannot blame yourself, Daud. None of us saw this coming.”

“I should have,” he said soberly, looking back down at the mess surrounding his desk. It was littered with paper, with notes on the Tower, on the river, and anything containing sightings of other magical figures other than themselves.

“I knew those witches existed, I just underestimated them. They were always on the far side of the city, never close to our territory. They wouldn't be so stupid to push that boundary, not when just the scent of my patrols sent them running.”

“So what do you think changed?” Rinaldo asked, curious.

Daud’s cheek clenched, teeth grinding down and wishing to lengthen. He thought of Billie; his thoughts desperately searched for her but again found the path was met with thorns that repelled his magic.

“They found a way to sneak in undetected,” Daud replied, acutely aware of the sadness in his tone. “And that's my own oversight.”

“And Emily?”

Daud turned and paced away from the desk. He stopped short of Rinaldo, who visibly straightened so close to his mentor.

“I haven't figured that out yet, but the best bet is that since she will be Empress and she's missing city-wide, they will use her as leverage to get something that they want. What that something is, I don't yet know.” He took pause and mentally sifted through the Whalers he sent out into the storm. “Have the other scouts returned yet?”

“Not yet, but at least one of them has said they have a potential lead.”

Daud nodded to Rinaldo, understanding. He then clenched his fist, gnarly claws forming as the magic flowed through his body and thoughts.

He pulled.

Within moments the air was filled with the wind of appearing Whalers, whispering through the Void to come to his call, one after another. He held the burning magic, counting each Whaler in turn, only releasing it when all were present. Three wolves and two humans stood in his office, wet and sodden but eyes all burning for his command.

“Who found the lead?” He growled to them, eyes flashing as he turned to each of them. Galia's huge grey head bowed, lip curling.

“It was me, sir,” she told him, her thoughts such a tangled knot of emotions that Daud had to concentrate to find her words. “Down at the river's edge. She said she saw a massive wolf passing the flooding waters, breaking out of the city's blockade.”

“She?” Daud questioned, bristling despite himself, barely holding himself together.

“Lizzy Stride, sir.” Galia concluded, and Daud snarled at the name, his human disguise wavering at the edges.

“She said she's willing to cut a deal with you.”

Daud cursed and wasted no time shifting. His body finally unfolded, the claws sprouting and the fur rippling from his head down. His scars burned as his body grew, and his Bonded took a step back, their own reverence more than apparent.

They were his; all of them. But one them had turned away, corrupted by an unknown source. Perhaps it was his fault. Perhaps not.

Either way, whatever was waiting for him on the other side would feel the full force of his protective wrath.

“Rinaldo, Rulfio -- you both will come with me to deal with this,” he snapped together as his massive form shook. “Thomas, Connor -- stay here and follow procedure. Keep the novices calm and the group on lockdown. And keep an eye out for…”

He didn't want to say it. He couldn't: how could he? There was no way to verbalize his connection with Corvo Attano when his emotions didn't understand it, let alone his logical mind. Connor, however, just nodded his wolfish head in understanding, the only other Whaler who had intimate contact with the Royal Protector’s turbulent thoughts.

“We'll see to it, Master,” he said, his seriousness unbecoming. Daud nodded all the same.

Turning to Galia, he let his body burn with energy unreleased.

“Galia? Lead the way.”

------

“You'll have to excuse the mess of the place, my vixens still haven't been able to decorate as they please.”

Emily looked around as she ascended the stairs, listening to Delilah as she lead the way. The stairs -- or, what was left of them -- wound up and out of sight. In places, the floor was so destroyed Billie had needed to transverse her across, holding her hand as they leapt through Void to reach the other side. She wondered why Delilah would stay in such a rundown place, but after the third long expanse crossed with the help of Billie's powers, she stopped guessing why magical people stayed in such dilapidated architecture.

“It's okay,” Emily said, looking at the vines covering the walls. “Everyone has their own tastes.” Delilah laughed, the sound soft and inviting.

“They certainly do, though my vixens can be quite… eclectic.”

Emily’s brow furrowed, watching her aunt closely. “Why do you call them that?”

“Oh,” Delilah’s eyes flickered from Emily to Billie, her expression unreadable. “You don't know?”

Emily shook her head. If she knew, she wouldn't ask. Why were adults so strange? Delilah only got stranger as a smile slid easily across her face, holding no warmth. Her left hand twisted and a mark under her glove glowed hot; Emily gaped, seeing the same mark Daud carried burning briefly on her hand before searing away again.

Void appeared like vines and a sleek lupine form bounded into being, landing next to Delilah. A sharp face and scorching yellow eyes caught sight of Emily before twisting around Delilah, all slim limbs and red fur and fast features. Emily caught the afterthought of vines winding up the dark green legs of the giant fox, twisting up and into the ruff of fur surrounding the vixen's neck.

A flash of smoke and a woman -- tall, severe, well-dressed, dark hair pulled up and back -- appeared in the fox’s place, her attention completely trained on Delilah.

“My lady Delilah,” she cooed, her body already leaning towards the one who gave her borrowed power. “How can I be of service?”

“Breanna,” Delilah said, voice sharp and commanding despite the smile on her lips. “Good to see you to my side so quickly.”

“You know I will be here as soon as you call, my mistress.”

“And that is why I love you most, Breanna,” she said, her voice going silky. Somewhere behind her, Emily felt Billie stiffen. “How are plans proceeding? Are the newest members settling in well?”

“Of course,” Breanna beamed, filled with pride in her work. “Everything is on schedule. I even restocked your paints, just in case you were running low at this most crucial stage.”

“Nothing Sokolov will miss too much, I hope.”

“That old man is too busy torturing girls for a cure at the command of the Lord Regent. He never ever saw me.”

Delilah started, body turning sharply.

“Torturing girls?”

“Yes, Delilah.”

Delilah spun angrily on her heel, stalking away. Pulled out of her reverie, Emily jumped into action, trotting after her and Breanna, Billie behind her.

“Bring those girls to me. Sokolov doesn't deserve to harm them anymore, and we always need new recruits.”

“Of course,” Breanna said, bowing. In another flurry of Void she became a fox again. Her pointed face, so very different from Daud's wolves, turned to Emily again before bounding off, gone in a wink.

With Breanna away, Delilah turned back to Emily, a look of triumph on her face.

“What did you think? Vixens. Aren't they stunning?”

Emily blinked. The heat at her back told her Billie was right there, as if she too wished to hear the young Empress’ opinion.

“They…” she looked around. “They are very pretty.”

“And they follow my every whim. I give them my life, my love, and they share in my overwhelming power.” Her grin widened, and she threw her hands out. “Daud's wolves are impressive; they are massive, powerful shards of wolfssegner magic, each of them. But they have a fatal flaw, and it's that Daud doesn't care about his Bonded like I care for mine.”

“Yes he does,” Emily spat out, incredulous. She felt Billie shift behind her, heard her name uttered softly in her ear as Delilah's smile fell to a frown. “He told me. He showed me. His pups are his family, he can't take them in unless he cares to.”

Delilah's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, her cold eyes flickering back to Billie. “His pups?”

Emily realized too late what she said.

“T-that's my word,” she mumbled out, her voice falling, her cheeks reddening. “I call them that.”

Delilah chuckled darkly. “Oh that's adorable. And also a lie.”

She spat the word out and it hit Emily like a blow.

“No it's not! Daud doesn't lie to me. He told me--”

“He told you that he was protecting you?” Delilah recited, and Emily's inside ran cold. “He told you that Corvo was coming for you, didn't he? He kept you in that watery district away from your dying city not out of kindness but out of self-preservation, Emily.”

“No he didn't!” She trilled out, her voice wavering in anger and doubt. “He told me Corvo would come, and I stayed because he kept me safe. He-he wouldn't use me.”

“And why not? Why else would he take the only child of the late Empress, the Empress who he killed for coin with his own two hands?”

Emily's throat caught. If Delilah's earlier words felt like a blow, this was a dagger in her gut. It twisted with every word, with every revealed fact. She saw Delilah blink in surprise before her vision was swimming with tears.

She spun, water already threatening to fall as she kicked Billie in the shin, hard. It wasn't enough to even phase the woman she wished to inflict pain on.

“Emily--”

“YOU LIED TO ME!” She screamed through the tears. “YOU ALL LIED TO ME! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, BILLIE?”

She threw punch after weak punch as she cried. Curiously, under her palms, Billie's body began to shake.

“I told you she didn't know, Delilah. Couldn't you have...”

Billie trailed off and put a reassuring hand on Emily's arm. Emily wanted to pull away, but couldn't bear to leave the comfort of Billie's body as she wailed into the leather fabric.

From somewhere over her shoulder, Delilah scoffed.

“Couldn't I have what, Billie? Lied to a girl who has had months of lying? Who was torn from her family unjustly and then tricked by the gang that killed her mother? No, that's not why I had you bring my niece, my family, to me.”

Billie's grip tightened. Something about her body coiled, as if her emotions were in conflict, as if she wanted to attack. Emily felt the heat of it, felt the vibration of the growl in her chest, and recoiled.

The emotion passed as quickly as it came. When Emily next looked up into Billie's mask, she was subdued, deflated. A different hand, slim and cool, slipped onto her shoulder instead.

“Emily.” It was Delilah. Emily turned to her, her eyes still wet, her face still hot. Delilah's eyes swam with such concern it made her heart ache. “It's okay. I'm here now. Billie brought you here because she knew -- of the lies, and of the danger Daud presented. I'm the only family you need now. I'll keep you safe. Forever.”

The weight of everything crashed down on Emily like a wave. Daud. Daud had killed her mother, had ended her life so fast. And people blamed Corvo for that, had landed him in jail.

But wait…

Corvo was out of jail now. He was trying to find her.

“What about Corvo?” She asked, her voice broken like her heart. “Corvo was on his way to find me.”

Delilah's eyes hardened over and, for a moment, flicked over Emily's shoulder before her grip adjusted.

“Is that something Daud told you, too?”

“Well, yes, but--” Please, she thought. I have to believe this is true. “But I know he's coming. I can feel it.”

Delilah's look was one of immense pity.

“I’m afraid, my darling,” she said solemnly. “That they executed Corvo publicly. He can't come find you because he's dead.”

------

"Man alive, never thought I'd see you spending the last of your Empress blood money on saving the Empress' own daughter.”

Lizzy Stride tossed the purse of coin up and down, up and down, flashing Daud a toothy grin to show off her famous pointed enamel. He scowled as the leather juggled between her hands, then was tossed to one of her men who greedily tried to look inside. The chastising smack was swift and sharp.

“Careful with that, Phil, that's cursed coin right there.”

“Only you would be excited about receiving coin cursed with the blood of a dead Empress,” Daud growled out, arms folded and body swaying with the slow movement of the Undine. The ship was well enough; an old whale trawler refitted once it was stolen by Lizzy, it was swiftly used to give her full command of the Wrenhaven waters and the Dead Eels Gang. No other gangs went near the water, lest they have their skin flayed off, their bones ground down, or any other number of nasty deaths Lizzy was rumored to enact on her foes.

Daud wasn't sure how much he believed. Not that his Bonded ever had anything to actively fear from Lizzy; they stayed out of the river by principle instead of any sort of self-preservation.

“When the blood money is this good, you know I'll take it any day, Daud,” she said, teeth clicking with their artificial sharp ends. He rolled his eyes and kept his attention off her. She, however, wasn't done with him; she strode over and leaned a lazy arm against the railing as the boat cut through the rain and the fast swelling river.

“So what brings you way out here on the water, ol’ chap?” She asked, popping her p. From under his sodden hood he looked around, noting his whalers in their respective outlook positions on the boat. On their right, the huge blockade keeping the rest of the Isles separate from the sick and dying Dunwall loomed high above before being passed by.

“One of my men went rogue,” he answered simply. “And I don't take kindly to defectors.”

Not that he ever had anyone defect before. Whalers had left the gang, sure, but they asked and he let them go. This was different. Billie was different.

“I bet you don't,” she hummed, and he was tempted to lift a lip and show her what real fangs looked like. “But I thought I'd ask. Weird happenings on the water as of late, causing quite a stir.”

“And what's that supposed to mean?”

Lizzy snorted and pushed away from the railing, tossing a signal to her second-in-command at the helm. The Undine tilted to the right, avoiding a few buoys signaling the city edge. Then she turned back to Daud, hip cocked.

“You know what I'm talking about, you ain't shit stupid, Daud. I saw that big ass dog jump out of Coldridge and right into my waters. Dunmo where he went, of course, if I had he woulda made a great pet.” Her grin was wide and gnarly. “But you already know what pet I got, and one is enough.”

“Please keep me out of your nasty interests, Lizzy,” Daud rumbled out, doing another visual check on his Whalers through the rain. In this weather, at this hour, there was so little to look at, that anything that wasn't Lizzy was a welcome distraction.

“So is that a no still, on turning me too?” She said, disregarding his quickly eroding patience. He bristled, the reaction involuntary, and she laughed.

“Why don't you ask Granny Rags?” He ground out, teeth gnashing. “I'm not crazy enough to want your thoughts bouncing around in my head.”

“Oh, but you hate yourself enough to have his thoughts in there instead?” she smirked, her laughter barking. “You really are a masochist.”

He growled, heat rising with his hackles, but not another word came out as Rinaldo appeared by his side, materializing out of fog and rain.

“Daud,” he said simply, before nodding to Lizzy. “Stride. We’re here. The scent and scenery match what we gleaned from Attano’s intel.”

Daud nodded and turned to Lizzy, eyes hard. She nodded back and brought her fingers to her mouth. The whistle was shrill and clear: any deckhand in earshot jumped into action, throwing commands and readying the boat for docking. As Lizzy's men worked, she turned back to Daud, her face suddenly set and serious.

“You know what this place is, right? It's the ol’ Brigmore estate. They built this fancy ass house out here to avoid taxes, and then the whole family went under and lost the damned place to pay off debts or drugs or whatever shit nobles get up to.” Her eyes darted between Daud and Rinaldo, a flicker of emotion crossing her features. Daud didn't need his nose to tell that emotion was fear.

“Someone's been hanging out in this house, gathering weird supplies. Like wood and candles and bodies and flowers and shit. It weirds me out, I don't wanna be seen, so I ain't pulling you in close. You’re magic, right? You can make it to shore from here just fine.”

Daud walked over to the edge of the deck and peered out in the gloom. The creeping grey light of morning was barely visible along the edge of the river, making the old mansion just visible from the riverbank. As the Undine slowed and anchored, Daud began formulating his plan. He called to the other Whalers: they were by his side instantly, ready for his orders.

“Stay here,” he told each of them in turn. “We need a ride back to Dunwall, so make sure this boat doesn't leave this dock. I'll go in and look for Emily and Billie myself.”

Immediately, there was protest.

“Sir, do you think that wise?” Rinaldo questioned. “These are witches, not simple assassination targets.”

“All the more reason for you to leave this to me. Only I have the magic to hit them where it hurts.”

“You're outnumbered, Daud,” Rinaldo told him. “At least let me go with you, I have the experience.”

“Less variables makes infiltration easier. As a solo mission, all I have to do is get Emily back safely.”

“Let me go. Let me kill her.”

Daud blinked. They all looked to Galia; her anger had her shaking, her limbs smoking with barely contained magic. When he met her eye where they lay behind those goggles, she didn't look away.

“I can't do that Galia, you know I can't.”

“Why not?” Her rage had her voice warping, her body seething. “I should've-- sir, I knew her doubts, but I never thought-- I swear if she hurts Emily--”

“I'll do what needs to be done.”

The unwavering conviction in his voice had them all shuddering, falling into line. Galia bowed her head, taking a breath as she looked away. Daud put a hand on her shoulder to ground her in the present.

“Billie has betrayed us all with this act; me, the Whalers, and most of all, Emily. And she'll answer for all of that before the day is done.”

Galia finally nodded, assured Daud wouldn't fall back on his word. He nodded as well, pulling away from his Whalers.

“Stay here. Stay out of sight. And only come looking if you can't feel me.”

They all nodded, returning to their posts on the Undine. Lizzy gave him one last disinterested look.

“If you ain't back on this boat by then, I'll kiss your sorry ass goodbye,” she sneered at him. “You can curse me with your fancy coin but can't curse me with fucking witches.”

Witches.

They were waiting for him, holed up in that huge house, assuredly tipped off by Billie of his coming. But Daud had come this far. The end was in sight.

Nothing was going to stop him now.

He clenched his fist. He let his magic burn. And then he disappeared off the bow of the Undine and into the inky early morning light.

------

Billie Lurk looked out over the desecrated grounds of the neglected Brigmore Manor, watching the rain finally break in favor of the pink-grey of morning, and wondered, not for the first time, if she wasn't making some huge mistake.

For months now, she'd questioned Daud's judgement. She had wondered his true intentions and as he withdrew his mind, her suspicions grew and grew. She wondered what he was hiding, what was so important to keep a secret from all of them. She had feared his decisions. She feared for the Whalers. She was convinced Emily was the biggest threat to the guild, and nobody saw it except her.

But now?

Now she had seen the stricken face of Corvo Attano in her mind, seeing her carrying away his charge, his future Empress, to, what? Her salvation? Her “family?”

And then Daud had been there, his mind and his Bond suffocating, seeing her through Corvo's mind, of all people.

Had that been the secret all this time? That Daud had somehow bonded with the Royal Protector? Had he taken Emily from the start for Corvo Attano?

Was that the plan all along?

Regardless, one of them was assuredly on their way here now. She'd most likely meet her end by one of their hand.

She hugged her arms. She was going to die.

It was only a matter of time.

A presence behind her, a sickly sweet caress against her mind. She flinched, not needing to be told to know who it was.

“Emily is resting,” Delilah said, coming up behind Billie with words gentle, as if not to spook her. Her, Billie Lurk,a giant whale-wolf of fable and second only to the Knife of Dunwall.

Claws sprouted, digging into the meat of her arms.

“You lied to her.”

Delilah paused and Billie smiled, feeling the change in atmosphere instantly.

“What does it matter? She needs to know this is her family now.” Delilah's voice was no longer soft, no longer tender. “How is it any different than what Daud did, pulling her out of her Tower room?”

“Daud never lied to her to get her to cooperate,” Billie snarled. She turned to face Delilah, her eyes flashing. “She was given potentially empty lies, yes, but Daud never falsified the truth. She never asked who killed her mother. And she knew Corvo escaped prison. If she finds out that you didn't tell her the truth--”

“She never will, because nobody will tell her,” Delilah said, her fist clenching as her words darkened with each syllable. Billie's breath hitched as her throat slowly closed, feeling the vines as they grew up and abound her neck. “You think yourself so grand, Billie. But I know your future. You are nothing but Daud's second who brings about Daud's downfall.”

The coils twisted just as she mustered enough strength to transverse away, out of Delilah's grasp. She ended up on the level above, gasping for air as she took off in a sprint. Her body morphed with each measured step until she was that large auburn wolf, lithely jumping through the mansion, her mind stretching for that of a tiny lost Empress.

“Emily!” She called out, “Please, Emily, where are you?”

“Too late to have a turn of heart now,” a voice chortled in her mind. The air materialized into the fox-like body of Brienna, blocking the path forward. Brienna laughed out, shrill and high and broken, before needle fangs were going right for Billie's shaggy throat. Billie dodged and kicked her off, disappearing to reappear down the hall, the vixen hot on her heels.

Billie panicked, looking along her mental map, searching, scouring for Emily, just a trace of her mind somewhere in the mansion--

There! But she wasn't awake, instead in some sort of trance. And there were candles, and skulls, and a painting--

Billie's body stumbled, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. In that second of dropped guard, the vines caught her; thick and coiling, the heavy arms of wood, wrapped her limbs, piercing her with inch-thick thorns. She yowled, her mind fogged in immediate, burning pain. The wolf smoked away, and she was left there, panting and vulnerable, as the foxes circled and Delilah sauntered up close.

She looked Billie up and down, tutting her tongue as Billie struggled against the plants. Every thorn must have put some sort of poison in her; her movements slowed, her thoughts went sluggish. She didn't even notice how she was lowered into Delilah's arms, who looked at her like a lost lover.

“I'm so sorry, Billie,” Delilah said somberly, fingers ghosting her exposed face as foxes giggled and shrieked in the distance. “I had hoped for a longer business relationship with you, but I'm afraid we're no longer in need of your services.”

The world swam; suddenly they were outside, the scent of wet grass sharp in her nose and the sound of water loud in her ears. She blinked, her drug haze beginning to fade. She tried to struggle, but Delilah's arms were like iron. She turned her head and glimpsed the rushing flood waters of the Wrenhaven below.

“I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again, Billie Lurk.”

Delilah dropped her, watching with dead eyes as Billie fell to her doom.

Everything happened in slow motion. The wind was in her ears and the sky in her eyes, but the ground didn't seem so far away. She clenched her fist but nothing happened and then she was hitting the water hard, the dark murkiness sweeping her away from the mansion.

Nothing was more disorienting, more terrifying, than the Wrenhaven’s merciless waters. As soon as she gained purchase she was pushed back under, tumbled away from life-giving oxygen. Her mouth opened to scream and her lungs filled with water. She reached out for someone, anyone please, I'm dying!

She was yanked bodily to the surface. Pulled with disorienting force as she was lurched to shore, onto mud and grass and ground. Billie coughed, heaved, vomited water, coughed again. Air never tasted so sweet in her lungs and she cried from the relief of it.

She opened her eyes, looked to the light, and saw the dark and furious face of Daud glaring down at her.

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eternal-love-song · 5 years

Text

The Tower of Aried - Chapter 1

Vixna, a draeni mage with her dark elf companion, Nagaira, is on a journey to rescue the Princesses across the land that have been trapped in Towers. They are quickly joined by Arre, a wood elf with dreams of being the greatest hero, her dark elf companion, Saeryn, and her loyal wolf, Nyx. Their first destination, the Tower of Aried.

Inspired by Dungeons & Deviants Roleplay

[Adventure, Fantasy, Magic, Slavery, Fantastic Racism, Explicit Sexual Content, Elves, Dark Elves, Draeni, Monster Girls, Developing Friendships, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, NSFW] [Original Work]

Warning: First scene contains Public Nudity, Public Humiliation, and Noncon.

Vixna had made a mistake.

Well, it wasn't a mistake, per se. A mistake implied that being locked in a stockade was in her control. It wasn't. There are very few ways to avoid angels, especially one that specifically hunts your kind. It was also difficult to bluff your way around someone that already had a grudge. Losing the ensuing battle also wasn't her fault. Trying to win said battle, that was her fault. In hindsight, she should have tried to run, though there was no guarantee that that would have worked either.

Vixna squirmed briefly, trying to pull out of her bonds. It didn't work of course, but it was difficult to keep entirely still. She had been stripped by the guards before being shoved into the stockade and being naked before a crowd of strangers made her antsy. Who would have thought?

A hand grabbed her hair, pulling her head up to look at the crowd. She couldn't move her head enough to see exactly how many were around her, but she could hear the movement of the guards on either side of her, see those that watched her. She pressed her legs together, trying to shrink in on herself as much as possible.

"People of Oroan," the angel called out, "Gaze upon the face of a heretic." The tight grip he had on her hair pulled painfully at her scalp and she hissed sharply. "You all know the punishment for calling upon the forbidden arts! Let this be a gentle reminder for you. Should you sin, the church can and will find you."

The angel released her hair and stepped back. He made a gesture, but she scarcely had a moment to contemplate what it meant before something hard and flat slammed against her backside. She cried out, the noise of the crowd raising as if in response. The paddle smacked against her again and again, setting a quick, hard pace.

The angel knelt beside her, cupping her face in his hands. His eyes were dark as they met hers, his hair long and silver, and his skin a whitewashed blue. His wings were folded against his back to avoid blocking the view of her. "Chin up, dear. Bear your punishment with grace and humility, and you may yet find forgiveness."

She looked into the crowd to avoid his gaze. They were avid watchers, some excited, some perturbed. In the shadows she could spot her companion, Nagaira. Nagaira would have a plan to rescue her, she was sure, but there were too many people for her to act now. She would likely have to wait for nightfall and that meant Vixna would have to endure this punishment in the meantime.

The angel smiled at her, beautiful and wicked. His wings spread wide as he stood. He signaled for the paddling to cease. Her rear was sore and aching, hot when the rest of her skin felt cold. Worst of all was the wanton throb between her legs. The angel's eyes burned as if he could see straight through her to the pool of desire that burned shamefully hot in her.

He looked over her head, to the guards. "You'll see to it that she won't be a repeat offender, won't you?"

"Of course, Sire!"

"Very good." The angel moved close to Vixna once more, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. "Earn your forgiveness, dear," he whispered to her. He stepped back, smiling at her before flying up into the air and disappearing into a blinding light.

Once the angel was gone, the guards surrounded her. One hand stroked her sore bottom and Vixna bit her lip to contain the whimper that wished to escape. Hands stroked her sides, her thighs, groped at her breast, and grabbed at her hips. She whimpered, not in pain, but in pleasure. The attention had her quickly panting and she didn't fight the hand that moved up her thigh and between her legs.

She was wet, it was immediately apparent. Hot and dripping down her thighs. One of the guards chuckled as he slipped his fingers between her folds. She gasped, whined, closed her eyes against the feelings threatening to overtake her.

The crowd was becoming more rowdy. There was a dull roar of chatter, boors and jeers melded together into an indistinguishable mess.

One of the guards moved in front of her. "Draeni." His voice was low, but he was close enough that she could hear him over the crowd. "The church is more than willing to absolve you of your sins. But first, why don't you show us some hospitality?" he asked, absently stroking himself over his pants.

Vixna pressed her lips together tightly. She was not keen on being very hospitable, particularly not while locked in the stocks and in front of a crowd. He nodded at one of the guards, and the hands probing her sex were replaced with an eager tongue, lapping greedily at her and causing her squirm and squeal. Her face burned with embarrassment and hands locked down on her thighs, keeping her from moving away.

He reached for his belt when an arrow thudded against the stockade, nicking his arm in the process. The guard turned, leaping from the platform and drawing his blade. "Who goes there? Halt in the name of the Church!" He was met with utter silence. The guard pushed his way into the crowd, shoving through with the flat of his sword before he grunted, stumbling back before falling over, an arrow buried in his shoulder.

Immediately there was an explosion of chaos. The crowd largely dispersed, fleeing as the remaining guards left Vixna to attend their fallen comrade. Passersby drawn in by the new noise of the crowd joined to see what the fuss was about. The screams of the crowd and the shouts of the guards were peppered with the thud of arrows and, oddly enough, animistic growls. She was newly aware of how naked and vulnerable she was. If a stray arrow hit her there was little to nothing that she could do to protect herself.

She jumped as something touched her hand, but the following whisper put her again at ease. "My lady," Nagaira said softly. Vixna couldn't yet see her, but in short order she was released from her prison. Nagaira was gentle as she helped Vixna support her weight. "Let's get you out of here."

"Thank you, Nagaira," Vixna breathed out.

With arrows flying overhead and her wolf's snarls ringing through the area, the crowd had quickly dispersed. Arre plucked another arrow from her quiver, holding it against her bow as she surveyed the area. The guards that hadn't been run off had been shot down, though she'd been careful not to kill any of them. Her entire point was to stop the humiliation of the draeni. She looked to the stockade and was surprised to find that it was empty and the girl was gone.

"Wha? Where'd she go?" she exclaimed.

"She escaped during the fight," a voice said softly behind her. Arre turned to find Saeryn, her dark elf companion, wiping her twin blades on an unconscious guard before sheathing them at the belt adorning her hips. The belt covered the most of Saeryn of all her clothing, leaving thin, black, fabric covering little more than her essentials. She moved closer to Arre, gold bands jingling on her arms, a beautiful contrast against her brown skin. Saeryn pushed waves of long silver hair over one shoulder as she turned bright yellow eyes to her and asked, "What now, Arre?"

Arre frowned briefly as she slung her bow over her shoulder. She knelt and reached for her wolf, which came to her side to receive the petting she offered. "Maybe we should go find her. She might be hurt.

Her wolf snarled at her. "You just think she's attractive and hope that she will mate with you as a reward," Nyx scoffed.

"Do not!" Arre objected.

"You could not convince me otherwise," Nyx insisted.

Arre growled at her wolf. "You ungrateful little--"

Saeryn attempted to stifle her laughter. She couldn't understand the wolf the way Arre could, but the banter between wood elf and wolf was more often than not amusing to watch. Arre always said that it should not be so funny to watch her argue with a wolf, but Saeryn was sure that it was because she was embarrassed for losing those fights. Saeryn knelt to scratch Nyx behind the ears, which was her weakness. "You'll help Arre, won't you, Nyx?"

Nyx let her tongue roll out of her mouth in pleasure. "I suppose if Saeryn ask, I can do that."

Arre stared, dumbfounded. "Traitor. You're my companion! You should do it because I asked you!" She tugged Saeryn back to her feet, knowing Nyx wouldn't move until the petting stopped or she was satisfied. "Lead the way, girl."

Nyx huffed at being interrupted, but shook herself and began sniffing around the stockade for a scent to follow.

Nyx's trail led them into the slums, to one run down house in particular. The roof sagged, caved in at parts. Arre would have assumed that it was abandoned had Nyx not insisted that this was where the trail ended. She knocked on the door, causing it to creek open.

The draeni was there, sitting on the floor at the back of the room. She looked better than she had earlier, healthier, and she was clothed this time. Her skin was a soft pink, with blue tattoos circling her wrist and ankles. Her thick black horns were curved over her head, cradling it, the tips nearly meeting her temples, and her long white hair hung down her back. There was an open cloak hanging loosely off of her shoulders, a white sleeveless top clinging to her ample chest, and a long black skirt hanging just above her ankles. Her dark eyes were wide with surprise as they met Arre's.

The eye contact only lasted a moment before a dark elf stood before her, a blade to Arre's neck, effectively blocking her view of the draeni. The elf had sharp, dark eyes, dark grey skin, and pointed ears poking out of long, powder blue hair. "Give me one reason not to strike you down where you stand."

Nyx bristled at Arre's side, growling at the dark elf.

Arre put her hands up, stepping back. "I'm not here to fight!" she said quickly. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."

"It's okay, Nagaira," the draeni said. "I am feeling much better. You can let them in."

The dark elf watched them for a moment longer before dropping the blade to her side and retreating to the dreani's side. She stood, watching them curiously. She was prettier up close, offering them a smile. "I am Vixna." She gestured to the dark elf beside her. "This is my protective companion, Nagaira. Were you responsible for the... commotion earlier?"

"That was me," Arre answered. Her brow began to furrow. "I can't stand those sorts of actions. I don't even know what you might have done, but there's no reason to publicly... humiliate you like that."

Laughter slipped through Vixna's lips. "Clearly you aren't familiar with the church."

Arre gave her a blank stare. "The church?"

Vixna gave her a wry smile. Her head tilted as her gaze traveled over Arre, noting her yellow skin and piercing blue eyes. Her red hair hung loose around her face, ears poking out through the strands. "You're an elf. It makes sense that you might be surprised by such a thing. In a lot of places, magic is frowned upon, and the Church can be very enthusiastic in capturing and punishing those that use the arts."

"That's insane!"

Vixna shrugged. "That's the Theocracy. It's no worse than the slavery and discrimination dark elves suffer," she added, her gaze lingering on Saeryn standing quietly behind Arre. "Unfortunate that it puts me at a disadvantage when protecting Nagaira."

Arre's eyes widened when she realized what the draeni was implying. "I- I'm not... She's not my slave! She's my friend! Just like how Nagaira is to you."

"Pretty words when you fail to even introduce her," Nagaira said, watching them carefully.

"I'm Arre. This is my friend Saeryn," she gestured to the dark elf before kneeling beside her wolf, burying fingers in the fur. "This here is Nyx."

"Nice to meet you," Saeryn said quietly.

Vixna nodded to the elves before her. "It's nice to meet you all, as well, and thank you for saving me. Not many would, not around here."

Arre relaxed against Nyx, smoothing the fur between her fingers. "It's no problem at all. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Why did you come looking for her?" Nagaira interjected, sheathing her blade and crossing her arms. "You'd already interfered in their humiliation and had to have seen that she'd escaped."

"I just wanted to be sure she was okay," Arre said, exasperated. "Anything could have happened. A guard could have snuck her away, or something worse could have happened. I needed to know she was safe."

Vixna let out a giggle. "My hero," she said playfully. "Is that what you do, run around saving people?"

Arre blushed. "Actually, kinda..."

Vixna's eyes lit up and her smile widened. "In that case, maybe you'd be interested in helping me?"

"My lady, no!" Nagaira objected, turning to face her companion. "We don't even know them."

"I think they've demonstrated good intentions," Vixna said. "And if worse comes to worst, I've got you to protect me."

Nagaira frowned, but she pressed her lips together tightly and stayed silent.

Arre's watched the aside with wide eyes and asked, "What do you need help with?"

"I've got a mission of my own," Vixna answered. "A rescue mission, you could say. There have been princesses being locked in Towers, it's been happening all over the place. They've been kidnapped and locked up and no one has been able to do anything about it... yet. I intend to go across the land and free them all. There's a tower not too far outside of this town and I plan to go there to set the captive free. If you're really interested in playing hero, you can feel free to lend me a hand."

"Yes!" Arre agreed, quickly and loudly. She smiled widely, her entire body radiating excitement.

"Don't look now, but your tail is wagging," Nyx barked.

Arre turned to glare at her. "Is not!"

Vixna gave her a bemused smile. Nagaira looked entirely unimpressed.

Saeryn took a hesitant step forward, but kept herself behind Arre. "Arre has a goal, as well," she explained softly. "She want to help people and she wants to be a great hero. The greatest hero."

Arre rubbed the back of her head as she blushed. "I would love to help you. And I really love that helping you will lead to helping even more people. So I would love to join you on your quest."

Vixna smiled. "I would be grateful to have the help. Now, let's get out of here. I don't think anyone owns this shack, but I'd rather not stick around too long."

#ELS Writing #Original Work #Arre #Vixna #my ocs #Saeryn #Nagaira #Nyx #Dungeons and Deviants #Tower of Aried

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