#elen’s garden

[elen-aranel]

i saw a mouse in the garden this afternoon. i told it if I were a cat it would be toast

#if not toast an offering to my humans borne in my mouth #elen’s garden #seriously mouse if a human sees you multiple times the neighbour cats will eat you #mouse #it was cute though #musings of the girl from outer space

[doodle-pops]

Hate You, Love You, It's The Same Thing

Curufin x reader

Warnings: none

Words: 1.3k

Synopsis: Curufin can't tell if he hated or loved you, but all he knew was that he felt some attraction towards you.

[Q]: Nai elen siluva omentielva — may the stars shine upon our meeting.

Curufin can’t stand you at all.

The way you smile, or how your eyes crinkle at the corners to produce an extra sparkle in your eyes, the little dimple at the corner of your lips or the way you toss your head back when the joke escalates, or how you would cover your mouth with your right hand—always your right—to hide your smile you once admitted to being embarrassed about; he couldn’t stand you. The longer he looked on, the more agitated he grew—it was the growth in the audience you attracted. Every time you stepped out into public, there was always a crowd, you simply couldn’t have attention on you at all times.

He rolled his eyes when you grew flustered at his older brother's jokes. Maedhros and Maglor, the famously attractive Noldorin Princes. To think that Curufin, after being labelled as a replica of his father would also be considered one of the most handsome elves, was a laughable joke.

Atarinkë. Call me mini father and I don’t even sport a single portion of his looks. If I did, you’d think I would have also attracted many people like him.

He continued to look on as you lifted the wine glass to your lips and took in a deep swig before sighing at the relief you must have felt from suffering a dry throat. All that laughter you had engaged in during the festival, and it wasn’t even nightfall yet. Teleperion was now coming into full bloom, overshadowing Laurelin. He scoffed again. Even Caranthir approached to offer you another glass of miruvórё when he noticed yours reducing; you had all his brothers wrapped around your fingers, and what did you do, flash a smile. Curufin knew that you knew what you were doing, and he hated it.

In fact, it’s not that he couldn’t stand you, he loathed you. Yes, he did.

Huffing and puffing in the deepest corner of the garden, he observed couples stumbling about the ground with unkept clothes, rumpled in areas that spoke of their activities or attempts. Intoxicated he could tell, others merely frivolous, and in his heart, it stung him. It pained him to know that everyone else, even the ones he mocked and considered unappealing and unapproachable were busy being swooned and courted while he remained untouched and unsuited.

Humiliation was not a pleasant and welcoming emotion in the House of Feanor, his father would be quick to inform him to dismiss such feelings. But as much as Curufin attempted to cast it aside, it came crawling back to him like a leach. The sluggish sensation creeping through his veins and pumping its deprivation through his bloodstream forced him to empty his glass and reach for another as a worker made a quick pass through the layout of the grounds.

“Oi, háno! What are you doing sulking all by yourself in a corner? It’s most certainly not like you!” Tyelko’s booming traversed the area, sending shockwaves from his volume of speech. Only Tyelko would ignore his volume and manners, and annoyingly call out his favourite brother without the thought of being counselled.

If Curufin was aggravated, he became infuriated when not only the rest of his brothers cast their eyes upon his shadowed figure, but you. Your kind, sympathetic eyes held his in an unbreakable trance. He felt himself slowly slipping on the ice, but landing on green, luscious grass. He felt himself being transported into a windy field with small rolling hills in the distance, short-kept grass, flowers in their full bloom and radiant abundance and you standing there with the wind in your hair and a gorgeous smile. He could feel how cool the summer breeze was, dancing across his skin and planting kisses as their travel. It was years since the wind had ever felt so divine. As you smiled, there was nectar pouring into his mouth. He couldn't spit it out, even if he wanted to; he didn't want to, he enjoyed the succulent richness of its taste.

He definitely hated you.

“I think he’s broken.”

“I haven’t seen him this lost since we left him in the forest that one time.”

“Think he’s probably drunk?”

“Have you ever seen him drunk?”

Gapping at you the longer your eyes held each other’s gaze, he silently grounded his teeth. He hated you, he chanted, but the butterflies in his stomach and the warmth spread through his skin, starting from his heart sang a different tale. Sharp silver-grey eyes continued to stare, and even you were sucked in the longer your heart swelled. Curufin didn’t know how long he stood there in silence gawking at you, but it was enough to become unconscious to your figure approaching his. The crowded silence had died in the background and his brother’s voices had been shut out the moment you left their company to join his.

You stood before him, shorter than most but tall enough to equate his height. His eyes were still locked onto your figure, not realising that you had already crossed the grounds and stood before him, a foot apart. Curufin was still lost in your world, your paradise, refusing to believe that you truly possessed what he already knew you did. He didn’t want to leave, but he also wanted to upkeep his notorious attitude of being unbothered and disinterested. That thread was growing thinner by the second and his patience becoming precarious the longer he spent time in your presence.

But it took a smile from you and a simple greeting to make him shut down.

“Hello, my prince. Nai elen siluva omentielva.” You greeted politely with a curt bow of your head and your hand extending outwards. The same smile he claimed to hate was accompanied by the greeting. You were angelic, or some deity that did not exist in his world or any other realm; too perfect for him to reach out and embrace.

While he thought of himself as high and mighty for bearing his father’s name and the status of a prince, he felt humbled. The genuineness you held in your eyes stripped him bare of all fear and worries that you would judge his character; the one he fought to uphold in honour of another and not himself. You deserved to be treated with the utmost care.

“G-Greetings,” he stuttered with a slight crack in his voice. His eyes made a rough dart behind you and noticed his brothers all gathered to observe. If you weren’t present, he’d toss his glass of wine on them, but then it would be a waste of good mead.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you…looked lonely and I wanted to ask if you would like a stroll in the garden or nearby the lake?” Why didn’t you say he was staring? He was most obviously staring at you; anyone on the premises could see that he was in fact gawking at you.

His palms grew sweaty, and his throat tightened. He hated you, so why would you with your beautiful wine-stained lips and starry eyes ask to spend time in his company? There was a thump in his heart. His tongue grew slack and spoke what he refused to acknowledge sincerely. “…Yes,” he curtly replied. A rosy blush had spread across his cheeks, and it was not from the wine. The unversed unorthodox feeling flowing through his veins was unlike any other he’d experienced. A whisper or two may have slipped into his ear growing up, but never detailed or spoken about on universal levels such as currently.

Uncoordinated body and trembling limbs reached out for you to take—tales of being a courteous gentleman—and almost accidentally spilling your wine. It was a first step into making a move and rewiring the oxymoron his brain and heart were performing, getting them to be on the same level. But even the prince knew that it was a challenge to accept when he detested and craved you at the same time, and a challenge he adored. You gave him a breath of fresh air and something to look forward to, a love unlike any other he would ever experience.

To hate is to love, they are two sides of the same coin. Ah, yes! He definitely hated you.

Masterlist | Underrated Character Event Masterlist |

Taglist: @eunoiaastralwings @noldorinpainter @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @singleteapot @the-phantom-of-arda @rain-on-my-umbrella @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @bunson-burner @stormchaser819 @wisheduponastar

#underratedcharacterevent #curufin x reader #curufin imagine #curufin scenario #curufin fluff #curufin #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fluff #silmarillion fic #silmarillion scenario #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #house of feanor #feanorians #sons of feanor #curufinwë #curufinwe #atarinke #x reader fluff #x reader insert #fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

[tigerlyla-of-metinna]

Empress Ciri Visits Beauclair

Ciri: *childlike enthusiasm* Oooh they are so beautiful! *coos* Hey there little fellas!

Emhyr: *chuckles* Ciri, you need to get properly attired for an audience with Anna Henrietta. you can gawk at those fishes later.

Ciri: *whispers* I'm coming back and have you all swimming in my garden pond.

Emhyr: Duchess, I present to you my daughter and heir, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon- Emreis.

Anna Henrietta: Welcome to Toussaint, Your Imperial Majesties!

Ciri: Thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.

Anna Henrietta: It is an honor to have you visit my kingdom, Princess. I hope that one day we can dispense with the formalities as we are a family. Now, is there anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant?

Ciri: Well, it would be discourteous of me to refuse such an offer-

Emhyr: *internally sighing* Cirilla.

Emhyr: Daughter, you do realize you can just buy the same fishes in the capital.

Ciri: I know, Papa. But I like these better! And I don't have to justify their purchase from the treasurer when I can acquire them for free, and with the Duchess's blessing.

Emhyr: Very cunning of you, daughter. *beaming with pride*

Ciri: These beauties will keep that pretentious carp in the pond company, and if he eats any of them, I'll have that fish served to the city's soup kitchen and they can keep its' medal!

-The End!

A little AU, ficlet (or whatever it's called) for fun. SBUI shots by ning, my captions and edits in PS

#emhyr var emreis #cirilla fiona elen riannon #empress cirilla #emhyr #nilfgaard #toussaint #anna henrietta #witcher 3 wild hunt #the witcher 3 #fan fiction #witcher au

[hiddenqveendom]

✎ character profile : PETRONELLA OF CINTRA

❝ petronella elen adalia calanthe, best know as petra of cintra, is the fraternal twin sister of cirilla of cintra. as the mirror of her father, she was often cast out and disfavored in place of her sister. due to this, she became filled with spite and was easily manipulated into joining the cause of the white flame by her friend the court mage, vincen, despite not knowing it’s true meaning. petra is used by emhyr to help track down, ciri...❞

tag list :@erraticrandomficwriter , @jewishbarbies , @sgtbuckyybarnes ,  @decennia , @veetlegeuse, @arrthurpendragon , @raith-way , @scootermcooter , @stanshollaand , @chrissymunson , @foxesandmagic , @eddiemunscns ,  @waterloou , @endless-oc-creations, @kingsmakers, @https-svnshine, @starlit-epiphany, @dyhlanobrien, @fragilestorm , @nolanhollogay , @carmens-garden , @impales , @emilykaldwen, @darkwolf76, @princessmadelines, @iloveocs, @nectarines-rule , @nyra-fireheart , @rebloggingocs , @conaionaru , @eddysocs , @xoteajays

send me a message to be added / removed !

#ocappreciation #fyeahwitcherocs #allaboutocs #oc:petra #fic:incandescence #fandom:the witcher #witcher oc #queerocs #occentral #ochub #cirilla of cintra #calanthe of cintra #emhyr var emreis #pavetta #*mine #plot bunny #ocsnetwork #oc community #ruby cruz #freya allan #finally posted something #*file series #the witcher

[fernthewhimsical]

Original Content Masterpost

A masterpost for all original content (I could find) here on this blog. Some of it is old and doesn't really apply to my path anymore, so please be aware of the dates. In no particular order.

Magic and Spells: Enchanted Spoon rack Burnable Spellboxes Spell Sugars How I made Spellcandles LED Spellcandles I LED Spellcandles II Full Moon Powder See the Truth Poppet Spell Binding and Banishing Jar Pride Witchcraft WarWitch Spellbottle Pendant Imbolc Creativity Spell Litha Spell Samhain Remembrance Sigil Samhain Remembrance Spell Stones for the Cosmic Witch Elemental Bottles Reclaiming Sigil Strength Bindrunes Daily Practice with Sigils

Text Posts: Gender in Witchcraft, pt. 1 Gender in Witchcraft, pt. 2 Write your Witchcraft WYW original questions Travel Altar Challenge MTG cards as oracle deck Birthday Magic Fiction as Shadow work The magic of fabrics

Witch Tips: You’re allowed to have pretty things House Candle Holders Enchant your Keys Snow Globe Home Cleansing Spell Recipe Cards Moonwater Washi Tape Candles Baby Blessing (reply) Save your Apple Seeds

Poetry: Stars Moon phases Nehalennia Find Me, Sister (Baduhenna) Wings

Art Grimoire: Moon phases Moons of the Year Star Stuff Perpetual Wheel of the Year the Festivals Elements Make your Mark Altered Cover My Grimoires

Art: Queer Witch Witchy Self Portrait Botanical BOS cover Travel altar miniature Travel altar miniature 2 Altar Hearth Prayer Beads Sleep Spelljar Magic Mirrors Mini Moonstone Runes Imbolc Greeting Card Autumn and Pronoun Pins Galaxy Drum Labyrinth Travel Altar

Deity: Sources of Dutch deities masterpost Fern’s Introduction to Nehalennia Fern’s Introduction to Cernunnos Fern’s Introduction to Baduhenna Fern’s Introduction to Liyesa Deity Bindrunes Nehalennia Candle Shrine Nehalennia Wood Statue Nehalennia Mood Board Baduhenna: Valkyrie or Dutch Morrigan? Offering Bowl Restoration Baduhenna Mood Board Baduhenna Drawing Cernuna? Liyesa Mood Board Stardew Valley Shrines Cozy Grove Nehalennia Shrine Nemetona and Sacred Space Nemetona Mood Board Elen of the Ways Art Page Arcanua, Dutch deity of magic and the dawn? Journey through the Gods (personal) Dutch Deity Oracle Cards

Personal Practice: (mostly photos) Temple Room (wip) Bedside Altar Spooky Story Time! 2019 Wicker Wolf Shell Collection Litha Altar Self Care Altar Ancestor Altar (reply) Old Altar pic Old Altar tour Leiden Botanical Gardens

[Updated Feb 11th 2023)]

#masterpost #original content #witchblr #baduhennasraven #was my old blog name

[justpostsyeet]

Tindómë ch2

F.A. Year 490

The story of Beren and Lúthien's daring escapade to steal the Silmaril and their encounter with Námo had spread far and wide across Arda. Erestor, however, found it hard to believe that someone like Lúthien could have the audacity to bend the will of Namó. He had never heard his uncle, speak highly of her. Perhaps, he speculated, Lúthien might have bargained Beren's life with the Silmaril, leading Námo to concede. But right now she wear the jewel as necklace as if its some cheap trinket not something that should be worshipped at the altar of Vana herself. That must be the reason behind it all, Erestor thought to himself as he walked towards the library.

Upon his arrival at the library, Erestor noticed his father and his uncle, Curufin along with his other family members having a heated discussion about something related to sneaking into the Girdle of Melian and attacking Doriath. Erestor wished he could be part of the conversation, but he was stopped by herald who politely told him that at the age of 130 he was too young to be in such meeting. He knew he wasn't welcome in such meetings yet. His father just glanced at him giving him a nod and a smile asking him what he wants and helps in finding him the desired book. He shushes him away while continuing their discussion.He bowed to him ans went away with his book. He felt anger that despite his extensive practice with the sword until his hands ached, his knowledge of about everything from medicines to war tactics, he's still made to feel like an outsider among his family.

As Erestor immersed himself in the books, his cousin interrupted him with a mocking remark. "Hey bookworm, don't you have anything else to do than to loiter around the garden?"

Ignoring his cousin, Erestor continued to read, which only seemed to fuel his cousin's taunts. "You know what happened today?" his cousin jeered. "We are getting married."

Erestor looked up, perplexed and disgusted by his cousin's words. "Not both of us to each other, we're marrying females," his cousin clarified, bursting into laughter.

Erestor was annoyed and confused by the conversation. "Can't you say that properly?" he retorted.

"Hah! Watch your tongue," his cousin warned before continuing, "Anyway, there's an alliance to take over Doriath and secure our borders, so we're probably getting married. Unfortunately, we have to marry some Avari princesses, those savage folks. But they do look pretty, don't you agree, Erestor?"

Erestor's confusion deepened, and he didn't want to hear any more of his cousin's nonsensical ramblings, so he walked away, leaving his cousin behind.

Later that night, Erestor was summoned into his father's chamber. He entered, bowing respectfully.

"Good evening, Father," Erestor greeted him.

"Good evening, son," Caranthir replied, looking outside and closing the doors to his chamber. "Listen, I need to talk to you."

Erestor became alert, sensing the gravity of the conversation ahead. "What is it, Father?" he asked.

"I need you to marry this princess," Caranthir said firmly. "I won't let Curufin's son marry her. It would ruin your position if you don't marry."

Erestor's eyes widened in confusion. "But Father, why can't my elder brother marry her?"

Caranthir raised his voice, "He'll marry someone on his level, not some Avarin princess. If I have two sons, I need to put them on two different fronts, don't you think?"

Erestor nodded hesitantly, understanding his father's reasoning.

Caranthir's expression softens "My son i feel the end is near but i refuse to perish . When I took the oath, i promised myself be alive no matter what happens because i love life and i shall have my victory and my life. I'll have what was taken away from and My family will return to peace in a place where always harmony resides and nothing seems out of order." Erestor could feel his father eyes tearing up. Caranthirturned his back to him rubbing his face. He turned again and said to him

"Listen my elen, we need to survive and learn to love and respect others but not trust them completely;these are treachous time you can't trust your shadows enough here." As night went along his father told him many ways of how he could win the heart of avarin royals to win hands of their daughter marriage along with some diplomatic strategies. When Erestor walked out of his father's chamber he realised that his father has never told him the princess name.

The next morning. In the grand hall of their elven stronghold, courtiers from various houses had gathered to discuss the impending political marriage between their people and the Avari. There was heated discussion on who should marry who.

As the discussion veered towards potential candidates for the marriage, Curufin slyly brought up the topic of Erestor. With a subtle smile, he addressed the assembled courtiers, "My lords and ladies, while it is undoubtedly true that we must forge alliances and secure our borders, we must also be cautious about the people we involve in such important matters."

All eyes turned to Curufin, curious to know whom he was referring to. He continued with a hint of malice in his voice, "I speak of my dear brother's son, Erestor. You see, he is not of noble lineage like the rest of us. His birth is... less than honorable, being the offspring of a union between our esteemed brother Caranthir and a mere human concubine."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathering, and Erestor felt his heart sink. The familiar pang of shame and insecurity he had carried for so long resurfaced. He glanced at his father, Caranthir, who appeared visibly distressed at the turn of events.

Curufin pressed on, taking advantage of the moment, "Can we truly trust someone of such dubious background to be part of such a crucial political marriage? Surely, the Avari will not look upon him with respect or regard him as an equal."

As the courtiers nodded in agreement, Erestor felt a weight in his chest. He wanted to defend himself, to speak up and prove that he was more than just the circumstances of his birth. But the words got stuck in his throat, and he remained silent, struggling with a sense of helplessness.

Seeing the doubt in the courtiers' eyes, Caranthir tried to interject, "My brother, Erestor is a loyal and capable young elf. He has proven his worth in various matters and has a keen intellect. I believe he can-"

Curufin cut him off, "Brother, I mean no disrespect, but we must be pragmatic in our approach. It is not about Erestor's abilities; it is about perceptions and the delicate balance of power."

Caranthir's shoulders slumped, and Erestor could see the frustration in his father's eyes. He felt a deep sense of guilt, blaming himself for causing distress to his father and complicating matters.

As the discussion continued, Erestor excused himself from the gathering, feeling a mix of anger and sadness. Caranthir's stoic face soften when he saw exited himself, his father gave him a sympathetic look and a small nod then retirn to his stoic demeanour. He wandered to a secluded corner of the stronghold, feeling overwhelmed by emotions. He knew that his father's love and support were there, but the weight of being seen as an outcast was a burden he couldn't easily shake off.

S.A. 1040

He corrected the error of scribe who thought he can sneak in his opinions on a historical scroll. He had met a lot of them and suffered in hands of lot of them as they dragged his family name down with their imaginary stories written down as historical records. He closes his eyes his brain supplying a fond memories of his father.What is life if not Kaleidoscope of memories that comes to haunt you when you least expect it. Erestor signed, these lore masters don't his father as well as Erestor do. He was a good man under very bad circumstances. There are people who have committed far worse atrocities than him yet either their deeds are forgot or repressed into oblivion. They have made his family monsters on whom they blame all their miseries. He can't fight all of them, he had tried to fight them in the end decided that it's all futile. So, he focused his thoughts on the fond memory rather than painful one. In it his father was not some warrior or a maniac some people saw him but he was a tall protective figure holding his hands and jumping into rain puddle together.

Taglist

@elvyshiarieko @bobitoo08 @asianbutnotjapanese

#erestor x oc #tindómë #Erestor #curufin #they all need therapy #the silmarillion #silmarillion #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings #the hobbit #hobbit #the rings of power #rings of power

[shy-blue-blossom]

Protect

Galadriel/Celeborn

Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn were expecting their first child and couldn't wait to hold them. While they were thinking of names, a close friend of theirs had a little boy of their own.

A couple of months later Galadriel had given birth to their little bundle of joy. A nurse came in holding a small bundle of blankets. The nurse went up to Galadriel and placed the bundle into her arms.

"Congratulations, m'lord and m'lady, you have a daughter." The nurse told them.

They looked at the little girl in Galadriel's arms and a smile graced their faces as they saw her sleeping.

Time skip

It had been over two thousand years since then and the little elfling is now a beautiful h/c hair and e/c eyed she-elf. Her name, y/n princess of Lothlórien.

She was reading a book when she heard a song being played for a dear friend of her mother and father.

Gandalf.

Gandalf the grey.

She stood up and made her way down to her parents and saw them talking to Haldir, their friend's son.

"Nana, Ada?" She called to them and they turned to her.

"What's the matter the Iellig?" Celeborn asked her as he walked to her. (My daughter.)

"Why are you playing a song for Gandalf?" She asked them.

Before they could answer an elf came and asked for her and she left with them, but not before kissing her parent's cheeks. As she was following the elf they showed her the gardens, as they needed her help. She thanked the elf and they left her to think of a solution. She didn't notice the elf watching her as she thought of what to do.

"It's been awhile Lady y/n." The elf spoke.

She turned around to see the prince of Mirkwood standing behind her wearing a silver tunic. A smile made its way onto her as she stood up and ran to him. He caught her and hold her tightly s he smiled.

"Meleth nin, how I have longed to see you." The elf told her while pulling back to look at her face. (My love.)

"Me too, a'maelamin Legolas." She said while smiling up at him, her eyes tearing up. (My beloved.)

When they started to fall he kissed them away with gentle pecks. They talked about what they have been doing while apart.

"Meleth nin." Legolas suddenly spoke in the silent gardens. (My love.)

"Yes?" She questioned as she looked at him.

"I am to carry on my journey and before I do, I want to marry you." Legolas started. "I have already got your parents permission, but would you spend the rest of entirety with me? Would you marry me tonight?" Legolas finished as he looked into her eyes.

All that y/n could do was nod her head as tears began to stream down her cheeks as she jumped onto his lap to hug him. Legolas wiped them away as a light voice congratulated them. When y/n turned, she saw her mother and father.

"Ada, Nana, thank you." She thanked them, as they hugged her after she had stood up to hug them.

Galadriel and Celeborn watched them get married. Once they were, they spent the night together and woke up in each other's arms.

"Be careful on the journey and come back to me." Y/n said to Legolas as she helped him get ready to leave.

"I could never leave my one on middle-earth without me next to her." He explained with her face gently in his hands.

She nodded her head as she learned into his touch, with her eyes closed. When she opened them to look up at him, he was watching her with love and admiration. He put his forehead against hers and whispered...

"Gi melin. Uuma dela, av-'Osto. Elen sila lumenn omentilmo. Na lû e-govaned vîn." Legolas told her, which made a small smile make it's way onto her face. (I love you. Don’t worry, don’t fear. A star shell shine on our next hour of meeting. Until next we meet.)

"Gi melin. Aa'menealle nauva calen ar' malta. Tenna' ento lye omenta!" She whispered back. (I love you. May your ways be green and golden. Until next we meet!)

Legolas closed the space between them and gave her a passionate kiss before leaving. When she was left alone, she nearly broke down into tears. But she did not.

Y/n didn't realise someone was knocking at her door as she was to busy inside her head. She only noticed when her father stepped into the room.

"Ada?" She looked at him confused, as he looked at her with concern. "What is the matter?" She asked.

He explained to her that she had been in her room all morning and she had missed breakfast and it was time for lunch. Before he let her leave, he asked her if there was anything wrong. She explained to him that there was nothing wrong and that she had just been thinking about what has happened over the years and yet to come. Celeborn chuckled at that and led her to her mother.

The mother and father protected their daughter and they would kept doing so until their very last breath, they set sail to the undying lands, or she was reunited with her husband.

That is what they did.

When the one ring was destroyed, they took her to Aragorn's coronation to be with her husband. Once Legolas seen her, he had ran up to her and tightly hugged her. Aragorn was introduced to her.

Galadriel, Celeborn and y/n were then told of Haldir fall in battle. Y/n had cried, since she has seen him as an older brother. Galadriel had to take her somewhere else to calm her down,

"Iellig, why are you crying? Do you think your older brother would like that?" Galadriel tried to calm her told and y/n smiled when Galadriel had said Haldir was her brother. (My daughter.)

She shook her head no, then hugged her mother.

"Gi melin, Nana." Y/n whispers to Gardens as she was hugged back. (I love you, mother.)

Soon Celeborn came and found them hugging. He hugged both of them as he kissed their heads.

"Gi melin, Ada." Y/n whispers to Celeborn. (I love you, father.)

"Gi melin, Iellig." Both Galadriel and Celeborn whispers at the same time. (I love you, my daughter.)

The end.

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

Masterlist

#x reader #reader #lord of the rings #lord of the rings x reader #x daughter reader #legolas x reader #Galadriel x daughter reader #galadriel x reader #celeborn x reader #Celeborn x daughter reader #celeborn x galadriel #galadriel x celeborn #x daughter!reader #protect

[fullfiresiren]

unconquered // 5

[5; iron and blood] [read on ao3]

The morning comes bright and early, breakfast has been plated, and Elen busies herself with tasks to prepare you for the day.

Although your slumber was not free from hauntings of the past, when you awoke from a twisted vision, sheets wrapped around you and forehead damp, you squeeze your eyes shut, and utter the first three things that come to mind – heeding prince Aemond’s advice.

“My dragons,” you whisper. “My parents, my home.”

My dragons.

My parents.

My home.

Dreamless slumber comes quickly after.

“Ah, your grace,” Elen greets, once she notices you’re awake and blinking slowly. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you mumble, sitting when she brings your food to you.

“Today’s outfit has been laid out for you, your grace,” she explains, fixing your sheets slightly from where your restless slumber has left them twisted. “I thought you would look fine in a soft mauve gown – but if you wish to wear another, I am happy to find one of your--”

“Mauve sounds lovely,” you hum, todays breakfast of finely chopped fruit staring plainly back at you.

Elen takes great care in preparing you in the mornings. Once breakfast is over, she stands by the chair by your vanity – a silent invitation for you to sit – and begins her dutiful work. Combing your hair, braiding your strands, applying creams, makeup, jewellery, lifting you from tired slumber to a royal of the court. She holds your dress for you to step into, ties your corset, fixes minor details, and will not cease her work until she is satisfied that the job has been carried out to the best of her ability.

“There,” she nods, patting out the folds of your gown, “you look wondrous, your grace.”

She is always so kind, you think, smiling, but do not check yourself in the mirror. Something about having to look yourself in the eye feels too much like a betrayal.

“Thank you, Elen.”

The day is young, and you have no prior commitments. Should you visit Archeon? A rebellion if there ever was one – leaving the Red Keep looking an ethereal spirit, returning a ruined spectre. You smirk, thinking of Elen’s thunderous reaction to your messy hair from the skies above, cheeks wind chafed, dress tattered and carrying the strong scent of dragon that won't wash out for weeks. Perhaps you should commission the creation of an outfit solely for dragon riding? Black leather to match your dragon, silver embellishments to guild. Not unlike another in your life.

You smile to yourself as you sit upon the large fabric sofa in your living quarters, thoughts drifting to the one-eyed prince. You wonder what he is doing right this moment, what his thoughts are, if he... thinks of you as you do him.

“The weather today is far too nice for you to spend your time indoors, your grace,” Elen notes, stripping your bed of its sheets to be washed, no doubt. You wonder if she can sense when you have a nightmare by the look in your eyes. You wonder further if she’s trying to get your mind off its thoughts by sending you outside of the confined castle walls. “The sun would do you some good.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you huff, mocking lethargy, and giggling when she gives you a look. “I will away, I will away,” you say promptly, making for the door of your apartments, turning to joke, “least I forget what the outside world looks like!”

Elen’s laughter follows you out, and you greet Ser Erryk politely as you pass.

“You needn't stay here always, ser,” you remind. “I am on my way to the gardens. Please use this time for your own.”

“I am your sworn sword, my lady,” he bows, reminding, “It is my duty to protect and watch over you. May I accompany you there?”

You sigh, his words are not wrong. “You may. I fear Elen will grow worried over our lack of hours spent outdoors.”

“Of course, my lady,” he smiles, and it borders on a smirk.

His presence by your side is a constant companion as you meander through the halls of the Keep towards the gardens, his steps in time with yours. When you reach the boundaries, you stop him.

“Here is fine, ser Erryk,” you utter, glancing up at him. “I’d like to have time alone with my thoughts in the gardens. Perhaps I can even persuade one of the attendants to gift me a flower? It might brighten up my room...”

You’re voicing your thoughts moreso than asking for an answer, and Ser Erryk seems to understand. He gives you a soft look, biding you good day, and returns to the Keep, leaving you standing in the shades of the tall willows.

Despite the early hour, when most of the castle’s residents have only just begun to stir, the workers are already busy tending to their duties, passing you with polite greetings and bows. The morning sun is bright and already arching high, your dress skims the pebbled pathways as you meander at a leisurely pace, hands clasped behind your back, breeze soft, and relaxing.

You realise Elen was right. Being outdoors is very agreeable.

Hidden at the far end of the gardens, secluded from the open, and sheltered behind tall shrubs and flower bushes, is a particularly old tree. The red canopy of its leaves that peak out behind other greenery has caught your eye before – on walks with the prince – and curiosity has gripped you ever since. Now that you are alone, and free to wander where you choose, you cut a path directly towards it.

It sits ancient when you approach, far larger than you initially thought, blood red leaves and pale bark. You halt suddenly in your tracks when you notice a face carved into the trunk, black sap weeping from its eyes like tears. It’s a Weirwood tree, and it makes you uneasy. You don’t understand why.

Shuffling feet and a sweet scent lulls on the breeze, and you realise you are no longer alone, turning your head to see the Princess Helaena making her way towards you. She stops when she sees you, offering up a meek smile, and a small wave.

“Good morning, princess,” you greet, only slightly wary. Your last interaction with her was not the most pleasant for you.

“Good morning, High Lady (y/n),” she returns, and then, the atmosphere grows uncomfortable.

You notice what looks like a book tucked under her arm, and nod to it. “Are you here to read?”

“Ah,” she pulls it out, displaying it for you, “no, it’s a sketchpad. I like to come here to draw... sometimes... when I have the time to...”

There is a beat of silence, and then, you suggest, “would you like to sit with me?”

She seems taken aback, awkward and wobbily, smiling shyly at your offer. You feel a sense of kinship with her – the aloof princess without friends, whom everyone seems to avoid, and yet, there is an air of innocence and purity to her. Like this world is far too cruel and unjust for someone as kind as her.

“I don’t have much company, you see,” you continue, “but I would like to spend time in yours... if it is not too much to ask--”

“Not at all!” she beams, eyes crinkling with happiness. “I have been wanting to talk with you, and grow closer – you are to be my sister soon... and I would love it if we were friends, too.”

Your heart leaps at the statement, and you cannot help but smile. “I would like that very much.”

The two of you sit at the base of the ancient Weirwood tree, shaded by the huge canopy, and the sunlight scatters through the leaves. Princess Helaena is every opposite of her family. Where the Targaryen's stand undefeated with monstrous dragons, she is quiet and shy. Fire and blood giving way to soft waters and rosy cheeks.

“Are you settling into your place at court well?” she asks, picking strands of grass.

“I believe I am. But I must admit, court politics do not agree with me,” you muse, and then, “it makes me feel frightfully out of place.”

She makes a noise, like laughter under her breath. “I agree. I try my best to avoid it whenever possible.”

“I’d much rather spend my time free,” you continue, “on my dragon, in the gardens. Despite wanting to read in my chambers or the library, I have a fear my handmaid would scold me for wasting the day indoors. She enjoys mothering me. I enjoy it, too.”

You laugh, and the princess joins you.

“I feel the same. It is much more liberating to be with the things one loves.”

“And yet, duty is born to be the death of love.”

You say it merely as an offhand comment, and yet, it is strikingly accurate – for both you, and her. She is silent then, her expression turning downcast. You feel it does not suit her.

“Do you spend your time here often?” you ask quickly, “In the gardens? Outside the walls of the Keep?”

She perks up, clasping her sketchpad close. “When I am able, I do. I like being able to see the sky.”

You’ve heard rumours in the passing – it's difficult in a castle this large to avoid them – of the princess Helaena’s quirky personality and odd eccentricities. Her love of the unusual, her great admiration for insects, her odd way of speaking. Snippets and broken pieces of conversations that quickly became hushed upon the notice of your presence foretold the princess being ever strange, and yet, all you are noticing is her gentle openness. She is simply sheltered, as are you.

“I also enjoy small insects,” she continues, holding up her gently clasped hand to reveal a black spider, delicate and thin. “I find them endearing.”

You watch the spider crawl about her palm, as she holds it with care, a small smile about her features.

“I agree,” you nod. Small insects do not phase you when your closest companion is a colossal dragon.

As if sensing your thoughts, she looks up. “Did you claim your dragon?”

“No,” you shake your head, “He was born when I was.”

She looks taken aback suddenly. “But he is so large! ...does he grow fast?”

“Ah, no... I would say he grows as they all do.”

She looks confused, and you take a leap of faith.

“He is as old as I,” you explain, “older than 200. He should be larger, but... the confinement slowed his growth.”

A spell of lilac to seal your fate.

“A spell of lilac to seal your fate,” she whispers, echoing your thoughts. “Hmm. I thought the talk of your age and circumstance were only rumours. I see now they are the truth.”

You look away. “Yes, they are the truth.”

It is her turn to fill the silence now. “I claimed my dragon. Dreamfyre, her name is. She is pale blue and silver – my beloved.”

“Were you as young as your brother when you claimed her...?” you whisper absentmindedly, and only to yourself. Images of a young prince calming the largest female dragon of war fills your vision.

“Not so young,” she murmurs. “Aemond claiming Vhagar was perhaps the proudest moment for my mother and grandfather. Although it came with a heavy price.”

You want to ask about it, press her further for information on the prince, but you feel you are overstepping the boundaries of your fresh friendship, and reserve the question for another day.

A comfortable silence settles, and princess Helaena opens her book to begin sketching, humming a tune to herself as you rest against the trunk of the Weirwood tree. You think about the prince then, and the price he had to pay for claiming Vhagar. Did it have anything to do with his scar, kept hidden beneath the dark leather eyepatch? You wonder if the day will ever come when he shows it to you. Or if it is a source of bitter regret and shame for him – one he hopes to hide away forever. You sigh without thought, and Helaena giggles.

“You sound like my brother.”

“I do?”

“He often makes that noise when he sighs,” she hums, “The two of you are more alike than you think.”

“Hmm.”

She gives you a look, and it’s your turn to laugh now. “I see what you mean.”

Your time spent with Helaena is carefree and light, while she sketches, she speaks about her family, her children, her day-to-day life, and whilst you notice she avoids speaking of her brother, she is not averse to answering questions about him.

“Is he kind?” you ask, fiddling with the details of your gown.

“Not to a great many,” she answers, “but to my mother and I he is,” and then, as an added thought with a poorly hidden smile, “and to you.”

“Does he speak of me?”

“Not often.”

“I see,” you mutter, unable to hide the rejection in your voice.

“It is only because you do not know each other well,” she says. “My brother has never been one to openly talk about his feelings or wishes, but I know he is not opposed to spending time with you. I think that is a good sign.”

You sigh. “Sometimes I feel the prince does not wish to know me... nor cares what I think. I do not resent him for it, though. I understand his situation. It must be terrible to be told who you are to marry, instead of marrying for love. For me, it is no consequence. I am without anyone, so any form of relationship is one I welcome.”

Your words seem to strike deep within her, enough so that she stops sketching for a moment to look up. “He writes you notes, though,” she hums, “Does he not?”

“Notes?” you question.

“Yes,” she continues, the charcoal she is using to draw turning the tips of her fingers a dusty black. “Asking you to meet?”

“Only once.”

“I was with him when he was summoned to walk in the gardens with you. He was belligerent. Refused adamantly until harshly pressed, under the orders of our father.”

The news comes like a harsh slap, and you feel terribly pained, your suspicions given truth.

“But when he returned, he was like a young boy who had tripped over himself. His face was flushed and his hair a mess, like he had been running his hand through it – or running away from something. I can only imagine he did something to embarrass himself. In which case, it seems to me that he cares very much what you think of him.”

You are silent, repeating her words in your mind. It is true that your walk in the gardens ended terribly, with the prince fleeing from your company without ever looking back, but you were not privy to the aftermath. Hearing his reaction now from his sister gives you an entirely different outlook on the situation.

Princess Helaena interrupts your thoughts when she presents her finished work to you with a small smile.

“You look very regal, sitting under the tree, and I couldn’t help myself,” she admits, showing her sketch. “Do you like it?”

You study her art with an air of amazement, looking down at yourself. It is very obviously you, and she has managed to capture your likeness incredibly well. You are gazing off into the distance, a profile shot, leaning back against the Weirwood tree. The light scatters about your dress, and you look heavenly – almost otherworldly.

“Princess, this...” you smile up at her, “is wonderful. You have a gift, it seems. Although, I am not sure I look quite this beautiful.”

“My brother seems to think so,” she mutters, and you almost fail to catch it.

“Your--”

“I think so,” she corrects, beaming at you. “But I’d like to keep this, if that is alright?”

You nod, “Of course! It is your work of art. I wouldn’t dream of parting you from it. I only wish I could sketch like that...”

“Would you like to try?” she offers, turning to a fresh page in her book and handing it to you, along with the stick of charcoal.

You blink down at the objects, and then back at her. “I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Oh,” she hums, “It is easy. Look, how about this flower?” She picks a small daisy in between you both and holds it up for you to study. “Just try sketching this.”

Not wanting to deny her, you do your best, studying the dainty flower and copying its likeness down onto the rough paper. Your concentration is broken only by another question.

“Do you enjoy sewing?” the princess asks.

You huff a laugh as you try to shade a petal. “Admittedly, I have never tried, princess.”

“Would you like to learn?”

“I would.”

“Then we should sew together, too,” she nods, decidedly.

“There,” you state, triumphant, “I am finished.”

She takes the pad from you and inspects the sketch. It’s nothing compared to hers, and yet, she lights up as if it were. “It is lovely!”

The morning sun has risen high, and despite being under the shade, the summer heat makes you sweat. Without a thought, you wipe your forehead gently, patting your face dry, and dust off your gown. When you look back at the princess, she laughs.

“Oh dear,” she giggles, “you’ve gotten charcoal everywhere!”

What little embarrassment you feel quickly gives way to laughter, when you realise how the simple mistake must make you look awfully dishevelled and silly. Both yourself and the princess are comfortable enough with one another to giggle like young girls at innocent things. You hope a part of you will always stay like this.

“Dear me,” you sigh, standing. “I should fix this mess with haste, less the nobles of court think I am some wayward rebel.”

Strangely, the thought of it does not frighten you.

“Indeed,” the princess giggles, with a bright air of happiness, joking, “you look positively medieval! Whatever can be done about it?!”

“If only I had a lovely handmaid to help me wash and dress,” you smirk, all the way to your eyes, and then, “I hope we will see one another again soon.”

“I’m sure we will,” she confirms, “please find me if you ever wish to spend time together.”

“I shall.”

And with that, you bid her a good morning, and begin your walk back through the gardens, along the corridors of the keep, up flights of stone stairs, until the familiarity of what is now your home becomes stronger, your apartment door revealing itself to you, Ser Erryk standing guard as dutifully as ever.

You notice Elen walking briskly along the hallway towards you, with fresh linens in her arms, and she catches sight of you. At first, she seems pleased to see you, greeting you warmly, but upon closer inspection, her eyes grow wide.

“It almost seems as if I cannot leave you alone for one minute, your grace,” she shakes her head in mock annoyance, smiling up at you. “Is that dirt that covers you, or some other unholy substance?”

“It is charcoal, Elen,” you explain, following her into your rooms, nodding to Ser Erryk as you pass. “From sketching with the princess Helaena.”

“The princess?” Elen queries, “It is nice to hear you spending time with one another. She is very kind and sweet.”

“I agree,” you smile fondly, taking a seat on your large sofa, whilst Elen sets the fresh linens on your bed, and remarks that she will return with a basin of water for your face, before taking her leave.

Once again alone, you sigh, eyes casting over your well-furnished room. Hints of black, hints of red, Targaryen colors through and through, the ever-watchful eye of the false monarchy. You scold yourself for being ungrateful. You have a place to stay because of them. You have comfort, a high position, rank, notoriety, because of them.

You lost everything because of them.

You scowl at yourself, unwilling to lose your mind to a battle of internal succession.

Do not deal with your anger like a Valyrian.

Instead, your fingers reach for the nearest novel about the small table in front of you; A Comprehensive History of the Targaryen Dynasty, the book black with gold embellishments. Light reading about the house you will soon be joining, bonded in friendship and love.

You refuse to give energy to the unspoken part of your soul that calls it research on your usurpers.

Hushed voices meander in from the outside of your apartment's wooden door, a few meters away, stealing your attention from the first paragraphs of the novel. They’re quiet – too quiet for you to truly make out the words, and you frown. It is not the conversation of passers-by, nor Ser Erryk mumbling to himself. There is a distinct set of two, a hushed back and forth, and you are nothing if not curious, standing from the sofa to investigate. You make your way over to the door, urging the murmurs to take form, urging the voices to lift in volume, but they stay quiet.

Your fingers clasp the handle, and you pull it open swiftly, the air from the movement billowing past, threading through your hair and breezing around your gown.

Prince Aemond stands before Ser Erryk, the two whipping towards the door the moment you pull it open. Both go horribly quiet, like they have been caught in the middle of something too embarrassing to name, blinking down at you like you’ve spontaneously combusted.

You are acutely aware of something in the prince’s outstretched hand that is quickly hidden behind his back. The courage to speak dies on his tongue, along with the will to look you in the eyes.

“Prince Aemond,” you greet, a little shocked to see him stood before you. “Good day.”

“Good day,” he replies, and then, as an added afterthought like he only suddenly remembered, “my lady.”

Ser Erryk makes a poignant move to step to the side, as if to urge Prince Aemond to enter, least he turn, and flee. You open your door wider, stepping off centre.

“Please come in,” you offer.

Prince Aemond gives Ser Erryk a look, one you catch only slightly, but you cannot place the emotion.

He sighs, defeated. “Hmm.”

After a hesitant look towards you, and then one down the hallway, he sets his face with resolve, and steps through the threshold. The door closes soundly after him, but not before you give your sworn sword a quizzical look – he returns it with a smile.

You watch Prince Aemond cast his gaze over the inside of your apartments – his first time being here. He looks over your fireplace, the opposing sofas, the large windows, the book you were reading before he entered. He casts his gaze towards the bedroom, and then turns sharply away.

“How are you, my prince?” you ask.

He nods his head, back toward you. “...Well.”

You wait for something more, and when nothing arrives, you smile down at the floor in a knowing sort of way. He is in one of those sweeping moods again, it seems. Shyness gripping him tightly. When he turns towards you, his expression changes swiftly, and he frowns a little.

“Is that...? O-on your face, my lady... is that... dirt?”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, “It is dust from a charcoal stick -- I was sketching with your sister, the princess, in the gardens.”

You say it like it is the most natural thing in the world; to be a high lady of court, a royal of the old dynasty, in the presence of another from the crown, whilst dishevelled – grime and dust smeared about your pretty face, with not a care in the world. Prince Aemond feels himself smiling subtly at your lack of concern for the pomp and circumstance of court; an indifference towards the rules and regulations those of your position must abide. You simply do not care at all.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did,” you smile happily. “Your sister is wonderful.”

He nods. “I agree.”

“She draws splendidly.”

“Yes,” he hums, avoiding eye contact. “Quite well.”

You look around, mouth parted, and then close it, in favour of gesturing to your sofa. “Would you care to sit?”

“No,” he answers quickly, playing with whatever it is clutched in his hands, before abruptly stating, “This is a charming room.” A pause. “I believe my father did a great deal to it upon the knowledge of your arrival.”

You smile, a little confused by his unusual conversation. “I believe so. I am very grateful for everything that has been done for me.”

Prince Aemond casts his eye over you, pulling it sharply away, staring at the mounted wall-art instead, and swallowing hard. He looks extremely unsettled, uncomfortable in the way he is almost wringing his hands, posture rigid and unmoving, and yet, visibly restless.

“Shall I call for some tea?” you offer.

“No,” he shakes his head, “Thank you.”

The sudden arrival of Elen behind you with a washbowl seems to corner him, and he scatters. Bowing to you, sharply, he bids, “Good day, my lady. It has been a pleasure.” before bowling past you, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Good gracious!” Elen exclaims at the sharp noise. “I was not even able to greet the prince properly! What on earth have you done to him, your grace?”

You turn to stare at the wooden frame, perplexed. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”

Only moments later, there is a knock on the door.

“Come,” you call, hoping it is the prince.

It opens at once to reveal Ser Erryk. Disappointment must be written clear across your face, enough so that it prompts your sworn sword to present something. In his hand, a note, golden ribbon keeping it rolled tight. You have come to learn what that combination means.

“From the prince,” Ser Erryk explains.

“Just now?” you press, walking forward to take the note from his outstretched hand.

“Well... I— yes,” he nods. You give him a look, a silent order to express what he is keeping hidden, and his expression softens. “Earlier the prince stopped by to deliver it... I told him you were currently in your apartments and suggested he might perhaps enjoy speaking to you in person. The prince, however, made it clear that he did not want to disturb you. Forgive me, my lady, but I made the assumption that his presence would not trouble you--”

“--a correct assumption, Ser Erryk,” you smile.

“But he... remained firm in his decision to voice his requests through a note... upon which time, you yourself intervened and opened the door.”

His startled expression makes perfect sense now. His shyness all encompassing.

“When the prince left moments ago, he gave me the note upon his exit.”

Your fingers deftly unwrap the scroll. Elen has paused in her duties, and Ser Erryk waits to take his leave, too.

My betrothed,

I am to spar at midday in the training yard.

If it is agreeable with you, would you care to join me, and watch?

I would enjoy your company very much.

Let us meet at the entrance of the Great Hall so we may walk together.

Prince Aemond.

You look up, catching Elen’s eye. “What time is it currently?”

“A few minutes after the eleventh hour, your grace,” she replies. “Why do you ask?”

“The prince wishes to meet at midday, and I look a dreadful state.”

“Gods be good, we must make haste!” she exclaims, rushing at Ser Erryk, shooing him with her hands, “Ser, please leave us be, I must make her grace presentable to the best of my abilities! We have so little time!”

He bows formally, and takes his leave, bidding you well.

Elen rushes, cleaning your face diligently, fixing your hair, rosing your cheeks. You think she sometimes takes too much care in your appearance, but ladies of the court often wish to look as ethereal as possible – a desire that seemingly escapes you. Your mauve dress is swept away for cleaning, and in its stead, a midnight blue gown laid out, laced up at your back, fitting perfectly.

The hour fast approaches, and you must calm a frazzled Elen, reassuring her that you look fine as you slip away to the door, out of reach of her fiddling hands.

“Have a wonderful time, your grace!” she wishes, smiling wide and waving you off.

Your walk to the Great Hall is accompanied by Ser Erryk, his metal armour tinkling by your side, your conversation light and airy. When the double doors to the Hall make their appearance, you are more than a little disheartened to see a tall prince with white hair absent. Waiting on you instead, is who you recognise as the Queen’s sworn sword; Ser Criston Cole.

You have only seen the man on several occasions, remarking him to be handsome and well poised, and yet, there is a lurking coldness there, foretelling a maelstrom of anger, resentment and bitterness. You have not the faintest clue why, but your uneasiness whispers for you to beware.

“High Lady (y/n),” he greets, bowing, hands clasped behind his back. “I am afraid the Prince is currently held up within his lessons. I assume he should be finished soon. In the meantime, I am happy to escort you to the courtyard.”

You nod, wary. Ser Erryk stays by your side.

“I will walk with High Lady (y/n) from here,” Ser Criston informs, voice cold. “You may relinquish her into my stead, Ser.”

For reasons unknown to you, Ser Erryk seems reluctant, but quickly bows to avoid confrontation, leaving you alone with Ser Criston. You hear his footsteps grow ever quiet, until they cannot be heard at all.

“This way, my lady,” Ser Criston instructs, and you set off towards the courtyard with him.

The air is thick, and you are acutely aware of his presence beside you. Where with Ser Erryk it is comfortable and content, Ser Criston makes you feel on-edge and, ultimately, unsafe.

You feel you are overthinking things.

“Which subjects are the prince schooled in?” you ask, filling the stifling silence with forced conversation.

“History, my lady,” he replies, “philosophy, religion, warfare, politics, swordsmanship.” He laughs, as if the list is unimaginable to you. “A great deal.”

“I see,” you answer, the prince growing ever more radiant in your eyes, the more you learn of him.

“None of which, I am sure, would interest a lady such as yourself.”

His quip comes out of turn, and from a place of scorn and derision. You cast him a sideways glance, full of the power of your position.

“As a lady born from history itself, perhaps I should be the one teaching it?”

Ser Criston laughs, but you were not joking.

“Ah,” you say, “perhaps you are not privy to that information.”

He gives you a pointed look, but you smirk to yourself, and avoid it.

The day is as splendid as it was this morn, bright sun and clear skies, and when you descend the stone steps to the training yard, there are already a few soldiers and guards sparring together. Dust from the ground below kicks up at their movements, and you grow excited to watch how legendary prince Aemond is said to be with a blade.

“This way, my lady,” Ser Criston calls, and you follow quickly, crossing the yard at length to come upon a table filled with an assortment of weapons.

Swords, spears, daggers, morning stars.

“Do you wish to hold one?” he asks, smirking slightly. “Although such things should be kept shielded from fair ladies, to protect them from the depravity of battle and war.”

You feel a natural gravity towards the dagger, picking it up slowly, the weight of it solid in your palm. Something echoes at the feeling, reverberates at the mention.

Black as night, to match the scales of your mount. Cold hilt weighing heavy against your palm, perfectly balanced for none else but you.

“Spell-forged by the elders,” the voice comes as if from the depths of your soul. “Only for royal use. Like your forbearers, this one is yours alone to wield. No common flame nor dragonflame will do damage. She is beautiful, is she not?”

Ser Criston’s voice snaps you back to the present day, heaving you from your memory. He is holding a morning star; ball and chain dangling from his grip, and you drop the dagger like it burns, stumbling backwards, skin peppered with goosebumps.

“Careful, my lady!” he fusses, dropping to pick the weapon up. “You may hurt yourself.”

You blink a few times to gather yourself, focusing on your surroundings.

“I shall wait for Prince Aemond at the edge of the yard, Ser Criston,” you nod, turning sharply to put as much distance between you as possible.

You head for the walls, thinking of them as safety, leaning back against the stone, cold seeping through your gown, grounding you sharply. You sigh out at the feeling, and no sooner have you reached sanctuary, than something urges you to pull your gaze upwards.

There, at the pinnacle of the steps, stands the white-haired prince, like a heavenly spectre. His gaze sweeps over the courtyard quickly, flicking back and forth, searching for you. Your chest blooms when your eyes meet, and he relaxes, smiling only slightly.

He is fast when he descends, quick to make his way to you.

He bows. “Good day, my lady.”

You smile. “Good day, my prince.”

The pause is filled with nothing but the sound of sharp metal, the two of you not close enough to greet one another in a more familiar way, and yet, no longer strangers who can ignore the other.

“In this light, your hair looks heavenly,” you compliment, gazing up at him.

He swallows audibly, mouth parting, closing, eye tearing away from you, nodding curtly at your words, willing his face to look not so terribly flustered.

Ser Criston appears by his side, and you deflate, annoyed suddenly at the interruption.

“My prince.” He is far livelier when speaking to prince Aemond, you note. “Are you ready to begin?”

The prince turns his attention away from you, composure regained, like there were never any cracks in it at all. “Yes, Ser Criston. I am.”

They leave you leaning against the stone wall, sheltered from the midday sun, and although you are waiting for the prince to cast a look towards you from over his shoulder, it never comes. You are left to stare after him, watching his white hair slide across his back from his movements.

No sooner left alone, than a lesser lord approaches you, the golden opportunity to finally meet the last daughter of Valyria arising. You see him coming from your peripheral, and steel yourself for the conversation.

“High Lady (y/n)!” the man greets, bowing to you. Round and stout, soft beard to match his eyes, he’s dressed in dark red, and you smile politely at him. “We have not formally met yet, but it is an honor and a pleasure!”

“My lord,” you nod.

“A royal of Valyria,” he hums, eyes crinkling with joy, “An honor – a true honor! Your people and the legacy of your dynasty lives on through you--” your smile becomes forced. “--of course, it is terrible what happened, but as long as there is but one that remains, all is truly not lost!”

“Yes,” you hum, “Indeed.”

“You are here, of course, to watch the prince spar?” he questions, but you can tell it is rhetorical.

“I am.”

“He is quite remarkable with a weapon,” he continues, “Easily the best in Kings Landing.”

You internally call out to the void to gift you with an opportunity to escape the conversation, threads of your composure pulling tightly, threatening to snap.

“My lady.”

You look up at the sound of the sudden and familiar voice. Prince Aemond stands before you, appearing like a saviour, his presence intimidating enough to have the lesser lord stumbling over his words, one-eyed stare like hot venom.

“A-ah, Prince Aemond!” he bows, “Forgive me, I was conversing with High Lady (y/n) about her Valyrian heritage--”

“I am sure my lady is here to observe the sparring, and not to discuss her past.”

“O-of course, your grace,” he bows, offers you an apology with a meek smile, and takes his quick leave.

You watch him go with relief, sighing out at the slowly returning air filling your lungs.

“I fear what happens when I leave you alone,” he mutters, smiling.

You cannot look fully at him. The sun is so high that when you try, you must squint, like he himself is something you cannot fully face, unable to look directly at his brilliance.

“It seems like I cannot escape the curiosity of the Keep for long,” you hum, squinting as the sun partially blinds you. “Thank you, my prince. I was hoping for someone to come along and rescue me.”

He becomes visibly shy at your choice of wording, nodding at the ground, before turning his body to gesture behind him.

“If you stand by the gathering crowds, you will be able to more clearly see the events,” he suggests. “I can walk with you, if you wish?”

“Thank you.”

It is like a ballroom dance; a slow waltz the two of you are performing, in the way you flit around one another, tracing the edges of etiquette and familiarity. You allow your body to carry you through the motions, following his lead, filling the space he gives with your own motions. Courtship is new for you, as it is with him, and although there is still much of the dance to perform, you are enjoying the rhythm as it is set now.

“Here, my lady,” he motions, as he parts the crowds by his height alone. “I believe this spot will prove to have the best view.”

You are positioned at the frontmost edge of the gathering crowds, and begin to feel very much out of place. Prince Aemond appears nervous as he directs you, one hand discretely wiping sweat from his palm against the leather of his pants, the other wobbles slightly as he directs you. A few older lords with long gray beards meander closer to you, whether to ask about your heritage or simply to view the training is unknown, and out of your line of sight, Prince Aemond gives them a sharp look. They freeze, and leave a larger space than necessary for you at his silent threat.

You pat down your dress, musing, “I am excited to watch you, my prince.”

He exhales with a little more force than necessary and opens his mouth to reply. Ser Criston’s voice calls out for him sharply, and prince Aemond thinks better of what he was to say, bows to you, and swiftly take his leave.

You watch on as he picks up a weapon from the table you were at previously, a steel sword, and his other arm hooks around a shield. Ser Criston opts for a morning star, daunting in the way he lugs it around, sharp spikes foretelling of grievous injury. You wonder for a moment if you should even be so close.

The training begins without word or hesitation, and the two men lunge into their fight with venom and speed.

Ser Criston, it seems, favors brute strength, swinging his morning star with reckless abandon, whilst Prince Aemond leans on technique and precision, deflecting the weapon with ease. You watch with intent, transfixed on the way the prince moves. How he twirls, dodges, steps, twists, bows and leans to avoid the weapon striking him. His foot placement is deliberate and well-balanced, and you find yourself realising that the extensive twisting and turning of his body is to overcompensate for his injury. He is desperately aware of how the lack of eyesight affects his ability to fight and does his utmost to rectify it. How incredible, then, that he fights so elegantly and ferociously, that he is the only one you wish to watch. You have not once looked at Ser Criston. Prince Aemond is a fearsome thing to behold, indeed.

“He is handsome, is he not?”

“In a ruggish, brooding sort of way, I suppose.”

“It is a shame about his scar, though.”

The three hushed voices come from somewhere behind you, filtering through the crowds like their sole purpose is to find you.

“Be quiet!” A giggle, and then, “That is his future lady wife,” you hear, whispered just below the clashing and clanging noise of your surroundings. “The one in the dark blue gown.”

“Prince Aemond’s future wife?” the voice is painted with disbelief. “Surely not.”

“I tell you it is!”

“The poor girl,” the voice comes with a giggle, “married off to the disfigured maelstrom of house Targaryen. With a face as beautiful as that, I’d have thought the king would take pity on her. Alas, someone must wed the one-eyed.”

You turn your head with a slow precision, deliberate in your movement, your eyes far more lethal than you planned for them to be, as you stare in the faces of those gossiping. The slew and force of your look elicits wide eyes and harsh swallows, stumbles over “forgive me, my lady”, “a thousand pardons” and “overlook our rudeness”. There must be something lurking behind your already venomous gaze – an omen of something unspeakable – that causes the three women to jerk back, and quickly take their exit.

You turn back just in time to watch the prince out-manoeuvre his opponent, Ser Criston having no other option but to yield. You are among the first to clap, and Prince Aemond’s gaze immediately finds you, eye softening slightly.

“Well done, my prince,” Ser Criston praises, clapping along with the crowd. “It seems you grow more skilled with each spar.”

Prince Aemond lowers his sword, sighing heavily, and wipes his brow. He discards his weapon and shield on the wooden table and takes a moment to collect himself, before making his way to you. You are standing by yourself when he arrives, and beam at him as he approaches.

“My prince!” you begin, “I did not think sword fighting could look so beautiful, nor so enthralling.”

“Ah,” he hums, “I was simply... it is only... sword skills are— what I mean is—”

“My prince!” Ser Criston interjects, once again interrupting. Prince Aemond’s brow furrows, like he’s annoyed, but Ser Criston continues, “you were excellent today--” he turns to you, “--was he not?”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, “wonderful--”

“You had some fine ladies of the court watching you today, too.”

You don’t miss the pointed glance Ser Criston gives you as he pats prince Aemond on the shoulder, the sly dig not unnoticed.

“I don’t give a shit about that,” comes his blunt reply.

He must forget himself and his company, and when he realises, both men turn their heads to you sharply, the weight of uttering foul language in the presence of a lady is almost unforgivable.

You laugh from your chest at the comment, quickly regaining composure over the unruly bark that slipped from your lips, trying miserably to disguise it as a cough.

“Ah... well. I shall leave the two of you to enjoy the rest of your day,” Ser Criston announces, bowing. “My prince. My lady.”

You dip your head politely, watching the queen’s sworn sword take his leave. His is attractive, of course, but all semblance of handsomeness is poisoned by the rage left festering beneath the surface of his composure. You notice the same feeling permeating from him as you did with prince Aegon. One that warns you to tread carefully.

“My lady,” Prince Aemond begins, and you refocus on him. “Would you perhaps like to take a walk together?”

“Very much,” you reply. “Through the gardens, then?”

He nods in agreement, and you set off together. It has been only days since your last walk through the grounds of the Red Keep with him, and yet, the feeling is completely different. Where before, he would hardly spare you a second glance, now, he is actively engaging in – albeit quiet – conversation with you.

The dance develops, and you are both keeping time.

Prince Aemond feels like an immovable force beside you, keeping pace perfectly, staying separated by an inch, and refusing to part any further. Respectful, and yet, somehow tremendously intimate. He is sweating, you realise, from the spar – small pebbles dotting his silver hairline, and he dabs them away with his fingertips, sighing softly to settle his breath. The courtyard of the Keep is attached to the gardens, the two separated only by a few minutes' walk and a large wooden door.

“Your technique in fighting is--”

“It was a pleasure to see you--”

You both speak at once, and stop short of finishing your respective sentences. There is a moment of pause, and then you laugh together, softly, and his eye crinkles with mirth as he looks down at you. The small detail sets your soul on fire.

“Please,” he offers.

“Ah,” you hum, remarking, “I noticed your sword fighting technique was very swift, and elegant. It looked as if you were performing a dance.”

He pauses. “Really?”

“Yes,” you confirm, “Although it was terrifyingly deadly. You must have trained for so long to reach such a standard.”

“Ever since I was a child,” he answers, “Although, I must admit, I never had that much interest in practising. I was always bested by my elder brother. Ser Criston oversaw our progress and was in charge of teaching us the necessary skills, but I suppose he took a particular interest in me.”

“The two of you were sparring with real weapons. Is it not terribly frightening? Ser Criston’s morning star looked dauting enough simply sitting on the table.”

He laughs at this. “Only a little. I enjoy the focus that comes with it, though. Allowing myself to immerse my body and mind completely builds character and skill,” he explains, adding hastily, “in my personal opinion.”

“Hmm,” you take a moment to think on it, and then, “I agree.”

He nods, like your opinion on his own was one of importance.

Before you notice, the gardens are upon you, and you sigh out at the smell of foliage and flowers. Small pebbles crunch under your shoes as the two of you walk, unencumbered by others.

“What were you uttering before, my prince?” you ask with curiosity. “Before I spoke over you?”

“Oh,” he hums, tucking his arms behind his back, smiling at the ground. “I wanted to say I was glad you came today.”

You are aware that he is visibly relaxing around you the more time you spend together. Posture that was like an intricate puzzle now solves itself within your mind, and you are learning to read him and his emotions clearer by how he presents himself. It is like an unspoken language, you think – one you are keen to translate.

You smile, all the way to your eyes. “You are?”

He breathes a laugh through his nose, like the question is one you needn't ask. “Of course. I was...” his voice dips quiet for a moment, “worried... that you would not. Ladies do not eagerly watch sword fighting, nor any kind of sparring. I would not have been offended had you rejected my offer, though, my lady. So, in the future... you may decline me if you wish.”

“I know, my prince,” you lie. You feel he would be deeply upset if you did. Prince Aemond seems like someone who feels emotions strongly, despite his best efforts to conceal them. “But I will not. I very much enjoyed watching you. Something in your air and manner makes all things enjoyable if they are with you.”

He says nothing in return, looking ahead, but you can see something threatening to reveal itself – an elated grin. He does a terrible job of concealing it.

You look ahead, and peeking out from tall shrubs and foliage, are the maroon leaves of the ancient tree – the same one from your earlier morning's activities.

“Oh!” you exclaim softly, and prince Aemond casts you a look. “The Wierwood tree!”

He follows your gaze, eye landing on the canopy of the deciduous tree. “Would you care to sit underneath it?”

Your face lights up. “Please! I sat there with your sister just this morning and it was wonderful!”

He laughs softly at your happiness, extending and arm for you to lead the way as he follows. The tree is more splendid than you imagine, and you wonder if it is because the company you keep now is different from that which you did earlier.

“Would you like my jacket, my lady?” he asks, as you approach the base.

You are a little confused, asking, “What for, my prince?”

“To... sit on. So the earth and soil does not mar your gown.”

“Oh, no, that is no worry of mine, my prince,” you reassure, plopping yourself down and leaning against the trunk. “I care not about dirt. But I thank you for your kind offer.”

This is the second time today you have taken him aback by your lack of concern for etiquette and rules, and he is not put off in the slightest. He finds your blasé attitude like a cold bath after a humid day.

Prince Aemond settles beside you, on your left, relaxing against the solid bark. The tree casts a shade over the two of you, and here, in this space, you are equals.

You turn to him. “Ser Criston told me you take an extensive set of lessons. Is this the unspoken duty of a prince?”

He gazes up at the canopy, side profile sharp and regal. You are enthralled.

“In some ways, yes,” he answers, watching the leaves dance along the breeze. “Male heirs should have a comprehensive knowledge on the history of the kingdom, the values and religion therein, and the politics of the court and how to navigate it.” He sighs, softly adding, “even if they are far down the line of succession.”

“Hmm,” you note, sounding very much like him.

“Second sons are more formally bestowed the burden of commander. Of the kingdom's army, navy... dragons...” he laughs under his breath at something that is lost to you. “I suppose that is why I train so hard with a sword.” He tilts his head ever so slightly, casting his good eye at you. “It is my duty.”

“Sometimes, I believe duty is the death of love. I told your sister as much this morning, sat exactly here.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, staring at you intently.

“Is it not better to do things that you have a true passion for? Things you deeply love?” you suggest. “It seems like such a terrible waste to be forced into something only for the sake of duty.”

His lip purses thin, and you realise you may have overstepped, free tongue carrying away with loose thoughts. You turn your head away, avoiding his eye.

“Those in high positions do not have the luxury to simply do as they please, nor should they,” he retorts, tone a little sharp like you’ve wounded him. “Any who do are not deserving of their rank in the first place.”

The air becomes incredibly awkward and stifled, and you fear you have ruined what was otherwise a pleasant day. Although you cannot stand the idea of foregoing what you love in place of duty – to act with all the grace and decorum someone of your notoriety should, forgetting who you are in the process – part of his words unfortunately ring true. Life cannot always be spent living for yourself.

“Forgive me, Prince Aemond,” you speak up. “I feel I have spoken too freely.”

He sighs, admitting, “Duty frustrates me, too. But I cannot overlook what is expected of me. I have been awarded a grandiose life, and I wish not to be remembered as one who whittled it away indulging in my own pleasures. As I am sure my brother will be.”

You think on your own situation. What are you hoping to achieve here, at the Red Keep? Will you forever spend your days flitting about the castle – passing time with your future husband and sister? Riding only Archeon and forsaking his siblings? Will you stroll about the gardens, eat imported pastries, drink fine wine, and stay ignorant to the rest of the new world? You were spared from death for a reason. Are you to throw it away for a life of meaningless comfort? You cannot turn away from the second chance you were given, last daughter.

“If I may,” you speak up, “and if you have time – will you... teach me of the histories of Westeros? From the time of the Doom to the present day?” Prince Aemond notes you do not recoil in the face of the word anymore. “I know you study history, so perhaps we may do so together? It should be my duty to learn about the new world.”

His gaze softens considerably upon hearing your request, and there is a part of him that regrets biting out his earlier words.

“Of course, my lady,” he answers. “I will do my best.”

You feel a sense of belonging at his words, no matter how small. Learning about events from the time where you were absent gives you something to strive towards – something to give you meaning. If you know more about what happened in that period, perhaps you can understand yourself and your place better.

“Would it be terribly improper of me to ask you to teach me to spar?” you blurt. Sadly, you know the answer. Ladies do not lift swords.

“Terribly improper does not always mean it is wrong,” he answers, smirking. “If you wish it, I am happy to oblige.”

“I would like that very much,” you beam, and he smiles right back.

You spend much time with Prince Aemond under the Wierwood tree, flitting from listening to him talk about history, and swordsmanship, to speaking of your time with his sister, and your hopes to grow closer to her. The two of you talk animatedly, laughter mixing, and when the afternoon wanes, he escorts you back to your room so that you may rest before your dinner.

When he returns to his own quarters, he exhales sharply through his nose, high strung and exhausted. The more time he spends with you, the more he finds himself becoming unfocused. He forgets himself. Forgets his purpose, his anger. He cannot begin to explain it, and does not wish to face it openly yet.

The toll from today's spar presents itself in the form of a blackening bruise across his upper arm. His fingers press into it absentmindedly, so he can feel the pain more.

He straightens up upon a knock at his door. A fleeting thought hopes it is you.

“Come,” he calls, stone voice and annoyed expression.

It softens when his mother hurries inside, and grows once again irritated as his grandfather trails behind her. He feels disappointed in your lack of presence.

“My son,” his mother greets warmly, hugging him close. “Are you well?”

“Mother,” he murmurs, smiling. “I am.”

His grandfather speaks up. “How was your day with your betrothed?”

He steels his expression. “Good.”

“Has your forwardness been received well by her?”

“I believe any form of kindness would be openly accepted by such a woman,” his mother replies curtly, disapproving. He thinks anger does not suit her. “She is completely alone, and any alliance is one she would welcome.”

Aemond feels his chest constrict at the position he is in.

“Mother,” he soothes, “All is well. Please do not fret.”

“How can I not?!” she grows emotional. “My beloved son offered up like some meagre tribute! How could your father?! How could the king--?!”

“It is my duty,” he replies, holding her shoulders softly. The word sits heavy on his tongue. “I am happy to do it.”

“What of her dragons?”

He casts his eye towards his grandfather, always one to gather information no matter the cost. He thinks briefly on what this will ultimately cost himself.

“She is being truthful.”

“Oh gods--!”

“Gods forbid,” Otto inhales sharply. “This cannot be. You are sure of this?”

“I am,” Aemond casts his eye elsewhere. Betrayal has a bitter taste that lingers on his tongue. “She spoke of them openly. Their details, names, appearances. I believe them all to be as large as the one she rides now.”

His mother clasps a hand over her mouth, stifling a guttural sob at the damming information. His grandfather has no color to his face. Aemond knows the weight of his words, and yet, does not feel fear from them in the same way his relatives do.

“If you were to see them in the wild,” his grandfather speaks quickly, “would you be able to correctly identify them? Do you trust yourself enough to discern which are hers, and which are not?”

Aemond does not like where this conversation is going. A large part of him hoped that nothing would ever come from his relaying information about you to his mother and grandfather. That is why he thought nothing of it; happy to do his part for the realm. Suddenly, he is reduced back to a boy of ten; anxious about the thoughts that go through another's mind when they listen to his words.

“Aemond,” his mother urges, unshed tears in her eyes weigh heavy on her lashes, “you must listen carefully to what we are about to tell you. You must think of our family when we ask this of you.”

He is clutching his mother's skirt, ten, eye weeping blood through the stitches, pain so unfathomable, he fears he might die. Only her, only his mother would protect him.

He swallows heavy.

His grandfather speaks first.

“According to the king, this is the woman you are soon to marry. We understand it is making you uncomfortable, but you are performing your duties far better than we could ever have hoped. Should all go to plan, you need not worry for long,” he pauses. “If she gathers all five of her dragons, based on what we know, and what history has taught us of these beasts, she’ll be able to conquer or burn her way through the entirety of Westeros in a month.”

Aemond must remind himself to breathe at the information, such is the staggering amount of power you could potentially hold.

His grandfather continues, “We are working to develop a weapon that could potentially destroy her dragons, but if they truly are at the size of the one she rides now, it would be incredibly difficult, and perhaps not even effective. The only true weapon... the only sure way we have is...” he takes a breath, before looking poignantly at his grandson. “Only a dragon can kill a dragon.”

“No.”

“Aemond, please listen--!”

“I will not,” he snaps, pulling away from his mothers clutching embrace. He is not a child of ten any longer.

“You must!” his mother sobs, “For our family, for our realm!”

“You must find her dragons, Aemond. Whether you want to or not, you cannot allow her to regain them! No matter what! The lives of everyone in the realm depend on it – not just the lives of your family, but the lives of every single person alive!”

He feels cornered, trapped, drowning under the weight of their expectant stares. He spoke of duty to you earlier, but this surely cannot be asked of him. This is not duty. This is only death.

“Have I not been the one to protect you?” his mother reasons. “Always? Was I not the only one to stand up for you? To keep you safe? Your father cares only for his sick obsession with Valyria, and this woman is an opportunity to fuel it. He is blind to the threat – blind to the danger!”

“The past is dead, Aemond. We live in the present, and can only control the future.”

He feels himself backing away from them – or is he backing away from the truth? He cannot tell.

“Think on it,” his grandfather tells him. “Think well. Your mother and I will be waiting for your answer, but we hope you choose the right path.

He casts his gaze to his mother, her eyes holding a thousand emotions, like she is begging him to reach out and be the one to save her this time.

But who will save you?

“Find us when you decide, my son,” his broken mother whispers.

They leave him to his thoughts, and he cannot stop thinking about you.

His gaze wanders, taking in his surroundings, his feelings.

There is something atop his desk that was not put there by him. He frowns, charging over to it. His sisters handwriting sprawls cursive over a note atop a folded piece of sketch paper

A present, brother, of your most beloved~

His fingers unfold the paper, and the air leaves his lungs.

It is a sketch of you, deep in thought, staring out across the gardens of the Keep, sitting under the same Weirwood tree you shared with him earlier. It is an almost perfect likeness, beautiful, breath-taking, and he cannot help but look at it fondly, with guilt.

Aemond folds it up and places it in his chest pocket, wordlessly.

[part 6]

#aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon aemond #aemond drabble

[eucanthos]

eucanthos:

Golshifteh Farahani and Carmen Dell'Orefice

Jean-François Jonvelle: Nu à la salle de bain 1980

Horst P. Horst: Wendy Burden, Babe Paley, Mary Sinclair and Elene Isles, 1948

Laocoon, 1820. Collage posted Oct 25, 2022

Hand-colored lithographs by Nicolas Henri Jacob for 1830 Marc Bourgery‘s Atlas of Human Anatomy.

Georges Aubert: Mask 1906-1921. Photo: Pierre Bohrer,

Hands: Codie Young by Nicolas Valois [holding head]. Erik Almas Photo. Magnifying lens, hand and reflection from Horst’s photo

Apr 2 last modification

Adonis died in Aphrodite's arms. His blood mingled with her tears and became the Anemone flower. The Adonia  festival was already celebrated in Lesbos by Sappho's time in the 7th century BC,  became popular in Athens in mid-5th century  BC. Greek women, every year in midsummer, would plant  "gardens of Adonis", small pots containing fast-growing plants, which  they would set on top of their houses in the hot sun. The plants would  sprout, but soon wither and die. Then the women would mourn the death of  Adonis, tearing their clothes and beating their breasts in a public  display of grief. They would lay a statuette of Adonis out on a bier and then carry it to the sea along with all the withered plants as a funeral procession. The festival concluded with the women throwing the effigy of Adonis and the withered plants out to sea.... - wiki

thnx robertocustodioart

https://recherche.sik-isea.ch/fr/sik:work-15805057/in/sikart/actor/list

https://scientificillustration.tumblr.com/post/6247519949/tonguedepressors-nicolas-henri-jacob

https://eucanthos.tumblr.com/post/699112877225836544/eucanthos-alexis-fran%C3%A7ois-girard-1787-1870

https://soundcloud.com/z-e-t-tr/sets/golshifteh-farahani

https://eucanthos.tumblr.com/post/679811527826718720/erik-almas-no-us-nude-series-b-2023

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adonis

#eucanthos #collage #The Three Graces #Golshifteh Farahani #Carmen Dell'Orefice #hands #corpse #Adonis #flowers #mourning #bosom #women #Athens

[jentrevellan]

Hi! For the blossoming romance asks: picking a leaf/flower petal out of their hair, or brushing dirt off of their face?

(From this prompt list)

I had a lot of fun with this (it's also something that happened IRL with me and my now-husband before we were dating, hehe). Enjoy!

_______________________________________________________

After a delightful afternoon spent with Elen Ve’mal preparing the pots for seeding, the late afternoon bell of the chapel peeled away. Reluctantly, Elsie bade farewell to the elf and hurriedly left the garden; the warmth of the sun vanishing the instant she stepped inside the cool corridors of the castle. She pushed open the door to the main hall; whilst the door opposite the one she entered opened at the same time. She paused in her step as the figure looked up at her. All at once, her body flooded with heat, as if the sun had reappeared from behind her.

“Inquisitor,” Commander Cullen said, inclining his head. His voice was warm, but his face expressionless as he glanced at her clothes - no doubt spotting the mud on her breeches and the dirt caked on her boots.

They met in the centre of the room. “Cullen,” she said, a little breathless. She cleared her throat. “Shall we walk together?” 

“Of course,” he said politely, and she fell into step beside him. 

“Been busy this afternoon?” She enquired, hating the small talk, hating the way each silence felt strained, but wanting to hear him talk. 

“I won’t bore you with the details, Inquisitor, but yes. The barracks are almost complete although I fear we’re going to need more.”

Well, she had asked for small talk, and that is exactly what he delivered.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way,” she replied, and they fell into silence again. Maker, why was this so difficult? In Haven, she would’ve taken a jibe at his work, said something that would’ve made him roll his eyes or grumble under his breath, but now? Nothing came to mind. So they walked quietly down the main hall and into the corridor leading to the war room. 

He cleared his throat. “I assume you’ve been in the gardens?” he asked.

She threw him a smile and wiggled her fingers in front of her. “What gave it away? My green fingers? Or should I say brown…?”

His low chuckle made her stomach flip. “I was looking at the footprints your boots are leaving behind.”  

“Oh maker’s balls,” she swore, stopping in her tracks. He was right - there was soil all down the corridor, which had only just been cleaned. “Don’t tell anyone, will you?” 

Cullen stopped too, his eyes bright with amusement. “Who exactly would I tell? The Inquisitor…?” 

Elsie made a face and batted his arm gently. “Oh, very funny.”

But his hand reached out and grabbed her wrist. It was a gentle, yet firm touch that made her stop altogether, her smile fading. Before she could say anything, he let go and with the same hand, pulled off his glove with his teeth in one swift movement. There was a small smile on his lips, and Elsie couldn’t help but look as the glove hung between his teeth. That little scar on his upper lip was incredibly distracting, so her responses were slow when a moment later she realised that his now ungloved hand was just inches from her cheek. 

“I’m sorry, you have a.. May I?” he said, his other gloved hand now under her chin, tilting it upwards. 

She had no idea what he was asking permission for, but at this moment he could’ve asked for absolutely anything and she would’ve obliged. She was at his mercy, and he had no idea.

His thumb, thick and calloused, was surprisingly gentle as he rubbed at her cheek. “You have a bit of soil, just here,” he explained, his voice low. 

Elsie chuckled breathlessly, looking at his eyes, watching how the dark amber was zeroed in on its task until she was presentable. But then his gaze slid to hers, his thumb no longer prodding or wiping, and instead he hesitantly cupped her cheek. Her breath caught, and she heard him suck in a breath, as ever so gently she tilted into his touch. It was a fraction of a movement, but the heat that suddenly filled his gaze confirmed to her that he was feeling something too. Something between them that was beyond touch. 

She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. A small thrill went down her spine as his eyes watched the subtle movement. She could smell elderberries and oakmoss. She could feel the warmth of his large hand on her cheek, the contrast of the cool leather under her chin with his other gloved hand. What would it be like, should their lips meet? Would it be soft, gentle, fleeting? Or rather bold, passionate and wanting? 

The door to the corridor opened and Cullen withdrew his hands, as if scalded by fire. He turned away, quickly putting his glove back on and greeted Leliana who was coming down the corridor. 

And just like that the spell had been broken, for that is what it had felt like. Time had almost stopped and in that moment it had just been them. Never before had every nerve ending, every wire in her body been so attuned to her senses. What was that? 

“Inquisitor? Are you alright?” Leliana asked, holding the door to the war room open. Cullen glanced at her before continuing into the war room, his face back to being an unreadable mask. She frowned at his shoulders and nodded.

“I’m fine, thank you Leliana. Just…just tired.”

#jen answers #jen writes #what is this? #WRITING??! #It's been about a year #i know #i;m sorry #but fluff has convinced me and I was inspired #<3 #Thank you! #writing prompt #culsie #cullen #cullen x inquisitor #commander cullen #cullen x trevelyan #cullen rutherford #cullen x elsie #fanfic

[amieravenson]

Dedicating Daily Tasks to Deities

There's a little trick I like to play on myself. Any time I have something unpleasant to do, I try to imagine how I can make it spiritual. That way, I think of it less as daily drudgery, and more as a part of my daily practice. For example, I really hate housework. It's a drag. Especially when you have fibromyalgia and every movement hurts. So what do I do? I dedicate housework to Hestia, the Greek goddess of home and hearth. I'd like to think that she appreciates it when I try to make my house comfier, cozier, and cleaner. Do you have a ton of emails to get through? As you sit down to do them, take a moment to dedicate your work to Mercury, god of communication. Remember what a miracle it is that email even exists, and dedicate every single email to him. Do you hate daily tasks like taking a shower or brushing your teeth? Again, with fibro, showers are painful affairs. So I dedicate the daily shower to Aphrodite, and think of it as a way to make myself feel more beautiful. I also apply scented oils as I get out as another dedication to her. And as for workouts, they can be brutal. It's such a good idea to work out, but who actually WANTS to? Well, I do. And that's because I'm dedicating my workouts to Elen of the Ways. She controls roads and pathways, and I'd like to think that I'm walking the pathway to good health as I walk on the treadmill. I ask her to give me strength and move me along in my journey. Are you getting the idea? Gardening? Dedicate it to Gaia. Cleaning the litter box? Dedicate it to Bast. The list can go on and on. So what about you? What tasks will you be dedicating to deity from now on? Let me know in the comments, and blessed be! Read the full article

#deities #Housework #mundaneactivities #pagan #wicca #witchcraft

[amidst-snow-and-ice-moved]

For: Elen | @gezelligheiid

"Ada? You have some visitors- well two are. The other's more of a long lost family member, who's just returned home."

Elladan slipped into the garden, followed by Arwen. the latter of whom was trying and failing to stop herself from literally bouncing with excitement and happiness.

#gezelligheiid :: elen #~/ twins are one soul in two bodies \~ :: elrohir #family fluff #au #*|* eldest son of imladris' lord *|* :: elladan #*|* evenstar of her people *|* :: arwen #*|* a mother dead / a father unknown *|* :: becoming a parent #*|* a peaceful valley untouched by evil *|* :: imladris

[cosmo-lexies]

Dylan Season 1 (5/7)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

8: Jumping into the lake is the only way to leave a party stylishly

The people were arriving, and I stayed in a corner near the lake. The lake view was beautiful, even at night.

The backyard filled up with people quickly, and it was not small. Even the pool was full. I guess half school was there. Although I imagine that not the half that is in love with me, that'd be weird. I'm not going to lie, my desire for teen dramas, is zero, but my ego got a boost from being so popular among my classmates.

Then I saw Elene and Victoria arriving. She was so pretty. But, it was the moment, I would speak with her. I was hella nervous. I went towards them. However, my attention was caught by a loud scream and a shiny blue light that appeared in the middle of the people. The crowd started to run away. My common sense told me that I must follow the rest of my classmates. I wish I paid more attention to it, it would made my life easier.

Jackson was covered in flames, mainly in his hands and arms. Percy was near but he couldn't get any closer because of the heat.

This was the first time that I saw a lack of control. It was weird in someone like Jackson, he had his power long ago. People usually lack control when their powers wake up but at that moment their powers are weak. This wasn't the case, his flames must have been hundreds of degrees.

"What you need Jackson? I'm here," Percy tried to calm his brother, but it didn't work.

"Percy, you have to get away. Don't worry, I take care of it," I said even though I didn't have any idea about what to do.

"Dylan, you're crazy. Out of here," Percy replied to me.

The heat was greater every second. Many people continued in the garden because the patio door was small and people were stuck. If the flames broke free, they wouldn't survive. I noticed that Percy's skin was red;  he was starting to burn. I didn't have options I needed to get him out of there quickly. But, he resisted bravely instead of running away like normal people.

"Percy, I need you to hold your breath."

"What?" He said.

At that moment, I throw Percy towards the pool hoping not to kill him. I got close to Jackson. I had an idea to not kill anyone. It was shit, but it was my unique idea.

"Jackson, if you can hear me I need you to throw flames at me. It's complicated to explain, but I'm a HEA, I can resist it," he seemed terrified "Please, I know that it's hard. But if you make how I say, all will be okay," I smiled at him, using all my acting skills to look confident.

Jackson screamed in pain, and the flames shot off toward me. I started to absorb them. I never had made something similar, absorbing thermal energy is hard, not it's like electricity. It's so wild and chaotic. Part of my clothes scorched in the process, but my body resisted. Jackson released all his flames and he passed out.

I kneeled down, I was exhausted but strangely well. Then I noticed the grass under my knee was roasting with my heat. If I was liberated so much energy uncontrolled that means that my body was overloaded, it had rarely happened to me and wasn't good.

Maybe if I had recharged the last day, I could have resisted all this power. I needed to discharge myself to a safe place where I was alone. I thought in the pool, but Percy was still trying to get out.

I only had an option; I jumped towards the lake. This was the time that higher I jumped. The sensations were incredible, I hadn't felt so strong in another moment of my fucking life. For a sec, I only can think about if could touch the moon. However, the descent was quick. I wasn't able to use my powers to fall slowly like usual. I fell a few meters from the shore of the lake, it was deep.

The water bubbled around me, and I felt as if the hot in my insides was liberated. I was absolutely motionless; I felt calm. After a few seconds, my body started to move unevenly. I needed oxygen desperately.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

9: Being an average teen is not my thing

I swam with difficulty to the shore. I tried to catch my breath; and finally, I spit out all the water all the water in my lungs. My body was hurting so badly, and I was feeling cold. Actually, I felt hella cold, and then I started to get scared. I hadn't felt cold for two years. Something was terribly wrong.

The noise of people at the party attracted my attention. I was in a place with difficult access; for this reason, some people took photos and videos of me from Lee's backyard wall. The sound and flashes of dozens of mobiles were stressful.

I tried to stand up, but my right foot was killing me. I was close to blacking out when I saw a tiny limb had hurt my foot. It was bleeding; I'm unsure if it was a lot or a little. That was the first time that I bled.

My breath became irregular. If a tiny limb hurt me, I could die easily. A tree could fall on my head, death due to craniocerebral trauma; a virus could infect my wound, death due to gangrene; water he had swallowed could hurt my lungs, death due to acute respiratory failure. I needed a safe place. 

I ran as fast as I could; outside was too dangerous. I was across the forest, which wasn't a secure place. But, the streets were a hot mess of drunk teens, or this was I guessed at that moment. I arrived at my aunt's house. The ride home was slow and weary. Three kilometers was a lot suddenly. I didn't remember that walking made me tired so much.

I searched for my key, and fortunately, it was intact. The heat hadn't melted it. I opened the door and went to my room. The house was empty; my aunt and my uncle had gone to the movie theater with Mary.

I was shivering from the cold, I didn't understand why I was so cold if the house had the heating on. I sat down in a corner of my room. I wasn't able to think clearly yet. I saw one of Andrew's cards on the table. This was my unique option. I didn't have my phone; maybe it was in the Lake or scorched in Lee's garden. I used an old-school phone.

"Bip. Bip. Hello, agent Andrew speaking."

"I have screwed up; I have screwed up so much."

"Dylan, are you?"

"I shouldn't have listened to you," I said between sobbing, I tried to explain what had happened, but I guess that I was so nervous that he didn't understand well. "And now, I'm home, I'm freezing, but I don't know why."

"Okay, breathe. Do you change clothes?"

I noticed I was still dressed in wet torn clothes "Damn, I'm such a stupid."

"Don't worry, It's normal. Put me in speaker."

"The clothes, the fucking clothes," I said frustrated.

I tried to remember the rules that my mom had taught me when I was a child. Most importantly, if I'm wet, I must change immediately. I don't know how I could forget it when it matters most.

"Are you ready? Tell me what happened,"

I tried to catch my breath and explain to him what happened.

"Dylan, you did nothing wrong. Everything gonna be okay."

"I'm done. It's recorded; besides I don't have my powers. What can I do now? "

"Your powers came back soon, but it's high time you speak with your family."

"I can't. They'll hate me. I screwed up too much. Please, I need you. I can't handle this anymore."

"I know. I'm on my way. You must be calm, maybe a police officer will go to the house, but I tried to speak with the agent in charge before."

"Please not. Someone with guns not."

"I tried to arrive as soon as possible. I have the medicine for the last time. Calm kid; I will be there right away. I have to hang up."

"Sorry."

"Sorry for what, this is not your fault."

"I mean, the last time I was a jerk. I'm really sorry."

"Everything will be fine. Biiiiiip"

The silence was deafening. Without my powers, I'm weak, and the world is so dangerous.

Suddenly I heard someone up the stairs.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

#writers #writing #superhero #drama #fiction #action #bisexual #lgtbq #superpowers #high school #family #Dylan #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writeblr #books #web novel #also on wattpad #part #part 5

[caliawen]

Mairafinwë

_Names_

Quenya

Ataressë = Mairafinwë [Maira : admirable, excellent, precious, splendid, sublime + Finwë] > Precious/Admirable Finwë

Amilissë = Andanairë [Anda : long + Nairë : lament] > Long Lament

Epessë = Telemírë [Tele (from telempë) : silver + Mírë : jewel, gem, precious thing, treasure, precious] > Silver Treasure/Gem

Cilmessë = Mairafinwë

***

Sindarin

Ataressë = Mairinwa [Mair : precious (fan invention) + Inw (from Finwë) + A] > Precious Finwë

Amilessë = Andnoe [And : long + Noe : lament] > Long Lament

Epessë = Celebmîr [Celeb : silver + Mîr : jewel, precious thing, treasure] > Silver Treasure/Jewel

2nd Epessë = Maerían [Mae : well, excellent, admirable + Rían : queen, crowned-lady] > Admirable Queen

Cilmessë = Maerían (still prefers to be called by her Quenyan name)

***

Nicknames = Maira, ‘Rían

_Family, birth & age_

Family

She is the only daughter of Fëanor and Nerdanel, their third child (Maedhros, Maglor, Mairafinwë, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod & Amras)

Birth

She is born in Valinor, Tirion, 16~17 years after Maglor and 12~13 years before Celegorm

Age

She looks to be 23-24, being 7,000+ years of age

_Appearence_

Hair = silver, like Miriel, her grandmother and waist lenght

Eyes = light grey, like her father

Height = 7’4 (225,55 cm)

Race/Ethnicity = Noldor

Mouth = Punch (F25278)

Skin = pale white with some lone freckles everywhere on her body

Clothes (in Valinor) = long and colourful dresses, often red and gold (Fëanor’s house colours)

Clothes (in Middle Earth) = armour, ridding gear and once every few centuries, a dress

Special features/accessories = multiples earrings and a promise ring* given by her love

* A promise ring is kind of an engagement ring, but the gem on the ring has a very small part of the fëas of the promised elves

_Love life_

Promised and loyal to = Finrod

Children = Elrond & Elros (adopted twins), Gildor (adopted by both Mairafinwë and Finrod), Laurëafëa & Laurëndo & Laurëasámo (first biological children from Mairafinwë and Finrod, boy triplets), Mélafinwë (fourth biological child from Mairafinwë and Finrod, a girl), Mairaráto (fifth biological child from Mairafinwë and Finrod, a boy) and finally, Tulwiëfinwë (sixth and last biological child from Mairafinwë and Finrod)

_Likes, dislikes, fears_

Likes

Her family, her friends, Dwarves, hunting, sculpting (her first job and passion), her horse*, loyalty and healing (she studied under Estë)

*Her horse is named Sartamin [Sarta : steadfast, trusty, loyal + Min = one] > Loyal One

Dislikes

Lies, back stabbers, feeling unhelpful/helpless, seeing her loved ones distressed/hurt

Fears

Loosing her loved ones, seeing them die, loosing them for eternity

_Hobbies/Passions_

Sculpting = she followed in her mother’s steps and became her apprentice. Their sculptures are lifelike and their style so similar, you sometimes can’t tell which statue was made by the mother and which one was made by the daughter.

Healing = she absolutely loves to heal, as it helps her feeling secure in the way that if one of her loved ones is hurt, she can heal them. For a time, she had Estë’s Mána [Mána = blessing], a necklace given to her by Estë in Valinor that had great healing properties if used correctly. She gave it to Luinheneb in the first age. Later on, Celebrimbor made her a ring, one that was supposed to be strong enough to contain the enemy at the time. It wasn’t, unfortunately, and he had to create The Three. This ring was named Elenya [Elen = star(s) + Ya = ring].

_Fun fact_

Mairafinwë stole some leaves from the garden of Irmo to test them on their supposed ‘healing properties’. She put those leaves in boiling water, because they looked like tea leave and waited. While inhaling the scent of the tea, she recalled funny and happy moments of her life.Finding this weird, she went to her mother, who inhaled the scent too and found herself laughing at a memory.That night, Mairafinwë drank the tea and found herself dreaming of happy and funny moments of her life and had woken up feeling refreshed and in a good mood. She called this tea Yullonyalië*

*Yullonyalië = tea of memories, recalling || In Sindarin, it is called Yllasodnalla

@theladyvanya

#the silmarillion #fëanorians #writing #original character #my ocs #the hobbit #the lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #mairafinwë

[hiddenqveendom]

qocc oc challenge - day one (aug 20): a brand new plot bunny for the witcher

Livitha Aep Dend — The Sworn Sword. The distant cousin of Emhyr var Emreis, she is a warrior by blood and serves as his sworn protector. Livitha played a pivotal role in the attack and eventual fall of Cintra alongside her lover, Cahir. Once, Petra is brought to their side, she becomes the young princess' defacto parental figure/mentor. She is blindly loyal to the cause of The White Flame. Petronella of Cintra — The Spare Cub. Petronella Elen Adalia Calanthe, best know as Petra of Cintra, is the fraternal twin sister of Cirilla of Cintra. As the mirror of her father, she was often cast out and disfavored in place of her sister. Due to this, she became filled with spite and was easily manipulated into joining the cause of The White Flame by her friend the court mage, Vincen, despite not knowing it's true meaning. Petra is used by Emhyr to help track down, Ciri. Vincen of Blaviken — The Mage. The formidable apprentice of Vilgefortz, Vincen was best known for offering his services to the court of Cintra. Unbeknownst to anyone, his true loyalties rested with Nilfgaard and its new Emperor. His task was to gain Princess Petra's trust enough to have her surrender to Emhyr, one that he easily succeeded in. He is not loyal entirely loyal to Nilfgaard or the cause of The White Flame. More so, he is merely enticed by the idea of power.

tag list : @erraticrandomficwriter , @victoriapedrcttis , @sgtbuckyybarnes ,  @decennia , @veetlegeuse , @arrthurpendragon , @raith-way , @scootermcooter , @stanshollaand , @chrissymunson , @foxesandmagic , @eddiemunscns ,  @waterloou , @endless-oc-creations, @kingsmakers, @https-svnshine, @starlit-epiphany, @dyhlanobrien, @fragilestorm , @nolanhollogay , @carmens-garden , @impales , @emilykaldwen, @darkwolf76, @princessmadelines, @iloveocs, @nectarines-rule , @nyra-fireheart , @rebloggingocs , @conaionaru , @eddysocs

send me a message to be added / removed !

#qocc oc challenge #ocapp #fyeahwitcherocs #allaboutocs #toalltheocsivelovedbefore #occentral #ochub #the witcher oc #*mine #fandom:the withcher #queerocs #oc community #littleocnation #ocsnetwork #fic:incandescence #the witcher fanfiction #cirilla of cintra #emhyr var emreis #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #ruby cruz #ewan mitchell #josefin asplund #plot bunny #*posters #not my best but take it

[mtap-comics]

Here comes the next fill in for my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card:

Fandom: My time at Portia

Pairing: Arlo x Female Builder

Summary: Arlo came home late that night to the sight of his wife curled up on the couch, sound asleep and with a much warmer forehead than he would have liked.

Word count: 6744

Prompt: Cradling Someone in Their Arms

Author’s note: I hardly believe it myself, but it hasn't even been two weeks since my last fill. After asking what you guys would like to read next, @onlytwobraincellsleft had requested this prompt among others and suddenly inspiration hit me. So thanks for that!

I love sickfics, but have never written one myself. So the logical conclusion to this is.... Right, I'm writing almost 7000 words of sickfic right away. I may have overused the words soft, gentle and tender in the process, but well... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Arlo saying (and thinking) the word Fuck repeatedly

Read on AO3: Link

Taking Care

With an exhausted sigh, Arlo stepped through their garden gate. It was just before 3 a.m. and he was looking forward to getting into bed, snuggling up to his wife and finally sleeping in again.

The last three days had been extremely stressful. He had to get up before sunrise and came home very late. More than a short goodbye kiss on Elenya's sleeping head wasn’t possible the last few days and he missed his little builder.

But Sam has been sick and in addition there were problems in the Collapsed Wasteland. A strange smell coming from Sunken Lake made the Pinecocks and Slurpees a lot more aggressive and so, in addition to more patrols, Remy and he had the task of keeping the monsters in check enough for Petra and Merlin to find something to neutralise the smell.

Fortunately, they had succeeded today and after spending the last hours writing a detailed report, he was now actually looking forward to two days off. Sam was well enough to return to work tomorrow (or today, if you will), and Remy had convinced him to take a break and spend some time with Elenya. He couldn't resist this suggestion, of course, and he hoped that he could get Elenya to take a few days off as well.

Should she be too busy, however, he would be content to watch her work as well. It was always fascinating to see how much power resided in this small body and what wonderful things she could create with her equally small hands.

Carefully he opened the door to their house and entered as quietly as he could. Elenya was a very light sleeper and he didn't want to wake her up. To his astonishment, however, a small light was still burning on the coffee table and his eyes continued to wander to the couch. 

A wave of affection washed over him. 

Elenya was curled up on the sofa, an open book lying forgotten on the floor in front of her, and she was wrapped in his grey sweater that she loved to wear. It swallowed her almost completely and made her look even smaller than usual. 

The sight awakened in him the need to wrap her in his arms and protect her from all the evil in the world. Not that she needed that, she could take care of herself without any problems, but that was a feeling he couldn't just turn off. Especially not when she looked as fragile as she did now.

With an affectionate smile on his lips, he quietly took off his shoes and jacket, picked the forgotten book up to put it on the coffee table and then knelt in front of the couch, level with her face.

Intently he looked at the peacefully sleeping face, which was softly illuminated by the light. Examined her soft features, her long eyelashes that gently caressed her cheeks, her small snub nose and her sweet pouty lips that he loved to kiss.

The longer he looked at her, the more the tension of the last three days disappeared from his body. They had been married for almost a year now, and seeing her face every day had been the highlight of his day ever since. The fact that he hadn't had this the last three days had bothered him more than he had thought.

Probably noticing his gaze, Elenya's head turned slightly in his direction, causing a strand of hair to fall into her face, tickling her nose. Cutely, her nose scrunched up and with a tender smile, he gently brushed the offending strand back behind her ear. 

As soon as his fingers came into contact with her forehead, however, his smile disappeared and was replaced with concern. That definitely didn't feel normal.

Concerned, he lightly pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, confirming his suspicions. She definitely had a fever.

Not very high, as far as he could tell, but it was there. 

He would have liked to just carry her to bed, but he had to know how bad she was feeling first.

Gently, he stroked the back of his hand from her forehead down to her cheek and then began to carefully brush through her hair, hoping to wake her up as gently as possible.

"Elenya, sweetheart, can you wake up for me?"

It took a moment, but then her warm green eyes opened and immediately a smile crept back onto his lips.

How he had missed those eyes.

"Arlo?" A sleepy smile settled on her lips. "You're home."

He winced slightly when he heard her voice. She sounded all raspy and scratchy and her throat must have hurt. Hopefully she hadn’t caught the flu from Sam.

"Hey sweetie, sorry I woke you up. How are you feeling? You are feeling pretty warm."

He placed his hand on her forehead once more to emphasise his words and then continued to gently comb her hair with his fingers.

With a contented sigh, Elenya leaned into his touch.

"It's okay. I was actually waiting for you. Missed you. Must have fallen asleep, though. Where is...?" Searchingly, her eyes wandered around the room until they landed on the book he had picked up.

"Oh..."

Love and warmth filled his heart at the thought of her staying up to greet him. Even though he would have much rather she had gone to bed early when she wasn't feeling well. Which made him think that she hadn't answered his question.

"Don't worry about that. I missed you too, but still, I'd rather you got enough sleep. But how are you feeling now? Please be honest."

As if he had caught her doing something, her eyes turned away from him and an uneasy feeling spread through him.

What didn't she want to tell him?

"Sweetheart?"

"Well... my throat has been hurting for 3 days and.... I don't know if it's the air getting colder outside, but I've been coughing on and off since yesterday. On top of that, I just couldn't get warm today." As if to emphasise her words, her body began to shiver.

Arlo quickly grabbed the blanket that was lying over the back of the couch and wrapped Elenya in it. Her voice barely rose above a whisper during her explanation, and with growing guilt he listened.

"Thank you... I kept making myself thyme tea, but it doesn't seem to be helping right now." A soft cough escaped her and his worry and guilt intensified.

Damn, she'd been feeling bad for 3 days already and he hadn't even been home long enough to make her tea. What kind of husband was he?

"I'm so sorry I wasn't here, sweetie. It's my job to take care of you after all..." Apologetically, he cupped her cheek with his left hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"Oh Arlo, love, that's nonsense and you know it. Portia has needed you more than I have the last few days and that's perfectly fine. Besides, you're here now, aren't you?" She chided him, but then an uncertain look settled on her face.

"Or do you have to leave again tomorrow?" Big green eyes looked up at him and his heart contracted painfully.

While Elenya understood how important his job was and kept reassuring him that she didn't mind if he had to work a lot, as she was doing the exact same thing, it didn't mean she didn't get lonely anyway.

"No, I don't. You'll have me all to yourself for the next two days, and longer if you need me."

"Oh, that's nice. I really missed you a lot." A big yawn followed by a slight cough escaped Elenya and exhausted, but with a soft smile, her eyes closed again.

"I've missed you a lot, too. Come on, let's get you to bed." With a tender smile and another gentle kiss on her forehead, he carefully lifted her into his arms, blanket and all.

With a happy sigh, she immediately buried her face in his neck and relaxed completely in his arms, trusting that he would never let her fall.

As always, he was touched by the inexhaustible trust she placed in him and promised himself again never to abuse this trust.

With sure steps he carried his little builder into the bedroom and gently set her down on the bed. He quickly pulled back the covers and then helped her to lie down and nestle in.

"Shall I make you some more tea or do you need something else?" Concerned, he brushed another stray strand of hair from her face and was about to get up to go to the kitchen when a small hand reached for his.

"I don't need anything, thank you Arlo. Just... cuddle?" She looked up at him pleadingly and instantly his gaze softened. He'd never been able to refuse anything to those eyes, certainly not something he was only too happy to do himself.

"Of course, love. Just give me two minutes, okay? I just have to get ready for bed quickly."

Grateful that he had already showered at headquarters, he quickly put on his sleeping clothes, brushed his teeth and extinguished the lamp in the living room. In record time he was ready and slipped into bed.

She was already half asleep when he joined and he carefully pulled her into his arms, her head coming to rest over his heart. With a frown, he worriedly noticed that she was still shivering slightly and pulled her even closer to him, hoping to give off some of his body heat.

Happy to hold his wife again, he fell asleep completely exhausted, the last three days taking their toll.

~~~~~~

Arlo was woken up by the sun the next day, which was a rare occurrence. Confused, he looked around their bedroom until his eyes fell on the shock of black hair still on his chest.

He must have been more exhausted than he thought. Elenya must have been too, because normally they would turn away from each other at some point during the night, but she was still in his arms just as they had fallen asleep.

Worried, he put his right hand to her forehead and noticed with concern that it felt a lot warmer than it had during the night.

A soft groan told him that his touch hadn't been careful enough and had woken her up. He quickly went to caress her hair soothingly in the hope that she would fall asleep again, but unfortunately that didn't work.

With another uncomfortable moan, her glazed eyes opened and looked up at him tiredly.

"Good morning my love."

Gently he pressed a kiss to her far too warm forehead, bringing a tender smile to her lips. Before she could answer him, however, she was attacked by a painful sounding coughing fit.

He quickly hurried to get her into an upright position so that she could cough better, but had to keep one arm wrapped around her back or she would have fallen right back.

The coughing fit lasted almost a minute and left her panting. With a pained whimper, she let herself fall against his chest and he quickly wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her onto his lap.

"Oh God..." Her voice was little more than a croak and another pained whimper escaped her, breaking his heart.

"Shh... It's going to be all right. Don't try to speak. I'm afraid you got the flu from Sam."

"Hurts..." She moaned softly and reassuringly he pulled her even closer. Cradled her against his chest, hoping to take away some of her discomfort.

"I know, sweetie. I'm so sorry, but I'm going to take care of you." Lovingly, he pressed a kiss to her mop of hair and just held her on his lap. His right arm looped under her knees and his left wrapped around her back, her hot forehead pressed against his neck. 

After a while, however, she began to freeze again and he hurried to lay her back down and wrap her in two blankets. The shivering did not subside, however, and worriedly he checked her fever again.

Damn, had it gone up even more?

He really needed to find a thermometer so he could take her temperature properly.

Pitiful, glassy eyes looked up at him and apologetically he gently caressed Elenya's cheek.

"I'm sorry, but I can't give you another blanket. Your fever is too high. But I'll make you some tea, okay? It will do your throat good and warm you from the inside. Would you also like something to eat?" A slight shake of the head came in reply and with a worried frown he made his way to the kitchen.

Elenya very rarely got sick, but when she did, it hit her hard. The last time was almost two years ago, shortly after they got together, and back then she could hardly get up under her own strength for almost a week.

In addition, her asthma, which usually only manifested itself in winter, made her lungs particularly vulnerable. His heart contracted painfully at the thought of what the next few days would bring her. Hopefully the flu would not develop into something worse like pneumonia.

Arriving in the kitchen, he quickly put on a whole pot of thyme tea and, in the time it took for the tea to steep, quickly performed his morning routine in the bathroom.

There he also found their thermometer and took it into the kitchen, where he fished out the thyme and filled Elenya's favourite cup with tea. He was just about to sweeten it with some honey when the next painful-sounding coughing fit sounded from the bedroom.

He quickly grabbed the tea and thermometer and hurried into the bedroom. Elenya lay curled up on her side, coughing painfully into the crook of her arm, a few single tears running down her cheeks.

"Shit, shit, shit..." He quickly unloaded the tea and thermometer on the nightstand and pulled Elenya up into an upright position. With a few well-aimed blows to her back, he tried to loosen the mucus from her lungs, but it didn't seem to help.

She continued to cough. No sooner was one fit over than the next one began and panic slowly started to spread through him.

"Come on sweetheart, you have to breathe."

He tried again with a strong blow to her back and finally something seemed to loosen up because the coughing suddenly sounded productive and then subsided.

Completely exhausted, her body slumped and she swayed to the side. He quickly pulled her against his side while her hand clung to his T-shirt searching for support.

"Dizzy..."

"It's all right, I've got you. Just breathe." Gently, he wiped the tears from her cheek with his thumb and just held her again, lending her his strength.

When her cramping grip on his shirt loosened, he took it as a sign that she was feeling better and reached for the thermometer. He could feel her radiating heat even through the grey jumper she still wore and in a soft voice he asked her to open her mouth.

Without opening her eyes, she complied with his request and gently he slipped the thermometer under her tongue. While he waited anxiously for the result, he gently detached Elenya's hand from his T-shirt and took it in his own instead. Unlike the rest of her body, it was ice cold. 

He lifted her hand up to his lips and gave the back of each finger a gentle kiss, bringing a tired smile to her lips. A tender feeling spread through his chest at the sight and he pressed her a little more against him.

Even sick and with a thermometer between her lips, she was still the most beautiful to him.

As soon as the thermometer beeped, he released her hand and carefully took it from her mouth. As soon as his gaze fell on the result, however, he could not suppress a muffled curse.

Surprised, Elenya's head lifted from his shoulder and questioningly she peered up at him.

"Sorry, but fuck, that's way too high. We really need to get your temperature down."

Stressed and full of worry, he ran his hand through his hair. Her temperature was at 39.3°C, far too high and above all dangerous if it rose any higher.

Damn it, what was he going to do? How could her condition have deteriorated so quickly in just a few hours?

Should he take her to Dr. Xu?

No, the cold temperatures outside would only put more stress on her body.

But then what?

Deeply immersed in his anxious thoughts, he didn't even notice how he pulled at his hair and tightened his grip around Elenya's shoulder until a trembling hand slid into his field of vision, gently smoothing the deep furrow between his eyes.

Surprised, he looked down into the green eyes of his little builder, which were gazing at him tenderly.

"Hey, don't worry so much about me. I'll be fine." She only whispered and he could see how much it pained her to speak, yet there was a gentle smile on her lips.

Guilt spread through him once again.

Fuck, he had to pull himself together. He had to take care of her, not the other way around.

Apologetically, he gently cupped her cheek and tenderly pressed his forehead against hers.

"I always worry about you, sweetie. I hate to see you hurt or sick." With a gentle kiss on her forehead, he eased away from her and reached for the cup that, momentarily forgotten, still sat on the bedside table.

"Here, drink your tea first. It should soothe your sore throat and cough a little. Can you hold the cup yourself?"

Uncertainly, Elenya reached for the cup, but was able to hold it securely and began to drink in small, careful sips.

"Great. I'll prepare you some cold calf compresses, okay? I hope that brings your temperature down quickly."

Arlo checked once more that she could really hold the cup herself and then went to the bathroom to get two thick towels, which he placed at the bottom of the bed. He then proceeded to soak two more towels with cold water, wringing out the excess water.

Back in the bedroom, he was greeted by the sight of Elenya lying down again, but this time without a blanket, as the tea had probably sent her to the other extreme, sweating instead of freezing.

Beads of sweat stood on her forehead and he hurried to prepare the calf compresses. He pushed the legs of her sweatpants up as far as they would go, then placed one of the dry towels under her calves and reached for the first cold towel, which he had briefly placed on the floor.

"I'm sorry, princess, this is about to get very uncomfortable."

Gently, he lifted her left leg and wrapped the towel around her calves. At the first contact of the cold fabric, Elenya winced violently, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and he squeezed her ankle reassuringly.

"It's all right. You'll feel better in a minute."

He quickly repeated the process on the right leg and then placed the second dry towel over both.

It wasn't long before she began to shiver again. Carefully, he spread one of the blankets over her upper body to at least give her some warmth and then disappeared briefly into the bathroom to fetch a small basin of cold water and a washcloth.

He put the basin down on the night table, grabbed the chair that was next to their wardrobe and sat down on her side of the bed.

Dipping the flannel into the cold water, he wrung it out and then began to gently wipe the sweat from Elenya's forehead. At the gesture, her eyes opened a crack and her gaze fixed tiredly on him.

He gave her a gentle smile and reached for her left hand with his free one.

"We'll leave the calf compresses on for twenty minutes and then see if your temperature has dropped, okay?"

"Okay..."

Her eyes closed again and for the next 20 minutes he kept dipping the flannel into the cold water to place it freshly on her forehead again, vigilant over her light sleep.

Once the time was up, he removed the wet towels, gently dried her legs and then tucked her in neatly. 

At his gentle coaxing, Elenya opened her mouth enough for him to slide the thermometer under her tongue and, relieved, he could note that her fever had dropped slightly to 38.9°C.

Still higher than he preferred, but it should now be low enough for her to feel a little more comfortable. 

"Hey darling, your temperature's down a bit. Try to get some more sleep, I'll be here when you wake up," he whispered softly in her ear and with a slight nod she snuggled a little more into her blanket and her breathing slowed.

As soon as he was sure she was asleep, he made himself some breakfast and started to cook some soup for Elenya so that she could get something in her stomach later.

Throughout the day, he cared tenderly for his sick wife. He regularly gave her soup and tea, repeated the procedure with the calf compresses twice more and cuddled her when she felt well enough for physical contact.

Towards the night, however, the problems began. Elenya's fever, which he had successfully kept below 39°C, rose again and her cough became even worse than in the morning.

She tossed and turned restlessly, unable to find a comfortable position. Helplessly, he sat beside the bed, cooling her forehead with a wet washcloth and helping her to sit up when she was again tormented by a coughing fit.

He had tried propping her upper body up with pillows so she wouldn't lie flat in bed and could breathe better, but her back had cramped up so much as a result that she felt even worse than before.

After her last coughing fit, she lay whimpering and shivering in his arms, completely exhausted and drained of all her strength. 

"Arlo..." Tears of frustration and pain ran down her cheeks and his heart broke at the sight.

He didn't know what else to do. None of Dr. Xu's tinctures they had for her asthma were helping with her painful cough, and he didn't want to give her the emergency caffeine mixture, as her pulse was already way too high from the fever anyway.

"I know, sweetheart. I'm so sorry, but I don't know how to help you anymore." Firmly he cradled her against his chest and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

Fuck, if he didn't think of something soon, he was going to have to wake up Dr. Xu in hopes that he could help her.

Desperately he went through everything in his head, what medicine they still had and what his mother used to do when he was sick, but none of it was helpful in this situation.

"Arlo?" 

Elenya's soft voice snapped him out of his thoughts and questioningly he looked down at her.

"Yes, my love?"

"Can you maybe... read something to me?" Uncertainly, her feverish eyes looked at him and surprise spread through him.

Was she afraid he would refuse her such a thing?

"Read something to you? Of course, anything you want." Gently, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face and thought about how best to go about it. She couldn't lie down flat without instantly coughing again, but they couldn't sit like that either, in the middle of the bed. Soon his back and hers wouldn't tolerate that anymore.

"Thank you. Maybe... if I can focus on something else..." Her voice broke on the last words, her throat inflamed and far too irritated from all the coughing, and he gently hushed her.

"Shhh, it's okay. You don't need to say any more. If it makes you feel better, I'll be happy to do it for you. Do you think you can sit by yourself for a minute? I might have an idea how to make you comfortable enough to sleep."

Glad that he had finally thought of something, and assuring himself that she really could sit under her own power, he carefully disengaged from her and began rearranging all the pillows in the bed.

Why did he only think of this now?

Satisfied with his work, he leaned against the mountain of pillows, spread his legs slightly and gestured to Elenya, who had been watching him curiously, to sit between them.

As soon as she was within reach, he pulled her the last bit towards him, her overly warm back flush against his chest. He adjusted her and himself some more until Elenya relaxed in his arms.

"Better?"

"Mmm... this is nice."

She snuggled a little more against him, her head resting against his shoulder and her face buried in his neck.

"I'm glad."

Happy to finally give some relief to her fever-ridden body, he tightened the arm wrapped around her stomach, preventing her from accidentally sliding down.

With his free hand, he reached for the book on the nightstand she was currently reading, and opened it somewhat awkwardly at her bookmark.

For the next half hour he read to her, his voice pitched to a low and soothing rumble, until, almost at 1 AM, he felt the last of the tension leave her body and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

Carefully, Arlo put the book aside, turned off the bedside lamp, and cradled her a little bit closer to him, before following her into dreamland as well.

He will certainly have a sore back tomorrow, but as long as it made Elenya feel better, he was happy to endure it.

~~~~~~

As expected, Arlo awoke the next morning with a kink in his neck and a cramp in his back, but it was all worth it. 

Elenya had slept soundly the rest of the night and even now she didn't stir at all when he carefully tried to gauge her fever with his hand.

It was lower than the night before, but that was to be expected, the body usually cooled down during sleep. However, he very much assumed that it wouldn’t stay that way.

He really needed to talk to Dr. Xu. Seeing Elenya in such discomfort and pain for another night was not something he could bear.

Maybe he could combine the walk up to the clinic with a short round of jogging while he was at it. He wasn't used to doing nothing for a whole day, and a restless energy had taken hold of him. On top of that, the running should effectively relieve the tension in his neck and back.

Making a decision, he carefully climbed out from behind Elenya and gently laid her back into the pillows. He waited a moment to see if she would wake up, but she did not stir at all.

Good, her body needed the rest. Hopefully he would be back before she woke up.

Relieved, he pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, making sure she wouldn't freeze, and then got ready to go out.

After a light breakfast, he placed a glass of water on the nightstand for Elenya, along with a brief message about where he was going and that he would be right back.

With a gentle kiss to her forehead, he left the house a little reluctantly. He was loath to leave Elenya alone in her condition, but she needed better medicine, so he stretched briefly and then jogged off.

~~~~~~

It took him a good hour to get back to their garden gate, much longer than he would have liked.

Dr. Xu had first asked him thoroughly what Elenya's symptoms were before he handed him different bottles of medicine. The doctor tried to explain to him what was in which vial, but other than what it was for, he couldn't memorise, as he was way too anxious to get back to Elenya quickly.

With the concerned request to bring her immediately to the clinic, should her symptoms not improve, he left the clinic and met Sam and Remy outside. 

Of course, they wanted to know what he was doing in the clinic on his day off, and he quickly informed them that Elenya had probably caught Sam's flu, eliciting a worried gasp from both of them, and that he would probably not be able to work for a few more days.

Arlo felt guilty about that, since Remy had had 3 equally exhausting days, but Remy assured him not to worry about that. He felt fine and that Elenya's well-being was much more important.

With get well wishes from both of them for Elenya, he could finally make his way back, reassured that his two teammates had everything under control.

He carefully opened their front door, removed his jacket and shoes, and deposited the bag with the medicine on the coffee table so that he could check on Elenya directly.

But when he entered the bedroom, Elenya was no longer in bed. Instead, the glass he had left for her lay in shards on the floor, an already dried trail of blood leading in the direction of the bathroom.

His heart dropped at the sight.

Oh God...

He quickly rushed to the bathroom, where Elenya lay curled up on the cold bathroom floor, drenched in sweat and shivering violently. The sole of her left foot was covered with bleeding cuts and tears were staining her cheeks.

"Elenya! Sweetie, what happened?"

Fear spread through him when she didn't respond to his voice. For far too long a second, he just stood paralyzed in the doorway until he inwardly slapped himself and quickly knelt on the floor beside her.

With trembling hands, he gently turned her onto her back, noticing far too much heat radiating from her. At the movement, a soft moan escaped her and her dull eyes opened.

"Arlo?"

Her voice was shaky and weak and a new flood of tears flowed from her eyes, but she was awake and pure relief coursed through his body.

"It's all right, I'm here, I'm here. It's going to be okay."

Gently, he lifted her into his arms, off of the freezing floor and carried her into the living room, where he set her down just as gently in one of the armchairs, careful that her cut foot didn't bump anywhere.

"I'm sorry..." More tears flowed from her eyes and she hiccupped, triggering a terrible coughing fit.

Suppressing his own panic, he tried to calm her down.

"Shhh, just breathe. It's all good. You don't have to apologise for anything." Gently, he stroked her back until her coughing subsided and her head fell exhausted against his chest. She sobbed and soothingly he put his arms around her trembling form.

"Shhh, you're okay. I'm here. I'm so sorry I left you alone." 

His heart shattered at her next whimper.

Damn, he should have known better. Why hadn't he listened to his gut and stayed with her? He could have just as easily found someone else and sent them to Dr. Xu.

"E... Everything hurts so much." Another distressed sound left her, further irritating her inflamed throat and making her whimper again.

"I know, sweetie, I know. Your fever is way too high again. I'll just take care of your foot and then I can give you something for it. You'll hopefully feel better soon then."

He held her in his arms a moment longer until she calmed down a bit and then quickly hurried to the bathroom to get their first aid kit. On the way back, he took one of the blankets from their bed and wrapped Elenya in it.

Gratefully, her eyes closed and she snuggled a little more into the chair, her shivering diminishing slightly.

Satisfied to have given her some comfort, he knelt on the floor in front of her and gently lifted her left foot into his lap. 

A sympathetic hiss escaped him at the sight that greeted him there. The sole of her foot was littered with many small cuts, some of them still bleeding slightly, and several pieces of glass still lodged in her foot.

Hopefully he could get them all out.

As carefully as he could, he took the splinters out of her foot with a pair of tweezers, but she still flinched every now and then, and soothingly he caressed her shin. 

Once all the splinters were out, he cleaned and disinfected the wounds and wrapped her foot with compresses and bandages. Fortunately, nothing had to be stitched, but it will take a few days for the wounds to heal.

With a gentle kiss on the fresh bandage, he cleaned up the first aid kit and straightened up. 

"There, all done. Now let's see what your fever is doing, shall we?"

Gently, he slipped the thermometer he had also brought under her tongue and pressed a long, loving kiss to her temple.

While they waited for the result, he worriedly studied her pale face, two deep red spots high on her cheeks the only colour left, accompanied by deep shadows under her eyes. Sweat stood on her forehead and he really needed to dress her in fresh clothes, yet she was still shivering with cold and he would have liked to wrap her in more blankets if it hadn't been so counterproductive.

The thermometer beeped and a curse escaped him again when he saw the result.

39.5°C. Even higher than it was yesterday.

He quickly rummaged in the bag containing all of Dr. Xu's medicine for the right vial and then carefully held it against Elenya's lips.

"Here, darling. This should help with your fever."

She drank the liquid without resistance, wincing in pain with each sip, however. He hastily rummaged for the second medicine he had bought as well and held it to her lips too.

"This should help with your sore throat and cough. I'll make you some more tea in a minute, too. Do you need anything else? Are you hungry? Oh, and we should get you some fresh clothes. Do you want to wear something special? Maybe another sweater from me? While your fever isn't down yet, it can't be too warm, but I don't want you to keep freezing like that either. I'm sure the bathroom floor was freezing cold. Oh shit, I didn't even think of that. Have you fallen? Did you hurt yourself anywhere else?"

Frantically, he began to scan her body, looking for other injuries.

Damn, had she maybe hit her head and that's why she wasn't able to answer him at first?

The panic and self-blame which he had suppressed for her sake, came back all at once.

He was about to probe her head carefully when a slight tug on his sleeve made him stop. Questioningly, he looked down at Elenya, who was looking at him with concern and now somewhat clearer eyes.

"Arlo, slow down. I didn't hurt myself otherwise. You're already taking such good care of me, and you don't have to beat yourself up over anything." She cleared her throat briefly to get the scratchiness out of her voice, Dr. Xu’s medicine doing already a great job of soothing her throat. "I didn't fall, I was just so dizzy and I didn't have the strength to get back up again. None of this is your fault. I should have waited for you."

Trembling, her left hand lifted and gently caressed his cheek before dropping back into her lap, powerless.

What was happening here? Why was she trying to comfort him? She had been lying on the cold floor for who knows how long! And that only because he wasn't with her.

"Arlo." She reprimanded him and with a sigh he bent down to her and lifted her in his arms, pressed tightly against him, needing to hold her safe

"I'm sorry. You just gave me a terrible fright. I don't even want to imagine what else could have happened just because I wasn't here." He hugged her a little closer and she buried her head in his neck.

"I know, I'm sorry, too. I was going to wait for you, but then I had to go to the bathroom really bad, and then when I got up, I accidentally dropped the glass." A soft, apologetic kiss against his neck accompanied her words and with another sigh he buried his face in her hair, inhaling her familiar smell of vanilla and metal.

"I hate being this weak." Her voice was already losing what little strength she had been able to muster, and he strengthened his arms around her body some more.

"I know sweetie. But let me be your strength for now, okay? You just rest."

With sure steps he carried her back to the bedroom and gently set her down on the bed. He quickly helped her put on something fresh, including a sweater of his, and then tucked her in comfortably.

"I'll just make you some more tea, okay? Be right back." At her gentle nod, he made her another pot of tea, and while the herbs steeped, cleaned up the broken glass and traces of blood.

That done, he sweetened Elenya's tea again with some honey and then helped her drink it again, her hands shaking far too much themselves to be able to hold the cup. He sat on the edge of the bed for it and pulled her into a sitting position, her shoulder leaning against his chest.

Once the cup was empty, he set it down on the nightstand and then gently placed it back into the pillows, pulling the covers up to her chin.

"Do you need anything else? Perhaps a cold washcloth for your forehead, or would you like something to eat?" Questioningly, he looked down at the sick bundle buried under the blankets, but Elenya answered with a shake of her head.

"No, I don't need anything... just..." Uncertainly, she began chewing on her plump lower lip, dragging his gaze there.

Distracted, he asked her, "What do you need? I'll give you anything."

"You... I need you..."

Surprised, he looked back up into her pleading eyes and he couldn't hold back any longer.

Fuck it.

Gently, he cupped her face with his hands and surged down, pressing his lips desperately to hers. Her lips were slightly chapped, but just as soft as ever and damn how he had missed that feeling.

Surprised, she returned the kiss, moving her lips gently against his until a hand settled gently on his shoulder, pushing him away with barely noticeable force. 

Reluctantly, he broke away from her, but didn't pull back far and looked questioningly into Elenya's eyes.

"Stop, you're going to get sick too.... Even though I really missed your kisses." While she sounded concerned, she was also pouting at the same time, unconsciously teasing him even more.

"I don't care. If I get sick, I'll get it anyway, being as close as I am to you all day. We haven't kissed in five days, I can't wait any longer." With that, he bridged the few inches between their lips again and engaged her in a tender, gentle kiss.

For the next few minutes, they exchanged one tender kiss after another, grateful that the flu hadn't affected Elenya's nose so far, making up for the last few missed days. Arlo kept her head gently wrapped between his hands the whole time, caressing her face, showering her with love.

Only when Elenya's movements became more and more sluggish, he detached himself completely from her and looked lovingly into her half-closed eyes, which could hardly stay open due to exhaustion.

He pressed one last, brief kiss to her lips and then walked around the bed to lie down next to her. Gently, he pulled her into his arms, her head pillowed on his chest and her left leg draped over his. Reassuringly, he stroked her back until her body relaxed completely, indicating that she was getting some much needed rest.

"Sleep well, my heart. I love you so much."

Cradled in his strong arms, he watched over her sleep.

#badthingshappenbingo #bad things happen bingo: cradling someone in their arms #my time at portia #mtap #my time at portia arlo #mtap arlo #mtap female builder #mtap builder #mtap builder elenya #sickfic #arlo my love #mentions of blood