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daydream-believin · 3 years

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The Never Ending Roadtrip (tie the knot)

summary: (part 1) / (part 8) fem!reader joins Douxie on his quest for Nari’s safety, he’ll need company wont he? PART 7) two weddings in one day for our lovely wizard couple.

warning: swearing, maybe? prolly tho, alcohol, the us government

word count: 3149

a/n: the target audience here is def me. ahahjdd i hurt myself writing this, bon appetit

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Y/n let her eyes wander through the strange place. She supposed this was a pawn shop of sorts, but not one a mortal would patron. Or even know about. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got there herself. This was technically a basement. Grungy, yet somehow fancy? There was sand on the floor, and a giant floor to ceiling glass pane that made up an entire wall, letting patrons know they were in the bottom of the river Cohansey. Which would be beautiful, had this not been New Jersey. The water was murky, trash floating by with the occasional fish. Big, slimy green fish that looked like they could swallow an old lady’s chihuahua. Or maybe a toddler. There were shelves and shelves of either the shittiest junk you ever saw or things that looked like they belonged in an Egyptian tomb. Best not to touch anything. Y/n couldn’t clearly remember the entrance to this place, or entering, but that must have been a part of the concealment magic in place.

Douxie wasn’t kidding when he said they’d sign the papers tomorrow. He found himself acting fast, in case she changed her mind. She wouldn’t, of course. But just in case. While it would seem rushed to any outsiders, it didn’t feel so to him. Might as well have taken an eternity. A millennium. He had known her for years, was her best friend for years, he knew everything about her. She knew everything about him. It became much more apparent when suddenly she had the skill to do nothing but look at him and know something was amiss. Despite his best poker face he’d developed over the centuries, capable of fooling even the most observant of company. Not her. He had hoped she felt as strongly towards him as he her. He still had his insecurities and doubts, even if these rings could prove it.

He paid no mind to the big slimy green fish that flashed their large teeth to patrons. Douxie dug through the box of loose rings, looking for something specific, surely. Different enchantments, different curses, different styles, he needed to find the perfect pair. The sound of metal clattering was starting to become grating to the other patrons of the pawn shop. It was way too early for such clanging. Sure, it was afternoon, but still. Douxie had already found one for him, he just needed to dig around a little bit longer to find one for Y/n. He had already found several that could work, a bronze one shaped like tree branches around an emerald stone, a dainty silver braided band to bind, and an amethyst solitaire with calming qualities. None of these were right. Perhaps settling wouldn- Eureka, there it was. A nice gold band, the mate to the silver toned one for him, engraved with the matching runes, protection for them as they were together.

Douxie happily purchased the rings from the man behind the glass counter, to the relief of the other patrons. He found Y/n locked in a staring contest with one of those toothy fish. He pulled her away, assuring her that Fish don’t have eyelids, Love. Strange, she could have sworn that one did. He opened his palm, showing her the rings. She squealed, to the annoyance of the other patrons. They needed to get out of her before someone kicked them out.

They didn’t have to spend anything on dress/tux rentals, all thanks to Hisirdoux brand magic clothes. Y/n did manage to squeeze Archie into a little bowtie, much to the dragon-cat’s dismay. Y/n made sure to get a snapshot of it for archie_the_emo_kitty. Unlike Archibald, Nari was more than willing to boast formal wear. With all those wedding dresses she’d looked at with Y/n in mind, she begged Douxie to give her a little poufy green dress. Doux snuck in some smoky quartz as beading. Just a little extra protection never hurts. She was a very happy forest child, and spent a lot of time spinning around and around, fascinated by how the fabric flounced. She was very eager to do her part once Y/n explained to her what a flower girl was. Nari was going to be the best girl of flowers. Flowers grew from her hair.

The bowtie wrestled around Archie’s little neck matched the one around Douxie’s. Archie was technically the best man, of course. Some might think having a cat as your best man a bit sad, but there was no truer friend than Archie. And while Archie made them believe he was disgruntled at his state, this was only to preserve his pride. He would do anything if to make his brother, his familiar, smile. Even wearing a stupid blue bowtie and standing next to him during some sort of ceremony. Archie had to admit, he was surprised. Well, not surprised about them marrying, just that it was happening so soon. He knew his wizard’s heart could get ahead of him sometimes, so what was really surprising was learning that miss L/n proposed it. Perhaps those two were more alike than he knew.

Douxie looked really good in his suit, Y/n thought. Of course, anyone looks good in one, but Douxie looked extra good. Very handsome. It wasn’t a tuxedo, but he still opted for black with a little blue embroidery, and of course the blue bowtie. Very classic Douxie. Y/n wouldn’t have it any other way. He tried slicking back his hair but Y/n stopped him. No need to hide that perfect fringe, thank you. She braided a few of the strands down the side of it but not enough to obstruct it. There, that was good enough. Different but still the classic Douxie look. He laughed as she fussed with it. Some wildflowers he and Y/n picked earlier that morning were pinned to his lapel.

Y/n held a bunch of the same wildflowers in her hands. Not exactly a bouquet, but enough. She and Doux had woven some of them into crowns for each other to wear, respectively, for the day. It was a trollish tradition she thought was adorable. Picking the flowers together, weaving them into headpieces for the other to wear, a sort of unity thing. How beautiful.

Y/n actually made her own dress without Douxie’s help, as seeing the bride in her dress before the wedding was bad luck, after all. Douxie had taught her the spell, and she had been practicing an awful lot. It wasn’t perfect, but it did turn out to be exactly what she wanted. Y/n ran her hands down her sides, Not too frilly, not too sexy. Soft, sweet and romantic. And her. It looked like her. She hoped Doux would like it. He did.

She left her hair down. Douxie had made a comment once, way back when, that he thought it looked beautiful loose. She hadn’t meant for him to see it then. Douxie liking it was hard for fathom, considering her aunt had drilled into her head that loose hair was for loose minds, silly people not to be taken seriously. One’s hair should only be down when bathing or changing, especially not around others. In a way, leaving her hair loose like this was an expression of intimacy.

While they went to sign the papers officially in the eyes of the US government, the real wedding was out in the forest, with the trolls. Still, they figured they should tie their legal identities together, it’s not like a troll can actually officiate. Despite their legal identities being temporary and they would definitely have to forge new documents in half a century, they needed this for taxes and all that jazz. Y/n was going to make Douxie combine their bank accounts eventually. An efficient end to their ‘no, let me pay’ fights. But now wasn’t the time for finances. This was about love. And despite this not being the real wedding, Y/n still felt giddy.

The air in the courthouse smelled like dust and tobacco, and it felt like vague memories of confusion and bureaucracy. Strange memories, yet somehow nostalgic. At first the employees weren’t going to let Archie into the building, but once Douxie picked him up and showed him off, explaining that he was the best man, they couldn’t help but let him and his little bowtie in. That’s the thing about being cute, you often get away with murder.

Standing in front of the judge was daunting, even though Douxie knew he did nothing wrong. This time. He was just here to sign that marriage license. What a wonderful piece of paper, covered in calligraphy, stating that he legally belonged to Y/n and Y/n legally belonged to him. Such a fragile thing, in his hands. He would preserve it. Save it for centuries. The witness was a stranger, but that didn’t matter. Archie was the real witness, but alas cats have no power in court. Y/n blushed under Douxie’s gaze as they signed their names to the document. She looked ethereal in that dress, with the flowers in her hair. Even thought they were in a stuffy courtroom with people paying for traffic tickets, she was a goddess, standing here next to him, signing her soul to him. He would return the gesture with his whole chest. And he did.

They slipped the rings onto each other’s fingers, and it was done. Douxie looked back into Y/n’s eyes. His wife’s eyes. His heart may have stopped with that thought. His wife’s eyes.

Y/n was vibrating with energy as they left the courthouse. It was infectious, and soon Douxie was bouncing on his toes too. They couldn’t help but keep smiling. This was just the beginning. Time for the ceremony. Well, at least neither of them had to worry about cold feet. Y/n squeezed Douxie’s hand three times as they set off for the forest. He returned the gesture, kissing the top of her head for good measure.

Once they arrived at the shaded area the trolls had gathered in, Y/n sucked in a breath. It was just, so lovely. They were sitting in a circle, the center being where the wedding couple were to stand. Wildflowers decorated the ground. Nari had made sure they were arranged nicely. While Y/n didn’t know all of these trolls, she was delighted that most of her old pals were here. A few weren’t, but only because they hadn’t made it through the eternal night a few months ago. Surely their spirits were here. The atmosphere felt too much like love and support for them to not be. One of the trolls was strumming a lute of some sort. There was a baby troll who looked like they must have been carried here while they were napping and was now bewildered as to what was going on. Douxie may not know many of the trolls himself, but their presence felt right. And it made Y/n happy. A perfectly good reason for anything nowadays.

Y/n hooked her arm through Douxie’s as he led her to the center of the circle. The gentle lute music played as they kneeled, ready to begin. The music stopped and the officiant started. The officiant was an older troll, who could’ve rivaled Vendel in terms of ancientness. Neither Douxie nor Y/n payed him much attention, locked in each other’s gazes as he read off the sacred trollish wedding texts. A breeze blew through, blowing their hair, and a strand stayed in Y/n’s eyes even after it stopped. Douxie gently brushed it away, and was so caught up in the tender action he almost missed the officiant ask him to join his hand with Y/n’s.

“We are gathered here to witness the binding of two souls. Do you, Hisirdoux Casperan, and you, Y/n L/n, come here of your own free will, to be bound to each other in life and love for the rest of eternity?”

“Aye” Douxie and Y/n offered in unison.

“Then it shall be done.” The officiant tied the handfasting ribbon around their joined hands. A golden light shone through the ribbon, a little bit of magic.

Douxie placed his free hand under Y/n’s jaw. “You are the blood of my blood and the bone of my bone. I give you my body, and I give you my spirit. May you always drink from my cup. May I always be by your side through life and though that which comes after.” I will protect you always My Love.

Y/n was somehow able to catch her breath long enough to repeat the words back to him. “You are the blood of my blood and the bone of my bone. I give you my body, and I give you my spirit. May you always drink from my cup. May I always be by your side through life and though that which comes after.” You’ll never be lonely again Dewdrop.

“May the union now be sealed” Douxie and Y/n took this as a ‘you may now kiss the bride’ as trolls don’t kiss. Y/n was pretty sure trolls touched foreheads instead, as she’d seen Blinky and Arrgh do that often. She did as such to Douxie before kissing him. It slightly confused him, but he still recognized the affection.

There was no one there but them. Douxie deepened the kiss, melting into his beloved, his wife. Y/n matched it with fervor, but pulled away just as fast, almost making him whine. He opened his eyes, getting ready to pout, but was knocked back into remembering where he was. Oh, yeah, there actually were other people. His bad.

As the sun went down and the reception started, many trolls said many things and yet Douxie had no idea what was being said. He found it very hard to focus on anything that was not Y/n in this moment. A celebration was being had, yet the only important thing was the hand clasped in his and the cool feeling of metal he would soon get used to. He couldn’t wait to get used to it, as if it were nothing but a part of his skin. He could vaguely make out what song the lute troll was currently playing, one that reminded him of his younger years, and boy, did he feel young next to Y/n.

He led her into a dance, as this was a song perfect for dancing, of course. Y/n laughed. She hadn’t expected their first dance to start so soon. The light of the setting sun cast an orange glow as they flitted around joyously. At the end of the song, Douxie lifted Y/n and spun her around. A few nearby trolls, already drunk on bright green grog, raised their mugs and gave a cheer. A toast, one supposes. Y/n giggled at how quickly Douxie put her down after that, face flushed.

The red, orange, and yellow leaves of the trees around them seemed to be amplified by the sunset. It was one of the most beautiful things Y/n had seen, and perfect ambience for the best day of her life. The sound of the lute songs, birds chirping, and trolls chattering was the sound track. She’d play it on repeat if she could. She could feel Douxie’s shoulder brushing hers, and smell the comforting scent of cloves that clung to him. With every peck she could taste the red wine on his lips.

Now that the sun had gone down, magic candles were lit throughout, lighting the festivities. The trolls took this as the signal to bring out the food and start the feast. And feast they did. Nari was very interested in their food, and while Y/n wasn’t very positive she should let the veggie lady eat half of whatever this stuff was, Y/n didn’t care to police her this day. Nari can suffer the consequences of her curiosity for once. Y/n was too busy being wrapped up in Doux.

There was a very tall cake, resting on a flat rock. Must be one of Jim’s recipes he taught them while he was with them. Or it was a traditional troll recipe. No matter, wizard digestive systems are pretty strong and stranger things had been eaten. It was decorated beautifully, with the wildflowers and florets of what was either icing or plaster. Either way it would be delicious, whether it be made with flour and spices or gypsum and cat blood. Whatever it was, it smelled heavenly as Y/n smashed it into Douxie’s pretty face.

He should have been expecting that. He had hoped she’d be sweet and gently feed him but he supposed the temptation was too great for his mischievous bride. A cheshire cat grin replaced his adoring expression as he grabbed a glob himself and smeared it across her features in retaliation. Y/n burst out laughing, grabbing him by the collar to kiss him and get them even more messy. Douxie’s lips tasted sweet, so it must be one of Jim’s icing recipes. Archie was glad he over by the rock and not next to them, in the splatter zone.

The dancing lasted all night. The candles, the full moon, and the stars cast a romantic glow to the celebration. The full moon was the perfect moon, a blessing for their big day. Douxie was very thankful for lute troll, this is exactly what he pictured his wedding sounding like when he was a boy. He twirled Y/n around effortlessly and endlessly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever tire of this. Her soft hands in his, he absolutely knew he’d never tire of. The trolls taught them a few of their traditional dances too, Y/n seemed to really have fun with those. At one point, Y/n danced with Nari, a cheerful little ditty, and Douxie thought it was the new most adorable thing he’s ever seen. It was cuteness overload, he may have to go sit down for a bit and let his heart catch up with him. However, It wasn’t long before Y/n pulled him back onto the dance floor once again.

After the feast was devoured, conversation lulled, and the music faded, the trolls packed up and headed back to trollmarket. The light of the candles was getting dim. Still, Douxie and Y/n stayed, swaying in each other’s arms. The music may have left, but they didn’t need it. They hummed to each other as Douxie leaned over to Y/n’s ear, to sing her a song he had written for her, not too long ago. She could feel his breath on the shell of her ear as he whispered the words meant just for her. Y/n let her eyes slip closed as this man, her husband, sang his heart to her in this private moment. She wished she had a poem prepared for him. Sure, she’d written plenty, but none of the words seemed quite strong enough anymore.

#hisirdoux casperan x reader #hisirdoux casperan imagine #hisirdoux x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #douxie x y/n #douxie casperan x reader #douxie casperan imagine #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #douxie casperan #tales of arcadia x reader #my writing #nert

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crystal-moon-101 · 3 years

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History Of Corona & Saporia (Rewrite)

So I mentioned in one of my fic premises, me and my brother made up a whole new history of Corona and Saporia, because he’s a history nerd and said the real story sounded dumb and didn’t make sense. So instead of the child friendly love story, me and him made this! (Also @rachelbethhines salt reviews kind of pushed me to write this too) Warning, it is a little long, but I’ve been wanting to share this for a while now, and I hope you guys enjoy it! ✨

History Of Corona & Saporia

Many years ago, there was a Kingdom brimming with life and culture, living by the sea with luscious land nearby. This Kingdom was called Solstice, well known for their craftsmanship with boats, creative personalities and clever debates. For a long time, the Kingdom rarely suffer majorly. Sure, they would get into disputes with other Kingdoms or neighbouring villages, or simple times where mother nature would be harsh for a few months, but they stood tall and proud, growing in size over the many years.

That was until strange events began popping up. It was mere things at first, heavy rains here and there, strange plagues coming and coming with the wildlife and farm animals, but over the dangerous events became higher and higher in their destruction and damage. Plagues now shifting onto the people, an unusual pattern between having bleeding hot droughts and winter filled blizzards, the local fish even disappearing over time. There were many theories on what was happening, one of the biggest involved either magic or a god upset with Solstice. But one thing was for sure, in that it was no longer safe to stay.

So the King Heller Der Sonne ordered an evacuation of his entire Kingdom, moving them onto their ships to find land elsewhere. Though a few small groups stayed behind or decided to venture elsewhere for a new home. When everything was packed and done, the Kingdom of Solstice sailed out into the waters to begin their search for a new home.

Time passed, and eventually they came across another Kingdom, one that also lied near the ocean, their capital and castle built on an island next to the land. The found this Kingdom to be called Saporia. But here is where history seems to split, two stories formed from this very encounter, both differ depending on which side you ask. For you see, Solstice was planning to land and speak with the Kingdom, in hopes to collect more resources and have a break from sailing, before then heading off to find land. But they had edged close to Saporia, this new Kingdom suddenly attacked them out of nowhere, striking down a ship or two in the process.

Surprised and angered by the unfriendly welcome, Solstice retaliated and attacked the capital, being that would be easy to surround with their boats, especially since the Saporians didn’t have any good defences in the waters. And this attack severely crippled Saporia, since the castle was home to many of their important people, including doctors, engineers, researchers, alchemists and the royal family, while the peasants and farmers lived on the mainland.

There were also two big reasons why the Saporians struggled to fight back during the start of this war, one being that they did have a proper army, but most of it was out fighting in battles and wars outside or at the edge of their homeland that they were already a part of, and it would take time for them to return. The second being that while they didn’t have a good defence in the waters, they had good defences in the skies, that being that their culture created well-crafted sets of airships, but they struggled to use them in the primary fight in the capital, as firing or bombing the city would have been too risky at the time. Plus, since Solstice killed many of the people who knew how to build and fix the ships, they had to be careful when using the Airships, or else they could run out without anyone able to make more at this time.

Eventually, Solstice took over the capital, making it their main base for the war, while Saporia had many outposts around the mainland, setting up their bases around their farmlands. So by the time the second wave of the war was about to start, Saporia’s army returned finally, and Solstice now had grounds to fight on.

However, this start of the story differs a little from the Saporians side, for they claimed that they didn’t start the fight. Before Solstice arrived, Saporia was a grand Kingdom full of intelligent and inventive people, a culture well versed in science and magic. Two well-known inventions known in current times are the airships and memory wands. But this all went downhill when Solstice arrived.

A few days before they came, a few peasants or farmers would keep coming to the castle to give a warning one by one, all saying the same thing. They claimed that there were spies from Solstice that were scouting out the land, even attacking people and starting fires in farms, as if to try and weaken Saporia from the inside. This set the Kingdom on edge, as they couldn’t let these newcomers take over their lands, or come near them even.

So when they saw the boats coming in, they had shot at them in an attempt to make them turn back, perhaps kill them if needed. But of course, that didn’t work, as they had underestimated the powerful water fleet Solstice had, which lead into the start of the war. To the Saporians random strangers came, spied on their lands, tried crippling them on the inside, then committed genocide in their capital and killing their nobles, elites and top scientists and doctors. Thankfully their Queen, Lady Mallory Shampanier, and some of her family survived, managing to escape into the farmlands where they prepared to try and get their home back.

And that is how the war began, with two sides of the stories, both with holes in them. There were arguments about the different sides of the tale, some asking questions like “Why would Solstice want to risk starting a fight with spies if they had their entire Kingdom with them, including civilians?” or “Someone had to have started those fires, and no Saporian would want to damage their homes and farms, so it had to be Solstice, right?”, but by then no one cared around the hows and whys, as both sides had to stand their ground for their home and people.

However, during the near start of the war, both King Heller Der Sonne and Queen Mallory Shampanier had already been old rulers, and could not hold out for long, both eventually succumbing to their ages and dying, passing their roles down to their children. Now the new King of Solstice was Roland Der Sonne, while the new Queen of Saporia was Jarvia Shampanier, both who were ready to carry out their parents and peoples’ wishes.

The war was brutal, many deaths and damages on both sides, with Solstice cutting off their access to ocean resources, and Saporia bombing farmlands close to the capital to ruin their enemies chances for harvesting food from the land. But as time went on, it became clearer and clearer that neither side was winning, in fact, they could risk dying out if they kept this out, perhaps never recovering from the battles if they didn’t stop. Solstice had lost a lot of their people, while Saporia lost a lot of their culture due to most of their knowledge and blueprints had been in the capital, mostly destroyed by the genocide.

But neither side wanted to let up, pressing on and on and on for many years, crippling their Kingdoms and the land around them. In fact, it went on for the rest of King Roland Der Sonne, Queen Jarvia Shampanier lives, as they too eventually passed on like their parents.

This led into the third generation involved with this war, with the new rulers being King Herz Der Sonne and Queen Serilda Shampanier. Now, many people in Corona during these current times know their story, one about true love. Unfortunately, it is not as black and white as it appears to be, and their story of love was nothing but a cover-up for the future.

By this time, both sides were drained and knew the consequences of not stopping would forever be unfixable. So in desperate times, the King and Queen decided to debate and settle matters in a different way. While they discussed, many waited in anticipation, not knowing what the two would do in the end. But after a few days, both come out to the public and announced that they would be uniting the Kingdom through married. Now, Hertz and Serilda never loved each other, that was the reality of it, though they didn’t necessarily hate one another either, they just knew that this might be their only option in saving both their Kingdoms.

There was some arguing and debating between the people, a few unsure or downright upset with the propositions, but by then the majority of them were tired and wanted the war to be over, so they agreed to the idea of their King and Queen. So when the two finally married, their Kingdoms were untied, now going by the name Corona.

However, even that didn’t please everyone. The younger brother of the Queen, Leonard Shampanier, was furious, demanding that his sister break up this deal, as he didn’t want their people to be untied with Solstice, who they still believed started this whole mess. However, his sister denied him, saying she had to do what was right for their people, and at this point it didn’t matter who started what, they just wanted it to end. But Leonard could not accept this, collecting other Saporians who too felt this was wrong, and vanishing out into the forests and valleys, going under the name Separatists of Saporia. They had originally thought about causing an uprising with other Saporians too, but it didn’t go as planned as the King turned it against them, stating that the Separatists of Saporia were trying to start a war again. It also didn’t help that, since they didn’t have access to the Kingdom, they had to steal food from farms, which inturned made the peasants favour the King. So the Separatists of Saporia hid away in the shadows, collecting what remained of their culture, waiting for the right time.

And that is how Corona was formed, under the desperate uniting Kingdoms that sought to end a raging war finally. Herz and Serilda were successful rulers, managing to bring their Kingdoms from the brink of death and building up a new culture, their descendants being King Frederic and his daughter Rapunzel.

Meanwhile, the Separatists of Saporia stuck to the shadows, coming out from time to time to try and find ways to take back their home. Their leader and founder, Leonard, kept their culture alive for as long as he could, having a strong bloodline that followed, one of his descendants being Andrew.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re confused by parts of this story still, mostly about the different sides on how this war started. Well, that’s because not all sides were told, as there is a third story that fits into explaining the truth. But we must go back to the start, back before Solstice ever left their original lands.

This part of the tale as two characters, a young man with a passion for science called Demanitus, the other being a young woman who wanted to understand the unknown named Zhan Tiri. These two were the royal researchers and advisers to the King, well known in their Kingdom for their intelligence and inventions. The two had met young, sharing their passions and want for knowledge, soon finding themselves to be partners and close friends.

They trusted each other, shared with each other, thought with each other, and cared for each other. But as they rose in ranks, soon standing by the King’s side, things began to take a turn for the worst, though very slowly at first. For you see, Demanitus was more favoured than Zhan Tiri, being more approachable and was even a few steps ahead of her in the science field in specific areas. Zhan Tiri was somewhat jealous, but didn’t try and focus on it, instead she wanted to keep working on a particular project with her friend.

The two had heard the stories of the Sundrop and Moonstone, and what power they processed, and so both were eager and had dreams of finding them one day, wanting to learn about them and perhaps even use them to make the world a better place. They made a promise in their youth to find them together and fulfil their dreams.

But as time passed, Demanitus seemed to move on from this goal, getting caught up with his new duties and tasks, wanting the best for his Kingdom, for he had a soft spot for it and his people. Zhan Tiri tried to get his interest back on the stones, but he kept dismissing her as he was far too busy for that. She was, of course, hurt by this and annoyed that the Kingdom kept dragging her friend away from her, but she was also scared that one day he might leave her behind, as he was the only person who ever truly cared about her, her only friend.

So in a desperate attempt to, in a way, improve herself and find a way to draw Demanitus back, Zhan Tiri began delving into magic. It is unclear what happened in these times, as she would often vanish for hours, until coming back a little different each time. Unbeknownst to everyone, Zhan Tiri slowly found a way to infuse herself with raw magic, something that a human should never go through, as it seems to cause a shift in their emotional and mental state, eventually physical too over time.

As she grew stronger in secret, Zhan Tiri decided to put her plan into motion. It started off simple, she just had to make the Kingdom unlivable over time and eventually she could convince Demanitus to leave with her. But that didn’t happen, instead he stayed with his Kingdom as they packed up and left, so she came too, needing to fix of a new idea.

So subtly in the background, she used their research on the Sundrop and Moonstone to pinpoint the location of one of them, and made small suggestions on where to go to the King, influencing his direction on where to sail, soon leading them to the lands where one of the stones could be. Her new plan was that while the Kingdom was settling in their new home, her and Demanitus could go searching for the stone.

But then a new obstacle appeared, that being that the land was already taken by a Kingdom, Saporia. When Zhan Tiri realised that the King wouldn’t stay, instead picking up a few things then leaving, she had to come up with a new plan. And so, with her powers, she kept disguising herself as Saporian farmers and peasants, being the one who kept starting the fires and going to the capital, telling them that Solstice was going to attack.

In the end, she had been the one who started the war by manipulating both sides. She had hoped this would have been enough to get Demanitus to leave with her finally, her mental state crumbling due to the magic she was forcing her body to merge with, her friendship with Demanitus now becoming an obsession. But he still denied her, saying he had to help their people, especially now with this war going on.

By the time King Heller Der Sonne died, Zhan Tiri and Demanitus’s arguments were heated, aggressive and loud, with Zhan Tiri coming up with any reason to get him to leave. It all came to a head when she slipped up, revealing that she had been behind all of this. And when Demanitus rejected her, turning his back on her, it was the final straw that cracked Zhan Tiri, losing herself to her magic and pain towards Demanitus. She vowed to find the stones on her own now, and Demanitus knew he had to stop her.

He had tried to tell his King this, in hopes to end the war and put all focus on Zhan Tiri, who was practically becoming a demon at this point. But the King stated that while Zhan Tiri might have been the one to start this, he couldn’t simply stop the war, as they were in the thick of it and he knew neither side would see reason. So, Demanitus had to start pulling most of his resources onto Zhan Tiri, still helping his Kingdom on the side, but it was overly stressful, even more so when the pupils he took under his wing turned against him too.

The tale between Zhan Tiri and Demanitus continues after this, but that’s a story for another time, though many now that, in the end, Demanitus managed to banish her. Zhan Tiri’s final words to him being that she will destroy Corona, as she had given it to him, and she would take it back...

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twst-kumi · 4 years

Text

Lacrimosa

Warning : Mention of kidnapping, blood, abuse and death

H/c : hair color

E/c : eyes colors

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

Taken away from the sea they used to live in, Jade and Floyd looked at their kidnappeur. They young tail hit violently the floor while they growl trying to look menacing. A fishing wire tied around there bodies, they couldn’t do much. Soon enough, they were taken to a strange room completly white.

“_No.... Let us go....”

The two young child started to whimper and wail as a group of human came nears them. Wearing what looked like a long white coat, they started doing whatever “test” they wanted. From a blood sample to a flesh sample to unknow product and potion. At some point, the two merfolk children saw their tails plit in two legs. Anything that reminded them of their origin suddently start to fade. The tail, the fins, everything. Now they looked like two human childs. Instinctively, and in order to protect them, they waited for the kidnapper to lower their guard. Now that they have legs, they could escape on dry land, Right? So they waited. Actually it’s was Jade who planned their escape, and one night after they killed one of the guard, they escaped. Floyd and Jade runned as fast as their small legs allowed them. Once they were far enough, they tried to return in the see, but unfortunately they couldn't. They bodies didn't return to their original forms. Horror on their face, their understood that they were to survive as a human for now.

___________________

As day pass, the twins learned to survive in the road. They fighted and robbed to eat something. And sometimes, they couldn't find anything... Jade was laying on a pile of trash with his twins, they health were becoming worse. Floyd even started to loose consciousness. The rain pouring on them didn't help. If he don't find a way to save his twin then he will die, and he didn't want that.

"_F... Floyd..."

Suddenly, he did not feel the rain anymore. He looked up to see an umbrella covering him and his brother. He looked up and saw a young girl, she was more or less the same age as them. She had glittering e/c eyes and a long beautiful h/c hair. From her dress Jade could see her noble upbringing. She studied them before smiling brightly.

"_Don't worry!! I will take care of you!!!

Jade wanted to say something but loosed his consciousness. When he woke up, he was in a bed, warm and clean. Floyd was still sleeping next to him. He could see that the bedroom was definitely for someone from the high class. Sitting quietly, he tried to recall what happened. He suddenly remembered the young girl. It's was her who took them here right? Jade let a small laugh. It's was quiet ironic. All the adult human acted like they didn't exist and the beggars sometime beats them up for their food, but it was a small, young girl who reached at them.

"_Jade...

Hearing his twin's voice, he turn his head and smile at it. He was happy to see Floyd in a better health.

"_Thank god your better!!

_Where are we?

_I don't know...

Suddenly, they heard a little creak from the door. Turning their heads to the sound, the youngs eels saw a small h/c head with two big e/c eyes shining with curiosity. Noticing that they were awake and seemed to know that she was here, she giggled and opened the door wider. Revealing a beautiful big smile, she runned at them before jumping on the bed.

"_So you two are awake! You guys sleeped for a veryyyyy long time! I thought you were dead!"

She let another small laugh before patting their head. Taken a back by the sudden show of affection, the twins just froze unable to do anything. Then a maid rushed in the room to get the young girl out of the bed.

"_My god!! Lady s/o, this isn't proper!! You shouldn't climb the bed of a man like that!!!

_No one is here, it's alright Martha.

S/o brushed her nanny's concern off and turned her attention to the twins. Jade could see the disgusted look on the woman's face. She obviously see them as trash unlike her young mistress who took them in.

"_You seem to be a better now!! Are you hungry?

Before one of them could speak, their stomach did it for them first. It's been days since the last time they ate something. They both blush embarrassed by the moment before the girl just got out of bed. A confident smile and her hand on her hips, she stood in front of them trying to look strong.

"_Okey, let's eat!!!

The little h/c girl took their hand and dragged them into the dining room. Beyond famished, they grabbed and stuffed anything they could eat. Once they couldn't eat anymore, they looked at the young lady and thank her. S/o laughed before claiming that from now on, she will take care of them. Her eyes shined with confident and pride, she weren't going to back down on what she said. The twins could see and feel her intentions, she truly just wanted to protect them. Ever since they found themselves on this cursed land, no one truly tried to help them. Smiling at their tiny savior, they accepted when the nanny cut in.

"_Goodness my Lady, those... Stray thing can't stay here!!

_But... Why?? I already promised them...

_Well they can stay as servant... This is still a way of taking care of them.....

_Oh... Okey....

S/o looked dejected when she heard that they couldn't stay. But if they could work here then they could have a place to sleep and eat like the other servants.

Floyd and Jade didn't talk much but they could see the displeased look the old woman give them. It's was obvious that the nanny didn't like them. She even gone as far to call them "stray thing". Too low to be considered human but not completely to be seen as animals.

"_Since Martha said you have to work, I guess you will have to work then...

They glanced to Martha who threw them a disgusted look. That woman definitely wanted them gone, if not dead.

_______________________

True to her promise, s/o took care of them. Aside for their chores, they didn't have to worry for a shelter or food anymore. Thanks to the young pretty lady, they got three meal, decent outfit and a warm bed. And since their were around the age of the young lady, they also became her playmate. They even hear the master and the madam talking about making them her personal servant. The three childs fastly became inseparable and the twins showed a lot of talent. Jade was very intelligent and quick witted, he was also a very polite child. On the opposite, Floyd was more energetic and bright, he was also very athletic and good for for fighting. The two together, they acted like the best protection for the little girl. In fact, they were both very attached to her. S/o was they first and only light ever since they came in the dry land. They became protective of her. In fact they fell in love with her little by little. The more she showed those beautiful smiles to them, the more they didn't want other people to see it. And then one day thing became a little different. While the three were playing near a lake, S/o fell in the water. Panicked, they jumped to save her but this time something strange happened. Their ears and some part of their skins returned to their merman appearance. They couldn't help but fear her reaction.

"_Jade...? Floyd...?

They flinched at their names. What is she going to do? Will she scream? They felt like it was the end of their life together. Tightly, they closed their eyes waiting for her hurtful word to come.

"_So... So cooool!!

_Um... Could you keep it a secret my Lady.

_Of course I can!!! Hehe! So you two are... Like that story right? A... Um... Mermaid!!!

_That mean angelfish!!! We are men!!!! So it's should be merman.

_But the right name are merfolk lady S/o.

_Hehe! So cool!!

At this moment, they love for her escalated greatly. She was so pure. They sweared to protect her against anything.

"_But don't you guys have a home in the sea?

_We do

_Oh... I suppose you two want to return there... I too would be sad to be away from home for too long...

_We don't want to... Floyd and I want to stay we you... Forever...

_Even death can't do us apart angelfish

Laughing and hugging them tightly, she accepted their words without understanding the meaning.

"_Then let's live near the sea, so you two can go back and forth there.

But little did they know, death would soon hit them. It's was late in the night, when a scream distorted the peaceful silence of the manor. Flame engulfed everything around them. Instinctively, the twins hurried to Rose bedrooms. Seeing them, the little girl clinged to them desperately. They then took her hand and start to run toward the outside.

"_We're going to get out of there! And then we will live near the sea like promised!!!

Once they were outside, they cheered for their successful escape but they were only two voice... Looking around them S/o wasn't there. Ready to return in the burning manor, Floyd saw the young girl unconscious laying among the debris before the house collapse. Letting a desperate scream, they tried to reach her but it was to late. They couldn't do anything but whatch their once source of joy burn. Keep that sight and memories in their heart forever, they return to the sea.

_____________

Many years later.

"_Azuul~! I brought you some littles guppys~! They broke their contract~! Haha~

_Ah Floyd, that was quite fast...

_It's was fun~~

After the tragic lost of their first and probably only love, they returned to the coral sea. They tried to act like everything were alright and met the octopus like merman. Since then the three of them stayed together. When they became older, the three of them returned on the land. And in no time, they formed a powerful network on the black market. They were now on part with other illegal organizations. The great seven, that how was people named that groups of powerfuls organizations.

"_Please, if you give me just a little more time then I can get all the money!

_Nu-uh! The time is the time! Unless you found something to reimburse what you own the octavinelle you will have to pay with your life...

_AH... A.. a girl! We adopted a girl a long time ago, she is quite the beauty... She should sell well no?

_Oh a girl?

_Yes, she was amnesiac so we took her in... She should be at home right n-

Before he could finish, they hear some ruckus outside the door. They could hear a woman's voice clearly. Strangely, the voice made Floyd and Jade shudder from excitement and a bit of melancholy. They felt so familiar with it, but it's was still a bit different.

"_Please spare my father!!

A beautiful woman burst in the room. She was indeed a beauty. Her long h/c hair was tied in a messy bun and her lamb like e/c eyes shone with an enchanting light in them. Even after so many years, the twins could recognize her. It's was her. It's felt like the god didn't forget them and gave their angel back.

"_S/o.../Angelfish...

Jumping a little scared, S/o looked at the twins.

"_Hum... Yes? W... Wh... Who may you be?

_It's us, do you remember? We were always together when we were tiny~ I reallyyyy missed you Angelfish!!!

_I'm sorry... I've lost my memory nine years ago...

_Ah it's must be because of the fire at that time.

S/o stiffened a little under they grasp. True she felt a familiar feeling around them but she couldn't return the affection. But Floyd didn't mind it. She was there, this was more important.

"_Oya, Floyd you will make her feel uncomfortable. Her memory is still missing after all.

He came behind her, caging her between him and his brother. Their bodies were firmly pressed against her causing her to blush.

"_But worry not! Even if you don't remember, we will keep the vow and promise we did at that time ....

_ we will protect you~

_and take care of you...

_and even death can't do us apart my sweet S/o / my little Angelfish. We will be together... Forever.

#Floyd Leech #jade leech #leech twins #yandere floyd leech #yandere jade leech #mafia au #twisted wonderland #twst

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

The Frog Princess. Chapter 2

She had no wish to be bound down to anyone, but Y/N none the less found herself being dragged across the continent; to marry King Foltest of Temeria. In stead of pomp and spectacle; she was accompanied by the witcher, Geralt of Rivia. Their travels would bring both monsters, lust, love; and heartache. All soundtracked by a endearing buffoon of a bard, named Jaskier.

TW: Violence, language, sexual themes. Rated M.

The rank smell of rotten seaweed and fish woke me up.

“Ah. The lady awakes!”, Jaskier scowled at me from where he was standing at the railing. His face looked as I was feeling. Nauseous and miserable.

“You slept all morning”, he said, clutching a handkerchief; occasionally holding it to his mouth. “Are we there yet?”, he called to the fisherman. “It’ll be a few hours yet, good bard. Try singing a song; it might take your mind of your stomach”. Jaskier heaved a few times, before leaning over the railing, and parting with his breakfast.

I wrinkled my nose at the sight, and stood up; feeling stiff and uncomfortable. Walking towards the middle of the ship, I almost fell over. “Sea legs not strong?”, the witchers gravelly voice said. He was wiping down a long sword, that looked as if it was completely made out of silver.

“I’m a Skelliger. My sea legs are perfect. I’m just hung over”, I sneered. ”For a Skelliger, I don’t know which would be more embarrassing”, the witcher smirked. It was only the third time I’d seen him smile. It wasn’t unpleasant; but I couldn’t let it distract me.

“Why Attre?”, I asked. “Going through Cintra Capital would be faster. You wouldn’t have to drag me as far”. “Are you saying I will have to drag you?”, he asked. “You’re avoiding the question”, I retorted.

“The Capital would be the obvious move; and could possibly bring armies to the gates of the city”. He looked worried for a second.

“I suppose I wouldn’t want to bring that on Calanthe”, I said. He raised a brow at me. “You like her”, he said, more as a statement than a question. “I respect her”, I said. “I don’t agree with all her politics, but she’s strong, stubborn and intelligent; and she has her peoples best in mind”.

“What makes you so sure that she knows what is best?”, he asked, looking at me. “I’m not. But that’s not the point”. I pulled my cloak around me; shielding myself against the cold afternoon sea breeze. “Her people have roofs over their heads, full bellies and well stocked markets”. “And the elder folk?”, the witcher challenged.

“That is a subject she and I disagree on. But, wrong or right, she doesn’t take shit from any man. Not even my cousin can tame her. I think that’s why he loves her so much”. I smiled to myself. The witcher held back a laugh, and continued his task; leaving me to find something to soothe my upset stomach.

---

We made landfall – about 10 miles south of Attre – as the sun was setting; once again leaving us to ride through the dark. The witcher had declined Jaskiers plea to take a room at an inn for the night; making the bard sulk as we traipsed through the forest.

The witchers decision fit my plan well; as I didn’t think it would be good to have to sneak out of a crowded inn; leaving witnesses in my wake. I’d rather disappear quietly into the forest as the witcher slept. I hadn’t caught him resting yet, and I figured we’d soon need to stop for the night.

Reaching a small glade, the witcher built a fire, and we made to have supper – fried fish; from the catch the fisherman had been so kind as to let us have a small ration of.

The color having returned to Jaskiers face; his mood had also lifted. He was tuning his instrument, and struck a few chords, earning a groan from the witcher. “I forgive you”, the bard said. “What?”, I asked, confused. “For being rude… and making me steal Eists horse”.

I snickered. “I didn’t make you do anything”, I said. “I just told you a white lie, to get you to stop moaning like a child about having to walk”. Jaskier tightened his lips. “Well, I forgive you anyway”, he said, with an insincere smile. “It must be difficult to be taken from your home, and shuttled of into the arms of a man you don’t know”.

I wanted to punch him in his handsome face; but simply nodded. “Thank you very much. That is very kind of you”.

His eyes warmed. “I’ve actually been working on a little tune for you, my lady”. The witcher looked up at him; with his eyes willing him to shut up – to no avail.

The bard strung a major chord.

“Lady, my lady, your beauty is rare. Your eyes have the power, a man to ensnare. Princess, oh princess, with skin so smooth. Your beauty is great; though your mouth is uncouth”.

I chuckled.

“Foul mouthed lady, be kind onto me And I’ll be your thrall, I will never flee. Foul mouthed princess, have mercy, I plea And I shall be ever a servant of thee”.

I clapped my hands, laughing at his little ode. He was a fine singer, and seemed like a goodhearted man underneath his pretty boy exterior.

“That was… different”, I laughed. “Well it’s from the heart”, Jaskier smiled.

“Do you want to draw in the wolves?”, the witcher snarled at us. “Well, pardon me for trying to lighten the mood, Geralt. Would you rather have the young lady sulking the whole night?”, Jaskier said. “She can do whatever she wants, as long as she stays quiet; and finishes making dinner”.

“I’m not cooking”, I said, looking at the fish hanging from the stick he handed me. “If you want to eat; you are”, he said. “Shove it up your ass”, I snarled. “I’ll shove it up yours”, he answered; and probed the stick into my hand.

I was about to whack him over the head with it, when Jaskier stepped in, and grabbed the fish from me. “I’ll do it, princess”.

“Stop calling me a fucking princess!”, I shrieked; an owl fleeing from a nearby tree at the sound of my voice. Jaskier stifled a smile. “I can’t imagine why you haven’t been married yet”, he chuckled. “Can’t even cook…”, he mumbled, and walked towards the fire.

“I can cook just fine”, I said. “I can cook, bake, sow and milk a fucking cow with the best of them. I just won’t. I don’t like being told what to do…”, I said. “Because you’re spoiled”, the witcher said, voice bored. “You know nothing about me”, I answered.

I went to stand by the fire; warming my hands. Jaskier served us the fish a few moments later, and we ate quietly.

“You could let me go”, I said, breaking the silence. “No”, said the witcher. “You’re my contract”. “In that case all you need is a head. I saw a fresh grave a few miles back. Foltest doesn’t know what I look like; you could pop back and dig her up”. “Her?”. The witcher suddenly seemed interested.

“There was a plank with her name and age on it. It could work”, I jeered. His eyes met mine.

“Get some sleep”, he said; pulled out his sword, and laid it next to him, before he laid down himself, head resting on his folded-up cloak. “Jaskier, you take first watch”. The bard rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir. Would you like a foot massage while I’m at it?”. “Do what you want. Just don’t wake me up”.

He closed his eyes, and seemed to fall asleep instantly.

I laid down; trying to make myself comfortable. I’d slept on bare ground before, but the treetops were to close together for me to be able to see the stars; so, I wasn’t enjoying the experience as I’d done then.

Just wait, I thought, have patience. Let the bard get drowsy.

I heard a small snore from near the fire. Jaskier hadn’t been able to stay awake long. Now or never.

I crawled to my feet, and ran.

---

My skirts were catching on the thickets, and it was difficult to find my way. I knew I had to find a place where I could see the sky; and find the north star. I didn’t know why I would go north, but I needed a direction.

There was a crackle of twigs behind me; and I looked back to see a deer running in the opposite direction. Sighing in relief, I continued; lifting my skirts around me, to free my legs.

I felt a sudden pang of fear from the fact that I was running in a strange forest in a strange land; without direction or goal.

Where am I going?, I thought. I can’t run back to the harbor. A village? If I find a village, I can maybe pay my way onto a carriage, get to Cintra Capital, and find passage home… If they’ll take me back.

I heard a hoot, and the sound made me trip over my legs in surprise. You win this one, owl!, I thought. Getting back onto my feet, I noticed my dress was stuck on a branch. I desperately tried to get it lose without ripping it, and I heard running behind me. My heart climbed into my throat. With a hard yank, the skirt came lose, leaving a long tear on the side of it.

“Shit”, I whispered to myself; picked up my skirts again, and ran on.

Reaching a small stream, I searched franticly for a spot to cross it, that wouldn’t get me soaked. I saw a stone sticking up over the water a few yards further on, and ran towards it; jumping onto it tentatively. It didn’t sink. Looking at the opposite side of the water than from where I came, there was a tuft of grass that seemed dry. I held my breath, and jumped again.

One of my feet landed on dry land, the other sank into the mud. I couldn’t feel a bottom, and panicked, leg stuck from my thigh down.

“What are you doing, little frog?”.

The witcher was looking down at me. He had crossed the stream without as much as a drop of water touching his boots, and at that moment I hated him more than I had hated anyone before.

“Leave me alone!”, I yelled. “No”, he said, and sauntered up to me; grabbing my thigh, and pulling me free from the mud. “You are coming back with me”, he said, and took a hold of my arm.

I saw a broken branch on the ground, grabbed it; and swung it at him, narrowly missing his head, as he drew back with inhuman speed. His confusion gave me enough time to set of running again, and I made it about 10 seconds, before two strong hands gripped my waist, swung me around, and threw me to the ground.

The witcher was laying on top of me; holding both my wrists above my head, and pinning my legs with his own. “Stop struggling!”, he said; not allowing me to move my hands. “Let me go”, I yelled; and tried to make my knee meet his groin, unsuccessfully. He bared his teeth.

“You are not playing nice, little frog”, he said; getting up – and threw me over his shoulder, to carry me back. I kicked, hit him and screamed as loudly as I could. Reaching my hand around, and scratching him across his face; he finally put me down.

“That hurt”, he growled. “Good!”, I sneered back at him; and went for another hit. His hand caught my wrist; and holding on to it, he backed me up against a tree; pinning me to it, by putting his knee between my legs and lifting it, until my feet no longer touched the ground. “You might just be more hassle than you’re worth; but I made a deal, and I intend to honor it!”, he hissed; eyes ablaze.

My voice hitched, partly from fear – and partly from the sensation of his knee between my legs. “Are you going to punish me now, witcher?”, I said; a small part of me hoping for a yes.

His hand flew to my throat; holding it, and squeezing it lightly. “Don’t. Play. With. Fire”, he said as calmly as he could – which wasn’t very. His face so close to mine, I could feel his warm breath on my skin. I bit my lip; unable to control the smile that ghosted across my face. Then he let me go.

Landing with a bump on the ground, I felt a sharp pain in my knee. I had landed on a stone, that had cut open a gash about two inches wide.

“Fuck”, the witcher grumbled above me.

I struggled not to cry; but couldn’t hold back a whimper, when I touched the wound.

“Let’s go”, the witcher said; picked me up, and began walking back towards the camp, carrying me all the way.

“Where were you?”, Jaskier said, voice panicked; as we came back into the light of the fire. “You fell asleep”, the witcher grumbled; and set me down on the ground. He fetched a small pouch from his satchel, and kneeled down next to me, lifting my skirt above my knee to tend to it. “Well, it’s been a very trying day”, Jaskier retorted; and went to poke at the fire, making the embers light up.

“He’s sensitive”, the witcher said, and looked at my wound. “Am not!”, Jaskier said; hurt. “I’m just not accustomed to being left alone in the middle of the woods with nothing to protect myself but my lute”. “If someone came to rob you, you could always sing to them. Might make them turn around and leave”. Jaskier gasped. “Well!... I never!...”, he said, and puffed his chest out, before laying down; his back to us. “I’m going to sleep”.

The witcher poured some water onto a piece of cloth, and began rinsing the dirt and blood away from my knee. I hissed at the sting from his touch; and tried to pull my leg away from him. He grabbed my calf, and held it in place. “Sit still”. “I can clean my own wounds”, I said. “I’m sure you can. But you landed in some blood moss, and I don’t want it to fester”, he retorted; and pulled out a small flask. “This will sting. It wasn’t made for humans to use; but it’ll cauterize the wound”. He looked at me seriously. “Hold on to me”.

He put my wounded leg over his own; took a firm hold of my ankle; leaning, so that I couldn’t see what he was doing. I took a hold of his arm; and held my breath. A sudden excruciating burning sensation spread across my knee; making me scream from the pain. I threw my arms around his bicep, and pressed my forehead into his shoulder, sobbing. “Shh”, he said. “It’s done”. I felt his thumb stroke my calf; and the feeling made a warmth spread up my leg; towards my core – mixing pain with pleasure I didn’t know how to react to.

I lifted my head, and our eyes met. His shone in the light of the fire, at once shallow and bright; at the same time deep as an amber ocean, hiding secrets below. He was excavating my own, it seemed – drawing out my deepest desires, fears and insecurities. It was disconcerting and intriguing all at once.

Remembering himself, he looked down at my knee. “There”, he said, handing me a bandage. “You can wrap it up now”. Where the gash had been was now and angry red line covered in small blisters. It stung, but I could tell that it would probably heal well.

I was wrapping the bandage around my knee; when a hollow shriek broke the silence.

“Would you stop screaming, woman?”, Jaskier yelled, and sat up. “He already fixed your bloody wound…”.

“Shut up!”, the witcher hissed. He was standing alert, looking into the dark. “Ger…”, Jaskier began. “Sshh!”.

The witcher picked up his sword from the ground. “Stay by the fire!”. He drew a complex figure in the air, and a purplish haze rose around us.

From behind the trees a grey mist drew closer. “I told you we should have stayed at an inn”, Jaskier whimpered.

I drew my hidden knife, and stepped forward. “Stay back”, the witcher growled; not taking his eyes of the mist. “It’s a moonwraith!”. “Oh, gods”, Jaskier said, his face once again turning green. “I’d do what he says”.

From the mist floated a spectre; screaming and moaning. Its face was horrifying – a long tongue hanging out of a jawless mouth. Its eyes were two large holes, and tattered rags hung from its thin limbs, not leaving the creature with any modesty.

The witcher held his sword with both hands, and stepped forward to face it. My whole body was shaking; and I realized that it was because Jaskier was holding on to my arm; shivering in fear.

The witcher slashed at the figure; making it draw back with an anguished roar. It swept forward, and our protector rolled across the ground to avoid it. He got back on his feet gracefully, flanking the spectre; and gutting a gash into its side – gray fog streaming out where blood should have been.

The witcher sprang for his satchel; grabbing a small bottle, that looked like the one he had used for my knee. He poured the content over his sword quickly, before putting the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip. He groaned, and fell back a step.

I ran forward, slashing at the ghost with my knife. It shrieked, and swung at me. There was a hard hit to my side; and I flew across the ground; landing near the fire; inside the ward the witcher had put up for us.

He looked back at me; his amber eyes gone. They were now black, and his skin impossibly white and grey. He looked like he walked the thin line between life and death – death not taking him, but strengthening him instead. The sight was terrifying.

He roared, and jumped into the air; slashing his sword through the spectre, making it tumble in the air, and fall back. He lifted his hand, and a force – like a gush of hard wind – flowed from out from it; pushing the creature against a tree. The witcher made a different sign in the air; and the spectre became more corporeal in its appearance.

He lifted his sword a final time; and slashed downwards; splitting the creature in half. A final scream, making the ground shake – and there was only quiet.

My heart was beating so hard and fast that I thought I could see it through my chest.

The witcher turned around – his ghastly white face sprayed with black blood. He marched up to me with impossible speed, and grabbed my arm; drawing me in so close that our faces almost crashed together.

“I told you to stay by the fire!”, he roared at me; black eyes digging into to me. “You could have been killed, you stupid girl”.

“Geralt…”, Jaskier tried calmingly, his knees still shaking.

Grabbing me by the back of my neck; the witcher bared his teeth into a sneer. “I should have let her have you!”. He pushed me away harshly, letting me land on my bottom. I was frozen in place.

“Geralt”, Jaskier said again, stepping between us. “She didn’t know. She was trying to help”. “I don’t need help”, answered the witcher; and stomped away to clean up.

Jaskier crouched next to me. “Best leave him alone a little while”. He patted my shoulder.

I didn’t move for a long time. I couldn’t feel the heat from the fire, nor could I move to get closer to it. I just sat there, cold and strangely devastated by the situation. In the end, I simply laid down, crawling in to myself; and fell asleep.

---

Thanks for reading.

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list.

- no lady

#geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix #the witcher fic #the witcher #jaskier

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

Text

Fanfic for @tolkiengenweek!

Title: The Castaway

Works Referenced: The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion

Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Maglor

The small grey boat sat completed on the shoreline, and the last of the supplies were being packed for the next morning’s expected voyage, when Legolas and Gimli looked up from their preparations to see a stranger on the beach. From his deeply-lined face and greying hair, Gimli might at first glance have thought him a Man of Gondor, were it not for the keenness of the eyes.

Legolas’ hands went to his bow, and before Gimli could speak he had already notched an arrow and moved to stand between the stranger and the boat.

“Show your hands.”

The stranger held his hands out, palm up, and the right hand was curled and blackened to to second knuckle of the fingers, as though he had grasped a piece of metal new from the forge.

“Sit.”

The stranger sat in the sand, hands still held up in front of him.

Gimli at last found his voice. “Legolas, what are you doing? He is unarmed, he has offered us no threat, the Men of Minas Tirith assured us there were no evil things at the Mouths of Anduin - ”

“Evidently, the Men of Minas Tirith were mistaken.” Gimli had never heard such hate in Legolas’ voice, not even for Saruman or servants of the Enemy. “I will explain. For the present, believe me when I say that this is such a threat as we have not faced since the War, and seldom during it. Now -“ returning his attention to the stranger - “how and why are you here, and why now, and for what purpose?”

The stranger spoke slowly and softly, his eyes fixed on the sand.

“A fortnight ago I was far to the south of here. In a dream, I saw the Mouths of Anduin, and a small grey boat, and two companions at a distance. I thought it only a dream, but it returned in the same form four nights more, and on the morn of the fifth day I saw a great flock of gulls flying north. I thought it might be a sign, though I have had none such since we left Valinor, and I came north to meet it. And here I find you. Am I right in thinking,” - he paused - “that you mean to leave these shores?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have come to ask - to beg - for you to take me with you.”

*****

Legolas had sent the stranger a little ways up the beach, so that the camp lay between him and the ship, before he turned to talk with Gimli.

“How much do you remember of the tales of the Elder Days told at Rivendell? Or at Erebor?”

“I know the tales of Beren and Lúthien and the Great Jewel, of Túrin the Doomed, of Nargothrond and Gondolin and the war against the Dark Enemy.” He also knew of the war of Doriath and Tumunzahar, but he suspected that Erebor and the Forest of Greenleaves had differing accounts.

“And of Fëanor?”

“The maker of the Jewels. His grandson was the Ring-maker deceived by Sauron, and a great friend of Khazad-dûm and of Dúrin the Deathless. His sign was on the doors of Khazad-dûm.”

Legolas narrowed his lips. “Yes. That is what many would remember, in these days. Some tales are too dark to tell lightly to outsiders, and too ill to tell for pleasure. The Elves remember, but few others care to, beyond the lore-masters. For our times are happier, at least in that we know our enemies from our friends.

“When the Dark Enemy slew the Lights that were before the Sun and Moon, and stole the Great Jewels, Fëanor and his sons swore to reclaim the Jewels and to slay any that possessed them, or else be doomed to Darkness Everlasting. To leave the Blessed Realm swiftly, they slew the greater part of my kin that lived there and stole their ships. In the long years when the Dark Enemy held the jewels, they never attacked him in his fortress, but when Beren and Lúthien freed the Jewel, and their son ruled as King of Doriath - ” Legolas paused and threw a hard look at the stranger. “They destroyed Doriath and slaughtered its people. They killed the King and Queen and their young sons, and when the King’s daughter escaped, they slew near all that remained of her people. But she was saved by the Lord of the Seas, and with her husband Eärendil the Mariner brought the Jewel into the West, and sought and received the aid of the Powers against the Enemy.”

“And what has this to do with our visitor?”

“He is Maglor, the last son of Fëanor. For his crimes he is barred from returning to the Blessed Realm; but he appears to be attempting it.”

“He seemed to think he had a sign from the Powers that it might be permitted.”

“The Fëanorians are liars, thieves, and murderers all. I trust him no more than I would an orc. While he is here, we keep a watch through the night. Keep an eye on him - and keep an eye on the boat!” *****

Legolas took the first watch, and woke Gimli at three in the morning. Maglor did not appear to have moved all night, nor was he sleeping; he remained seated silently, gazing out to sea. After an hour of boredom - he might as well have been watching a statue - Gimli approached the elf and sat down beside him. At the least, it seemed right for him to have a chance to speak for himself.

Gimli gave a small bow before seating himself. “Gimli son of Gloin, of Erebor and Aglarond.”

“Maglor Fëanorian. But your companion has told you that, and more.”

“Do you dispute any of it?”

The elf gave a faint shudder. “No.”

Maglor seemed thin, even for an elf, and wearier than any elf Gimli had ever seen. “Have you eaten?”

“A few fish, on the journey north.”

“Did you eat yesterday?”

“No.”

Gimli left him briefly to rummage through a pack at the camp. Lembas, a final gift from Queen Arwen of Gondor before her departure. He brought back a wafer with a mug of water and handed it to the elf. Maglor ate it slowly and with difficulty, as though it were cram rather than the much more savoury bread of the elves.

While Maglor ate, Gimli pondered, and fragments of old lays and legends came together in his mind, forming connections and the beginnings of an idea for taking the measure of this uncommunicative stranger.

"Do you know the tale of the Quest of Erebor?"

Maglor shook his head, still chewing.

Gimli told the tale, not as it was told on days of festival or winter gatherings in Dale and Erebor - dwarves did not criticize their kings lightly, or to outsiders - but as it was told by dwarven elders to youths, when they were old enough to think and consider and understand. He told of Thorin's quest, for vengeance and for the treasure and kingdom of his forefathers; told of danger and daring and victory, of wrath and pride and dragon-sickness, of loss and of sorrow and renewal. And all the while he watched Maglor's expression closely.

He could read nothing clearly from the elf's face, though midway through the story he began tapping one finger lightly, as though keeping time with the rhythm of Gimli's account. They sat in silence for a time once the story was ended, Maglor staring abstractedly into the distance, until at last he said, "I envy your king." His weariness seemed only to increase. "He fought with valour, and died at peace and in honour. It is more than many achieve."

The elf reached for a mug of water, but his hand passed right through it. He tried again, and the same happened. On the third attempt, he managed to pick it up in a solid hand.

Gimli shivered. This was too wraith-like for his liking. “Are you some manner of ghost or spirit?”

“Not yet.” Gimli gave him a questioning glance. “Given enough time, the spirit wears through the body. I am nearly there. If I remain much longer in Middle-earth, form will fade away; I will hear and see, but not taste or smell or touch; live in the world, but not act upon it.”

Gimli could scarcely think of a worse fate than being alive but unable to touch, to shape, to craft, to work. He was glad Mahal had had the wisdom to grant his people mortality.

The question had drawn Maglor's attention back to the journey before them. "I am sure you have more right to the journey than me, but may I ask how you come to be travelling to Valinor? I had not heard that mortals were permitted."

"There have been a few exceptions. I am not one of them, and cannot say I have been invited, as such. But Legolas is my dearest friend; the sea calls him, and I will not leave him, not so long as I have life. And even if mortals die swifter in Farthest West, as some say, still it would be worth many years of life to see the Lady Galadriel again."

Maglor started at the name. "You know her?"

"Aye; and count it one of the greatest fortunes of my life that have had the chance. Fairest and kindest and wisest of all whom I have known, with a dwarf's love for beauty and craftsmanship. Greatness without pride, and power without corruption. She cast down Dol Guldur in the war, where the old king Thrain was murdered; I wish I could have been there to see it!"

"Did she!" For the first time a smile flickered around Maglor's mouth. "She would have enjoyed that. I am glad one of us had victories, in the end."

"You know her?"

"Cousin Altáriel? We were never close. It has been long ages since I last saw her. But there is something to be said for shared exile, of a sort; the two in Middle-earth, since the Great War. I had not known she had been permitted to return. That is hopeful, at least; though our cases cannot be said to be alike."

Gimli's head was swimming. "Cousin?"

"Well - after a fashion. You have heard of my father," - with a rueful look - "and his half-brother, Galadriel's father, is king of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm."

It was exceedingly strange to think of the Lady as the child of someone still living, much less as the child of a king rather than a ruler in her own right. Gimli forced his thoughts back to relevant questions.

"You swore an oath to regain the Jewels. That Jewel, by the old legends." He gestured at the greying horizon. "Do you still intend to pursue it, if you return to Valinor?"

"I cannot." The elf's eyes went to his blighted hand. "I could not hold it, if I did. Nor would I seek to. I have lost all right to it. Let those that hold it keep it." His voice sank below a whisper. "As weregild, at least."

*****

"You spoke to him?" Legolas asked incredulously.

"You never forbade me to do so."

"I told you that he was dangerous! I told you that he could not be trusted! I would think the implication was obvious!"

"Well, whatever he was in the past, I cannot think he is dangerous now. He is old, and he is tired, and and he is sorry."

"And you can understand him this well from one night's conversation! When you had not even heard of him before yesterday!"

"It is more than I would have understood otherwise. Why are you so afraid of me speaking to him? Or hearing and seeing some account of him other than your own? You did not mention that he was close kin to the Lady Galadriel!"

"If you think she would wish to see him again, you are mistaken. Very much the reverse. The people he murdered were her kinsfolk as well as mine. And if you would trust him over me so readily, that should give reason enough for why it is perilous to speak with him unwarily. Do you remember what Gandalf said to us of Saruman at Orthanc? Beware his voice. Not all power is in weapons."

"He is an elf like you, not a wizard - "

"He is not like me. In powers I am no more like him than the innkeeper in Bree is like Aragorn - or rather, like Ar-Pharazon! The elves of the First Age had strange powers, and yes, some of them were equal or greater in power than the wizards we have known. You will remember that Felagund himself fought alone against Sauron. This elf is known about all for the power of his music and his voice, and I have no wish to test it!"

"I assure you that I am not enchanted! It is not as though Saruman had any effect on me, beyond annoyance at his lies. Even if you were right about him, why would Maglor be any different?"

"Saruman was seeking to daunt us; and you are too brave and too stubborn for that. But he got to Fangorn in the end, and Fangorn is no fool; and convinced him not through threats or temptations, but through pity. The kinslayer knows he has nothing to offer you or threaten you with, but if he can play upon compassion and seek to drive you to distrust me - "

"He did not. He denied nothing that you said, and he did not mention Galadriel until I had done so. Is it so impossible that he is sincere?"

"You do not understand the Fëanorians. Even grief and regret can be deceptive. Of all Maglor's works, the most famed is the one he wrote of the First Kinslaying, a song of sorrow and regrets. It did not hold him back from slaying kin a second time, or a third, or making war against the Valar themselves. So his protestations of regret can mean little now. Whether he is dissembling, or whether he means them truly, they have never stopped him before."

"He is dying. Or what passes for it among elves. Can you ask me to go to the West and tell the Lady Galadriel that I abandoned her kinsman to die?"

"He has more than earned it."

"So had Gollum. So had Saruman, when Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel both offered him mercy. Legolas, you say you fear I am bewitched, but it is you who do not sound like yourself. You hate him so bitterly, you would leave him to die, for deed committed ten generations or more before my grandsires, in a past so distant it is scarcely memory?"

Legolas went taut, and his eyes flashed with rage. "The memories of mortals are short! His deeds live in the memory of my father, and my mother, and their fathers and mothers, who dwelt in Doriath when he attacked it and lost friends and family and home to his and his brothers' blades! No one is asking you to show pity for Azog! No one is asking you to invite Smaug into your family's home and last refuge!"

The words hit Gimli as a blow. He had to admit that he would never have spoken to another dwarf as he had spoken to Legolas. Dwarves had fought long and bitter wars over the death of their kings; not only against Smaug, but against the Orcs of Khazad-dûm and the cold-drakes of the north. And though Dúrin’s folk had never warred among themselves, other dwarven lineages had had long and bitter clan-wars over generations. If he had tried to tell another dwarf it was his duty save a bitter personal enemy, when there was blood between them, the conversation would quickly have come to ax-blows.

His opinion of the aged elf had not altered, and he had no wish to leave him behind; but it was not Gimli’s choice to make.

“You are right. I cannot understand what he has done to your people, and to your family. I have no quarrel with him, and so I have have not the right to pardon him. You are my friend; I trust your judgement and your wisdom; and the choice rightfully belongs to you. Whatever you choose, I will go with you.”

*****

Legolas spent the afternoon in thought.

What were his reasons for refusing passage to Maglor? Certainly, Legolas hated the elf, but that alone was merely a sentiment, not a reason to condemn another person to death.

He is a murderer, and a threat, and his pretences to remorse cannot be trusted. He has killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and so his repentance is meaningless. Should we bring danger and evil again into the one place in Eä free of it?

Even if all that was true, Maglor was only one elf. Could he reasonably be said to pose a danger to the Powers? If they considered him a threat, was there anything to stop them taking him prisoner immediately upon arrival? Even among the elves, Galadriel by herself was at least his equal, and there were likely others in the Blessed Realm as powerful as she or more so.

That argument, then, was weak.

He is barred from the Blessed Realm. He has chosen his own fate, and his own doom, and the scars on his hand proclaim it plainly. He cannot enter; and if we attempt to bring him, we may never find the path, or even be destroyed as the Númenoreans were when they defied the Powers’ judgements.

This argument was stronger. The judgement was not Legolas’, but that of the Valar, and one that Maglor had fully earned. Even the attempt to bring Gimli, a mortal and not a ring-bearer, depended on the Valars’ leniency; why try their patience further, for one to whom he owed nothing?

But did he know that Maglor was forbidden to return? Maglor felt he had been given a sign.

Maglor has proved time and time again that he cannot not be trusted. He might easily be lying, or deceiving himself.

But if he was not...

If he was not, Legolas was choosing to judge where the Valar had granted mercy.

There was no way to know. Either choice could be in error: to pardon where they had judged, or to judge where they had pardoned.

Legolas was not Galadriel, or one of the Elves of old. He had not spoken with the Valar; he knew of them only through distant and hazy legends.

And through their emissary. Mithrandir, who had urged pity for Gollum, pity that had saved them all. Who had offered mercy to Saruman, a traitor and orc-breeder far worse than Maglor. There could be little doubt what Mithrandir would have chosen.

And if there was risk to the choice, to Legolas and Gimli themselves, what of that? To abandon him to death for the sake of guarding their own lives was fear masquerading as justice.

It was cowardice.

So the second argument, too, failed.

But were either of these the true reason for Legolas’ refusal?

I am returning to Elvenhome, to all the generations of elves since the world began. I am returning to my kin, and perhaps my ancestors, and to all the people of Doriath. I cannot do so in the company of Maglor Fëanorian and a dwarf!

Legolas would be living among the elves of Eressëa and Aman, for the rest of his life. If he did this, he would alienate them from the start, and destroy the chances of his people ever accepting Gimli. It could scarcely offend more if it had been calculated to do so; it could not appear but as a deliberate insult, to arrive with the greatest enemies of Doriath by his side.

They were not the same. They had nothing in common. There was no more reason for anyone to blame Gimli for the actions of other dwarves two Ages ago than there was to blame Legolas for the deeds of Fëanor. But the appearance of the thing could not help but have an effect; could not help but drawn connections; could not help but estrange him and Gimli alike from Legolas’ home and kin.

That was the true reason in his heart.

And acknowledged, it sounded ugly. Was he truly willing to condemn a person to death, or worse, merely to protect his own reputation? If he was too timid to bear disapproval or hostility for Maglor’s sake, would he also be too timid to bear it on Gimli’s account?

It was unacceptable.

*****

In the evening, he spoke with Maglor.

“How can I have any assurance that you will not again bring violence to the Blessed Realm? If your oath still binds you, are you not a danger? And if it can be broken, what possible excuse could you give for not breaking it far sooner?”

Maglor answered the question as if he had been expecting it, but unsteadily, wavering from meeting Legolas’ eyes, to closing his own, to looking away at the sand or the sea. “We swore to pursue the Jewels, and we swore ourselves to the Darkness if we kept it not, and in keeping it we more than earned the Darkness. If I am condemned, I am condemned; more in the keeping than in the breaking; but I will pursue it no longer.”

“Why do you seek to return now, after so long? If you wished to seek pardon, surely there were others you could have asked, far earlier - at Mithlond, or at Imladris -”

Maglor gave a sharp shake of his head.

“You may as well call it cowardice, on both counts. I stayed away for long ages, for fear and for shame, of seeing any that I had known or letting them see what I had made of myself. I think I would have preferred death to mercy, but for fear, being in no hurry to meet the Darkness. And so I waited, and waited, and now I am out of time, and fear fading more than death or judgement. I cannot stay here, forever, to the end of the world, without any hope of asking mercy, without any chance of saying that I am sorry -”

“What do you expect, if you do return?”

“I do not know. I scarcely care. Let the Valar do with me as they will.”

It was difficult to disagree with Gimli’s reading of the old elf. More than anything, he seemed unutterably weary.

He is not harmless. He has killed hundreds, by his sword; thousands, by his commands.

And he is willing to answer for it.

And Legolas’ decision had, really, already been made.

“Come with us, then. We depart in the morning.”

Author’s Notes

I wrote this in a very fragmentary manner and I can’t say I’m entirely happy with it. But it’s going to nag at my mind until I post it, so it’s going up in its current state.

There are two main reasons I wanted to write this.

First, I wanted Maglor to be able to return to Valinor, and I felt it important that he be held answerable for his actions by someone affected by them. It’s something he chose not to do during all his years of exile - he could have turned himself in, to Círdan, to Thranduil, to Celeborn and Galadriel, and he didn’t, and by this point there are very few people left who would qualify. Legolas didn’t directly experience the Kinslayings, but his father and grandfather were Doriathrin so there’s a definite connection nonetheless. I think that Gimli’s conclusion, that Gimli has no right to grant mercy to Maglor because he has no grievance against him, is correct; pardon needs to be given by the wronged, or by someone with authority to judge.

Second, Legolas is, of all the Fellowship, the one who never faces any real trials and temptations during The Lord of the Rings. (Even Gimli has to vie with his terror of the Paths of the Dead.) The Ring is no temptation to him - he has no desire for power or glory or greatness. Neither battle nor the spirits of the Dead nor the road to Mordor seem to daunt him. So I wanted to create a story where he has to face temptation and overcome it and do a certain amount of soul-searching. And, as is the case with many people who haven’t had to face great trials, the strongest temptation is towards condemnation of those who have faced temptation and have failed.

So I’ve tried to balance those two somewhat conflicting ideas, the legitimacy of judgement and the moral necessity of mercy.

#tolkiengenweek #fanfic #legolas #gimli #maglor #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #tolkien

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jacepens · 3 years

Note

About the prompts: 3=Washette, 12=Washingdad at Mount Vernon

First, thank you so much!! I had fun with this one:) and I hope you don’t mind, I went the full washingdad route with both prompts because it was too cute to resist. Honestly, if you want me to rewrite 3 with an actual romance angle, I will;) but enjoy this happy family:,)

And it is unfinished, yeah. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to end it, so I’ll leave it up to your imagination:)

Ok, enough preamble. Thank you and enjoy my dear! <3

***

“What the hell is that, and why is it in my kitchen?” George sighed wearily, glazed eyes taking in the creature Martha proudly showed him.

Another. Another was just what they needed. It was not as if they did not have to sleep through knocking at night, wake to find lamp oil missing, a boy fond of making it rain every time he stepped outside, a weeping rock. No, they needed another mysterious yōkai to take in.

“George, look at him. He needs a home, I couldn’t have left him out there alone.” Martha gives him the soft look that says, heartless old man, you fall in love with them anyway.

George sighed. He did, but another was simply out of the question. They had enough to deal with as is.

“Martha,” he said, “please stop adopting stray yōkai.”

She made a tsk sound, throwing her hand out to her hip, then to the latest yōkai’s shoulder.

George hadn’t gotten a good look at them yet, perhaps afraid he’d agree with Martha or would be met with something frightening. But his eyes watched Martha’s hand, and he took in the sight of the young boy.

Yes, well that was what he resembled closest, at least. He- it- appeared to be maybe 7 or 8, very slight but not to the point of bones jutting beneath his skin. He was trembling with cold, a pool of water forming under his dirty feet and leaf-covered body. His hair was long and matted, a mix of black and orange, tangled up so that it almost resembled a fire. The most striking thing was his eyes.

They weren’t particularly colorful, but there was such emotion there. Such pain and sorrow, glittering with unshed tears. And then George knew.

He would love and protect this boy just as much as he protected and loved the others.

In the following days, the boy clung to his side. George and Martha took care and tried to clean him, fit him into more proper clothes if only so he’d be more comfortable, but in a matter of minutes he’d go back to looking as he did before. They resigned, understanding that was simply the way the boy was and there was no fixing what didn’t need fixing.

The boy rarely spoke, using his eyes to convey the strongest of his emotions. He would sometimes even smile and everytime he did, it melted George’s heart.

The one thing he said was, “Michel.” And so, Martha and he decided to call the boy Michel.

When it came to the many yōkai that inhabited their once-quiet home, George was always unsure how to treat them. Michel looked like a child, and so George’s first instinct was to treat him like one.

He tucked him into bed at night with a kiss to his dirty forehead and left a few candies out. This action always seemed to please Michel, so George continued the route of caring for him like a child.

Where other yōkai simply wished to be left alone, or would only appear at night to wreck havoc or quietly rearrange their furniture, Michel was quite different.

Michel stayed by his side always. Even when the rain followed him outside, or when he made trips to buy candies, candles, lamp oil, cucumbers- the strange combination of things they need to keep all their spirits happy. Michel stayed with him through it all.

George doesn’t mind it. In fact, he soon found the boy's quiet presence quite enjoyable. It earned him strange looks, but those who knew him were used to the lifestyle he and Martha lived.

Michel is also the only yōkai who sleeps with them.

He spent a few nights alone, but one night, he quietly crept into their room. At first, George thought it was only Frisk- fond of scaring him at night- but in fact it was Michel.

He looked frightened, something still hiding beneath his wide eyes. George did not bat an eyelash before lifting up the covers. The boy burrowed between him and Martha, cold, and continued to do so nightly.

After this, Michel started to become more demanding, grabbing his hand and dragging him about the house or yanking on Martha’s dress until she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Still, they didn’t find a thing odd about him. They learned long ago to simply listen to what their yōkai needed, and provide it.

But something odd began to happen when Martha had another yōkai for George to meet. Another little one to love and care for.

She was the most human-looking yōkai George had ever seen. Her clothes were simple but pristine, she smelled of flowers and acted like a sweet-tempered young lady. She did not demand much, and George couldn’t help but dote on her.

And slowly but surely, Michel began to change.

Mold grew on his feet, his hair was always drenched, he began adding sticks and mud to the ensemble he adorned, and the smell was the worst that George ever knew.

George knew and saw that Michel was unhappy and it ached everyday that he couldn’t ease the hurt. He knew how to deal with an aloof yōkai, but a jealous one? He and Martha were at their wits end.

“George, it’s become terrible,” she whispered, tucked into a dark corner of their home where hopefully Michel would not find them.

“There must be something we can do for him,” George insisted, heart hammering, fear weighing down his shoulders.

“He is jealous; he is upset that he does not have all our attention but, have we not tried everything? We’ve given him gifts, love, the attention he had before, but it is like he knows that Patsy has the power to hold our attention.” George nodded along, mind drifting far away.

“And we’ve tried the river, the ocean, fish?”

“Nothing helps,” she shook, and in the dark George did not need light to see the way his wife’s bottom lip trembled as tears threatened to spill.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking his chin over her head. “It’s alright, dear. We’ll figure this out, it’ll be alright.” George tried to soothe, but his chest ached with the fear they would fail Michel.

*** Again, sorry for the abrupt ending. I would have rather given this to you than take way too long because I couldn’t think of anything.

#ask #prompt #just a tired dad you know?#a tired dad with too many yōkai children #hamilton is a kappa who’s learned to speak English btw xD #Laf is based off a nure onago but he will not become a burden >:(#I just hate that the nure’s description is just a child who stinks and in this way becomes a burden #so that’s not what’s going to happen here because he’s just a kid who needs attention #my most rambly tags ever oh no #snippet

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phykios · 3 years

Text

the marble king, part 8 [read on ao3] [rated M for adult situations]

Percy wakes to the feeling of a blonde curl in his mouth, and though the taste is unpleasant, he still smiles.

Spitting it out of his mouth, he turns on his side to better face his wife, and grasps at her, but not before pausing to rub at her glowing belly. "Good morning, my love," he says, voice still rough with sleep.

Softly, serenely, she flutters her eyes open, revealing the stunning stormcloud which he so adores. "Good morning, my husband," Annabeth replies, her returning smile, while small, still bright enough to light up the entire North on its own, the Bifrost distilled in her joy.

Though he has just woken up, he feels a bit restless, but the threat of the freezing air outside of the warm blankets stops him from rising from his bed. Additionally, Annabeth has slung her arm around his side and pulled him close, and he cannot bear to be parted from her. Oh, how he loves the feeling of his wife laying next to him.

The blankets securely wrapped around him, he turns further into her, leaning over and kissing her, long and hard and deep as possible.

"Darling," she murmurs against his lips, "you know I am already with child, yes? You cannot make me pregnant again at the moment."

"Oh, I am aware," he says, caressing the swell of her stomach. "I can imagine a hundred reasons to kiss you," he kisses her lips, "to touch you," he traces the bones of her clavicle, enjoying as she shivers in response, "to make love to you, that have nothing to do with making children."

She giggles, a sweet, chiming bell, a sound which puts him in mind of the carefree girl she was never able to be, but one that he dreamed they have created together.

Out of the warmth, he reaches up his hand, brushing her hair out of her face. Normally covered, as is appropriate of a woman wed, her hair lies wild against her pillow. He strokes the soft locks and imagines their child, their little girl, all blonde curls and brilliance.

"What is on your mind, phykios ?" Anja asks.

"You," he says. "Our child. Our life. How happy I am, and how much I love you, how much I love this."

"Even in the frozen wasteland of Svealand?" she teases, her lips curling.

"Even here," he promises. "Anywhere you are, that is where I wish to be."

However, rather than reward him with another kiss, as is her wont, she frowns. "Do you smell that?"

"It is merely the fire," he comments, though when he casts a glance towards the hearth, he sees that it is cold and empty. How strange; typically one of the servants will come in and make it up each morning before they awake.

He strains his ears, attempting to catch the subtle sounds of the house as it wakes up around them. The floor creaks, the walls shift, and everything feels foggy, as though their bed has somehow sailed out into the morning sea. It all seems so close, closer than it should be, closed off in his own world with Anja.

And what is that blasted scratching?

He awoke with a start, sitting up just in time to see the blaze of the fire going up.

The maid, a woman a few years younger than him with bright, bright hair, jumped as he moved, startled.

She murmured something that he did not quite understand, but recognized as an apology. "It is alright," he said as best he could manage, the syllables of Swedish not fitting so well inside of his mouth. Alejandra had laughed at his accent the other day, but at least she was kind enough to attempt to teach him some of this strange northern tongue so he could not be so abominably rude. Annabeth--Ana Zab--Anja Elisab--whoever--had either been unable or unwilling to spare the time to assist him, and nor had her father. Alejandra was then the only other person in the manor with whom he shared a language.

He had thought it to be a trio of Latin speakers; himself, Lord Magnus' wife Doña Alejandra, and her brother, the similarly named Don Alejandro, who had both studied Latin as youths, and if their Latin failed them, Spanish itself was not so different from Italian that the two could not understand each other when spoken slowly. Percy had been terribly embarrassed that it had taken him near on six weeks in the household to put together the fact that Alejandra and Alejandro were, in fact, the same person, a Norse demigod with shapeshifting powers that could rival even Franko's. As she had explained it to him, at times she lived as a woman, and at others he lived as a man, but still remained the same person within, and Magnus not only knew, but considered it no significant difficulty. For Percy, who had seen a cow with the tail of a fish, this was not so strange.

The maid scurried away, leaving the fire to try its best to warm the frigid room.

It was freezing. It was always freezing here.

Percy, a man of the warm middle sea, was decidedly not pleased by this constant chill.

His room was well appointed, the best guest room in the manor--a Swedish monarch, Kristoffer av Bayern , himself had once slept here, as Fredrik had told him. A servant came in to tend the fire, another came in to clean. It was, short of a god's palace, perhaps the most luxurious place he had ever rested his head. Fredrik and Magnus graciously provided him with warm clothing, finer than anything he'd left behind in Constantinople. Despite the winter, food was plentiful, and he joined the noble family for every meal.

One would argue that, as an honored guest in a noble household, his every comfort seen to, surely that would have made for a happier time than trekking through the Labyrinth, or facing a Cyclops, or holding the sky, no? And yet, he was not sure if he'd ever been more miserable in his life.

He was cold and lonely and cold. He dressed as warmly as he could, in several more layers than anyone else, and still he shivered. Fredrik spoke Greek, but he had much to attend to around the manor, and spent the bulk of his free time reacquainting his daughter with the goings-on and politics of the North.

At least Annabeth was settling in well. It was hard to deny how well she fit the bitter climate. She looked beautiful against the snow and the dark wood, wrapped in fine furs. Her cheeks flushed in the cold, her blonde curls sneaking out below caps and shawls, her pale skin glowing in the warm firelight, all lovely.

She no longer resembled the legendary Theotokos, but she seemed happier than she had been in months.

Dressed in lovely garments, rich fabrics of green and red and blue, she walked through the halls of her family with her head held high, as though it were her very own palace. She was a noble lady, come home after a long, torturous absence. A princess.

It suited her.

Annabeth would have made a wonderful lady of the house--shoring up the family and all that. The marital politics of aristocrats somewhat escaped him, but it seemed the sort of thing that they would do, marrying your beautiful, intelligent cousin in order to keep your lands and titles more firmly within the family.

He knew that Magnus loved his wife, and that marrying a foreign woman had caused some local controversy, even without the general knowledge of Alejandra's alternate days as Alejandro. She had told him herself, too, that just as Percy and Annabeth had gone on a great many adventures together, so had Magnus and his partner, along that rainbow bridge that Percy could only barely see. But when he saw the cousins together, so alike in their appearance, so clearly happy to be reunited, Percy could not help but wonder if Magnus regretted his marriage at all.

Percy almost felt guilty to think of it, and not only because Alejandra was his only true friend he had here. He would never dream of disrupting their marriage. But he did not know how anyone, presented with the missed opportunity of Annabeth, could not regret his choices.

Lukas had died for that regret.

He wondered what his own regret would be, once he left this place, once he left Annabeth.

Shivering as he left his very comfortable bed, he decided to take one of the rugs with him, keeping it wrapped around him as he got dressed for the day as he did each day, feeling foolish with every layer he added. His daily routines were sparse, spending his days puttering round the manor, alternately avoiding and being avoided by the denizens of the house. He could not even go down to the lake and sit by the water, as it was simply far too cold. At the very least, none of the family had made a move to have him removed; on the contrary, he'd been informed that, in the winter, such a trip could prove to be fatal. But one day Spring would return, and he would not stay in the best guest bedroom of Annabeth's cousin's house forever.

He shuddered again as he stepped into the hall. Malaka , but he hated it here. But Annabeth was here, and he found he did not wish to be anywhere else.

It had been well over two months by now, and Percy at least knew his way to the dining hall, where the mid-day meal was served each day. As he set off, he tried to time his shivers to only when he was alone, when no other member of the household, born and bred in this bitter, bitter cold, could judge the strange foreign man who had, perhaps, outstayed his welcome.

Annabeth and Magnus were already seated at the table when he arrived, and she cast him a smile as he entered and sat down beside her. He nodded, smiling in return, feeling warm from the inside out.

Then the cousins resumed their conversation, which was quite beyond his comprehension.

Frowning, Percy took some salted fish onto his plate, and ate in silence, as he had no other option.

Alejandro arrived a few minutes after Percy, a man today, judging by his clothing and his own statement. At the very least, he had the good manners to speak to Percy over his bread.

"You are of the Eastern rites, yes?" he was saying. "Soon you shall experience a proper Catholic Christmas."

"It is much too early for Christmas, is it not?" Percy asked, frowning. Had he missed the turning of the year already? He had not thought he was so unaware of the passage of time that he had missed December entirely.

Annabeth and Magnus both frowned at them as though they spoke in secret code, as Annabeth's Latin was less than passable, and Magnus' nonexistent. Given that everyone around Percy was constantly speaking a tongue he could not understand, he did not find himself with much sympathy to spare.

"St. Lucy's feast is but three days away," Alejandra said, "and then the Christmas month shall begin."

At Percy's confused expression, he laughed; it was not exactly kind, but Percy had come to learn that the relentless teasing was how Alejandro demonstrated friendship.

He turned to Magnus, perhaps translating for his husband, and Annabeth responded in Swedish, her face contemplative. Then Alejandro said something presumably quite amusing, for they all burst into peals of laughter. Annabeth's laugh was musical, as always, bright and sparkling as a bell.

He wished he knew what the joke had been.

Shoving a slice of bread in his mouth, he prayed that it would hide the disappointment on his face from being cut out again.

"Anja," Alejandro explained, "had mentioned that the last time she had been present for St. Lucy's day, she had dressed up as the saint herself--I then volunteered to assume the role of a small, blonde girl, if no other one could be located in time."

Percy smiled, partly in thanks, but it was not the same. He had no idea what St. Lucy's day was supposed to involve, nor why Annabeth had costumed herself so, nor how it was somehow already time for Christmas--and he was not about to ask his present company.

After the meal, he and Alejandro went down to the manor's stables, as they often did. "You know," he said, as they walked across the frozen ground, "I have a half-brother who is a horse."

"I as well," Percy replied. "Two, actually, I believe."

Small talk for demigods was always something of a unique experience, and this cross-pantheon relation-building was particularly interesting. Loki could also cause earthquakes, as Percy discovered. He was glad he had found a kindred spirit, even all the way up here.

The horses were quite nice, but Percy was distracted somewhat by a group of young stablehands who simultaneously politely ignored them, while hanging on their every word and gesture from around the corners.

"What game do you think they are playing?" asked Percy absently, though whether to the horses or to Alejandro, he was not sure.

"They are watching you, my friend," Alejandro said. "They are all desperate for a glimpse, for a juicy slice of gossip to share with their friends."

Percy made a face. "Whatever for? I am not that interesting."

Laughing, Alejandro clapped him on the shoulder. "Oh, you've arrived from far away, and that is plenty interesting on its own. When I arrived with Magnus, I was stared at and gawked over for months, and no one believed I was the heir to a fallen empire."

It took Percy several moments to fully understand the extent of Alejandro's implication.

"Do people truly believe that I have some claim to the throne of Constantinople?" Such a fantasy was--laughable, at very best. "Everyone thinks so?"

"No, not everyone," Alejandro grinned. "I know perfectly well that, son of a god or not, the heir apparent of an empire could not have escaped half as well as you did." Then he paused, looking Percy up and down in a manner that felt not entirely unlike an appraisal. "But merely a minor prince, well..." Alejandro trailed off, raising an eyebrow in question.

Ruthlessly he quashed the bubbling, hysterical laughter that threatened its way up from his stomach. Someone as cunning and well-traveled as Alejandro, someone who'd spent so much time with him, thought him to be a porphyrogenitus? "That's ridiculous," he said, for it was one of the silliest things he had ever heard.

Alejandro's face fell. "No, do not say such things," he complained. "I so wanted to be right. Magnus had insisted you were merely a boring old nobleman, and I would hate to lose the bet."

Percy swallowed, suddenly overcome with anxiety over what Annabeth may have told her family about him. They knew he was a demigod of the Hellenes, of course, but perhaps she had obscured certain facts about his mortal life.

No, not perhaps. Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter, whose family had played host to the king of Sweden in their ancient manor, she could not imply that her traveling companion was only a fisherman turned foot soldier in a failed army. What might that say about her, or her reputation?

"Well, I would hate to cause marital strife by proving anyone correct," he said with a painful smile, holding his tongue. Surely, if Annabeth had chosen not to share such information, she had had a reason, and he would not make her out to be a liar, not to her own family.

Eventually, he was able to get a straight answer regarding the Christmas season. The western Christians celebrated the birth of their god much, much earlier than those in the East, and in the cold, dark winters of Svealand, they had an additional holiday, that of the festival of light, held on December 13th, the Feast of St. Lucy that had been discussed earlier.

Alejandra stood next to her husband, smiling wistfully at the stream of little girls who walked past, garlands and candles on their heads. Percy could imagine, in his mind's eye, a little Annabeth leading the procession, blonde curls and steel eyes, so smart, so determined to seek the life that she wanted for herself. One day, perhaps sooner rather than later, her own daughter might join in the parade--another little blonde girl. A perfect child.

And Percy wanted...

No. No, he would not think on that. Already he was a shameful secret of his hostess. What would she think of him, if she knew that he dreamt of fathering her children? He could not risk her ire; should she order him to leave, he had nowhere else to go.

The lights streamed on past him, and Percy wished desperately for spring.

Christmas proved to be unremarkable, though the illicit Yule, celebrated in highest secrecy by Annabeth's family, was far more intimate. This holiday honored Odin, a godly king of the same rank and power and a little of the same personality as Zeus, but who apparently got on considerably better with Magnus and Alejandra than the lord of Olympus had with any of his mortal nieces and nephews.

He spent very little time with Annabeth these days, save for a few hours on the solstice, where they had sat together in an alcove, out of the way of the rest of the house, and did not discuss the winter council of the gods.

Neither did Percy have much taste for a Saturnalia, after the war.

Then the Epiphany was upon them, and the year had turned anew.

Percy began to spend some serious thought to what he might do when the spring came, as it inevitably would, when he could leave this place without fear of freezing from too long spent out of doors. He hoped by then, he would have learned how to cope with the knowledge that, once he departed, he would never again see Annabeth.

He had never broached the subject of payment for his services to her--he did not wish for a reward, as every moment by her side a gift. Keeping her safe had been an honor, not a chore. Yet he would need at least a little money to book passage on a ship, or to purchase a horse and some supplies. Perhaps he could speed up his departure by performing some manual labor for a local townsperson.

Percy had just begun to muster the courage to bring it up to Alejandra, hoping that she would be able to provide him some direction, when he received a summons, not from Lord Magnus, but from his uncle.

Sir Fredrik had called him to his study to discuss something that evening, and Percy prayed that he did not look too nervous. Perhaps the rumors of his birth had reached the lord of the household, and they wished to discuss the business of transferring a power which Percy did not possess. Or perhaps the truth of the circumstances of his station had finally come out, and Lord Magnus had chosen to send him away from their home. He was not certain which he would have preferred.

“Ah, Percy, come in!” said Fredrik, ushering him into the room. “Do sit down. Something to drink?”

“Oh,” he said, sliding into the chair which had been positioned in front of Fredrik’s desk. “No, thank you.” But the man had already sent along orders with a servant. What bizarre concoction would it be this time, Percy wondered. The soup made from rose flowers? The thin, foul-smelling ale which tasted of rotten bread?

While Percy waited at Fredrik’s leisure, the man in question continued to putter about his office, shuffling papers and muttering to himself in Swedish. He waited for so long, he began to wonder if Fredrik had forgotten him entirely, until a manservant reentered with two steaming mugs of… something. Percy attempted to thank the man as he handed him his drink, only to receive a rather condescending look from the corner of the man’s eye.

Cowed, he sipped his drink, preparing himself for the worst.

Yet--oh, what a pleasant surprise! The drink was hot, but sweet, with a splash of spices and a softness which hid the bitterness of the alcohol that ran through it. The sharp smell reminded him of the trees which surrounded the manor, fruit on a cold winter’s morning.

“Pardon me,” he said, “but what is this beverage?”

“That, my boy, is a cider,” Fredrik replied, settling down at his desk. “I take it you prefer this to ale, yes?”

Indeed. Rather than answer, he took another deep, deep drink, letting it warm him all the way to the tips of his toes.

“Now, then,” said Fredrik. “There are several things I wish to discuss with you.”

Percy straightened. “Yes, sir.”

Tapping his fingers against his desk, he peered at Percy over the rim of his glasses. “Over the past few months I have had the opportunity to observe you and your character, and you seem to me to be a good, upstanding young man. Now, I must be truthful; I recognize that we have perhaps, ahem, sped things up quite a bit more than one usually would in situations such as these, but as time is of the essence, I shall be brief, and speak plainly: would you, Perseus, be amenable,” he asked, “to marrying my daughter?”

Uh.

Oh.

Well.

“I… beg your pardon?”

Nonplussed, Fredrik rearranged several papers. “I have previously discussed it with her, and she has agreed to the proposition. She was quite insistent that we consulted you before any decision was made, of course.”

It seemed that the cold had frozen all of his mental faculties, bringing his thoughts to a grinding, stuttering halt.

Percy had come up against a wide, wide range of peculiar situations in his short life. He had been stared down by gods, monsters, and all manner of supernatural entities, most of which wished him fatal injury. He had been accused of, among other things, stealing the most powerful weapon in history, then a mere four years later, had been offered the gods’ rarest, most precious gift. He had witnessed, firsthand, the passing of an age and the end of the greatest empire known to man.

Absolutely none of it had prepared him for this moment.

“I…” He did not even know where to begin with such a request. “I… think, sir, there may be some confusion.”

“Nonsense,” Fredrik scoffed, reminding Percy eerily of his daughter. “What confusion could there be?”

What confusion? What of the fact that Percy was entirely unfit to be anyone’s husband, let alone Annabeth’s? “I am aware,” he said, slowly, “that some people have… perhaps loftier impressions of myself and my station than what may be accurate. Whatever you may have heard, unfortunately, I carry no blood claim to the Palaiologoi .”

Fredrik blinked, taken aback. “I had not heard such a rumor,” he said. “I do apologize if anyone has treated you strangely due to such misinformation.”

“I carry no claim to any sort of titles at all, truly,” Percy said, pressing the truth of the matter. “I am no prince nor royal bastard, no lord nor duke, but merely a fisherman and a foot soldier of the allagion .”

“And a son of Poseidon,” Fredrik added. “Lords and dukes can only dream of a peerage such as yours, my boy.”

As flattering as that was, Percy felt it was somewhat beyond the point. “What I mean to say, sir, is that there is not much I could offer your daughter by way of marriage.” Naught but his heart, a devotion and passion equal to the power of a thousand suns, but such things were immaterial, and not usually considered in terms of a marriage contract. “I have no titles nor lands, no family--I haven’t even a lira to my name.”

“You need not concern yourself with the finances,” Fredrik said. “Anja herself possesses a considerable dowry--one or two tracts of land granted to her by my late brother which can be cultivated or exchanged as the two of you see fit.”

“I--be that as it may,” he stammered, floundering for some sort of purchase in this odd dream into which he had entered, “it was my understanding that Annabeth did not, precisely, wish to be married.” He kept the “ to me ” quiet, unsaid.

Not only had she certainly not been the greatest devotee of Hera, patroness of marriage, but the only time she had ever brought the topic up in conversation had been in reference to making herself Empress. Why on Earth would she agree to such a contract with Percy?

Fredrik sighed, removing his glasses and placing them on his desk. “How much has Anja spoken of our relationship?”

“Only the broadest strokes,” he said, a trifle embarrassed. He did not wish to divulge the deepest secrets of her unhappy childhood to the man responsible for much of it.

“Tell me, Perseus,” said Fredrik. “Do you have any children yourself?”

“No, sir,” Percy said, unsure of the direction of this conversation. “Not to my knowledge.”

Frowning, thoughtful, Fredrik held Percy in place with his keen eyes, so like his daughter’s. “While I love my sons, I would be remiss if I did not confess my numerous sins regarding the health and well-being of my first child. When the lady Athena gifted me with Anja, I had just returned from my stay at an English monastery, where I had been consulting with several of the monks there. I was a young man, not so much older than yourself, and in a similar financial predicament. My brother did not approve of my scholastic desires, and so provided me with little assistance. My union with Mary was, in part, an attempt to provide Anja with certain things she had never known before: namely, a mother, someone to whom she could turn whilst I was otherwise occupied. Unfortunately, as you well know, that is not how she saw it. And so, in my negligence and ignorance, what I thought was the right choice for her was merely the impetus she finally required in order to make an attempt for freedom.”

Somehow, Percy could not imagine Fredrik as a young man, so weighed down by years and years of regret and sorrow.

“I never imagined I would see her again; my Anja. I had presumed that she was lost to me forever, and then, once word of the defeat of Constantinople had reached us… Well, I had resigned myself to the fact of her death. It was a near inevitability. And then, you presented me with a miracle: Anja returned to me, and with forgiveness in her heart.” Then he smiled, and the years seemed to fade from his face. “I love my daughter, and I swore I would never do anything to lose her goodwill ever again. Unfortunately, as you and I well know, though she certainly would be able to live well and peacefully on her own, it can be rather difficult for an unmarried woman to make a name for herself. It can be done, and it has, but the presence of a husband can grease certain wheels, give her access to social circles in which I know she shall thrive. And there are other things to consider as well.” Shuffling the papers on his desk, he pulled one forth, squinting at it. “My wife has informed me that several young men in Uppsala have expressed their interest in marriage with Anja. The politics are long and tedious, so I shall not bore you with them, but you and I can both agree that she deserves to be more than a bargaining chip in a bloody conflict.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, for what else could he say? Percy would give her the world, if she but asked him to.

“I intend to remove her from the conflict entirely,” Fredrik went on. “And for that, we have agreed, there is no one better suited to the position than you: a friend and ally, and someone who will not press her to do anything which she does not want for herself.”

Even seated, his hackles rose at the thought.

As he fought valiantly to keep hold of his father’s legendary temper, Fredrik must have mistaken his silence for reluctance. “This arrangement is not agreeable to you?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh--no, sir, not at all--it is very agreeable, yes,” he rushed to assure him. How could he possibly explain that the man had just offered him his wildest, most precious dream, wrapped sweetly in a perfect little package? Every inch of him screamed to accept it. “I merely… do not know what to say.”

He wanted to say yes. Oh, how he wanted . He wished to wake up to her hair in his mouth, to her blinding smile in his bed, to take her in his arms and demonstrate the extent of his affection and passion for her. He wished for her every waking moment, every hour and minute of her presence, even if just to bask in the simple fact that he shared it with her. A lifetime with Annabeth, spent in the frozen North of Svealand--a better reward than anything any god had ever offered him.

“I…”

Yet, he faltered.

“If… if possible, sir, I should like to speak to Annabeth before any arrangements are finalized.”

Frowning lightly, Fredrik nodded. “I understand, though I do urge you not to linger too long on this decision. There are more things here at stake than perhaps you or I realize.”

If he had not spent so much of his adolescence as a demigod, he thought, such a vaguely ominous warning would have caused some concern. But it could not bother him now.

“I will speak with her today or tomorrow, sir.” Percy promised, though it was all he could do not to accept his offer right at this moment, to run from this room, find her, and kiss her. “As soon as possible. I merely wish to discuss with her directly regarding her expectations.”

At that, Fredrik grinned a little, humor peeking out from behind his stern exterior. “Good man,” he said. “With that attitude, I am certain you will go far as a husband.”

In something of a daze, Percy wandered his way back to his sleeping quarters, his thoughts racing faster than Apollo’s chariot, turning every word of his conversation with Fredrik over in his mind, digging for any possible double-meanings. And yet, the meaning seemed perfectly clear: Annabeth and her father had discussed her prospects, and had come to the conclusion that marrying Percy was the proper course of action.

In his experience, such a boon never came without a price. It was something Annabeth herself had told him, once upon a time: there was no such offer so duplicitous as a free meal.

When he entered his room, he found the subject of his contemplations waiting on him there. “So,” Annabeth said, keen eyes piercing straight through to the heart of him, “I take it my father spoke with you?”

Wonderful; he did not need to catch her up to the situation at hand. “I did,” he said, an inexplicable irritation surging through him. “Though perhaps ‘ambushed’ may be a better term for it.”

She pursed her lips, but said nothing.

He knew, in his soul, that he should not speak to her like this, that he was more than capable of carrying out such a conversation with logic and reason--but month after month of freezing weather, strange food, and being stared at like an animal cage had taken its toll, and he found his patience had worn a bit thin. “Had I realized you were so keen on marriage,” he said, “I would have endeavored to bring you home sooner. Your father tells me there are several gentlemen all vying for your hand.”

“My step-mother’s doing, no doubt,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Were it my decision, I would not be in this predicament, I assure you.”

As he had suspected. “Well, then I suppose I should be grateful that, if you ever deigned to marry, I would be amongst the preferred candidates.”

Her mouth twisted, no doubt a clever retort just about to trip off the tongue, but, clenching her jaw, she wrangled it in. “I know it is in our nature to quarrel with each other,” she said, “but I would have your cooperation in this. If you agree, we shall be married; if you do not, we shall not. Surely it is within our power to make it so simple?”

There were many, many things he wished to say to her, beginning with how he did not appreciate being put on the spot in that manner, and ending with how marrying her would be the greatest achievement of his lifetime, but, curse of the demigods, his mind raced far ahead of his mouth, and all that came out was a statement only tangentially related. “I am not a farmer,” he blurted.

She raised her brows. “Beg pardon?”

“I--” he rubbed a hand over his face, attempting to pluck the words from the typhoon of his thoughts and feelings, “you know that I am only a foot soldier, yes? A foot soldier and a fisherman. Yes, I can claim the mantle of a hero, but what good does that do beyond the confines of the agoge ? What could I possibly bring to the table? I do not know how to work the land, or manage assets, or--or be a husband.” And therein lay the truth, that he could not be the type of husband she would deserve. He could be a friend, an ally, and a traveling companion, and there their paths would branch off, leading them down two very different destinies.

No matter how fervently he desired otherwise.

Annabeth let out a breath. There was raw, naked pity on her face, as though she had not considered he could feel this way. “You will not have to do any farming yourself,” she said, slowly. “There are people we could hire, help that we could bring in to manage all the things that we have no knowledge of. We could sell the land and use the money for something else entirely. And as for being a husband,” she bit her lip, shaking her head minutely, “you have been the most stalwart, steadfast friend a person could ever have. I imagine that a husband would require much the same qualities.”

That much was true, yes. Percy had experienced for himself two very different kinds of husbands, the ill-tempered and devoted, the creature of harsh words and the man of warmth and comfort, the monster of Percy’s childhood and his mother’s second husband. He thought of Paul, his easy understanding and his willingness to believe the wild yarn his wife had spun for him. To be a man like that, Percy felt that was a task he could manage, yet there were other things Paul had provided his wife… things that Percy did not know if Annabeth wanted from him.

Swallowing, she tilted her chin up. Her eyes were glassy, shining in the candlelight. “I know this must not be what you had envisioned,” she said, speaking slowly as though she were choosing every word after much deliberation, “but there is… of the options provided, there is no one else to whom I would rather be married. I know you would treat me kindly, would be my friend and confidante; what more could any wife wish for?”

Ah. Now he understood.

“Very well.” Percy held out his hand to her. “I formally accept your proposal.”

Percy was her tether to freedom. Presented with the inevitability of marriage, Annabeth had chosen the least undesirable path, a man who would, at the very least, not forcibly tie her to the hearth and home.

Well, if that was the only service he was to provide for her, then provide it he could.

With only a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, and they shook on it.

***

Several weeks later, they were married.

Percy had volunteered his services as best man to several of his fellow soldiers in Constantinople; it felt very strange to be on the other side of the festivities. Still, the ceremony itself was quite similar to the ones he had witnessed before. Considerably less icons, however. Given how the Eastern Romans had fought tooth and nail for their icons, to be married without them felt nearly like a betrayal, even though he put no stock in such things.

Notice of their wedding had been posted on the church door of the little town nearby, in order to give people time enough to find reasons to object, should there be any. “Sometimes,” Alejandra had explained, “a man or a woman will have a number of wedded partners in a number of different towns; this gives a jilted lover the chance to come forward and name the philanderer publicly. Usually, though, it is to confirm that the two who are to be wedded are not so close in blood.”

Percy cast a thought to his convoluted family tree, and decided not to think on it further.

He had nearly laughed, though, when the priest had asked him if there were any sins he wished to confess before he was wed. His sins against the church were varied and extensive, as were Annabeth’s; in all ways, save the most obvious, one could say that the two of them lived in sin together. He could not truly tell, but he thought he may have seen her suppress a smile out of the corner of his eye.

She looked lovely that day--as she did all on days--but on her wedding day, she had arrived in a royal blue dress that made his heart pound and his palms sweat, nearly the same darkness as the shawl he had gifted her, dark against her pale skin. Her hair had grown much longer since her ill-fated cut, and had been cleaned and maintained by her maid, looking even softer and more golden than it usually did, falling down over her shoulders, a garland placed on her head.

There, in front of the gathered assembly, he vowed to honor, obey, have and hold until death, and slid a ring onto her finger. The priest conferred unto him a kiss of peace, and bade him to do the same to his wife. To Percy’s credit, he restrained himself from pulling her into his arms, and merely placed the absolute chastest of kisses on her lips. After the appropriate amount of time, Annabeth pulled back, her face a pristine mask, and Percy prayed that he had the same amount of composure.

The celebratory feast, unfortunately, would prove to be much more difficult.

Alejandro, merry on spiced wine and in his volunteer function as best man, had corralled the guests into a little wedding game which came from Anglia. The cooks had made enough buns and spice cakes to feed a small army, and, in a fit of insanity, the assembled party decided to stack them on top of each other, creating a sizable tower of buns, nearly as tall as Annabeth. “There we are, lovebirds!” he crowed in Spanish, as he was too inebriated for Latin, slinging his arm around Percy’s neck. “Here are the rules: you must kiss one another over the tower, and if it does not fall, your union will certainly be blessed!”

The crowd, having finished their construction, took up the call, cheering them on, Alejandro physically dragging Percy up out of his seat, and pushing him towards the tower. Magnus was doing much the same to Annabeth, steering her to the other side.

“Alejandro, I--I cannot--”

But whatever excuse he tried to invent was lost over the approving jeers and cheers of their audience. Though he could not understand their words, he knew precisely what was required of him here.

Across the tower, Annabeth was flushed, with drink or embarrassment or cold, he could not tell, but she looked on him with expectant eyes, and he knew she was smart enough to have come to the same conclusion. To refuse to take part in this little game would be foolhardy, at best.

Up close, the tower of baked goods was not nearly so tall as it had seemed, and it was easy for him to lean down without disturbing the construction of food. On her side, Annabeth had closed her eyes, her lips parted, waiting for his to fall on her.

By his count, this was now their third kiss. Perhaps it was to be their last. He would savor it then, he told himself, commit to memory the softness of her lips and the redness of her cheeks, her long, golden eyelashes resting against her skin.

A great, raucous cheer went up from the crowd, and they pulled apart, greeting their audience with bashful smiles.

Percy turned, ready to apologize to Annabeth for all of this. But he held his tongue when he saw the bright smile on her face. He knew her fake and forced smiles, this was not it. She was happy. And he could pretend, at least for a moment, that it was because of him, and not because of the clever situation she’s managed to get herself into.

Eventually, the celebration ended, and they had to retire to bed. Percy had started down the hallway to retire to the guest quarters, until Annabeth had looked at him oddly, and he was suddenly reminded--of course, they were now married. They would be sharing a bed from now on.

The very thought sent a shiver down his spine.

They had shared beds before, hundreds of times. On this journey alone, they had shared the bed of many an inn, simply to save money. For some reason, this time felt different.

Annabeth’s room was not so different to his own; a little larger, perhaps. Fredrik, Magnus, and Alejandro saw them off, Fredrik embracing his daughter and kissing her forehead. He whispered something to her in Swedish, and she nodded into his chest, sweetly. Then he looked at Percy, gave him a solemn nod, and departed.

Now they were alone.

The fire in the hearth had already been lit--and had been for a while, judging by the size and heat of the flame. That must have been why Percy suddenly felt hot beneath all his clothing.

“Well,” he said, wandering to the other side of the bed. The room had no echo; it made it feel smaller, somehow. “I imagine that was not how you had envisioned your wedding, yes?”

She did not respond.

The heat of the room was bordering on suffocating. How odd, since he had only ever known the climate to be perpetually frozen. To alleviate this, he removed the outermost layer of his clothing. “Certainly it is not what I thought mine would be. In truth,” Percy said, filling the silence with his babble, “I had not thought that I would ever marry. Not because I detested the very idea, mind you,” he rushed to confirm, “but, you know how few of us reach the marriageable age in our line of work. It always felt like some sort of far-off dream to me. Yet, here we are! How amusing, yes?”

Still nothing.

He turned to her, then yelped. “Oh, forgive me! I had not realized--”

“It is fine, Percy,” she said, lowly. “We are married now; it is no sin to look at me undressed.”

While he was not looking, she had shed her clothes as well, folding her dress neatly for someone to claim later. Her underclothes were white, made of thick, sturdy material, perfect for cold, winter days.

“Still,” he said. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You have not.” From behind, he watched her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed. “When I thought of my wedding,” she said, after a moment’s silence, “I did not think it would have so many Catholics.”

Percy laughed, a sound startled right out of his chest. “I as well!”

She chortled, too, causing the fabric of her dress to ripple. “If you must know,” then she turned to him, her hands deftly winding her hair into a braid, “I used to dream about being married in the ways of the shieldmaidens.”

Sense memory, he remembered the feel of her stiff, bloody hair in his hands, gently twisting it this way and that. His fingers twitched. “What,” he coughed, “what did the ways of the shieldmaidens entail?”

He wondered for a moment, given the story she had told him of Katya and Clarice, if that was what she had meant by the ways of shieldmaidens, and if she had dreamed of that, when she had not dreamed of Lukas instead.

“Sacrifices, ritual baths--what one might expect from a wedding.” She tied the end of her hair off with a length of leather cord, the braid coming to rest over her shoulder, the tip of it tickling the neckline of her dress. “When the bride and the groom met in ceremony, they would exchange their weapons with one another.”

He nearly laughed, it seemed so in line with all that he had learned about the northern raiders. "Quite befitting a warrior’s culture," he mused.

Nodding, she stepped closer towards the bed, though she made no move to lie down upon it, instead leaning against a bedpost. “The groom would present the sword of his ancestors which he had unearthed from the family tomb; in turn, the bride would gift him a weapon as well.” Weakly, she attempted a smile, though it looked to be more of a grimace to Percy’s eyes. “My father once told me that he had gifted my mother a weapon such as this. Unfortunately, she was not so familiar with the custom, and so would not accept it.”

Her lips turned downwards, her whole posture sagging with a muted sorrow.

Oh, why not. “We both have our own ancestral weapons,” he said. “If you are amenable, we could exchange them now.”

She flicked her eyes up to him.

“It is no trouble for me.” If it would make her smile, he would take Anaklusmos and toss it into the hearth itself. Lending her his sword for a while was nothing.

She studied him, her lips thin as they pressed against each other. “You truly would not mind?” she asked. “I know it is a silly tradition.”

Rather than answer, he pulled his sword from his belt. The magical item, when not in use, took the form of a key, for ease of portability. Whispering its name, a powerful summons, it grew into the long, leaf-bladed xiphos his father had gifted him, and he held it out to her, hilt-first.

“Anja Elisabet Fredriksdotter,” he said, these strange syllables finally at home on his tongue, “I offer you my sword.” He did not know if the words were correct, but he prayed that they would suffice.

Across the bed, her large, grey eyes shone in the firelight. Her mouth quivered with furiously checked emotion, and she had to turn to hide her face, snatching something out of the bundle of clothing she had discarded. When she turned back, she had not regained her composure--not one bit. “Perseus thalassinos ,” she murmured, holding out her knife towards him, hilt-first, just as she had so many months ago, in the middle of nowhere with dead men at their feet, the highest act of trust she could muster. “I offer you my sword.”

Over the bed, they exchanged their weapons.

Taking the bronze knife in his hand, he felt different, somehow. He felt as though he had passed through a door of some kind, had crossed over into a newer, stranger world, and yet, he felt no danger, for he had a partner at his side, one who would see him through all senses of conflict.

Brandishing his weapon, Annabeth took one look at it, then promptly burst into tears.

Percy dropped the knife. It clattered against the cold stones, forgotten. “Annabeth,” he asked, rushing to her side, “Annabeth, what is wrong?”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, she shook her head, her whole body trembling as a tree caught in a mighty storm. Fearful that she would accidentally hurt herself, he plucked the sword from her grasp, tossing it carelessly aside, and gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms.

“Annabeth, what is it?”

She grasped him in return. Her grip was always strong, and now her fingers dug into his muscles, squeezing him tight. “I--” she sobbed, “I--” Her chest was seized with hysterical breaths, her eyes shut tightly. “This is--I--it was not supposed to be like this,” she gasped. Tears flowed freely from beneath her eyelids, glittering like crystals in the firelight.

“I know,” he breathed. “I know, and I am sorry.” Sorry that she was stuck with the likes of him. She could have had her pick of the world--lords and emperors and whoever else--and somehow, she had the misfortune of being tied to him.

“No, it is not--” she wept. “Silena, we had al-always spoken of--and you have been so kind and--and understanding, but I--we--and I dragged you halfw-way across the world, but I know you h-hate it here--”

“I do not hate it here,” he protested, even though it was true.

“I had thought m-my wedding would be held at the camp.” Were he not listening so intently, he would not have heard her words, warbled and warped as they were by her heaving sobs. “On the b-beaches of Troia , and my m-mother would be there, but she is gone , and camp is gone, and--I--I just--”

“I am here,” he murmured, squeezing her shoulders. “Oh, Annabeth, I am here.”

She opened her eyes, grey storm clouds glinting with lightning.

“It is alright,” he told her. He understood her feelings well; not a day had gone by without a thought to the whereabouts of their friends, of their family. But here they were, together, and that was all that mattered. “You are not alone,” he swore . “I will stick by you, I promise.”

With a trembling sigh, she threw her arms around him. He pressed her close, his arms coming up to circle her torso, holding her to his chest. “I am sorry,” she gasped, “I am so sorry.”

“It is alright,” he said, a hand coming up to the bottom of her neck to better support her. “You do yourself no disservice.”

“N-no, it is not--” she shuddered, a localized earthquake within his arms. “The marriage,” she said, “it is not--not legal unless we--we--”

He knew precisely what she was going to say, and though his heart surged at the idea--and he was certain she could feel it, pressed so close to him as she was--his mind, thankfully, was in control for the time being. “Absolutely not,” he said. “Not tonight.”

That seemed to shock her out of her panic. She stilled in his arms, her wails subsiding.

Poor thing, she must have been so worried that whoever she married would attempt to force her to fulfill the marriage contract. Once again, he cursed the whole damnable institution; he knew so often that women had so little say in matters of the flesh. Well, Percy was not like other men, and he would not take something which she was not prepared to give. He would not do that to any woman, let alone one whom he loved so deeply.

She pulled back. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. “It is our wedding night,” she said, dumbly.

“Yes,” Percy agreed, “but we do not have to do anything that you do not want to do.”

“But it is our wedding night,” she insisted.

“I know.”

“Our marriage is not legal if we do not.”

“I understand.”

“But…” she blinked, casting about for her words. “But…”

“We can claim that the festivities left us too exhausted to do naught but sleep,” Percy said. “Or we can claim that we consummated the marriage anyway. Surely your father will not check your sheets for blood.”

Dumbfounded, she gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing around nothing. Percy had grown to rather enjoy rendering her speechless, though this time around, it left something of a bad taste in his mouth.

“I do not think we should do anything tonight,” he said. “To take advantage of you… of anyone this way, would be a most unforgivable sin.”

He had thought she would agree. Surely he had assuaged her worries.

Instead, her eyes narrowed. “On the contrary,” she said, her voice still thick with tears. “I believe we should consummate the marriage tonight.”

“Annabeth--”

“You think I am too weak to fulfill the marital contract.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Then there is no reason to delay,” she said. “And, moreover, I…”

Trailing off, her cheeks filled with blood. Percy’s heart throbbed in his chest, deafening.

“I… I want it,” she said, a whisper on a breeze.

Helpless, he could only watch as her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Do you… do you not?”

Beneath his vision, he could just barely see her bosom as it moved in time with her breathing. Oh, Anja, he wanted nothing more in the world than you at this moment!

She shuttered her eyes closed again, as though she were in pain. “I am sorry,” she repeated--for what, though, he could not imagine. “But I am afraid that… that if we do not… then some would see our union as--as invalid.”

The bubble of fantasy burst, and reality set in.

Of course. Politics and power-broking. To save herself, she would give herself to him. To protect her, he had to let this happen.

It was the easiest choice he ever made.

Bending his neck, he leaned down, and he kissed her.

As a flower in the dawn, she opened herself to him.

Her mouth was warm against his, her lips soft. Through the fabric of her dress, he could feel every muscle as she pressed up against him, could feel her breath hitch as he laid her down on the bed, as his hands pushed the hemline of her nightclothes up her thighs.

It felt as though every choice he had ever made, every path he had ever taken and every one he had ever shunned, had led to this moment, to Annabeth, panting and hot beneath him. Percy had been lucky enough to be the paramour of goddesses, disciple and student both, and now he had a chance to demonstrate what he had learned. If she were to be tied to him in this way, if this were his only chance to show her how he truly felt, then tonight, he vowed, he would make it worth her while.

She tasted just as sweet as he had dreamt she would. Her cries of passion, more beautiful than any music he had ever known.

And when he entered her, her scrunched face and wrinkled nose relaxing into slack pleasure, he held himself still, gazing on it, committing every single detail to his deepest, most sacred memory.

They moved together. Over and over again, they moved together, her legs slowly traveling up the backs of his thighs, ticklish and feathery. “Percy,” she gasped, one of his hands coming up to cup her breast, the other hard at work at the apex of her thighs. “Percy!”

“Anja,” he murmured into her neck. “Anja.”

With a wail, she tossed her head back, her braid loose and messy against the pillows, her legs tightening about his waist.

He could not stop himself even if he wanted to. And he did not want to.

Close behind, he followed her over the edge, hissing through his teeth as they took the plunge together.

It could have been days until Percy came back to his senses, days spent in the Elysium of Annabeth’s embrace. Her heartbeat was as ragged as his, and they beat in twain, a call and an answer.

Then she shifted beneath him. “Percy.”

“Oh.” He untangled himself from her, his limbs suddenly so awkward and gangly, pulling himself out and away, then lay down next to her, his hot, sweaty skin suddenly freezing in the cold air.

And there it was. Something of a lifelong dream, fulfilled.

Now if only he could discover why he felt so empty.

After a while, Annabeth threw back the sheets, and got out of bed. Percy tried not to linger too much on her bare form, even as he marveled how she was able to withstand the cold without so much as a protective shift. Then she bent over, picking something up from the floor, and Percy, only a mortal man, he could not resist.

Gods above, she was truly the most stunning creature ever to walk this earth. Every inch of her seemed to be perfectly crafted to send him into a frenzy of passion. So intent was he on taking in the whole beautiful picture that he nearly missed the trickle of something down the inside of her legs, belatedly realizing what it was.

He had to physically tear himself away, flopping himself back down on the sheets, to put that thought to bed. Demonic harpies , he chanted to himself. Stymphalian birdsong. Lord Dionysus in a pankration . Anything which would stop his baser instincts from manifesting themselves.

So focused on his own body was he, he did not notice what Annabeth was doing until it was much too late. “Annabeth,” he gasped, “what--”

But she had already used her knife to cut her hand, letting dark blood drip onto the white sheets. “There,” she said. “Now no one will have cause for doubt.”

He moved to leave the bed himself. “Let me see your hand--”

“It is fine,” she stopped him, already wrapping it up in a length of cloth she had ripped from her underclothes. “It shall cease to bleed by morning.”

“I am sorry,” he said, though he was not certain which sin required her forgiveness. “I did not mean to…” To what? Break her heart? Plant his seed? Fall in love? He had not meant to do any of these things, yet still, they had been done, and could not be undone. But, there was one thing for which he could apologize. “I am sorry that you must bear this burden,” he said. “It is not fair to you.”

“As I said,” Annabeth replied, slipping back beneath the covers, turning away from him. “It is fine. Good night, Perseus.”

Then silence reigned in the bedroom.

Percy could not fall asleep for a long, long time.

#my fic #the marble king #percabeth #pjo #the rivalry ends here #darkmagyk #another doozy

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esabri · 4 years

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nor doppelt double Sitz seat fortsetzen continue Block block Tabelle chart Hut hat verkaufen sell Erfolg success Firma company subtrahieren subtract Veranstaltung event besondere particular viel deal schwimmen swim Begriff term Gegenteil opposite Frau wife Schuh shoe Schulter shoulder Verbreitung spread arrangieren arrange Lager camp erfinden invent Baumwolle cotton geboren born bestimmen determine Quart quart neun nine Lastwagen truck Lärm noise Ebene level Chance chance sammeln gather Geschäft shop Stretch stretch werfen throw Glanz shine Immobilien property Spalte column Molekül molecule wählen select falsch wrong grau gray Wiederholung repeat erfordern require breit broad vorbereiten prepare Salz salt Nase nose mehreren plural Zorn anger Anspruch claim Kontinent continent

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lo-55 · 3 years

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Revel Ch. 11

Twining Threads

Tori was surprised by the fact that she was being allowed to go back again. Not, this time, to Imperia but to her sister island Soldano. Her mothers home, where she had been named Dogoressa so many years ago.

It was not quite like Imperia. The island was mostly flat, and some of it was even regularly underwater. The canals had to be traversed with flat bottomed boats, and gondolas. Elegant bridges stretched from one side of the street to another. The houses were painted with brilliant colors over brick and proud signs declared artisans, grocers, and everything in between.

Tori sat in the back of a water taxi, her legs crossed at the ankles. She was humming happily to herself, dressed in jeans and a loose violet shirt.

The sun was warm against her skin, and the breeze that came off the canal was cool. Beneath them dolphins swam and fish flashed silver scales in the sunlight.

“We’re almost there, ma’am,” her drive called over his shoulder. “It’s at the end of the block.”

“Thank you,” Tori smiled sweetly at him. Madelle and Daria sat on either side of her, also dressed in jeans. Katakuri hadn’t come with them this time. Soldano was not made for men of his stature, but with her siblings gone and her wedding passed, Tori felt like she needed to do this.

She needed to go to her mothers home.

The house that she had lived in was not the palace of the doge, it was her families ancestral house. A high stone building painted a bright red and trimmed in white. It looked like all the other houses in the city, if not older. It was one of the oldest houses, but not as old as the First Twelve. Twelve families, who now numbered only at eight. When Soldano had been founded it had been occupied by twelve families, and over the years they had steadily grown smaller and smaller, or spread themselves so thin their names changed.

The gondola came to a stop beside the house.

Three men stood outside, in identical suits, with finely trimmed white beards and close cut hair.

Tori recognized them. They were what was left of her mothers staff. When she had left Soldano to marry the king of Imperia she had left enough money to take care of the place in her absence. It was meant to be given to one of her children, but Tori would live at the palace in Imperia, Gemma was in the East now, and Lucien was gone too. It was all rather sad. Tori stood up and stepped out of the boat.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, tipping the man well. It wasn’t like she was short on money. If anything she was just paying the money back.

“Glad to help. Ma’am. Just give a ring if you need another ride,” he gestured to the snail situated on the front of his gondola, and the number beneath. Tori nodded to him, and he pushed off, the condola floating cheerfully through the water.

Tori turned away from the water, towards the high house that seemed so much smaller than it was in her memories.

When she was small, Dolce would take her, and later Lucien, to visit Soldano every summer. It was important to her, that they know Soldano.

Her waters run through your veins, my love. We are all children of the sea.

Tori walked inside.

The staff, who her father still retained even after the house was all but abandoned, stood in lines on either side of the entry way. They were familiar faces, now aged with the years that had passed.

Luciano Orseolo, the steward, smiled warmly at her and dipped a half bow to the eldest princess.

“My lady, it is good to have you here again.”

“It’s good to be back, Luci,” she forewent protocol and stepped forwards to embrace the man. He was practically her grandfather. Luci stiffened minutely before he patted her on the back.

“Yes. Do you want to rest for a while?”

“No, no. I’m fine. In your letter you said you had something for me from my mother. I’d like that, please.”

“Of course. And, afterwards, the Doge and his council would like to see you as well. I believe you’re familiar with most of them.”

“Mmmm. Doge Ziani, Councilmen Vivarini, Bellini, and Titiano. Councilwomen Alvise and Tonini. And, the head of the artisans association, is it still Antonio Rizzo?”

“His daughter, now. Loicia. There’s a new one too, the Foreign Relations Advisor. Arcielda Elena.”

“I wasn’t aware Soldano had one of those.”

“All of our isles are usually so isolated, we didn’t need them. We generally only traded amongst each other, and we are all connected by our Chains. But with you married now, to an outsider no less, we’ve been forced to open our borders to the rest of Totto land. I believe the other islands have similar things.”

“I wasn’t aware,” Tori’s brows furrowed. “Lucien normally handles things like this.”

“I heard he’s getting married, to some foreign princess. And your sister as well. All of your line is being sent off of Imperia.”

“Father thinks that, in these turbulent times, we need to have as many allies as we can. We are not a major military power, whatever talents Gemma may have. We have had only each other for centuries now.”

“Very pretty words, my lady,” Luci said mildly. Which was funny, since she could remember a number of times in her youth when he called politicians silver spooned pissants when he thought Dolce wouldn’t hear. He was very like his younger brother. Tori had no idea why Luci had respected her mother so much.

“This way.”

They made their way through the big old house, it’s walls lined with elegant portraits of her ancestors. All of them with sea dark hair, and dancing eyes.

Her mother was not the first dogaressa in their line. Her great grandmother had been Dogaressa as well through marriage, and traced further back another six generations came one of the first Doge to be elected, after the family had come from Imperia.

She was Victoria di Imperia, Victory of Imperia, but her mother was Dolce Regina Genova. The Regina were old, as old as the isles themselves. Older, maybe. Even they didn’t have records before the Void Century.

The thought was enough to make her itch, but Tori reminded herself of Robin. Reminded herself of her own old life. The price of knowledge. She would not be another faust. Her chest tightened with the thought.

Luci lead her to her mother’s old room.

It was exactly the way she remembered it. Thick curtains draped across the window, through which canals shone glittering in blue and busy. The four poster bed still had thick pillows that Tori wasn’t even taller than they were long the last time she’d been here. There was a vanity, not that Dolce had ever needed much make up. Even without her ‘blessing’ Tori would have been lovely. Gemma and Lucien were, and Dolce was a beauty in all of her portraits and all of Tori’s memories.

Luci took her to a small chest that sat just outside the walk in closet.

“She meant to give these to you on your wedding night,” he admitted, pushing the chest towards her. “I suppose this will have to be soon enough.”

Tori smiled softly at him and opened the box. Inside were soft silk dressed of all colors, the long drapes that could be changed to size even if she outgrew what her mother expected. There were thick books, a wooden jewelry box encrusted with pearl and shining glass to form a mural, and a long chain attached to a necklace that looked like a simple cylinder with intricate silver twists.

Tori recognized it for the poisoners tool that it was.

“She knew,” Tori realized, lifting the necklace out. “She knew Father would break his word. That he wouldn’t give us the chance to say ‘no’.”

Luci grimaced. “You Father is a… pragmatist.”

“Luci. If I don’t slap your brother for calling me a bitch to my face, I’m not going to strike you for speaking the truth,” she said bluntly.

Luci actually smiled at that. “He’s political. It’s not a good thing. Your mother was smart. Dolce would do anything to ensure your happiness. Even if it meant getting rid of your dad. I can’t believe she even kept him around. She was in love with another boy, you know?”

“She was?” Tori was startled.

“Oh yes. A sailor boy. You know your mother and the ocean.”

Tori did. We are all children of the sea.

“Why did she stay with my father then? If she loved another?”

“Obligation, I assume. And you. She was married with a child on the way, and the sea is nowhere to raise a little princess ,” he teased. Luci did something he hadn’t done since she was a girl, and yanked on a stray strand of hair.

Tori swatted at him with a laugh.

It was as sad as it was flattering. Her mother loved her so much she would stay with a man she didn’t love, let her true love flee to the deep blue waters without her. She would settle for being a queen, instead of someone who was truly beloved, for the sake of her unborn daughter.

Tori’s heart fluttered with warmth and affection. She carefully put everything back in the chest to take home, although she suspected she wouldn't need the poison necklace any time soon.

The Soldano council of elders were legendary in Tori’s mind.

They were stoic men who stood at her mothers funeral, and cold faced women who smiled with teeth that would as soon sink into a throat. They were all kind smiles and dangerous words and too many agendas and too much power.

Soldano was a strange type of democracy.

The elders controlled who was the Doge or the Dogaressa until they died. In Tori’s life there had already been two. Her mother and the current one, who was nowhere to be found when she stepped into the council chambers. They smelled faintly of incense and expensive perfume, and the roasted meat someone had had for lunch. The table was, of all things, a triangle. Tori stood at the door, waiting.

Councilwoman Alvise, who looked like a grandmother if a grandmother had snake fangs hiding somewhere, smiled at her and stepped away from the table.

“Victoria, my dear. So good of you to join us.”

Victoria nodded and smiled and let herself be paraded around the room and reintroduced to everyone, officially. They chattered and smiled at her, like sharks in the water. Waiting for the scent of blood.

Councilman Titiano complimented her hair, while the other two congratulated her on her wedding, and her legendary husband.

It was all hollow words but Tori flittered around and laughed at the right places and gave no sign at all that she knew they were after more than just pleasantries.

The Doge appeared at last.

He came into the room, a sweep of red and white robes and carefully twisted crown atop his head. Ziani was an old man, and most of his body was made up clothe to hide the near skeletal shape of the rest. His fingers were long and thin when they took Tori and she noted that his eyes, blue, were almost pitched black with his pupils blown wide.

She wondered if he even saw her as he went through the vague formalities of welcoming her to the chambers and offering her olive leaf tea.

Tori tried not to gag.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

He clapped twice and small boys descended from absolutely nowhere. Holes in the walls, probably, but she couldn't see them. They ran around, heating water pouring it into cups with the leaves through the strainers and as soon as they were done they were gone. Vanished.

Tori had never felt less safe.

Ziani sat her at his right side and took the first drink. The rest of them followed his exampled and the small talk started all over again. How the grandchildren were, the state of the repairs on the Trivera canals, the newest fashions between the women and who thought what of outsiders coming to visit. They stayed largely away from the topic of her husband. She had done her duty, they could not fault her for that. Not when she was Imperian.

“Oh, Victoria dear,” Councilwoman Alvise said suddenly, as though just remembering something of importance. “We had something to ask you, didn’t we?”

The men nodded, and Ziani, who was coming into sobriety, sat up straighter. “Yes. yes! Victory!”

“Ah?”

“You mother was the last Dogaressa. She had certain relics that were important to the state. Very important, not life or death but symbolically. You understand, don’t you sweet girl?” Ziani patted her hand, making Tori’s skin crawl.

“...I suppose. I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m afraid.”

“Symbols of the past, dear Victoria,” Alvise smiled at her again, barely hiding her teeth behind her lips. “A black lock and a red key. She must have given them to you.”

Tori stared.

“She did no. I’ve never seen either of those things. It sounds like a riddle, are you sure they’re real?” she tilted her pretty, empty little head at them, almost knocking her hair out of place.

Councilman Vivarini did a poor job of pretending not to roll his eyes.

Alvise’s smile grew strained. “Now Victoria. This is important. We need them.”

“I’ve told you I’ve never seen either,” which was true. She wasn’t lying, and one of them must have seen her genuine confusion.

“What a disappointment.” Titiano shook his head. But the conversation went back to meaningless and meaningful pleasantries. Things said between lines that Tori studiously didn’t notice. Threads left out that she did not pick at.

She escaped as soon as she could, and no one stopped her. She was useless to whatever plan they had in their greedy little raccoon paws.

Gods, she missed Orso and his vicious bluntness. She missed Katakuri and his quiet honesty.

She never thought she would be so eager to go back to her husband's side, but here she was trying to figure out how soon she could go without it being suspicious.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia

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tiramochi · 4 years

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The katana Kaikokusaku pulls her like she's the counterpoint to its melody, a sleek, elegant construct of black and gold, and the space in which it exists is tenuous, bizarre, a pocket of still water amid the currents. It hangs suspended in the murk like a sacred relic, the shintai of a shrine. More mundane objects litter the riverbed underneath, silt and sprawling weed and a conch shell, patterns too familiar; she looks, looks again.

“Oh,” Kingyo says, sinking to her knees.

Its surface is already dulled and rough to the touch, fragile without the pulse of vitality within. The only remains of the conch spirit who’d followed her through the battlefield, and then disappeared shortly after, Kingyo now realizes, to give her life to the blade. To sustain the lifeforce inside it with her own.

She thinks, I never knew your name. And then at the katana, with gold slivers spiraling about its blade, with the entirety of his soul bound within its confines. I never knew yours, either.

Lord Arakawa is a title, and not a name.

But Kingyo takes the katana in hand and he is there, he is there, a sudden startling presence like being steeped in warmth, wrapped in summer winds. Tangible, yet insubstantial. If she fell back she would be able to touch him, to come up against his chest – there is only water.

She makes up her mind; Kaikokusaku dislodges easily from its stasis, falls into her arms. It’s selfish, but Kingyo has always been selfish, and besides, the Arakawa River would be nothing without its people. Better that it can be with them, and with her.

If she cries at all, the tears are whisked away by the currents, out to the open sea to mingle with the salt.

Maybe this is what it feels like, to drown.

* *

Her bones still ache. The sea roars through her.

She stands on her toes, and feels something give. Sometimes, when she’s caught unawares, she takes a step and teeters, unsteady on her new legs. Losing a dancer’s poise, perfectly balanced, for the fumbling of a newborn, like a fish that has forgotten how to swim.

So Kingyo rediscovers her body by force. She does the steps as she’d seen him do, feet thump-thump-thump on the rock, following the shade of her past self, too, a small child practicing with a stick. Extend and swing. Shake off the brittleness in her limbs, the feeling of fracture with every movement.

His hands cover her own. She twists and sees him looming and suddenly she’s small again, craning her neck to glare into his eyes.

Shorty, he seems to say. Don’t overdo it. You’ll never get taller like that, if you break your body before it has a chance to grow. He taps her head with two fingers.

Is that how you treat a lady? Her voice builds to a squeak despite her best efforts. So undignified!

What lady? I don’t see any lady here.

Kingyo knows he’s laughing at her, but nothing shows in his face. Perhaps his eyes are warmer. Perhaps the lines around his mouth are less tight.

“It wouldn’t kill you to smile,” Kingyo grumbles, then realizes her mistake. Bites back her next words, furtive, because there’s no one to hear except the wind and the sword, thrumming quietly in her hands.

* *

Kingyo rules a fractured kingdom. Not quite the world, but acceptable, for now.

Later on, she realizes just how lonely it is.

The water youkai are strangely pitiful, displaced and shrunken; they look to her for guidance. We want to go home.

It’s too dangerous to return, Kingyo tells them, and the miasma hasn’t yet gone from the waters. There could be enemies left, so I have to get stronger, first.

And he is dead, he cannot protect us. They weep. Lord Arakawa is an ideal to them; shining, flawless, faceless.

He said that I had spirit, Kingyo says. He gave me candy and told me stories through the night.

* *

At the river’s estuary she finds clusters of white chrysanthemums sheltered by an outcrop of rock, windblown petals edged by salt. Kingyo comes back the following day, having nabbed a flask of sake from Seimei’s stores – she doesn’t think he’ll mind. She finds a peach too, a whole one ripe and yielding under her fingertips, and takes a bite out of it just to check. Fruit is a valuable commodity, anyway.

Together it makes a pile in the flowers, sake and half-eaten peach and Kaikokusaku settled center stage. A makeshift funeral. Kingyo is no priest, but she can do this much. The sky yawns overhead, painfully blue, warms her too-long hair, her dirt-smudged cheeks turned up to the sun. She feels him too, in the blade, but quiescent.

“To the biggest dummy in the universe,” she begins. “The dummy that threw his life away.”

She doesn’t know what to do with the sake; there are no cups, as her foresight hadn’t extended that far. Her grubby fingers slip on the smooth lacquered surface of the flask, because she knows it isn’t for her, not really. Guilt makes her movements clumsy.

The first taste is – dry, it parches her mouth. Another gulp and the flavour filters through, the subtle bloom of apples but warped, somehow, metallic in a way that makes her face scrunch up and her eyes water.

Kingyo thinks, adults enjoy this. She thinks that he would have as well, so she drinks it in place of him. It leaves a warmth in her belly that does nothing to allay the space cradled by her ribcage. She huddles inwards, compresses herself infinitesimally small.

“Big meanie,” she mumbles. “Bully. You always hit me with your stupid fan, and right on the head, too, and called me ‘shorty’.” Sluggish indignation colours her tone. “Probably the reason I never ever grew up…”

“But you saved everyone.”

She remembers the aching tenderness of his final look. This is the last battle, he’d said, and then stood with his back to her, awfully breakable. Suppressing the tidal wave of monsters, over and over with no recourse, then holding against their leader with the shark’s smile and a sword lined with teeth, and even Kingyo with her dreams of grandeur could admit that it was futile. She watched him flag, falter, watched the cursed blade grip and tear into his shoulder with its fangs, watched as he, as he –

“You’re the hero,” she whispers, curled up on her side. “Heroes never die. They can’t.”

And with that she falls asleep.

* *

Once, there was a girl, and her love for the Emperor caused her to drown herself, in a pond rimmed with irises and horsetail, weeping willows trailing their branches into the water. The Emperor, stone heart moved by her death, brought his courtiers to its banks and wrote poems for her passing.

There was a speck of truth to it. Lord Arakawa knew these things, as he knew everything about the water, each stream and burble, tells them to Kingyo when she demands a tale.

“At Kasuga,” he says, and hums. Even Kingyo tires out from anger, sometimes, and he settles next to her, at a respectful distance and his fan safely out of reach.

“I grieve to see, her hair tangled as in sleep, floating there now like jewelled waterweed, on Sarusawa Pond.”

They never found her body. But he says, contemplative; perhaps her spirit was consumed with grief, and lingered there. Perhaps she became one of ours.

“She’s a dummy,” says Kingyo, with all the surety of the very young. Sacrifice for nothing.

Once, there was a girl, older now, and wiser. She changes the words.

* *

It waits for her. And who would Kingyo be, if she didn’t try?

“You’ll give me what I want.”

She cuts with no ceremony, opening herself up, a neat gouge bisecting the length of her forearm, wetting the edge of the blade. Kaikokusaku drinks in the blood like it’s starving for it, then chases the tail end to come across Kingyo’s youki underneath, heavy and rich with salt.

As soon as it reaches in – Kingyo pulls.

Kingyo is not a princess, but a queen. Not just a queen, but a lord, a conqueror, and she demands that it obey. Kaikokusaku’s hilt judders in her grip, unmaking itself in its desire to appease her; frozen metal liquefies and scorches her palms, clenched as the rigor mortis of the dead. She might be dying, but if she’d thought harder about it then the fear would have locked her in place. There is no space for fear.

No space for fear.

There is only the taste of the sea, the power that she claimed, that took her in turn and made her strong when she proved herself unshakeable, eternal as the fact of the tides. A building pressure in her ears, pungent brine whipping her hair into her mouth, her eyes, blinding – but she pours in her anger, her memories, too, and calls.

The water stills.

It resolves into a figure. He is solid, and so very real; the same tenderness is in his face, like sunlight seen from the ocean floor, soft as the flicker of fireflies.

He opens his mouth, and says –

#onmyoji #kingyo hime #kingyo #lord arakawa #letters #wow this fic backlog #arakawa pls come back

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love-killed-the-superstar · 4 years

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back at it again for day 3 of cassandra appreciation week!! listen to ‘father and son’ by cat stevens while reading this for maximum tears.

CASSANDRA APPRECIATION WEEK DAY 3 - UNDERRATED

Last night she dreamt that she was appointed captain of the guard.

It was after a daring fight, and Cassandra is sure that it was a strange, psychedelic concoction of every fight she's ever been in. Zhan Tiri was definitely there in all her power-wielding glory, but so was a glowing Hector, a desperate Varian – even her father, throwing punches behind a mask. Yet it was him who patted her shoulder at the end of it all and said, voice gruff but brimming with pride, “You've left me with no choice this time, kiddo.”

The dread that filled her for a stomach-churning moment was enough to send her falling into a never-ending void, hurtling downwards, downwards, until he squeezed her shoulder and added, “Congratulations, Captain.”

Then she was soaring. She reckons she soared so far, so fast that she hit the ceiling of her dreams and smashed right through the walls of reality itself, until she slammed into the hard wood and was awoken with a sharp pain in her back and the air gone from her lungs.

That was ten minutes ago. She's finally come to accept that reality has never been so kind to her, and of course her cynical brain can't let her have nice things even in her dreams – so in the end, Cass is left with no other choice but to pick herself up and move on.

It's barely light out, but the bed opposite hers is empty, so she dresses in the dark and tugs on her boots. The green still feels a little foreign to her. It's like she's shed her skin, tossing away the red of her father's old tunic and the black-turned-grey rubble of her rock armour. Green is a clean slate. Green is a future where things are different.

Making sure her lady's favour is securely tied around her arm and her sword in its sheath, Cass unlatches the cabin door and steps out into the night as it ebbs closer to dawn. A cool breeze rushes through her hair immediately, sweeping it back and sending a shiver running through her. Above, as the dark sky smears into a lighter blue tinged at the edges with yellows and pinks, birds scatter, chattering to each other in their own tongues. As fun as she recalls it was to fly, Cass reckons she prefers her feet planted on solid ground.

Then she spots him.

Her father is sat out on the lake's edge, pants rolled up to the knees and shins planted in the water. He's smoking a pipe, something he only does when something is weighing on his mind, and she can only speculate whether its the early retirement or the fragility of their relationship that has him falling back on a vice that he always swears up and down that he's put behind him.

“Couldn't sleep?” she asks, picking through the brush to get to him. He exhales, smoke filling the air around him, fanning out until it fades into the dim light. He glances back at her, just for a second, before turning his attention back to the stillness of the water before them. It stings, it really stings, that after all they've been through there are still moments like this where he can't bear to face her.

“I – no, actually. I suppose just because I've stepped down from my post doesn't mean that my body will forget twenty-six years' worth of early morning drills.”

“Ah, but you're missing the point of retirement, aren't you?” Cass continues, forcing herself to keep her tone light, for her words not to shake, as she sits beside him. She hugs her knees, not quite ready yet to sink her legs into the freezing mountain water. “Besides, I know there's more to it than force of habit, Dad. You're smoking, for starters.”

“Don't you think about starting,” he says automatically, in protective father mode even while distracted as he is. Her father takes another drag and the smoke that funnels from his lips is chased away by the deep sigh that follows. “It's a dreadful habit.”

“I won't,” she says hollowly, and for a moment it's like Cass is watching every conversation she's ever had with her father play out simultaneously. How many times has this exact monotone scenario been run over the years? She remembers it word for word. They're like water, being carried from one state of matter to the next over and over again in a taciturn loop. But unlike all the other times, where she's been sat at his feet polishing her armour while he smokes in his armchair, both weary from a long day where things have gone wrong, they're somewhere new.

The change will surely make this run of the scenario stick out in her head for years to come, Cass decides.

“It's a beautiful place, isn't it?” her father murmurs. He leans a little, so their shoulders are pressed against each other, and it's something so small, yet something she's missed so terribly. “Like nothing can reach us here.”

“It's peaceful,” Cass agrees. “Have we come here before?”

“Once. The summer that I officially adopted you,” he muses, a small smile growing at the memory. “You were too young to actually fish, but something compelled me to show you this place anyway. I spent my childhood on this lake – even ice fished in the winter – so it only felt right, now that I had a daughter to share that joy with.”

“I remember the water. It was pretty, but I refused to learn how to swim because the summer before was when I... I got caught by that wave and swept out to sea.”

Even now, after so much time has passed, even bringing it up to her father fills her with a sense of dread. He's quiet, occasionally taking another drag from the pipe.

“...I was thinking about that a few months back,” he says eventually. After all this, her father still won't look at her. “After our... altercation at the ruins.”

Oh, fuck. “Dad-” Cass begins, a single, strangled word before he cuts her off.

“I thought about the – the way I handled you. For your whole life. And it – it was wrong. I did it wrong, Cassandra.” And he finally looks at her, looks her right in the eye. His own hold so much pent up grief that it starts to feel painful to hold that gaze, so she breaks away first.

God, she doesn't want to deal with this. It's too early, it's barely even daylight, and it's too soon in the day to have a conversation this emotional.

“I didn't know how to approach you. I didn't even know how to ask you about what you'd been through before I found you, you were so little – so you buried the memories, and I... I thought it would be easier for you if you just forgot. But, I wonder if it was just easier for me if you didn't know.”

Cass unfurls her legs and tugs off her boots.

“The time I almost lost you was the same. I was supposed to always protect you. I promised you that, but I see now that my – my responses when you shock me or scare me – they aren't what a father's should be. Anger, a stern tone, like you're some soldier who's let me down... it's no way to treat a child. You didn't know any better.”

Cass removes her socks and rolls up her leggings.

“So, Cassandra, you see, I – hmm.” He clears his throat, looking a little pained. “I want to try again. I want to do right by you this time. Because you matter more to me than-”

“Oh, Christ!”

“-anything... else.”

She chose the wrong moment to plunge her feet into the water below.

Silence falls over them, and Cass can feel he's clammed up beside her. Her outburst was far from the answer he'd been expecting, clearly – and how can she fault him for that? Idiot.

Awkwardly, she leans against his arm, resting her head just below the top of his shoulder.

“Sorry. I... I don't know what to say. I never really know what to say to you, Dad.”

He stares out at the light on the lake pensively.

“I wish we could have talked about this sooner, though,” she continues, hands clasping together as she searches her tongue for the right words to say next. “...You know, I had a dream last night. You promoted me to captain of the guard.”

“You've never formally been on the guard, I couldn't just promote you to captain out of the blue,” he says distantly.

“Right. My subconscious forgot to cross-check with Corona Law.” Cass huffs out a mirthless laugh. “It feels absurd now, that I could ever be on the guard while you were calling the shots, but I used to dream like that all the time. So eager to prove myself worthy of the position.”

“You weren't ready,” he insists, but his resolve is fragmented at this point.

“I was. You really still believe that?”

At this point, Cass firmly believes that it's the biting cold of the water forcing these words to the surface, squeezing them out along with the air from her lungs. Candid conversations with her father about their turbulent relationship are about as common as solar eclipses. Speaking the truth runs the risk of him growing cold to her, and that would make this fishing trip – the final stop before her big step out into the world, her own woman at last – unbearably tragic.

“...I don't know why I did it,” he admits, so quiet she barely hears at first, over the excited chirping of the birds in the trees surrounding, as golden sunlight hits the water at last. “Any answer I give won't satisfy you, I know.”

Cass swallows and nods, staring at how broken her toes look under the water's surface. They quiver and churn and don't look quite real.

“But you should know,” exclaims her father, compelled to justify himself, “upon your return, I... I was going to offer you the chance to try out for the guard. I almost wrote a letter at the time, but I didn't even know where to send it.”

Maybe that's the most heartbreaking thing she's heard, that maybe if she had just waited – but damn, she's never fucking waiting for something like this, not ever again. It pangs like a stab wound, or broken ribs, but one day it won't matter. She hopes.

“What's done is done,” Cass sighs. She shuts her eyes, lets the warmth of the sunlight wash over her. “I hope you'll write me on the road this time, at least.”

“Of course. I hope you'll write me too.”

“You know, I would have made the finest damn soldier on your guard. Corona couldn't have been in better hands. Could that be the real reason you retired?”

The snipe is weak, even childish, and Cass almost expects him to scowl or to give some gruff response like, “No need for the cheek, Cassandra”. (Or worse, a choked response about bad parenting that will only lead to more awkwardness.)

To her pleasant surprise, his face turns to meet hers and his lips pull into a smirk.

“Well, I certainly couldn't go on knowing I had compromised Corona's safety. Neglecting to appoint a guard due to personal feelings goes against everything a good captain does, after all.”

He reaches an arm around, pulling her into a side hug, and she feels... light.

Nothing is perfect. There's still so much to work through, she knows that, but... they're both tired, and her feet are growing numb. Enough is enough for now.

So with a tilt of her head, Cass pipes up, “So. Is it too early to catch our next meal?”

#cassandra appreciation week #cassandra week #tangled the series #tts #writing #tts cassandra #tts captain of the guard

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thoughtfulfangirling · 4 years

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I keep seeing these posts going around about queer books, but my problem is that nowadays, I struggle to sit down with books and primarily consume them via audibooks. A lot of the recs are ones I haven’t found in audiobook format using my usual routes. For this reason, let me start a post that I hope y’all will add onto that has LGBTQ+ folks in them that I know exist in audiobook format. For reference, I’ve used for my audiobook consumption Audible, Libro, Overdrive, and Scribd, so each of these will have been found by myself in one of those places.

Nemesis Series by April Daniels trans wlw MC | Superhero | coming of age | YA The First book is Dreadnought followed by Sovereign and follows Danny, a trans girl whose body is transformed to the one that matches her vision of herself after a superhero falls and passes his powers on to her. All at once, she has to face the coming out this forces on her and new powers all at once. The books are intense and doesn’t pull its punches on the things Danny goes through, but her journey is beautiful and I love her so much.

Beauty Queens by Libba Bray Various MCs | Drama | Humor | YA This is an ensemble cast and includes a wlw couple and a trans girl, all of whom are pretty damn cool. On their flight to their next competition, the plane these beauty queens are on crashes, and those who survive get stranded on a totally-supposedly-deserted island. This is a fun novel that had, to me, a very Hitchhiker’s Guide sort of humor to it. It was a really fun read, and the author narrates herself and is really fun.

Annie on my Mind by Nancy Garden wlw mc | contemporary | coming of age | YA The good kid becomes good friends with a girl she met outside of school, but she begins to realize she has more than just friendly feelings for the girl. Being in the 90s, she finds it’s not so easy to be the good kid and pursue this interest.

Her Royal Highness by Rachel Hawkins bi MC | Contemporary | Romance | Class Romance | YA MC leaves Texas, USA to finish her last year of high school in a prestigious Scottish school where she ends up being roommates with an actual princess with whom she doesn’t start the year out on good terms with.

Ash by Malinda Lo wlw MC | Fantasy | Coming of Age | YA Cinderella retelling where the fairies aren’t guaranteed to help and the prince just might not be who Cinderella wants after all. A very internal journey, quite enchanting. I really need to go back and revisit this soon.

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera Lesbian MC | Coming of Age | YA Juliet leaves home for the summer to spend in Oregon with a writer who inspired Juliet’s journey into feminism and helped her embrace her lesbianism. She learns along the way though that adults are not infallible, and that this writer has a large blind spot when it comes to Juliet’s culture and the intersection of race and feminism. All this after having come out to her family and dealing with the fallout of that far from home.

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell mlm MC | Fantasy | Romance | YA This story feels like a sort of ‘What if the Harry Potter books were more inclusive and also had some parody in its magical world’ story. But it jumps right to the last book and the good stuff. This felt like fanfiction in the best way (and is appropriate given that it was written after the book Fangirl wherein the MC is writing fanfiction of this universe kinda. It’s complicated but good!)

Kushiel Phedre Series by Jacqueline Carey bi MC | Fantasy | Epic Fantasy | Kink | Political Intrique A woman born with a flaw that set her on the path of being indentured as a child to a man who sees love and sex as another means to gather political intel. Down this road lies intrigue, betrayal, and love.

Nevernight Chronicles by Jay Kristoff bi MC | Fantasy | Revenge Worth mentioning is that the author does not ID as any kind of LGBTQIA+ and in my opinion, that especially shows in the last installment of the series. I would suggest trigger warnings for the entire series if you have any as there is sex and violence. In a world with three suns and almost never night, a girl with a kinship for shadows seeks out the skills to kill those who destroyed her family.

Her Body and Other Parties by Maria Carmen Machado Various | Short Stories | Surreal | Contemporary Don’t know how to summarize well given they are a series of short stories, but they are haunting and telling and beautiful, and even though I rarely do short stories, I absolutely fell in love with these.

The Night’s Watch by Sarah Waters Various | Ensemble Cast | Period Drama English WWII Unfortunately, I read this in 2017 and it follows the stories of four different characters, two of whom are lesbians. I don’t remember their archs well enough to provide a proper summary. This story tends to be a more internal character study of each of the characters and what it might have been like living at the time they did. It was really good though if you like that sort of thing!

Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters Lesbian MC | Period Drama | Romance | Coming of Age Taking place in the Victorian era, Nan leaves her coastal, oyster fishing home after becoming infatuated with Kitty, performer who sings dressed as a man. She discovers herself in the big city as she works as Kitty’s attendant, but nothing ever stays the same, and when she finds her and Kitty’s desires on how to handle their feelings differ errevocably, Nan is suddenly left adrift.

The above are all focused in one way or another on the LGBTQ+ character in a prominent way where the character’s queerness is made explicit in the text. Below is going to be the audiobooks I’ve read/listened to where I have felt there is strong evidence that a character is portrayed as LGBT+. Some will have been made canon by the author after the fact, others have been widely regarded as portrayed that way, and a couple are just how I interpreted them.

Trouble with Kings by Sherwood Smith Fantasy | Romance | Slow Burn | YA A princess of fortune who has been courted for her wealth all her life, Flian is quite done with dalliance. But that doesn’t mean others are done with her. Caught in the middle of a political intrigue between two... maybe three... possibly four??? rivaling kingdoms, she finds her wealth pursued in less than ethical manners and ends up a player herself on the field of political import. Is it even possible in the chaos of all this to find love along the way? Flian herself repeatedly shows no interest in romance and while able to remark upon attraction, never seems to have any herself until she realizes she has fallen for someone, someone she realizes a bit late she’s had a coming together of the minds for. For this reason, my personal interpretation of this character is demi-sexual.

The Protector of the Small Series by Tamora Pierce Fantasy | Coming of Age | YA Keladry of Mindelan wants to become the second lady knight in history. The trainer at the castle doesn’t believe girls are cut out for it, and the boys don’t seem the most ready for a lady knight in training either. But Kel is determined to make her place in the world. Throughout the course of the series, while she engages in some light dalliances, she finds herself disinterested in relationships and has been confirmed by the author since the series was published to be asexual.

The Deed of Paksenarrion by Elizabeth Moon Fantasy | D&D-esque | Epic Fantasy | Coming of Age Paksennarrion, a sheep farmer’s daughter, rebels against her father upon hearing of the engagement he made for her and runs away to a local contract militia company to start her career as a warrior. Strength and strategy aren’t the only things she’ll need on this life’s path, but also a faith she didn’t know she was capable of. I don’t know that the author has ever said anything on the matter, but in most circles you will find that Paks is generally regarded as aro/ace and is pretty explicitly stated several times throughout the series that she simply has never had the compulsion.

A Beautiful Poison by Lydia Kang Period Drama/Mystery (early 1900s) | Coming of Age | Mystery Three people on the cusp of adulthood, with a complicated history of friendship from different stations in life, come together to try to unravel the mystery of strange deaths happening around them while trying to navigate what shapes the rest of their lives will take. Of the two man lady characters, one repeatedly struck me as bisexual, and the other as asexual. This is one where I’m brining my own lens to the story, and I don’t know that the author did this with intent.

There’s a fair chance that I am forgetting some audiobooks and haven’t included all I’ve read. I would also say that anything not marked with a YA may have want of some trigger warnings. If someone wants to know, just let me know which warnings you have need of and I’ll try to do my best to remember if that content is included in the book. I of course cannot remember everything and don’t know everyone’s limits, but I can try. But for certain the non young adult stories have content that can be heavy or dark or twisted.

#And if any mutuals want more of a summary lemme know #tf reads #books #audiobooks #I love the lists that have been going around #But I've been struggling to find them on any of my audiobook services #and ofc not all books have been turned into audiobooks #So maybe this will help someone else who felt similar?#tfgoc #long post #sorry for the length

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emospritelet · 4 years

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Homecoming - chapter 15

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] AO3 link

Last time, the family travelled to Willowbrook Grange, on the site where the town of Avonleigh once stood, and where, unknown to them, Belle lived one of her past lives

The air was frigid, and Belle shivered, sending Ogilvy a smile as he handed her down from the carriage. She clutched Ava and Nicholas close to her, the latter grumbling about his empty stomach, and Ogilvy ruffled his hair comfortingly. Lady Tremaine had stepped forward to greet the Professor. She was a slender woman with light brown hair and a strong jawline, her eyes alight with excitement.

“Oh, Professor Lowe, it’s so good of you to come!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been quite beside myself! It felt as though there was nowhere else for me to turn, and then Lady Fortescue pointed me in your direction. She can’t recommend you highly enough, so I’m delighted you agreed to come all this way!”

“Not at all, not at all,” said the Professor heartily. “May I present my good friend Mr Ogilvy?”

“A pleasure,” said Lady Tremaine, as Ogilvy took off his hat and bowed his head. “I understand your knowledge of the dark realms is almost equal to that of the Professor’s.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Belle noticed Lord Tremaine roll his eyes a little, but he said nothing.

“We shall do our utmost to assist in whatever way we can,” said Ogilvy smoothly.

“And I presume this is Mrs Ogilvy?”

Lady Tremaine was looking expectantly at Belle, whose mouth fell open as she felt a blush rise in her cheeks. Alice snickered, and covered her mouth with her hand as though she had coughed.

“Ah,” said the Professor. “May I present Miss Annabelle Marchland? I believe I mentioned her in my letter. She’s our assistant, and a most competent one, I assure you.”

“I - see.”

Belle shot him a surprised look, and the Professor winked at her. Lady Tremaine looked Belle up and down a moment, a crease of confusion between her eyes.

“Forgive me, Miss Marchland,” she said. “You look frightfully familiar. Have we met?”

“Your Ladyship may have seen me once or twice at Furton Grange,” offered Belle, and Lady Tremaine’s expression cleared.

“Ah. I daresay that’s it. Some soirée of my dear friend Lady Ella Deville, no doubt. She’ll be here for New Year’s Eve, you know. Well, come in, come in! We shall all freeze to death out here!”

Belle was spared from explaining that she had been Lady Ella’s governess as Lady Tremaine turned on her toes, bustling off into the house. She had completely ignored the children, and Alice was biting her lip to hold in her amusement. It was a relief to step inside, a tide of warmth flowing over them as the heavy doors were closed. Ivy and Hatter had disappeared, following the other servants carrying in the trunks, and Belle was led up a sweeping staircase where two suits of armour stood guard with long pikes. That sense of familiarity was there again, a creeping tingle down her spine, and she shivered. The house was different to Furton Grange, its decor a little old-fashioned with its deep reds and golds, the wooden panelling and staircase giving the entrance hall a darker, heavier look. It suited the building, though, this red-brick mansion in the dark and cold of the far north of England. Belle wondered what it had seen over the centuries. The stories it could tell.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, for which Belle was grateful, two days of travel having taken their toll. She was escorted in by Henry Mills, an American writer wed to Lord Tremaine’s daughter from his first marriage. Mr Mills was a handsome, dark-haired young man, pleasant and attentive, and Belle found herself seated between he and his friend Mr Branson. Mrs Mills was seated to the right of Mr Branson, and seemed a lovely woman, but Belle couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t get along with her stepmother. Mr and Mrs Mills were expecting a child in March, but informed her that they already had a daughter, Lucy, who was the same age as the twins. Mr Mills suggested that the children could keep one another amused for the duration of their visit.

“There’s a well-stocked nursery,” he added, as he took a sip of his wine. “Jacinda and I came over from Seattle in the summer, and Lucy seems to enjoy the change of scene. I’m sure she’d be happy to show your two around the old place.”

“Nicholas and Ava had a difficult start in life,” said Belle carefully, thinking of the unsuccessful spelling lessons, and the words the twins could teach Lucy, if she wasn’t around to stop them. “Mr Ogilvy was good enough to take them in and give them a home. They may not be the kind of playmates that Lucy is used to, but I assure you they’re good children with good hearts.”

“Oh, street rats, huh?” said Mr Branson, in a tone that made Belle want to frown. “Well, I guess Lucy spends enough time with the servants. She’ll be used to their kind. She can keep ‘em in line.”

“Don’t be unkind, Nick,” Mrs Mills chided. “They’re children. I’m sure they’re just as well-behaved as Lucy.”

“Hmm.” Mr Mills looked resigned at that. “God help us all.”

He shared a chuckle with his wife, and Belle joined in.

“Well, I guess they won’t be able to get up to anything too terrible,” he went on. “The woods and fields around the house are perfect for exploring, but with all this snow, something tells me they may want to spend their time indoors near the fire.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Mr Branson muttered under his breath.

“Careful,” warned Mr Mills, with a twinkle in his eye. “Her Ladyship might leave you at the tender mercies of her ghosts while the rest of us go shooting.”

The two men chuckled, casting a look up the table to where Lady Tremaine was chatting animatedly with the Professor and Ogilvy, her husband’s attention solely on his food.

“What do you know about these strange occurrences that the Professor has been asked to investigate?” asked Belle curiously, and Mr Mills gave her a somewhat rueful smile.

“I can’t say I’ve seen or heard anything myself,” he said, shooting a glance at Lady Tremaine. “But perhaps I’m not as sensitive to these things as Her Ladyship. She says there are strange noises at night. Banging and knocking.”

“Of course there are, it’s an old house,” said Mr Branson dismissively, cutting a piece of beef.

“Well, no doubt she’ll tell you more tomorrow, Miss Marchland,” said Mr Mills. “Her Ladyship has an excellent imagination, and something of a flare for the dramatic. She’s an interesting character.”

“Interesting enough to put in one of your books?” asked Belle, and he groaned.

“Don’t, I’d never hear the end of it. Tempting though it is.”

“I think there’s already a tale with a wicked stepmother anyway,” murmured Mr Branson, and Mrs Mills shot him a quelling look tinged with amusement.

Ogilvy woke when it was still dark, heart thumping in his chest as the last oppressive scenes of a disturbing dream faded away. The dream had been formed from his own memories, and his heart sank as he faced the days ahead of them, darkened by shadows of the past. He was looking forward to returning to the city, and leaving the ghosts of this place to rest.

As usual, Hatter seemed to sense when he was awake, and was soon at the door with hot water for his morning shave. It made him feel a little better, and having established that Doc was still asleep, he dressed warmly in a tweed suit and his thick wool overcoat. The house was silent as he made his way downstairs, and the butler, Thwaites, let him out of the door and into the cold, crisp morning.

The sun was just sneaking above the horizon, sending long, scarlet fingers through the grey wisps of cloud, and he sensed that it would be a sunny day, at least at first. He closed his eyes for a moment to remember his surroundings as they had once been, letting memories crowd in on him, joy and guilt and grief clamouring for his attention. When he opened his eyes, he half-expected to see the town of Avonleigh as it had been centuries earlier. The house where he had spun his thread and made his deals and where he had loved Isabelle so many times. The square where the market had been held, and where the townsfolk had danced at the birth of spring. The space where the gibbet had stood.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on happier times, and blinked rapidly, glancing to the east as he set off to explore the land around the house. It was cold enough to make him cough, and he pushed his chin into his scarf, using his walking cane to pick his way across the frozen ground.

The river that had once powered the mill’s wheel in Avonleigh must have been dammed at one point, and a lake now filled the lower part of the valley where much of the town had stood. Most of the lake was coated with a layer of snow-covered ice, but there were patches kept clear to allow the fish beneath to break the surface, and birds to drink. Ogilvy walked slowly, watching the water ripple, weak orange sun gleaming on the ice and making the snow glitter. The winters had not been so harsh in their old life, the snow infrequent and light in its appearance. In the lives to come, he had wondered at the colder climate, and how many lifetimes it would last. He had wondered if it would always be winter without Belle.

The crunch of footsteps behind him made him turn, and he smiled as Belle appeared, a flush in her pale cheeks and breath coming from her in plumes of white. She wore a heavy woollen skirt above sturdy boots, her long coat tight around her slim figure and her hair pinned up beneath a black hat. He reached for his own, lifting it in greeting as she approached.

“i wondered if anyone else was awake,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Alice said she wasn’t leaving the house until after breakfast, but I thought I’d make the most of the morning.”

He smiled, settling the hat back on his head and offering her his arm.

“I was about to take a walk around the lake.”

Belle beamed at him, slipping her arm through his, and they set off at a comfortable pace. The chirps of birds were coming from the trees that stood at the eastern edge of the lake, and Ogilvy headed for them, thinking that the snow would be lighter on the ground beneath their boughs.

“How are the children?” he asked, glancing at her, and Belle smiled.

“Homesick, I think,” she confessed. “I woke this morning to find them both nestled in bed beside me.”

“Ah,” he said. “Not what you expected when you became governess, I daresay.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said, with a chuckle. “In fact, it’s encouraging to think they might come to me for comfort. I have no desire to be one of those governesses that the novels warn us of.”

“Which kind?” he asked, with a grin. “Terror of small children or scheming seductress?”

Belle giggled, her blush deepening as she clapped a hand to her mouth.

“I would hope that I fit neither description,” she said primly, and his grin widened.

“Then I shall rest easier in my bed knowing that you don’t intend to murder me and steal my fortune,” he remarked.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate for the festive season, would it?”

“Best wait until we get home, then.”

She giggled again, and he felt her squeeze his arm as she moved a little closer.

“I take it the twins will be having their breakfast upstairs?” he asked, and she nodded.

“The maids brought it in just before I left, but Alice offered to sit with them while they ate. I’m told that we’ll have ours in the breakfast room from nine-thirty.”

“I’m sure we can work up an appetite by then,” he remarked.

“If we keep at this pace, I have no doubt of it.”

Ogilvy laughed, her presence lightening his mood, and they walked on, feet crunching and squeaking in the snow. He let his eyes roam over the familiar slopes of the surrounding fells and the purplish peaks of distant mountains, the cold air making his teeth hurt when he breathed it in. Belle let out a sigh.

“It’s very beautiful, isn’t it?” she said. “Desolate, but beautiful.”

“It is,” he said, and hesitated a moment. “How - how do you feel, being here?”

She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, but if she found his question strange, she didn’t say anything.

“It’s the oddest thing,” she said eventually. “There’s something familiar about it. I was trying to remember if I had ever come here with Lady Ella. I don’t believe I have, but I feel as though I know this place. As though when I turn the next corner, I’ll know exactly what’s in front of me.”

“I understand,” he said. “It feels that way to me, too. Except here around the lake.”

He glanced at her, expecting her to agree, but she shook her head.

“The lake feels familiar too,” she mused. “I must have been here before, there’s no other explanation. Perhaps I just saw it from a carriage once, or something.”

“Oh.” Perhaps she has. Why wouldn’t she? She’d have no reason to avoid the place, would she? Not like you, you coward.

“Perhaps it’s one of your past lives,” he said tentatively, and she smiled at him.

“And were you ever here, Mr Ogilvy?” she said teasingly. “One hundred lifetimes must span a long time indeed. I imagine you must have seen all manner of changes.”

“The lake wasn’t here when I last walked this way,” he said, matter-of-factly, and she laughed, as though he had made a joke. It was surprisingly painful.

They circled the farthest edge of the lake, where fir trees clustered close enough together to provide a needle-covered patch of ground clear of snow. Ogilvy could feel the cold beginning to sink into his feet through his boots, and he glanced at Belle, wondering if she was getting chilled. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and looked around with a faint smile.

“Are you starting your investigations today?” she asked.

“So I believe,” he said. “Doc asked Lady Tremaine a few questions last night, but we’ll look over the house today, while we have the benefit of the daylight.”

“I hear there are a great many guests due for the celebrations this evening,” she said. “Mr Mills told me of some of them, including Lady Ella, of course, and many of the inhabitants from the nearby towns. It’s a grand occasion, it seems, with music and dancing.”

“Perhaps we can put Her Ladyship’s mind at rest quickly, then,” he remarked. “I’d hate for her evil spirits to spoil the mood.”

Belle smiled at that.

“Do you believe there are really evil spirits here?” she asked, her tone sceptical, and he hesitated.

“I believe that she believes there are,” he said eventually. “Sometimes that’s all it takes: an old house with creaking floors and an impressionable owner.”

“That’s what Mr Branson said.”

“However, I like to keep an open mind,” he added. “I have no doubt that there have been restless souls in this place. That dark deeds have been done, and innocent lives taken.”

She gave him a curious look, but he said no more, guiding her around a stump of wood.

“The Professor called me your assistant,” she said. “I’m not sure what Her Ladyship made of that. Nor of how much assistance I could be.”

Ogilvy smiled at her uncertain look, and patted her hand.

“Good sense is always in demand, Miss Marchland,” he said. “Your input will be welcome, I promise. And rest assured that no matter what we may face in this investigation, Doc and I will protect you.”

“I’ll do my best not to be a liability, fainting in fear at every creaking floorboard,” she said, in a dry tone that made him grin.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I still have the obsidian wand the Professor gave me,” she added, and his grin widened.

“Good.”

They continued around the lake, the rear of the house coming into view with its ordered gardens and large orangery, and he felt her shiver.

“Cold?” he asked, concerned.

“No - I mean, yes, I am, but—” She shook her head. “Just that odd feeling that I’ve been here before, that’s all. I’m sure it will pass.”

“Perhaps it will,” he said grimly. “Come, let’s pick up the pace. A hot breakfast would be welcome.”

Belle agreed readily, and they quickened their pace, rounding the lake and heading back uphill towards the house. He steered them towards one of the gravel paths used by the servants, where the snow was lightest, and Belle shivered again as they stepped out onto the sweeping driveway at the front.

“A chilly day for a walk, but I daresay it’s good for us,” she announced, and turned to him with a smile as they stopped just outside the door. “It’s certainly reminded me that I’m very much alive.”

“Yes,” he said softly.

Her eyes were sparkling in the morning sunlight, threads of red in her dark hair, her skin like cream and her lips soft and pink as rose petals. His fingers itched from wanting to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek. His mouth ached from the urge to kiss her. Belle smiled a little dreamily, glancing back towards the woods.

“I look forward to the spring, Mr Ogilvy,” she said. “Snow-laden trees are all very well aesthetically, but I long to feel the sun on my skin and smell green, growing things. I think morning walks with you will be far more pleasant when we’re not worried about freezing to death.”

You always loved the spring, when the flowers began to bloom and you could run through wet grass with your feet bare, laughing up at the sky. I loved seeing you so free. I loved laying you down in the heather and kissing your sweet mouth, making you cry out in pleasure as the sun warmed our skin. So many years we missed, my love! How many more before you know me again?

Belle was looking at him expectantly, and he swallowed hard, past the lump in his throat.

“I should be delighted to spend each and every morning with you, Miss Marchland.”

His voice was lower than usual, roughened with emotion, and she smiled at him, gazing up through thick, dark lashes as she blushed a little. He returned her smile, the fond look in her eyes sinking into him, warm as sunlight, comforting his tortured soul and chasing away the shadows of the past.

��Come,” he said, offering his arm to her again. “Let’s have breakfast.”

#fic: homecoming #ogilvelle fic #my fic #ogilvelle #rumbelle fic

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