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avelnfear · 1 year

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Chapter Nine

Masterlist

Danny had just finished getting things set up for dinner that night when there was a knock on the door. It was odd because Ellie had a key, and Jason would either call out while knocking or just break in through the window. Something in the air told them that they wouldn’t be back to enjoy dinner, so they sighed as they started putting everything away.

After that was done, they marched to their door and yanked it open. Standing in the doorway, looking slightly awkward about it, was one of his oldest friends. They hadn’t started as friends in their first lives, and they never even met in their second. This life, though, Clockwork had sent them to meet them with some time travel shenanigans.

“Hey… Can I come in?” She had her hair brushed in front of her face, and she was wearing a simple pair of grey leggings with an oversized long sleeve shirt with a cartoon ghost on it. It was an outfit he’d bought and hidden for her when it became clear she didn’t have some of the common comforts normal people did.

“Hey yourself.” His smile was surely a mixture of sad and nostalgic, but they’d promised long ago not to lie to each other. Instead of saying more words, he stepped to the side and gestured into his apartment with a sweeping motion of his arm.

When they were both situated on the couch, Talia smiled at him with a sad smile of her own. “Thanks… How’ve you been?”

Danny narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re dilly dallying. You, almost as a rule, don’t do that. What aren’t you telling me? We’ve never lied to each other, don’t start now.”

Talia’s eyes narrowed in return. “You remember.” The smile grew into a smirk of sorts. “I’m here because Father did something stupid. Something I had no real way to entirely stop if I wanted to take over the League and stop him completely. Elle won’t be coming home, nor will any of the Bats aside from Alfred, Father took them to get to you. He thinks he can control you through them, but I know better. Before I left to come here, I activated a plan that cleared my people out of the base except for those who are protecting Damian in my quarters. I’m here to ask you to let me help you fight your way through the base and to ask you to let me be the one to kill Father, if only so that you can claim your retribution long afterwards.”

“You remember too.” Danny went silent, thinking things through. As he came to a conclusion, a horrible, terrifying smile that was a bit too wide for his face appeared. “That sounds like it will be purr-fect. After all,” His voice had dipped into a purr that screamed danger, “I don’t let anyone get away with messing with my people.”

The grin Talia gave him in response was downright deadly. Danny was sure the result of all of this was going to be an absolute bloodbath, but he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care. They had decided to mess with his family, so he was going to mess with what they cared about right back. Ra’s would rue the day that he’d decided to mess with Danny.

~`~`~

Tim came into consciousness slowly, with all the creeping slowness of waking from sedatives. As soon as his brain processed what he was seeing, he struggled to stand, not managing it due to the chains and magic that surrounded him in the room that housed the Lazarus Pit. His eyes darted around, noting the placement of his family, a girl that looked eerily like Danny, and, the one he’d been looking for all along, Ra’s al Ghul.

“It seems you are all awake now, good.” Ra’s was smiling in a way that meant he thought everything was going according to his plan, and it seemed like an even more disgusting plan than usual, Ra’s didn’t usually include civilians.

“What do you want?” Bruce’s voice was gruff and tense, and Tim could tell there was even more tension and anxiety in Bruce than was being shown in his voice or body language. “Where’s Damian?”

Tim’s eyes widened as Bruce’s words made him look over the room again, revealing that Damian really wasn’t with the group of hostages. Tim and his family exchanged glances with each other, expressing the horror and worry they all felt as they all ran through all the horrible reasons for Damian not being tied up with the rest of them.

“Do not worry about him, he’s with his mother. Worry for yourselves and your purpose here.” The smile on Ra’s face got even more disgusting, somehow. Tim found it a little insulting that Ra’s said that.

Tim was worried. He was worried about Gotham and the people they weren’t there to protect, Danny in particular. He was worried about Conner and the rest of the Supers when they heard that the Bats had all been kidnapped. He was worried about whatever plot was happening this time. He was worried about Damian, who had been separated from the group for whatever reason. He was worried about what Danny would think when they all simultaneously disappeared. He was worried about how disgusting and self-satisfied the smile on Ra’s face was.

“B already asked you what you want.” Dick’s voice was dark yet still cheerful, likely for the purpose of giving Ra’s a false reason to blab his plot. Ra’s knew that Dick was always cheerful unless all hope was lost, and he thought that all hope should be lost, thus he would explain more that they could then, hopefully, use to escape.

Ra’s laughed a dark laugh. “You won’t get out of those chains without my express permission, so there’s no harm in telling you. I want the connections that I can get once I get my hands on Daniel Fenton. Once I have those connections and weapons, I will be able to live forever with such power at my hands that the world will finally fall into my rightful, ruling hands.”

Tim’s expression hardened. “That won’t work out in your favor.” He didn’t fully understand what Ra’s said, but he knew that it wouldn’t work out, call it instinct.

“On the contrary, it will. See, he’s the least dangerous one.” Ra’s was about to continue when Jason snorted. With a glare at Jason for interrupting him, Ra’s continued on, “He’s the civilian friend to a family of Bats.” A chuckle burst from Jason’s lips, and everyone in the room looked confused at that reaction, even Jason. After a moment more of confused staring, Ra’s got back into his swing and went on, “By taking all of you first, we’ve left him without any support thus making it easy to deal with him.” Jason let out a short laugh this time, and Tim was getting concerned about how confused Jason seemed to be about his own behaviour. Was this another side effect of the Lazarus Pit? Was- Ra’s broke through Tim’s spiraling thoughts with a sharp, “What are you laughing about?”

Jason couldn’t seem to answer him, every time he opened his mouth more chuckles spilled out. The confusion and horror on his face as it seemed like he couldn’t even stop himself from laughing unnerved Tim more than just the plain laughter would have. It was almost like Jason was under the effects of Joker Venom. Tim exchanged glances with the rest of the hostages, except for the girl who looked like Danny, this wasn’t normal.

“What do you find so funny?” For all the confusion in the tone, Ra’s voice was still sharper than a League member’s katana. “You’ve just been informed that your closest civilian friend will be under our control through you and your little group being used as hostages. We even have preparations made to stop any of the super powered friends of your little group from rescuing you. What. Is. So. Funny?”

Abruptly, Jason’s laughter cut off, further unnerving everyone in the room. Jason had just barely subtly signed the word “instinct” to the rest of them before he was leaning forward in his chains with a cocky smile on his face, although Tim could see the confusion hidden deep within his eyes. “I don’t find it funny.” He paused likely for dramatic effect, because Jason was a dramatic little fuck like that. “I find it fucking hilarious.” The room sat in stunned silence as Jason leaned backwards, looking ridiculously at ease for being chained to the floor in the same room as a Lazarus Pit except for the fact that Tim could see conflicting emotions hidden deep within his eyes and posture.

“Wha-” Ra’s began only to be interrupted.

“You think he’s the civilian among us.” He chuckled a little. “You think that capturing us was anything but putting a fancy signature on your death certificate, and I mean your final death certificate. You think he’s the least dangerous one. You think your people can do a single fucking thing to him? You think he needs our help. You think you’ll be able to control him. You think you’re safe. You think you’ve won.” Jason’s tone was the same as the one a parent uses to explain to their child that the square peg won’t ever fit in the circular hole about five hours into that conversation.

“You-” Ra’s once again got interrupted.

Jason scoffed. “Me? Well I’m just waiting. Waiting for that gorgeous expression you’ll make when you realize how extremely,” Jason pronounced every syllable of that word with sharp carefulness, “wrong you are. Your wonderful fucking strategy is an absolute shitshow of misinformation. If I were you, I’d starting fucking praying. I’m talking hands and knees, tears running down your face, wailing at the sky, rocking on the ground, don’t give a shit except about being granted a positive answer praying. Because I really doubt that any god will answer you with anything but a negative, they wouldn’t want to anger the one you call a civilian.” The grin that took over Jason’s face was sharp and mildly unhinged, but the confusion still rested heavy in his eyes.

The girl look-a-like of Danny burst out laughing, drawing the confused attention of the rest of the room. “He’s so very right, ya know. I don’t think he knows how right he be, but sweet baby Ancients is he correct. You wanted to use Danny’s loved ones as a controlling mechanism? Translated that equals you wanting to learn why death is not a mercy, it’s a sentence. Pa is going to rip you limb. from. limb. at the very least, but don’t worry, you’ll feel it all. Every. Last. Bit. Of. It.” The girl’s voice was dark, sharp, and targeted towards the end, losing the mirth that had colored it when she first started speaking.

Ra’s walked over to the girl, stiff with anger and slapped her hard, right across the face. The girl’s only response was to start laughing once again. Ra’s growled in growing anger. “Little girl, you should stop laughing because you don’t know who you’re messing with.”

That got her to stop laughing, but the expression on her face sent chills down Tim’s spine. It wasn’t particularly terrifying for any reason he would usually give, but it was far too calm for someone who’d just gotten slapped hard enough to be rocked backwards. “I know exactly who you are, Ra’s al Ghul. I know all about your twisted rap sheet. To be frank, I expected you to hit harder. I mean, come on, I’ve been hit harder by literal toddlers. You should reevaluate your life if you think that you are dangerous to me.”

Ra’s stiffened even further, and the girl, for some reason, found that so hilarious that she burst into laughter once again. This only served to piss Ra’s off even more. Tim, and his family which he saw whenever he managed to drag his eyes away from the horror show in front of him, could only watch as Ra’s proceeded to beat the girl up as she laughed the whole while.

Finally, when the girl had blood freely flowing from her broken nose on top of more invisible injuries, Tim couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you such a wimp that you have to beat up a girl to make yourself feel better?” Tim felt the words were a bad idea as they slipped out, but he was already doing it. Ra’s turned with a look so full of anger Tim questioned if he’d ever see another one like it. He had just managed to brace himself when the slap hit, shifting with it to lessen the blow even though that barely helped.

Over the ringing in his ears, he heard a massive boom coming from the direction of the big double doors. The boom repeated twice more, almost like a slow and steady knock. “What?!” Ra’s snapped out, although Tim didn’t think his voice was loud enough to be heard beyond the door. Three more of the slow booms resonated throughout the room from the doors. “What?!!” Ra’s shouted, this time actually being loud enough that Tim thought it could be heard through the door.

A final massive boom echoes as the doors are blown open, revealing a small pile of assassins that appear to have been beaten into unconsciousness denoted by the bruises spreading across a lot of the visible skin, some of the bruises were already turning purple. Tim might be having issues seeing because of the reflexive tears from the slap, but he swore he could see some bones poking out of skin. The area past the pile was darker than it should be, the only light seeming to be from the room itself. That wasn’t normal, the base was usually well lit, especially in frequently used areas. What was going on?

~`~`~

Jason was alternating between looking at the pile in shock and glaring at Ra’s for his actions. Nellie had done nothing to him other than pointing a couple of things out though Tim had, admittedly, antagonized Ra’s to get his slap. However, Jason’s blood was boiling as he watched a little bit of red leak out of Tim’s nose, the slight swelling already happening by his eye, and the blood starting to bead at the split in Tim’s lip. The odd orb in his chest that had prompted his strange speech was howling like a hurricane in his chest, roaring in a way that he almost understood.

“Who’s out there?” Ra’s yelled out, tone arrogant and demanding in a way Jason knew wasn’t going to end well, although he wouldn’t be able to give a concrete answer as to why he knew that with such surety.

The only answer from the darkness beyond the door was a long sigh followed by something being thrown into the room. It clearly wasn’t going to reach them, not with its size or trajectory, so no one did anything to try and get out of the way. Ra’s just watched the thing with dark eyes. The thing landed, revealing itself to be an assassin who was folded in on themselves, pinned in place by their own broken bones. Something darkly satisfied and knowing settled a large portion of the hurricane in the orb in his chest, calming it to merely a raging windstorm.

Danny walked in calmly, in the same style he did when entering the store on their grocery runs, like nothing was wrong. Despite the fact that there was no weapon anywhere to be seen on Danny, and none in the pile of assassins, there was blood splashed all over Danny’s face and clothes. His hands were clean, but there was no totally clean spot other than that.

“Hello Ra’s al Ghul, how are you today?” His voice was cheerful, but his eyes promised pain as they stared into Ra’s own.

“You-” Ra’s was once again interrupted, giving Jason an odd sense of pride-joy-funny that he couldn’t quite place.

“Da!!” Nellie’s voice was full of relief and joy along with a fair bit of pain. “It’s so good to see you!”

Jason watched as Danny looked over to them all and froze. His face closed off and became harder than steel as his eyes locked with the wounds on Nellie and Tim. There was no massive shift in the way Danny stood, but something about him now screamed dangerous in a way that Jason definitely found attractive.

“I was going to let you live for a while, seeing as I hadn’t heard from you. But, sugar, I think you need to learn your lesson. Those are my people, and they do not belong here. You are lucky that I was alerted of this now because my patience can only last for so long. You are a lucky son of a chocolate ice cream cone because if I kill you here and now then I won’t be able to do everything I want to. Thankfully, for me, not for you, I have an old friend of mine with a bone or twenty to pick with you, so she’ll be the one to kill you so that I can properly punish you after your death. You’ll have to deal with being beaten by a girl while you dance around acknowledging the fact that you done messed up. Don’t worry, you’ll never have the chance to do so again once it’s my turn.” Danny’s tone was even icier than it had been when Dick got chewed out for sparking the panic attack of Tim that one time, it was harder than it had been in the few times gangs had tried to rob them on their grocery trips, and it was so incredibly attractive to see how protective Danny was over the people that he cared about.

Danny walked forward to the point where no one could see his face other than Ra’s, and while he did that, Talia walked in behind him with an oddly proud look on her face. Jason didn’t have long to study her expression though because Ra’s suddenly let out a cry filled with fear. Looking back, Jason saw that Ra’s was kneeling before Danny, staring up at their face with a look so complicated that Jason couldn’t read it.

“Is it my turn to deal with the pathetic old man, my friend?” Talia purred out, everything about her radiated satisfaction and pride.

“Go ahead. Just remember what you need to do once he’s dead.” Danny’s voice was starting to warm up again, less like an ice age and more like a heavy blizzard.

Jason heard the sound of Talia fighting and taunting Ra’s, but he only had eyes for Danny as they checked over Nellie and Tim to make sure they were mostly okay, even giving Nellie a pill that seemed to fix most of the wounds she’d gained from the lunatic. Talia sounded like she was wrapping things up as Jason watched Danny study the magic and the chains as though looking for a way to free them all. They’d managed to get the chains to let them go when the magic disappeared. Finally looking away from Danny, Jason saw that Talia had killed Ra’s and was pointing a weird metal cylinder built like a thermos at his corpse. Jason tilted his head slightly in confusion as Talia just stood there, waiting and watchful like a big cat with eyes on its prey.

A green mist started forming above Ra’s corpse, the color only slightly different than the Lazarus Pit behind it. “May you never be reborn again, in this life or the next.” Talia said in a soft voice that was surprisingly open for the assassin she’d always appeared to be. As the last echo faded and the mist started to take form, she pushed a button on the odd thermos and a blue light shot out, wrapping around the shadowy green form that was taking the same shape as Ra’s. When the blue light retreated into the thermos, it took Ra’s soul with it, leaving only his corpse behind.

Jason, and the family he could see out of his peripheral vision, watched carefully as Talia sauntered over to Danny, clipping the thermos to his belt as she flung an arm around his shoulders and leaned into him in a way Jason was sure she’d never done with anyone before. There was a gasp from the doorway and suddenly Damian was throwing himself into Talia, who let go of Danny to wrap her son in a hug.

Danny retreated to where their group was sitting, stunned into being statues, with a fond look on his face. Turning to them, he spoke, “Ask your questions after we get everyone back home, I’m sure Alfred is worried about you all.” Danny’s voice brokered no arguments, as did his actions as he swept Tim up into his arms while Nellie attached herself to their back. “I’ve got the injured ones, let’s get going.”

The Bats could only trade glances as they unfroze to follow behind the assassin and the assistant head guard. The glances told Jason that none of them knew what was going on, but they were all determined to find out. Jason felt an intense need to know why Talia was acting so out of character and why he had a strange orb filled with foreign emotions and sensations. As he walked with the group, following a path out of the base that was littered with unconscious or dead assassins, he swore he could see flashes of another person where Danny should be. One with white hair, a cape, and a pair of heeled combat boots. It faded quickly, and as soon as they left the base, the flashes disappeared like they were never there. Jason put it out of his mind, he could worry about it after making sure his family was okay.

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valleynix · 9 months

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Summary:

You stumble through the thick snow, broken and bleeding, pulled along by some imaginary string promising you safety. It's all you've ever wanted, isn't it? To belong, to feel the comfort of your loved ones. The feeling beckons you, calls your name, and you can't help but follow it. You never had a choice, did you?

Something seems to be missing as you spend your days inside the warmth of Castle Dimitrescu. You can't place it; you can't even remember why you were out in the freezing forest in the first place. You don't know why they're so intent on keeping you alive. Maybe you will, one day.

Surrounded by four women who could very well be the only ones to fully understand you... you've never felt more alone.

^the (potentially) long-awaited chapter twenty is here, full of angst, comfort, and laughs :3

#hehehe #bad decisions have been made #but it is here #idk if it actually makes sense but yknow #enjoy <333

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flyingwargle · 1 year

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to survive the desert means to be acquainted with the sand, indomitable against the sun, free like the wind that stirs the arid environment. nature is beholden to no one; instead, all are caught within its cradle known as the great red sand, pressed by the wall of samiel on one side, the other whose boundaries are lost in the expanse of land.

for all that dehya traverses between the rainforests and deserts, she never sees the same thing twice. the dusted trail that leads from caravan ribat to aaru village can both serve as the setting of a horror story or the miraculous conclusion of an adventure. apam woods glistens beneath the persistent rainfall but becomes cloaked in shadows in the dead of night. sumeru city is as bright as a scholar's aspirations during the day but as dark as the snuffed candle on a writing desk by nightfall.

the same can be said with the people she encounters. in one minute, she can joke with fellow eremites, and in the next, fight against said eremites. a merchant might have broken the wheel on his cart while another might mistreat his sumpter beasts. the general mahamatra might be seen lifting a man thrice his weight by the scarf around his neck, or he might be seen doodling in the sand with a stick.

dehya leans over him to watch. "whatcha drawing?"

they're in the middle of a joint operation. it's the same narrative – desperate scholar uses hired muscle to coerce more accomplished scholars for their research notes, and she's hired by the victims to get them back. the pay isn't that great, honestly, but she's bored and needs a valid cause to throw punches for.

cyno doesn't pause. he sketches a perfect nilotpala lotus in the sand, followed by a scarab. it's definitely not as refined as an artist, but better than her. "what are these for?"

"don't you find it odd that these lotuses float on the surface of the water?" cyno asks.

she stares at him. "uh, not really..."

"whereas scarabs can be found underground."

"okay..."

"so if a lotus and scarab met..." he pauses for dramatic effect. "who would you say would be lower than the other?"

pause. dehya straightens and gazes into the distance. "so, when are they coming?"

"what, not funny?"

"not in the slightest."

he jabs the stick into the sand with the same force as he would attack someone with his polearm. "hm. i thought of it this morning."

"the sun's fried your brain."

"or maybe you're fry-tened by my jokes."

"no."

cyno rolls his eyes as he takes out a ratty notebook from his pocket. "the flame-mane has quite the standards."

dehya takes a peek, leveraging her height advantage. she watches him cross off several lines of chicken scratch and jot other notes. it's unlike the standard-issued stationery from the akademiya. the cover is dark green with the corners are bent. before he can slip it away, she grabs it. "is this your joke book?"

"somewhat."

she flips through the pages. there are more jokes, some she has heard before, many that she hasn't. then, she sees doodles, mostly plants and animals. at the start, however, the handwriting is completely different, along with sketched diagrams of fauna. she flips through it again to identify the transition. "you stole this from someone?"

"also somewhat. it's a long story."

"for a short book? impressive."

cyno shoots her a look. she shrugs. "we've been on the job for a week. you rubbed off on me."

"it used to be tighnari's. we accidentally swapped notebooks and never returned them."

"oh, that sounds familiar." dehya takes out her makeup box. "i accidentally took one of candace’s brushes. i don't think she ever noticed."

"tighnari noticed, all right." the amusement in his voice is light, a faint smile upon his lips. "it was hard not to since i was chasing him."

"like, with a polearm or romantically?"

cyno stands. "i'll let you guess. our guests have arrived."

a small group of shadowed individuals finally appear in the sand. weapons manifested, they prepare to confront them. "finally, some action. wanna bet who kicks the most ass?"

"what does the winner get?"

"you tell me your story."

"fine." the general mahamatra adjusts his headpiece before jumping forward. "you tell me yours if i win!"

they land in a cloud of dust, weapons pointed. dehya steps forward with a grin. "sorry to crash the parties, fellas, but we've got business. the gloves are coming off!"

"judgment is upon you!"

the air explodes in a shower of sparks and flames.

#genshin impact #genshin drabble #cyno #dehya #drabble #text #flyingwargle original #this is extremely late #but it is here #good luck everyone rolling!!#character object series #musings of sumeru

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sabraeal · 2 years

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A Coin to the Hangman

[Read on AO3]

From above, Tar Valon sits like a coin between the fingers of the River Erinin, a trick not yet taken. Even now, Obi expects to see it flash across knuckle-backs, weaving in and out as a caller takes his bets. Fitting, since this blasted Tower is the best sleight of hand he’s seen outside some Light-begotten back alley, and all of the Westlands has fallen for it like some hayseed fallen straight from the wagon.

The plaza is churning with revelers, all celebrating the arrival of Cairhien’s princes. Oh, the people of Tar Valon may scorn those who claim fealty to an ass upon a throne, but tonight they rejoice as if these ones were their own, their perfect princes with flaxen hair and eyes as bright as jewels. Even from here, Obi can make out the stained-glass flower of Wisteria on their pennants, snapping sharply in the wind.

He snorts, the sound carried away into the shadow. These Aes Sedai claim themselves free of men, but it is as Tevta always told him: a tiger cannot help but show its stripes. He saw well enough the looks that passed between Amyrlin and would-be king; this feast is nothing more than a flirtation, a lover’s game writ large for the whole world to see.

A fine enough distraction for Obi’s business. Better for the marath’damane to let themselves be seduced by the song of power that such men sing. Certainly he would have never gotten this far if the Warders barred his way; after all, trainees were not allowed in the White Tower. No, that was an honor saved solely for the witches’ creatures, men led around by their necks like a damane without a single leash in sight. Any other night he would have been sent away, told to find a Sister that would take pity on a scrawny boy like him.

But it is not his so-called brothers who watch the Tower now. No, that would be the Cairhienin, outnumbering them two-to-one, and in their eyes, any man with a camouflage cloak is Warder. Haruka’s had done the job as well as any, and oh, how that old man will burn to know that it was his that was around the shoulders of the one who burnt this pile to embers.

The wind whips past him, prying at his fingers and threatening to throw him from the stone. A hundred spans stretch between him and the plaza beneath, the strength of his grip-- and these ornaments-- the only thing between him and a lethal dose of failure. But it's useless to fear death; he hasn’t, these ten long years, and he won’t now-- not when the end is already so close, and all that is left is the mission

You will go into that Tower one day, Tevta had told him, glaring up at those stones. But you will not come out of it.

I know, he’d said, just a boy. I know.

Silver burns at his wrist, the way it has every day since she slipped it on him, the bands closing in like a noose. Ten long years he’s worn them, smiling when his brothers tugged his pretty trinkets, laughing as they asked if he hoped to catch the eye of some pretty Sister--

Oh, he’d hum, mouth curling around a secret. I know it will catch at least one.

It’d been a clever answer, or at least a coy one, the sort that kept his brothers at arm’s length without feeling that they’d been put there. Or at least, it had been until a few months ago, when Shiira had simply laughed, And I think we all know which one Nanaki is hoping for.

Carved stone bites dully into his gloves, blunted by time and leather. Let them think what they like, that little Accepted has never-- he’s never--

He huffs, shaking his head, knocking a bit of loose stone from beneath his feet. There’s no time to be thinking about this; the Amyrlin might linger at the banquet, wooed by minstrels’ songs and the prince’s sweet words, but the last thing he needs is to get made when he’s hanging by his fingers. Not that it’s likely to happen, but all one of those clods below has to do is look up.

No moon marks him as he scurries the last few feet to the window, hoisting himself onto its casement. With a quick pass of a blade, Obi succeeds where so many have failed, slipping right through the Tower’s much-vaunted security into the Amyrlin’s inner sanctum.

Now all there is to wait. It’s hours yet until dawn, and with princes to impress and a royal entourage to entertain, she’ll doubtlessly be in the Hall for--

“Mind your boots,” a feminine voice warns, muffled through the door. “I’ll have you know, the carpets are priceless.”

Burn him, but his luck is shit. It seems that even in this bloody tower, when the cat’s away the mice will play. Leave it to these meddlesome witches to violate even what they hold sacred--

“I promise,” a masculine one rumbles, “it will not be the first I’ve ruined.”

Obi stiffens, every drop of blood in his veins turning to ice. That is not just any man’s voice, oh not, but-- but--

“Izana,” the Amyrlin sighs, that playful way girls do when they want their worries to be replaced by kissing. “Do you mean to make me write your mother? She would be horrified to know that you were such a poor guest, and in the White Tower as well.”

The Prince of Cairhien hums, a sound nearly lost in the groan of the door as it opens. “Perish the thought.”

And just like that, he stands in the presence of the two most powerful minds of the Westlands, with only the shadows to cover him.

It takes but a breath for him to act, dropping to a crouch so deep his thighs burn. As a boy, he could squat for hours, playing dice and cards in back alleys and street corners for hours before nature would catch up with him. But now he creeps frog-like across the floor, crawling to where the shadows spread thickest, and curses every inch. Warders may be trained to move silently, to strike from the shadows, but they were not meant to move as sneak-thieves in the night.

“So this is the inner sanctum of the Amyrlin.” Boot heels clack across the floor, muffled when they reach that priceless carpet. “Somehow I expected something more...opulent. Ornate, maybe. Something more befitting of a queen.”

Obi blinks. Trust a prince to look at a desk sung into shape by an Ogier and a carpet woven in Kirendad and find it lacking.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, Your Highness,” the Amyrlin hums, not the least bit contrite. “But the Seat is not just one of power, but of service. I am much less a queen and more a...steward. I distinction that I’m sure Her Majesty has conveyed to you many a time.”

The prince’s back is to him, but still, Obi hears the way his lips curl around the words, all satisfaction. “Only every time I speak of you. Though she’s more apt to name you parent rather than steward.”

His fingertips drag over the smooth sung-wood, an invitation to think on where else they might linger. Light preserve him, but he does not need to see this witch and her Westerland prince flirt.

“I suppose that is why they call you Mother,” he murmurs thoughtfully, tracing down the spine of a quill. “Is that what you would like me to call you now?”

His voice drops, and it is not only the Amyrlin that shivers. Burn him, but a man that looks the way His Highness doesn’t need such a silver tongue as well. The Wheel certainly has its favorites.

Her head shakes, the golden loops of her hair quivering in the lamplight. “There’s no need for that, not from you.” Her eyelashes flutter, and though all these Sedai are ageless, the Amyrlin has never looked more like a girl. “You are not one of my children after all.”

The Amyrlin take no husbands, but light hits her, illuminating her eyes like the sun behind sapphires, and Obi realizes-- this one might have been a woman who expected to, until the Tower had its way. One who might have been a queen in truth had she never learned how deep the river of saidar ran.

And had she been born across the sea, into his streets, she would live on her knees, the way her kind were meant to.

A laugh chimes from the prince’s chest, but it’s off-tune, a note just nearly missed. “If I were, it would certainly put what happened between us beyond the pale.”

The Amyrlin gasps, and oh, they might not take husbands, but Obi is suddenly aware that they might yet lay with men. A possibility he’ll be in a position to witness, if he keeps hiding around this corner, listening to Cairhien’s prince make love to her. “N-nothing ever happened between us.”

“Is that so?” She turns from the prince as he approaches, words silken and honeyed. “I remember a kiss, stolen behind shelves.”

This would be the time to move-- both their backs are to him, and it would be easy to slip through the window, to wait in the whipping winds for their business to finish and their eyes to close, but--

But steel flashes golden in the light, poised above her, and in an instant he knows: that is not simply a knife, but something more, something darker. He moves, but it is not toward his window, not like how he means to, but toward the prince, hands outstretched.

“Mother!” he calls out, cursing himself as she turns, those gem-lit eyes widening. A silver bangle parts beneath his grasp, and it is not until his body slams into blue velvet that he realizes-- he is saving her. A damane is not worth the spittle a man sprays on her, but yet here he is, clasping the a’dam made for her around this man’s neck, struggling to keep him on the ground.

A fool’s move, now that he has a moment to think. The a’dam is meant to hold a damane, not a man; without that perverted power running through him--

A spark fizzles beneath his skin. Obi’s joints stiffen, terror gripping him as he sees the knife laying on the floor, as he realizes the blade is not steel but carved onyx. Not a noble’s dagger, cast by a smith to meet a need but-- but--

An angreal. No, not just any angreal, meant to be used by a witch who could channel, but a sa’angreal, forged in the Age of Legends, able to channel enough power to kill even the mother of the Aes Sedai.

A useless item to a man. Unless, unless...

That spark becomes flame, becomes a conflagration, racing up the track of his arm, barreling toward his heart. There’s a scream, and it’s not until he’s on his back that he realizes it’s his, he is the one screaming into the night, so loud glass could shatter.

The a’dam is meant for damane, and damane are not men. No, there are stories about such things, about the disasters that are wrought by a man being bound by a sul’dam, and he hasn’t just bound a channeler, but--but--

“Darkfriend,” the Amyrlin hisses, her slipped shuffling away from where they struggle. “Izana...when? How could you have...?”

He wants to warn her it is not that, that the trouble is far, far worse, but he cannot answer, not when it is taking all he has to keep the fire from his heart. It is little comfort that the prince is no more comfortable, gasping and writhing as he claws at his neck, foul shadows weaving between his fingers before gasping into nothing. It is Tevta who is the sul’dam, no matter her disgrace, Tevta who should be the one handling this snake of a man, but she is not here.

All they have is him.

The fire burns inside him; a pain so searing that even he can’t contain it, can’t will it away. It eats at him, gnawing, consuming, trying to make its way to his chest, but--

But he grips it. Not with his hands, but with his mind, pulling and pulling even as his vision blurs, white around the edges, then black. It hurts so much he can barely stand it, struggling to stay conscious, and that-- that is how he knows it’s the right thing.

Well, that and the way the prince rears onto his knees, clawing at his throat, screaming and screaming until--

The silver breaks. And all at once, the prince is gone, only the barest hint of shadow remaining behind.

“Ah,” he rasps, his head dropping against the priceless carpet. “Does that make me king now?”

“Nanaki!”

Ah, look at that. The Amyrlin knows his name. One of them, at least.

“Nanaki, stay--” she crouches over him, flinching as she stares down at his chest. “Oh, blood and ashes. Tomomi. Tomomi!”

Distantly, he hears a door fly open. “Mother! What--?”

“Bring that girl to me.” There’s steel in her eyes when the Amyrlin looks back at him. “The one sitting with Zen. We’re going to need one of her miracles tonight.”

Don’t, he wants to say as black rolls over his vision. If I see her again, I might like her.

When he wakes, he’s warm. In terrible pain, but...comfortable.

“Ah!” That gasp bubbles through him, curiosity opening his eyes before conscious thought can. The room is bleary, the sunlight turning everything bright and painful, but he makes out red, and then green far too close. “Obi, you’re awake.”

“Am I?” he mutters blearily. “Where...?”

He glances down at his wrist, bandages tight and aching beneath them. To his chest, covered in a cloth so bloody it’s brown. He’s alive, and yet...

His brows furrow. “How do you know that name?”

“Ah...”

Her smile comes into focus, the one he hates to see, only today it’s toothy and nervous, not sweet. Enough to set his own heart into a rabbit’s beat, fluttering and anxious, and--

That’s not his. That anxiety, it’s-- it’s--

“Stay calm,” Shirayuki tells him, her name as known to him as all of his. “I’m afraid...I had to do something that was very...unpopular.”

He blinks slowly, calming his racing pulse. He can’t help but notice that her own breathing calms as well. “Is it something I’m not going to like?”

“I don’t know you well enough to say, but...” Silver flashes behind his eyes, the memory of a charred bracelet on the ground by a wrist. His wrist. “I’m going to guess...no.”

“Oh,” he groans, eyes closed. Isn’t that just his luck. “Blood and ashes.”

#obiyukibingo22 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #sword and sorcery au #wheel of time au #shirayuki sedai #my fic #ans #it has been so long since I have touched this AU me and sharon dreamed up #and this scene did not want to be written in the slightest #BUT IT IS HERE #the whole time i was like #BUT THE BEGINNING OF THIS FIC WOULD BE SHIRAYUKI IN TWO RIVERS--#my logical brain: you do have to have both of them show up in some capacity for this challenge #me: gdi FINE. F I N E

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