#bone carver babbles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theladyofbloodshed · 2 years

Text

Au acosf - Chapter 77

As usual, I have written far more than I intended therefore this chapter will end at the beginning of the dinner. Helion is like "i can and i will cause chaos". I hope you enjoy!

@a-court-of-valkyries @sv0430 @mis-lil-red @nesquik-arccheron @emily-gsh @sunsetsofanemoia @swankii-art-teacher @moodymelanist @nestaarcher0n @my-fan-side @c-e-d-dreamer @nestaspegasus @champanheandluxxury @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @lyzriel @dustjacketmusings @sugardoll22 @gwynethhberdara @embersofwildfire @witchsouth @faeriebambula @lady-winter-sunrise

The shrieking emitted from Emerie when Nesta excitedly brandished her engagement ring in her face shot through Cassian sharper than any arrow. Still, he didn’t mind. He’d never seen Nesta so giddy before. Knowing that he was the source of excitement rather than irritation was a wholly different feeling too.

Emerie held her hand, inspecting the ring, both of them talking so fast and shrilly he could barely understand them. They babbled about flowers and dresses while Emerie closed down her shop for the day.

‘Took you long enough,’ the shop keeper said to him, nudging him slightly with her elbow then blushing that she’d been brave enough for the movement.

‘I had to see how messy she was to live with first before I committed. The snoring, I suppose can cope with.’

‘I do not snore,’ Nesta fumed.

The moment she turned her head in another direction, Cassian mouthed to Emerie that she did. Mostly she murmured unintelligibly, but the snoring did happen from time to time. She’d blamed it on Zasha a few times, but her snores were far lighter and far more permissible than the dog’s.

They headed out of the busiest part of Windhaven, weaving through fighting rings and tents forming the bulk of the camp. Emerie and Nesta had linked their arms with each other, ambling ahead of him. Cassian followed behind, keeping a watch.

‘I have a battle plan for the library.’

‘Did you consult Cassian?’

Nesta gave him a cursory look over her shoulder then shook her head, deigning him unworthy of helping to plan. ‘Em, there’ll be no bloodshed. Brawn is not needed. We will be efficient and focused. There are only two places where Cassian is focused and neither of them are libraries.’

‘I’m stood right behind you,’ he muttered.

‘I noticed. You’re not exactly small.’ If Cassian could see her face, she would be rolling her eyes, he was sure. ‘We need to research binding promises, spell weaving, and – of course – how to kill a death god.’

Emerie snorted. ‘Of course. Do you think there’s a how-to guide nestled on a shelf?’

‘Luck has never favoured me, but perhaps it will today.’

‘You can’t kill a death god, Nes,’ he called.

He heard the sharp inhale of breath. ‘Exactly why I didn’t inform you of my research. The Bone Carver died. The Weaver died. Death gods can and will be killed.’

Nesta had been invigorated by something. He hoped it was their engagement. Hoped it was because their future was no longer a blurry shape far off in the distance. Instead, it was becoming something tangible. He couldn’t help but replay the moment in his mind where Nesta had called him her husband. The words should have meant less to him than her calling him her mate, but they had an equal status now. Nesta had stared with longing at the mortal wedding they’d come across. Marriage was what she understood, what she valued most. It wasn’t until Beron’s funeral when the thought that he could lose her entirely clobbered into him, that Cassian realised, mate or husband, it didn’t matter. All he wanted was Nesta, in whatever capacity she could give him.

‘We’ll be pushed for time. It’s a lot of ground to cover.’

Nesta raised her head a little higher, standing almost as tall as Emerie. ‘We will have help.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who is easily distracted from their task – and who loves research.’

‘Gwyn? The acolyte from last time?’

‘Yes. I borrowed a book from Helion’s library for her. It will help with her own research for Merrill.’

That crafty witch was always thinking ahead – and Cassian loved her for it. He’d not known she’d made a friend on her few visits to the library. Despite her admissions in the past that she couldn’t make friends, Nesta could definitely carve alliances.

Flying with Nesta was always an intimacy that Cassian craved. She trusted him enough to put her life quite literally in his hands and he cherished being able to cradle her against him. However, flying with two females was far more awkward – and it was made more difficult by Emerie having her own set of wings. He was careful not to touch them. He wasn’t sure how much feeling she still had in them. There were stories of females who’d had their wings clipped so badly that they were completely numb to the touch. From the look of her thick, uneven scars, Cassian imagined they were inflicted by family and she’d bucked and jerked during. It made him sick to his stomach that females had to face that fear. If he lost his flight, he’d be broken entirely.

Emerie looped her arms around his neck, holding herself rigid rather than sinking into his touch. It would make the muscles of her back strain if she kept it up during the flight.

‘Can you put your legs around me? Sorry. I can hold onto you better that way.’

Emerie had turned scarlet and he could feel his own cheeks heating. He glanced at his mate, an apology bubbling on his lips, but Nesta was biting down on her knuckle, chasing away laughter rather than appearing angry at their close proximity.

‘This is so excruciating to watch. I’m rather enjoying it.’

‘You had your legs wrapped around me enough last night. It’s Emerie’s turn.’ As soon as those words left his mouth, he outwardly cringed. Emerie hauled herself out of his grip. ‘I didn’t mean like that. Fuck. Sorry.’

‘Please excuse my soon-to-be husband,’ Nesta said, holding her hand over heart. The soft look she had lavished upon Emerie was whipped away when she focused her attention on him. ‘What is wrong with you?’

‘You’re the one marrying him,’ Emerie snorted.

Nesta threw up her hands. ‘Fly. Let’s fly. We’re wasting precious library time. Emerie, I give you full permission to wrap your legs around my fiancée like a tree trunk. Cassian, it might be better if you stay quiet for the duration of the journey and not make Emerie uncomfortable again.’

Was this marriage? Nesta in charge, dictating every move? He supposed she’d been in charge from the start anyway. He lifted her with one arm, her elbow coming around his neck. Emerie grimaced then did the same. Both females locked an arm together around his front so they were linked like a chain.

It took all of his strength to get them off the ground, but once they were soaring, the flight became easier. It was the sort of flight that would have his wings groaning the next morning with over use. If he could, he’d ask for help transporting the females home.

Nesta’s nose brushed against the skin of his neck. Her eyes were screwed shut; she didn’t like to fly too high. ‘This is terribly undignified.’

‘He’s your mate,’ Emerie hissed, ‘not mine. You’re used to being this close to him.’

‘Cauldron, am I that bad?’

Emerie hesitated. ‘You’re not my type.’

‘I’m everybody’s type.’

Cassian didn’t know what was worse: Emerie raising her eyebrows in disbelief or Nesta’s little laugh in his ear. Females were cruel and he was outnumbered here skimming over mountains.

‘Just remember who’s holding you above a mountain. Don’t want my grip to slip.’

‘Is it true your high lord and lady once fornicated in the sky?’

Cassian did nearly drop both females then, shocked by the brazenness of Nesta’s question so high up in the air. ‘Mother’s tits, I don’t know.’

‘I don’t want to know,’ Emerie added swiftly.

‘The logistics. I don’t understand. How can he fly and focus and do that? It really can’t be very fulfilling. How do you thrust mid-flight?’

‘Please don’t have this conversation when I am here.’

‘It can’t be a regular occurrence in Velaris,’ she continued, oblivious to Emerie’s discomfort. ‘They’d have a far worse reputation.’

‘Nesta,’ both he and Emerie said in unison.

She had become a different person since that ring had been slipped upon her finger. Or maybe Cassian had never really seen that playful side come out often. It filled his chest with pride that she could be so comfortable – and mischievous – around both him and Emerie together. All those instances where he had rattled her fury were now being turned on him and Emerie. Nesta knew exactly what buttons to push to make them both squirm and she was thoroughly enjoying it.

‘I’m sorry, but every time I fly, I can’t help but think about it.’

‘Stop thinking about your sister fucking her mate in the sky, Nes.’

‘That’s your brother and his mate too.’

Emerie made a noise like gagging. ‘That sounds incestuous.’

Nesta wrinkled up her nose, eyes still shut. ‘It does sound that way, doesn’t it?’

***

Cassian dropped them on the roof of the House of Wind. He murmured in her ear that they could quench her curiosity by trying to fuck in the sky but Nesta pushed him away with a cruel laugh. He had to be deluded if he thought she might engage in that. Not only would people see, she would have to trust him entirely not to let her plummet to her death.

‘Can’t believe you’re engaged,’ Emerie mused, eyes tracking the ring on her finger again as they entered the house.

‘Neither can I. But I’m happy. I thought it might change something, but I still feel good and happy and calm.’

They had bought better clothes for dinner – at Emerie’s panicked request – to look more presentable to dine with the high lord and lady. They would be dining outdoors later by the river to seize the summer weather, so Nesta had selected a gown that revealed her arms and cut off just past her knees. It was red to align with Cassian’s siphons; she wasn’t a part of this court, but she was a part of him.

‘Do you remember our battle plan?’ Nesta whispered as they descended the narrow stairs to the library below, the hush making her drop her own voice.

Emerie nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as she took in the vast expanse of shelves. ‘Find Gwyn as our first task?’

Many of the acolytes kept their hoods up or covered their head entirely with scarves. Of the few that kept their hair on display, it was easy to spot the copper-coloured head bobbing up and down aisles. Nesta chuckled slightly from their perch by the railing where they peered down onto a lower level as they watched Gwyn engage in brief conversation with everyone she passed.

‘I like her,’ Emerie said fondly.

They descended a level then split between the two aisles to meet Gwyn in the middle as if they were rounding her up. Her teal eyes brightened when she saw them.

‘Hi!’

‘Gwyneth Berdara,’ Nesta acknowledged, stalking forwards. ‘We have a favour to ask of you. We need help with research – if you’re not busy. To sweeten the deal, I borrowed a book about the universe from Helion’s library in the day court.’

Gwyn squeaked with delight before prising the book from Nesta’s grip. ‘Helion? The high lord? You know him personally?’

Ignoring Emerie’s roll of the eyes, Nesta explained, ‘I am acquainted with many high lords. Would it be possible?’

‘What are we researching?’

They split off in different directions – ones Gwyn provided – to retrieve more books for their quiet, little alcove. Emerie was back quickest and already skimming a page with a slender, brown finger when Nesta pulled up the chair beside her.

‘It would be nice if we could have tea here too.’

‘Mm,’ Nesta agreed. ‘And those sticky buns Rovena makes.’

‘Sticky fingers on the pages,’ Emerie tutted. For good measure, she gave Nesta’s fingers a tap. ‘Have you been to see her yet?’

‘Not yet, I’m waiting on Azriel to arrange it.’

‘She’s been coming to the village more and more Bal said.’

Gwyn’s face was hidden by a towering stack of books as she made her way towards them. She huffed out a breath after piling them onto the table. ‘You said magical promises. But there’s a lot of books on them. Anecdotes of how they’ve gone wrong, different ways to cast them including exact language, functionality.’

‘Probably functionality. It’s more for personal use. Since Eris became high lord, my tattoo has been itching non-stop.’

Emerie flickered her eyes over Nesta’s sleeve, as if seeing through the material, where she knew it lay. ‘Have you seen a healer?’

‘It’s not painful, just demands my attention from time to time.’

Gwyn tipped her head forwards so that the hood fell with it. Her nose hovered a few inches from the book as her eyes raced over the contents page. ‘Here. Irritation can be as a result of a breach in the magical binding. Have you breached the promise you made?’

Nesta felt offended at the accusation. She tried to abide by her word always. ‘No. Eris might have. It’s been happening since he became high lord.’

Gwyn scrunched up her face. ‘It doesn’t say what happens if one changes the depths of their magic. I suppose it’s not often that one makes a deal then becomes high lord. What was it? Can you remember the exact wording?’

It was a long time ago. Nesta rubbed at her temples, trying to recreate the scene in her imagination. ‘I had to wear the Autumn Court colours to Tarquin’s birthday.’

‘Name dropping a high lord again,’ Emerie muttered so Nesta subtly nudged her in the ribs.

‘And in return Eris would train me and Zasha until I decided we were trained enough.’

‘Nesta, that’s so open ended. You need to learn how to word them better,’ Emerie chided.

Gwyn shook her head. ‘Maybe it’s because he’s a high lord now and it’s altered the parameters of your deal. Is he still training you? Perhaps the deal wants you to say verbally that it’s done.’

‘He was going to come to Illyria but he’s high lord now and I think slightly too busy.’ Nesta gasped. ‘Spring Court! I said to train me in the Spring Court.’

And her journey in the Spring Court had largely finished. Not only that, but she knew she had closed the chapter with Eris too. Nesta wasn’t sure how to feel about that either. It was a goodbye she hadn’t wanted to make. It left a bitter, lingering taste in her mouth.

Gwyn blinked with her large, teal eyes then said, ‘Perhaps you’ve changed the deal too much then. His powers have changed and you tried to move the location.’

‘Then I suppose it is done. Our promise is fulfilled.’

As those words left her lips, Nesta felt the strange sizzle against her skin. It made her itch harder, wishing she could tear the sleeve off to scrape her nails down it. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to look at it though. Already the knowledge that the tattoo had faded from her skin made her oddly sad. Eris had been an unexpected friend. If she could, Nesta would have had him beside her in the library too. His mind fascinated her – and she’d always liked to discuss ideas with him.

‘It’s gone.’

***

Cassian had strict instructions to have letters delivered to Cresseida of the Summer Court by Nesta. She’d made him tell her three times what he had to do with the letter, ensuring it was ingrained in his mind. By accident, he’d bent the corner slightly as they flew so he tried to press the crease out in case Nesta somehow found out.

Once that was done, he ambled over to the river-front estate from the busiest part of the city. For such a large house, it was unnervingly quiet. Nuala and Cerridwen, if they were around, did not make a single sound. Cassian had let himself in then informed Rhys that a high lord ought to have guards posted outside of his gates at the very least. Rhys seemed to be the only one home, busy in his office overlooking the grounds.

‘Where’s Feyre?’

‘Teaching an art class in the city,’ he yawned, swiping the papers on his desk away in one fell swoop. ‘Nice day. Fancy a bit of flying?’

Cassian gave a groan. ‘I’ve flown Emerie and Nesta here. I think I need to rest.’

Rhys said nothing, but a grin spread across his face that he did nothing to hide.

‘Spit it out.’

‘Cass, I’ve seen you trying to get back into a battle with your guts streaming out of you. What is this? Old age or sense?’

‘I have to keep my strength up for other activities,’ he winked. Unable to hold it in any longer, he added, ‘I proposed to Nesta yesterday.’

‘Because this Court is still standing, I can assume she accepted?’

Cassian kicked the leg of Rhys’ chair. ‘Fuck you. Of course she did. Prick.’

They embraced as brothers. The bond was still there in the back of Cassian’s mind, and likely his family would ask about it again soon, but an engagement was special. Nesta had written her letters about the fund for Cresseida in the morning, but she’d hummed away at the table and Cassian swore he’d even heard her singing to herself in the bathroom. A smile hadn’t left her face all night or morning – so he wished he’d proposed sooner.

Sitting at a table by the curve of the river, Nuala brought out drinks for them both. Rhys poured a glass of chilled lemon water for them but with a wave of his magic, he’d conjured a bottle of whiskey, saying they needed a celebratory drink too.

Cassian tipped his face to the sun, letting the warmth pool over his skin. He gave another hearty groan when his wings spread out, the tendons sprawling as far as they could go.

‘What the fuck?’

At Rhys low murmur, Cassian snapped his eyes open. There, on the other side of the river, Helion was shuffling along.

‘Did you know he was coming?’

Rhys blinked at him. ‘Do I look like I did?’

He flew across the distance, landing in front of the High Lord of the Day Court. Cassian watched their exchange, siphons pulsing, in case he needed to be there and protect Rhys. Helion had never been a threat before, but he’d never shown up unannounced in their court before. There were no others with him – no guards, no Pegasus or golden carriage. How he’d gotten through their wards without any alarms was also another worrying factor.

As they walked together across the river towards the house, Helion seemed dulled. There was no other way to describe it. The male had always dominated a room with his charisma and charm, but further than that, Helion was attractive and ensured everybody knew that. Yet today, he seemed dimmer somehow as if able to blend into shadow. If it wasn’t for the dazzling white robe he wore, Cassian might not have spotted him.

‘Where’s your lovely mate?’ Helion asked, taking a seat opposite him, in a flat voice.

‘My fiancée. She’s in the library with a friend. Where else?’

Cassian exchanged a confused look with Rhys, but his brother didn’t use his daemati powers and inform him why Helion had showed up in their court. One wrong move, one word that unsettled them, Cassian would spring into action.

‘The youngest of the Vanserra clan,’ Helion inquired, eyes trained on the shimmer of the river. ‘Why does he work for the Night Court?’

‘He lost his standing in Spring. He was part of Tamlin’s court for a long time prior.’

Rhys didn’t elaborate further, but Helion had propped his chin up with a hand, showing interest. ‘It is unlike a Vanserra to turn from their court. Conniving snakes the lot of them, but they’re always loyal to Autumn.’

Rhys cocked his head from side to side, stretching the muscles. ‘Lucien was exiled. He loved a lesser fae and Beron had her executed. It was Eris’ actions that allowed Lucien to reach the border. Two of Beron’s sons died in the ensuing fight with Tamlin and Lucien.’

Helion soaked it all in, pursing his lips slightly. Perhaps he wanted as much information he could glean about the newest high lord of the Autumn Court - though Cassian couldn’t help but wonder why he was showing so much interest in Lucien.

‘But why the Night Court? He seems to have other contacts.’

‘He helped Feyre to leave Spring and escorted her safely at great personal risk. Furthermore, his mate, Elain, resides here.’

‘Mated? To the middle, rarely seen Archeron?’

‘She hasn’t accepted the bond.’ Rhys did not look at Cassian. No, of all three sisters, Elain was seemingly the most understanding and gentle. He’d had a battle on his hands with Nesta - but Elain was proving just as resistant and reluctant as her elder sister when it came to fae bonds.

‘Is he like him?’

Rhys cocked an eyebrow. ‘Elaborate.’

‘Cruel. Selfish. Despicable. Is that why she doesn’t want to be his mate?’

‘Lucien is a decent male. As to the question about their mating bond, you will have to ask Elain, Helion. I am not privy to their relationship – or lack of it.’

Helion’s brow still furrowed. A couple of times, his lips opened as if keen to ask another question before thinking better of it, then finally, he said, ‘How does he treat his mother?’

And there it was. The question Helion had been longing to ask. The Lady of the Autumn Court had been tangled into Helion’s life at some point in the past. Either Beron knew and refused to acknowledge it or he had been unaware.

‘I believe the funeral was the first time Lucien had been able to speak with his mother since his exile. His mother is the biggest lure to his home.’

Cassian added, ‘Eris and his mother are very close too. Nesta, after the kelpie attack, was taken care of by Adeline.’

Helion drummed his fingers in a rhythm on the table. ‘Will he be a decent high lord?’

‘That remains to be seen. There are only two people in the world who know truly know Eris. One is his mother – and the other is Nesta.’

Cassian clapped his hands together. ‘Well, he can’t be fucking worse than Beron.’

Although Rhys laughed, Helion didn’t. The male was usually the first to laugh or smile, his grins charming all those around him. His brow knitted together, eyes misty with regret. Lost in thought, the three of them fell into silence. There had been moments in the past where Eris had let his mask slip for his mother. He’d angled his body at the high lord meeting long ago, shifting so she was not in the direct line of attack. If Eris was the sort of male who’d protect his mother, Cassian had no doubt that Lucien was worth ten of him.

‘A mating bond gone to ruin.’

‘Elain had only just come from the Cauldron,’ Cassian said gently to Helion. ‘The first thing she saw was Lucien who’d declared she was his mate. These Archerons all have wills of iron. Nesta still tries to kill me most days.’

There was a strange expression upon Rhys’ face – one that Cassian hadn’t seen since he was a boy. What usually followed that look was a stern telling off from Rhys’ parents for whatever crap they’d pulled. ‘Helion, why don’t you stay for dinner?’

***

‘Just as everything has a beginning, everything has an end. All things must die.’

Gwyn’s mouth popped open. ‘That gave me chills.’

Emerie shook away her smile. ‘It’s your swords, Nesta. They have the capacity to kill a death god.’

Lanthys certainly felt the sting of her blade in the Prison though Nesta doubted her skill would last long against an immortal like Koschei. The Bone Carver had felt the full force of the Cauldron, but the Weaver had been killed by the king of Hybern snapping her neck. It was possible to kill a being that strong. Without the Cauldron, their options were limited though none could wield it anyway.

‘I cannot believe you two had a sword fight with Made weapons.’

She and Emerie exchanged a smug look. ‘Gwyn, you are invited to the next one.’

They had been at it for over an hour; all three had been with their heads bowed skimming and scanning various texts in search of information. Spell-weaving was the most fortuitous avenue with a large quantity of books available about casting spells or cleaving them. They had accounts of the Daglan being overthrown by the mighty sword, Gwydion, and when Nesta had spoken of killing Lanthys, Gwyn had scurried away to fetch parchment and ink to record the account.

A figure dropped into the final chair at their table in the private alcove, making the sconces flicker. His long red hair had been tucked behind the spiked tip of his ear but a narrow braid also ran through it. All three females turned their heads towards Lucien who only smiled politely.

‘Sorry to intrude, but I have a message to deliver from the high lord of the Autumn Court.’

‘Are you his messenger boy now?’

Lucien let out a bark-like laugh. ‘Cauldron, that would be a downgrade, wouldn’t it? Eris would like to know precisely why you have decided your deal has been fulfilled. He was quite irate about it. He also wanted me to remind you that Zasha is a poorly behaved hound who still requires daily training because you spoil him.’

Nesta let out a choking noise. ‘Says the male who walks around with a ball in one pocket and a handful of dried meat in the other.’

‘Adja is with him constantly. I think if Eris could live in the woods with his dogs, he’d quite like it.’ Lucien smiled, the gesture natural on his features. ‘He has said that he would like to see you both as soon as possible. I can take you to the Autumn Court.’

Lucien leaned over slightly to inspect a few of their books then, from the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes widen in surprise.

‘Congratulations.’

His eyes had fallen upon her ring. Gwyn covered her face with her hands. ‘Nesta! I didn’t notice. Congratulations!’

From the attention, Nesta blushed and tried to hide her face into Emerie’s arm. Her friend pushed her lightly away, chuckling.

‘Sorry, I haven’t introduced you. This is Lucien Vanserra, Eris’ brother and my sister’s mate. This is Emerie.’

‘We did meet briefly last time you were in Velaris,’ Lucien said, reaching out to kiss the top of her hand.

‘And this is Gwyn Berdara.’

When Lucien moved to take her hand in greeting, Gwyn drew her hand away, flexing her fingers against her chest as she murmured an apology.

‘Sorry,’ Lucien said too, voice gentle. ‘Can I ask, are you from the Autumn Court?’

Gwyn’s chin dipped. ‘Sort of. My grandmother was a river-nymph. She had a child with a high fae male from your court. My mother couldn’t dwell in either place, it didn’t suit her. She lived, for a time, in the rivers of Spring and a house in Autumn, but eventually she was given as a child to the temple in Sangravah.’

‘You’re a nymph?’

‘Only a quarter,’ Gwyn replied to Emerie. She spread out her fingers. ‘I had a twin, Catrin. She had webbed fingers.’

Such pain filled Gwyn’s eyes so suddenly that Nesta couldn’t bear it. Changing the topic, she said, ‘I’m still surprised by Prythian. Wings, I can manage. Webbed fingers, some mortals even had those if they married their cousins too many times. I think if I had found a male with a tail or horns, I might have stepped off the roof here.’

For good measure, Nesta shuddered. It brought a much-needed wave of laughter than seemed to wash away the sadness welling up in Gwyn’s large teal eyes.

‘What about if your mate had a golden eye?’ Lucien asked, gesturing to his scarred, but handsome face, a teasing twinkle in his russet one.

‘Lucien, if I had come out of that Cauldron and you had announced we were mates, you would have two golden eyes now.’

It made Lucien laugh, the noise raising attention. Instead of the shooting looks they’d been receiving, the acolyte nearby actually sighed at the sound of Lucien’s laughter.

‘I do need to see Eris soon. I have a plan for the Wall. My friends are assisting with my research.’ The word slipped out before she’d realised, but Gwyn and Emerie hadn’t protested at being called her friend. It was rare she ever had a friend – and rarer still that she kept them. Nesta had never needed anybody, never wanted anybody.

Coming up from a lower level of the library, Nesta spotted the curled claw of an Illyrian wing. The figure was tall enough for the tips of their wings to be visible above the book shelves. It surely could only be Cassian or Azriel – but Cassian would never come to this library by choice. Fear shone in his eyes whenever the library was mentioned.

The shadowsinger emerged, his expression severe, but Nesta had learnt that was his usual intense look. His eyes snapped to them so she gave a brief wave. Reluctantly, he came over. Their alcove grew more claustrophobic with his large presence.

‘I thought you were in Iron Crest today,’ Nesta frowned.

Azriel nodded. ‘I was. Back in time for dinner.’

Gwyn refused to look at him, feigning interest in her book. Azriel did not acknowledge her either though his shadows hadn’t intervened and blocked him off.

‘And your first stop was the library?’

Nesta pointedly glanced between him and Gwyn, trying to decipher the frostiness growing between them.

‘I was looking for something.’

Lucien shivered. ‘Cauldron, not at the bottom of the library surely? What is there to be found?’

Bryaxis had managed to terrify Cassian. Nesta never wanted to know exactly what her sister had unleashed from the depths of the library – but if anyone could walk through that deep, dank section without crumbling, it would be Azriel. The male was unflappable.

‘Rhys asked me to. Bryaxis has gone besides.’

Gwyn shook her head then unable to help herself, said. ‘There is something still. Other acolytes can feel it. It’s curious, like a kitten. It follows us if we go down there alone.’

‘That’s disturbing,’ Emerie said, drawing her cardigan tighter around her body.

Azriel dipped his head. ‘I have to go. See you at dinner.’

They waited until the shadowsinger had departed from the library then both Nesta and Emerie turned their attention on the young priestess.

‘Has something happened between you two?’

Gwyn’s face had flushed, but her bottom lip wobbled slightly. ‘Azriel asked me if I wanted to see the city. I’m just not ready for it. I think he’s disappointed.’

The way she said it, full of shame, made Nesta reach out her hand and hold the young acolyte’s. Nesta didn’t know the full extent of the horrors that she had been through, but at the mere mention of her twin earlier, Gwyn’s face had been so wrought with pain, it had made Nesta’s heart judder with agony.

‘He’s been a bit off since. Doesn’t want to talk with me.’

A hot burst of anger pierced Nesta’s stomach. She was angry with Azriel on Gwyn’s behalf. She thought he might be more understanding considering his own mother was shy and hesitant about being in society. It was Emerie who was quickest to speak. ‘He’s not worth a moment of your time. Only you can decide when you’re ready.’

The chair next to her scraped against the floor. Sensing the females needed time without a male’s presence, Lucien bowed low. ‘I’ll leave you to carry on with your research. I’m staying in the house tonight. We will be retrieved for dinner so knock on when you’re ready.’

Lucien departed with a soft smile that seemed to warm the library. Nesta couldn’t help but notice that he attracted the attention of acolytes as he nimbly walked back to the staircase. She did not believe that it was the scar that was drawing their eye rather the way he carried himself, with confidence and geniality, that appealed to some of the females.

‘I would like to see the city one day. I’ve only ever been here or Sangravah’s temple.’

‘The first step could be just going to the roof,’ Nesta offered. ‘If you’d like to, we can be there with you.’

Gwyn considered it for a moment, her lips pursing. Then she said, ‘One day. I will try. Not yet.’

Emerie nodded in understanding then she straightened her book on the table. ‘We have a lot to get through before dinner.’

***

Feyre had winnowed the group from the House of Wind – and judging by their expressions, they had all been informed that Helion had gatecrashed their evening. The high lord had seated himself beside Elain at the long table. The middle Archeron had tried to rise, feigning an excuse to fetch something from the house, but Helion pressed her with questions about the garden and her life as a mortal so she had not been able to get away.

Emerie walked ahead making nervous conversation with Feyre, but Cassian’s attention was more drawn to the beautiful female in a red dress ambling behind them. The straps slipped off Nesta’s shoulders, bearing a tantalising strip of skin. Her hair was bound in a loose bun near the nape of her neck with two tendrils curling around her face. Wearing a sack, Nesta could take his breath away, but in a red, summer dress? A goddess.

His mate had slipped her arm though Lucien’s but it didn’t make Cassian flare with jealousy. After all, he supposed Lucien might one day be mated with Elain – and Lucien would end up as Nesta’s brother. Still, the sight of them comfortable together did send a strange feeling shooting up his spine and Cassian couldn’t name it. Nesta had been Elain’s biggest defender, ensuring Lucien couldn’t get near to her until she was ready. He’d never really seen them exchange more than slightly-frosty pleasantries except for the day they visited the Wall together. Perhaps there had been more time spent together in Spring – or perhaps another Vanserra was their topic of conversation.

‘Busy day at the library?’

Nesta kissed his cheek in greeting. ‘Extremely productive. Where’s my favourite bat? I thought he’d be here already.’

On cue, Azriel winnowed to them, his shadows muted by the bright evening sun then settled beside Mor. Mor’s brown eyes were fixed upon Helion and Elain then she moved her gaze to Cassian and looked equally as puzzled by the exchange unfolding as he felt. Nesta had told him that Elain used to be bubbly and sociable, but he was more used to her preferring solitude or shrinking away. Helion had her locked into an interrogation until the arrival of the others had drawn his attention.

‘Lucien,’ the High Lord of Day called, a glimmer of his brightness returning, ‘There’s a spare seat here by Elain.’

‘What is he up to?’ Nesta murmured, body stiffening. Cassian recognised that look all too well – a viper readying itself to strike.

‘Let’s not interfere,’ he winked, guiding his mate into a seat by Emerie.

The creases in Nesta’s brow formed an arrowhead and her fingers had curled into a loose fist. Cassian leaned forwards to kiss her, tearing her attention away. Whispering into her ear, he said, ‘We have an announcement to make.’

A dragonfly zipped by while they waited until everybody had settled themselves at the table with a drink. Nesta made a motion to signify that he should be the one to announce it, but her mouth was already puckering into a smile that she was trying hopelessly to hold off. He wasn’t one for flowery words – which his family well knew – so Cassian tapped his glass with a knife, drawing their attention with the sound.

‘It took me long enough to realise the female opposite me is the best damn female who will ever be in my life, so I did what I should have done a long time ago and asked Nesta to marry me.’

Nesta’s face flushed at the attention, but the smile she wore was lovely. Elain had come to her side, marvelling at the ring and Rhys was pulling champagne out of thin air for them to have a celebratory drink. Mor’s mouth had dropped, but eventually she followed Feyre to flock around Nesta and marvel at the ring.

Rhys had them all take a glass of champagne to raise in toast. ‘To Cassian and Nesta.’

They chorused his words, Cassian bursting from the feeling of joy emanating around the table. The torches lighting up the ground flickered, scattering light around them as the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon. Nesta clinked her glass with his, her smile running wild on her face. His family were a little taken aback by her expression – and it struck Cassian that they probably had never seen how brightly she could smile. How she seemed to glow with love.

Once they had settled at their seats again, drinks tipping down throats, Helion threw his arms around the shoulders of Lucien and Elain. ‘That will be you two soon.’

#au acosf

59 notes · View notes

the-smoldering-illyrian-beauty · 4 years

Text

Donnie is the best because she cares about me so much and I don’t even understand it. She thinks I’m one of the best people she knows. and yea she might be a little biased but it doesn’t matter because I am kate and I’m amazing and deserve love and happiness and a nice long hug and a hair cut that will make me happy (and lots of other good things but I will not continue to embarrass myself further bc donnie is a good person sometimes when she wants to be)

#bone carver babbles

29 notes · View notes

mossy-fool · 4 years

Text

When you raid your friend’s posts and send all the good ones to yourself so you can reblog them when you get back on your blogs

-donnie

#bone carver babbles

6 notes · View notes

localdeathgod · 5 years

Text

All I’m saying is that you should really check out the movie Colette starring Keira Knightly and it might change your life

#bone carver babbles #local death god

9 notes · View notes

luninosity · 4 years

Text

Going back and looking at my older original sea-salt-and-merpeople-and-playwright story Cadence and the Pearl for possible publication purposes, and suddenly I have 7k of a short story epilogue/spinoff for side characters...

Peter Jones, carrying a rock, caught sight of his former lover talking to a merman across the seaside theatre-in-progress; he set down the rock in its assigned place, and sat down next to it for a moment. The sight still occasionally shook him.

He’d believed in merfolk from a young age. His father and grandfather’d sworn by them: fisherman’s tales, sea stories, a glimpse or a song. Never any proof, but murmured in ship’s rigging, in sails, in firelit recounting.

He did not quite know how to deal with the legend become real. Here on the rocky shores of Gull Skerrie. Here at the edge of the world. Here on his tiny Northern island where lives were measured out in briny catches of the day and rib-warming chowder and an utter lack of secrets.

But there had been secrets. He sat in place for a moment, a man under cool blue sky above pale grey stone. He’d been helping to build the amphibious theatre, a loose semicircle that’d encompass sea and land. Other people were working too, busy and bustling.

This theatre was something new. This life was something new. The world had come to Gull Skerrie. Fantasy had come to Gull Skerrie.

Above his head the namesake birds called and wheeled, lonely, perplexed.

He ought to be out on the boat. He ought to be bringing in a catch, solid and familiar: provisions in his hands. He ought to be anywhere but here.

He’d promised to help. Because Jeremiah had glanced his way and smiled, and Peter Jones trusted Jeremiah Carver’s judgement. Always had, always would. That schoolteacher’s calm. That quiet broad-shouldered strength.

He looked out at the water. Sun seared his eyes.

Young and famous playwright Cadence Bell had come back to Gull Skerrie and had brought the world crashing in. Two worlds, even: the human and the magical.

Cadence Bell had grown up on the island. He’d been one of them. His parents had run the inn, and The Bell stood up in proud weatherbeaten majesty at the heart of the only town. Everybody’d grieved their loss. Everybody talked, sang, met over stew or market-stalls or a chessboard. Their island. Their folk. Born on Gull Skerrie, always a part of the island.

Except Cadence Bell never had properly been one of them.

Peter quit looking at the sun on the water. It hurt.

Cadence Bell had always been a dreamer. A storyteller. A bard’s soul in an innkeeper’s son. Cade had left for Londre as soon as he could, swearing he’d become a sensation, a poet, a literary prodigy. The arrogance had become fact: Cade had done all of those. Peter Jones, sitting on a rock and helping build Cade’s vision, couldn’t even despise him. Not for that, anyway.

Cade danced through life and summoned Queen Lyssa up from Londre to visit the furthest isolated reaches of her kingdom; Cade had walked into an ocean and returned with a sea-king’s favor and a promise to bring that monarch together with Queen Lyssa, here, in just over a month’s time.

Which was why the amphitheater, of course. Cadence Bell did nothing by halves. The celebration would be the grandest Gull Skerrie’d ever hosted; the grandest the kingdom’d ever hosted, by the sound of it.

And Cade and Jeremiah had fallen into bed, and into each other’s lives. They kissed often: on pebbled beaches, in the inn’s common room, while saying hello after five minutes apart. Peter tried not to look. He didn’t need to.

Jer was happy. True as tides, that.

Out amid the curved bowl of the harbor, merfolk and human folk traded plans and tales: spines and dark eyes and kelp woven into hair, and thick cozy cream wool sweaters and sturdy trousers on the human side. Carpenters, an architect up from Londre, several willing local volunteers: they stood side by side with beings out of storybooks and fireside tales. Everybody coming ashore from ocean waves and weathered boat-decks: coming together, for Cadence Bell’s vision of a world that lived and worked in tandem, a moon and the sea.

Peter, sitting on his rock—probably interfering with Cade’s grand picture of the scene, but he’d get up in a moment—ran a hand over sunny stone. It warmed to his touch.

He hadn’t expected any of this. He did not dislike it—it’d be like disliking the fabric of the universe—but he would’ve liked one more day.

A day out on his boat. A day of sea and pale sunlight and the familiar slide of ropes through his hands. The taste of salt on his lips. The satisfaction of coming in with a full net and finding a mug of ale waiting, and the cozy heat of the fire over at The Bell, full of shared laughter and chess-games and fresh-baked bread. The steady beat of the island North.

The world had come to Gull Skerrie in swirls of magic and glittering scales and Court fashions, politics and puffed sleeves and delicate hands. Their island would forever be famous: the place where the Sea King and the Queen of the Isles would meet and map out the future. Cade had plans for a grand pavilion, a banquet, a university for a joining of minds.

Peter swung a leg. Felt his worn boot tap against stone.

A head surfaced from the pool of deep blue beside him. Dark hair floated, clung, got into eyes. A voice said interestedly, “You aren’t helping.”

“Oh, I am. I’m just taking a rest, for a moment.”

The merman hopped up out of the pool; his fins shifted and settled into long bare legs, also dark and smooth. Peter politely did not quite look; he did not know what the etiquette might be for observing a magical shapechange, as intrigued as he was.

The merman was beautiful. That was not in doubt. Those long legs, those wide eyes, the ripple of sinuous muscle. It all tugged at the corner of Peter’s gaze.

He resolutely offered privacy, though he harbored a bit of curiosity about those thighs and whether the cock between them might be equally long and firm; he was only human, and the sea-man was the loveliest thing he’d seen since Jer’s bare back in summer sun. Not his place to be looking, though. Peter Jones was not Cadence Bell nor Jeremiah Carver; he was not anyone’s fairytale hero. Anyway, the merman’d criticized him for not helping, just now.

The merman had also brought clothing, a long brocade robe implausibly salvaged from some shipwrecked chest or lost cargo. He threw it around himself—Peter caught the flicker of fabric—and sat down. Sharing the stone. “I didn’t want to be here.”

Peter raised eyebrows. “You needn’t be, then, surely.”

“I have to. My—the King—I’m supposed to be talking to humans. Being an ambassador. Making friends. But you’re all busy moving rocks around and babbling about road construction.”

“Ah, that. It’s important, you know. Getting our Queen out here safely.” The road at the moment went as far as the tiny harbor town on the mainland. Discussion of a built-out bridge over water remained on Cade’s agenda. “I expect you’d have some thoughts. About building. Pillars in the ocean and all that.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Human constructions don’t last.” The merman tucked a leg up, hugged a knee. “You didn’t bow.”

“Should I, then?”

“I told you that I’m a child of the King, and you didn’t even get up.”

“I will if you want,” Peter said equably, “but I was here first.”

“You aren’t afraid of me.”

“Do I need to be?”

One hand ran through long inky hair; seawater drops flew. The merman scowled but did not seem to have an answer; he was all long bones and elegant features and expressive eyebrows that slashed over moonlit seas. Even in a bundle of too-large last-century brocade, he drew the eye like a magnet, like a gleam of a new planet through one of the University’s shiny brass telescopes. “You’re difficult.”

“I’m not, really.” He scooted over a bit, making room. “Sorry about that.”

“I’m supposed to meet people.” The merman tucked legs up and put arms around his knees. “Nerein.”

“Good afternoon to you. And I’m Peter.”

“That’s not very musical.”

#cadence and the pearl #original fic #my fic #fantasy romance #m/m romance #in progress #was having a discussion in comments with someone and this happened

8 notes · View notes

captainderyn · 6 years

Note

“ i really need you to hug me right now. ”

This has been sitting in my ideas folder for literal months at this point and I’ve only just got the energy and headspace to write it.

Warnings: Hardcore angst, character death, spoilers for All That Remains in DA2 (if y’all have played through that quest you know why)

Briar Hawke/Anders

(“You’re mother didn’t show up for her weekly visit.”

That alone hadn’t been enough to put a chill into Briar’s bones, none of the Hawke family had been particularly fond of Gamlen since their rise into Hightown and surely her mother had simply run into a delay in the marketplace instead of suffering their weekly meeting. Or perhaps, Bethany and Briar hadn’t been fond of Gamlen. For some reason Mother still tolerated him.

So, she had crossed her arms, cocked her hip and had a sharp retort ready on her lips when Bodahn wandered into their conversation and dried her retort right in her mouth. “Maybe she’s simply with her suitor.”

That couldn’t be right, Leandra had no suitors. She hadn’t looked at another man sideways since father had passed, not any that Briar knew of. It wasn’t as though her mother would have snuck around like some teenager either, she was a grown woman with two grown daughters, she didn’t need to. She echoed the sentiment out loud, mirrored by Gamlen’s own. At least on that, they could agree.

“Well, those lilies arrived for her this morning.” Idle flowers, resting on the corner table in a simple vase, crisp white petals only just starting to wilt and brown at the edges from the ongoing heat of the hearth. Briar hadn’t even taken note on them when she had walked in.

No. No. That wouldn’t…

“The killer…” Though Briar’s voice had hardly been above a croaking breath, both Bodahn and Gamlen’s eyes snapped to her, her uncle’s voice cutting into her shock like a knife when the thought struck her. .

“What?”

Briar was already shaking her head, a tremor starting deep in her gut and working into her voice. “There’s a killer, he always sends his victims white lilies, he’s killed several women already.”

That wasn’t what was happening. Mother was fine, she had simply taken a different route, or run into a bit of a crowd at the market.

“Leandra is fine, that can’t be right.” Gamlen’s own uncertain words echoed her own thoughts, perhaps the last time they’d see eye to eye on anything. “She must have just taken a different path. I should go wait for her, laugh about all this fuss.”

Then he was gone and Briar was tearing into her room, all shaking hands, and wide eyes as she tied her sword and scabbard around her waist, abandoning her armor when her fingers wouldn’t work the clasps. She just needed proof, she just needed to see that this was all some laughable overreaction.

“Mistress Hawke!” Bodahn called even as she shouldered past and into the streets of Kirkwall’s Hightown, scanning the crowds and hoping that she’d see the face of her mother, smiling at her and her silly notion that she had ever been in danger.

She found no one.)

Her heart stopped when she found the blood, slicking Darktown’s dirty streets and staining the wooden stairs deep, rusty brown. “It leads somewhere, the blood leads somewhere.” She babbled uselessly, reeling even as her feet carried her forward and her eyes carried her down, down the swirling pattern of that blood peppering the streets.

“They’re here somewhere, they have mother. Mother!” She had been raising her voice now every few strides, there was never a response. No face that turned towards her was Leandra’s, and no one stepped forward to calm the terrified young woman screaming for her mother like a lost child.

(She had run from Hightown to Darktown, near tumbling down the steps that led from Kirkwall’s best to Kirkwall’s worst, and slammed into the door of his clinic before her fumbling hands had the chance to attempt the latch.

“Anders!” If she screamed loud enough maybe she could drown out the fear pumping her heart faster than her breathing could keep up and maybe she could drown out the thoughts of those pearly white flowers, taunting her on the corner side table, and the thought of the killer’s hands on her mother.

Her hands beat on the wood palms down, forehead against the splintered wood grain as she all but collapsed against it. “Anders!”

The mage barely had time to open the splintered door, hands on her shoulders as she tumbled forward before she the words rushed from her, tripping and scattering in all directions. Her hands locked on his arms and when she brought her eyes up she saw the crisp eyes of a healer assessing her as if he thought her to be injured. No…no this was far worse than any injury. He shouldn’t be worried about her, he should be worried about--

“Anders, they’ve taken mother. They’ve taken her and I don’t know where she is and they’ve left lilies and I don’t know where she is and she’s somewhere, but where–”)

“Mother!” The cry that had been building for what felt like hours ripped painfully free of her chest, her vision tunneling to the prone figure across a wooden board set up like a cot, seeing only the shock of white hair, the similar cut of the dresses that were so in fashion to her mother and the older ladies of Kirkwall. “Moth–” When her hand on the shoulder met no resistance, the body of a woman resembling but not being Leandra flopping over onto her back, eyes boring sightless into Briar’s, she shrieked again--a terrified wail born of fear and disgust.

Then, scribbled notes scattered around, notes in a rushed hand on preservation, textures of skin, eye colors, all building into one sick and twisted image that Briar barreled past. This wasn’t happening, the answer lining in up in front of her wasn’t true.

“Briar!” Anders’ hand snatched at her as her sprint stumbled into a halt, dust pooling around her as she fell to her knees. While his hands steadied her on her shoulders–neither he nor Varric, nor even Isabela, had been able to do anything to stop her frantic run through the streets of Kirkwall and had finally decided just to sprint after her–she dug into the dust, her hands pulled from the dust a broken and trampled on locket.

“I know this locket.” Letting her head fall back she stared hard at the ceiling, everything starting to spin around her as her word narrowed another inch. “it belongs to mother. It’s mother’s, why is mother’s locket down here?”

Their eyes drifted up among the scattered papers and notes, tables and torn books, to fix on a painting fixed above a gruesome mantle and Briar’s horror condensed into one whimpering moan. “I need to find Mother, I need to find her now.”

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.” Briar only saw the man at the other end of the room, staring at her with unfocused and serene eyes, swaying on his feet when they charged into their only possible option, all other tunnel’s dead ending. “Leandra was so sure you’d come for her.”

She hated the tremble in her voice, putting her back to being a child, crying after a horrible nightmare into her parent’s arms. “Where is she?”

“You will never understand…chosen because she was special..part of something greater..”

The words floated by her ears like water in a river, a shaking hand jabbing a finger at the man as her voice rose. “Where is my mother?”

“I have done the impossible.” Only then did Briar see the oaken chair behind him, the sound of shifting silk. “I have touched the face of the Maker and lived.”

Already she was taking a step back, the rank smell curling her nose, and already her friends were at her back, reaching for her but froze halfway, all eyes fixed just as her’s were. “I pieced her together from memory. Her eyes, her skin, her delicate fingers, I’ve found it all. And at last, I found her face, her beautiful face.”

The shifting silk stood, wavering on its feet like a doll on strings, toddling after the mage and facing them fully.

Only then, did Briar look into sightless blue eyes, pallored grey skin, and cry soundlessly, mouth gaping and lungs convulsing as they searched for air that she couldn’t remember how to get. Her heart worked into her throat, choking her, and her stomach plummeted into the ground at her feet, threatening to spill what little was left in her stomach.

She didn’t remember the mage falling, only turning and catching the staggering woman in her arms. “Mother!”. Without the man’s power, she sagged heavy, bringing Briar to her knees. The putrid scent of decay swirled around her, watering her eyes with far more than just revulsion and horror, even as she cradled her mother’s shoulders in her arms and laid her across her lap.

Just as Leandra had done with Carter, broken and laid across the stones by the Ogre. Just as Briar had done with Bethany, shuddering from the Taint as they waited for the Grey Wardens in the Deep Roads.

“That man’s magic was the only thing keeping her alive. Briar…I’m…” Anders’ voice faded into white noise as her mother lifted a trembling hand towards Briar’s cheek, only for it to fall limply back to her chest.

“I knew you would come.”

“Mother, don’t move.” Briar’s voice wavered, pleading and demanding all in the same breath. “I’m going to get you help, I’m going to…”

She fell silent at her mother’s hush, tears gathering on her lashes and falling in streams down her cheeks.

“Don’t fret darling, that man would have kept me trapped. Now I am free. I can see Carver, and you’re father again.” Each breath rattled and rasped in her throat, continuing on even as Briar shook her head on every syllable. No, she didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t be alone. “But you’ll be here alone..”

“I failed you, mother. I came too late. I should’ve found you sooner, been stronger..I’m sorry.” Sobbing, Briar’s revulsion did not rear it’s head when Leandra’s cold, bloated hand found her arm.

“My little girl, you’ve done your best, you’ve been so strong and I love you. You’ve made me so proud.” With her last exhalation, as though exhausted by her words, Leandra went limp, clouded eyes finding the ceiling in an unseeing gaze.

As though all her strings were cut too, Briar bowed over her mother’s body, shaking until it became unbearable and an anguished scream ripped from her raw throat. A second and a third, more agonized wails delving into panicked cries for her mother; the scent of death surrounding and suffocating her until someone’s arms went around her, pulling her up and away. Twisting to the side, she retched, body spasming against the revulsion that built and built and built alongside the grief.

Someone’s hands on her shoulder, another brushing her hair back from her face until pulling her up to her feet. Unable to support herself, unable to find who, she just buried her head against their shoulders and shook.

Someone deposited her at their–her, now, she’s the sole member of her family with a claim to the walls and floors around her–estate, settling her in a chair with some mumbled promise that they’ll be back. She nodded lifelessly and stared into the flames, watching them dance back and forth.

“Did you find her?”

He didn’t even bother to knock, didn’t bother to announce himself. Instead, her uncle barged into the room, trampling down the stairs, with little regard to his sister’s daughter slowly crumbling to pieces on an old family chair.

Just as her look was vacant, Briar’s voice was hollow. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, Uncle.”

She braced herself for the vitriolic response, the shouting and maybe him stamping over to her so that she’ll look him in the eyes and repeat it. She doesn’t expect him to wither on the spot, shoulders slumping in her peripheral. “You were right then, about the flowers. I…she’s gone? Why her? Why Leandra?”

Hanging her head, pressing her palms against her forehead, Briar heaved a breath and whispered. “I was too late.”

That’s all the iron Gamlen needed pumped into his bones, enough to stiffen his spine and raise his voice until he was practically screaming acid at her. “So you’re to blame! If you had been stronger, quicker…you could’ve..she could be…”

“I know that!” Briar pushed herself from the chair, stumbling to face Gamlen and clinging white-knuckled to the cushioned back of the chair. Her voice cracked even as she shouted right back, though the acid in her own voice poured back onto her. “I know I should’ve been better, I had to be better and I failed her! It’s my fault and I don’t need you to tell me that!”

The tension went out of her shoulders and she slumped over the back of the chair, her wrists straining to support her crunched over position. Tears dripped down her nose again and Maker, she felt as though her head was going to burst with the pressure of it all. Voice broken, when Gamlen offered no opposition to her claiming the blame, she said softly; “The killer used Mother to magically recreate his dead wife…had I been earlier..”

“You’re brother, you’re sister, you’re mother…” Gamlen spat at her, disgust seeping from his every word, though he did not finish the thought. “I never should have asked, I wish you hadn’t told me what that twisted son of a bitch did to her.”

“If it’s any consolation, Gamlen, the killer is dead.” Lifting her eyes, twisted with pain even in the firelight, Briar fixed her uncle in a cold stare. “Now please, leave. I will handle writing to Bethany..she deserves to know.”

By the time Anders cautiously padded to the threshold of her quarters, pausing in the doorframe; she was sitting on the edge of her bed, the skin of her arms rubbed raw from her scrubbing with a cloth now homed in a pink-watered basin in the corner and in a new tunic. The one she had so foolishly run from the estate in only hours previous simmered and crackled in the heart, the flames eating at the blood-stained fabric scented with death slowly.

“I know nothing that I say will change it…” Anders started slowly, his voice–low and soothing to hear in the silence that had surrounded her since Gamlen’s whirlwind departure–catching her attention. Though she did not take her eyes from the low burning hearth her cheek turned slightly to him, hair cascading like a wall between her face and his. “But for what it’s worth, I’m so sorry.”

In her lack of response, Anders crossed the distance between them and perched on the bed beside her, not enough for them to touch, not without her say so, but close enough that she could feel his presence. It was…comforting. “You were lucky to have her as long as you did. When the pain fades that’s what will matter.”

“I failed her. I woulf still have her if I didn’t…if I had..” Briar shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear and then letting her hand bridge across her eyes.

“She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself, she didn’t blame you–” He began, before breaking it off with a weary sigh. “Though that does not make it easier. But, I’m here for you,” and he moved ever so slightly closer, just so that their shoulders touched. “whatever you need.”

Tired beyond measure, exhaustion clambering deep into her bones, Briar let her head list to rest on Anders’ shoulder. “I just..I just really need you to hug me.”

Then, Anders wrapped her in his arms, in his warmth, and Briar tucked herself next to him. Curling her knees up in the space between them and her head against his chest, she breathed out and tried to forget the empty estate around her.

#I answer things!#dragon age 2 #DA2 #femhawke #femhawke/anders #oc: Briar Hawke #otp: Until Dawn Comes #oh look I have time to write again and this is what I do with it #my HEART #my SOUL #all are DEAD from this shit that happens to my poor girl #rewatching this scene to write from was almost as horrifying as my first time playing through it #legit chills #I hate this quest #but I needed to write this #at least 5 months later and its written #..yay?

12 notes · View notes