#black inky rider | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marthawrites · 1 year

Text

The Arbor and the Dragon: Chapter 1, Betrothed

Aemond Targaryen x Redwyne fem reader

word count: 6.4k+

About: A realm upon the brink of war. Alicent reaches out to your father, Lord Redwyne, to marry Aemond Targaryen to you. If the union officiates, the green Targaryens will receive the aid of Lord Redwyne’s fleet. You sail to King’s Landing to meet the young prince, to weigh if this is a marriage you truly want.

Includes: Meeting and first kiss. This is fluff. Allusions to jealousy and possessiveness.

Note: Hello lovely reader! Thanks to randomly thinking of this song I got hit with a wave of inspiration. This story is different than those I’ve shared here in the past, and honestly I’m unsure of how it’ll take with readers. So this is me going out on a limb! In this story, to avoid the use of “Y/N” you are named Emeline. You are also implied to have brown eyes and freckles. Everything else is up to you to fill in however you like! But if you want to replace your own name with Emeline, you are of course more than welcome to! I have a few ideas to continue this story, and with this I’m garnering interest to see if readers would like to have a multi chapter series. At the end, if you would like more, please let me know!

read chapter 2 here

As declaration from Queen Mother Alicent, her son, Aemond Targaryen, was to be betrothed. With the events of the latter weeks, it'd become of the utmost importance to come swiftly. Who would be better to receive his hand than, you. Emeline Redwyne. Daughter of the golden island and Lord Redwyne himself: Lord of the Arbor, of whom had the largest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms, and one of the richest places in all of Westeros. Your father declined many Lord's – both young and old alike – proposals, esteeming that none of them were deserving of your hand, much less your bed. When Alicent's offer arrived, however, his mind finally changed. The prince, in spite of his condition, bore the blood of old Valyria and his Targaryen name would forever protect you from any mishaps that might befall, of that he was certain.

In truth, the young prince intimated you. And, quite honestly, terrified you – at least according to the tales of him. You'd never met him, of course, but news of him spread far and wide, and the Arbor knew of them plenty.

Aemond One Eye. Kinslayer. Black hearted. Rider of Vhagar: the largest dragon in the world. How were you to marry such a man when your own demeanor rivaled that of the golden sand you were born to? The wings of a thousand butterflies lived and died in your stomach a hundred times over during your trip to King's Landing.

The trip all together extended over a fortnight by sea. From your home you sailed to Sunspear, and from there, King's Landing. Luckily you'd grown sea legs at a young age, and sea sickness rarely, if ever, plagued you. It was the idle time that bothered you the most.

"This marriage will serve both us and the Targaryen's well, my daughter. You mustn't judge the prince too quickly on tales and rumors. Open him up and see what's on the inside. I think we will all be surprised at what lays beneath his exterior," your father said, picking up on your nerves the closer you came to your destination.

"What if he doesn't like me, or think me pretty enough to wed? He turned all the Baratheon girls down and they are lovely. And what if I cannot stand him? Find him vile and repulsive?" You dared ask, brown eyes glinting with unrestricted provocation.

Your father's hand patted the top of yours. Your eyes were his own, and while you goaded, he softened. "Then I will call it off. I would never give you away unwillingly and you know that."

You did.

During the final night of sailing, you lingered out on the deck longer than normal. Behind, the sea rest inky and smooth, and before you, King's Landing finally came into view with the naked eye. It wouldn't be much longer now. By morning time the journey would end and King Aegon would be welcoming you, your father, and the entourage who traveled beneath the Redwyne banner: an azure backdrop with a ripened burgundy grape cluster. Anxiety bubbled in your stomach and for a moment you thought you might actually become sick.

A roar like thunder cracked through the nightsky and interrupted your train of thought. “Dragon!” Someone yelled, neck craned back as he pointed in the direction of the sound. The gesture was entirely useless, however, for the massive body of Vhagar was impossible to miss; even a blind person could see the shadow she cast. Somewhere on her back you knew the prince sat, scouting and estimating your arrival for the royal welcome.

An entirely new wave of tension bubbled into your throat. You'd never been this far from home, and a yearning for its familiarity weighed on your heart.

You'd be brave; you were scared, and as such it was the only time to be brave.

“Welcome, House Redwyne, to King's Landing. Let us extend our arms in graciousness and offer all the comforts of the Red Keep to you,” King Aegon spoke with practiced benevolence, arms open wide to gesture over all the surroundings. His sister and wife, Helaena stood by him, as well as their children. To his other side stood Alicent.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lord Redwyne bowed deeply, standing head of the entourage of bannermen, guards, and you. “And thank you for letting us dock here during our stay,” he added. Straightening up he extend his arm to you in silent offering for you to stand beside him. Scanning the faces in front of him, prince Aemond was absent.

“We've been preparing a feast all day for tonight. As you can see, prince Aemond has yet to join us. He's –,” the King paused to clear his throat, glancing to his mother who gave him a look before continuing, “ – getting ready. He's taking your daughter's potential betrothal very seriously and wishes to make his best first impression.” Aegon scanned over you, then, taking in your sail-worn dishevelment. “I suggest the Lady does too, my Lord. There will be time enough to fix up for the first stage of this courtship,” he added, smiling with a little too much amusement behind his eyes.

Did he truly think you ugly? For a moment you wanted nothing more than to throw your shoe at him, and the look your father gave you stopped the dagger you were about to glare at him before it flew. Instead, you curtsied, “thank you, Your Grace. It's been a long trip and I would love nothing more than to clean up properly.” The smile you gave him was well practiced and not at all sarcastic.

“Beautiful!” He said with a single clap of his hands. “The guards will show you the way to your rooms. Supper will be at 6 o'clock tonight. Please, don't be late.” He made to turn, then, before his mother shot him another look. Clearly, King Aegon was still learning these proper welcoming customs. “Ah, yes, Lady Emeline, the Lord Commander of our Kingsguard, Ser Criston Cole, will let you know when prince Aemond is ready. Perhaps another hour or so.”

Alicent took over from there, and things went smoother as all of you were treated as royal guests. Your handmaiden, as well as two of Alicent's joined you in your room to help you bathe, dress, and make your hair. Three sets of hands were much faster than one and you were grateful for the assistance. If the prince really meant to summon you in an hour's time, you needed all the help you could get.

Your outfit for today's first impression was carefully crafted and selected. Donning the colors of your house, and jewelry to match, Alicent's handmaiden's were more than a little impressed by the end result.

Deep purple, the hue so pigmented it could have been black in the shadows, made the majority of your attire. It was a tie style dress secured to your waist by a belt of golden threaded silk, and a well crafted cluster of grapes sat at its center in gold plated metal. Beneath the draped fabric you wore a high waist skirt that brushed your ankles, and a corset which cinched from the back: the skirts were deep purple, and the corset was black with gold thread in the pattern of dragonscales. The way it was tied left the whole center line of your body exposed, concealed because of your skirt and corset, showing off a swath of your bare upper chest and middle abdomen. On your shoulders, to keep your modesty, was a silken mantle which wholly hid your arms when held right. Thick ropes of the same gold threaded silk accented the lines of fabric. A maiden's formal dress.

Your hair was carefully brushed, and at your temples it was twisted and wrapped around to the back of your head. A clip of gold leafy grapes held it in place. Aside from the two simple twists it was left to hang free, accenting your jawline and neck.

On your wrists were thin gold bracelets, and around your neck were three tiered necklaces in the same fashion, topped with a lovely choker of gold around the slim column of your neck. Gold earrings dangled from your ears, and when you got one final look of yourself in the mirror an entirely new type of nausea filled you. Excitement. In that moment you loved everything about yourself. An image of youth and beauty.

“Prince Aemond won't know what to think, or what even to say,” beamed your handmaiden, carefully twirling a lock of your hair into a loose curl along the side of your face. “Good luck, my Lady.”

Anticipation swelled high in your chest.

The last thing to don were your shoes. Simple things. Your skirts trailed all the way down your legs which resulted in them to be less of a statement piece and more of a practicality. Prepared to walk with the prince you'd decided on a heeled black shoe. Your toes were covered and the gold buckles were engraved with delicate grapevines.

As if on queue a knock sounded from the door. “Good afternoon, lady,” Ser Criston Cole said to your handmaiden when she answered, the door half ajar. “Prince Aemond is ready and waiting outside the great hall. At your leisure,” he said with a formal bow.

“Lady Emeline Redwyne is ready now, Ser. Would you show her and her guard, Ser Louis Payton, the way?” Your handmaiden asked politely, swinging the door open wider so you might step in view. Louis was outside in the hall, too, ready and waiting for any instruction.

“Of course. If you would both follow me,” he said, eyeing you. He was handsome, you thought, tall and dark with deep brown eyes. Despite his maintained expression of neutrality you could have sworn his eyes twinkled with more as he looked you over. The King might have thought you ugly upon arrival, but this kingsguard thought well otherwise.

Criston Cole led the way, you followed, and Louis stayed a few paces behind. Small talk was exchanged during the walk, and each step brought you closer to your potential betrothed. You struggled to find something to do with your hands and ended up folding them behind your back, lest nervousness sent you fidgeting.

"My prince. Lady Emeline Redwyne," Ser Criston said in calm commentators voice.

There, standing before you, was Aemond Targaryen. Your heart fluttered so quickly you swore he could see it in your exposed pulse point. Where you wore dragonscale stitching in your corset, he donned burgundy wrist cuffs. He stood tall, still, and perfectly poised in a posture of regale. His single violet eye drank you in, nostrils uncontrollably flaring as he took you in from head to toe; a sweeping scan that made you feel as exposed as if you wore only your chemise. Somehow, his shoulders squared even tighter.

Your dark eyes lowered as you curtsied. You held it for a moment before rising back to your full height, looking up at Aemond in his Targaryen blacks beneath curled lashes. "Prince Aemond. It is a pleasure," you said in a voice that was much too breathy.

It didn't go unnoticed.

He bowed formally in return, eye never leaving yours as he did so. "My Lady Emeline Redwyne. The pleasure is mine, that I promise."

Sparks danced around your person, aura vibrating as the true reality of the situation caught up to you. This place could be your new home. Targaryen could be your new name. A dragon could replace your grape cluster. Perhaps, one day down the road, the prince could be the father of your children. It all hit you so quickly that, briefly, you forgot everything about courting. Your lids fluttered in a series of blinks, mind racing to catch up to the tall, lithe man and his studious, unnerving gaze before you. "Your dragon roar was the first I heard last night. Even in the dark I could see her shape in the clouds. She is... marvelous."

The fine muscles of his brow and cheeks moved the barest fraction, wholly changing his expression. "Indeed. Would you like to see the dragon pit? Vhagar is too large to be held there, but, you could see the rest of the brood."

The natural shape of his mouth made him difficult to read, yet you thought you could see genuine interest on him. "I-I'd like that, yes," you stammered in reply. And, entirely beyond your control, you felt heat grow beneath your cheeks.

Was this his first test? You, a young woman who'd just admitted to never experiencing a real dragon before, being asked to go into a pit of them? His eye bore into you still, and you fought with every ounce of willpower to not fidget your hands.

"There's five or so hours until supper. Plenty of time for you to see a dragon or two up close," he said, turning his body in a gesture for you to join him.

You followed, dress swaying around your legs as you strode to him, beginning the walk shoulder to shoulder. Behind, both guards trailed silently along.

"I saw you last night, my Lady. On the deck of your ship. I've heard tales of the Arbor's maidens and had to see for myself," he spoke lower, now, with your closeness. So close, in fact, he could see every freckle splashed across your face.

Your pulse quickened. How could he see you so far down with his impairment? "I'm afraid I cannot say the same, my prince. My neck couldn't crane so high, nor could my vision make anything out with clarity." Your gaze turned over to him, then, interest sparking. "You must have the sight of a dragon to see so well with only one eye."

"All Targaryens are the blood of the dragon," he replied, shoulders and lips flexing with quiet pride.

Whatever type of test Aemond presented you with, you'd passed.

Returning to the Red Keep with thirty minutes to spare barely gave you enough time to freshen up for the feast. You wore only the hint of makeup on your eyes and lips, and that was easy enough to touch up. Same with your hair. The dirt and other gunk that'd settled into your silken dress, however? That would take more time than currently allowed to attend to – nothing your handmaiden couldn't touch up until then, making you as presentable as a midsummer lily.

When King Aegon said they'd been preparing the feast all day, he wasn't lying. The entire meal consisted of multiple courses. Salmon, pike, and oysters were the selection from the sea, and venison, chicken, and pigeon pie was the selection from the land. Fresh breads, various fruits, cheeses, and slow cooked onions rounded the protein. And, perhaps the star of the feast? A barrel of your father's finest reds.

"If this wine continues to be in supply once my brother and your daughter are married, Lord Redwyne, I say we wed them tomorrow," Aegon declared, holding his goblet up in Lord Redwyne's direction, cheeks colored with the stuff and smiling more genuine than this afternoon.

Your father shared a laugh with Alicent at that, their eyes stealing glances to you and Aemond as you sat in quiet conversation together.

Truthfully, you hadn't stopped thinking about the prince since the moment you saw him. The adventure to the dragon pit had been just that, and infatuation had already begun to sink its claws into you. You'd talked off and on the whole way, him showing and explaining things to you from the architecture, to the history, to the people who built it. You were fascinated. That's not even including the dragons!

On the return journey, Aemond offered you his arm to hold. You accepted and dared to trace little circles into his bicep as you walked in silence. It was a tense silence, and you often caught him glancing at your ministration, body tensing as if to keep himself from pulling away. In the back of your mind you wondered how often prince Aemond experienced touches in such a manner – if ever.

“It seems my brother is already in love. He's hardly touched his food nor given any of his family his attention since arriving,” said Aegon, the wine loosening his lips and judgment.

“Not love, brother. Interest. Something you pay your dear wife little of. Our sweet Helaena would probably fall out of her chair if you gave her even half of what I'm conversing with Lady Redwyne,” Aemond replied, eye level on the King who was first his brother.

Helaena sighed, then, pretty eyes far away even as she spoke. “It's true. You're quite lucky, Emeline. I can only hope Aemond will be more fulfilling to you than Aegon to I,” her voice had a sort of etherealness to it, dreamy in the way it rolled off her tongue – haunting, even.

A few quiet laughs broke through the mealtime clatter, and Alicent blinked in a way only a mother who couldn't believe the lawlessness of her children at a feast entertaining royal guests could. “Let us eat and push aside such chatter,” she said, a well aimed glare shot to her sons. “This vintage is lovely, Lord Redwyne. A true gift for tonight.” She paused to beckon a servant over. “Anika, dear, fill Aemond's cup, please. I don't believe he's had any yet.”

At Anika's summoning she strode over on silent feet, readying to obey the Queen Mother. You put your hand over his cup, however, looking to the girl with an apologetic smile. “Allow me to, please. If my father cannot be the one to pour, then I see it only right that I do– since it's a gift from our House. Thank you,” you added the latter as a second thought, prickling at the idea of another woman filling his cup. Grabbing a nearby pitcher you tipped it into the goblet you'd just been covering. Its aromatics wafted up as you did so. “My prince,” you said softly, turning your gaze to his own to find it already on you, unseeing of anyone else around.

Truthfully, Aemond had hardly ate despite some of his favorite foods being served tonight, and hardly drank despite the wine being some of the best in the world, because nerves had been gnawing at him all day. He'd flown out to see you last night because he couldn't settle in the comfort of his own chambers. This morning he couldn't even settle on what to wear. Never in his life had he fought such an inner battle.

Prior to today all he had of you was a painted portrait of you and your father. And, judging on your current appearance, it was perhaps a couple years old. He immediately thought you beautiful. Stunning, even. The portrait didn't capture your freckles nor the shade of your skin beneath purple and gold, and it was the last thing he expected; his palms sweating all day with your closeness. When you traced circles into his arm earlier? He had to will his heart to slow.

Aemond Targaryen was smitten. Nervousness turned to longing, and in that moment he was wholly jealous of everyone else in the great hall. When he heard Aegon laugh that stupid drunken laugh, Aemond felt entirely unworthy of your time. You smiled still, softer this time, eyes searching his, and it was of that smile that a part of him melted. “Thank you,” he said, finally drinking and allowing the flavors of your home to flood his palette.

During dessert, the only reason he ate the sweet, spiced peaches was because he'd been smelling them all day on your skin and in your hair.

Rain patterned on your window when you woke, gray sky untelling of the hour. You rolled to your side and snuggled the blankets up beneath your chin, watching the steady fall of rain through the window. It was warm in your little cocoon and you dreaded waking up if only because it was cold.

Somewhere in your mind you wondered if prince Aemond was also cold... or if he kept and slept warm by himself. You could still feel his arm beneath your hand yesterday and he was warm there. You sighed, allowing yourself to feel the fluster of attraction at the white haired prince.

It was then something laying atop an unused pillow caught your eye; that certainly wasn't there last night. You leaned up on your elbows to look, canting your head to read the neat, unfamiliar scrawl on the page.

"Emeline,

I'd hoped to spend the day with you in the gardens, but it seems the Gods have different plans. Meet me in the library. Tea and breakfast will be waiting for your arrival.

Looking forward to seeing you.

Warmest,

Aemond"

A pang of excitement filled your stomach. And, at the same time, so did an inkling. How did he get into your room? He must have seen you sleeping. Did he watch you sleep? Your heart hammered in your chest at the idea, butterflies whispering to life in your core.

Maybe the letter was left outside and either Louis or your handmaiden placed it atop your pillow. That seemed more likely. The cold didn't seem too bad now.

Dressing and braiding your hair, you applied a similar amount of accenting makeup to your eyes and lips. Today your attire was less flashy than yesterday's and consisted of a burgundy casual dress with sheer billowing sleeves. Gold jewelry decorated your ears, fingers, and wrists. You wore the same shoes as yesterday, too. Your belly growled. You hoped breakfast truly was waiting.

The walk to the library wasn't far, and upon arrival Louis stood watch outside. Once inside you carefully latched the door closed behind you, turning your head and allowing your curiosity to pan over the library. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, as well as throughout the room to create aisles. Parchment, ink, and leather filled your nose, and the subtle musk of dust accentuated it all. Motes danced quietly in the air, the gray sky outside casting pale ambient light to fall through the high windows. Not a single sound could be heard, and for a moment you thought the letter had been a rude jest.

"Prince Aemond?" You asked to nowhere in particular, voice seeming too loud for the quiet space even though it was barely above your normal speaking voice.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up. It's a crime to keep your prince waiting. Surely, you knew?" His voice drawled from somewhere behind you, and you weren't acquainted with him well enough to know if that was the ghost of amusement behind his tone or genuine severity.

He sat in a bench along the wall, one arm draped across the back of it, book in the other, legs outstretched with crossed ankles. How did he get there? You swore you'd just looked over that spot and it was positively empty! "Either you're a master at camouflage or a wraith. There's no way you've been sitting there this whole time," you stammered, jolted and half amused at his appearance.

He smirked. He had dimples at the corners of his mouth. Dimples. How did you not notice those yesterday? "Couldn't see me the night of your arrival, nor here this morning. Are you sure it's not you who needs glasses, my Lady?" he mused aloud, not answering your question.

You rolled your eyes. A playful gesture. "Oh please. My eyes are fine, thank you very much," you crossed your arms beneath your chest, willing yourself to look at anything but Aemond. You'd been staring. He knew it too. "You mentioned breakfast. Where is it exactly? I'm quite hungry this morning."

The prince stood, then, a graceful motion that somehow looked ethereal despite its normalness. "I thought you might be. You barely ate last night." He tucked the book he'd been reading into the crook of his arm, and used his free hand to gently guide you down a nearby aisle. It led to an opened area, study table topped with a breakfast tray.

"If I remember correctly you didn't eat much either," you retorted, angling your jaw just slight at his call out. Why did his guiding touch make your head so dizzy? No other person ever made you feel such a way with so little effort.

He nodded, moving to pull the nearest chair out for you to sit. "I admit I was having conflicting emotions," he replied, body closer now, voice lower so you had to lean in a little to hear him better.

"Does the prince wish to elaborate? I'm afraid I'm not quite following. And, I'd hate to assume the worst," you said, looking at him beneath your lashes. You sat and he helped push you back in.

He smiled again, slight as it was. "If I had it my way last night, my Lady, I'd have dismissed everyone as soon as I saw you make to disobey my mother and pour my wine. I was jealous of every single person in the great hall for being in your presence."

Thank the gods you didn't have anything in your mouth because if you did you'd have choked. "You don't need to flatter me in such ways, my prince, it's unnecessary and quite honestly, shocking," you said, unable to meet his gaze.

"You'll soon learn I mean everything I say."

You blushed, unknowing how to respond to that. To say he was intense was an understatement. You found yourself subtly squirming beneath it through your shared breakfast of boiled eggs, bacon, and fruits, all washed down with a smooth, lively tea.

"Do you believe in merlings, my prince?" You asked once you had your fill, curling your hands beneath your chin as you looked across to Aemond.

He didn't answer for a moment, drinking thoughtfully from his cup. "Well, I can't say I don't believe in them. Merely, I've never seen one with my own eye," he replied, silently drumming his fingers on the tabletop in continued thought; gaze wandering musingly.

Your eyes lit up, smile reaching them as you stood. "Walk with me around the library? There's an island outside the Arbor named Mermaid's Palace. I'd like to tell you the tale of its origin, if you'll hear me."

"I'd love to hear it," he said, standing, holding his arm out to you in a perfect picture of gentlemanliness.

You flashed him a wide, pretty smile; one that had his heart instantly melting. Taking his offered arm, you stood and held to it, rubbing slow, soft circles into his bicep. And, this time, you closed all the distance between your bodies so your soft bosom pressed against his lean form; entirely intentional. You pretended not to notice the catch in his throat at the sensation. "Do you want the long version, or the short?" You asked with an arched brow as you both began an unhurried saunter of the large library.

"Long. I want every detail while you hold onto me like this."

Tension sparked around you both as you pressed a little further into him. "Then you shall have it, my prince."

And so you told him of the legend of the merlings. The merfolk's tale webbed far and wide from the Iron Islands, to Braavos, even into legends of House Velayron, and Blackwater Bay. Humans married, slayed, and chased them off alike. And it's said that the merlings from the Shivering Sea, with their pale skin and black scaled tails, were of the most dangerous kind, moreso than those of the Southern Seas.

Much to Aegon and Alicent's annoyance, prince Aemond slacked on his princely duties the following three days. He didn't care, though, all he cared about was you.

Those three days were full of rain and thunderstorms, and you two often snuck off into the library to share tales of childhood; even divulging in a few secrets. What mostly happened, however, was him reading to you from his favorite books – those of historians, philosophers, battles, and dragons – all while you rested your head on his shoulder, traced your fingertips over his hands and wrists, and let him lay his head upon your lap.

Each night you wanted it to last forever. And each night you fell asleep with him in the forefront of your mind, wanting nothing more than to see him again in the morning.

"Emeline,

Meet me in the gardens after you finish breakfast. The sun is finally out and I wish to see your eyes in the summerlight.

Don't fret if you cannot find me. I will find you.

Affectionately,

Aemond"

You were more excited to see his letter than you were to see golden light streaming into your room through parted curtains. Or, perhaps it was because of the sun you were so excited. Either way, you got ready as quickly and efficiently as you could.

The sky was already warm, hinting that it would be a beautiful day. You donned a long strapless dress of your usual color, and a sheer silken mantle clasped at the front of your chest by a golden plated brooch of your House's sigil. The shoes you picked for today still had a small heel, though unlike your others these were open. You accessorized with gold as was your favorite, and your hair was in the same twist style of yours and Aemond's first meeting. Carefully applied makeup accentuated the charm of your face.

For your morning meal you chose porridge, fruit, and sausage, and ate it as quickly as could be deemed polite before nearly skipping off to the gardens.

It was lovely this time of the year. Flowers bloomed in every corner, the heady scents of their mixed fragrances created a much different aroma than what you were used to at home. You slowly scanned over the place and took in all that you could see from these parts of the grounds. A few other residents of the Red Keep were out too, and you felt little shame at your curious people watching. Despite the expanse of the garden, there didn't seem to be many people out.

You began to daydream, steps slowing as you lost a bit of yourself to the wandering paths of your mind.

"Have I yet told you how lovely this color is on your skin?" Aemond asked from behind you, tracing the back of his hand along the length of your arm.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin. "Why do you always do that?" You asked, fingertips touching over the center of your chest where he successfully startled you. "Is it so hard to come up from the front?"

He puckered his mouth in an amused grin. "I could, but that takes the fun out of it. Your eyes grow big when you're startled. The pupil opens and gives you this delightful doe look," he replied, brushing so close to you that his breath shuddered the flyaway hairs in front of your ear.

Instead of waiting for him to offer his arm, you took it first and held onto it, using him to steady your already trembling fingers. "I don't think you've told me how you like this color, no. Do you truly? It makes me happy to hear."

"Very much so. I find myself thinking of you the moment you leave, and rarely of anything else while I'm trying to settle down for sleep," he answered in a tone you hadn't experienced from him yet, lacing his fingers in with your own.

Your eyes widened, heart going into overdrive in combination of his words, tone, and touch. "My prince," is all you managed to say, glittering with unsaid words.

He took advantage of the moment and the sun's angle on your features. He studied your eyes, the wholeness of your face, the way your pulse point thumped inside the shallow vein in your neck. You weren't even doing anything, merely looking up at him, and you were driving him wild. "Like pools of honey," he whispered, leaning in closer to you. "Your eyes in the sun." He dared to look down at your mouth, then, willing himself to meet your gaze once more. Slowly, he leaned back from your intoxicating nearness. "There's a wisteria arbor I've been wanting to show you. Come." He tilted his head in gesture to where it was, lingering on you before he turned to lead you both away.

When did the beat of one's pulse become dangerous? Because you were positively sure you were there. You dared not let go of Aemond's hand as he led the way, lacing your fingers between his more securely.

Tension lingered around you like a bubble ready to pop. All you could think about was the handsome prince showing you off to the lovely flowers; mind somehow racing and frozen alike at the memory of his mouth so close to yours.

"Here it is, my Lady. What do you think?"

If you'd been present instead of daydreaming, you'd have noticed it long before now. Wisteria hung down between the overhead lattice in variegated shades of purple and cream. Bees buzzed around, the workers busy collecting and spreading pollen in the morning sun; the sound a gentle low vibration, mirroring how your senses sung for the prince. Privacy surrounded you, the lush vine flowers creating a wall of perfumed seclusion: a secret in the sprawling garden. "This- this is the loveliest thing I've seen since being here," you exhaled, bright with a combination of excitement and wonder.

You instinctively moved half a step into him, and he mimicked the action, bodies magnetic. Lifting your hand up to his mouth, he gently brushed the top of it to his lips. "I thought you might say that, princess," he replied, eye hooded and sly.

It was in that exact moment you realized his eye was the same color of the wisteria. During all your time spent together during the last week, he never called you that. "Princess?"

"Of course. Once we wed that will be your title. My princess," he said, expression a mixture of intensity and mirth. "You're blushing."

"A-am I?" Blood roared behind your ears and up and down your spine.

"You are. Is that still what you desire?" He momentarily held your hand a breath away from his lips before kissing it again. Slower, this time.

You thought you'd actually combust. "Yes, my prince. Very much so." Your hand trembled in his. He noticed.

"Do I make you nervous, my Lady?" He carefully dropped your hand, faces now immeasurably closer without your hand as barrier between.

"Only in good ways. I think," you admitted after a moment, lids fluttering closed.

"Hmm," he hummed beneath his breath, long fingers gently touching your jaw. "You're doing very good for being so nervous," he whispered, breath tickling your lips before he pressed his mouth to them in a delicately needful kiss.

You soared.

Even though you already had him, you desperately wanted him. Blood prickled from your scalp, to your toes, to your fingers, and every single place between.

He still held your jaw with one hand, and the other rose to the side of your neck – scared that you might fade away into dreamdust.

You broke away and looked up at him, pupils wide amidst the affection. "We should have done this a long time ago," you said, breathless, standing up on your tippy toes to meet him again.

Aemond met you, matching your excitement.

The kiss deepened tentatively at first for you were shy in your movements, but once it did he tasted of sweet, tart raspberries, an echo of his last meal. And soon he didn't taste of anything at all, except of you and himself.

After that, time became lost in the gardens. Upon returning to the Red Keep you were both blushed with swollen lips. You searched for your father, eager to find him as the natural high of yours and Aemond's kiss willed your legs to move with extra purpose. Once you did, you grabbed both of his hands in your own. "Father! I will marry prince Aemond," you declared, beaming.

At first he seemed a little surprised by your excitement, gauging you with careful eyes. Then, he too beamed, squeezing your hands with a smile that shone up to his brow. "Wonderful news! Where is he?"

"He went to find the Queen Mother to tell her too! We split up just inside. So we could share the announcement quicker!"

"Let's go wait for them then, shall we?" He asked as he extended his arm to you. You felt like a little girl holding onto your father, practically buzzing with joy. "It's been a grand week all around then, ey?" He asked with a knowingly arched brow.

You only grinned back at him, also knowingly.

"Lord Redwyne! Princess!" Alicent called as soon as the four of you saw each other. "It appears we have a wedding to plan."

Aemond stood by his mother, proud and wistful at seeing her genuinely happy for the first time in... some time.

You and Aemond moved to stand by each other, and you were overcome with a wave of shyness standing before your father and Alicent as your betrothed snaked his arm around your waist, holding you to him.

"Let us join our Houses in the presence of all our Gods. With us dominating the sky, and Lord Redwyne's fleet dominating the sea, we will not fall." Aemond spoke to the trio in turns. "And the sweetest thing of it all? I get to marry the fairest maiden in all the Arbor," he added roguishly, kissing the top of your hand like the finest prince in any tale. "Thank you, my Lord Redwyne, for your daughter's hand."

That night Aemond insisted you two eat alone. After dessert he escorted you to your room, and left you with a kiss that warmed you all throughout the night.

"You will be the realm's princess, yes. More importantly, you will be my princess. Good night, my Lady."

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider a follow and reblog as I have plans to create and share more writings.

as said above, I have a few ideas to continue their tale. if you would like to see more of this story, please let me know! this is my first time doing something like this and I’m feeling a little nervous (the good kind) about it.

here is my masterlist if you’d like to see what else I’ve created!

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond fluff #aemond x reader #aemond fic

233 notes · View notes

shu-box-puns · 9 months

Text

Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: When you try to clear up a misunderstanding but things are getting worse before they’re getting better.

Word Count: 11,719

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

The Cove of the Ancestors was always prettiest at night.

Honestly, it was gorgeous at all times of day. With its arching stone limbs framing the sun and the ethereal glowing fan-like leaves of the Spirit Tree underfoot. Without the sun to dim its splendour, the Tree shone brighter than even the closest star, rivalling the soft glow of the colossal moon that sat lazily upon its throne of curved rock overshadowing the cove.

And at the centre of it all, was Ronal, the bridge between Eywa and Her children.

Backlit by the moon, the Tsahik sat tall upon her tsurak, oozing power despite her silence as she commanded the small procession of young hunters with but a wave of her hand.

She was draped in a flowing cloak of blue sea grass, whilst shells that represented every symbol of her people were weaved between the locks of her hair. You recognised the bright pink conch of her courting gift from Tonowari, to the bright white of blooming friendship no doubt collected after a successful alliance with another sea clan. Your gaze absently caught on the jade of a smaller shell which represented the camaraderie of warriors, before catching on a fist sized black shell set at the centre of the tapestry of her intricate hairstyle. As death was the path in which every na’vi returned to Eywa, and Eywa was at the centre of everything a Tsahik did for their people, it was only common sense that this was the symbol Ronal had chosen to place most obviously within her hair. Ominous but beautiful in the most morbid of ways.

You had a vague memory of the morning that particular black shell had washed ashore upon the beaches of Awa’altu. The way Ronal had paled and reached for it with shaking hands as an unsettled murmur had started up from the onlooking villagers. How Tonowari’s expression had grown pinched and distant, his grasp on his spear turning unforgiving. The new stars had appeared in the sky that night. Spearing across the inky heavens like lost fragments of stars. Falling towards Eywa’eveng at frightening speeds. Scouts carrying the news that the Sky People had returned reached the sea clans within the following few days.

The elegant turn of Ronal’s tsurak in the water, drew your attention back to the present. Despite its impressive size, the powerful mount barely stirred the waves with its movements as its rider looked upon the four young hunters that she had led from the village at the beginning of eclipse. Her gaze briefly flickered over you and the two others brought along to supervise the visit whilst Ronal oversaw the ceremony itself.

With the season of the tsurak migration on the horizon, Ronal had gathered a select handful for an unprompted communion with Eywa. Whilst the others had no doubt been hand selected by Ronal for the journey, she had all but stormed into your hut with little to no warning and ordered you help her escort the less experienced hunters. She had demanded you cease your stupid pitying and be useful, to which you could do little besides grabbing your hunting spear and call your ilu.

Her judgemental gaze had glared daggers into the side of your head throughout the entire journey to the cove. Having ridden side by side, Ronal had had no shortage of opportunities to shoot probing questions your way, swiftly followed up with annoyed um’s and ah’s when your answers were clipped and short.

You hadn’t breathed a word of what had happened a couple days ago. The embarrassment would have killed you if you had had to look Ronal in the eye and tell her honestly what had gotten under your thick skin. Like Aonung, her response would be unpredictable and you would much rather avoid addressing anything.

Naturally, you doubted that she was unaware of what had happened. She was Tsahik afterall, and there had been plenty of eyes and ears around to witness the entire mortifying situation.

But for now, you were spared by Ronal’s duty to recite her greetings to Eywa. You joined the others in bowing your heads in respect, before taking up a post near the rear of the small group. Spear in hand, you set your mind to surveying the waters as Ronal called each young hunter forward one by one. You heard the deep inhales and the lap of unsettled waves as she guided each beneath the surface to connect to the Spirit Tree.

On the off chance you would glance back when they resurfaced, the young hunter would always be smiling with some new sense of determination. Their resolve to pass their iknimaya refreshed by whichever lost loved one had appeared to them through Eywa.

Soon, you would be among them.

But not yet. Clearly, you were nowhere near ready.

Neteyam’s betrayal still sat heavy above your ribs, sometimes growing unbearably suffocating. You would be continuing with your duties, only for the action of another clan mate to bring him fluttering into your mind. Something as simple as teens messing around in the surf by the beach, made you recall all those times Neteyam had tried to trip or drag you down into the waves with him after some quick retort you’d fired at him. Even now, looking at the young hunters, you could see a watery reflection of his joy at a successful dive rippling across their beaming faces.

You could practically see the cute scrunch of his nose. Could imagine the disarray of his braids, how a couple would get stuck on his ears even after he tried to brush them back. You could practically feel the neat links between your fingers as you fixed them for him-

A flash of pink in your peripheral abruptly soured the fond memory.

Gaze narrowed, you glared down your spear shaft to the obnoxiously bright shell currently clinging to the blade like a limpet. It felt like an act of defiance as you pulled the weapon in and mercilessly scrapped the offending object off with your thumb. Certain that no one else had seen it, you wound back your hand and pointedly threw the blasted thing as far away as you could. Your ilu straightened at the sudden motion, but watched with you as the pink landed with a plop and was swiftly swallowed by the calm silver of the dancing moonlight on the waves.

An authoritative tut had your spine instinctively straightening.

Even without turning, you knew Ronal was behind you, and she was greatly displeased.

<”Never so rudely discard a gift from Eywa.”> She said coldly, with the authority of her station, even as she tread water at a level that forced you to look down to meet her gaze. <”It’s fine.”> You found yourself blurting out stupidly, despite the fact you’d grown up alongside this woman’s children and knew your excuses would fall on deaf ears. <”She’ll just send me more. Bet I’ll find another before we even get back to the village.”>

Ronal was already shaking her head in displeasure, the shells woven into her hair gently clicking together. <”You do not think clearly.”> She finally stated, as sharply and quickly as a slap on the wrist. <”Now come. It is your turn to go see Her.”>

Your nose scrunched at the order, eyes briefly glancing to the young hunters, who were now mucking around in the waves whilst Ronal’s back was turned. Even the escorts were glistening in the light of the moon, their hair sticking to their scalps, having clearly already descended to the Tree for a reunion with Eywa.

Before you could unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, Ronal was taking your spear from your lax grasp and tossing it to the nearest escort with barely a word of warning. Luckily, he caught it easily and rested it across his knees.

With that, Ronal sharply dragged you off your ilu and urged you to follow her under. You went easily enough, ducking under the waves to find yourself briefly soothed by the sudden silence that came with the embrace of the water and the underlying humm of life that always inhabited the space between the waving limbs of the Spirit Tree.

Ronal swam down in front of you, the lilac light reflecting off the shells in her hair as she led the way. You kept pace easily, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting as Ronal approached a certain branch with purpose and urged you to forge the connection.

Stopping at her elbow, you pulled your kuru forward over your shoulder. The braid was a familiar weight in your hand as you reached forward, the tendrils at the end eagerly emerging to fuse to the Spirit Tree’s offered limb.

You expected to be greeted by a distant relative, maybe some faceless Goddess, but instead, you opened your eyes to a beach. To sand between your toes and the lull of the waves at your side. The smell of meat cooking over fires and the sounds of the village accompanied the calm crash of the waves.

There was someone standing beside you, drawing your attention from your surroundings with a soft touch to your shoulder. You tore your gaze from the village to find Neteyam at your side. He stood tall, the vision of confidence, but you could tell from the anxious sway of his tail that nerves were threatening to overwhelm him. The smile that pulled at his lips looked strained. A thought which made your stomach twist uncomfortably.

Why him? Why had Eywa sent him to greet you?

Before your eyes, this phantom version of Neteyam seemed to pull himself together. You watched an odd expression seep into his gaze. And although it was different, you could somehow tell it was the echoes of something soft hidden within the depths of his eyes.

If you were still a lovesick fool, you might have mistaken it for affection.

But you knew better now. You knew that Eywa had made a mistake. You knew that Neteyam did not want you. That he did not even wish to be your friend.

You had reminded yourself of this in the days that had followed the fight on the walkway. The truth had turned you bitter. Prompting Ronal to drag you from your hut with some half-assed excuse of being a scout for her visit.

You knew and yet this version of Neteyam looked at you as if you’d hung the stars. What was even more unsettling, was that he wore your courting necklace. The bright pinks of the shells gorgeously contrasted his complexion as they cruelly supplied you with the image of what he would have looked like wearing them. If he had given you a chance to prove yourself.

<”What are you looking at?”> He asked you now, a bright laugh lacing its way between his words. He shifted, appearing suddenly at ease.

In contrast, you felt yourself subconsciously stiffening.

<”Nothing.”> You said simply, and he hummed.

Unexpectedly, one of his hands strayed from his side to reach for your hand. His fingers were long and warm as they easily wrapped around your wrist, as if to anchor you in place. Holding you in place with a gentleness that was foreign to you. <”You’re a bad liar.”> He said, his words barely registering in your mind as the warmth of his hand pressed into your skin.

He pulled away suddenly, and you immediately cursed yourself for feeling disappointed by his withdrawal. You’d think you were used to it by now.

Neteyam didn’t notice. His expression had brightened as he spotted something at your feet. Quicker than your eyes could follow, he stooped to pluck something from the sand.

His fingers closed around the object, his grin bright as he carefully opened his hands and showed you what he was holding. It was a shell. A very large and very, VERY pink one at that.

You knew your tail was wagging at an unnatural pace, but couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed. Or stop for that matter. Your heart was pounding and doing happy flips at the sheer size of the shell presented to you now. You were grinning despite yourself. Eagerly reaching for the beautiful shell under Neteyam’s bright eyed watch, your heart swelling in your chest with the amount of affection you harboured for this sweet boy and his cute smile.

Alarmed shouts sounded from the village, stilling your hand. The smell of the cooking fires turned acidic, like the burning of metal. You glanced away from Neteyam for half a second to find that the beach was suddenly awash with screaming na’vi. Hunters were grabbing their spears and skimwings were being called, whilst Metkayina villagers ran for the sea. Some were on fire, screaming the whole way. Whilst others shepherd children out of the pods, and friends dragged each other across the sand. The drums for war were sounding, thunderous and ominous in their volume, making your heart race and your happiness evaporate.

In contrast, when you turned back to him, Neteyam was the vision of calm. <”Y/n?”> He asked lightly, acting as if you had been rendered speechless by the shell, when you could in reality see the burning of your home reflecting in his eyes.

You managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, hands coming up to grip his bicep, ready to haul him towards the sea, only for your actions to freeze. Your eyes bugged at the sight of his necklace. At the shells that once resembled the forest, and now shone black in the burning light of the out of control fires.

He was still smiling. Still grinning without a care in the world like a love-drunk fool. Comically, he tipped his head towards the shell caught between your outstretched hands.

Again, you followed his unspoken prompt, breath stuttering at the once pink shell that had crumbled to a black husk between his hands. Everywhere his skin touched it, it shone a dirty black, whilst the part that your fingers brushed had softened into a milky white. It was a sickeningly beautiful contrast. Riddled with signs and messages that only a Tsahik could successfully interpret.

<”Do you not like it?”>

You looked up at him once more. Heart clenching painfully as you realised that his freckles were no longer glowing, despite the darkness and the illuminated dots adorning your own skin. You didn’t need a Tsahik to know what that meant. <”No, it is beautiful.”> You promised him, and he laughed with such ignorance that you knew in your gut that he couldn’t possibly know the meaning.

The snap of woven fibres breaking apart startled your gaze from him. Your gaze darted to the village, your home, currently being consumed by hungry tongues of flame. Pods were collapsing in on themselves as the fire spread. Their strong structures weakened as the ribs of the trees they were secured against began to blacken and buckle. A few collapsed under their own weight, tipping the People running along them into the raging waves.

Neteyam was unnaturally still at your back, the flames dancing in the gold of his eyes as he stared blankly at the ruins of your home. He did not appear surprised by the destruction, as if he had seen it all before.

The world shifted on its axes, and you stumbled back a step, only for your foot to hit something lukewarm and solid as the unsettled waves sucked at your heels.

Unsteady, your gaze lowered to the object, only for the breath to still in your throat at the site of a body in the water. Eyes frozen in death, the na’vi stared blankly at the ruined village, his throat slit.

More bodies littered the sand. Turning the white beaches into a bloodbath of gore and red.

Your breathing picked up, even as you realised that these were not the bodies of sea na’vi. Their clothes were alien. Their features were wrong. Their noses were too sharp and strips of hair hugged their brow bones. They were forest na’vi, but not.

Not that it seemed to matter much, because someone had taken the time to kill them all. Bloody gashes stained the sand and tainted the waves. Ugly, unclean swipes of a blade that did not reflect the ways of the People. These were not clean kills.

A hand grasped your shoulder.

You lurched, hand swinging up to smack the person away.

Neteyam was still there. Still wearing that foolish necklace. Still watching the destruction of the village. He caught your wrist easily, eyes not once moving from where they were fixed. And not a moment too soon, as you realised you were clutching your bloodied blade in that hand.

Red was smeared from the knife to your forearm, covering the ripples of your aqua stripes. Tainting the fine leather of your blade. It was only now, you could feel the stickiness of the substance splattered across your torso. Along your arms, dripping from your chin. You could feel something stuck between your teeth, and you feared it wasn’t fish judging by the sizable bite marks carved into some of the dead na’vi’s bodies.

Your disconnection from the Spirit Tree with a lurch, as if Eywa had severed your connection personally and shoved you backwards and out of her realm. It was disorienting to go from the screaming destruction of the village, to the muffled silence beneath the waves. For a few heart pounding seconds, you couldn’t tell up from down.

A light touch to your shoulder made you jump. Your body wanted to fight, but you managed to keep from reaching for your knife long enough to recognise Ronal’s concerned expression at your elbow.

/Who did She show you?/ The Tsahik signed, her expression pinched.

Your mind was spinning too fast to answer. You could still taste the copper on your tongue and feel the stickiness of the blood splattered across your skin. Your lungs burned as if you’d inhaled acidic smoke, and you desperately wanted to breathe it all out. You needed to surface. To inhale the seaweed and salt of the cove and allow the watery moonlight to wash away the harsh orange of the fire. Anything to get the taste of ash off your tongue and the feeling of flesh between your teeth to dissipate.

You noticed the underbellies of the other’s ilus mucking around on the surface without Ronal’s guidance. The lazy circles of the warriors helped to orient you, to give you a direction.

Panic was still clawing up the back of your throat. Shaking your hands as that black shell flashed in the back of your mind once again, making your ears instinctively pin back. The inky blackness of their colour. The crumbling edges.

You were kicking for the surface before you realised you’d never given Ronal an answer. Your burning need for the sound of the waves tugged you higher and higher as you clumsily moved away from the Spirit Tree. With powerful kicks of your legs and the rhythmic sway of your tail, you started rising to the surface. In your haste, everything you’d learnt about swimming since infancy went out the window. Your tail worked out of sync with your legs, as your hands clawed uselessly at the water despite knowing that having your fingers apart would only slow your ascent.

In contrast, Ronal was a calming presence at your back, easily keeping pace before she seemed to lose patience and swept you up into her arms. Despite the addition of your weight, she ascended smoothly to the surface, pressing you into her side, mindful of her swollen belly as she gracefully left the Spirit Tree behind.

You broke the surface with a gasp, something you had NEVER done before. Coming up for breath was normally a calm procedure. Now, you greedily sucked down lungfuls of air.

<”Suvio, guide the young hunters back to the village.”> Ronal’s voice was calm and clear as she broke the surface with the same elegance as usual. Her grip was firm around your waist as you struggled to calm yourself.

The hunter Ronal had addressed dutifully nodded as the young hunters immediately scrambled to fall back into the formation. She yipped to them before leading the way out of the cove, the other scout bringing up the rear.

Ronal watched them go until the soft glow of their freckles disappeared against the stars of the night, offering you some desperately needed privacy. Your cheeks were warm from the torrent of your frightened tears, more obvious now that the ocean didn’t whisk them away the moment they slipped from between your eyelids.

<”What did you see?”> Ronal asked, her voice startlingly loud against the stillness of the cove.

You sucked in a sharp breath, as you struggled to set the events of the vision into order. Ronal soothed you with a firm hand running up and down your back, easing the tension from your shoulders as she waited.

Instead of looking at her narrowed gaze, you focused on the pool of her hair floating around her shoulders. The shells woven within the strands glowed softly, their contrasting shades of bioluminescence standing out against the raven black strands.

It was hard to speak, but you pushed yourself to anyway. Your hands were too busy clinging tightly to Ronal to be any use in signing to her. <”She, she sent me an omen.”>

Ronal stilled. <”More shells?”> She pressed, her tone probing. There was no amusement in her question, her demeanour completely typical of the Tsahik instead of a concerned parent.

<”A warning.”> You confirmed, voice wobbly. <”A Black shell.”> You continued, <”big enough to fill both my palms. It was ancient. Crumbling.”>

Ronal’s ears flattened. And then after a moment of contemplation, she yipped for her tsurak. <”We must return to the village.”> You grabbed her arm before she could pull away, feeling uncomfortably raw for the blatant vulnerable action, but needing to ask anyway. <”What does it mean?”>

<”You know what it means.”> Ronal replied simply, and you did.

You recalled that morning on the beach, eavesdropping on Ronal and Tonowari as they hastily discussed the meaning of the black shell that had just washed up. <”Someone is going to die.”> Ronal had said then, and Tonowari had been powerless to shake his head at her accusation. She had been right, afterall.

>_<

Neteyam looked down at his freshly woven token.

He was sat in his hammock, swarmed by the copious amount of pink shells that somehow managed to invade his sleeping quarters regardless of how many times he cleared them out, and trapped deep in thought.

Absently, he ran a thumb over his weaving, gaze critical as he compared the pattern to a necklace Tsireya had gifted him to take inspiration from the day before. He was so used to weaving the Omaticaya way, that it had taken an embarrassing amount of time to learn the Metkayina way of knot working, but he thought the necklace was just about ready now.

Forcing himself not to spiral or think too hard about it, Neteyam glanced at the contents of his hammock in search of the perfect pair of shells to attach to the centre of the piece. Ideally, he wanted two halves of the same shell, so he could accent them to sit above each collar bone instead of hanging too heavy in the centre of the throat. A design choice he’d stolen from one of his mother’s old necklaces where two jade river stones took the place of the shells.

Whilst he busied himself, Neteyam tried to put together an action plan.

He had no idea where Y/n was right now. They hadn’t shown up to lessons for the last few days, nor had he stumbled across them in the village. None of his siblings had in fact. Even Tuk hadn’t been able to track them down.

<”What’s with the long face?”> His Dad asked from the doorway of the pod, still dripping from hauling himself out of the water only moments before.

Neteyam felt his cheeks heat, the courting necklace at his throat suddenly too tight. He hadn’t talked about mates or courting with his Dad before, certainly not since the Sky People had returned. It was simply not something they’d ever discussed.

But his Dad was more relaxed now. A thought Neteyam confirmed with himself as his Father crossed the pod, a net full of fish in hand. He sat himself down beside the cooking pot, focused on his catch so he wouldn’t pressure Neteyam into talking before he was ready. Which he appreciated.

Talking it out would be nice though. Especially to someone who wasn’t part of the entire mess.

“It’s complicated.” Neteyam finally replied with, responding in English to help himself say it. It felt safer somehow. His Dad gummed quietly, somehow knowing there was more, and that Neteyam would give it up eventually.

”How did you know Mum was the one for you?” Neteyam found himself asking, eyes glued to his token instead of his Dad who had ceased his rustling to look at him. There was a mement of stillness in which Neteyam knew he was being assessed. Luckily, Dad let it drop, responding in English. ”She tried to kill me.” Neteyam could hear the amusement in his tone, could picture the adoration glinting in his Father’s eyes like it always did when he thought of Mum. Honestly, it was sickening sometimes how infatuated they still were with each other. ”What’s this about?”

Neteyam swallowed, still hiding behind his braids. “The Metkayina have a concept of their mates being chosen by Eywa.” “Ah. Mo’at told me something similar. Something to do with shells if I’m not mistaken.” Dad confirmed, the hiss of his knife leaving its sheath indicating he was continuing with his task. “I take it from that look that someone’s taken a fancy to you.”

“Dad!” He hissed through his teeth, ears burning.

His Dad barked a laugh. “What can I say? Sully men got game-”

”DAD!”

”Fine! Fine. I’ll stop.” He was grinning, so Neteyam feared he wouldn’t. But to his relief, or horror, Dad swung the conversation back on track. ”So, who is this mysterious soulmate?” “It doesn’t matter.” Neteyam hurriedly dismissed. “They won’t even look at me anymore.”

”Come on, you’re kids. It can’t be that serious.”

”You can’t compare every situation, to you betraying the clan for the demons.” ”I said no such thing.” ”You ALWAYS imply it.”

“There you go.” Dad mused, to which Neteyam suddenly realised he’d finally come out of hiding during the heat of the conversation and was now glaring down at his Father on the floor. Seemingly satisfied, his Dad continued to speak, his attention drifting down to the fish he was gutting. ”It’s Y/n, right? Friend of Tonowari’s kids?” Dad pried, glancing up long enough to confirm his suspicion with a weak nod from Neteyam. He chuckled in amusement. “Tough cookie that one. Very serious.”

“You don’t say.” Neteyam replied dryly. “I’m worried I’ve messed it up before it could even begin.” “Well.” Dad began, “you’re a smart kid. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” “That’s it? You’re not going to give me any real advice?” “I doubt you want advice from me.” Dad reassured him, “Even in my old age, I don’t have the best head on my shoulders.” “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

His Dad laughed. “Fine, if you want my advice, I’d recommend-”

The curtain across the mouth of the pod was promptly swept aside before Dad would offer up anything decent to help Neteyam along. “Do not give our son any of your stupid ideas.” His mother ordered, striding into the pod with her visor sat low on her brow bone. “You will get him a black eye.”

“What can I do?” Dad mused, “he insisted.”

Mum scoffed at him, playfully swatting his cheek with her tail as she passed. She did not take off her visor, nor did she stride for her own hammock.

In a matter of seconds, Neteyam found himself sat in his hammock with his Mother’s shadow casting over him. “Do you wish to court this na’vi?” She asked him bluntly.

Neteyam spluttered.

His mother smiled knowingly, but did not wait for his excuse as she ploughed on. “You do.” She told him. “And I will tell you what I told Lo’ak. You are going to grab them by the ear and make them notice you. You are going to present them with the best woven token and refuse to leave until you get a straight answer. And afterwards, you will stop this moping. You are a Sully. We do not mope, we thrive.” “Yes Mother!” Neteyam replied quickly, feeling both encouraged and chastised.

His Dad chuckled again from the floor. “You’ll be surprised how effective your mother’s methods are.” Miraculously, he did not want to know what he meant by that.

>_<

Upon returning to the village, Ronal had ordered you to return to your pod, to which you had been too exhausted to argue.

There had been a flurry of movement beyond your woven walls as the message of your vision had spread and the adults had begun preparing. You had focused on cooking yourself something to eat.

Tonowari had turned up at your door not long after you’d finished descaling your fish, having apparently been banned from his own pod because Ronal and Tsireya needed complete concentration to look further into the issue using their herbs or whatever methods Tsahik’s favoured when searching for answers. Which led to now, sitting beside Tonowari in companionable silence. The Olo’eyktan had propped his spear up against the wall and immediately sat on the opposite side of the cooking pot. For a long while, he was quiet as he assisted you in cooking, and in return, you were sure to make enough for him to take back to his family for their own dinner.

Your time spent with the Olo’eyktan was always calm like this. A gentle silence that was both soothing and comforting. Unlike your time spent with Ronal, which often left you feeling chastised or tired, her mate was a pleasant opposite. Not that you disliked spending time with the Tsahik, it was merely because she could be rather intense at times.

Of course, Tonowari was the gossip of the two, so he often had his moments.

<”I was surprised by your decision to stop teaching the Sully kids.”> He said casually, eyes never straying from the simmer of the cooking pot. You, in contrast, felt yourself wind tight with tension. Your gaze flickered up to his tattooed face, only to find him pretending to be the picture of ease as he focused on his task. He had taken up the stirring stick and had begun to mix the pot with slow, calculated strokes.

And then, just when you thought he was done and you could get away with not responding, he continued. <“Little Tuk looked awfully upset this morning when Tsireya told her you were attending to other duties.”>

The sneaky bastard.

You forced your shoulders to loosen before you responded. <“Aonung needs to start pulling his weight. You cannot baby him forever.”> <“We both know this is not about Aonung.”> Tonowari returned calmly, and promptly steered the conversation back to where it was. <“So tell me, what is wrong?”>

You bit your lip to keep yourself from responding. So Aonung hadn’t been lying when he said Tonowari had noticed.

When you did not respond, Tonowari took it as an invitation to continue to pry.

<“You have ceased teaching a class that you were otherwise eager to help out with.”> He pointed out plainly. <”Tsireya tells me that you rarely go out anymore unless it is to complete your duties. Whereas your pod is now completely devoid of shells, when only last week you were tracking them all over the place. Ronal was tearing her hair out with how many she kept finding around the village.”> He chuckled softly to himself at the fond memory, probably having gotten a kick out of seeing his otherwise composed mate losing her composure because of something so small.

<”The other hunters and I have never seen so many of the same kind. Not since my grandfather’s time as Olo’eyktan, which very few of the older clan members recall.”> He continued almost nostalgically, <”so whoever this person is, Eywa must be incredibly insistent on this match.”>

You tucked your chin to your chest to avoid looking at his cocky expression and to ensure you didn’t give anything away.

<”Aonung told me of a disagreement that occurred on the walkways a few nights back.”> Tonowari probed, <”he spoke of a misunderstanding that is yet to be resolved-”>

<“Can we talk about something else?”> You interjected before startling as you realised you’d just cut him off. Your ears flattened as you glanced sheepishly at the Olo’eyktan who simply smiled back. There was a note of victory glittering in his eye, and you knew you’d just unintentionally revealed your hand. And like an akula with fresh prey in its jaws, there would be little chance of distracting Tonowari with a subject change.

<”Please.”> You found yourself trying anyway, even if it would be a useless attempt. <”Anything but bloody shells and signs from Eywa?”>

That seemed to unsteady Tonowari for a heartbeat. <”Shells are part of our People.”> Tonowari lectured, the same story you’d heard since before you could walk. Since you’d shown interest in the pretty coloured shells that the People wore or adorned their homes with. <”They speak of good and bad times. Foretell our relationships and our losses, you will do well not to disregard them.”> <”I know.”> You implore him, and it’s true. You do know. You might even know better than anyone. The statement slips from between your lips like a forgotten prayer. Quiet and small like the words of the child you’re always pretending you’ve grown out of being. <”I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult few days.”>

He nodded. <”Care to share?”>

You swallow. <”Eywa made a mistake with the shells.”> You told him bluntly.

Tonowari chuckled softly to himself, making your stomach twist. <”Eywa does not make mistakes on such a matter.”>

<”But she has!”> You insist more passionately than you’ve been this entire conversation. <”He-”> you swallowed loudly. <”He can’t be my fated, Olo’eyktan-”> <”Tonowari.”> Tonowari quickly corrected, helping to lighten the mood.

You scowl playfully at him and continue to address him with his title just because you know it makes him feel old. <”Clearly, Eywa has made a mistake, Olo’eyktan, because he’s terrified of me. Your mate is not supposed to be scared of you!”>

Tonowari hummed thoughtfully over this statement for a moment or two before an amused smile tugged at the right corner of his lips. <”You know, I was fearful of Ronal.”>

Your eyes widened at the blatant admission. <”Really? But you’re so comfortable around one another.”> <”Oh, we are now.”> Tonowari said simply. <”But before I knew her, and before we received any pink shells for one another, she scared me worse than any akula. I’d avoid her in the village and if she ever struck up a conversation with me, I’d desperately think up the first ridiculous excuse I could to get away.”>

He smiled fondly at the memory, not a hint of embarrassment on his expression. You watched his tail sway lazily, the picture of a doting mate thinking about the woman he had taken as his Tsahik.

<”And, how did that change?”>

<”My brother, Totxa, tricked me into going on a two day hunting trip with her.”> Tonowari mused, grinning now. <”The ass only told me when I was packed and astride my tsurak that he was planning to woo his own fated and sent me on my way. Ronal had already saddled up and ordered me to follow so I was essentially trapped.”>

He chuckled, nostalgic of a time long past. <”It was on that trip that Eywa sent the pink shells, and Ronal of course figured it out first. And she confronted me about it. Demanded to know why I was so spineless. Of course, calling me a coward immediately hurt my pride and she was rather amused by my sudden courage. We started courting on our return to the village.”> Somehow, you could see it. Tonowari and Ronal, much younger than you know them now, lost in the sea and the islands beyond the village, navigating the way and each other. You knew that the pair must have bounced off of each other well once they began to see eye to eye. And judging by the strong mated pair that watched over the village now, you knew that Eywa had not been mistaken in her decision for this match.

Even now, the pair wore tokens of their bond upon their person like ever fated couple. Ronal usually had a pink shell woven into her skirts, whilst in the low light of the fire, you could see the shine of Tonowari’s courting shell woven into the braided hide of his hunters band. The shell was located near the top of the special garment, above his heart.

<"Where are you going with this?">

Tonowari studied you for a moment, head tilted in understanding. <”You are uncertain.”> He told you simply, <”you believe Eywa has made a mistake and you’re unsettled. But from where I stand, it seeming you’re truly the one scared, not whoever your fated is.”> He stated with wisdom that was usually bestowed by Ronal. <”Give it time. A village is not built in a day.”>

It was then that the curtain across the entrance of your pod was abruptly swept back and a figure stormed in.

Tonowari’s head snapped up from the cooking pot, as you turned sharply to find Neteyam stood awkwardly in the doorway of your home. His expression swiftly melted from that familiar determined scowl, to an ear lowered face of surprise and regret.

You hadn’t seen him in days, having taken the time to purposefully avoid him whenever you could, and despite yourself, you found something in you soothed to see him back in your home like he had been so many times before. Looking all bashful as he seemed to shrink in the doorway.

<”Olo’eyktan.”> He greeted smoothly, touching his hand to his forehead.

Tonowari reflexively returned the gesture but made no move to stand from his spot by the fire. <”Neteyam.”> He greeted pleasantly, <”I assume you’re here to take Y/n off my hands?”> Neteyam spluttered, going unnaturally still as he stared unblinkingly down at the older man whilst you glared at him yourself. Tonowari, always the picture of control and calm, simply raised his gaze to meet the younger man. His voice was unfaltering in his next statement.

<“They’ve been awfully upset as of late.”> He continued to your mortification. <“Very prickly. You wouldn’t happen to know why, would you Neteyam? They’re more secretive than the Great Mother sometimes.”> He chuckled to himself as if the joke was hilarious.

You could feel your face burning as you continued to glare daggers into the side of Tonowari’s face.

Neteyam didn’t seem much better as he struggled to string together enough words for a response.

Not that you were paying attention now, as the world seemed to still when your gaze fell upon the necklace at his throat. Your mouth went dry, as if you’d eaten handfuls of sand, as your gaze locked on the sloppy knotwork and pink shells of your courting necklace. The very same necklace that should have been swept away from the current and lost to the depths of the sea. <“Where did you get that?”> You blurted accusingly, finding yourself rising to your feet with your teeth bared. The thrash of your tail and the scowl on your face could have rivalled Ronal’s fury. To his credit, Neteyam did not shrink away from you. If anything, he seemed to grow more confident in the face of your rage.

<”We need to talk.”> He told you, but you brushed his demand aside to step closer, to draw yourself up and glare with all your might. <”Where. Did you get it?”> You repeated, slowly. Threateningly.

His chin rose in defiance, Tonowari completely forgotten as his attention turned solely to you. <“My ilu returned it to me.”>

You scoffed at his choice of words. <“Returned?”> You repeated. <“You don’t-”>

Your words faltered as Neteyam broke eye contact and briefly returned his gaze to Tonowari. You followed his attention, catching sight of Tonowari nodding before you were startled by hands grabbing your knees and the wind getting knocked out of you as you were swung up and over Neteyam’s shoulder. Stunned by his forwardness, you stared dumbly down Neteyam’s back as he gave Tonowari a polite goodbye and began carrying you out of the pod.

Tonowari, the bastard, smiled encouragingly at you and waved. You stared back at him, jaw slack in shock.

It was only when Neteyam didn’t put you down and started carrying you down the walkways that your senses returned to you.

<”Put me down.”> You snarled.

He ignored you.

So you began wiggling. Neteyam simply held you tighter, quiet and focused on his task. You made sure to complain the entire time, tugging at his braids, obscuring his view with your tail and trying to kick him in the stomach. All of which he either ignored or simply grabbed to make you stop wiggling.

Deciding to conserve your energy for a master escape attempt once he let his guard down, you pretended to accept your fate as he approached the outer rim of the village that attached everything to the island. You could feel the amused gazes of the People on you as Neteyam confidently paraded you in front of their homes. It was when a hunter whistled at you that you found yourself losing your cool all over again, and you instead occupied your time in captivity by spitting every curse under the sun at anyone who looked at you funny.

Eventually, the bounce of the walkway ceased to give way to the crunch of sand underfoot, but Neteyam did not pause once he reached the beach. He did not so much as glance around as he strode for the treeline. You could do nothing but watch Awa’atlu grow smaller and more obscured by leaves as the man carried you into the forest and out of sight.

Perhaps he’d find somewhere secluded and murder you to get out of having to be your mate. Or maybe he was finally going to blow up at you and make it official that he didn’t want anything to do with you. It would be a rather dramatic touch if he suddenly ripped off the courting necklace and threw it at you. Even you would respect the time and planning that would have been put into such an act.

Before long, you began to recognise where he was taking you. You could hear the babble of a brook and knew that he was approaching the pond that sat at the centre of your secret place. You recognised the orange glow of the flowers that had begun to bloom along the banks and noticed the arched limbs of the tree Neteyam tried to teach you to climb up once. It had left you with a limp for several days when you had inevitably fallen out of it.

Neteyam was gentle as he paused by the pond and carefully lowered you down to your feet. You tore away the moment your toes touched dirt. Expression venomous as you glared at him.

<”If you ever humiliate me like that in front of my people again, I will-”> <”Of course.”> Neteyam cut in, hands raised in a calming gesture. Your gaze caught on the bob of his throat making the necklace jump before his words drew your attention back up to his face. <”I understand, but hear me out first. There has been a huge misunderstanding.”>

You were both impressed by his sudden backbone and annoyed by his pleading look. In the soft glow of the plants, his glowing freckles looked more intricate than any galaxies you knew. They drew your attention from the determined line of his mouth, up the sweeping arches of his nose to his eyes, which were open and honest as he waited for your response.

He did not smile at you. And you did not scowl at him in return.

Instead, you struggled to inhale a much needed breath in an attempt to dissipate some of your annoyance. You had wanted to talk, and now you were being given a chance for an explanation.

<”Speak.”> You instructed simply, turning briefly to find your usual rock that overlooked the small pond. Glowing insects swirled along the surface of the shallow water, weaving between the stems of plants and dancing along arching leaves. Despite their presence, the spot was quiet in a way the village was not. Willing to offer the illusion of privacy.

You sat on the rock with your attention still on Neteyam. He remained standing, fiddling with his hands as his tail swayed in his attempt to gather his words.

It seemed he was fumbling to continue. Perhaps having believed he wouldn’t make it this far. Which you found privately reassuring, in that he wasn’t aware of how easily you would bend to him. How willing you were to listen to his every word. How desperate you were for his attention. Even now, it was pathetic how utterly gone you were for him.

With a deep breath, Neteyam spoke. <“I don’t want to be friends.”> He said plainly, and you found you would have preferred a punch to the gut instead. He paused, eyes expectant, and you realised he wanted your input.

<”You don’t want to be friends?”> Your parroted back, expression twisting in confusion when he eyes blew comically wide in alarm.

<”NO!”> He practically yelled at you, taking half a step closer, only to freeze when you jerked at the sudden outburst. He apologised before continuing. <”That’s not what I meant.”>

<”So you do want to be friends?”> <”No! Yes! Wait!”> In his growing panic, he was tripping over himself and cursing in his father’s tongue. If your heart wasn’t pounding so painfully, you would have found his struggle amusing. Finally, he sighed and muttered to himself, <”Eywa why is this so bloody hard!”>

You tried to prod him along. Your meal would be finished soon, and if you were away too long, Aonung was bound to eat your portion behind Tonowari’s back. <”So you find it difficult to be open with me?”> <”No!”> He declared for the third confusing time. <”That is not at all what I’m saying. What I’m trying to get at is-”> He faltered before, slumping in defeat. He dragged a tired hand down the side of his face, before closing the distance between you and dropping heavily down onto the rock beside you - his usual spot. Curling in on himself, he ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, as he groaned to himself. <”How have I already managed to royally fuck this up so quickly?”>

You didn’t bother responding, knowing that he was berating himself instead of looking for a proper explanation.

With a deep breath, he pulled his hands away and turned to you with refound resolve. <”That is not at all how I intended for that to come out. I meant I don’t want us to be just friends. I want to be more than friends. Like we were. Before everything went to shit.”> You blinked, having not expected that response.

<”What are you saying?”> <”I’m saying-”>

He paused, eyes catching on something. You went still as his hand slowly rose from his lap, ghosting over your ear and pulling something from your hair. It was so familiar of a gesture, that you couldn’t help but be soothed by the familiarity in which he did it. His ears were fanned out now, curious. You expected him to offer the shell to you. You expected the pink to be bright and glowing with newfound love and understanding.

Instead, Neteyam held out a black shell.

You felt the colour drain from your face.

<”What does this one mean?”>

Someone is going to die.

Ronal’s words from that distant day on the beach rang in your ears as you stared blankly down at the aged shell in Neteyam’s hands. There was no doubt it was the same one from your vision. Staring down at it now, you could see the similarities of the situation. From Neteyam’s confused question, to the courting necklace at his throat.

You swallowed dryly. <”We must return to the village.”> You told him quickly, rising from your feet and grabbing at his wrists to drag him up after you. His curiosity morphed into confusion.

<”What? But we just got here? We’ve barely said anything.”> <”It must wait. This shell, its appearance does not foretell something good. It is a bad omen. A warning. We must go!”>

<”Wait. Wait. Slow down, you’re not making any sense.”>

<”There is not time!”>

His brows furrowed as he pulled back on your arms, trying to keep you in place, but you were stronger. Just barely, and managed to drag him forward a step or two. Neteyam’s tail snapped, his confusion morphing into frustration, but you didn’t care. You had to get him somewhere safe. You had to warn Ronal. Something wasn’t right.

As if on cue, something rustled in the bushes on the opposite side of the pond. Neteyam went still in your grasp, which was the opposite of what you needed him to do. Both of your ears pricked as you heard panicked footsteps charging through the undergrowth, headed straight for you.

Neteyam was still clutching that blasted shell in his hands.

The footsteps were drawing closer. Small and fast. You felt your heartbeat picking up and drew your knife at the same time that Neteyam reached for his.

The bushes were shaking harder now as someone or something pushed through, before stumbling to a halt before the riverbank. It did not glow like the rest of Eywa’s children, which immediately turned your instincts alert and defensive. It was breathing hard, shiny from sweat and smelt of smoke and salt.

Neteyam drew in close to your side, stiff as the pair of you stared down the unnaturally small creature. Even at a distance, you knew it would only come up to your bicep, whereas it was dirty and skinny, with a shock of dead grass coloured dreads matted at its scalp. You caught sight of faded blue stripes against unnaturally pale skin, but knew this was not any kind of forest na’vi.

With that part of your vision not matching up, you found yourself calming slightly. Across the pond, the creature spotted you with wide, brown ears. Its face was sealed away behind some sort of see-through contraption, not that you had time to focus on it for long, because Neteyam seemed to recognise it.

He called out to the little creature, using that odd language that all of his family spoke. He even went as far as to wave it over. You grabbed his hand again, growling lowly to quiet him from encouraging it, but Neteyam paid you no mind.

Across the pond, the creature had stiffened at the use of that odd language. It took an unsteady step closer, and you found yourself snarling a warning, which startled it back a step or two.

Neteyam touched your shoulder, drawing your attention away from it. <”Be calm.”> He soothed, with the voice he used to his ilu. You scowled back, feeling anything but calm. <”He is my brother.”>

Your face scrunched in confusion as you allowed your knife hand to drop a little. Studying the hesitant creature again, you found no similarities between Neteyam and it. <”He is your brother?”> <”I am?”> The creature questioned, sounding just as confused as you. Your attention snapped back to it, mildly distracted by its fluent na’vi.

Neteyam huffed. <”Of course you are. Where the hell have you been? You’re supposed to be kidnapped.”> <”I escaped.”> The creature returned, finally finding the courage to round the pond and approach. It kept a wary eye on you, and walked closer to Neteyam than your scowling form. <”Did a hell of a lot of running and swimming to get here. Quaritch was investigating one of the nearby sea clans and I made a break for it when the bastard had his back turned.”> It looked quite pleased for itself for a moment before a realisation crept into its expression and its eyes widened comically as it remembered something. <”But Quaritch is after me! We have to go!”>

Neteyam’s posture immediately changed. <”You led him to us?”> <”There’s a tracker in my mask.”> The boy pleaded. <”I didn’t have a spare.”>

As if on cue, more thunderous footsteps disturbed the undergrowth. Your ears pricked, picking up on the heaviness of the tread and the snap of twigs underfoot. There was a metallic click from deeper in the trees. Your eyes narrowed, as the moonlight glinted off of something unnaturally shiny. The reflection was long and narrow, whilst the plant life of Pandora usually omitted a gentle and rounded glow. The shine shifted, and a face appeared near the back of it. You stiffened as you recognised the unnatural features of a forest na’vi.

The first bang startled the birds from the trees.

By the second, Neteyam had tackled you from the side and sent you sprawling into the dirt. The air was punched from you as you landed hard on your back, only managing to suck in a breath when Neteyam lifted off you to grab the creature by the wrist and drag him down with you.

<”Hide!”> The little thing hissed, rising onto its knees to crawl through the undergrowth away from where the sound had come from. Rattled by the loud noise, you numbly followed. Neteyam lurked close to your side, a hand on your back to keep you low, whilst he clutched his knife tightly in the other. You don’t know when he dropped the shell, but you were thankful it was gone anyway.

“What is it Mansk?” An alien voice hissed from the shadows.

“Thought I saw a couple of na’vi with the kid.”

There was a thoughtful hum in response.

The three of you kept crawling, making sure to keep to the thicker cover and to disturb as little undergrowth as was possible. You found yourself leading the way. You’d grown up foraging these woods, you knew of the cave system tucked away on the east side, should your pursuers get between you and the village.

“Tracker says he’s this way.”

A moment of stillness.

“Got ‘em.”

The forest was lit up by the orange of a fire before a second bang made your ears ring. You dart to the left, biting down hard on your knife handle so that you had both hands free.

Neteyam and Spider disappeared briefly between the leaves.

You heard your pursuers approaching loudly and pressed your back into a tree. Sliding up the bark so you were back on your feet, you slowly rounded the tree, ears keeping track of where exactly each were.

“There he is.” You were behind the pair of them now, knife back in hand as you took in the weird armour of the na’vi in your vision. The unnatural weapons and the arrogance of a race that had been the apex predator of their ecosystem. These people had clearly not grown up alongside the rules of Eywa. You noted the line of destruction in their wake. How the grass they had trampled no longer glowed with life and how they had bent branches and bushes out of place to force their way forward instead of finding natural breaks and openings.

<”We have to go!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from somewhere in the darkness, and the pair of alien’s snapped to attention. Both raising their destructive weapons that harnessed fire.

<”This way.”> Neteyam replied, and you saw the grass wave as someone passed through it.

The aliens saw it too, tensing as they aimed, so you did something Ronal would punish you for later. You allowed your foot to drop on a twig, feeling the bark crunch and snap under your weight. Both soldiers went unnaturally still. You twirled your knife into a more secure grip before charging.

The duo spun, one firing as he turned. Whilst the other let out a scream as you descended upon him. He backpedalled desperately at your swift approach, clearly terrified that something of your stature could move so quickly on dry land. His companion kept firing. Landing hits to your abdomen. Leaving wounds in your legs. Your arms. Trying and failing to slow you down as you tackled the first demon.

<”GO FOR THE NECK!”> Neteyam’s brother yelled from the bushes, guiding your hands as you slammed the demon down flat on its back so that its head connected with the earth hard. Its weapon slipped from its grasp, disappearing between the glowing trees as the visor protecting its eyes from you slipped down its nose. Too small, terrified, golden eyes stared up at your snarling face as you brought your knife down hard.

Its neck split open easily on your sharpened blade, allowing red to stick to your fingers. It gargled, choking on its lifeforce before it let out a last wet sound and promptly died.

Its companion barely gave you a moment to rise from the body before it was slamming the butt of its weapon into your temple. The weapon crumbled in on itself from the force as a weak pain shot through the side of your head. Slowly, menacingly, you turned to glare up into the face of another demon, who stared frozen down at its ruined weapon. A weapon which had been no match for the reinforced bone of your skull.

You heard the demon audibly swallow and felt its fear stroke your ego as you effortlessly shifted your weight from your knees to the balls of your toes so that you were crouched over the fresh corpse. And with a precise swipe of your blade, you forced the soldier to deflect your knife with its battered gun. Reeling from the force it took to keep your weapon from slicing into its abdomen, you pushed down hard on the weapon to force them back a step before snatching the knife back. The demon struggled to keep its footing, arms windmilling, which gave you just large enough of an opening to dart forward and sink your knife up through its ribs.

The breath was punched from the alien as you hit a lung.

Yanking your knife free, you rose to your feet as the body collapsed with a wet thump. The glowing freckles dotted across its cheeks flickered as the demon tried sucking in another breath before going still. The light produced by the body followed suit as it died and went dark.

Adrenaline kept your guilt at bay. It had not been a clean kill. A clean kill would have been an instant death without the wasted spilling of blood which could be used.

“Holy shit.”

Your head snapped up to find Neteyam’s brother emerging from between the leaves, staring down at the corpses with mild awe. <”How did you make that look easy?”> He demanded with a pinched smile. There was something unknown plaguing his face when you looked down at him, something that made your stomach pinch uncomfortably.

Not that Neteyam gave you any time to analyse the boy, because he came charging out of the undergrowth with little to no warning. His eyes flickered from the bodies to your bleeding form, knuckles tight on his knife.

<”Are you both okay?”> You found yourself asking, although you couldn’t see blood on either of them.

<”Us?”> Neteyam bit back, sounding more hysterical than furious. “What the hell was that? Do you know how dangerous they are? You almost gave me a heart attack! They could’ve killed you at least twice!” That alien language was back now, making his brother smile as Neteyam grabbed your head between his hands and shook you.

<”I don’t understand.”> You asked uncertainly.

<”Never do that again!”> He yelled at you, and somehow you knew the simple sentence didn’t match up to the abundance of words that had just split out of him. <”Eywa, you scared me.”>

His hands slid back into your hair, grabbing at the back of your head and pulling your head down into his chest where he held you for a moment. You found yourself soothed by the frantic pace of his heart, and how he was willing to touch you despite the blood that was no doubt being transferred to his skin.

“As cute as this is Neteyam, and as much as I want the full story, there’s still recoms after us.”

“Right.” Neteyam replied before switching back to na’vi. <”We need to go.”>

<”You should have gone earlier. What were you still doing lurking in the bushes?”> You argued as you pulled back far enough to shoot him a displeased look. <”I wasn’t going to leave you!”>

<”You should’ve gotten Tonowari!”>

<”It doesn’t matter now. We’ll go together.”> He made quick work of his suggestion, grabbing your hand in his and encouraging his brother to stick close.

It didn’t take long to clear the forest. The three of you emerge onto the beach out of sight of the village due to the curve of the island. But if you remained hugging the treeline, you’d reach it within no time.

No one spoke. The brother had taken to picking up rocks as he walked, which you assumed he’d use if you came across anything else lurking in the undergrowth. Whilst Neteyam kept a firm hold on your hand as he walked closest to the treeline.

<"How are your injuries?"> He asked quietly, gaze still flickering between his brother and the trees. You were warmed by how protective of the boy he seemed to be. Clearly, there was a complex history here.

<"I can’t feel them yet."> You said honestly, even though you knew that the minute you stopped to breathe, you’d be able to do nothing BUT feel them.

Neteyam squeezed your hand knowingly. <"Once we get you looked at by the Tsahik, why don’t we go for an ilu ride? I’ve missed it.">

You glanced up at him, caught off guard by the sweet comment. He was already looking at you, all bright eyed and open faced, warm despite the situation.

A genuine smile emerged onto your face at the suggestion as something in you loosened. <"I would like tha-">

A bang had all three of you instinctively flinching.

You pulled at Neteyam’s hand, trying to drag him to cover, only for him to grunt and trip over his own feet. A pained wheeze escaping his lungs as if all the breath had been knocked out of him. His brother let out a wounded sound, and despite the danger, raced back to his side as Neteyam didn’t move. His grip remained strong on your hand for a heartbeat before he abruptly crumbled.

Between you, you managed to keep him from splitting his head open on some concealed rock hidden beneath the sand.

Within heartbeats, there was blood everywhere. Slipping out of the gaping wound in his shoulder, spilling down his chest and over his stomach, running over his shoulder and wetting the sand. His brother was quick to press his little hands down against the entry wound, but there was so much blood. It dirtied the courting necklace at his throat which jumped and shivered at each desperate, sharp breath he dragged into his weak lungs.

<"Neteyam?"> His brother begged, but the sound was distant, as if you were back underwater suppressing a panic attack. Neteyam was grabbing at him weakly, trying to find words, but struggling to breathe more. <”Oh no. Neytiri is going to kill me!”>

Another click of that stupid weapon from the undergrowth.

Your head snapped up.

There was something white hot and writhing collecting in your belly. Something deranged and unnerving. It clouded your vision and coaxed you into pulling back your lips and barring your fangs into a ferocious hiss at the alien hiding between the trees. Neteyam was grabbing weakly for your arm, trying to keep you close, but you only had eyes for the threat.

You knew you were thinking clearly as you rose to your feet. You knew that the stress and fear had finally made you snap. You also knew that you wanted them to suffer. You wanted to see them bleed. You wanted them dead.

Neteyam was still grabbing at your arms. His eyes wide and panicked, his every breath punched out of him with a painful, twisting wheeze. You couldn’t leave him like this.

<”We need to go!”> Neteyam’s brother insisted, and you found yourself nodding. The instinctual fog that had fallen over you made it hard to form words, so you followed his instructions instead.

With your bloody knife clutched tightly between your teeth, you stooped to grab at Neteyam’s armpits. He squirmed and screamed in pain as you hoisted him up. His voice hitching up in octaves, his pained wails chasing after the waves as you began frantically dragging him away from the trees, towards the village.

His brother kept pace. Speaking hurriedly in his alien language. Frantically glancing from Neteyam to the trees and back again. You could feel yourself growing more frantic, your pupils narrowing into slits at the smear of red Neteyam’s limp body dragged down the white sand beaches.

It was because you were staring blankly at the bloodstain that you noticed the token slipping out of Neteyam’s belt and flopping uselessly to the sand. The pink shells were streaked with red, which the sand quickly clung to.

Neteyam started squirming anew. Struggling against you and making aborted reaches for it. <”S-st-op.”> He begged, his syllables slurring together.

<”Don’t worry Neteyam.”> Spider assured him, darting back up the beach to retrieve it. You kept dragging, and Spider ran to catch up with you. <”I’ve got it.”> He promised, showing Neteyam the bloodied necklace. The body in your arms lost some of its tension at the sight of it.

<”Th-ank yo-u.”> He whispered repeatedly, soft as a prayer. <”Tha-ank yo-ou. Thank y-ou.”>

Movement from the trees drew your attention from the pair. Your head snapped up, to find yet another demon stepping out into the moonlight. A companion was seconds behind, its weapon already raised and aimed.

<”Go away.”> You snarled around your knife hilt, panic making you pull Neteyam along harder. His brother went rigid, a single stone clutched in his tiny hand which he tightened around it. Preparing to hurl it.

The demons did not do as you warned.

Your fury was resurfacing. Faster and faster. Higher and higher. Hotter and hotter until you could hardly contain it.

Slowing your pace, you spat your knife into your hand as you began lowering Neteyam’s wounded body to the sand. <”Stay with him.”> You hissed at Neteyam's brother, who’s breath faltered. He met your gaze, and you found that he looked terrified. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded.

The demons were jogging towards you now. Yelling in a language you did not speak. And advancing with microexpressions that screamed aggression. That practically invited you to lose your shit.

<”Go away!”> You repeated, a hiss slipping into the words.

They kept coming closer.

You made to pull away from the pair, but Neteyam grabbed at you. His grip was weak but his expression screamed panic. He was hurting badly. But he still clung to you. Making sad, frantic sounds. His brother helped you pry his fingers off, just in time for you to deflect the first strike of one of the demons.

From there, pure, unfiltered instinct took over. You bit and clawed like a na’vi possessed. Every blow you struck was fueled by all your pent up stress and frustration of the past few days. You moved with precision. Whilst the strikes of the demons flowed into one another, your only beat was the pounding of your own hear. Where the demons struck with finesse and practice, you moved like a restless tempest. Relentless and unforgiving.

It was over before it truly began.

The demons were dead at your feet. Their blood staining the sand, and your skin. There was skin stuck between your teeth and sticky blood beneath your nails. But you did not care.

As the last one lay dying, you turned back to your friend. To his brother, who had thrown himself over his much larger sibling in some pathetic attempt to protect him.

Blood dripped from your chin as you approached, weaving scarlet rivers down your chest towards your feet. What a sight you must have made.

And yet, somehow, Neteyam was bloodier. His body collapsed at an uncomfortable angle against the sand, a hand clenched around his bloodied token. His face was pale, but his eyes still saw you. Still looked into you with more knowledge than anyone had the right to.

He did not look afraid, despite the state of him. Despite witnessing what you had just done with only a knife and your teeth. In fact, he almost looked proud. But that was clearly just wishful thinking on your part.

<”Don’t just stand there!”> His brother abruptly screamed, tearing you out of your head. You blinked back the fog, struggling to find autonomy over your limbs again as you realised that the kid had tears streaming down his face behind his mask. <”Help him! He’s dying!”>

Previous Chapter <- Part 2 -> Next Chapter

#Neteyam x Reader #Part 2 of 3 #character injury #Neteyam gets shot #he's fine #just needs to walk it off #violence #further misunderstandings #did I mention shells?#yeah #because there's a fuck tonne of them #bad omens #Jake should never EVER be giving his kids dating advice #we all saw how that went down in avatar #avatar #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #Neteyam lives

81 notes · View notes

1-aussiedollar · 6 months

Note

imagine a gorai wedding NOW

YES OKAY SO- this is featuring my GoRai headcanons because I’m insane.

It’s a normal wedding so far, and then the wedding March plays. It’s HEAVY METAL. The music brings a tear to Rider’s eyes (because it’s HEAVY FUCKING METAL and you CANNOT TELL ME HE DOESNT LISTEN TO METAL!!!) and it’s a black wedding because I’m insane.

Goggles is wearing a wedding dress (of course it’s black) cuz he is genderfluid as FUCK.

And it’s all so wholesome and the wedding parties include Team Blue, Marie and Callie for Goggles, and Inky, 8-Bit, Wireglasses, Pearl and Marina for Rider (Inky is my OC who is Rider’s eldest sister (and the eldest of his 9 siblings (Rider is the 3rd youngest))).

Crown, (one of the other Verdant Sisters) got super upset because she’s a huge sucker for romance and stuff so Rider let her be the flower girl (she doesn’t CARE that she’s 26, she SQUEALED when Rider told her that). Also Crown got to carry Goggles and Rider’s son down the isle too (she was ECSTATIC (Reef my baby *holds him*))

Hachi is their best man because it’s FUCKING HACHI, Gloves is the man of honor (it’s a gay wedding, why have a maid of honor?/j), and Prince is the ring bearer (because it’s cute! And he’s SMOL!)

Aushsisuskjwjsn its GAY! and also their vows are super cheesy (because of Goggles) and I care them so much and GRRAAAHHH

Also their reception (and the wedding itself) are like super sensory friendly. Like it’s not too loud or bright (Because Goggles, Rider *and* their son all have autism, as does Marina, Inky and Headphones)

#splatoon #splatoon manga #splatoon coroika #coroika #rider coroika #goggles coroika #goggles x rider #gorai #{zylo hyperfixates}

39 notes · View notes

octomae · 27 days

Text

hhoihgh, i'd like everyone to say hi to the woman i would let murder me (she would never). meet Theta Yorozu, the elite of elites! she's one of the few octolings who wasn't affected by the calamari inkantation enough to abandon octavio's army (at first).

(yes, Hachi Coroika).

Image text transcribed below:

Agent 8 / Theta Yorozu

AFAB, She/her

Became an agent at 22, is currently 27

An Elite who trained other Elites in Octavio's army

Was taken into Kamabo while escorting Prince Aorta Takowasa to the surface

Wasn't meant to be Subject 10,008; she took Hachi's place

- Unbearably hopeful for the future

- Completed all 80 tests before taking on Tartar

- Is the sole reason Tartar is still alive

- The only one who can consistently kick 3's ass

Doodled Notes:

6'8" / 203cm

(E-liter 4k uses) Splat 2 kit

Earrings match Captain 3 and Xenophon's ink colors

Gear: Li'l Devil Horns, Black Inky Rider, Buckle-Down Boots (Alt: Toni Kensa Black Hi-Tops)

Flag: Pansexual

Badges: 1,200 Turf War wins, 5 star E-liter 4k Scope, Cleared the Spire of Order with the Low-Hacks Eight's Palette

#agent 8 #newbeakverse #splatoon #splatoon ocs #theta agent 8 #my art

11 notes · View notes

lovable-liar · 8 months

Text

𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1: ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴡᴇʟᴄᴏ��ᴇ ɪɴᴛʀᴜꜱɪᴏɴ

The moon hung low in the inky-black sky, casting a pale glow upon the dense, ancient forest that concealed its secrets within its dark depths. The King, a formidable ruler known for his cunning ambition, found himself far from the grandeur of his castle, lost in the heart of this mysterious woodland.

He rode on his horse, desperately seeking a way out of the labyrinthine woods. The night was falling fast, and a heavy rainstorm was brewing, making the forest even more treacherous.

Suddenly, Schlatt's majestic steed, a loyal companion on countless adventures, lost its footing on a slick, moss-covered stone and sent its royal rider tumbling to the forest floor. Pain surged through Schlatt's body as he hit the ground with a thud, his vision clouded by the encroaching darkness.

Schlatt’s shaky callous hands mesh with the forest floor below him to push himself up onto his knee, a sharp sting present in his ribs. Had this happened in front of people, his ego would have been more bruised than his bones but the only on looker he had was his steed, who beat his hooves against the ground, flinging pine needles and mud at the monarch.

“Fuckin’ stop! Asshole.” Pushing himself back up onto his feet, The King brushed off the dust and grime he’d accumulated before resuming to acknowledge the ever present pain licking in his torso. Reaching out and gripping leather reins, Schlatt leans against his horse and slowly begins stumbling in the direction he was heading.

Limping, he stumbled upon a peculiar and seemingly abandoned cottage nestled amidst the trees. The roof was overgrown with ivy, and the windows were draped with heavy curtains, but faint traces of smoke rising from the chimney hinted at life within, life he hoped would take pity upon him or life he hoped he could overpower and take advantage of. Schlatt's survival instincts overruled his royal pride, and he cautiously pushed the creaking door ajar, revealing the interior.

The interior of the cottage was a mesmerizing blend of antiquity and mystique. Dimly lit by the flickering flames of candles and the warm glow of a crackling hearth, the space felt both cozy and enigmatic. The walls, constructed from gnarled, ancient timber, seemed to whisper secrets of centuries gone by. Shelves and tables were cluttered with an array of curious items, from bottles filled with sparkling elixirs to dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, filling the air with a fragrant and earthy aroma. Thick, moth-eaten curtains draped over small, circular windows, casting eerie shadows across the room. The centerpiece of the cottage was a massive wooden table, carved with intricate runes and symbols, where the witch practiced their craft. Piles of aged tomes and spellbooks lay haphazardly stacked on nearby shelves, their pages filled with esoteric knowledge. It was a place where the ordinary and the supernatural coexisted, a sanctuary for the witch's mysterious art, and now, an unexpected refuge for the injured Schlatt.

He ties his companion’s reins to a withering wooden fence before ducking down and entering the cottage. He had to remain bent down slightly so as to not hit his head on the low ceiling.

Schlatt's fingers trembled with pain as he opened the cabinets in the witch's cottage. Each door revealed a treasure trove of mysterious vials, strange herbs, and exotic ingredients. His eyes darted from jar to jar, searching for anything that might alleviate the throbbing ache in his ribs. The room was illuminated only by the faint glow of candlelight, casting eerie, shifting shadows that danced across the shelves.

He carefully pulled open a wooden drawer, revealing an assortment of dried herbs. Some were familiar to him, while others were utterly foreign. Ignoring the twinge of pain in his scraped hands, he continued his search, the scent of dried lavender and sage filling the air.

Just as Schlatt was about to give up hope, his fingers brushed against a small box tucked away in the back of a cabinet. Heart pounding with anticipation, he gently lifted it, discovering a collection of bandages and salves neatly arranged inside. Relief washed over him as he realized he had found what he desperately needed.

However, his sense of triumph was short-lived. Just as he was about to close the cabinet and begin treating his wounds, the creaking of the cottage's front door interrupted his solitude. Panic surged through him as he realized he was not alone. His head whipped around to see who the inhabitant of the eclectic home was, and was greeted with a nude body.

In a moment of pure surprise, the man leapt up, banging his head on the ceiling and sending a surge of fire through his ribs, causing him to wince.

“What are you doing in my home?!” The owner of the nude body demanded.

Schlatt swallowed thickly, his royal composure momentarily abandoned. He knew he had to explain himself, and quickly. With a shaky breath and tightly closed eyes, he shouted, "Hey! Woah! Could’ya put some fuckin’ clothes on?!"

The nude inhabitant continued to regard Schlatt with a measured gaze, their piercing eyes assessing his face, the way his strong roman nose scrunched as he kept his eyes scrunched to protect their dignity, the strange facial hair he clearly prided himself on, the smear of dried blood on his cheek. The room seemed to hang in tense silence, broken only by the soft crackling of the hearth. Schlatt's heart raced as he awaited the witch's response, his heart pounding with the anxiety of his compromised sense, crudely savoring the image in his head.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally replied, their expression softening slightly, though their wariness remained. "Very well," they said, covering themself with a robe. Moving towards the tall man, the witch patted his cheek so as to shock his eyes back open. "I will tend to your wounds, but no funny business, stranger."

Relieved that he wouldn't be immediately turned away, Schlatt accepted the offer and took a seat on the burn-and-patch-strewn couch behind the extravagant table, spreading his legs wide.

As Schlatt sat down, waiting for the witch to return with salves and bandages in awkward silence, a thundering presence crashed into the cottage. Before he could react, a large and furious dog burst into the room, barking loudly at the intruding male presence.

Startled and slightly alarmed, Schlatt instinctively raised his hands in a placating gesture and attempted to calm the dog. "Easy there, boy," he said in a commanding tone. The large dog continued to bark, circling around Schlatt in a mixture of curiosity and caution.

The witch, who had been momentarily absent, returned to the room, their eyes widening at the scene before them. They quickly assessed the situation, realizing that the dog had taken it upon himself to investigate the intruder.

With a few well-placed commands, the witch called the dog to their side, and the dog obediently trotted over, although he kept a watchful eye on Schlatt. The witch reassured both Schlatt and their loyal companion, "It's all right, Maximus. He's a guest, not an intruder." Schlatt, despite his initial apprehension, extended a cautious hand toward Maximus, allowing the dog to sniff and assess him. Soon, the canine's barks turned into excited yips, and Maximus seemed to decide that Schlatt was not a threat.

With the witch's reassurance and a few gentle pats on Maximus's head, Schlatt gradually won the dog's trust. Maximus, in turn, seemed to take a liking to The King and flopped down at his feet, tail still wagging and beating the floor boards like a drum. Schlatt, now feeling more at ease with both the witch and their canine companion, continued his conversation, occasionally sharing a friendly glance and a scratch behind the ears with Maximus.

"It seems Maximus has taken a liking to you. Not everyone receives such a warm welcome," the witch remarked, a hint of sarcasm in their voice.

Schlatt, never one to let a snarky comment go unanswered, shot back, "Well, it's a dog. Can't be too picky about its company, can it?"

The unexpected arrival of Maximus had added an unexpected layer of tension and discomfort to an already peculiar and enchanting encounter. Schlatt's rough edges remained intact, and his crude demeanor persisted, even in the face of the witch's mysterious charm.

"So, where are you injured?" the witch asked, trying to divert the conversation back to the matter at hand.

Schlatt, ever the impatient king, pointed to the side of his ribs where the pain throbbed. "Right here," he replied curtly.

As the witch nodded and reached out to examine his injury, Schlatt couldn't help but wince at the pain. His frustration with the situation was evident in his tense posture and curt responses.

As the witch nodded and reached out with careful hands to lift Schlatt's tunic and examine his injury, they revealed two things. The first was the gnarly bruise that marred the side of his torso, its vivid colors telling the story of the unfortunate fall from his horse. the witch's fingers moved gently, tracing the contours of the bruise as they assessed the damage.

However, as they continued their examination, the second revelation was perhaps more unexpected. The witch couldn't help but notice the tummy that Schlatt had, a testament to the indulgences of a king who enjoyed the pleasures of fine dining. It was a rather endearing contrast to the tough and regal exterior he projected, a reminder that even kings had their human quirks.

Schlatt, feeling a bit self-conscious about the unexpected reveal of his muffin top, began blushing slightly, unsure of how the witch would react to this glimpse of his quirks.

As the witch continued to skillfully tend to Schlatt's injuries, the atmosphere in the cottage remained a curious blend of warmth and standoffishness. The witch's touch was gentle, their fingers moving with precision as they applied the healing salve to the bruised area on Schlatt's side. It was clear that they possessed a deep knowledge of the healing arts, and their expertise was helping to ease the king's discomfort.

Yet, despite their skill, the witch maintained a certain distance, an air of mystery that Schlatt couldn't quite penetrate. As they worked, Schlatt decided to engage in conversation, hoping to learn more about the witch who had come to his aid.

Schlatt, never one to let an opportunity for flirtation pass him by, flashed a sly grin as he spoke, "Your hands work wonders, my mysterious healer. I can't help but wonder what other talents you might possess."

The witch's eyebrows arched in response to Schlatt's bold comment, their gaze steady.

Schlatt chuckled in response.

"Your home here is quite remarkable," Schlatt commented, glancing around the rustic cottage. "It's isolated and full of character. How did you come to find such a place?"

The witch hesitated for a moment, choosing their words carefully. "I stumbled upon it many years ago," they replied, "and it seemed like the perfect place to pursue my interests."

Schlatt couldn't resist making a playful innuendo, smirking as he said, "Well, I must say, I'm glad you stumbled upon it. It's not every day that one encounters such a captivating host in the middle of the woods."

Schlatt, eager to continue the conversation, pressed further. "It sounds like you're quite skilled at what you do. What do you spend most of your time on here?"

The witch considered their response before saying, "I spend my days tending to the forest and studying its flora and fauna. I also dabble in crafting remedies and elixirs, drawing on the knowledge I've gained over the years."

Schlatt, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Studying flora and fauna, you say? I hope they appreciate your dedication. I, for one, am quite impressed."

Schlatt, with his crude charm and a twinkle in his eye, couldn't help but tease the mysterious witch as he prodded further into their craft.

"Remedies and elixirs, eh?" Schlatt grinned playfully. "I hope one of those elixirs can mend a broken heart, my dear healer. For it seems you've ensnared me with your charms tonight."

The witch, still guarded, replied, "My elixirs can work wonders, but matters of the heart are a realm of their own."

Schlatt, undeterred by the cryptic response, leaned in even closer, his voice low and flirtatious. "Ah, but mysteries are meant to be unraveled, aren't they? Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two about the secrets of the heart."

The witch's demeanor remained composed with a subtle acknowledgment of Schlatt's advances.

Schlatt, still curious but now sensing the witch's reticence, decided to respect their boundaries and changed the subject. However, as the night grew darker, he couldn't help but notice the chill in the air and the rustling of the leaves outside.

"It's awfully dark out there now," Schlatt remarked, his voice carrying a note of invitation as he glanced toward the window. "Traveling through these woods at night is dangerous, you know. Perhaps I should stay a while longer, for safety's sake."

The witch, who had been growing increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, seized upon Schlatt's comment as an opportunity to end their encounter. With a stern look, they declared, "You've overstayed your welcome. It's time for you to leave," Schlatt couldn't help but wear a sly grin, his flirtatious nature undeterred.

Schlatt retorted with a hint of mischief, "I suppose all good things must come to an end. But I must say, it's not often that I stumble upon such an intriguing company in the middle of nowhere."

The witch's expression remained inscrutable, a mixture of amusement and guardedness, as Schlatt continued to playfully push their boundaries.

With a heavy heart and a sense of longing for the mysterious witch, Schlatt reluctantly gathered his strength and made his way to the door. The moonlight cast eerie shadows on the forest floor, and the air was filled with a sense of mystery and intrigue. He couldn't shake the feeling that this chance encounter had set him on a path filled with secrets and mysteries yet to be unveiled.

Before he stepped out into the moonlit forest, Schlatt couldn't resist one final, flirtatious remark. He turned back to face the witch, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"Perhaps, my dear healer," Schlatt drawled, "fate will be kind, and our paths will cross again. Until then, I'll be dreaming of your charming abode and the secrets it holds, especially the ones beneath that robe of yours."

With that, he mounted his horse, casting a lingering glance at the witch before reluctantly maneuvering the reins to return home. As he rode away, his crude yet charming nature left a lasting impression on the healer.

#jschlatt fluff #jschlatt x reader #jschlatt #schlatt #schlatt fluff #schlatt x reader #jschlatt smut #schlatt smut #schlatt x witch!reader #jschlatt x witch!reader #king!schlatt x witch!reader #king!jschlatt x witch!reader #king!schlatt x reader #king!jschlatt x reader #(👑): elixir of eventual endearment

26 notes · View notes

a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 years

Text

Storm-clouds over the Riddermark

ʚ Pairing: Éomer x Fem. Reader

ʚ Word count: 3252 words

ʚ Summary: Éomer coming back to the palace after a really bad day, takes his frustration out on you. He realizes his mistake and tries to make amends.

ʚ Warnings: Couple arguing | Explicit content of a sexual nature | penetrative sex | Minors DNI

When inky-black clouds rolled over the Riddermark, it wasn’t to wet the soil with a light drizzle. Oh no. The deluge that followed battered the land like an angry beast, all sharp claws and teeth. Only a fool would see no harm in getting caught in such weather.

Éomer, Rohan's newly crowned king, did indeed consider himself a fool for having gone hunting when the storm threatened over the horizon. The hunt was a waste as the animals stayed away, visibility was poor, and by the time he reached the palace, he was soaked to the bone and his mood was fouler than the weather.

Everyone avoided him, believing that waiting till he calmed was best. Éomer knew this but was too miserable to even care. He was in desperate need of a hot bath and dry clothes. When he stormed into his bedroom, you were already there, perched in bed, reading a book.

That angered him for some reason. "By all means, read away."

Your eyes snap up in confusion. "Sweetheart? What’s gotten into you this afternoon?"

He stomped to a window and threw the rattling shutters open to the gale outside. "That."

The hell-storm outside and the ruined hunt. "The storm?" You put your book to one side and join him. "I’m sorry that your hunt got washed off, but if you--"

"Oh, so you noticed?"

His sarcastic and biting tone threw you off a little. "Actually, one of your riders came in before you and told me. I have --"

Éomer cut you off with an imperious wave of the hand. He'd get like this when the day didn't go well, and truth be told, it was starting to wear you down. "I'm not interested." His bad mood clogged up his better senses. "What I want to know is, why the devil were you in bed with that book when you should have been tending to me instead?"

Heat stirred in your eyes, then cooled as you pressed your lips together. "I'm trying to," you say, through clenched teeth. "You're not letting me."

"Really?" There was that wave again. "Well, you could have fooled me."

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. It was always the same thing. Something irritated him, and you became the target of his frustrations."Why do you always do this?"

"Do what?" He said, pacing about impatiently, his mood only growing darker.

"This." You gesture at him. "Something vexes you, and you come back to take your frustrations out on me. It's hardly fair."

Éomer turned his head so fast you thought he’d get whiplash. "That’s because sometimes I feel you cannot be bothered to do any better!” His face had grown puce. "What more should I have expected anyway,” he muttered angrily, his words coming stumbling out of his mouth in a heated rush. . "You’re just a silly girl who prefers flowers and those ridiculous books of yours.”

His words stung and hurt your feelings. “I see. Well, thank you for making it plain to me.”

Éomer felt horrible when he realized what he said. "Y/n," He reached out regretfully when he saw your lips tremble. "Sweetheart, I didn’t mean to --"

"You’re right." Your back had gone rigid, the tears already stinging your eyes. "I’m just a silly girl who doesn’t know better. Your bath is in the next room, as are some dry clothes. A maid will you bring you something hot to eat." You curtsy, something you didn’t have to do. "I’ll leave you be. Your grace."

Before Éomer could get another word out, you had yanked open the door and fled. He muttered an oath and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d gone and done it now.

🍂🍂🍂

"What happened with y/n?"

That very night, while everyone had gathered for supper, Eowyn had noticed the tension between the two of you and wanted answers.

"Nothing," Éomer muttered into his drink. While he was with his sister, you were talking to your ladies, laughing over some lark or the other. You had disguised your hurt feelings well, and he hated himself even more for it. Éomer wished you'd give him a round of proper telling off. Yelling and screaming. Insults. Anything would have been preferable to forced politeness.

Eowyn put her fork down and stared at her brother. "Don’t lie to me, Éomer. I know something is up. Now talk, or I’ll not leave you alone otherwise."

He groaned, for his sister was right. She’d give him no peace till he told her everything. "Fine. Fine. This is what happened."

He sister looked utterly disappointed by the time he had finished. "Honestly, brother," she said through clenched teeth. "It’s times like these that I think you deserve a good smack to the back of your head!"

He looked at her in disbelief. "You think?"

"Not think," Eowyn said, her eyes narrowing as she jabbed her fork at him. "In this case, I know you deserve it."

He scanned the people in the hall, hoping no one else had noticed the tension between him and his queen. It seemed like they hadn’t. "If it helps y/n feel a little better, will you do it?"

Eowyn covered her mouth and tittered. "Don’t tempt me, for I might actually do it."

"Will you help me?" Éomer asked.

"To smack you on the head?" She struggled to look serious. "Of course, brother. Just tilt your head to an angle of your preference and stay perfectly still while I--"

"That’s not what I meant, and you know it!" He hissed, his eyes filled with desperation. "For heaven’s sake, sister, please, help me."

"Oh alright." Taking pity on him, Eowyn rolled her eyes and went back to eating. "Apologize to her. And mean it. No half-baked I’m sorrys. Y/n will only be offended by it and you’ll be worse off."

He nodded. "Anything else?"

She speared a tiny potato and thought of what else her brother could do. "Spend more time with her if you haven’t been doing so already. Maybe have her sit with you at night when you go through your reports? I mean, y/n will have to learn anyway. What if you had to go to war and she was completely unprepared to be regent? Everyone will blame her if something goes wrong."

He had been rather neglectful of you, and war was still an inevitability, with bands of orcs still roaming between the realms. Leaving you unprepared for the role of regent could not only cause harm to the kingdom, but it could also cause long-lasting harm to his marriage, and that was the last thing Éomer wanted.

"And it will show y/n you trust her enough to help you," Eowyn added. "For now, though, start with that apology."

"Apologize. I think I can handle that," Éomer said, feeling upbeat for the first time since the morning.

"Try to remember that y/n is a human being and not one of those skittish horses in your stables." She said cheekily. "You can do that, yes?"

Éomer nearly choked. "You..." He glared and finished his drink. "I’ll be off."

He waited till you were alone before approaching you. "I... I would like to talk to you."

Still hurt by what he said, you stand there, passive, not saying or doing anything. The way you looked at him, with pained eyes, tore at his heart and made him feel like a slug.

A hand was held out to you. "Please."

There was something different in the way he spoke to you now, and it filled you with confusion. You could feel the eyes of others on you. Not wanting to create a scene in front of everyone, you take his hand and let him lead you back out into the hallway.

🍂🍂🍂

Éomer went over several apologies while the two of you walked back to your bedroom. He was stumped, because he hadn’t actually apologised to anyone since he slipped ink into his sister’s drink, and they were teenagers then. He shook his head, determined not to bungle it up.

You wait till he opened the door and let you in first. Unsure of what to expect, you stand near the fireplace and wait for him to speak.

"Y/n... sweetheart, I--I" Éomer groaned in frustration. Come on, man, you can do better than this!

You look on, stunned by this change in him. For the first time since your marriage, your husband looked unsure of himself.

Éomer took a deep breath and composed himself. "Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I--" His shoulders slumped in shame and he sighed. "I have been taking my anger out on you, and it was wrong of me. It was wrong of me, and I know it now. You treat me better than I deserve sometimes, and instead of appreciating you and everything you do for me, I lash out at you instead. I take my frustration out on you instead of finding better ways to deal with things that vex me, and I’m more sorry than I can say, for not treating you better. I hope... I pray... that I still have a chance to earn your forgiveness and be the husband you deserve, and that I haven’t gone and ruined things with you for good."

He seemed sincere to you, but you weren’t sure and your silence worried him.

"I'm so sorry for my behavior," Éomer said, relieved that you didn't back away from him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry a thousand times. Sweetheart... Please... talk to me."

Tears pricked your eyes again. "You really hurt me, your grace."

He sighed and accepted his behaviour was wrong. "I know. And I won’t offer excuses. I-- I only want a chance to make amends."

"How?"

"Well," he said, and inched closer. "I want you to sit with me every night starting tomorrow while I go over reports and letters."

He had never asked you that before. Sometimes he’d shoo you away if he thought you disturbed him. "Why, your grace?"

"Because, as queen, you need to learn how this kingdom is run. I would be remiss in my duties as king if I left you unprepared. I would also like to spend more time with you. I’ve realised that I barely do so as it is."

"Oh." Not only did Éomer want to spend more time with you, but he also wanted you to help him run the country. "I-- I'm not sure if I’m up to the task."

"I think you’ll be more than fine." When he flashed that jaw dropping smile of his, your anger crumble to dust. You could never stay angry at him for long. “But, enough of politics for now. Why don’t we do something you like?”

“Well, I usually read when you’re busy. So.” You walk to a book rack and gesture to the many titles on display. “Maybe you could read to me? Something… silly… perhaps?”

He winced. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Hmm.” You tap your cheek and think. “Let me see. No.”

“You, madam, are just like my sister.” He sounded angry, but the humour in his eyes said otherwise.

“Really? All polished and sweet and incredibly charming?”

He smirked. “You are polished and sweet and incredibly charming. Alas, the same can’t be said for my sister. Alright. Pick out something you like, and I’ll read to you.”

It was past midnight when he finished. “That wasn’t bad actually.”

The rain had ceased briefly, the wind no longer howling like a living thing. “Will you go hunting tomorrow?” You make yourself comfortable in bed while Éomer put the book away.

He walked up to an open window and looked out into the night. The smell in the air convinced him that the next day would be washed out as well, and he had no interest in tramping about in foul weather again. He was fool enough to do it today.

“No.” He closed the window and came back to bed. “I’m not going out tomorrow. I think I’ll stay here, with you.”

He was so close to you, you could already feel the warmth coming off his body. “A lazy day in bed? What luxury.”

Éomer made himself comfortable and grabbed you in a bear hug, making you squeal. "Very luxurious." Éomer played with your hair, letting the strands pass through his fingers. "And it won't be lazy," he said, his eyes getting this gleam in them. "I plan on keeping you very busy."

He looked oh so innocent when you eyes rested on him. "Busy?" Your words were a challenge. "Just what kind of busy are we talking about here?"

Éomer looked like he was in deep thought. "A pleasant kind of busy," he said as he undid the sash on your dress. "Pleasant for me, and pleasant for you."

"Pleasant?" you tremble when you hear silk coming undone. "How pleasant are we talking about here?"

The king took on a pensive air again. "Very pleasant. And I mean," he leaned in and nibbled your ear. "Very pleasant."

"You're--" Your sigh sounded like a whisper. "You're trying to-- seduce me."

Éomer would have chuckled, had his lips not been busy on your earlobe. "Is it working?"

You wanted to say no, just to annoy him a little. Anything you wanted to say ended up flying out the window when his hand fell flat against your waist and went higher, not stopping till it reached the soft swell of your breasts. Flashes of heat pool in your belly as that hand cupped your breasts over the fabric. "Sweetheart..."

Éomer didn't stop, switching up from touching to pinching. "Yes?"

His breath felt hot and heavy against your cheek. His tongue still twirled around your earlobe while your own hands buried themselves in his hair, making him groan. "I want..."

“Tell me," he growled this time, cupping your breast again and squeezing hard. "Tell me what you want."

You could feel yourself crumbling to the demands of your body. "I--" you breathed. "I-- I want you inside me."

Clear grey eyes went dark as the slate grey clouds of the morning. "Get out of those clothes." Éomer worked on undressing himself. "Now."

Everything ended up in a pile in no time, and there were a couple of rips when you helped him out of his shirt. "Oops." You hold up a torn sleeve and pretend to look remorseful.

Éomer chuckled as you tossed the ruins of his shirt to the floor. "I'll consider it a punishment for my earlier behavior."

Your eyes narrowed as you work on his belt buckle. "Oh, and what a punishment it is."

Éomer kissed your shoulders while you toss his belt to the growing heap of clothes. "Yes." He sighed when warm palms pressed against his skin. "Truly terribl--"

He nearly collapsed on you when you took his cock into your hands. "Don't stop," he moaned and muttered after the first stroke. "Don't you dare stop."

Every stroke felt so good to him. Éomer hook his arms around your waist, his kisses turning into nips whenever you tighten your grip. This was a side to you he had never experienced before and he enjoyed every moment.

"Someone is enjoying his punishment, I see." Your breath was coming out in pants and you trembled whenever his tongue ran over her skin. "Mmm." Éomer pulled your lips to his, his stomach twisting in knots when he felt the warmth of your body. "I am." He slipped out of his breeches and gently pushed you onto your back. "But it's not enough."

Your skin tingled when the mattress cushioned you and his weight came to bear down on you. While it was cold outside, the room grew only hotter. Beads of sweat forming over your skin proved too tempting and Éomer lowered his head taste.

"You feel so good," grunted Éomer when his lips latched onto a nipple, his teeth tugging hard and drawing out little gasps from you every time he did so. "So good."

Your chuckle was shallow and breathy. "Then I'm glad tomorrow's washed off as well, and you'll be home with me."

When he looked up, his eyes were as dark as sin now. "Oh really?"

"Really." Your arms drape around his shoulders when he moved back up. The thought of being holed up in this bedroom all day with you was enough to fill his mind with wild and woolly thoughts. "Well then," he mumbled between kisses. "We better get a head start tonight, eh?"

He teased you mercilesslly, rubbing his cock against your clit. The jolts that washed over you reduced you to a trembling mess. "Please," you beg.

Éomer wanted you like putty in his hands, and kept playing with your clit. "Please what?"

Your pout made him grin wolfishly. "Please what, y/n?"

He wanted to make you beg. Well, that wasn't going to happend. With a low growl, you rear and kiss him, your legs hooking around his waist. Éomer sighed, as if in surrender. "I take that as my answer, then," he groaned and pinned your hands over your head. When he covered your mouth with a hard, hungry kiss, you feel your body meld into his. Éomer's eyes had grown cloudy with need. When the storm started to rage, he freed a hand and moved it over your body, not stopping till he had you hot and wet, and pleading for him to take you.

And take you he did. On the first flash of lightning, he lifted your hip and teased you, before pushing in slowly. Your abdomen trembled when he placed his hand on top of it, his eyes looking questioningly into yours. "Yes?"

You squirmed as your hands were still pinned. When you felt him move inside you, you were sure your orgasm was close. "Yes."

He felt so good as he pulled out, then pushed in, hard and fast and deep. This soul deep fiery need he stoked inside you made you arch your hips as his body slammed into yours, even as his were fixed on yours. When he bit down on your neck, you moan out, "Éomer."

That was all the encouragement Éomer needed. He released your hands and let you grip onto his back. Watching you shudder was intoxicating for him and he slammed into you, hitting that spot that made your eyes flutter and your fingers dig into his shoulders. On the next flash of lighting he went in deep, pushing you to your orgasm, moaning when he felt your body splinter and your walls clench around his cock. With one last satisfying thrust, he grunted deep as he spilled himself in you, his body shaking as he struggled to keep himself propped on his elbows.

You feel sweat trickling down your skin as your breathing slowly returned to an even keel. Éomer gently lowered himself onto you, his kisses now soft and gentle, instead of hungry and passionate. It made you feel treasured, when he held you tight and showered you with sweet kisses.

The storm raged on, but the two of you remained oblivious to it. "We're going to stay in here tomorrow." Éomer brushed a stray lock of hair out of your eyes and tucked it behind your ear.

"And what will we do while here?" You teased.

Éomer grinned. "I'll think of plenty of things. Don't you worry about it."

#it never pays to be a thoughtless boor #eomer #eomer x reader #eomer x y/n #eomer smut #LOTR #fanfiction #writing #creative writing #writeblr #a world of whimsy writes

400 notes · View notes