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princeanxious · 5 years

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A Serpent’s Tongue-(symp)Deceit Centric fic

Warnings: (sympathetic) Deceit, unsympathetic/abusive Wrath(oc?), brief hints at gorish imagery(at the beginning, skippable), short term loss of an important body part, angst, abiguos/unresolved ending, food mentions. (Let me know if i need to tag anything else!!)

Ships: mostly platonic DLAMPR but there are hints of romantic Roceit as well

Word count: 3.8k words

Authours note: this was inspired by a joke pic i saw and idk whether to be sorry that i wrote this or not so uh. Yep. Have some angst.

Wrath and Deceit can never really get along. Wrath is more interested in keeping Thomas’s friends safe, and Deceit just wants Thomas to take care of himself once in a while. Little to the other sides know, Wrath has a horrific way of dealing with Deceit when he’s sick and tired of hearing him speak.

[[MORE]]

It would not have been the first time Wrath had lost his temper, far from it, in fact. It was commonplace, really. Though, he rarely got physical in his anger, he simply broke stuff in the dark palace that, when his fit was over, he’d mend back together.

However, it was also not the first time that Deceit and Wrath had gotten into an argument, a loud one at that. Both light and dark sides alike knew when such an argument was alight, due to the sheer volume of Wrath’s tone. They rarely saw eye to eye, due to their friction of views between Thomas taking primary care of himself(Deceit) and taking primary care of his friends(Wrath).

And again, it was not the first time that Wrath had ended such an intense argument by silencing Deceit the only way he knew would last.

“You can’t poison Thomas’s thoughts if you can’t talk without your serpent’s tongue, you Liar.” Wrath would growl, summoning scissors and stalking towards the cornered deceitful side. Threats and begs and struggle would fall on deaf ears until they stopped altogether. With a flick of Wrath’s hand, any mess from his deed as well as the room that had been thrashed with mess all tidied up without a trace of damage as he left. The only lingering remnants of damage lay in Deceit’s dulling eyes, blinking away tears as his face retained it’s upset scowl.

This was, however, the first time Wrath had decided to enact this awful treatment since the light sides had begun to accept Deceit, or, better known now as Dorian. With his room moved right next to Virgil’s and across from Remus’s at the very back of the hall, it was inevitable that this treatment would bare a heavily negative outcome now that he could not interact with the others accordingly and unsuspiciously.

None of them knew of what Wrath’s punishment was, or that Wrath could even stoop so low to do such a thing, not even Remus or Virgil had a clue. It had been going on for so long now though that Dorian knew just how to deal with it.

Except, now, sitting in his room for two weeks without leaving was not a viable option anymore. The others were bound to get suspicious, and he would definitely be needed for his little white lies. Even as he sunk down into his room before he could be seen, and hid under his heated covers for even just a few hours of solitude, he knew it was going to be a rough two weeks of hiding it from them.

——

“Dori!!”

Dorian’s eyes blinked open blearily, and he peaked out from under the covers just in time for Remus to open his door and excitedly shuffle in before closing the door. His excited face faltered for a moment at seeing his best friend tucked up tightly underneath his heating blankets mid-day, but fondness overswept his concern immediately at how cute and ruffled Dori’s hair was.

He didn’t question how Dorian only answered his questions and random outbursts with hums and snorts, with not a word to be heard. Dorian had periods of time where he got like this often back before their acceptance, it didn’t surprise him that they still sometimes occurred now. Especially after Dorian and Wrath had one of their arguments. Dori was often in such a sour mood for weeks!

After a while, Remus had saw fit to leave Dori be, the first few days after these arguments seemed to be the worst for his scaled friend, and he ought to let the others know to leave him be. He knew that this would be a relief for Dorian, but in his jumbled head he just couldn’t quite remember why.

It took three days for the next side to bother him, though it was welcomed at least slightly when he glanced up and was met with the blue-eyed serious side. They’d become fast friends in the past few months, truly. They’d often talk philosophy and history and space together, and stay up till 3 am with Virgil discussing conspiracy theories and watching documentaries as a group. It was still a friendship that was new and fresh, but there was a silent understanding between them that solidified that friendship just a tad bit quicker.

“Good afternoon, Dorian. I hope you are doing.. well..?” Logan tapered off, finally looking up from his book to be met with a casually dressed, if still a good bit ruffled and unkempt Dorian. He was still sitting on his bed, though he’d never admit he hadn’t really moved much in the past few days, and was scratching at his scales irritatedly.

“I had assumed three days was a more than sufficient period to leave you to ‘cool off’ after Remus came to inform us of your bad mood, but it would appear that that had been a very temporary solution to a much bigger problem.” Dorian gave a sheepish shrug, before coming to itch at the scales on his neck. The book vanished as Logan’s attention fully focused on Dorian’s unkempt state, a very rare sight on such a composed side. He came to sit at the foot of Dorian’s bed with tacit permission, eyes wandering over the self-preservative side until they landed on the others face which wore an uncomfortable expression in reaction to being analyzed.

“I apologize. How are you.. uh.. feeling.. at the moment, Dorian?” The logical side adjusted his tie, looking rather worried for his obviously stressed friend. He frowned when all he received was another shrug.

“Look. I.. I know that arguing with Wrath is truly exhausting, and being around him can negatively affect all parties, but you can’t just stop taking care of yourself after every argument. No matter what he says about you or any of us, it isn’t okay to let it take over you. I know I can’t possibly know what he said to you, or ever says to you, but I won’t stand to let it hurt you.” Dorian chuffed bitterly at those last words. ‘A little too late, Berry.’ He thought.

Logan only seemed to frown more, eyes searching Dorian’s for some answer, anything that would help him understand where this conversation needed to go. Dorian’s dull eyes met Logan’s strong searching gaze with a look of appreciation. A silent thank you amongst the fray. He closed his eyes and sighed, holding his bare hand out in a silent gesture. When Logan’s hand rested in his own, he pulled it to his chest in a pseudo hug, then pulled it back to link their pointer fingers. This was one of their silent gestures, one that said ‘Not now, but soon,’ when either one of them was feeling overwhelmed or unheard. It was a gesture to let the other know that they would be stopping by later to talk when it was just them to hear their conversation. Except right now, they were alone, which only seemed to puzzle Logan. But still, he understood the meaning calm and clear. ‘I will tell you, but not now.’

With a nod, both of them fell into a small but comfortable silence, enjoying the small grounding contact of their linked fingers. After a while though, Logan spoke up.

“I will say this though, with the utmost kindness I can.. You should take a shower and change into fresh clothing. It will do you some good, both for your mood and for your scales. I also suggest, once you've finished with that task, if it is not too much, to come downstairs and eat something. Think of it as a.. comfort meal, as it were. I could even ask Patton or Roman to make that soup you like so much.”

Dorian chuckled at his friends worrying, leaning against the other’s shoulder with a nod. Warm food sounded nice, he hadn’t really eaten anything since the night of the incident, and though the sides didn’t need to eat, it still was a pleasure they could enjoy. It would certainly comfort Dorian, though he’d have to evade eating solid food items around the others, as eating those both were weird to eat and looked just as weird to watch him eat while he was missing his tongue.

Soon after showering, he dressed in something more casual yet still color fitting due to lack of care at keeping up his dark image at the current moment. He came downstairs wearing an oversized black and yellow sweater that Remus had gifted him and comfortable black skinny jeans, with dark socks and a neutral expression to match.

Thankfully the only side downstairs at the moment was Logan who seemed to be trying to pick out a puzzle from their gaming shelf. He turned for a brief moment to greet the deceitful side, beckoning the other over to help him with his decision.

“Patton will be down in a moment, he and Virgil were discussing something when I made the soup request. Remus and Roman are in the imagination sparring, so for now I thought it’d be nice to simply relax and put together a puzzle while we wait.” Dorian nodded in agreement, and helped Logan pick out one of the few puzzles they hadn’t yet done, knowing that Logan would likely be a bit more focused on the puzzle than on the fact that Dorian still had yet to utter any sarcastic or backwards responses to anything he’d say. Still, the puzzle was a nice distraction, especially once they’d turned on a documentary in the background to combat the silence.

He hardly noticed the time passing until he zoned back in to an almost half-finished puzzle and the kitchen light flicking on. Patton sent out a cheery greeting to the two focused sides in the living room and then set to work on making his famous ‘feel better’ soup. It didn’t take long before Virgil came down as well, spending a couple minutes chatting with Patton about some topic or another before migrating into the livingroom and flopping onto the floor in between Logan and Dorian.

Headphones on and music already seeping out of the device, Virgil barely acknowledged the fact that he was now laying on D’s legs in an uncomfortable position, though he did spare a glance up at the deceitful side to make sure he had permission. With Dorian’s nod, Virgil stuck his tongue out at the other playfully and received a scrunched nose and an affectionate eyeroll in return. Virge then sat himself up and leaned against the other, one arm wrapping around the others middle to tap three times on Dorian’s leg. ‘Are you okay?’ Is what it meant.

Dorian hesitated before tapping twice on Virgil’s arm, ‘sort of’ it said, ‘not really’ is what it implied. Virgil frowned before situating himself behind the other to wrap both arms around him, laying his head on the others shoulder to watch the documentary like they used to do when they were younger. It pulled at his heart a bit, knowing that things had been tense between the two since their rift happened, though recently they’d both been trying to mend the scar in their friendship. Shame that he couldn’t playfully bicker with the other due to his predicament.

Instead he chose to settle against the taller side’s chest and relax in the other’s protective embrace, temporarily forgetting about doing the puzzle with Logan as Virgil began purring. It was a quiet, comforting rumble that had Dorian zoning out rather quickly.

He was only roused from his stupor when a warm thermos was gently placed into his hands, and a nice smell wafted from the container. He grinned lazily and looked up to find Patton standing there pensively, looking worried. He beckoned the other to kneel down to his level before gently pulling Patton’s head to his, pressing their foreheads together in a comforting gesture.

“Uh, Dorian..?” “That gesture means he’s okay, Popstar. He and I know you're worried but it really does just happen to be this way sometimes, even if I don’t like it. He’s pretty non-vebal when like this, so maybe stick to yes or no questions.” Dorian sighed softly, thankful that Virgil was fluent in his body language.

When Patton responded with a nod and settled down on the couch, Dorian finally relaxed enough to sip from the thermos. One good thing, Dorian had learned, about being a side was that he thankfully did not need his tongue to taste things. Sure it was a much duller taste than if he did have it, and the same went for smell for him, but he could still taste food. So, despite his dampened senses, Dorian still enjoyed his warm soup nonetheless.

He barely protested when Virgil moved him to the couch, placing him in his arms and scooting over so that Patton could drag Logan onto the couch as well to finish watching the documentary. Within half an hour, Dorian was out like a light with a warm full belly and a warm body to cuddle up against.

When he awoke about an hour later, Patton and Logan were gone from the couch, and instead sat on the floor with Roman and Remus. Roman and Remus were each working on their own kind of crafts while Logan worked on finishing the puzzle and Patton colored in a coloring book, all of them chatting amicably between one another. He didn’t dare move much, knowing his awakening would upset the balance between the group.

On his neck where Virgil’s left hand rested, he receives three small taps. ‘Are you okay?’ With a long pause, Dorian responds with a small frown. One tap against Virgil’s chest, ‘No.’

Virgil sighs deeply, silently as he pulls the other closer so Dee can hide against Virgil’s neck, fingers threading through messy curls in an attempt to sooth the deceitful side.

Thankfully no one takes notice, and the day ends quietly. Dorian almost thinks he can get away with being in his room for another three days, except, Dorian awakes the next day with Roman knocking on his door and excitedly asking if Dorian would come duet with him and knows theres no use in holding his breath.

It hurts Dorian, the sad expression the fanciful side makes, when Dorian opens the door with a sheepish look. Still, Roman understands, and instead offers to let Dorian be his audience and companion into the imagination. He even gifts Dorian a long thick, weightier cape that resembles a weighted blanket with the outfit style they appear in. It soothes Dorian plenty, and he's as obvious as he can be about being thankful for it to make up for his lack of voice.

They spend the morning strolling through Roman’s kingdom, Dorian occasionally letting Roman pull him into a waltz or a twirl as he sung to the deceitful side. Despite Dorian’s temporary muted state, he was anything but quiet. He couldn’t help it really, Roman was a loveable dork and could be so cheesy at times, his giggles were justified, damn it!

There was also the lucky factor that Dorian could still hum along with Roman whenever the other got close enough to hear him, and knew that the compromise was highly appreciated. Roman could speak for two, and was still generally versed in enough sign language and Dorian’s own facial expressions to keep up a conversation.

Thankfully, Roman steered clear of asking Dorian about his silence, being respectful and instead choosing to use the silence to his advantage to flirt with the scaled side, knowing he’d get less resistance. And if Dorian ended up in his arms at the end of their trip to hide his blushing face against the fanciful side’s chest? That was just fine by him.

When they returned to the common room in the mind palace, they were greeted by the lovely smell of baked goods. It didn’t take long before Patton appeared with a plate of still warm cookies, who seemed to get even more excited when he spotted the duo entering the living room.

“Hey kiddos! You two are in luck, I just finished some chip-tastic chocolate chip cookies! Want one??” Patton said excitedly, holding out the tray. Immediately, Dorian’s stomach dropped at the offering of solid food, and gritted his teeth as he smiled and took one, thankful that it was still warm and mushy. Roman happily too two and munched on one as he chatted with Patton about their lovely trip, neither of them any wiser to Dorian’s issue.

He nibbled on the cookie as he listened to the two and nodded along when necessary, mentally warring with himself on how to tackle this issue. Thankfully it was still warm and mushy, but shoving it into his mouth in front of the two would be suspicious. He really had no other option though, as chewing small bites would make his issue fairly obvious. Internally sighing, he gave into the first option.

In one swift movement, he’d shoved the whole cookie into his mouth to chew, hand covering his mouth sheepishly. Both Roman and Patton took a moment to notice, but both of them just kinda paused in realization and Dee stared back, daring them to question him with a stare.

“Dor, why..?” Roman grinned, more confused and amused than concerned. Dorian just huffed and swallowed, then signed ‘snake instinct’ to them with a fake embarrassed expression.

Confusion turned to understanding as both right-brain sides echoed a soft “ohhh, right.” Crisis averted, at least for the time being. Eventually the trio split, and Roman and Dorian ended up on the couch watching Tangled to wind down from their eventful day.

Eventually Remus and Logan joined them, and they ended up putting on Wall-E next, if only to please their resident nerd and trash-child. However, Remus was feeling particularly bratty today and getting rather frustrated with his best friend when Dee wouldn’t back him up on any of his ideas or thoughts.

“C’mon, Dee, work with me! They’re literally eating themselves! Back me up here double D! It’s like a cat cut your tongue out!” He growled, pouting in Logan’s lap. Swiftly, though, Remus’s attention returned to the movie without a thought of what he’d said to the lying side, unaware of just how right he’d been. The only side to notice his shift in demeanor was the fanciful side who’s lap he was sat on, who had felt him stiffen up considerably at that last sentence. Gently, Roman pulled him closer and soothed a hand over the other’s scales, scratching gently in an attempt to distract the other from his brother’s rude remark. Eventually, Dorian settled down and let the remark go, and that was the end of that.

Despite that close call, everything was going great, all things considered. By the time the first week had passed, everything had gone back to normal, aside from the few extra visits he had received from the others simply checking in on him, everything had been fine. His tongue was even beginning to regenerate! He’d been keeping a close eye on it when he could, trying to keep the checkups at a minimum and doing them late at night to avoid possibly getting found out. It was a foolproof plan!

Until it wasn’t.

He should’ve realized that Virgil would eventually start back up with his late night visits, just like he used to do before their split. Dorian had told him that his door was still open if Virgil ever wanted to come bother him late at night, knowing that both of them were still night owls. Perhaps he should’ve kept his guard up, not gotten too relaxed while his tongue was healing. He’d only had a week to go before he’d have his tongue back and then all would go back to normal.

But life was never that kind to him.

Leave it to tired stupid Dorian to leave his door unlocked and cracked at midnight while he sat on the floor infront of his mirror, inspecting his open mouth without much thought. The regeneration had only just begun, so his lack of tongue was still absolutely present.

Then, in a moment of brilliance, Dorian looked up at his door, only just realizing it hadn’t been fully closed. Staring back at him instead was Virgil, wide eyed and white as a sheet. The anxious side was frozen, staring right at Dorian’s mouth in disbelief.

“...D-Dee?” His shaky voice had been barely above a whisper. Dorian had long since shut his jaw tight, eyes wide in terror.

Eventually, Virgil gathered enough of his barings to slowly walk over to where Dorian was seated, and kneeled down. Shaking hands reached out and cupped Dorian’s jaw, his eyes wide and flicking between Dorian’s lips and Dorian’s distant expression.

“Dee, please.. please tell me this isn’t the reason why you haven’t been talking..” his voice sounded desperate, his eyes searching for any sign of illusion or trickery and only finding pain and shame. Tears were already pricking at Dorian’s eyes and shame was curling in his gut, making him sick to his stomach.

Virgil’s horror quickly began to morph into anger, “that cruel fucker did this to you, didn’t he?” He gently pulled Dorian closer, resting his forehead against the other’s in an attempt to comfort the other. “Dee, please. Answer me.” Virgil cursed, his voice distorting more with every passing minute. He huffed, wanting to snarl the moment Dee nodded his head meekly.

He wanted to kill him, Wrath would be a dead man the moment he saw him. But right now, that could wait. Despite his overwhelming anger and anxiety, Dorian needed help, he needed to be in a safe place. They needed safe company, and Virgil desperately needed someone to stop him from going full feral.

With little idea on what to do, he picked Dorian up carefully and brought him into the commons’ living room. This would at least be a neutral space to give him some time to think. He absolutely refused to put Dorian down now, his protective instinct going haywire with the deceitful side trembling and quietly hiccuping in his arms.

Despite his best efforts, it did eventually get to the point where his heightening anxiety was starting to affect the whole palace, and within minutes the rest of the sides came stumbling down the stairs.

It was an odd sight, a highly anxious Virgil sporting a look of near-feral level of murderous on his face as he carried Dorian bridal style, the lying side having his face tucked up and hidden away while his shoulders were shaking with silent sobs. Before much could be said, Virgil’s heavily distorted voice rang out chillingly into the room.

“We need to talk.”

#sanders sides #sympathetic deceit #sympathetic remus #DLAMPR #roceit #wrath sanders #tw hinted gore #tw abuse mention #tw lost body part

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trvelyans-archive · 5 years

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convincing

a commission for @queen-among-writers of their oc kassandra trevelyan and cullen being Cute in a modern au <3 thank you so much for commissioning me! i hope you enjoy <3

cullen x trevelyan, fluff/romance, 1200 words !

---

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Cullen grumbles, running a hand over his freshly shaven cheek and wincing as the thumping bass grows louder until he can practically feel it vibrating in his chest.

Kassandra laughs, though he can scarcely hear it over the noise in the gymnasium. “And you’d rather I put myself through this alone?” she asks, looking at him out of the corner of her eye as she sips her plastic champagne flute filled to the brim with dark red punch.

“I just… didn’t think it’d be so loud.” He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall, trying his best to look like the chaperone he’s supposed to be when he’s done the opposite of pay attention to the students since he first arrived. As of Tuesday morning, he didn’t think he was going to be here. He expected that he’d watch football or drop by the church like he usually did on Friday evenings. As of Tuesday evening, he was the last teacher to be added to the chaperone list. “Do people actually like going to these sorts of things?” he asks.

“Cullen.” She shakes her head and laughs again, light and lilting and beautiful. “You’re ridiculous. And you didn’t have to come…”

“Oh, how was I supposed to say no?” he protests with a chuckle, turning to face her once more. “You can be fairly persuasive when you mean to be, you know.”

“I know,” she replies, briefly touching his arm, her blood red nail polish stark against the crisp light gray cotton of his suit jacket. “And I wasn’t even trying.”

He scoffs, smiling, eyes darting down to her hand just in time for her to pull it away. “Well… I’ll better prepare for next time.”

The truth is that he was unprepared.

All he needed to do was grab his car keys and wallet from his classroom – he wanted to get dinner from his favourite restaurant before they closed, and football practice had gone on much longer than it was supposed to. The sun had almost set by the time the last player had drifted out of the locker room, and Cullen was lucky the caretakers had already come and gone for the day, because if the floor was wet when he made his desperate sprint to his classroom then he was sure he would’ve slipped and fallen flat on his face and, well… that wouldn’t have been good for his ego. He was already smelly and sweaty enough as it was. He didn’t need to add a broken nose to that list, too.

He had just finished shutting all the blinds when the classroom door creaked open.

“Hello?” he called out, frowning as he crossed the room.

Kassandra poked her head through the crack in the doorway, grinning at him. “Is this a bad time?” she asked.

Cullen felt his cheeks flush – she was wearing a clean white dress shirt and beige slacks while he was wearing a red and gray tracksuit caked in mud and damp under the armpits – but shook his head anyway, beckoning her inside with a wave of his hand. “No, no, come in,” he said.

She crept inside, shutting the door tight behind her and leaning against it. “How was practice?”

He nodded, grabbing his towel from where he threw it on a desk and wiping the back of his neck with it. “Good, good,” he replied. “I think we’re just about ready for the first game. With a little more practice, of course. How was debate club?”

“Good!” She drifted away from the door and approached him slowly, hands tucked neatly into her pockets. “We’re finally ready for our trip next month to Kirkwall. Everyone’s very excited.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about that.” Cullen smiled. “Congratulations. You should be proud of yourself, Kassandra.” He cleared his throat. “And the students, of course.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Damn it. He couldn’t tell, but he was sure she was teasing him. She tilted her head and watched him as he moved to his desk to grab his keys and his wallet, purposefully avoiding her eyes so she couldn’t see the blush on his cheeks. “Actually, I came to visit with a mission.”

“Oh, did you now?” He opens his bag and places his wallet inside. “And what’s that?”

“I’m supposed to be chaperoning the autumn dance on Friday,” she began, “and I was wondering if perhaps you were free and wanted to do so as well?”

Cullen snorted. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!”

He waved a hand in her direction. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much of a partner,” he tried to reason, “and I… Well, I was going to try and lie and say I have other plans, but I don’t, really. It’s just… Are you sure you don’t want to ask Josephine instead?”

“She’s already signed up,” Kassandra explained. “I just thought… Perhaps it’d be more fun if you were around? And it’d be nice to see you let loose a little.”

The corners of her lips had quirked upwards, and his face grew even hotter than it had already been. She was teasing him. Maker. And in his classroom, nonetheless - possibly the least romantic place he could think of. He wasn’t going to deny that he didn’t have any feelings for her and that he hadn’t been told by at least one of their mutual friends that she had feelings for him, too, but… he’d like their flirting to be done somewhere a little nicer. And, perhaps, when he was a little less sweaty.

Cullen stuffed his towel into his bag and nodded, swinging it over one of his shoulders. “Alright,” he replied finally. “You convinced me. I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

And now he’s standing here, in the middle of his gym that he can barely even recognize between the streamers and the balloons, and he’s nursing a non-alcoholic drink of his own while trying to ignore the fact that there is a small group of students staring at him and Kassandra and whispering.

“What would you be doing if you were at home right now?” he asks her suddenly, training his gaze on her face, on everything except her dark red lipstick.

“Hmmm…” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Reading, maybe… preparing lessons for next week.”

“Really?” He cocks his head at her. “I picture you to be the order-Chinese-food-and-drink-boxed-wine kind of type.”

At first he’s scared she’s going to take that as an insult, but she just nods. “I’d say that’s a very fair assumption,” she replies, giggling, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “What about you?”

“What do you think I’d be doing?” he says.

“Well…” She straightens up suddenly, pursing her lips. “I think you’d be lifting weights and watching cooking videos. Maybe you’d play some games on your phone. Maybe you’d play with your dog.”

“If only,” Cullen muses. “Fireball never wants to do anything but sleep. And you’re wrong, by the way. I’d probably be going over the game plan for next week and watching some stupid comedy on television. And eating a microwave dinner.”

“Do you wish you were at home right now?” Kassandra questions. She’s leaned closer to him, he’s noticed, and looks up at him with wider eyes than he’s ever seen…

“No,” he murmurs in response, quieter and more intimate than he intended, damning the Maker for trying to tempt him in such a horrifically embarrassing and public space. “I’m glad I’m here.”

She smirks. It’s not meant unkindly – it just shows how unsurprised she is by his answer. “I’m glad you’re here, too.”

He’s a little embarrassed that she finds him so predictable, but it’s nice, too – and it’s comforting to hear that she’s glad he’s here with her, as well. And then, in a moment of comfortable silence, an idea pops into his head. He might regret it, but he’s hoping he won’t – and that hope is his best attempt at trying to stop his hand from sweating. “You know…” He pulls away from the wall, finally, takes her glass from her, and sets it as well as his own on a nearby table. “I do believe I saw Dorian and Josephine dancing together earlier. I don’t know about you, but this is a dance, Kassandra… I think we should look the part.”

“Are you inviting me to dance, Cullen?”

All traces of confidence disappear from his face and his stature, and he crumples. “I, uh –“ He coughs into his fist and then reaches up to scratch the back of his throat. “I mean – no – I – that is, of course, if you don’t want to –“

A slow song suddenly comes over the speakers in the gym, and Kassandra holds her hand out to him. “All of that football playing had better given you good footwork,” she says as he takes her hand and leads her towards the edge of the dance floor, where Leliana and Josephine dance together rather clumsily, the latter shooting Cullen a hasty thumbs-up as he presses his hand against Kassandra’s side.

“I can’t guarantee that,” Cullen replies, his eyes curiously squinting at something behind her, “but I can guarantee that our students are currently pointing at us.”

“Let them,” Kassandra says. “If they can dance, so can we, right?”

“Yes, I suppose,” he agrees, “but maybe next time we can go dancing somewhere else? A club, perhaps? Or perhaps to a dancing class if my skills aren’t up to par?”

Her eyes glitter mischievously in the dim twinkle of the lights hanging from the ceiling. “I would love that,” she whispers, squeezing his hand softly. He squeezes back.

He’s glad she convinced him to come tonight, after all.

#hmmm this one is so cute........ i love clenches fist romance that takes place at workplaces #didn't wanna make it TOO much cuz im sure theyd get in trouble for straight up making out at a school dance but dlkflsdfd #teachers danced together at my grad !!!#anyway i loved this one it was so fun thank you again for commissioning me !!!!#my writing #my commissions #cullen x trevelyan #cullen x inquisitor #cullen

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assortedcorn · 6 years

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I Choose You, Cullen Rutherdord AU Pt.1

I will be posting this on AO3 and will put the link in here!

Also! Trigger warning, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable!

And, before I post, this is my take on a MGIT fic but instead with cully-wully. Leave some feedback and let me know what you think!

···

One:

The day had been busy, the now disbanded Inquisition was scattered around Skyhold tending to those in need. Leliana’s scouts had reported that this was the day Solas would be ripping down the veil and destroying the world. Regret and fear hung heavy on the shoulders of all the people involved with the Inquisition, wondering if they could have done more to save their precious world. What more could they do, you ask? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Evelyn tried to stop her old friend, twice now. She had been injured the first time and then gravely injured the second time. Solas had already taken her arm and nearly killed her, all of Skyhold heard of the news during the Exalted Council. Evelyn had changed after that, losing her arm, her confidence and her ability to want to move forward. Of course, Cullen, her love, had given her the strength she needed to continue on. She had tried so hard to change Solas’ mind but he was hell bent on destroying their world, even if he cherished Evelyn’s friendship so. In the time that they all had left together, most of the Inquisition were with their families or friends to spend their last moments together. Leliana and Josie were in Lelianas tower, reminiscing the old day when they were young. Dorian and Bull were together and spending their last moments drinking the finest wine they could get their hands on and loving one another. Cassandra found herself praying, as she was the new Divine, she was in the Chantry praying. Varric had gone back to Kirkwall and was spending the rest of his time writing, as usual. He wrote about the times he had as part of the Inquisition and the amazing people he met, knowing no one would ever read his last story. Vivienne had spent her time with her closest friends and was hosting a farewell party in her salon. Anyone was welcome, as she wanted even the lowest of status to feel comfortable in their last moments. Sera and scout Harding were in Seras room, doing Maker knows what. Probably eating cookies and delighting in each other as they always did since their blossoming relationship started. Thom, AKA Blackwall spent his time with the Wardens and had been with the younger recruits, preparing them for what could possibly come. Even he knew the world ending was scary no matter how old you were, he wanted to help. Even Cole had taken it upon himself to heal the last hurts and ease the minds of those waiting for their imminent demise, he always wants to help. For a moment, people were calm and almost at peace even though the sky was starting to fall.

As for Evelyn and Cullen, they were spending their last minutes together in bed. Evelyn was found in Cullen’s tight embrace, their bodies as close together as possible. She was resting in his lap whilst he laid against the headboard of his bed, leaning his head against the stone wall behind them. Cullen rubbed circles on her back, trying to calm and soothe her even though he could barely stay calm himself. The world was ending, Solas had finally done his deed and the sky was tearing. There were so many things Cullen wanted to do with Evelyn, with his family and friends once they had time to retreat to new homes. He wanted kids, he wanted to marry his woman, and he wanted to create a life that would help those with lyrium withdrawal. The same eerie dark green color lit the sky but instead of white clouds and blue sky, everything was dark. It was almost like nighttime had come and stolen the sun. The sounds of people screaming echoed through the keep, crying, and prayers to whoevers gods could also be heard throughout. The sounds of crashing and rumbling clapped throughout the sky like thunder and lightening, oh, if it were only that.

Evelyn wrapped her arms around Cullens neck, burying her face into his shoulder with hot tears running down her cheeks. “We should have gotten married. I’m so sorry, Cullen.” Evelyn cries, regretting her decision to wait.

Cullen had proposed to her during the Exalted Council and Evelyn convinced him to wait to plan a legitimate wedding. Evelyn dreamed of flowers, candles, and all of her friends and family being there to watch her marry the man of her dreams. She dreamed of good food and good alcohol, dancing and singing, being around those she loved to celebrate their hard work as a team. She had assumed they’d have more time but time was now not a luxury they could have.

“Do not mind it, my love. We are together now and that is all that matters.” Cullen coos, trying to calm her more. He kisses her hairline softly and presses his head against hers.

“We will be together. By the Makers side, we will be together there.” Evelyn tried to convince herself. She was Andrastian, her faith unwavering throughout her life, even thriving when she met Cullen. She couldn’t believe she was worthy enough to lead an army for a just cause, let alone being graced with Cullen’s love.

“Of course, that is where all the Makers children will be. We will all be together again at the golden gates and live out eternity there, you and I, Evie.” He whispers, choking back a sob.

“You and I, always.” She cries.

“Until the end of forever, even after that.” Cullen finishes, their promise they made from years ago shining bright in their hearts.

The keep began to shake and break, stone jumbling off the roofs and battlements. Earthquakes rocked Skyhold, the screams of those caught beneath rubble could be heard and made Evelyn shake like a leaf. She wanted to help them, she truly did but her desire to spend her final moments with the love of her life was stronger. The mountains began to tumble and the rumbling of the avalanches barreling around them was loud and horrific. The air around them started to stiffen and get tighter, making it harder to breathe every few minutes.

“Promise me, you’ll love me forever Cullen.” Evelyn sobbed.

“Of course I will, why would you even say that?” Cullen asked, bewildered.

“I just want to hear you say it before..”

“I will love you for the rest of time, for the rest of eternity. I love you now and always Evelyn Amallia Maria Trevelyan, Evelyn Rutherford.” He cries, tears falling off his cheeks and into Evelyn’s hair.

“Thank you.” She whispers. “Let’s get married on the other side?”

“I wouldn’t want to with anyone else, Evie.” Cullen smiled.

It was unbearable, the sounds of the sky made whilst breaking apart. It was deafening now. Cullen and Evelyn could barely hear anything. They were holding each other as tight as their bodies would allow when the violent quakes grew worse and the lighting and loud books from the sky grew. It was time. The atmosphere thinner and the pain from lack of oxygen took their breaths away. Cullen and Evelyn were inseparable in this moment, no matter what fate had in mind, they’d always be together.

"Cull-"

All within a moment, the loud crack of the sky coming down had bellowed all throughout Thedas. All Cullen heard was Evelyn’s soft “I love you” before everything was black. Empty. No sound. Nothingness.

------

Beep.

Cullen thrashed around like a fish out of water. Strange things were attached to his body, weird sounds echoed throughout his ears, and his eyes searched around the room only making his panic grow stronger. Cullen was having a full blown panic attack. His breathing was shallow and quick, he was sweating and yelling, he couldn’t recognize anything around him. Then again, a slight pain and then he started to fall asleep.

“Will he be okay?” A voice rang through his ears. An angel? Andraste? No, he knew this voice but from where?

“He’s experienced quite a shock, although, after x-rays, he didn’t have any damage to his bone or organs. He doesn’t have any life threatening wounds either, so yes, he will be fine."

“He keeps mumbling about someone and something.”

“Of course, he’s delirious from the shock of being hit and from his medicines. He should come out of it within the next hour or so.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“You saved his life, miss. He’s lucky you got to him so quickly or else he would have been in more trouble.” Saved his life? Had he truly been brought out of the world ending by a woman? This story sounded all too familiar to him, the story of Evelyn’s arrival in Haven.

“Ah, yeah, I guess.”

“Do not discount your heroic act, it is already all over the news. If you weren’t there to stop more cars from coming, he could’ve been killed.”

“I understand, doc. Thank you for your help.”

“Be careful when he wakes, he will be scared and I’m sure will freak himself out. If you need me, let one of the nurses know. Okay?”

“Yes, thanks.”

Cullen’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he entered a deep sleep once more.

------ Beep.

Beep.

Cullen could hear weird noises around him, from behind his eyelids he could see faint light. Was he dead? Would he soon face the Maker? He rolled his head to the side and stretched his fingers out. He felt a soft material beneath him, almost like a blanket? He opened his eyes slightly, wincing from the bright lights. His eyes roamed the room he was in and saw white walls and marble floors, a curtain hanging from a metal ceiling and strange contraptions all around him. His heart began to beat faster as he continued to evaluate his surroundings, growing more and more anxious from the unfamiliarity. This is not the golden city. His eyes shot open and he tried to move but his body would not let him. He looked at his arms to see weird things attached to him, coming from his veins. He had weird patches attached to one of the contraptions on his chest. He turned his head to the side when he heard a small noise, almost a light snore. He was stunned by what he saw sleeping in a chair next to him.

She was curled into herself, her head resting on large pillow against the top of the chair. Her legs pressed into her chest so her feet could rest on the arms of the chair while her face, shoulders, and chest were covered by her cascading golden tresses. Who is this woman and why is she dressed funny? The lady wore a strange material on her legs, it was a dark blue color with rips where he knees were. She wore a large knitted sweater that was a light shade of blue, baby blue. She wasn’t wearing any shoes, as it would have most likely been more comfortable to sleep without them. She was lightly snoring, a sound he recognized but couldn’t find the heart to come to terms with his lover being gone. Where is she? Where am I?

The machine monitoring his heart rate had started to beep louder and louder, waking the woman sleeping in the chair. She slowly propped her head up and turned to face Cullen, a look of surprise written across her features. If Cullen was still alive, he was sure his heart stopped as his breath caught in his throat. Her hair moved around her as she shifted in her seat, causing it to fall down her back and the loose hairs fell down the sides of her face. She tilted her head to look at him and her blue eyes, color akin to lyrium, pierced Cullen’s heart. His heart was pounding in his chest as he stared at the woman who looked identical to his lover. She had the same soft, pale skin and beautiful rosy pink lips. The only difference was the color of her hair. Evelyn’s hair was red and shoulder length, she was a warrior so she cut her hair for efficiency. This woman had long blonde hair. She leaned over towards his bed and gently placed her hand on his, tenderly squeezing it and nearly sending Cullen through the roof. She felt just like Evelyn, Cullen thought the Maker was mocking him. Playing with his emotions, he thought. What kind of hell would he wake up in without his love?

“You’re awake, how are you feeling?” She asked, knitting her brows together to examine his reaction. Makers breath, she even has her voice! Cullen decided this was punishment from the Maker himself, for something he did. Maybe it was for his actions towards mages from when he was young. Maybe it was punishment for stopping his lyrium intake? Something must have caused the Maker to pursue his wrath upon the man.

“I, uh, who are you?” He asks, starting to sweat from his nerves.

“Ella.” She smiles, making Cullen’s heart ache worse than it did before. “Do you remember what happened?”

“I’m not exactly sure. I don’t think you would believe me if I told you, I’m having a hard time believing it myself… I was so sure I...died.” Cullen breathed, his chest pinching.

“You were hit by a car.” Ella reminded him.

“A car? What in the void is that?” He questioned.

“The thing that hit you?” She asked, confused as to why he was asking what a car was. “I’ll, be right back…”

Ella wandered out of the room they were in and she found one of the nurses, she asked them to find the doctor for her. After about five minutes of waiting at the desk, the doctor found her and asked how Cullen was. “Are you sure you scanned everything?” She asked.

“I’m one hundred percent sure. Why?” He asks.

“He has no memory of what happened nor does he know what a car is.” Ella says skeptically.

“I’m sure he’s just suffering from amnesia since he’s coming off the anesthesia and because he hit his head when he was struck. I’m sure he’ll come around.” The doctor states, checking his clipboard full of papers.

“A-Are you sure?” She asks.

“I’m very sure. He can be discharged soon, so let’s make sure he finds a relative or a friend to stay with.” The doc suggests before waving goodbye and tending to another patient.

Ella walked away and went back into the room with Cullen. He was just laying there with his eyes closed and his hands over his face. He looked like he was shaking but Ella couldn’t be too sure. She got close to him and stood next to the bed “hey, are you alright?”

Cullen pulled his hands away from his face and revealed a face covered in tears and anguish. Ella had no idea what had gotten into him since she left but she was sure he was okay before! Why was he crying? Such a beautiful man crying before her, broke her heart. Ella had such a strong desire to help people and it was her calling. She was there at the right time and place when Cullen wandered out into the middle of the road and was struck. She wanted to help him so badly, her heart cried out for him, it was strange but Ella couldn’t help it.

“Oh, no, no, what’s the matter? Are you in pain? Should I go get a nurse?” She scrambled, ready to leave before Cullen grabbed a hold of her forearm to stop her.

“I am sorry. I am very confused by this world and my surroundings. I told you, you wouldn’t believe me..” He sobbed.

“I don’t understand… this world? Don’t you have any family or you know.. a girlfriend or a wife to stay with? Unless you’re not.. that’s cool, too.” She stuttered, trying to find the right words as she watches the handsome man fall apart before her eyes.

He was rather large with large muscles, his arms were littered with scars and so was his chest. He had sort of long, honey colored curls that hung down the base of his neck and above his forehead. His eyes were the color of amber and they were certainly a sight you could lose yourself in, the type that fictional characters only have. He observed her, his eyes raked over her whole body as he examined the woman in front of him. The feeling of his eyes made Ella think awful things and she doesn’t even know the guy! Of course, she was no stranger to the wandering eyes of men but his did not seek what most did. His eyes were looking for familiarity, he was looking for someone in her.

“My family and friends, along with my fiance died.” He whispers, almost looking like the words died was still new and foreign to him.

“I am so sorry… I had no idea. I’m an imbecile, I shouldn’t have asked. I only asked because the doctor told me to ask you.” She sighs, running her hands over her face and through her hair, letting out a groan of embarrassment.

“It is still a new pain to me but you are not at fault for asking.” Cullen said, trying to smile. He noticed the girl before him was flustered easily, something Evelyn was not. Ella had grown red in the face and neck and Cullen was sure it was because she was embarrassed. Evelyn was a wild spirit, she said whatever she wanted and did whatever she wanted to and when she wanted to. Although, the woman next to his bed seemed like a sincere creature, he barely remembered the conversation he heard while asleep and recognized she saved his life. Well, he had died and thought this was all an illusion but now… Now he’s sure it’s all real and that he has woken up in a different world. The guilt of being alive instead of all those poor people, instead of Evelyn, plagued his mind. Why me? He wondered why he was the lone survivor, would he ever cross paths with his friends or family again?

“I never got your name, the doctor needs it for your discharge papers.” Ella questioned.

“Cullen, Cullen Rutherford.” He replies, a sigh falling from his lips as he observed the line of fluid tucked into his hand. He watched as the liquid moved along from the little baggie hanging above his head into his skin. It was strange but he imagined it would not be there unless it was to help him and he did not have much fight left in him so, he laid his arm back down.

“Okay, Cullen, do you have anywhere to go once you’re discharged?” Ella asked, sitting back down in her chair.

“If I’ve no friends nor family, then no.” He responds, coldly.

“I apologize.” She sighs, hanging her head low before pulling out a new invention he’s never seen before. She fiddles with it, tapping on its surface a few times before holding it up to her ear. Is she communicating with that thing?

“Anna, hi, yeah it’s me, is my sister available?” Ella asks into the device. “Yes, thanks.”

#dragon age #dragon age Inquisition #dragon age video games #love #romance #cullen #cullen Rutherford #Cullen Stanton Rutherford #cullen rutherford fanfic #cullen rutherford romance #cullen stanton rutherford #cullen fan fiction #cullen romance

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rufousnmacska · 7 years

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Child of Peace 17 - Unmasked

Manorian adventures post EoS

(Umm, this one is longer than the others. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad?)

full work on AO3

master list of chapters

Manon’s eyes shot open and she jerked upright, gasping for breath. She glanced around anxiously, slowly remembering where she was. In the underground tunnels the Crochans had inhabited for hundreds of years. Not deep within the mountain at the Ferian Gap. Dorian was asleep next to her, unaware of her nightmare. Wiping the sweat from her face, she eased herself off of the bed. As she headed to the washroom, she checked Dorian’s watch. Almost 3:30. Gods, she thought with a heavy sigh. It’s too early and too late at the same time.

After splashing water on her face, Manon studied her reflection in the mirror. She’d lost weight. Not just from the travel rations they’d relied on before finding Berwyn. She’d been under so much stress recently. There had been moments when she thought she would fall apart if one more thing happened. And yet other moments when she’d almost laughed, punch drunk and wondering what fresh hell awaited her the next day. Her lips were slightly chapped. And a little swollen she now noticed, running her finger over them. That made her smile though, realizing the past weeks hadn’t been all bad. She had Dorian. And they’d found the Crochans. A grandmother she never knew existed. A niece...

She was going to meet Rhiannon’s daughter in a few hours. After dinner last night, Dorian had told her about the vision that had prompted her sister’s search. She’d sensed his hope, had seen it in his eyes. He’d thought the revelation would lessen her guilt, but he’d been wrong. If anything, the news had made her feel worse. That Rhiannon had acted upon a vision didn’t change Manon’s role in her death. She’d still killed her sister.

Staring into her own eyes, gold sparkling in the soft, magical light, she tried to forget the images that had awakened her. She’d dreamed of Rhiannon. Dreamed that it had been her own hands, not those of the Yellowlegs, inflicting the horrific wounds her sister had worn that day in the Omega. Manon hadn’t witnessed the beatings, but little had been left to the imagination. The Yellowlegs underlings had been brutal. And thorough.

A thought burst into her head. A question she’d never considered before. What would have happened if she had been ordered to administer the torture? Would things have ended differently if Rhiannon had been able to tell her the truth right away? Would Manon have even believed her? But the question that supplanted the others, quickly taking root in her mind… Would she have obeyed in the first place? The truth, she thought, dropping her head and turning away, unable to look at herself. The truth is… I would have.

Of course you would have obeyed. You killed her. What makes you think you wouldn’t have tortured her? You are a monster.

Manon took a shaky breath then made a split-second decision, returning to the bedroom. Dorian was still asleep but she didn’t hesitate to wake him. He sat up quickly, snapping a light on with his magic. “What? What’s happening?” When he found her face, he understood.

He laid back down and opened up the blankets, nodding for her to join him. “Come here.” When she’d settled against his chest and his arms were wrapped around her, he asked, “What happened? Was it a dream? Or the voice?” Shame washed over her and for a fleeting moment she wished she’d never told him about the voice. Sensing her feelings, he pulled her tighter. “I want to help Witchling.”

“Both,” she said finally. “Rhiannon had been tortured before...” She shook her head, unwilling to end the sentence. “In my dream I was the one who’d done it. And I can’t… I’m not sure…”

“You wonder if you would have followed the orders. If you’d been told to torture her,” he finished.

She nodded. If anyone could understand her doubts, it was Dorian. He had the same uncertainty when it came to his time spent under the control of a valg prince. And while they each felt confident telling the other those actions weren’t entirely their fault, neither could apply that same logic to themselves.

“I know I was in an impossible position. The Matron was threatening me and my coven. In front of the entire clan. But…” She trailed off. Logic and reason never seemed to make a dent in the guilt she felt from killing Rhiannon. Just then, another wave of hate-filled words rang through her head. “I can’t make it stop,” she whispered.

Then listen to me instead, he sent. I love you Manon. You are good, and strong, and loved. Don’t listen to it. Listen to me.

Dorian repeated the words like a mantra, over and over until the other voice eventually faded. It felt like an hour had passed but she had no idea for sure. Twisting around to face him, still in his arms, Manon put her hand on his cheek. “Thank you.”

He smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand. “Anything you need.” He brushed back her hair and said, “We can’t change our past Manon. But we can use it to draw a line.” He gave her a pointed look as he repeated words she’d once told him. “Use it to move forward. Make changes for the better.”

“Yes but that doesn’t help me with what I have to do today.”

“No,” he agreed. “You can’t make them forgive you. But they don’t really know you. Or what you’ve endured. They don’t know the circumstances of Rhiannon’s death. Maybe that knowledge will hasten their forgiveness, maybe not. Either way, I think talking will help.” He kissed her cheek. “And I think once Annabee gets to know you, the real you and not the reputation, the you behind the mask… That will make a difference.”

Dorian tried to stifle a yawn. “You can shut the light off,” she said. “I’ll be ok.” He raised an eyebrow, not believing her. Mirroring his expression, she said, “It’s late Princeling. I need to sleep. Besides, there’s nothing more to be done about it now.” He still looked skeptical so she closed her eyes and turned around so her back was against him, ending the matter. She heard him yawn again and smiled as he turned out the light.

Within minutes Dorian was sleeping again. Listening to his deep breathing, Manon thought she might actually get some rest too. But, as if that thought was an invitation, the reason she’d been awake in the first place pushed its way back in. The question she hadn’t been able to answer. Would she have tortured Rhiannon if ordered? She knew Dorian was right. She couldn’t change her past. And more importantly, it seemed pointless to speculate about something that had never even happened. Still, fading images from her nightmare continued to float through her head, slowly mixing with real memories of that day in the Omega. The Matron’s veiled threats. The evil glee Manon had seen in her eyes, not realizing at the time what the look had signified. Rhiannon’s bruised and broken body. Her words. Calling Manon a murderer, a monster made from birth. Goading her. The other witches calling for blood. All of them hounding her, pushing her to do it.

She’d always followed orders. Had always tried to please the Matron. To the point of doling out the same twisted forms of punishment the Matron favored. Especially when that bitch was watching. The thought seemed to come out of nowhere, but it made her realize something. She had punished the Thirteen, yes. But it had only ever been when she’d had to. When the threat of something worse loomed overhead. When they were at Blackbeak Keep, or the Omega. When others were present. The Matron or her minions. Shame filled her as she remembered how close she’d come to exiling Asterin. To killing her. I was close, she thought. But I didn’t do it.

Dorian’s arm was still around her and she shifted to lay her hand atop his. Maybe she would have disobeyed. Maybe that would have been the catalyst for her leaving instead of Asterin’s failed execution. If nothing else, maybe Rhiannon would have been able to tell her about their connection… Manon wasn’t sure that she’d have believed her right away. But she was sure it would have given her pause. It would have seeded her mind with doubts. Well, more doubts. With hindsight, she could see that she’d already been on her way to discovering her true self. No, she corrected, acknowledging my true self. The self beneath the mask.

The reputation she’d built wasn’t baseless. Manon knew she wasn’t innocent. Far from it. But… She had to admit it contained its fair share of… exaggerations. She was lethal and fearsome. But also loyal. And... There were times I disobeyed, she thought, remembering Asterin and Abraxos. Her certainty grew as she felt Dorian’s chest rise and fall against her back. Times when it was right for me to disobey. She was not evil. She was not immoral. She was not the Matron. Manon tensed, expecting to hear the dark voice in her head. But before it could surface, she copied what Dorian had done, repeating those words – not the matron – over and over again until she finally lost herself to sleep.

Aven joined them again for breakfast that morning. Upon her arrival, Manon felt odd. She supposed it was nerves, anxiety over knowing, and also not knowing, what was to come. Aven was kind, but thankfully, also blunt, not drawing out what she’d come to talk to them about.

“I’m sure Dorian shared what he and I discussed last night,” she said. Though she maintained her ever present smile, it didn’t reach her eyes. “Rhiannon was a seer. Her visions were often prophetic, but sometimes she saw into the past.” She narrowed her eyes as she continued. “It runs in our family actually. Have you had them Manon?”

“Once. I think.” She glanced towards Dorian. “But I wasn’t aware of what was happening.”

“It wasn’t a vision of the future or past,” Dorian said. “It was more like… You became aware of things you said you had no knowledge of. You fell into a trance, then said we were all connected. We all had a part to play.”

They both turned to Aven, expecting an explanation. But the little old witch merely shrugged. “Well, it can skip generations. If you were a true seer you’d know it. You’d be sure.” Then, as if the topic of Manon’s vision was closed, she began to pour more tea for each of them.

She knows more than she’s letting on, Dorian sent her. Any time she can’t change the subject, she claims ignorance.

Manon agreed, and told him so. But she didn’t think Aven was acting out of malice. She doesn’t want to scare us off, she thought, sharing it with Dorian. She’s giving us bits and pieces when she thinks we can handle it. She caught Dorian’s nod from the corner of her eye, but before she could think on it more, Aven continued.

“She spared me many details of what she saw, but Rhiannon knew what would happen if she searched for you. She knew she would not return. She said she would die by your hand…”

Manon stopped listening, stopped hearing anything. She was back in the Omega, crouching above Rhiannon, dagger in her hand, dripping with blue blood, the room ringing with cries of death and bloodlust-

“Manon. Look at me.”

Aven’s voice was firm and commanding, pulling her back to the here and now. “Rhiannon knew you would be the one to end her suffering. Those were the words she used.”

Manon stared into Aven’s dark brown eyes. “Suffering,” she muttered. “She’d been… beaten. Before… Before my grandmother…“ Manon stopped and looked away. She felt Dorian’s hand on her back. Heard him speaking to Aven. She only caught a few words. Matron. Punishment. Petrah. Closing her eyes, she shut them out, fixating on the many questions that came rushing through her mind. How could Rhiannon have left her family, willingly going to her death? Had she let herself be captured? What possible reason could have led her to do it? Why?

Noticing the silence around her, Manon looked up to find Dorian and Aven watching her. She had so many questions but could only ask, “Why?”

“Oh witchling,” Aven said softly, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She reached across the table and took Manon’s hands into her own. “I wish I had a good answer to that. Something that would take away all of your pain and guilt. Something that would have granted me a life with both of my granddaughters. Together.”

Dorian straightened and said, “Nehemiah.” He turned to Manon. “The gods sent Rhiannon the vision, like Nehemiah…” He kept his face neutral but Manon heard the hint of disgust in his voice. “She was told she needed to sacrifice herself to get you to act.”

Manon remembered the lovely, regal woman from the witch mirror. Elena had given her instructions to do whatever was necessary to push Dorian or Aelin into action against Erawan. As a result, the Eyllwe princess had arranged her own death to provoke Aelin.

Aven nodded to Dorian. “That sounds likely. As I said, Rhiannon did not share all of the details. But she went convinced that it was the only way to bring Manon home.” Then, to Manon directly, she said, “To prepare you for what is to come.”

No longer able to mask his anger, Dorian asked, “And what the hell does that mean? ‘What’s to come’?”

But Manon thought she knew. “The wyrdkey. We are all connected,” she whispered. Dorian turned abruptly to look at her. “It is here.”

“Yes,” Aven said simply.

She and Dorian had both suspected it was here, hoped it was here. Gambled everything that it was here. And though Aven had all but confirmed it by things she’d said, for some reason, hearing it spoken aloud, so matter-of-fact… Manon felt a strange chill creep over her and she glanced at Dorian. He was trying to contain his anger, and subsequently his magic. She took hold of his hand and he seemed to calm.

“We all have a part,” Manon said, squeezing his hand. She turned to Aven, giving her a hard but not unfriendly look. “But I suspect this is not the time to learn what our roles are. Yes?”

Aven smiled, dipping her head in confirmation.

Manon felt the air around them get slightly colder. It’s ok Dorian. I trust her. And she’s right. Annabee is waiting for us. He turned to face her, staring into her eyes, as if trying to decide if things were in fact ok. She smiled and nodded once. He released a breath and pulled her hand to his lips. Her smile had felt fake. Had been fake, a brave front she was putting on for the benefit of all of them. But with his kiss, she felt a surge of love, and admiration, and respect. And strength. As he pulled away, she touched Dorian’s cheek, returning her love for him.

Then, turning back to Aven, Manon said, “I think I should meet Annabee.”

Minutes later, they were in Aven’s sitting room. She’d gone down the hall to fetch Annabee, leaving Manon and Dorian alone. Silently, they both studied the space around them. A large desk, overflowing with books and papers, dominated a corner of the room. Sketches of landscapes and people covered the walls to either side of it. The stone wall opposite the desk was lined with wooden book shelves, filled with volumes of varying ages, as made obvious by their state of disrepair. Dorian was doing his best to remain seated next to her. But his eyes kept moving back to the shelves, his head tilting to one side in order to read any titles that were visible.

“I give you permission to go look at them,” she said, hoping to distract herself while they waited.

He quickly turned back to her, a sheepish expression flashing across his face. “No, no. I’m just…,” he trailed off. “You give me permission?”

With a sharp tone and sharper grin, she asked, “Am I not your Queen?”

He watched her through narrowed eyes, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face. He leaned closer to her and opened his mouth to say something when the door opened. They both flinched, having forgotten their surroundings and the reason they were here.

Manon rose, unsure of how to act in this moment, forcing her hands to remain still at her sides. She hated feeling this way. So uncertain, so unlike herself. But as Aven slowly came inside, Manon made the decision to let it go. She needed them to see the real her. Wanted them to see the real her. If that meant seeing her vulnerable and exposed... So be it. She didn’t like it. But she could get through it. Sensing Dorian standing behind her, she slipped her hand around her back and he grasped it tightly.

Aven stepped aside, revealing a tall, slender witchling, her hair the same brilliant shade of white as Manon’s. Dorian had been right. The witchling looked like her, in the way close relatives often do. But what she hadn’t expected, what caused her to gasp in disbelief, was that the witchling looked familiar for reasons other than their relatedness.

Manon reached for the chair to steady herself, suddenly overcome by an urge to flee. Or fight. Something, anything, to use up the adrenaline coursing through her. It took what felt like minutes for her to remember the Matron was not here. Did not know what she had done. Was not going to punish her. Dorian moved to stand next to her but all of her attention was on the witchling. Annabee, she thought shaking her head, understanding building inside her. Little Bee.

She must have said it aloud. The witchling’s steely expression vanished, replaced by confusion. “You… You remember me?” she asked softly.

Dorian and Aven looked rapidly back and forth between them. “You know each other?” Dorian asked.

Manon sat down, no longer able to stand. How was this possible? This witchling was her niece. What were the chances?! They continued to stare at each other.

When she didn’t answer him, Dorian turned to Annabee. “What is going on?”

Annabee looked at Aven. “I didn’t think she’d remember… She was there Grandmother. The day my father was killed.” All eyes fell on Manon. “She was the one who helped me escape.”

The room fell deathly silent. Manon looked at Dorian and almost laughed. Almost sobbed. These fucking gods, she thought. I don’t know how much more I can take Dorian. Her hand was shaking and he grabbed it.

Manon. You’re the strongest person I know.

He held her gaze for several moments, long enough for her to regain some semblance of control, then he asked, “Can you tell us what happened?”

Manon turned back to look at Annabee. She was met with gorgeous, coppery brown eyes. Wary, but not hateful. Not accusatory. Not what she’d expected. The young witch seemed genuinely surprised that Manon had remembered her. Manon shook her head in wonder. How could she not remember the witchling? It had been over thirty years ago, but Manon remembered as if it were yesterday. She’d been assigned to the southern corner of Terrasen, near Perranth, sent to hunt Crochans.

Annabee didn’t look as though she was going to speak about it, so Manon cleared her throat and began.

Each day was the same. Manon woke early, trained with her sword or knives, decided on a section of the territory to search, and then returned to camp empty-handed. She didn’t expect to find any Crochans here. In fact, they were getting harder and harder to find, regardless of where the Blackbeaks were sent. Mother Blackbeak was becoming increasingly irate at the lack of trophies brought back by the coven. Manon wasn’t terribly concerned. Her previous six month mission had yielded two Crochan kills. Old witches who looked as though they wouldn’t last much longer. Some Crochans seemed to let themselves age after a certain point. She suspected it had more to do with the eventual disenchantment of immortality than a desire to blend in amongst the humans. While it had technically been a successful hunt, it had done nothing to distinguish Manon in her grandmother’s eyes. It had bought her time though. If she found no Crochans here, she could return home without too many questions. Without severe punishment at least.

Oakwald had never intrigued Manon the way it did some of her coven. But, the newly crowned King of Adarlan was making advances on the forest, threatening the remaining Fae and other magical creatures. He was very young, having gained the throne after the short illness that took his father. Mother Blackbeak hadn’t spared much thought for him though, saying he was nothing for them to worry about. Manon had held her tongue, not offering her reasons to disagree with the decision to ignore the King. It wasn’t her place. Yet. When the title of Matron was passed to her, she would revisit the Blackbeak stance on Adarlan.

Today, in need of supplies, she made her way into Perranth. Not wanting to attract too much attention, she left her broom hidden back in camp, walking the few miles to the village. Her red cloak would draw eyes of course. Perhaps even lure in a Crochan. But the walk would do her good.

She arrived at the town square around mid-morning. It was a market day, vendors lining the main streets selling food, crafts, clothing, all manner of goods. While making her way through the crowds, Manon kept her senses attuned for signs of any witches. But it was mostly just habit. Instinct. As she started down a row that included a blacksmith selling knives, she decided to take her time and enjoy a break from the past few weeks of fruitless searching.

Annabee pulled her father through the streets, anxious to see everything. She was finally old enough to accompany him to Perranth for medicines and other healing supplies. And after a journey that took two days, she wasn’t going to miss a thing.

They’d arrived the evening before, too late to go into the town. So, they’d gone straight to Auntie Silene’s house, her father’s great aunt who lived just outside of Perranth. Annabee had never met Silene before, but she’d heard all kinds of stories about her. The little old witch had hair almost as white as her own. But unlike hers, Silene’s had strands of gray, marking it as a sign of age. Still, it was the closest thing to her hair that Annabee had ever seen.

Father had spent the morning buying everything he needed to take back to Berwyn. He’d promised they could take the rest of the day doing whatever she wanted. First, she wanted to go see the animals for sale. Kittens and puppies, but also chickens and goats and pigs. She knew she couldn’t take any back home. And they had all those animals in Berwyn. But she wanted to check if there were different breeds here, ones she’d never seen before. After that, she wanted to get pastries from the bakery they’d passed. The chocolate cupcakes in the front window had made her mouth water. Then, she wanted to watch the puppet show that was setting up in the main square. Father had laughed, saying he couldn’t have planned a better day.

As they waited in line at the bakery, Annabee kept staring out the window, watching all the people go by. Perranth was a lot bigger than Berwyn. She wondered if any passersby were witches. Auntie Silene said there were some Crochans in this part of Terrasen, but they stayed well hidden. The King of Terrasen was a friend to the Crochans. But the Ironteeth clans weren’t. And they didn’t adhere to borders. Which was why they had the Maze on the other side of the mountains. The farther Crochans lived from the Wastes, the greater the risk of being found. But Grandmother had said each witch had to choose. They couldn’t be forced to live in the Maze or the topside villages nearest the Wastes.

A couple stood from a little table just outside the bakery so Annabee ran out to claim it, making sure Father saw her. As she sat, a flash of bright red caught her eye. She turned to see a tall woman walking down the street, her red cape fluttering behind her as she moved. Annabee knew it was a Crochan cape and almost ran after the witch. But she held back, curious about why the witch would wear it so brazenly. When she stopped at a food vendor, the witch pushed back her hood and Annabee gasped. A pure white braid was piled in the fallen fabric. The witch pulled it around to fall down her chest. Annabee watched, breathless and wide eyed, as the beautiful witch made her way down the street, disappearing around a corner.

When her father came out, he surprised her with a cup of hot chocolate to go with her cupcake. Annabee told him about the witch in the red cape and he stood and looked around, but she was gone. Biting into the cupcake and getting frosting on her nose, she forgot about the witch, too intent on the delicious sweet.

After the bakery, they made their way to the square. Kids were running from all directions, jostling to get seats close to the stage. But Annabee stayed still, holding Father’s hand. They found a bench towards the back, and he made sure she was able to see.

As they waited for the puppet show to begin, she felt Father stiffen next to her and he took hold of her hand. She looked up to see him staring over her head. He looked like he was trying very hard not to react, but she could tell something was very wrong. Annabee turned slowly to see what was there, but Father squeezed her hand hard, making her jump and look back to him.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I need for you to go back to Auntie Silene’s house sweetheart. Can you remember the way?”

She nodded, terror flooding her little body, tears filling her eyes.

“It’s ok Little Bee,” he said, rubbing her back. “I think there might be an Ironteeth witch nearby. I need you to go back to Auntie Silene’s. I will too but I’ll take a different road. Just like we talked about. Ok?”

She nodded again. The certainty in his voice made her fear subside a little. He kissed the top of her head as she stood and she began walking out of the square. Annabee knew not to run, not to call attention to herself. But it took all of her courage not to do it anyway. She hadn’t seen an Ironteeth witch in the square, so she hoped Father was mistaken.

When she turned down a side street that they’d taken on their way into the town, she heard a faint commotion from the square. Annabee froze, not sure if she should run, or turn to see where Father was. She decided to go back, but she did it quietly, peeking around the corner of a building to look into the square.

At the far end of the space, she saw Father disappear down a narrow street, a fearsome looking woman following closely behind. Annabee could just barely make out a yellow band around the witch’s head. She shrank back, feeling like she might be sick. A Yellowlegs witch. After Father. And then she would come after her.

She turned and ran back down the street, veering off between two buildings to vomit. She fell to her knees, landing in the mess, her hands shaking. What was she going to do? Father told her to run but what if he needed help?

The witch in the red cape.

Where had she gone? Annabee wiped the tears from her face and stood, turning in a circle trying to think of where to go, where to look. She ran, taking side streets that skirted the square but would get her to where Father had disappeared.

It felt like forever, but minutes later, after racing though crowds and not seeing the red cape, Annabee reached the street she’d seen her Father run down. She glanced down an alley as she ran past and then skidded to a stop. Turning back, she peered around the corner to see the Yellowlegs witch kneeling over a body. The witch raised her arm, a short sword shining in her hand. As the sword came down, Annabee opened her mouth. But a hand came from behind and covered her face, pulling her back before she could scream.

Manon had seen the Yellowlegs bitch skulking around the market and decided to steer clear of her. She thought the witch’s name was Iskra. But she wasn’t sure. She never put much effort into learning the names of the Yellowlegs. They were so far beneath her and the Thirteen that she simply didn’t want to waste her time on them. So, she’d chosen to ignore the witch. She had all she needed and was ready to head back to her camp in Oakwald.

But as she turned to go, she heard something coming from the direction of the Yellowlegs. Shit, she thought. If that bitch found a Crochan and Mother Blackbeak found out… Manon would get a beating like nothing she’d received for a long time. Pissed at the possibility of having to fight a Crochan and a Yellowlegs, Manon turned around and headed back towards the center of the town.

As she followed the sounds and scents, Manon noticed a small girl running ahead of her. She stood out for two reasons. First, the girl’s hair was as white as Manon’s. She’d only ever seen that color on her Shadows, before they’d started dying it black to better conceal themselves. But stranger than that, the girl seemed to be headed to the same place Manon was.

When the girl stopped and looked down a small alley, Manon slowed, quietly sneaking up behind her. Without making her presence known, Manon stretched to look around the corner. Shit! From the looks of things, Iskra was about to take the head off of a Crochan.

Manon glanced down at the girl, realizing at that instant what was happening. She was no girl. She was a witchling. A Crochan. How Manon had not noticed that earlier…she must have been too distracted by Iskra to sense it.

As Iskra’s arm came down, Manon saw the witchling tense, as if about to run and try to stop the witch. But if that happened, she would be dead before she knew what hit her. Acting on pure instinct, Manon grabbed the witchling, covered her mouth to keep her from screaming, turned, and ran.

The witchling squirmed in her arms, struggling to get free to run back to whoever was in that alley. It must have been her mother, Manon thought. She’d seen the Crochan’s bare arm, the deep brown color of her skin similar to that of the witchling. Bile rose in her throat at the thought. She had no love for the Crochans. But the idea of a young witchling left without a mother… She thought that was a worse fate than her own. She’d never known her mother and had always told herself that not knowing her had been a blessing. It had left her with no one to properly miss. No reason to dredge up emotions that would only weaken her.

After a few turns, the witchling stopped trying to wriggle free. Probably too shocked to fight back. No one gave Manon a second look as she carried her out of the town, towards Oakwald. Manon didn’t have time to think about what she was doing or why, she only knew she needed to get far away from Iskra.

Once she was more than a mile into the forest, Manon stopped, setting the little witch against a tree. Her face was wet from tears and she was gasping for breath.

“What’s your name?” she asked. She tried to keep her voice light, not wanting to scare her.

Manon had to repeat her question several times before the witchling whispered, “Little Bee.” Her eyes were glazed over, focused on nothing.

“Bee? I think you should have some water. Are you hungry?”

Bee didn’t respond, but when Manon held her canteen up to the witchling’s mouth, she drank it down in a few gulps. Uncertain of what to do next, Manon sat down beside her. She was a sweet little thing. Her bright hair was done in small braids, each with a different colored string twisted in. Manon reached into a small bag and pulled out a caramel, handing it to Bee. The water and sugar seemed to help. Her ashen face gained back some of its color and her breathing evened out.

Watching her, Manon frowned, the full realization of what she’d done finally hitting her. What did I just do? What am I supposed to do with her now?

Manon flinched as Bee leaned against her shoulder, reaching up to take Manon’s braid into her small hand.

“I saw you in the market,” she said softly. “I came looking for you. For help.”

Manon swallowed. Gods. She thought I was a Crochan.

“I… I didn’t know what was happening,” Manon said. Without thinking, she added, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

Sorry?! Was she sorry? She’d gone intending to make the kill herself. Why was she lying? Why was she even helping this witchling? The Blackbeaks had a rule against killing children, human or witch. But that didn’t mean she’d had to save this one.

Bee gasped suddenly and stood. “I need to go. The Yellowlegs might find my Auntie! I need to get to her. Warn her!”

“Wait. Calm down,” Manon said, taking hold of her arm to keep her from running off. “You have an aunt who lives around here?”

Fresh tears were running down Bee’s cheeks. “Yes, please! Can you help us? She’s old. I don’t think she can fight an Ironteeth.”

Manon's chest ached at the desperation in the witchling’s voice. She was beginning to panic. “Here, take some deep breaths. If you know where she lives, I will take you there.”

Following Manon’s lead, the little witch breathed in, then blew out, her cheeks bulging from the effort. Manon couldn’t help a small smile. “You’re awfully brave.” The witchling returned her smile, though it was a sad smile. “And we’ll get to your aunt. I promise.” She looked around, realizing Bee likely wouldn’t be able to find her way from the forest. “Shall we go back towards the town? Then you can point me in the direction of your aunt’s house.”

Bee nodded, taking Manon’s hand in her own. Manon tensed at the touch, not sure how to respond to such overt affection. But looking into the witchling’s eyes, seeing the trust there, the faith that Manon would deliver her to safety… She smiled again and squeezed the little hand. “Let’s go.”

Annabee didn’t remember much about their walk to Auntie Silene’s. She’d known the way from the town, it hadn’t been difficult. But she’d made herself focus on the red cloak. The strong hand that held hers. The silky braid that was the same color as hers. The glittering gold eyes that seemed to steady her. Anything to forget the image of her father lying in that alley. The Yellowlegs witch standing over him. Her sword as it arced through the air. No, don’t think about it, she told herself.

She felt a squeeze of her hand and looked up. The beautiful witch smiled down at her and she forgot about the sights that had just run through her head. “It’s just over this hill,” Annabee said.

When they reached the crest, the witch stopped. “Maybe you should go the rest of the way. I need to get back to my camp.”

“There might be Ironteeth,” Annabee said, suddenly scared again.

“I don’t sense any,” the witch said. “Only your Crochan aunt.” But after she looked back down and saw Annabee’s worry, she gave in, pulling her hood over her head as they continued towards the house.

“If she’s ok, I’m sure she’ll cook you dinner. As a thanks for helping me,” Annabee said, trying to think of an excuse to keep the witch around. But she didn’t answer, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

When they reached the door, the witch hesitated, then knocked. Auntie Silene peeked through the window. The door was opened seconds later. Annabee dropped the witch’s hand and ran to her aunt, crying. Auntie Silene hugged her and looked to the other witch in confusion. When their eyes met, Annabee felt her aunt freeze. And then before she knew what was happening she was pulled inside and forced behind her aunt. Annabee tried to move around her towards the Crochan, but her aunt blocked her. She felt magic ring through the air, but she wasn’t sure who it was coming from.

“I found your niece in Perranth. Her mother was killed by Iskra Yellowlegs. She may still be in the area. If you have some place to hide, I suggest you go there. Now.”

Annabee frowned, wondering why the witch’s voice was so much harsher than it had been with her. She was about to tell her it had been her father who died when Auntie Silene asked, “And what of you?” Annabee flinched at the hate in her voice. She peeked around, worried that the Crochan might be offended by her aunt’s behavior.

The witch tilted her head to look at Annabee, offering her a small smile. Then, to Auntie Silene, the smile disappearing, she said, “What of me? I was never here.” She turned her back on them and left.

Auntie Silene slammed the door, locked it, and took Annabee into a back room. She pulled up a rug, opened a small door in the floor, and sent Annabee down a ladder.

“What about my things? Fathers things?” She didn’t want to cry again but the thought of leaving his clothes behind seemed too much.

As she came down the ladder, Auntie Silene said, “It’s not important dear. We need to leave. Get you back to your mother. That’s important.” Then, she went back up the ladder and sealed the door with her magic.

They made their way through a long, dark tunnel. Annabee lost track of time. Which made her think about Father. But each time she saw him in the alley, she tried to think about the white-haired Crochan who’d saved her instead. Eventually, she noticed a faint light ahead. As they neared it, Annabee realized it was moonlight. They came out into the forest near a little hamlet. Barely more than a few houses and a tiny inn. Auntie Silene went to one of the houses and knocked. They were ushered in by an old male Crochan, who fed them and let them spend the night. His daughter would take Annabee to Berwyn. It was too hard a trip for Auntie Silene to make, but she’d stay with Annabee until the next day.

Annabee cried herself to sleep that night, trying hard to think about the white-haired Crochan instead of her father. She didn’t want to ignore him, forget him. But it hurt too much to think about him. Despite her best efforts though, his face took over and replaced the witch in her mind. As she began to nod off, Annabee realized she’d never asked the witch her name.

“You never told anyone,” Dorian said in amazement. Manon wasn’t sure if he meant it for her or Annabee.

The witchling answered, but she addressed Manon. “I didn’t know who you were, who you really were, until years later. And when I’d been brought back home and my mother found out what had happened...” She trailed off, frowning. “If I did describe you to her... Well, I suppose it got lost in everything else that we were going through. The loss of my father was very hard on her. Well, both of us.” It took her a moment to continue. “And Aunt Silene was the only person who’d known. She hadn’t known my mother. Why she never sent a message… I don’t know.”

“And when you did realize?” Dorian asked.

Annabee glanced away, and Manon thought she saw an apology in the expression. “I overheard some of my friends talking about the White Demon. How she wore a Crochan cloak and used it to lure witchlings into her clutches.” She let out a derisive laugh. “How she had white hair like me. They actually wondered if we were related. Teased me about it. Asked if I was evil too because of my hair.”

Under her breath, Aven said, “Little bastards.”

“It’s ok Grandmother,” Annabee said with a smirk. “Their teasing didn’t last long.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and said, “Gods. You three are definitely related. Remind me not to piss any of you off.”

Manon turned abruptly, eyes wide in horror at his flippant remark. But Dorian just smiled and she realized Aven and Annabee were laughing quietly.

“I thought you’d already learned that lesson Dorian,” Annabee said, still smiling. When she looked at Manon however, her smile faded.

Manon felt very uncomfortable. Partly because she didn’t understand how they could all be joking right now. But most of her unease came from the question she desperately wanted to ask. The question that had been bothering her for a very long time. Since that day at the Omega. She didn’t think she deserved an answer. And she worried that it was unfair of her to ask it of Annabee. But...

She looked at each of them before settling on Annabee, then asked, “Would you tell me about her? Your mother?” Manon didn’t bother to cover the way her voice had broken with the question. She didn’t try to hide the pain she felt. The remorse. She laid herself bare to Annabee, her mask gone, useless. Not with the expectation that it would bring forgiveness. But with hope. With the simple desire that these two witches, the grandmother and niece she’d been denied her entire life, might see her for who she really was. Not the reputation she’d created to survive. Not the monster she’d been forced to be. But the person she was trying to be. The person she wanted to be.

Annabee stared at her for a long while, seeming to struggle with her answer. Finally, she nodded and simply said, “Ok.”

She noticed Aven wave a hand at Dorian and gesture towards the door. He sent her a silent question and she nodded, smiling as he kissed her forehead. She heard Aven mention a nearby library to Dorian as they left. His reaction made both Manon and Annabee snort in laughter.

Once they were gone, Manon turned her attention back to Annabee, who asked, “So, what would you like to know?”

Manon smiled. “Everything.”

To be continued...

(As always, thank you to @itach-i and @propshophannah for writing help and their brilliant character analyses!)

#manorian #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #manon x dorian #manorian fanfiction #child of peace #my writing #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #sarah j maas #crochan witches #blackbeak witches

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